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storiesoflilies · 3 months ago

Text

moments in twilight

synopsis: oh, innocent child of blood and bones. you cry as if your heart bleeds fire. has nobody ever taught you to burn them all first? w.c: 13k.

pairing: heianera!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

warnings: childhood friends to lovers, major character death. mentions of cannibalism, violence, and slight gore. ANGST! sfw, but mdni!

a/n: this was requested by this enthusiastic nonie! i hope you enjoy this and that it’s everything you wanted <3 a massive shout to @spookuna for being my biggest supporter and cheerleader, because i genuinely couldn’t have done this without her!

divider / art / ao3 / @ficsforgaza

the first sight of her fate didn’t seem real, like something out of a dream.

she couldn’t understand what – or who – she was looking at.

perhaps it was a fully materialized specter born somewhere from the deepest recesses of her imagination, unknown even to herself. it certainly seemed that way to her; she was only six and knew nothing of the horrors of the world, except for those that came to life in scary stories.

her ghost was digging feverishly into the earth, its fingers curled like claws, like it was searching for something. it was a dirty, scrawny little thing, wearing no clothes except for a soiled fundoshi that looked as if it was strung together by luck and willpower. every so often, it would pull something stringy and limp into its mouth, devouring it rabidly, though she couldn’t make out what it was.

why would her imagination come up with something so… awful?

it wasn’t a pretty, or kind looking ghost to be sure, and she scratched her arms as an uncomfortable itch settled into her skin.

the specter paused, like a fawn that had been discovered.

and turned.

no… it was a wolf, but it was really just a boy.

a boy that stared at her with a basin full of blood in his eyes. a garden that should have been filled with a gorgeous array of ruby roses, was instead full of violence and malice, of death and root rot. this was not a normal, or happy, sort of boy like the boisterous ones in her village.

she still thought she was dreaming, still believed the boy was just a ghost.

because what else could he be? real boys didn’t have a second pair of small eyes beneath their normal ones. even if his were closed, his two pale lids shut tightly like an oyster.

would there be precious little red, red, red pearls underneath them?

a gentle gust of wind swept through the trees, ruffling the boys matted locks of hair, and he vanished from her sight like a puff of dust.

surely now it was a dream.

real boys couldn’t just disappear.

until she felt all the air knocked out from her lungs as she crashed backwards into the earth, sharp fingernails digging into the soft skin of her forearms, and the boy’s crimson eyes were consuming her in his fire.

she knew then it wasn’t a dream, because dreams couldn’t hurt her like this.

she kicked and struggled, her ears ringing from the force of her head knocking into the ground, screaming until one of his dirty hands covered her mouth. she stilled immediately, tears pricking the corner of her eyes, and sliding down the apples of her cheeks.

“you can’t steal,” the boy hissed, his voice sharp and pointed like nails, and he shook her roughly as he repeated like a mantra. “can’t steal, can’t steal.”

she whimpered and nodded frantically, as sharp stones from the earth pierced her skin, adding to her misery. the boy licked his lips, a snake tasting the air with its forked tongue, and bent down closer to her ear.

“i’m hungry” he whispered, a dusting of glee coating his words like powdery snow. “i want to eat you.”

the sky was haunted with the last light of the sunset, like the cries of a mourning mother, swirling with hues of orange and purple. she wondered if she was going to become a ghost that could only existed in her own mother’s dreams.

for the first time in her meager existence, she felt her childish immortality slipping between her tiny fingers.

something uncomfortably hot and wet spread out from beneath her thighs.

the boy sniffed once, twice, with his nose upturned.

then he cried out angrily, his red eyes flashing in the twilight hour, and shoved her roughly into the ground before releasing his grip on her, recoiling defensively infront of his hole of dirt. she scrambled up ungracefully to her feet, her chest heaving, wincing as she tasted bitter soil and salty tears on her tongue.

“yucky! dirty, dirty!” the boy spat indignantly, hypocritically, as if he wasn’t more soiled than she was.

he was rolling in the dirt now, rubbing his face and body with it as if it were soap, as if the coarse earth could wash her touch away from him. she took two steps backwards from him, feeling an eerie charge of energy settling into the edge of the forest.

like the spark of a flame that could ignite into a wildfire.

she took another slow step back.

and then another.

and another.

until she turned and fled, like a squawking bird escaping the grasp of a hawk, her short legs crying out as she sprinted faster than she ever had in her life. she ran all the way from the edge of the forest, up the slight incline of the main pathway through her village, and finally crashed through the doorway of her home, startling her mother who was scrubbing away at dirtied clothes in a bucketful of soapy water.

her mother gasped loudly, alarm rising like a looming mountain, always there and ever present. “whatever happened to you? you’re all scratched.”

lie.

she wailed loudly, messy snot dribbling down her nose and chin and right onto her mother’s worn, muted robes. her mother shushed her gently, bundling her child into her arms and pressing comforting kisses to her forehead.

“what happened, my dearest love?” her mother repeated, whispering softly and soothingly.

lie.

she somehow knew that if she told the truth, it would only invite chaos and misery into her home.

“i p-played in the forest a-and falled,” she finally hiccuped, her bottom lip pouting and wobbling.

her mother cooed, wiping away her tears with a warm, rough thumb. “you fell? my sweet, you’ll be alright. oh, oh. why have you wet yourself?”

more mucus ran down from her nose, and she wiped it messily with her palm as she shrugged her shoulders and said nothing. she let her mother fuss over her, completely unresponsive as she dunked her tiny body into a wooden bucket, washing away the touch of the wolfish, snake boy.

until all that remained of him were the little scratches dotting her arms – rough and ridged, lines carved into the trunks of trees.

she thought of him all through the night, even when her mother had tucked her into bed and tenderly kissed her brow. everything was unknown to her now, nothing was certain. was he actually like an animal, capable of following her scent and finding her here?

would he gorge on her until all that was left of her was red, red, red?

༺ ✤ ༻

the boy had taken over her life – he was everywhere, in everything.

haunting her.

taunting her.

filling her mind with paranoia and warped visions of his red eyes staring at her, always. she saw him in between the boards of the walls and floor, and in every bite of food she took. the wispy tendrils of his hands possessed hers, eating right alongside her. he was in the blood of her scrapes, which always seemed to reopen whenever she bathed, and in her tears as she whimpered quietly, unable to sleep as she hid beneath her blanket.

as if that could save her from him.

it was in the boy’s nature to haunt her with his hunt, to frighten and consume her every thought.

she couldn’t expect anything less than that; it was who he was.

she’d seen it in his eyes, a peephole into the true nature of his soul, and it was full of violence and cruelty and…

sadness.

… and beauty.

he was really just a sad, beautiful little boy.

a boy just as old as she was. a boy who had somehow been put on a path of loneliness, without light, kindness, or love.

it had to be some sort of twisted fascination she harbored for the boy, the same way she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the blood trickling from his scratches, or stop listening to the stories of ghosts and monsters in the night.

maybe it was his strange power that was possessing her, gripping her like quicksand and sucking her further and further down into his madness.

yes, that had to be it.

because why else would she be heading straight towards the edge of the forest, to him?

she tightly grasped a small bowl of rice and vegetables between her little hands, swiped from her own dinner right beneath her mother’s nose. it had long since cold, and she hoped the ghost wouldn’t mind. it was an offering, a desperate plea to break free from his curse that haunted her.

snap!

snap! crackle, snap!

a few twigs snapped loudly beneath her feet – a damning announcement.

she froze, nearly dropping her bowl, breathing quick and shallow puffs of air.

snap!

another one, this time from behind her.

she whirled around, and there he was.

the boy stood beside a thick tree trunk, his head cocked to the side and his eyes widened into full crimson moons. he was even more disheveled than he was a week ago, with mud caked to his skin and hair like dried, flaky clay. his ribs were more prominent too, scarily so, and his cheeks were gaunt like a skeletons.

he was weak.

far too weak, she realized.

she immediately extended her arms out, the bowl teetering on the edge of her fingertips, and breathlessly said, “yours.”

the boy grunted, “huh?”

snap! snap! crackle!

he’d taken a few steps forward, carefully, ever so fearfully.

she squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head up towards the twilight sky, her heart beating against her ribcage as if trying to escape, and tried more clearly, “food, for you.”

he was in front of her in a flash, his breath brushing over her cheeks. she cracked open an eye to peek at him, watching as he eyed the bowl with suspicion, sniffing loudly. he gagged offensively when his nose wandered too close to a vegetable, his tongue stretching far out from his mouth.

she half thought he was going to smack the bowl to the ground and lunge for her instead.

he’s going to eat me.

until he snatched it from her instead, retreating back behind the tree trunk.

she blinked, her lashes butterfly wings fluttering in a breeze.

there were the sounds of scoffing, rabid breathing and snuffling noises, and then nothing at all.

hiccup!

had he finished all of it already?

the boy’s face peeked out from behind the trunk, peering at her owlishly.

“why you back?” he asked simply, a touch of softness in his voice, the edge of a knife chipped and dulled.

she shrugged her shoulders. “you’re hungry.”

“but, what if i eat you?”

“tomorrow i’ll give you more, then you can’t eat me.”

he fully revealed himself, crouched low to the earth like a cat, staring up at her with his pupils blown. “you promise?”

she gulped. “i promise.”

“if you don’t, then i eat you!” he exclaimed, lips pulled back over his fangs in a threatening snarl, his hackles raised and shaking.

oddly, she didn’t feel afraid.

the ghost didn’t have the same malice as before; she could see his vulnerability in the way his fingers trembled. she felt it travel through the mountain air, settling onto her skin like a layer of dust. it wriggled like maggots, burrowing into her flesh and making her skin crawl.

her chest constricted painfully.

she felt so unbelievably and overwhelmingly sorry for him.

the boy scrunched his nose. “why’r you sad?”

“i’m not!” she replied quickly, a touch indignantly. she knew he would probably get angry if he knew how much she pitied him.

it was silent for quite some time as he stared at her, and she fidgeted in her spot. she knew she had to let him do this, to stay perfectly still like a rabbit in the reeds, as the wolf made its mind up whether it was hungry or not.

it seemed to work.

the boy huffed and collapsed to the ground in an ungraceful heap, his legs splayed out before him as he seemingly ignored her – a begrudging acceptance of her existing in his space.

she lowered herself to his level, the ground scraping beneath her legs, while maintaining that somewhat safe distance between them. her hands began to search for and pick up various rocks and twigs to play with, because she didn’t know what else to do to pass the time. the boy had his head held to the side, a shade of confusion painted over his cheeks as he clocked onto her every move.

she pretended he wasn’t there, ignoring the rising wave of bitter panic in her throat, and the fact that he was slowly inching closer to her, crawling to her like a prowling panther.

he sat beside her now, clearly observing how she sat with her legs crossed, then glanced towards his own legs kneeling into the dirt. she never stopped playing, pretending to be in her own world, watching from the corner of her eyes as the boy moved his body to mimic her posture and sitting position.

a giggle threatened to bubble out from between her lips.

the boy picked up a twig from her small pile, then retracted, looking at her with wonderful apprehension.

she gave him her full attention. “you can play too.”

another head tilt, and his pink lips curved downwards.

“…play?”

oh.

“have you never played before?”

“no, show me.”

and she did, without knowing how to really explain it. she told stories of how the twigs could be birds soaring between the gaps in the clouds, or the rocks could be fish darting in between the strands of a kelp forest. all the while, the boy was transfixed, and she began to really understand him for what he truly was.

scared and lonely, with an insatiable curiosity for new things – especially for her.

she only hoped she could live up to it.

༺ ✤ ༻

she discovered the boy’s name a fortnight later.

ryomen sukuna.

a strange sensation ran down her spine when she heard it for the first time, like a delicate lash from a whip made of fire.

she decided to ignore it.

they played together everyday since then, against the deep backdrop of the forest, and always during the duskiness of twilight. she would still sneak him scraps of whatever food she could spare, feeling guilty as her mother, who was none the wiser, always praised her for finishing her meals. her father would raise a questioning brow at her whenever she asked to play so late in the day, chiding her for being reckless, even if she passionately justified – albeit, borderline erraticly – that her imaginary friend would be very lonely without her.

“but why now? why can’t you play during the day with your… friend?”

“because he only comes out when the sun goes down.”

maybe sukuna really was a ghost.

she liked to hold onto that superstition. it made her lies a little less white, because he definitely wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

but it was still a lie, a pearlescent river of alabaster, and it had continued to flow strong for three years now.

she was nine years old, and during their time together, sukuna had only revealed glimpses of himself in little tidbits. it was like a sweet bite of plum on a hot summer’s day, satiating her for a time, but always leaving her hungry for more.

“where do you sleep?”

“i dig a big hole, you wanna see?”

“why do you only come after the sun?”

“i’m here all the time, you just don’t see me.”

but sometimes.

just sometimes, and only if she timed her questions right.

then sukuna would indulge her in just a little more.

“why are your eyes red?”

ryomen paused, a wickedly sharpened two-pronged stick in his hand, and shrugged nonchalantly. “i was hungry in my mother’s tummy, so i ate my brother.”

(there was a great clap of thunder somewhere far away, and the great sinful cut of the world bled just a little more.)

they were quiet for a long time after that.

he’d resumed stabbing the earth with his wooden weapon, completely unperturbed.

as if what he’d said was the most normal thing, like it was as easy as drinking the rain that fell from the pine leaves.

sukuna often said twisted things – things that reminded her of who she was really dealing with. although he had somewhat softened around her, he was still as wild and unforgiving as the mountainside he lived on.

she could never ever show him that it put her on edge.

still, much to her own shock, she was growing used to the depravity.

not that sukuna was always wicked, no. he would always ask her things, and she’d try to assume an air like her mother, knowledgeable and benevolent, as she guided him. when he wanted to know how she ate without using her hands, she took a pair of chopsticks from her kitchen and showed him how to use them. he’d sniff her hair, alarmingly too close, and asked how it was so much softer than his.

so one evening, she took him to the river where some of the villagers bathed during the day, and taught him how to wash himself.

“show me,” he’d ordered, his characteristic head tilt an open book of confusion.

he was more perplexed when she became flustered and refused to do it.

the ensuing conversation, in which she explained why she couldn’t just do that, was extremely awkward to say the least.

but she was even more surprised the next day when she came to play, and he was awkwardly standing there, his cheeks as pink as the once-hidden peaches in his hair. she’d stopped straight in her tracks, almost not recognizing her ghost without all the grime and dirt covering him.

he’s so beautiful…

ryomen blinked slowly, catlike, staring at his unusually clean feet with something akin to bashfulness. “what?”

“nothing,” she smiled, gentle like the summer rain that had just started to fall. “let’s play.”

༺ ✤ ༻

it was autumn now.

the leaves of the maple trees had turned into molten gold and burnt orange peels, and the remaining blooms had already died out petal by petal. there was a chill bite in the air, a promise of snow and piercing cold to come. she hated when the weather was like this, she worried about sukuna living in the wild in such conditions, and it only made it harder to go out and play with him in the evenings.

he, however, enjoyed it whenever the weather turned cold – it soothed the fire in his blood.

or so he said.

sukuna was lying down beside her, saccharine on the grass whilst looking up at the sky. he was wearing some washed-out linen clothes, a size too big, that she had managed to steal one day from the village boys bathing in the river. the deep plum wine in the skies mixed with the blood in his eyes – all four of them – the two colors swirling and teasingly touching each other.

two nights ago, the wind had been howling like wolves, screaming of murder and spilled blood in the darkness. there had been a strange heaviness in the air, a sort of static, like lighting biding its time to strike.

when she saw sukuna the next morning, he had a proud grin on his face, his teeth and mouth speckled with blood. all his eyes were wide open, staring at her as if to say ‘look at us, look at us!’

she knew that he had committed some sort of depravity in the night to have earned the transformation.

but he never told her.

perhaps she was never meant to know.

they were always alert, darting between everything and anything that moved even in the slightest – from the leaves rustling high up a tree, to the birds soaring high up in the sky, and to the blades of grass tickled by the wind.

and her.

one always rested on her.

“ryo,” she started, ripping fistfuls of grass. “do you like to play in the snow?”

the eye fixed on her rolled in annoyance. “no, and stop calling me that,” he huffed.

she rolled her eyes, blowing a hot-pink raspberry at him. “yes you do, liar! i know you do.”

she knew that sukuna loved to be teased, but only when he was carefree and relaxed. during moments like now, with the ghost of the permanent scowl sewn into his features unraveled into wispy threads of gold. he was seriously mulling over what she had just said, something she knew he also enjoyed – untangling mysteries and puzzles in his mind, a satisfied gleam in his eyes when he finally figured them out.

“i don’t… like anything.”

she stilled.

a blade of grass fell from her grip, and she gnawed on her bottom lip.

why did she feel so embarrassed?

he wasn’t really referring to her at all – and yet, it all felt so personal.

“okay,” was all she could muster weakly, barely a whisper, resuming her onslaught on the grass like nothing mattered at all.

maybe none of it ever did.

sukuna turned his head and stared at her strangely, but said nothing.

thwack!

he was grinning wildly now. “let me chase you.”

she wiped away the raindrops that had splattered onto her cheek, a slight sting on her thigh from his smack. “i don’t wanna play.”

“but… you like this game,” sukuna frowned, head tilted, rolling over with his elbows digging into the grass. “why not?”

“i jus-ow! stop hitting me!”

“start running then.”

so she did, quite begrudgingly.

her footsteps crackled loudly against the forest floor, as the dark grey clouds darkened even more and the rain fell faster, and the sun dipped further behind a neighboring mountain. sukuna was hot on her trail, and she knew how easily he could catch up to her in an instant, but he never did. it was as if he switched off whatever made him less human during their games. maybe it was to give her a fighting chance, or perhaps it was entertaining to him to know he could always win whenever he wanted to.

if she got to the village fast enough, she would win today.

she swung herself against a tree trunk to propel herself forward, imagining she was an agile deer leaping between the trees.

get to the village.

win.

run, you can wi-

her leg gave way beneath her, sliding up in an arc as she slipped backward. her head hit the ground, and stars and minuscule black moons danced in her eyes amidst the silver clouds.

sukuna appeared above her, his face upside down, all of his eyes on her with what looked something like panic in his irises. it made her heart skip a beat, followed by a swarming terror of bats and a throbbing swell of pain in her left ankle.

and then… sheer, crippling embarrassment.

she started to wail loudly.

big salty droplets squeezed out from her tearducts, running to her temples and mixing with the rain in the dirt. sukuna's face contorted painfully, his mouth pulled into a grimace, his eyes darting over her like a hummingbird flitting between flowers.

"s-stop doing that," he tried to order harshly, but was cruelly betrayed by the shaky wobbling his lip.

snot messily dribbled down her nose as her ankle started to throb more intensely. "it h-hurts!"

"stop crying!" sukuna exclaimed, his fists clenched and shaking. "just stop."

she made the mistake of moving her leg, and cried out as fiery pain licked a smoldering trail straight up to her head. "ryo! please. make it stop, make it stop, make it stop."

his face fell, crumbling into pieces. with a tenderness she had never known, and the sleeves of his shirt falling over his hands, sukuna gently held the sides of her face.

she stilled, a drop of crystal suspended in time.

he hushed her, soothingly. "it's okay. just... please. stop crying."

she sniffled, broken sobs stuttering out from her lips, until they fizzed out altogether. all the while, sukuna never let her go, their foreheads brushing against each other, his peach frizz blowing in the wind. oh, how she wished she could see his face. she wanted to know that he wasn't faking this level of care – of emotion – if nothing really mattered to him.

sukuna lifted his head, his blood eyes glossy and pained, and whispered, "does it still hurt?"

her bottom lip trembled dangerously and she nodded. sukuna sighed, his hands leaving her face and scrunching his hair.

"i-," he paused, nervous. "let me try something."

sukuna looked at her expectantly, eyes widened and pleading. she nodded again, not sure exactly what she was agreeing to, he moved slowly, cautiously, as if any sudden move would set off her pain again. all the while, his gaze was trained on her, settled and pooling on her already swelling ankle.

he breathed out shakily, placing a rough palm over her warm skin, and she whimpered as a piping hot sensation seeped through to her bone. it was nothing like pain, but it felt like sukuna. it was a strange feeling, like little bubbles popping on the skin he touched. she knew then what she was feeling – his power. sukuna was concentrating hard, little grunts escaping his lips every so often, his brow deeply furrowed into a valley of ridges.

the power rose, a tidal wave of fire and blood, and then collapsed into nothing.

he hissed in frustration, sharply pulling his hand back from her ankle, head bowed almost… shamefully.

it was quiet for a heartbeat longer before sukuna muttered, “i’m sorry, i can’t fix you. i’m not strong enough.”

her heart swelled, and she smiled weakly. “it’s okay, ryo.”

he looked up at the dark sky, mouth opening and closing as he chased his words and settled on, “its going to be night soon.”

she looked up too, watching the veil of the silver crescent moon lifting. “mhm.”

she sat up slowly, sukuna immediately turning to watch her. “i-i don’t think i can walk, ryo,” she mumbled. “how can i get home?”

“but… you can’t stay here.”

“i know.”

“the bears will hunt you.”

“ryo, i know!”

his head tilted and a spark lit in his eyes.

“i can carry you!” sukuna blurted out, his chest puffed out proudly. “i’ll bring you to where i sleep. it’s warm there, and then the bears can’t eat you because i’ll be there.”

“… you can fight a bear?”

“what do you think i eat now? i told you I didn’t need your stinky vegetables anymore!”

she blinked three times.

“okay, and then what?”

“and then… i can figure it out in the morning. i’ll keep trying to make you better when you sleep so you can go home.”

without hearing another word from her, sukuna swept her into his arms, eliciting a startled yelp from her. he settled into a brisk pace, taking them both much farther away from the village. the light darkened considerably this deep into the forest, the trees hugging each other so tightly that hardly any of the sun’s waning light could pierce between the leaves.

suddenly, he stopped.

sukuna hunched over, her cheek squishing against his chest, and gently placed her down into a cavernous burrow.

"you really weren't joking when you said you sleep in a hole," she half-heartedly joked, looking around.

he scoffed, crossing his legs and sitting beside her injured side, halfway turned towards the entrance to the burrow. "you don't like it?"

"i never said that! it's just... different."

"not all of us live in a nice home."

the air turned slightly sour, lemons tainting his softness, and they were completely silent. the sounds of the night became louder then; strange animal cries off in the distance, and the rain pelting down from outside, steady drip drip drip of droplets falling from the entrance. sukuna was right, his burrow was reasonably warm. almost, dare she say it, actually comfortable.

he was still beside her, a hand pressed lightly to her injury, his power ebbing and rushing forward like a wave against the shore. as the night grew longer, sukuna seemed to be getting more and more agitated, hissing lowly as he failed at every attempt to heal her. she couldn't sleep regardless of his noises; the enormity of the situation she was in was too jarring. what if a bear discovered their sanctuary? what would her parents be thinking right now? sukuna had to be hungry, as well tired from expending his power. could he really fight a bear if it came down to it?

"ryo?"

"go to sleep."

"but i-"

"shut up, or i'll let the bears eat you."

"ryo! i just wanted to ask you something."

he groaned in annoyance. "what then?"

"earlier, when you said you didn't like anything. did you mean it?"

"well... yes. i don't lie."

"oh, yeah. i know."

sukuna tilted his head, both left eyes rolling towards her. "why did you get sad when i said that?"

heat rose to her cheeks. "did not!"

"you did so! i felt you get sad! you’re getting sad again now"

she fidgeted uncomfortably. "because!"

"because?"

"because, because- ugh! because then that means you don't like me, okay? and that hurts my feelings.”

red eyes flashed in the dark. “why do you care if i like you?”

“because we’re-you… you’re my friend. of course i care if you like me.”

“but, what if i don’t care?”

her heart dropped, and a fresh tear prickled the corner of her eye. “you don’t?” she mumbled quietly, a drop in an ocean of naive, childish feelings.

sukuna’s face crumbled again, and he gripped her ankle just a fraction tighter. “no! i mean, yes! i do care.”

he bashfully looked away, mumbling under his breath before he said a bit louder, “i like you.”

she perked right up at that. “you do?”

“mhm.”

“you promise?”

a low grumble. “promise.”

༺ ✤ ༻

for five days and five nights, she was in another world.

a world where all the memories of her past were washed away by the swirling green of the deep forest. it was an almost cathartic experience, a transition from one plane of existence to the next – one drawn in dripping red ink, a solitary existence that belonged only to ryomen sukuna.

or, at least, it was easier to imagine it that way.

otherwise, the painful pangs of guilt would strike her violently whenever her thoughts strayed to her village and family. if she paused and closed her eyes, she could feel the steady thrum of her mother’s grief, like an earthquake reverberating across the distance between them. it was all too much for her young mind to bear.

and so, she willingly slipped through the doorway into a new reality, where it was just her and her crimson ghost.

during that time, she had learned how to read him.

his anger was a lashing snake hidden between the rocks – wickedly sharp and quick to strike her with venomous words. they would spread quickly though her blood, making her huddle into herself, perfectly still, like a mouse meeting its most unfortunate end.

fortunately for her, she was only bitten once, and the snake had only acted out of hunger, not genuine malice.

if sukuna’s anger had been real, she doubted she would have lived to see the next sunrise.

his apology came much later after he had returned from the hunt, a satiated tiger slow to act. the only acknowledgement of his remorse was a silent head pat with a bloody palm.

his fear was iron claws scratching against a rock, piercingly grating and scraping at the walls of her heart. if sukuna was fearful, she knew it by the way he stalked and paced outside the burrow, a whip strike away from pouncing on anything that moved even slightly out of the ordinary.

“there are more people in the forest,” sukuna would mutter darkly during those fearful fits. “they're shouting your name.”

“did they see you?”

he responded with nothing more than a pointed look.

but above all, it was his kindness that was most present.

she first noticed it in the way sukuna corrected himself around her, protecting her from certain aspects of his lifestyle. for instance, when she saw the blood on his hands after a kill, or saw how horrified she was when he offered her raw, dripping meat from a deer he had just killed. it was in the way he had immediately changed his ways – washing his hands after a hunt, and skinning and butchering his kills far from the burrow so she wouldn’t see a thing.

it was also in the way he pretended he wasn’t purposely foraging berries for her, dropping them onto her lap like he had just randomly stumbled across them. it was in his stubborn refusal to give up on healing her every night when he thought she was asleep, and in how he treated her like precious sugar glass – so very careful in how he handled her.

it shouldn’t have been so surprising to discover that ryomen sukuna was neither cruel nor mad.

he was still that lonely boy from all those years ago, still learning how to be kind while yearning and searching for love.

one day, she saw him play with fire between his fingertips as if it were nothing extraordinary.

she saw how the blood in his eyes came alive, like dancing waves of a turbulent red sea. when he looked at her, she didn't expect him to smile so gently as he started a small fire and cooked her meat for her.

after sukuna had shown her more of his power, the cracks in his soul seemed to split apart, and his fire teemed and spilled out uncontrollably. he finally began to open up to her, telling her things she had always wanted to discover, along refreshingly childish ramblings.

“you know, i actually didn’t mind eating your stinky vegetables. yeah.”

“deer aren’t actually that pretty, but watching them when they’re still is… relaxing?”

“yeah, i lied before. i do like playing in the snow, especially throwing it at you.”

but some of the worst things would also spill out – things she would have preferred to never know, because they were dark and cruel enough to change the way she viewed the world.

“i didn’t mean to eat my brother, but i was just really hungry in my mother’s tummy, and she wasn’t feeding us.”

“she called me a demon for what i did.”

“no, i don’t know know where she is now, and i don’t know about my father too.”

“i do… feel a bit bad about eating my brother, because he was hurting.”

there was a stretched, almost foreboding silence before sukuna finally asked the question that must have been on his mind since the day they met.

“are you afraid of me?”

the fire spit and fizzled, and she hissed as a spark danced dangerously close to her skin.

“no, ryo. you’re my best friend.”

“really?!”

“well, duh. you saved me.”

he shuffled ever so slightly closer, their arms just about to touch, and mumbled, “so did you.”

she really believed she could have stayed with sukuna forever.

but her new world was shattered on the morning of the sixth day, as if the cosmic rulings of the world had decreed that they'd both had enough of a good thing.

still, it was all her fault – it had to be.

she was the one who insisted that she was too cold, that the chill in the air was day beyond what she could tolerate. she felt the wet tears clinging to her lashes were about to freeze over, and sukuna could not stand to see her cry. so, despite his own warnings, he lit her a fire for her during the day and watched nervously as the smoke rose high above the trees.

it wasn't long before the hunters came.

they came silently, prowling and closing in on them both.

and sukuna knew it.

he was bristling defensively, his neck hairs rising, eyes closed, and head bowed in the direction of a bush that had rustled unnaturally. the hunters crept forward cautiously, eyeing the boy with barely concealed suspicion, while beckoning for her to come with them.

she stayed put, pretending she was a statue of ice that couldn’t understand a thing.

a hunter tightened his grip on his bow.

another nocked an arrow.

and sukuna opened his eyes.

chaos erupted, a whirlwind of metal and feathers and red, red, red.

the hunters charged forward, consumed by a fear they could not rationally explain – of demons and monsters possessing their hearts and minds. but sukuna was faster than all of them, disappearing in a flash, and reappearing to hurl a hunter against a tree.

the poor souls had no clue what they were up against.

she knew sukuna could – and would – kill them all.

"no! no! no!" she screamed, heaving and desperately clawing at her face. “please.”

somehow, he could understand her amidst the shouts and cries of anguish from the men who had come for her.

(he always did, he always would.)

the boy of blood and fire stilled, dropping his hands to his sides, and the wolves descended upon him instantly.

she screamed once more as a hunter seized her, dragging her away from the fray of madness. all the while, sukuna remained curled in a fetal position, all of his eyes locked on her retreating figure as he endured the the blows to his body with stoic silence.

only his eyes betrayed his pain.

༺ ✤ ༻

her heart was weak.

it could only beat with half its strength, as if it couldn’t be bothered to do what was expected of it.

when she was returned to the village, to the nearly suffocating embrace of her weeping mother, she was hailed as a miracle – a little girl who had somehow survived a demon. she was cherished and fussed over by the whole village, her family showered with gifts of millet and rice, plenty of dried boar to survive the winter, and stone amulets for protection against the evil that had touched them.

meanwhile, sukuna had escaped.

the hunters had said the demon vanished into the highest peaks of the mountains, where they could not follow. they bowed low and deep to her mother, their knees buckling as they vowed vengeance on the scourge of the mountain. but she knew it was all for show. they were completely terrified of him, too proud to admit it, and so the mere memory of sukuna was spat on and desecrated by the other villagers.

oh, if only they knew the truth of it all.

it took a fortnight for her heartstrings to stop aching from the pain of being ripped apart from sukuna, and even longer for her piercing wails to cease every night before she slept. her tears burned, tears of fire and salt, made from sukuna's precious blood that had dripped down his face as he was beaten.

all because of her.

her parents couldn't fathom her sheer anguish, perplexed and frightened by its intensity, and only able to explain it as the effect of a demon. all they could do was pray for her recovery, and the rest of the village did the same.

in the beginning, when she had exhausted all her energy from wailing and crying, she would peer into the darkness of the room. through the gaps in the walls of her home, she willed and prayed so fervently that she would one day see four red orbs peering back at her.

but twelve winters and summers came and went without sukuna, and she began to wonder if had all been just a dream. an elaborate tale of an imaginary friend her mind had tricked her into believing was real. a ghost that was never meant to be, one she ought to bury in the deepest recesses of her memories where he could finally rest.

but, oh, how lifeless her world was without him.

nobody could understand or see how the anguish swirled beneath her skin. she didn’t even have the words to describe it to herself anymore, other than she was not doing well at all and felt sick all the time.

how very isolating it all was.

she was fifteen now, and all her parents could talk to her about was marriage.

“you are a young lady now!” her mother would gush loudly, almost nagging. “one who survived a demon, and every man who passes through the village wants your hand.”

she tried not to think about it at all, but it loomed larger and larger over her head as the years passed, and she doubted she could remain as she was for much longer. in those moments, her thoughts would always stray to sukuna, and how if she could have married anybody, then it would have been him.

it was the only thing that felt right.

she tried not to dwell on that for too long.

but trying not thinking about ryomen sukuna was like telling the sky not to cry.

there were often tales from afar that the traveling merchants told the villagers as they stopped for respite and to sell their crafts – stories full of horrors and atrocities. entire villages, along with all their inhabitants, were found burnt to cinders or encased in a tomb of ice, with no rhyme or reason why, simply there one minute and gone the next. there were accounts of cries and calls from strange creatures in the night, born from suffering and pain. some spoke of certain people being able to wield magic, only to be found mangled and nearly destroyed by others of the same power.

she would think of sukuna after hearing those stories and wonder what kind of life he was living.

was he just as lonely as she was?

or was he happy indulging in the violence of his nature?

then, one fateful day, her father placed a hand on her head fondly and said, “tonight is your omiai, dearest. you will finally meet the man the nakodo has chosen as your husband.”

and that was that.

that night, she stared into the eyes of the man she was to marry.

they were kind, warm – so very plain. he spoke a little to her, mainly about how he could offer her a better life than what she had now. something more comfortable, with a better house, more food, and even kimonos made of silk.

it all sounded… safe.

reliable.

her family was happy she was marrying such a man, and assured her that they would come and visit her in her new home once she had settled in.

she didn’t care about that at all.

all she could think about was red, red, red, and how it felt like the ultimate betrayal.

she could do nothing but nod placidly at them all.

really, she should count her blessings that she was about the same age as her soon-to-be husband, and that he seemed likely to treat her with kindness and respect. maybe, if she tried hard enough, she could convince herself that she would find some measure of fulfillment in her marriage.

she could learn to accept it all, even force herself to be happy.

even if a part of her could never be scrubbed clean from all the red.

the day before she left for her betrothed’s village, she went to the clearing in the forest where it all began. it was midday, the sun high in the air, and the sweet bite of winter kissed her cheeks as she stood there clutching the white silks that had been gifted to her.

“things are going to change for me,” she whispered to the trees that had long watched over her and sukuna, her head bowed low. "and i do not believe i will ever return here.”

desperation gripped her in a suffocating hold, hooking its claws deep into her spine. she wondered if there was a string that connected her to sukuna. a red-stained one, dripping in their blood. would he feel it wherever he was in the world if she pulled it hard enough?

if she tried, would he come for her?

(a gust of wind, a spark of flame, and a ripple of blood.)

she had realized some time ago what she had felt as a child.

but it was still a terrifying thing to admit to herself, even now, in this quiet corner of the world, that she had once been in love with ryomen sukuna.

it was best to bury it here with the trees.

tonight was the eve of her wedding, and all she wanted was to have just stayed there.

it was supposed to have been a night of solitary peace.

the last one she would ever have, with only the sound of the herbal bathwater rippling and the scent of yuzu in the air to keep her tethered to this world.

it had all been overturned in an instant.

the monsters came swiftly down from the mountainside in the night, slaughtering and tearing their way through every home in the village. the night was full of brutal screams, blood moons and snow falling from the weeping clouds. she could see them, but others weren’t so lucky. that brief look of terrified confusion was haunting – blood bubbling from their mouths as their throats were slashed by something they couldn’t see.

she stared at her fiancé, both of them trapped beneath a wooden beam, as his eyes, wide and lifeless, had not a single trace of the kindness they had once held. death had never been so close to her before, she could almost feel the cold kiss of its blade against her throat, beckoning her closer to the other side.

their assailant was a thin creature, broken and bent, with a feminine form. it licked the dripping blood of her betrothed from its wickedly sharp claws, unperturbed to the rest of the carnage unfolding around it.

“i miss you, i miss you,” it hissed in a low, screeching voice. “i love you, i miss you.”

the demon turned to her, eyeless, with only a mouth full of teeth and a thousand tongues, as if it could smell the life and heat fading from her blood. it crawled sideways towards her, its scraggly black hair brushing the ground in front of her face.

it paused, dipping its face down towards her, its reeking, snarling breaths close to her ear.

she screamed weakly as it sank its teeth into her shoulder.

soon, all our ghosts will dance together.

pale pink rose petals fluttered from the sky, falling along with the snow.

how beautiful is death?

“hmph, idiot.”

a flash of a thousand blades, and the world turned red and then black.

༺ ✤ ༻

it was the smell of incense that coaxed her back from the dreams of death.

honeyed rays of light danced behind her closed eyelids, their warmth caressing her brow and lips in golden life. when her eyes finally opened, she was convinced that she must have already been reborn. her body was wrapped in opulent silk sheets, delicately embroidered with intricate gold and silver flowers. a byobu depicting a blooming cherry blossom tree stood a few paces in front of the bed.

this was a bedroom of royalty, dripping with extravagance.

she felt as if she didn’t belong here.

but when she pinched the skin of her forearm, felt her legs moving and toes wriggling, and heard the sheets rustling loudly, she knew that this was all very real. all the blood that had been spilled was real, the kind man who would have given her a good life was truly dead, along with his entire village.

“you're awake then are you?”

she froze.

that voice.

it can't be.

so intimately familiar, yet it belonged to the strangest of strangers – deep as the oceans she had never seen, mysterious and smoky like the swirls of incense wafting through the room.

this was the voice of death.

she felt like she had heard it before, as if she should know who it belonged to.

because it was too beautiful to forget.

“sukuna?” she called out in disbelief, her voice fragile and trembling like leaves.

a low chuckle followed. “you still know me.”

oh my.

“h-how are you here? where have you – but y-you disappeared.”

the outline of shadow loomed large behind the byobu, and she gulped.

“i’ve been everywhere in this country. there’s nowhere i haven’t seen.”

it’s him, it’s really him.

sukuna hummed again, his figure swaying. she could make out the shadow of the bridge of his nose and his lips, as well as the elaborate layers of clothing he wore.

“do you remember what happened?” he finally asked after a prolonged silence.

she clenched her fists tightly. “yes.”

“good. and before you accuse me of it, i had nothing to do with what happened to you.”

“i-i wasn't going to.”

“how quaint. it’s rare that i’m not accused of causing wanton violence.”

she watched his shadow reach over and pour a liquid into a cup, followed by soft sipping noises as he drank from it.

“those... those things,” she began tepidly. “is that what you are?”

sukuna snorted. “no. i'm nothing like those low-grade cretins.” he sipped from his cup again. “although, it’s good that you can see curses. next time, you should run instead of just stand there.”

she was starting to remember him again.

she knew that he was nervous; it was evident in his sharp jibes toward her. sukuna always acted like this in unfamiliar situations, when he was unsure of how to act around her. so he would poke and prod because, at least, he understood pain and anger.

she chose to ignore it.

“i went back to the village,” he said, clearing his throat. “it hasn't changed much.”

a flash of terror struck her like lightning.

“but imagine my surprise when i discovered that something had actually changed,” sukuna’s voice had taken on a goading tone, and she could tell he wasn't pleased in the slightest. “you had left to go and get married, of all things.”

my family.

he scoffed, as if he sensed her shift in emotions. “oh, don't worry. your parents told me quite willingly. they were smart enough to know they couldn’t keep me from you.”

a trail of ice and fire ran down her spine.

oh, how much more dangerous have you really become, ryomen sukuna?

dread settled onto her bones like melted lead, and despite her better judgement, she sputtered out, "why now, after all this time?"

silence.

maybe he didn’t even know why.

sukuna's silhouette swayed back and forth behind the byobu, like beech trees high up the mountains, struggling to stay upright during a blizzard. like them, he was battling, but always against himself. his perpetual internal war against that small part inside of him that was human; full of his pain, fear, and kindness. sukuna’s cup was overflowing, even if he didn’t realize it, spilling and pouring everywhere – but she knew it.

she’d known it for the longest time.

“ryo,” her voice cracked like splintering glass. “answer me.”

he sighed, exasperated, “its been so long” – a sharp exhale – “but i can’t stop bleeding!”

utterly perplexed, she frowned. “bleeding? wha-”

sukuna’s shadow rose like a bonfire, erratically pacing in front of the byobu, and she could have sworn she saw the dancing shadows of four swaying arms.

he snarled, the words wrenched from between his fangs, "they tore you from me, and it made my heart bleed. it hasn’t stopped bleeding, because of you."

bang!

his heavy fist struck the screen, and she flinched frightfully.

“i-i don’t k-know what you mean,” she stuttered fearfully, her breaths coming out in rapid, little puffs. “i don’t understand what’s going on.”

he groaned, collected himself, and rolled his shoulders back purposefully. when he spoke again, his tone was calm, with none of the previous fire that had been spitting out from between his teeth.

“it doesn’t matter,” sukuna said, moving away from the cover as his silhouette disappeared. “you’re here now.”

the hidden implications were not as subtle as he thought. he was just as possessive as he had ever been, and it seemed that ryomen sukuna would not be letting go of her again.

she was still his, and had been for all these long years.

“you must be hungry,” he said, swiftly changing the subject. “come here.”

her heart quickened.

slowly, she rose from the safety of the bed, each step as momentous as it was absolutely terrifying. after all this time, she would see sukuna again. the boy who had once protected her, coveted her, and shielded her from the worst parts of himself. the one who wanted to change his ways and be softer for her.

she rounded the byobu.

and there he was.

her bones shivered as her mind froze her in place, stopping her from moving a single step closer.

sukuna was sitting perfectly cross-legged in front of a low table, his eyes widened ever so slightly and his lips parted. a hand was frozen mid-air, suspending in bringing his cup closer to his mouth.

oh, how much he had changed.

sukuna had grown significantly in height, could quite easily tower over her if he stood. he was no longer a boy, but a man – big, broad, and dangerous. and she had not been mistaken before; he had four arms, adorned with strangest black markings, just like his face. if it hadn’t been obvious before, it was now. sukuna was everything taboo in this world, an embodiment of death and fury itself.

“sit,” he ordered, breaking his gaze and motioning in front of him.

his words were in a refined tongue, the kind spoken by highborn royalty and nobles spoke in – those who were educated and understood things beyond the grasp of people like her. she obeyed, feeling the urge to be as well-spoken as possible.

she had never felt so small or so common in all her life.

there was an array of different foods on the table, each more richly presented than the next. elegant bowls held freshly cut fish, arranged to look like the petals of a flower. at the centre of the table sat a lacquered bowl of sekihan at the center of the table, the red bean rice a sharp contrast to the earthy tones of the pickled vegetables around it. mochi of all colors and shapes were delicately wrapped in oak leaves, and chopsticks of pearl and gold were laid beside each of their settings.

sukuna cleared his throat. “so, marriage.” she nodded silently, picking up a piece of mochi. he continued, “i’m assuming it was arranged.”

“yes. he-uh, arrived one day in the village, he was a merchant. my father and the nakodo approved, and that was it.”

he hummed thoughtfully, a fearsome blaze in his eyes. “and did you want this?”

dangerous territory, tread carefully.

“n-not really, but he seemed… kind.”

a flash of red fury crossed his face, and sukuna pursed his lips. “i see. is that what matters most to you, then – kindness?”

careful, careful, careful.

“well… i did not want to end up with a man who would hurt me.”

a dry chuckle. “and do you believe that i will?”

a flash of a memory – of a burrow, of shared tears and painful farewells.

never.

“no,” she replied firmly, picking up another piece of mochi and chewing.

he seemed to approve of her answer, watching as she continued to eat. “good.”

they were silent again, the only sounds coming from the distant chirping of birds and the gentle trickle of a fountain outside. sukuna’s smaller eyes remained fixed on her, while the rest of his attention was on his meal and sake, his expression intensely contemplative and serious. his earlier heat had subsided into a brooding stillness, and he seemed just as amazed as she was that they were finally in each other’s presence again.

she bit her lip before tepidly trying his nickname on her tongue again, “ryo?”

he stilled for a moment, his eyes glistening with a hint of vulnerability before it vanished, and then made a questioning noise.

“what exactly do you expect from me here?”

“you will receive an education, i will not allow you to remain illiterate. you will learn to read and write, and study the arts and poetry. that is all i ask in return.”

“in return for what?”

“for residing in my residence with me. you will not return to the mountains or the village, and you will never see your parents again.”

this was it.

her childhood dream of staying with sukuna was finally here. perhaps he had really felt her pulling on their red string, felt her desperation and fear, and had come to save her. he wasn’t entirely human, after all; maybe he could have sensed her from so far away, and known about that deep hole within her. and so, he had taken her away from it all, demanding only that she say goodbye to everything she had ever known.

but things were different now.

they weren’t little children anymore. there was a taste of change in the air – something tantalizing and liberating. their dynamics had shifted, whether they wanted it or not. adulthood had brought new possibilities that couldn’t have been there before, the kind that made her heart race and chest flutter.

in the way sukuna’s eyes flashed, she felt that he knew it too.

it was her fate after all, she had just been too young to comprehend it.

so be it.

“alright.”

༺ ✤ ༻

the ink was blacker than raven feathers.

drip! drip! drip!

as beautiful as the depth of midnight, it shouldn’t be wasted.

she bowed her head, pensively holding her brush. the words were right there on her fingertips, straight from the centre of her heart, but she didn’t know how to say them.

or rather, if she could say them correctly.

biting her lip, she lightly pressed her brush to the page, the words flowing out with every stroke. when she was done, she leaned back on her heels and looked expectantly at her teacher.

“your brush technique was incorrect,” uraume chided emotionlessly, their icy aura ever present. “but you were close. try it like this instead, see?”

sukuna’s second had been tasked with educating her and showing her the finer ways of noble life. under uraume’s tutelage, she learned to draw the beautiful curves of hiragana and the straight, angular lines of katakana. she was introduced to the golden literature of her country, where she delved into classic and more modern texts, and learned to appreciate the hidden depths beneath the surface of grand tales and poetry.

once, she had been jealous of uraume. it was unnerving to see how much confidence sukuna placed in the ambiguous and frosty figure, and it hurt to know he trusted someone other than her. but she soon came to realize that uraume’s sole desire was to serve sukuna, and sukuna harbored nothing for them other than respect that surely had been well earned.

“try it again,” uraume suggested, returning to their position behind her and watching over her shoulder as she picked up the brush once more.

moreover, uraume was neither cruel nor haughty about her illiteracy and never treated her like a lowborn. they always guided her with a gentle coldness and a detached tone of instruction. she wondered what they thought about the nature of her relationship with sukuna, and if perhaps uraume had ever been jealous of her. she liked to think they hadn’t been, and if they had, they never showed it or asked any questions. for that, she was grateful.

what she had with sukuna wasn’t something she could describe easily.

he was there now, one of his eyes watching the way her hands moved with the brush. it wasn’t unusual that he was present; sukuna often observed their lessons, seating himself a distance and quietly reading a book or scroll. he never lavished her with praise, such was not his nature, but offered more subtle compliments in her progress: a tilt of his head, a single nod, and a hum of approval.

she would be lying to herself if she said it didn’t thrill her to hold his attention.

they only grew closer as time went on, building new little routines with each other. every night after they dined together, sukuna would tap his fingers rhythmically on the low table, completely silent, as she either read poetry from a book or recited it from memory. these were moments of softness, sukuna's strange way of drawing closer her, as the red thread connecting them weaved them closer to each other with every passing night. his gratitude was silent too: a heavy hand on her head, a quick press of his fingers to her cheek, and a small smile as he left.

it was easy to imagine sukuna as changed in those moments, a regal lord always composed and calm.

but that wasn't the reality of the world.

she was frequently reminded of it.

"i need to go," he would suddenly say, abruptly pulling her from her focus.

she closed her book and peered up at him through her lashes. “where?”

sukuna smirked, a wild gleam in his eyes. “to quench my thirst.”

he would then disappear, but never for more than a few days at a time. she liked to hope that his brief absences were because he disliked leaving her for too long. when sukuna returned, he was like a predator satiated from the hunt – more at ease, prone to teasing and sending her into a shy fluster. she realized quickly that he was still as he had been when he was a boy; always acting upon his desires and impulses without a shred of restraint.

although, sukuna kept her well away from any glimpse of that side of him.

she was relieved to be spared from it. even though she had accepted his nature, she was far more content to remain his tether to a calmer side, always ready to pull him back into the peaceful river of soothing milk and honey that was her company. yet, she couldn’t help but wonder if that was all she would ever be to him.

she had to wait three years for the winds of romance to finally shift.

the day after her eighteenth birthday, sukuna began leaving things for her to find.

sometimes the gifts were small, such as delicate hairpins, vibrant silks, or rare fruits from distant lands. they would enjoy the fruits together, her laughter filling the room as she watched him scowl at their unfamiliar taste. other times, the gifts were more extravagant: a retinue of handmaidens to attend to her every need, opulent jūnihitoe crafted by the best artisans, the emperor’s most exquisite jewelry, and the rarest art.

but perhaps the most precious gift of all was his poetry.

she didn’t know why she had assumed sukuna had no taste for poetry. after all, he had ensured she studied it, and seemed to enjoy listening to her recite it. she had thought it was to encourage her to uphold the traditions of noble women studying the arts, to refine herself as a proper lady. given his impulsive nature, she merely thought he lacked the time and patience to write his own poems.

but oh, how he had a way with words.

it wasn’t in the more traditional styles she was used to reading, but it was uniquely sukuna’s. he was never one to follow the rules anyways. they had started off expressing the calming joy he felt in her company, with gentle musings about her being like a light summer rain or the soft morning glow of the sun. those early verses were lighthearted, designed to make her heart flutter with silly little butterflies.

and now?

now they could make her heart melt into a puddle of its own blood, making her body run hot with feverish, burning emotions.

with every poem she read, warmth would spread through her cheeks and chest, her bones shaking from the intensity of it all. it embarrassed her how obviously and hopelessly in love she felt. sukuna, however, was completely unruffled, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he watched her stumble over her words.

“any particular reason why you have that stupid smile on your face?” he’d tease, ostentatiously chewing on a piece of fruit.

she looked away petulantly, a slight pout forming on her lips. “stop it, ryo!”

it was blatantly obvious he savored this.

how could he possibly expect her to act normally around him after reading something like that? these poems were a gateway to his soul, a window straight through his eyes and into his heart. she could hardly contain herself any longer, and it was almost cruel that sukuna was keeping her in suspense for even a moment longer.

but did sukuna even want marriage?

he never liked being bound to anything, always pursuing whatever he desired whenever he wanted to. perhaps he wanted the benefits of courting her without ever becoming tied to her. she wasn’t sure if she could ever accept the idea of being his concubine. after all they had been through, it would crush her soul.

they were taking a stroll together in the gardens after one of her lessons, but the air was tense. sukuna stood unusually close to her, completely silent as they moved together, stopping occasionally and waiting as she admired certain flowers blooming. she tried hard not to be too flustered, and attempted to diffuse the palpable tension between them by talking about all sorts of things.

“oh, ryo! don't you think this flower is gorgeous?”

“hmm, yes. quite.”

“the weather is so pleasant for this time of year, isn't it?”

“yes it is.”

“look, the koi! aren’t they pretty?”

“for fish, sure.”

she gave up after that last attempt. it was obvious she wasn't going to get much out of sukuna today in terms of conversation – he seemed completely and utterly wound up.

they stopped underneath the shade of a tree, and she gracefully tucked in the layers of her clothes beneath her before sitting down. sukuna stood pensively beside the tree, his side profile solemn as he clenched and unclenched his fists. his movements were slow, methodical, almost like it was the only thing grounding him in that moment.

and then, in a flash, he was crouched right in front of her.

“i have something to say,” he announced, his voice like stone.

she swallowed thickly. “then say it.”

sukuna exhaled, and she heard the sound of his knuckles cracking and snapping before he continued, “i recognize that we two are… different in many ways. i have been bound to you from the moment i first laid eyes on you, and i will forever be yours.” – a sharp inhale followed by a shaky exhale – “however, while i may accept this, i understand that you might not outside the ties of marriage.”

this is it.

“you are the one good thing about my soul,” he whispered, his voice trembling with a vulnerable softness that shook her to her core. “please, say you will accept me?”

she didn’t hesitate for even a moment.

“i have always been yours, ryo, and i always will be.”

༺ ✤ ༻

love was infinite.

it transcended time and space, indifferent to who it dragged into its otherworldly domain, filled to the brim with whiteness and the saccharine scent of roses.

being ryomen sukuna’s wife meant crossing that threshold into another world, one that he had forced to turn into the brightest shade of red. his love was ferocious, nearly crippling in its intensity. loving him meant baring her heart to him, exposed and vulnerable, ready for him to consume it completely. he was a deprived man who had finally been given the key to her soul, and now he was able to come through and show her how deep his love for her coursed through in his veins.

“i want to bury myself into your skin,” he murmured into her ear, his arms wrapped around her bare body. “and settle into the spaces between your ribs.”

and yet, sukuna was tender too.

he would crave the moments of quiet, when it was just the two of them, whispering in the dark about how much she meant to him. wherever they were, a part of him was always touching her – whether it was his head on her shoulder as they sat in the garden, or pulling her onto his lap during her lessons. all the while, his eyes were memorising every little thing she did; the way she laughed, how she breathed, and every different sound and expression she made.

sukuna was immensely proud to be her husband, always devoted to providing for and protecting her.

she never wanted for a single thing.

and yet, he was still larger than life, a force of strife and bloodlust.

she knew what sort of reputation he had, that he was something of a living legend. there was no doubt that history would remember his name, spitting on it and sending shivers down people's spines at the mere mention of it.

“the king of curses,” uraume revealed to her one day, a hint of pride in her voice. “that is what the sorcerers call him.”

and that title did not come without a challenge.

on an unassuming autumn morning, sukuna abruptly interrupted one of her lessons. “i must go,” he said abruptly, clutching his trident like a god of old, a hint of glee in his words. “the fushigawa clan must be brought to heel.”

and heel they must have.

for when he returned, sukuna's face had split into two, with a mouth comfortably situated at his midriff. she knew then that unspeakable atrocities must have been committed, because her husband’s body did not evolve unless he had killed and sinned in the most horrific ways possible.

sukuna averted his gaze from her, his skin drenched in blood that was not his own. `'you cannot love me like this."

“and yet,” she whispered, standing on her toes and cupping his bloodied cheekbones. “i still do.”

she had never expected his true nature to change once they were married. to deny it was to deny him – and his love for her. as long as he kept her far from the sight of it, what more could she ask for?

in those moments, it was easy to forget how quickly darkness could overwhelm a fire.

the twilight moon cast a gentle light as a pleasant breeze wafted through the air, brushing against her cheek in a tender caress. it was one of those quiet, soft evenings, where the world slowed down just enough for husband and wife to savor each other’s company. they sat by the koi pond, watching as the silk ribbons of gold and white fins traced elegant patterns in the water. sukuna’s head rested on her lap, a pair of his eyes closed, as she gently stroked his hair.

nothing was out of the ordinary.

save for the strange man with starlight hair strolling towards them.

her husband sat up, and they both turned to watch the man approach them. the stranger carried the aura of a man assured in his own destiny, radiating confidence in the self-righteousness of the path he was on. when he lifted his head and met her gaze, she couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of his eyes, which held a beauty that well surpassed even that of the heavens above.

she knew then that this was no normal man.

“you were stupid to come here,” sukuna huffed, barely sparing the man a glance as he helped her to her feet. “i prefer not to kill in front of my wife.”

“and yet, you will die all the same,” the man retorted, his hand glowing with a threatening iridescent aquamarine light.

boom!

there was a deafening thunderclap, followed by the loud creaking and crashing of tumbling wood. before she could blink again, she found herself somewhere far from their home, surrounded by trees and nature that seemed to stretch for miles. her husband’s expression was calm, a perfectly still lake amidst the tumultuous whirlwind of emotions inside her.

sukuna softly touched her cheek. “this will all be over soon, my love.”

he pressed a tender kiss to her brow.

don’t leave me, please.

and then, he was gone.

a strong fear settled in the pit of her stomach amidst the eerie silence. she flinched each time the sky lit up in hues of red and blue, once with purple, and she could have sworn that she heard the sound of her husband’s untamed glee carried on the wind. every rustle of the trees set her teeth on edge, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself as the coldness of the night began to settle in.

snap!

she whirled around.

another stranger emerged, this time with hair as black as the night. shadows pooled beneath his feet, ominous snarling and snapping noises of hounds coming from its depths. with a sharp gesture, the man hushed and silenced the shadows, and the hounds ceased to be. he tilted his head curiously at her, as if he couldn’t fathom why she was here alone in this place.

but what struck her about him were his eyes — they were as green as the forests in the mountains.

it made her strangely homesick.

“my husband will never stop hunting you for this,” she finally said coolly, despite the terror coursing in her blood.

“you think that terrifies me?” he scoffed, instantly shattering the image of warmth she thought he had. “no matter what, history will forever remember as the sorcerers who brought the king of curses to his knees.”

a silver blade gleamed wickedly as the man grinned maliciously.

“meanwhile, you are irrelevant.”

she didn't say a word, understanding all to well what was about to happen and why.

would death be kind?

she shook her head, turning away from the man and looking up at the crimson twilight sky, unwilling to face the man or the cruel blade that was to be her end.

(a drop of blood in a firestorm, a scream of agony)

it doesn’t matter, so long as sukuna cannot feel it.

༺ ✤ ༻

death was abysmally cruel.

ryomen sukuna once believed that it would have given him the sweet relief he always craved deep down – something that would have finally extinguished the ceaseless fire blazing in his veins. it was a release he had always longed for, yearned for, and thought he had always been ready for.

especially when the curse, kenjaku, found him suffering amidst the wreckage of his vengeful rampage for the love that had been stolen from him.

“you had your chance, once,” the curse purred, his forehead stitches starkly contrasting with the pallor of the body he had taken. “but you knew that already.”

no, death had hurt him beyond measure.

it was a hailstorm of ice and sleet, beating down at him, surely dousing his fire, but so very slowly. even though his memory now was hazy at the best of times, he would always remember that pain. how he smashed and ground his teeth together, silent as stone as kenjaku worked to preserve his essence into every one of his fingers, because he refused to cry again.

all sukuna could remember was pain.

and her.

he would always remember her – the pain of loving her, and the pain of losing her.

and how he cried for the first and last time when he saw her crumpled body lying there in that forest. how he wanted nothing more than to hold her bones in his arms for the rest of time, to die right there and then with her, and let their skeletons be burned into ash together.

love had made him sick with desire, with hate, with yearning.

it terrified him.

because ryomen sukuna did not like to feel.

he then swore to himself that he would never repeat his mistakes. love was never to be touched again, and he would burn the world before it had the chance to hurt him once more.

and finally, here sukuna was, reborn and made anew, ready to enact that vow.

only, he hadn’t planned on being stuck inside this miserable, pretentious annoying brat.

no matter, this isn’t permanent.

“how you feelin there, yuji?” asked satoru gojo in an irritatingly perky voice.

sukuna’s vessel rubbed his chest tentatively. “i guess it kinda hurts a litt- ow! okay, never mind, it hurts a lot.”

satoru smiled. “well, lucky for you, i know someone who can help with that.”

sukuna rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath. oh, how he wanted to rip the smirk right off his face.

first, i’ll tear you–

a light laugh trickled in from just outside the door.

sukuna froze.

he knew that laugh.

the brat turned around, and through him, ryomen sukuna saw what he had thought he lost a millennium ago.

for a moment, there was nothing but white noise.

sukuna was entranced, captivated by the way her lips moved, the graceful way her figure leaned against the doorframe, and how every single feature of her face had remained unchanged and untouched despite all the time that had passed.

is this some sort of joke?

“ok yuji,” she said warmly, a kind smile on her face as she placed a hand on his chest. “this won’t hurt a bit.”

sukuna felt the ghost of her hand touching his own skin, familiar and warm, and he gripped his throne of bones tightly.

yuji frowned. “will it hurt you?”

“oh no, don’t worry about me. i can absorb as much physical pain as i want without feeling any of it myself.”

“that’s so cool! but, do you really not feel anything at all?”

she bit her lip, an ancient sadness in her young eyes. “well… sometimes i go blind for a while, and all i can see is the color red.”

“what? hell no, what if you go blind because of me? no way.”

yuji shied away from her touch, and she reached out to grasp his hand.

“no, i promise i won’t!” she practically begged. “please. yuji. i–something happens when i go blind, like something is trying to show me what’s missing inside me, and i need to find out what it is.”

so, you don’t remember a thing.

sukuna leaned forward, bones crunching beneath him.

“okay…” his vessel answered, apprehension and concern woven into his tone.

she smiled gratefully.

i think i understand what you were to me after all this time, my love.

༺ ✤ ༻

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mockerycrow · 1 year ago

Note

okay, so something unsettling. with ghost x gn! reader. “don’t worry, it’s not my blood”. maybe you are ghost’s civilian friend in an abusive relationship and one day it reaches a point when you’re so scared you lock yourself in the bathroom while your s/o is raging outside the door, banging on it and threatening you. you manage to call simon and ask him to come get you. the result is, well, blood that is not his. 👁️👁️

- 🐇

JUSTICE (Ghost x GN!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

[WARNINGS; HUGE warning for abuse and reactions to abuse (I had to take a break writing a part of this), murder, blood + gore + injury, major hurt/comfort, can be read as platonic or romantic.]

BEING ON LEAVE means Simon needs to restock his fridge and cabinets with enough food for a couple of days. Leaning against the bar of the shopping cart as he turns over the box of tea in his hands. He grumbles since he’s having to buy a new brand of his favorite tea, figuring out that his favorite company discontinued that line. Simon lets out a huff of defeat before tossing the box into the cart and he begins to roll his cart to the self check-out.

Simon bags his items up into his reusable bags and hauls them out to his car, putting a bag down to dig around for his keys. He finds them and unlocks the back, putting his bags in—and then his phone begins to ring. His eyebrows furrow a bit as he takes his cell phone out of his pocket, his eyebrows raising as he shuts the back. Simon swipes at his screen, accepting the call and pressing the phone to his ear as he gets into the driver's seat of his vehicle. “Hello?” Simon asks into the phone, a bit confused on why you’re calling him.

His heart nearly drops to his stomach when he hears you sob into the receiver, a muffled static banging in the background and some unintelligible yelling. “Simon—“ Your tone is laced with intense fear and alertness, and he can immediately tell you’re in a state of a need to survive. He calls your name, not even bothering to buckle up, starting his car.

Simon calls your name more insistently, his tone bordering on panic. “What’s goin’ on, love??” His heart begins to pound as you sob a near incoherent “go away” to whoever is making you act like this. “Hey, hey hey—focus, sweetheart, what’s happening?” Simon insists, pulling out of the parking lot, already decidedly going to your place of residence.

You shudder and sob into the phone and clear your throat. “Please, Simon, pleaseplease hElp me, he’s—“ You let out a heartbreaking sob that makes Simon’s chest ache, his knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel harder. “Derek, he’s fuckin’—he’s trying to—“ You’re barely able to push the words out, and fuck, Simon is so glad you’re not too far from the store he was just at.

“He’s tryin’ t’hurt you, love?” Simon asks—it’s so obvious your partner is, but he needs to double check; have you confirm it. “Yes—he’s trying to break dOwn the door—leave me alONE—!” You scream, piercing his ear through the phone. Simon lets out a huff, his heart pounding against his rib cage. “I’m on my way, alright? I’m nearly there, I won’t let ‘im hurt ya, love.”

Simon is definitely going over the speed limit, weaving through traffic and his tires screeching in protest at his movements. You choke and cough, letting out a terrified weeping noise, barely able to breathe. A painful itch blooms underneath his skin, the sensation burning and bubbling, bursting at the seams. Simon was not allowed anyone’s blood to spill except his. Derek’s.

“Breathe, alright? I’m on your street—do ya have anythin’ in the restroom to protect yourself with?” Simon asks, hearing you whimper as the muffled sounds of Derek’s maniacal screaming and pounding is apparent. “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re scared, I know, but you’ve got to stay with me.” Simon insists, and you make a timid “mhm” noise. There’s a shuffling sound, and he’s assuming you’re looking through your cabinets. Simon soon rolls up to your home, and he barely puts the car in park, not even bothering to turn the vehicle off.

“I’m here, darlin’. I’m here. Stay as far away from the door as possible.” And with that, he hangs up. You stutter out his name in fear, but you quickly hear your partner—soon to be ex—Derek redirects his anger from you to Simon, who you hear bellow out Derek’s name. Something about Simon’s tone is.. eerie. Something about how Derek begins to yell and gasp and fucking scream is satisfying.

You cover your ears, curled up in the corner of your bathroom, heaving and sobbing as your head is swimming. You’re dizzy from the lack of sufficient air entering your lungs. You aren’t sure how much time passes, but when you hear a gentle, muffled knock, you hold your breath. Simon calls your name from behind the door, causing you to scramble to your feet.

You sob softly and shakily unlock the door and you freeze at the sight of him—there’s blood splattered across his face, dripping down his neck, caking his hair and his clothes. You nearly scream but Simon quickly holds his hands up, his tone gentle. “Don’t worry, it’s not my blood. I’m alright, love.” The relief that floods you is crashing like waves, just like how you collapse into his arms.

Simon cringes just a bit, Derek’s blood smearing against you and staining your clothes, but your desperate sobs and grabby hands make him forget about the mess. Simon quickly wraps his arms around you and leads you deeper into the bathroom, making sure you don’t see the mangled and unrecognizable body of your ex-boyfriend laying in the hallway, in a puddle of his own blood, organs, and excrement.

2K notes · View notes

punkshort · 9 months ago

Note

i’m the anon who asked about the request! if you decide to do it, i’d absolutely wait forever😂 it’s very angsty tho, so the idea was for outbreak joel who doesn’t get the happy ending. reader who was head over heels in love coping with his death, maybe flashbacks to show the moments of reader seeing him die? idkidk the idea is very vague, sorry if it’s too sad!! if so maybe reader seeing him die was just a terrible nightmare & he’s there waking them up & helping them through a meltdown?

i’ve been craving for some emotional torture for wtv reason😭😭 thank you for even considering requests!🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

Thank you for this request! It's my first one, so I hope you enjoy it. Also, I had to take the out you gave me and make this a nightmare because I am a big ol' softie and I won't apologize for it, but I will apologize for taking so long to write it 😂

I hate when you're right

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: After a heated argument with Joel, you finally convince him into leaving Jackson so you could explore a store for new clothes, and what happens could change your life forever.

Warnings: major character (Joel) death - but it is just a nightmare - don't read if you think that will still upset you, angst, language, violence, descriptions of blood/gore/death scene

WC: 2.5K

dividers by the one and only @saradika-graphics

You knew it was childish. You knew it wasn't essential. But you also desperately wanted to feel more comfortable, and was that really such a crime? To want to feel like yourself again? To want to wear clothes that you liked? That fit you properly? Jackson was well stocked with essentials, clothes included, but the clothes the men picked up on patrol were... utilitarian, to say the least. They grabbed the biggest and the warmest clothes so that it afforded more people the opportunity to use them, but you were beginning to grow tired of tucking men's oversized shirts into your pants, the material bunching up at your waist and twisting around as you walked, constantly trying and failing to feel comfortable in your own skin.

You thought Joel would be more open to the idea of heading outside the walls on your day off. You even teased him with the promise of picking up some new underwear, but he didn't fall for it. He fought you tooth and nail the whole evening, his voice lifting over yours angrily to explain how there's been an influx of raiders the past few weeks, that everyone agreed to lay low until they passed through, not wanting to draw attention or pick any unwanted fights. But you persisted. You always did, and you eventually wore him down when you threatened to leave without him.

Why was it such a crime to want to feel comfortable? It was just two people, you could lay low and go unseen, no problem. You've done it countless times before.

You had hoped he would have gotten over it by morning, but you were wrong. He hardly made eye contact with you during breakfast, skirting expertly around you in your kitchen, mumbling under his breath as he sipped his coffee and only shooting you angry looks when your back was turned.

The air was crisp and the woods were peaceful. You thought that would surely turn his mood around. He always appreciated being out with nature, living off the land. As much as he loved living in Jackson, he couldn't deny that part of himself that felt useful, that felt a sense of accomplishment by surviving out in the wild.

"C'mon, are you really gonna act like this all day?" you teased as you held up another shirt against your body before determining it was the right size and then tossed it in a pile with the others.

He was standing at the storefront window with his arms crossed and his jaw clenched. "Don't know what you mean."

You rolled your eyes and looked around the store, spotting a table of underwear with a grin. You lightly skipped over and tossed to the side the pairs that looked far too dusty so you could look at the ones underneath. Clearing your throat, you held up a pair of bright red stain underwear. He turned around and you saw it: it was fast, he hid it well, but you still saw it. That all too familiar excited look in his eye.

"Don't you like them?" you asked with a playful pout. He furrowed his brow at you like he was annoyed, and maybe he was, but you still saw the heat beginning to crawl up his neck.

"They ain't practical."

You gave him a defeated sigh and strolled over to your pile of clothes, your fingertips daintily holding the undergarment out to him. "No? Then what are they?"

His eyes shifted from yours to the red material in your hand and you saw his throat work as he swallowed.

"Useless," he croaked, and you narrowed your eyes at him. You got a little closer, letting the soft fabric glide against the back of his hand when you dropped your arm to your side.

"Oh, yeah?" you said breathily, and you watched his eyelids flutter at your tone. "Then I guess it wouldn't matter if I brought them home and let you rip them off me."

He stepped forward, a growl emitting from his chest, low and deep, when at the exact same time, you both heard shouting outside the store. Swiveling both your heads towards the glass storefront, your blood ran cold when you saw six heavily armed men advancing towards you.

"Shit," he muttered, his arm pulling your shoulder down just in time to avoid the cascade of bullets that rained down upon you. You laid face down on the rough carpet, covering the back of your head with your eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the shooting to stop. Joel tugged on your arm and you opened your eyes in a panic.

"Follow me!" he shouted, army crawling towards the registers, and you dutifully followed behind, your heart racing wildly in your chest.

Once you made it, the counter offering some, but not much, safety, the both of you pulled out your guns and double checked your ammo.

"Alright, when they stop to reload-"

"I know," you said, cutting him off. You've both been in this situation before. You knew what to do.

Holding your rifle upright and against your chest, you breathed deep, trying to steady your hands until the bullets slowed and you heard more shouting. Joel nodded to you and you both sprung up from the floor, pulling your rifles against your bodies in sync and lining up your targets.

Patience is a virtue. The amount of ammunition they wasted on the two of you was laughable when you each caught one of them between the eyes, leaving four against two.

You thought you would be able to get another shot off but Joel tugged your arm and you slinked back to the floor as a shower of bullets rained over you once again.

"You good?" he asked, and you nodded, gasping for air. Your hands began to stabilize when the shock wore off. You were in the zone.

Pressing both your backs against the small counter, you remained calm and waited out your attackers. Glass shards tinkled and scattered behind you. Bullets pinged against the metal shelving, ricocheting into the drywall.

"Assault rifles for two people? Really?" you muttered, more so to yourself, but Joel heard you.

"Told you this was a bad fuckin' idea," he said angrily.

When there was another brief pause, he looked to you again and nodded. At the same time, you rose up and took aim, firing on your attackers once again. Joel made his shot, you didn't. Three down, three to go.

"Fuck," you grumbled, reloading your rifle even though you still had rounds left.

"Focus," he scolded.

The men sounded like they were getting closer. Their voices were louder. Clearer. The shots were deafening. You prayed they weren't inside the store, because you hadn't planned an exit strategy. Without warning, Joel stood up and fired a shot. You heard a man scream and then a loud thud. It sounded like the man was just on the other side of the counter.

"That's not the plan," you seethed at him when he dropped back down next to you.

"Didn't have a choice, he was 'bout to jump us," he sneered.

Two against two.

When the shots slowed down, you held your breath, looking at Joel from the corner of your eye. He held his palm up to you silently, signaling for you to stay where you were. You heard boots crunching slowly against glass and your heart leapt into your throat. They were in the store.

You shot Joel a panicked look but he just shook his head, focusing on their footsteps, calculating how far away they were.

"Come out now and no one gets hurt," a man's deep voice called out. He was close.

Joel clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils. You knew that look. It was the look of a man who was about to do something stupid. But before you could stop him, before you could reach out to him and hold him back, he stood up and took aim.

One shot. That was all you heard when Joel slumped to the floor next to you, clutching his stomach as dark red blood poured from the wound. Your eyes went wide and you saw red. Without thinking, you stood up and shot, taking one of the two men down with a yelp. The remaining raider ducked behind a display, and you dropped your rifle in favor of your handgun. Crouching low to the ground, you inched forward, careful of any broken glass that would give your position away. When you were on the other side of the display, you heard the man's labored breaths. He was scared. He was out of his element. And you had him right where you wanted him.

Silently tucking the gun in the back of your pants, you slid your hunting knife out from your ankle holster. You took a deep breath and lunged forward, driving the knife deep into the man's chest.

He dropped his gun and clutched weakly at your hands, but it was no use. His blood poured from the wound when you yanked your knife out with a grunt, and you watched as his hands slowly slid back down to his sides, his eyes still wide open and staring up at the ceiling.

You smirked, feeling victorious for only a moment before you remembered Joel. Dropping your knife, you rushed back to his side, only to find his face pale and his hands stained dark red.

"Joel!" you cried out, pressing your palms against the wound, hoping to slow the bleeding. His eyes drifted towards you, softening when he saw you were alive and unharmed. That you were going to make it.

Panic consumed you. Your heart was slamming against your ribs as you fumbled with your backpack, trying to find your first aid kit through the tears.

"I love you," he whispered, and you shook your head.

"Don't start with that, you're gonna be fine."

"Baby," he said weakly, and you choked back a sob.

"Hold on," you told him, still searching in your pack.

"Look at me," he said, and your hands stilled for a moment before you dragged your eyes back to him, your lower lip trembling as you took in his deteriorating state.

"I need to-" you began, but stopped to take in a shaky breath. "I need to patch you up and get you to the horses."

"No, you don't," he said softly, and more tears spilled from your eyes.

"Yes, I do. I gotta-"

"I ain't gonna make it, sweetheart," he slurred, and you could see by the amount of blood he was losing that he was right. But still, you pressed your palms against the gunshot wound, your fingers slipping through his thick and sticky blood.

"Don't say that. I can't do this without you," you whimpered, and closed your eyes for a brief moment. You felt his fingertips weakly grip your chin and you forced your eyes back open.

"Yes, you can," he said as firmly as he could. He was so pale and weak and it was making your stomach turn.

You shook your head, about to argue with him, but he stopped you.

"You keep goin', you hear me?" he said, and still, you shook your head from side to side, small sobs slipping past your lips. "Don't let this world win. You... go on and keep fightin'. Please. Be happy, baby. For me."

"No!" you cried out, spittle dripping from your lips now, mixing with your tears. "I won't! I-I can't!"

"You can," he repeated, and gave you a weak smile. "I'm ready, baby. It'll be okay."

You squeezed your eyes shut tight, the tears leaking out, hot and angry on your cheeks as you sobbed over him, clutching his hand in yours so tightly, like if you squeezed hard enough, you could give him your lifeforce. Give him your breath. But moments later, his grip weakened and when you opened your eyes, his head slumped to the side and his lifeless eyes stared off into the distance.

"Joel!" you screamed, sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat with tears still streaming down your face. You looked to your side, where he normally slept, but he wasn't there. Panic squeezed your throat, your chest fucking hurt, but you flung the blankets off you and ran towards the door. Still not hearing any sounds, you raced down the stairs, almost tripping in the process but you had a grip on the railing to keep you steady.

When your eyes finally landed on his familiar form stretched out on the couch, his back to you, you allowed yourself to breathe a sigh of relief.

Reality came back to you now. You had your fight about leaving Jackson, but he won and you slept apart. You never left. He never got shot. It was all just a horrible dream.

You stumbled over to the couch, your tears unstoppable, the nightmare too vivid, too real. Your trembling hands clutched his shoulder as you fell to your knees on the floor, shaking him awake.

"What?" he grumbled, clearly still pissed off about your fight.

"I'm sorry!" you sobbed loudly, and when he realized something was wrong, he whipped around to face you.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

"I-I had-" you began, then you hiccupped, cutting yourself off. His face was etched with concern as he forced himself up and cupped your face.

"C'mon, talk to me," he urged, the fear in his eyes reflecting back to you as you looked at him, still not sure what was real and what wasn't.

"I had a nightmare," you finally managed to get out. "About our fight. That we... we went out like I wanted and-and-" you collapsed into another fit of sobs, your shoulders shaking violently.

"Hey, it's alright," he soothed, pulling you up and into his lap and rubbing your back. You pressed your tear stained face into his neck, inhaling deeply, grounding yourself. He was alive. He was here. Everything was fine.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, your throat still tight but your tears were slowing down. "I'm sorry we fought. I don't wanna go out anymore. I don't need new clothes, it was stupid, I'm sorry."

"Shh, it's okay," he said, pulling you tightly against his chest, "I'm sorry we fought, too. I just wanna keep us safe."

"I know, you're right," you said, pulling back a bit and wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "Will you come back to bed?"

"Yeah," he replied with half a smirk. "'Course I'll come back to bed, baby. Don't cry, it's alright."

You let him lead you up the stairs and to your bedroom, your side of the bed still damp with sweat but it didn't bother you. Joel was safe and sound and in your arms and you didn't care if you had to wear a potato sack for the rest of your life, as long as you had Joel, nothing else mattered.

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#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us game #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller angst #requests

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prentissluvr · 5 months ago

Text

give and take — sam winchester

for : 200+ followers event [ open ] ➖⟢ pairing : sam winchester x clingy!gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : major fluff ➖⟢ cw : very little plot but it's very cute, barely edited ➖⟢ wc : 0.7K

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

loving sam has many benefits. first and foremost, the act of loving him in itself is what you consider to be a complete honor. and him loving you back? well that’s so goddamn special, so one-of-a-kind and beyond priceless that it’s practically unfathomable. of course, you’d never change it for the world, but you still wonder sometimes if it’s possible to be just as lucky as you are, to love and be loved by him.

in the still hours of the night, when you voice such a thought, and sam is softer and sleepier than he is in the hours of the sun, he’ll tell you it’s not luck, not even serendipity. it’s how things are meant to be, that it is completely by the hands of kismet. you laugh, quiet and soft, teasing him about how he doesn’t need to use a fancy word like kismet; he could have just said fate. all he has in response to that is to tell you, if it was somehow by chance, he’d be the lucky one.

whatever it is, serendipity or kismet, all you know is that having him is the most honey-sweet, happy thing in the whole entire vastness of the universe. it stands in stark contrast with the everyday violence and gore of the truth of this world, and that makes the light in his eyes as he looks at you all the brighter. you relish in the way that he’s extra gentle, extra soft and pliable in your hands, just for you. that is one of those many benefits, and you take advantage when you can.

you’ve just fished some new files from the store room of the bunker, hoping to find some useful information for the case you’re working on. before they’re in sight, you hear sam and dean talking; the elder of the two must have returned from his food run and is checking on yours and sam’s progress in research.

the two are standing in the main room as you round the corner, and dean, facing you, sees you first, acknowledging your presence with a nod and slight smile. sam doesn’t even have to turn his head because he knows your footsteps anywhere. the sound of files hitting the table behind him makes him expect what comes next; your arms snaking around his middle from behind and your cheek pressed against his back.

him and dean just keep talking, both unphased by your display of affection, but when you don’t budge for a full minute, sam gets antsy. he wants his hands on you, too. of course, he’s had one hand resting on your own since the moment you hugged him from behind, but it’s not quite enough.

“well, i say we give it a shot,” sam says, his left hand shifting to grab onto your right. “it seems like this might be our best bet,” he continues, tugging on your hand hard enough to get you to follow his pull. he lifts his right arm in the air, making space for you to duck underneath it before you settle into hugging him from the front. that way, he gets to wrap his arms around you, one hand to your waist and the other splayed across your shoulder blades.

you can’t see it all snuggled up close to him—dean can and he secretly delights in it despite it being the kind of thing he loves to tease about—but there’s a light, content smile on sam’s face, a softness to his eyes now that he gets to hold you. his hand moves up and down your back, such a soothing and sturdy touch.

he loves it when you take so he can give and give and give. he loves that you find comfort from being close to him and he loves that you don’t hesitate to seek it out.

you’re not even upset by anything right now, maybe a little tired if anything, but sam couldn’t care less. his opinion that you deserve comfort and softness and ease at any moment you like is completely unmovable. so he always lets you take that from him, encourages it, even. because he adores you to the edges of endless heaven and back, and because your arms around him or your head on his shoulder or your arm looped through his give him just what he needs.

because you’ll take and he’ll give, then you’ll give and give and give just like he does until he learns to take too.

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rainyorca · 3 months ago

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Flowers Don’t Bloom In Winter ❀ Logan Howlett x Reader

Content Warnings: F!reader, angst/no comfort, character death, kissing/make out, implied smut, mild gore, strangers to friends to lovers.

Summary: “Are you scared?” he asks, voice low but there's genuine curiosity in the gentle cadence of his voice. Your eyes meet his. “You could never scare me.”

You'll wilt, all flowers die. But he'll bloom again.

Notes: I’ve been a wolvie fan since i was suppperrr young and I am so glad him (and hugh) are getting attention again. This is my second-ish time writing for him, I just got done rewatching the movies for the first time in a while so hopefully I did him a little justice. His hair in origins will forever be my favorite but in this you can think of him from any movie, there is no set one, no set timeline wolvie.

Words: 6,121

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

You're not a weapon.

You’re more human than everyone else.

Human was a funny word, to Logan at least. Being human meant a lot of things, mutant wasn’t one of them. Stuck as a mutant with the heart for a human, what a tragedy. Actually, did he even have a heart? Oftentimes he would spend nights trying to find his own heartbeat, a hand laying on his chest while he stared up at the ceiling.

When he met you he wondered if you knew what he was, the way you stared at him when he came in and sat down at the bar made him curious. Most don't know, he looks normal on the outside, so how would you know? But he did have a hard time keeping his eyes off you too, you smelled human but there was something so sweet about your scent, it made you different from others.

Wisteria, sandalwood, jasmine and maybe a hint of vanilla, he couldn't really pinpoint what you smelled like (however it reminded him of forests, nature, his old home) all he knew was that he wanted the scent to last forever, like a candle he could buy over and over again. He would only watch the stage when you got up there and when you're done, he would be too.

You came to the bar shortly after to get yourself a drink, your eyes resembled a rabbit’s; innocence and beauty all in one, and they immediately found him. There was something else in your eyes, deep within like you were trying to figure him out. When you got closer to him your scent got stronger, so strong it was almost overwhelming. No human has ever had that effect on him before, at least not enough to make him physically react like he did, squeezing his glass a little tighter.

“Hello,” you smiled brightly, like a blooming flower, voice gentle whilst you greeted him.

“You must be new, I haven't seen you at the bar before.”

“Just figured I’d try out a new place,” he responds, an attempt to try and be friendly despite his intimidating looks. You smile again, swallowing down the remains of your liquor and then putting the dish in the sink. “Glad you came to us,” your eyes travel down to his somewhat empty glass, “you want another?”

Your kindness was obvious, but no one that kind is ever really okay. There was something off about you, something deep down was bothering you or maybe you just had some other problem he couldn't figure out. You're kind but in a calming way, not overwhelming. What's the word? Tranquil? That's what he thought of you.

You knew Logan wasn’t human when you first met him. He looked human just like a majority of the rest of the mutants but you had a keen eye for finding them. It was a talent to some people, being able to point out who was ‘real’ and who was not. Logan was no exception, you could practically see that mutant blood underneath his thick skin as if you had x-ray vision.

A human trying to befriend a mutant, what an odd thing to most of the world. You should be scared of him. People would say, many warning you to beware the mutants, stay away from the entities wearing human skin. He's only going to hurt you, stay away from him.

Logan wasn’t an entity, he had a human heart just like the rest of them. But to you, he was a little more human than the others. To you, he looked like a winter flower, strong and capable of handling whatever comes its way, but flowers don't bloom in winter. He was too good to be true.

You don’t really remember the details of how you met Logan (besides making small talk that first time), but what always stays in your head is what happened a few months later upon meeting him.

There was a little dispute in the parking lot of your job. Being a dancer doesn't mean you do all the hard work at your job, that's up to the servers and bartenders. But of course you were always the one to go clean up after people. Your coworkers assigned you the role after you broke up a bar fight on your first night, so all the dirty work (dealing with rude customers or fights in and out of the bar) was left up to you.

Kill them with kindness is an extremely real and full proof method, people find your kindness a little off putting (though you are unsure why). You don’t know what the guys were fighting about but it got messy quickly, they both started swinging at each other and when you tried to split it up suddenly you were the problem.

Pushing you up against the car, threatening you instead of each other. Your coworkers who were once watching from afar were now safely back inside. You braced yourself for some hits, maybe you would get a cool scar out of the situation, a story to tell to your future children (if you even had any). But all that confidence from before was dropped as soon as the guy got on his knees, grabbing your injured face as you leaned lethargically against the car, making you look at him.

Your bare legs hurt on the asphalt, rocks digging into the softness of your skin, leaving marks. He held a knife up to your ribs, pressing and pressing until you felt a sharpness, the tip of the blade digging into your flesh. The other guy had run off, probably took his chance and instead let you take the beatings.

You remember him getting ready to stand up, his face getting closer to you while he continued to threaten you, that was until he went silent. There was the sound of flesh ripping, or a knife sheathing you weren’t really sure. Blood splatters onto your face, the only thing you could hear was gurgling and a gruesome choking sound from the man. Slowly opening your blurry eyes, the sight in front of you almost made you scream if your throat wasn't so dry.

The man had been silenced, three blades stuck out the front of his face, the tips of them so close to yours you could feel them poking into your skin. A shaky gasp escapes your lips when you see him move, his body lifting up. Standing behind him, the man's blood spilling onto his knuckles, was Logan (Haemanthus, in that moment).

The look of fear on your face was clear in the dark, Logan could see it, hell he could probably smell it. You watch him toss the limp body aside and then he crouches down in front of you. Flinching away, you watch those metal claws slide back into his knuckles, the openings they tear closing almost immediately. Then he cups your face with that same, blood soaked hand, trying to wipe the blood that had splattered onto your face (useless, he was only smearing it).

That was the first time you ever saw Logan use his powers and it was to protect you. What you should’ve done is run, call the cops or something but instead you stayed, you stayed in front of him, letting him pick you up and carry you back into your job.

Humans are curious creatures, thirsting for an explanation of something they don't understand, even if that explanation could kill them. So, after that, you would stay after hours on your job, as long as he was there. After you got done closing you would ask him to show you, show you his claws so you could feel them, look at them. Maybe even worship them if you were that kind of person.

“Does it hurt?” You ask, trailing your fingers up the blades. “When they come out?”

“Every time,” he responds, watching you intently, no one has ever seemed to show this much curiosity over his claws, at least no human has.

“There’s something sort of humbling about them,” you speak slowly, looking at your reflection on the blades, “the fact that you could so easily kill me, kill anyone, yet you choose not to.”

Your fingers trail back down the blades until you stop at his wrist, wrapping your hand around it to feel them when they return into his body. You could feel his muscles move every time his bones shift to allow the metal to escape the cavity of his arm. His eyes stay locked on your face, watching every tiny change in expression.

“Are you scared?” he asks, voice low but there's genuine curiosity in the gentle cadence of his voice.

Your eyes meet his. “You could never scare me.”

It was hard to say whether you really liked Logan after what happened, a part of you knows what he did was illegal, but he did it to protect you, maybe you could rule it out as self defense if the cops come searching. You took an interest in him honestly, this was your first time getting to know a mutant, your first time being saved by one too.

But there was a part of you that wanted to protect him, keep him safe and out of harm from humans and mutants alike. Logan is stubborn but not as stubborn as you. You would do anything to keep him safe, even if it meant risking your own life, although he argues that you shouldn't do anything like that for him. Humans are much more fragile, at least that's what he would say to you. He compared you to a flower, prone to breaking, prone to destruction. He feared that he wouldn't be able to keep you safe.

It's strange, just a few months into this little friendship and you already feel this instinct to take care of him, to nurture him, treat him like he's the most perfect piece of art in the whole world, and also the most breakable. Like he's the most precious, rarest flower you’ve ever seen. The type that you discovered, not some random traveler. Even a few months in he allows you to meet all the other mutants, the ones he calls his family. You hit it off with Storm pretty quick, she knew how to be your voice of reason, your help when it comes to figuring out your feelings for Logan.

You also enjoyed staying at the mansion, being able to interact with all the students. This place was wonderful to you, but you didn't like having to stay behind when Logan went on missions.

Every time you watch him walk out that door you feel like you're left with nothing but desperation, the desire, the need to go with him. All you want to do is help him. But you were also left with fear, strangely enough. No matter how many times he came back, everytime he left it felt like he was never gonna come back. They’re just missions, he’ll be back soon. That's what you always told yourself.

You don't know why you cared so much, you two weren't even dating. But you don't really know what to call the relationship you two had, you were much closer than just regular friends. Yearning was never your thing until you met him. Usually you try to avoid relationships, your fears always making it hard for you to stay with someone.

I wanna be a part of you.

You would tell him. Always touching him, that was your thing. He liked that about you, that you felt safe around him, comfortable enough to always be touching him, a hand constantly on his shoulder or fingers wrapped around his wrist. It was something you did every time you were with him, even if you were safe from harm.

His most favorite thing was that scent of yours, it drove him crazy in all the good ways. He could tell when you had just been in a room and he could follow your scent out of that room if he so pleased. He remembers the first time Charles talked about you after you had left the room just a few minutes before he arrived.

“She's quite a unique one,” he says, watching Logan adjust to your scent filling the room, “isn't scared of mutants, believes we are all equal. I'm glad you found her, Logan.”

“Yeah well, I knew she’d be good here,” Logan responds, leaning against the wall. Charles is quiet, but there's a growing smirk on his face. “What?” he asks a bit harshly.

“You like her,” Charles says, “I don't have to read your mind to tell.”

“Yeah well a mutant and a human won't really work out, so forget it,” Logan grumbles, pushing through the doors and leaving the room before Charles could protest.

The dynamic was weird (for a pair that wasn't dating), but considerably normal to the other mutants. Many seek him out for protection too, he's just the type of guy you gravitate to, despite that grumpy face and angry attitude. You know that's not who he is on the inside, he's much more gentle than what others seem to think about him (Hibiscus, a delicate beauty, Gypsophilia, pure of heart).

When Logan was out on missions, you would spend your time distracting yourself with flower hunting or spending money on bouquets just to make you happy. You would leave them around the mansion, around your work.

You love seeing him in the audience when he returns, usually sitting at the bar. He leans against it, facing the stage, eyes only on you (Sweet daffodil, you're my only one. The sun shines when I'm with you). When you were done for the night you would run to him, wrapping your arms around him, finding so much comfort in those large arms.

You imagine Logan would be a kind lover, gentle and caring. The type to freak out if he accidentally hurt you. The type to sit you on his lap during dinner even if there was a chair for you. You know he would take care of you, he's said it a million times before.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says softly one night after you get off work. You're standing behind the bar, watching him drink the last of the whiskey.

“You can't be near me all the time,” you hum, teasingly, unaware of his seriousness. You figured it was just him being a little flirty.

“I can if I want to,” he responds, his smile often a little rare to see but present in this moment.

He made it very hard for you to try and hide your flusteredness. Logan can be very flirty, more unintentionally than not. In all honesty, maybe you did want him, wanted to be with him. For once you can see a future with someone, something rare for you (usually trying not to look ahead). You could see the future where you live in a cabin with him, somewhere in the woods, probably in Canada or somewhere cold. He would get a normal job, you would make him breakfast and then kiss him goodbye before heading to your own job. Maybe it was a sad, pathetic thing to think about at night but you couldn't help yourself, it was the life you always wanted and you finally found someone to have that life with.

The day you really realized it, was when he came back from a longer mission, longer than usual. For once you didn't work that week, taking a break to give the new dancer a chance to earn some money. You spent that week cleaning your place, organizing, doing the things you didn't usually have time for. That's when you received a call from the mansion, Ororo had called you, letting you know Logan was back.

You’ve never driven so fast in your life, that long trip turns into a few quick minutes. The snow didn't stop you, instead it only made your adrenaline spike, your excitement. You practically slipped when you got out of the car, running to the front door of the mansion.

When it opened to his handsome face you felt a tingle in your spine, electricity coursing through your veins. He starts to walk forward, snow starting to stick to his dark hair, his arms open waiting to catch you.

In that moment, when you ran into his arms, feeling them wrap around you again and cover you in that familiar warmth, that familiar scent, you felt something more. More than fasciation, more than adoration, you felt love (A blooming orchid).

“Miss me?” he asks with a smile when you pull away, your arms still wrapped around his neck. He sets you carefully back down on your feet.

“Always,” you breathe, tears pricking at your eyes. You don't know why you felt like crying, you blamed it on the fact of how much you missed him, or maybe you were just incredibly overwhelmed.

You knew the problems with wanting to be with Logan. The major one you realized while rewatching Twilight (Ironic given your situation, Edward a vampire, Bella a human. You a human, Logan a mutant). Logan is practically immortal, honestly you don’t even know how old he is now. You’ll grow old, eventually succumb to your age or maybe even a sickness if you're lucky. Logan will still be living, just older, a little more grumpy.

You’ll wilt, all flowers die. But he’ll bloom again.

But unlike Twilight, you won’t get your happy ending. Logan can’t bite you and turn you into a mutant like Edward does with Bella. His fangs are dulled, they don’t secrete any special type of life changing liquid.

Unfortunately you’ll be human forever. What a curse it is to be human or to be living at all.

…

The first time you and Logan kissed was outside his place, surrounded by nothing but trees, fresh snow falling to the ground and sticking to your hair. You had embarrassingly fallen on your ass walking up to his house, he quickly rushed out to help you up, dusting you off and asking if you were okay. But when he picked you up you never let go, keeping your arms wrapped around his neck while he held you on your own two feet. There was that buzz in the air, the flutter right before a kiss, that tingly feeling in your spine knowing it’s going to happen.

And when his lips graze over yours you practically shove his head down to kiss him, pressing your lips against his without even considering the situation. To your surprise, he kisses you back, wrapping his arms around you a little tighter and lifting you up so your legs wrap around his waist.

It was like something out of a movie, just missing a mushy love song. You wished you could hold that kiss forever but your lips would get sore and you would probably get frostbite.

When you pulled away he stared at you, eyes piercing into yours before he freed one of his hands. His fingers curl around the chain of his dog tags, and then he pulls them up and over his head.

Then he puts them around your neck, the jingle of them coming to rest on your collar bones makes you shudder, but from warmth, excitement.

You hide them under your shirt most of the time, always toying with them to make sure they are still safely around your neck. It’s like he transported his warmth with them because they were always warm no matter how cold it was outside.

Sometimes, if you see him before he leaves somewhere, he’d press a hand to where they hang, rough palm warm against your chest. It was like his little special way of saying goodbye, just in case he didn’t return (which you hated to think about).

Logan eventually gave you the spare key to his place, allowing you to visit whenever you so pleased. And when he was gone sometimes you would curl up in his bed, inhaling his scent and usually getting the best sleep of your life. His scent brought you comfort, you always wanted to be surrounded by it, drowning in it.

On occasion but rarely, he would come home to you still in his bed, buried under the covers and sleeping soundly. He’d pull the blanket back gently to see your face, sit down on the edge of the bed and stare at you while he waited for you to wake up.

But usually you would be gone, his bed would be empty but he would always know you were there. Your scent would seep into sheets, the mattress drinking up your smell. He could smell you, like you were still present (Soft jasmine, beautiful wisteria).

Now the first time you two ever slept together was at his place of course, you were slumped from work, muscles aching, head throbbing. You’ve never been this tired before. You push through the door, unlocked as usual when he’s home. He’s already in bed when you're there, awake but he looks just as tired as you. He sits up when he sees you, turning on the lamp so you can see. You don't even say anything, instead you just drop your things by the doorway, tugging your shirt off over your head letting it pool on the ground.

He doesn’t seem to care, instead he just watches you as you curl into bed next to him. “Rough day?” He asks a few moments later, turning the lamp off.

“Don’t even get me started,” you mumble back, voice muffled by his pillow. You can already feel yourself relaxing, his scent like a calming drug (the smell of peaceful lavender).

He doesn’t hesitate, he turns to his side, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. You let out a sigh, melting into his warmth. It started out as a normal night, sleep coming to you quickly. But it wasn’t until you felt Logan stirr, moving a little in his sleep. He lets out a quiet grumble, and then a louder one.

Then you feel a sharp pain, agonizing, stinging, right in the back of your shoulder. You let out a yelp, jolting up, your movements pulling whatever it was out of your flesh. You look back, reaching a shaking hand back to feel the wounds. “Damn,” you groan when you see blood on your hand, Logan’s claws unsheathed, the tips covered in your blood. You can feel the warmth travel down your back, the sight of the blood trickling down your back and staining the sheets makes you feel dizzy.

Logan stirrs again, sniffing the air, eyes fluttering open at the scent of your blood. He acts as soon as his eyes land on your back, fear and worry clouding his head. “Fuck,” he curses, “fuck, fuck.”

“I’m okay, I’m fine.” You breathe through clenched teeth, getting up to go to the bathroom. He quickly picks you up, carrying you to the bathroom. He sets you on the bathroom sink, maneuvering around you so he could clean your wounds. You open your eyes, staring at his face. He’s focused, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted as he continues to wipe the blood from your open wounds before finally getting them to stop bleeding. You watch as he slowly starts to wrap you up with the gauze and bandages.

You reach up, softly cupping his face with your free hand, making him halt his actions. His eyes meet yours, your reflection so visible in his pupils. Unsure of how long you stared into his eyes, he had somehow finished wrapping you up without taking his eyes off you. You could feel yourself inching closer, getting closer and closer to his face until you can feel his breath. His lips graze over yours and you flinch back, as if you haven’t kissed him before. It’s been a few months come to think of it, but still you shouldn’t be nervous.

Logan just has that effect on you. It only takes a few seconds until your lips meet, kissing him gently, your fingers finding their way to the nape of his neck. Fingertips brush the shore of his hair, almost like an invitation.

And he takes it, kissing you with a little more vigor. His bloodied hand comes up to your face, smearing a little bit of your blood on your cheek. He’s careful with his movements, gripping your waist with his other hand to keep you up on the sink, to steady you. His kisses are starting to get more aggressive, pressing you a bit further back onto the sink.To make sure you don’t slip in, he reaches underneath you, his large hand coming to rest on your ass as he holds you still.

You can feel that familiar heat start to pool between your thighs, and he can feel it too, or in other words smell it. Your legs clench around him, squeezing as if you're trying to pull him into you. He frees his hand from underneath you, feeling up the bare skin of your waist, his rough fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours while he stares down at your semi-bare body, debating on unclipping your bra to feel you more. His breathing is rushed but even, mouth open.

“Logan,” you breathe, coming out more as a desperate plea. He hums, pressing your lips together again, open mouth kisses, tilting his head for better movement and access. There’s a thin string of saliva that keeps your mouths connected when he pulls away.

He can see it in your eyes, the desperation, not only that but he could smell it too. Your scent was strong, if he got closer to your core it would be overwhelming, and he's not sure he’d be able to stop what he's started.. “You’re hurt,” he says quietly, “I don’t wanna hurt you anymore than you already are,.”

“You won’t,” you respond, a smile on your kiss bitten lips, “Logan, please.” He kisses you again, slower and softer this time. “I can't,” he whispers against your lips, keeping them close even after pulling away again.

“Why not?” you speak softly, scratching his scalp with your nails. He hesitates, his thumb rubbing your cheek. “You know why.” He smiles, gentle and small before licking his thumb and wiping the small amount of blood off your face. “C’mon,” he mutters, lifting you off the sink.

…

Logan gave you all kinds of nicknames but your most favorite came from you showing up to his place with flowers. You loved orchids, always have so you bought a small bouquet of them to put on his coffee table. He accepted gracefully, and then from then on he started calling you by that name. A simple nickname but it was lovely.

Orchid, my little orchid. A nickname uniquely your own (Orchids, love, beauty).

It wasn’t long before you two had officially agreed to being in a relationship, having a label. And not long after that you decided to move in with him, a bold move but you spend more time at his place than yours anyways. At night the moon will shine through the windows, lighting up the room with its cool toned glow. You’ll lay your head on Logan’s shoulder, your hand resting on his chest. You’ll both lie awake in silence while you draw circles on his chest with your finger.

Some nights you’ll sit on his lap while his back rests against the headboard, your hands cupping his face. On occasion, you’ll run your thumb over his bottom lip until he parts them for you, then you’ll feel his abnormally sharp canines, his fangs. You test them, pressing the pad of your thumb into the sharp point to see if it’ll make you bleed but he always stops you before you ever do. When you're asleep he’ll stare at your face till morning, gently rubbing his thumb over your cheek. He stares at his dog tags around your neck, always warm from your body heat and always safe.

He admires your beauty, especially when the sunlight hits you just right. When you're hiking in that tank top and whatever pants you decided to wear that day, he stares at your backside, your silhouetted figure. And when you bend over to tie your shoe, looking back at him with a smile, his eyes not only fixate on your face, but your scars. The scars he left engraved on your skin.

The scars you admired, the scars that comfort you, a reminder of him always.

It’s past 11 pm, you’ve been in the bath for almost an hour now, the water starting to get cold. The room is dark, only lightened by the light seeping through the open bathroom door. You lean back, head resting on the edge of the tub, fingers toying with Logan’s dog tags.

The familiar sound of the front door opening echoes through the silent bathroom, Logan's heavy footsteps can be heard walking around, like he's looking for you. You slide down further into the bath, trying to hide yourself playfully, peaking over the edge while you wait for him. That's when he peeks into the bathroom, a smile creeps over his face when he sees you.

“Hi, gorgeous.” he says in that comforting gruff voice. He crouches down by the side of the tub, dipping his hand into the warm water. “Hi.” You smile, sitting up and resting your head on your hands, holding onto the edge of the tub. He brings a hand up to caress your face, gently rubbing the warm skin of your cheek.

“What did you do today?” you ask, watching him reach for the loofa and dip it in the water. He grabs your arm gently, rubbing your skin softly with the item. “The usual,” he responds, staring at the suds on your skin while they wash away. You hum, sitting back in the tub again, making him let go of you and get further. “C’mere,” you beckon, tapping the edge of the bathtub. He complies, getting up and sitting down on the edge. He leans down so he could be close to your face.

“I was thinking about you today,” he says softly, cupping your face, “I always am.” Smiling a little wider, you reach up with both hands, grabbing his face and pulling him down to kiss him. He kisses you back, much to your pleasure. You're quick to part your lips, giving him access to use his tongue.

It's an aggressive kiss, open mouthed and borderline messy. He pulls away to say something but you block it out, too focused on the feeling of his lips to even notice. You try to pull him back down and you successfully do, he doesn't put up a fight or anything. The kiss becomes more vigorous, more violent but so passionate.

He slips, falling into the tub fully clothed, making the water rise and spill out over the sides. You laugh softly in which he responds with a small laugh too. He’s laying on your side, face inches away from you and just a little lower as he allows himself to slip into the bath more comfortably. Your lips graze over his again, his smile fades as he kisses you and then pulls away.

You adjust your trapped arm behind his head, scratching his scalp as he gets closer and closer. Then he kisses you again, leaning his whole body forward and cupping your face with a wet hand once again. You close your eyes, but he opens his just slightly while his lips slowly slot against yours. Open mouth on open mouth, his lips never leaving yours. The only noise that fills the space is the quiet sound of water sloshing, soft breaths from the both of you while you kiss until practically sucking the oxygen from each other.

Pressing his lips against yours a little rougher now, he eases on top of you. Your hands travel up and down his flanks and back, feeling him through his soaked clothes tight against his skin until you tug and pull at the bottom of his shirt. He sits back, breaking the kiss for once and taking his shirt off, immediately returning to your lips. A gasp escapes your mouth when you feel him press his hips against yours, his cock clearly wanting to be freed from the prison of his jeans. He can smell your arousal, your need for him. His lips move down your jaw and to your neck, kissing at the supple area while he struggles to grind against you. His fangs graze over your skin, making your body shudder at the feeling.

Water spills out the tub with every erratic movement, but you can feel the warmth returning. He uses his other hand to hold the dip in your spine, making your back arch by habit, by command almost. Your eyes go all hazy and the more he presses his bare skin into yours you swear you feel like you're melting into his body.

“I love you,” he whispers, into your neck.

…

You loved flowers, always have. You loved what they represent depending on what type they were, you loved how colorful they usually work, how unique they are. You loved how they bloom again even after death, even after they've wilted and lost all their color. The petals turned into something wrinkled and rough, unlike their usual clear, softness.

Even after they die, they still bloom again in springtime. Daisy, lavender, day lily, aster, they all bloom again. Flowers don’t mourn the dead, they respect it, embrace it. They become one with the dead, seeping into the ground and back into the earth in which a person is buried.

To him, you were a flower. Delicate and soft, something he wanted to protect, to see everyday. Your color, he couldn't quite describe it but it was uniquely your own. Over 10 million colors and somehow when he sees you and it's something separate from the million to choose from. When he thinks of you, that's the color he sees. When he thinks of you, he sees an orchid.

But is a flower still a flower after all its petals have been ripped off, gored and left to rot and wilt on the ground. Is a flower still a flower after it's been torn out of the ground, roots ripped, its purpose gone?

You think of all the times you’ve woken up beside him, smiling when he opens his eyes, murmuring a soft “good morning” as he reaches up to touch your face. You remember the times where he would soothe you on your tough days, running a bath for you and gently rubbing the loofa on your skin. So many good moments, very few bad ones.

Words of affirmation weren't your love language, at least not usually. But Logan had another super power, and it was exactly that. He knew what to say and how to say it at all the right moments. He was a generous lover, attentive, caring, when you were with him you felt like yourself.

“Winter came early this year,” you hum, clutching the white orchids in your gloved hands, “my first one without you.”

“I keep buying orchids for you, whenever I have the time. But even when I don’t you're always on my mind.”

You go silent, tears starting to bubble up in your eyes. “I just- I-” you stutter, voice breaking as you grip the flowers a little tighter. You fall to your knees, snow wetting your pants while your tears run down your face. Your sobs slowly pick up in volume every time you try to speak, only to get choked up and give up. “I just wanna see you,” you sob, pressing your face into the snow below, “I just want to see you.”

You drag yourself further up the ground until you're met with the headstone, Logan’s name engraved on it, freezing to the touch. You press the flowers into the snow, laying down on top of them while your hands move to clutch his dog tags tightly around your neck. The snow and soil drink up your tears, and you can only hope they reach him.

He was a flower, a dangerous one on the outside but oh so beautiful on the inside. But you seemed to forget one thing.

Flowers don't bloom in winter.

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

I don't know flowers that well so forgive me flower fans ahaha

#⋆｡𖦹°‧ukume!#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #wolverine x you #wolverine #logan howlett x you

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edgeray · 4 months ago

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Custody Battle with a Dragon

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N - Hi 🏹 anon! Accidentally deleted your ask when I did dragon! Arle part 3😅. Uhh… mbad. Reader just kidnapping three random human children is so funny to me, I will never not find this funny. Anyways, just wanted to say the only reason why I’m fulfilling both parts of this ask is because I already have to work on part 3. If I get an ask giving me more than 1 prompt, I will choose only 1 prompt to do. If you want me to do more, feel free to request from me, but with school starting soon, I probably won’t be able to get to many requests until I get used to the first semester. By the way, since I’m lazy and don’t want to think of more/different worldbuilding, this will be like an alternative universe of my ‘dragon hunter mother' series and it will just be a role reversal. the lore with the hoth though is different from the series, i have a completely different backstory for arle and the hoth hehe. Sorry, this is really awkward and I didn't know how to not write it awkwardly since the reader decides to adopt them just impulsively and I doubt arlecchino would be happy about it. Naturally, they would clash but I tried to get them to get along. Not my best work... :( Content warnings / info - in arle's pov majority of the time, reader is referred as 'it' a few times, 1.6k words

Arlecchino likes to consider herself a successful and (justifiably) proud dragon hunter, among the best for the Tsaritsa. Dragon hunting has been in her veins since she was born into a well-known generation of dragon hunters. She's been trained and has performed the best out of her class in the kingdom’s most renowned dragon hunting academy, the House of the Hearth. Now, as the new head of the House of the Hearth, as ‘Father,’ she's able to change some things.

For how rigorous and demanding the old House of the Hearth, underneath Crucabena (that despicable woman), it was also quite the precarious and perilous, though that was to be expected with what came with dragon hunting in general. It was easy to get into the House of the Hearth if you had enough money, and by then, you had basically paid for an early grave. Arlecchino remembers that the majority of her peers died, one way or another, before graduating. Families that were wealthy enough and had enough children were happy to enroll some of their children as an investment; being a dragon hunter paid immensely well given that they were paid by the kingdom themselves.

Now, the classes were fewer due to the rigor requirements. Arlecchino has no need for people that want the job just for the money or to roleplay–with that mindset, they'll get themselves killed. For those seeking glory with none of the gore, for wealth without wear, dragon hunting is far on the list for what Arlecchino would recommend. It is daunting and never safe or relaxing. For this reason, the House of the Hearth takes very few individuals, often strays that she deems worthy and resilient enough for the task. A year is all it takes for her to train the small batch into formidable dragon hunters, about three times more valuable and efficient than the average hunter.

This year's batch is particularly small, but that does make for more personalized lessons and unique opportunities. It's much easier to allow three children to accompany you on a dragon hunting mission than it is ten.

Today is one of those days for the children to witness how a real dragon hunter deals with a dragon. Most hunters work in a group to hunt a singular dragon, though the best can do it alone. Today's dragon has been reported to have been killing some livestock occasionally–a few chickens here or there. At the very least, the dragon hasn't destroyed any other property besides the chicken pens, nor has there been any assaults on the people but the kill order is set in stone. Pity has no place among this job, but it is a shame to have to kill an innocuous dragon.

“Children, maintain a good distance as we have always done. This dragon has been reported to be a two-paired dragon, so be cautious. I trust that you three will be able to handle yourselves during your observing?”

Lyney, the leader out of the three, nods. “Of course, Father.”

The order should have been simple. It is. A two-paired-winged dragon is usually of little difficulty for Arlecchino, even with how volatile dragons are. Baiting them with fire as well as a large portion of fish is enough to draw the dragon out without waiting for it. With the help of the children, the preparations were done quickly, and all there is left to do is to ignite the fire and wait.

Except, Arlecchino waits for quite some time. In fact, an hour has passed, and there are no signs of a dragon. Perhaps the villagers were mistaken on the dragon's whereabouts, though instances like these are rare. Nonetheless, it seems like that case, and the dragon hunter heads towards where she last left the trio. As she does, she hears a muffled outburst, recognizing it as Freminet’s, and rushes towards the direction.

Did the dragon target her children on the assumption that they were food? Did she make a mistake, bringing them here? Are their deaths on her hands once more, innocent lives lost because of her again? Her thoughts press her on as she increases her pace, fueled by fury and anxiety for her children. With each child she takes under her wing, with each soul she gently guides, with each hand she teaches how to wield a blade, a bit of her heart has parted and latched onto them. With the three, they are no different, except they are.

Lyney, the ever natural-born leader with a persistence like no other. Lynette, with a placid and rational demeanor to balance her brother's personality and fiercely loyal. Freminet, although timid, holds more potential and skill than he credits himself, and his kindness never fails to shine through even in his conscious actions. These three are endearing, as she has found all children she's taught in such a way before, but perhaps it is these children whom she'd like to call her own finally.

Drawing her sword once she spots the familiar silhouette of a giant, scaly beast, she approaches, only to halt as she takes in the sight.

A sleeping dragon lays on their stomach in the middle of the forest, curled around Arlecchino's children, their tail hugging the children to the body. Instead of the two-paired-winged dragon that the villagers said, it instead has three-paired wings. That makes the dragon twice as dangerous.

Against the dragon, Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet sit against the dragon's back. Once they spot the dragon hunter, they noticeably perk up.

Why the dragon is like this, the hunter is not sure, but she knows that it has taken her children.

“Father!” They simultaneously cry for her. The dragon’s head lifts as they're awakened and turns their head towards the dragon hunter, snarling. They whip their tail upon the grass, and they stand on their legs.

“Are you hurt in any way?” Arlecchino inquires as she prepares to lunge at the dragon.

“Wait, Father, don't kill it!” Lyney states as he ducks underneath the dragon's tail, escaping from its vicinity quite easily. “It hasn't hurt us!”

“No? Then why did it take you three?” Arlecchino questions, her blade still pointed at the creature. Their slitted eyes glare at the swordswoman in response, also tensing for an assault. It spun its body the other way, this time standing in between Arlecchino and Lyney, and Lynette and Freminet. They maneuver their head to be beside Lyney, using their head to almost shield him from the hunter.

“I don't know, but… it–they clearly have no intentions of hurting us. See?” Lyney hesitantly reaches out, running his hand on the underside of the dragon's mouth, and the dragon coos from the action, before opening their mouth to lick his hand.

“I think…” Freminet states outloud, though his appearance is obstructed from Arlecchino’s view thanks to the dragon. “That we're their young. They have been offering us fish, and they're doing this right now.”

Arlecchino contemplates the situation. The dragon had essentially adopted her children as their own, perhaps even imprinting them already, claiming them as their own. Trying to take the children away would not do any good, especially if it feels threatened, there is no saying what it would do to the nearby surroundings when enraged. But the dragon has been hostile, and given the children's defense for it… it seems that it is rather docile. The hunter narrows her eyes on the dragon, sending a nonverbal warning before sheathing her blade. The dragon relaxes.

“Even though you three remain unharmed, you still are my children, and under my care. I cannot simply give them away to you,” Arlecchino addresses the dragon, placing a hand on Lyney's shoulder. “Do you not have any young yourself? Why take human children?”

The creature growls, before shifting away from Lyney. Abruptly, the dragon's form is outlined with a blinding light, and when the light dies down, you stand in place of the beast. The three children gap at you, but Arlecchino remains unfazed, already aware that you have a human form.

“I cannot bear any children without any mate,” you gruff, your tail flicking behind you in an agitated way. “Why can't I keep human children? They look so small. I can feed them better.”

Arlecchino steps closer, her eyebrows furrowed slightly in vexation. “My children's diets are fine, and they are not in need of more.”

“The little ones are tiny even for just hatchlings. You cannot feed your young better?”

Never did Arlecchino think she’d have to fight a custody battle with a dragon. Should she kill you? No, the children have already rejected it. Though, she cannot deny that you are much more appealing now that you are in a human form…

“Children, what do you think of this?” Arlecchino questions, and all three, expectedly, hesitates. None of them could ever expect a predicament like this, and not surprisingly, a definite answer is hard to come from them.

“I will come with you,” you suddenly suggest, eyes gleaming with determination. “And you will feed me and not harm me. In turn, I will protect and parent the little ones, and I will not destroy another human’s building. Is that enough for you, dragon hunter?”

“You will do that for human children you just met?”

“I’ve been wanting children for over a decade. If they come in the form of another species, then so be it,” you assert, and your stubbornness only makes Arlecchino sigh. This is a headache. Though, it was nearly winsome of how protective you are over them, and Arlecchino can do nothing but surrender.

Arlecchino, proud dragon hunter, ‘Father’ to three, and now sharing custody with a dragon.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact fics #genshin fanfics #genshin fics #edgeray.writes #edgeray.requests #edgeray.🏹anon

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an-android-in-a-tutu · 2 months ago

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Romancing the Exit Sign

Art: @nickelkeep

Writing: @an-android-in-a-tutu

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Other Tags: Alternate Universe, Eldritch Horror, Cults, Gore, Suicidal Ideation, Mystery

Summary: A teenage boy is left to die in a shallow grave and something slithers into his bones. Devotees of an ancient god work to bring Her into the world, as with equivalent fanaticism, a man on a mission picks them off one by one. A lonesome drifter crosses paths with a mysterious stranger and finds himself inexorably drawn into the middle of it all.

Dean Winchester is adrift. All he has is his car, the next hunt, and a conversation he doesn't want to have waiting for him in California. Then a case involving mangled bodies washing up on shore in an idyllic lakeside community puts him on the trail of a man calling himself Castiel, and the dangerous web he's entangled in. Dean is used to living in a world of monsters, but the End of Days is a little out of his wheelhouse. Especially when his only ally is determined to keep his secrets behind his teeth, even as they draw closer together. Still, he intends to see things through, no matter how dark the path ahead gets.

It's either that, or call his brother.

Excerpt:

The smell of rot was stronger here, flies buzzing away over what looked to be the remains of animals, shunted into the corners, bones and bits of fur and unidentifiable red mush. The walls were covered with scrawls, symbols and pictures painted in something dark and shiny, and pools of wax melted around stubs of burnt out candles littered the room. The centerpiece, though, was the massive pool of blood that had soaked into the decaying floorboards, half obscuring the scrawl of a magic circle underneath, five points of a star, each adorned with a tool of the trade: an offering bowl filled with lumpy ash, an incense holder, a dull copper coloured knife, a bundle of herbs and feathers, and a black crystal.

“Guess it was a gateway drug after all,” he muttered, stepping forward and tracing the script that filled the circle with his eyes. He couldn’t identify it, but he didn’t have to be a scholar to figure whatever it was was major bad juju.

Cas stood with his back to all of it, staring at the symbols on the wall across from the door.

“Looks like we found the right place,” Dean said wryly. “Good call, Cas.”

Cas didn’t answer, stayed facing the wall. Something about the line of his back set Dean ill at ease.

“Hey-” He took another step forward.

Something whispered in his ear.

Dean whirled, staring into the empty space behind him, his hand coming up to his neck where he could have sworn he’d felt someone’s breath.

“What the hell-” He took two steps back, away from the open door, jumping when his foot collided with the offering bowl, knocking it over with a clatter that rang loud in the silence.

No, not silence. There was whispering, still. Constant, so quiet as to be indistinct, but if Dean strained his ears he could just hear it.

“Cas?” He called out, shaky. “Do you hear…”

His voice died in his throat as he turned and caught sight of the man again, silhouetted against that strange mural, a jarring gap in the twisting symbols that seemed to draw them in, they curled towards him, writhing on the wall as the room darkened, the shadows pulling in and the whispers getting louder until he could make out the shape of words-

Come home.

Dean’s pulse pounded in his ears, a drumbeat to accompany the chant. Come home, come home, come home to me. In front of the wall of writhing shadows, Cas started to turn, and something in Dean quailed, knowing he wasn’t prepared, wasn’t ready, but stuck in place all the same by his wanting.

Come home to the Mother.

Coming in October as part of the @deancashorrorfest!

#deancashorrorfest #destiel #supernatural #spn #horror #fanfic #fanart

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vase-of-lilies · 1 year ago

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❀ Pairing: Demon!Wanda Maximoff x Angel!Reader (F) (Mostly nicknamed Angel)(And some Wanda x Bucky)

❀ Non-con, dubcon, semi-major character death, captivity, heaven and hell (religious god?), mentions of kidnapping and past rape, spreader bar, use of a strap, dismembering of a person, blood, gore, and a fluffy bath:) (If there is any more, PLEASE let me know!!)

❀ Word Count: 10.4k Words (My longest fic yet!!)

❀ Disclaimer: The pictures only represent aesthetics and themes. There is no certain skin color, body type, ethnicity, or description other than Y/n and “you”. Credit to those who made the pictures in the banner as well. In the story, it says “your natural skin color.” This is meant for everyone and anyone who reads this story.

❀ Authors Note: This is my entry for @lunarbuck’s Soulmate AU writing challenge! Congratulations on your follower milestone! My prompt was “You can feel what your soulmate is feeling (and vice versa).” I hope you enjoy it! Y'all, I finished AND posted this with 3% battery on my laptop. Please give it your love 😭

It was a homicide. A planned murder against a poor young woman, who had her whole life ahead of her. A life that you were supposed to watch over her as her guardian angel. Your savior had assigned you to this woman just moments ago, settling your sacred halo hovering just above your head. You had been waiting your whole life for this moment but once you met the crime scene it felt like your heart had been ripped from your chest.

Your body drops to the floor, your halo slowly dying of its light. The pure white dress adorned your body faded to a light gray, and your soft feathered wings drooped like a dog's ears. You stare at the body of your departed human as the investigators take her away, weeping as they do so. A chill washes over your body, and the world around you seems to dim in its color.

Sparkling silver tears roll down your cheeks, characteristic angels were blessed with. With one drop they could heal any broken or ill body, and give power to its consumer. Everything except the dead, and you were much too late to the scene to even help your protected person.

The world underneath you, hell, there was something brewing in the mind of the queen; Wanda. In different realms, she felt the pain that you did when you saw her lying lifeless on the ground, blood soaking through the white sheet covering her. That wasn’t all. She could feel everything. She could feel the sensation of your tears falling down your cheeks, the racing of your heart, the pounding of your head. She even felt the tug of your halo disconnecting from your aura.

So, Wanda decides to pay you a visit, and possibly help you find a better way to use your purity. A portal opens from the ground a small distance from you and Wanda extends her wings, floating just behind you. The purest energy surrounds you, pushing away any bad spirits. But this field is falling fast.

Wanda approaches your whimpering body, “Hey, Angel.” She says, kneeling down next to you. You jump at her presence, quickly wiping away your tears with the backs of your hands.

“Hm? Oh..” You don’t answer her, as all you can do is stare at your halo sitting in your lap.

She sighs and gently takes your hands, the faded ring of light falling to the ground. “Come with me,” She says to you, pulling you up from your kneeling position. You don’t question who is helping you, only leaning into their arms with a whimper.

“Sh-she left me,” You whisper.

“I know, its ok. I’ll take care of you now,” She says as she pulls you with her, your mind in a haze as you walk with her. You try your hardest to hold back your tears knowing anyone who sees them will take them and leave you for the undead to tear you apart limb from limb.

Both you and Wanda descend through the portal to the underworld, her arm firmly around your body as you follow. She leads you through the halls of her fortress to her blood-red throne. Sitting down, she pulls you into her lap, letting your head fall against her chest. Her arms wrap around your shaking body, your whimpers breaking her heart as she watches you.

“Sh-she’s gone.. she’s gone…” You sob over and over into Wands's warm, fabric-covered bosom. Her hand smoothes over your [color, length, and texture]-ed hair, soothing you with her soft gestures.

She presses her lips to your forehead, whispering against your skin, “Just breathe, little Angel. I’ll keep you safe.”

As her words enter your ears, it pushes you back into reality, making you look up. Frantically you look around you, letting out a scream and shoving yourself off of Wanda's lap. “Y-you're th- you're the-” You can’t get yourself to say her title, as you are struck dumbfounded of how you got here.

You scoot back across the burning marble floor, your hands starting to blister from the direct contact with the grounds of hell. Quickly, you scramble to a standing position, your shoes shielding the pain from the ground. Wanda hisses in pain, just like you; her hands burning and blistering the same as yours.

She ignores the pain and chuckles, smirking down at your cowering form. “I’m the Queen,” she finishes your sentence, gesturing to her throne and around her.

“Please don’t hurt m! Please, ju-just let me be!” You sob, unable to crumple your body to hide yourself, the floor's existence threatening to harm you.

She rolls her eyes and frowns. “Im not going to hurt you, just come here.” She opens her arms, beckoning you to come to her. Your face changes from fear to suspicion, your mind screaming at you; ‘You are, I just know it. Thats what demons do. they kill.’

“I am not a demon, I am an Archangel. There is a big difference.” She says, leaning back on her throne with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“H-how did you know I said that?” Your voice quivers as you look up at her.

She scoffs, “I can read your mind down here, little Angel,” She stands up, pulling a large sword from a sheath next to her throne, “Now, follow me.”

You step back at the sight of the sword, your breath hitching in your throat. Cautiously, you follow, the blade dragging against the marble floor. “Where are we going?” Your pure curiosity shines through your fearful state.

She did not turn around to answer you, continuing forward as she responded. “To the cells of the ‘innocents’ you think I am holding hostage down here.” Her fingers make air quotes around innocents and you roll your eyes at the comment.

“You do.” You accuse her, following what your teachers and leaders have always told you.

Her eyes narrow at you, “Okay, here,” she steps in front of a cell, a man sitting on the ground with chains on his wrists. “Ned Lowland. Loving husband, father of three children. Married to his high school sweetheart and died of a heart attack.” She laughs as she hears your desperate attempt to defend him.

“He’s innocent, he was a father, he-he didn’t do anything.” You say, searching around to find a key of some sort.

“He was chatting with two (2) twelve (12) year olds online. He met up with one, killed her, and then defiled her corpse. She is still buried in his backyard today.”

Your expression says everything; disbelief, confusion, anger. Emotions of all sorts fill your system ending in disgust hearing the body is still buried. “That is just o-one of them. But there are plenty of innocent people down here,” Turning your head, you look down the long hallway of cells. “There has to be…” whispering to yourself.

Wanda shakes her head, taking your hand in hers and pulling you to the next cell. “Ah, you’ll like this one…” She says, stopping in front of a cell with another man. “Tony Stark. Philanthropist, CEO, billionaire. A hero to some, a lover to his wife Pepper Potts. Stalked a woman named,” She pauses to look at your reaction. “Lenora Jones. He kidnapped her, raped her, and then killed her, before throwing her in the middle of a busy highway for someone to find.” You gasp.

“N-no…”

“You know that name very well, I assume?” She smirks and continues, “Lenora believed in guardian angels, and thought that she had one herself. She took on her abuser first hand knowing her angel would protect her. But, look how that ended…”

Her eyes rake over your body, feeling the rage rush through your veins as you stare at the man behind the bars. He looks back at you with an evil smirk, his intentions clear. “What a pretty little angel, wings as white as snow… I would love to see you all battered and bloody.” He says, undressing you in his mind.

You step closer to the cell door, asking the man a genuine question, “Why? Why did you do it?” You watch him stand up, his body towering over yours.

“I think you can figure that out yourself, angel.” He said, knowing you are smart enough to solve that mystery. He was corrupt. He didn’t need a reason. He had status, power, and money, but it was the control had been missing.

Tony had found Lenora by looking through his employee list. He wanted someone no one would miss or look for. Lenora, she was almost the perfect victim as she was living on her own and had moved from Colorado. She was a far way from home and away from her parents. Well, her parents were taken care of much before Tony actually made his moves on Lenora.

What? He needed her secluded and unable to call for help.

He got what he wanted, and Lenora's life was taken in the process.

“How do you feel now that you took three lives? How does it feel to burn down here, while her and her family lives up in heaven?” You ask, looking up at him with silver tears threatening to spill.

“I have never felt more powerful. The queen lets me live how I want down here. I get what ever I want…” He looks to Wanda, “Watch… Can I get another fuck toy? M’feeling a little hard.” He says in a low voice, palming his cock behind his blood-red “uniform.”

Wanda shrugs, “Why don’t you try to reach her yourself?” She smirks, nodding her head to you hinting to Tony that you are up for grabs. You look at her in horror, frozen in fear as you hear her offer.

She only laughs at your reaction, moving her sword over her shoulder, waiting for Tony to reach for you. As he does, she slices his arm off in one swing. “I’m keeping this… maybe you’ll learn that with one hand, you don’t actually need three holes.” Internally, you thank her for saving your dignity.

You scream as the events unfold in front of you. Tony writhes in pain on the ground, and you feel a pang of guilt. Looking at the blood spurting from his wound, you try your best to heal it without Wanda noticing. Even for what he did, he didn’t deserve to be in pain. That is the angel side of you acting, but Wanda had plans to corrupt you.

Wanda realizes what you are doing, acting fast by wrapping her hand around your throat, and pulling you off the ground. “This is my domain, not yours.”

You whimper as your hands scratch at her sharp and perfectly manicured nails digging into your skin. Finally, your worst fear came to light; silver, sparkling tears made their way from your eye down your cheek. Something that demons believed was a simple myth.

Wanda's expression softens and changes into realization. “Oh my… I knew they were real.” She catches a tear in the dip of her fingernail and drops you to the ground. A vial appears in her hand, and she drops your tear in. You both hiss in pain at the blistering of your hands. “Fuck! What is happening?” She says, looking at her hands and seeing the matching wounds on yours.

You quickly get up, whimpering as your hands sting from hitting the ground. Ignoring her question, you look up at her and reach for her, coughing out a response. “ N-n-no please you don't have the right-” Another cough cuts you off.

Wanda walks over to you, growling at you, “You came down here on your own!” She pauses, her finger pushing your chin up to look at her, “I own you…” More tears fall down your cheek but you quickly wipe them away.

“N-no you don’t,” Your voice cracks as you look up at her.

“You’re pathetic.” She laughs and turns away from you, walking briskly to another room down the hall. You follow her, not wanting to be with the sad souls around you any longer. But what you see terrifies you. It was a fellow angel. An angel you in fact knew very well.

“B-Bucky?” You whimper, looking up at him in his state. His hands are in cold metal cuffs suspending him from the ceiling, sharp hooks keeping his wings spread, and bloody scrapes all over his body. “Oh, Bucky…” Walking up to him, you ghost your hands over his wounds on his torso. “Bucky? Are y-you ok?” You ask in a quiet voice, seeing his eyes open.

“Y-y/n?” A raspy voice answers you, and you nod with a smile.

“Yeah, its me, Buck.” You say, trying to get him down but only causing him to whimper in pain as the hooks pull against his wings.

Wanda chuckles at the sweet angel-worry exchange, grabbing a knife that is able to hurt angels, and she pushes you back. Catching yourself, you glare up at her.

“Trust me, you don’t want to get in the middle of this.” She says, dragging the blade along Bucky's chest.

You growl as she pushes you, and you retaliate, knocking the blade from her hands. As fast as you can, you scramble to get the blade but you are pulled back by an invisible force. Once you are close enough to the door, she shoves you outside, slams the door, and locks it.

Pounding and kicking the door, you scream as loud as you can, shouting for mercy. “Please! Don’t hurt him!! Hurt me! H-hurt me! Please I’ll do anything!” You beg, hope, and pray that she will let you take his place.

“God, she’s so annoying.” Wanda says as she rolls her eyes, moving back to Bucky. Continuing where she left off, she drags the blade over Bucky's peck to mess with him.

Bucky cries as you are thrown from the room and he growls at the queen. “F-fuck you…” He curses her.

You persist, shouting outside of the door and pleading to switch places with him. You try everything; asking to switch places, letting her do anything she wants to you, killing you, hurting you. Anything. But you were ignored.

Wanda walks to the small window on the door, shutting the cover on it, blocking your view from inside. She waves her hand and the sight of Bucky chained up fades away in swirls of colored mist, revealing Bucky standing unhurt. “Hey, baby…” She smirks, walking towards him and wrapping her arms around him.

She knew you would fall for it. You were just a naive little angel who would do anything to protect anyone you cared about. It was laughable how dumb you could be, your feather-stuffed mind making you think irrationally.

Bucky looks down at Wanda but looks over at the door next. “God, I missed her. How did you find her? She was a favorite of his you know,” He says, hinting at the big guy upstairs.

“Her human died, and she was distraught. So, well you know how I am.” She smirks and kisses his lips, gently pulling him down by his hair. He smiles against her lips, holding her by her hips. He pulls away with a soft gasp.

“Let’s fuck her. Take her innocence, and strip her of her high and mightiness.” His eyes move up to the chains on the ceiling and back to Wanda.

“That sounds so good. I would love to play with her body,” She smirks, and a laugh follows. “Was she always this annoying?” Your pleading can still be heard outside of the locked door, small pounds echoing as well.

Bucky nodded. “Always a fuckin’ cry baby.” A dark chuckle leaves his throat, and he shakes his head dismissively.

Outside, you sobbed against the door. Your hand hits the door harder than the last hit, making your fingers very painful. But Wanda could feel that too, and she looked to Bucky. “Why am I feeling her pain? Her emotions? What is happening?” She asks, worry lacing her voice. Bucky knew exactly what this meant, and he couldn’t wait to tell you the news.

“You’re soulmates…” He says. “Try a cut on your hand, I bet you anything you’ll hear her scream.” He smirks, handing her the blade. Wanda tilts her head, her eyebrow quirking upwards.

“Soulmates, hm?” She puts the knife to her hand and cuts a solid line, groaning in pain. Her pain is easily soothed by your screams on the other side of the door. “Oh, I see… And she feels everything that happens to me too? Pain and pleasure?” Bucky nods. “So, every time we fucked, she came just as hard as I did…” She puts it together in the end, Bucky nodding once more to conclude her suspicions.

“She has felt everything, but her virginity is still good and ready to take. Sure she felt your orgasms, but it’s just not the same,” He says, gently wrapping Wanda's hand with a piece of gauze. “Her lord said we were soulmates, I knew that was bullshit though. I needed someone else, and I have yet to find that person. But you… you have satisfied my every need.” His words cause Wanda to smile, her cheeks turning red at his compliments.

“You were born in the wrong place… as an angel, your need for corruption makes me all hot and bothered.” Wanda says, brushing her finger through his hair, and kissing his lips once again.

Bucky groans at the sound of your crying. “We need to shut her up, dear lord! And before we fuck her, we need to get some more info out of her. Chain her up like we talked about before. We can get more tears out of her too, love.” He whispers as his lips graze Wandas once again.

“It’d be our dream, just like we talked about. Hell on earth.” She smiles and pulls away. “I’ve got to finish the tour, then we can have our fun with her.” She says, Bucky nodding reluctantly.

“God, fine. I’ll miss you, baby…” He whispers, passionately kissing her.

“I’ll miss you too,” She smiles. With another wave of her hand, the illusion is back in place, her magic adding a few more cuts to Bucky's body. She makes sure everything is perfect and opens the door to see you crying, tears on the ground, and soaking into your dress.

Immediately you jump up from the ground, wincing as you touch the ground with your cut hand. You run to Bucky, whispering in his ear, “I’ll get you out of here, I promise…” Gently running your fingers through his blood-soaked hair you turn to Wanda. “You hurt him, you witch!”

“Oh boo hoo! You’re SO scary.” She pretends to be scared, posting a false fearful look on her face before turning to leave. “Come on, I have more to show you.” She says, standing in the doorway. You look at her defiantly, your eyes narrowing at her audacity to try to pull you away from the man you love.

“N-no, I’m not leaving him…” Your voice quivers slightly.

“Fine,” Wanda sighs. “We’ll do this the hard way.” She stands up straight and her hand glows a bright red, her magic not-so-gently pulling you from the room. You scream and scratch at the floor, the ground burns your hands. A whimper leaves Wanda's throat as she too feels the pain you are in. She forces her magic to pull you to a standing position, stopping the burning of both your and her hands.

The door locks behind you, the illusion of the hurting Bucky going back to normal once again. “No! Please!” You sob as you are pulled by force down the hallway away from Bucky's cell. More silver tears roll down your cheek and you wipe them away with your sleeve, the liquid soaking the fabric. “Why are you doing this?” You ask, breathless as you struggle against the energy holding your body still.

“Im only showing you where you’ll be staying, good lord,” She rolls her eyes and disengages her magic from around you. You sigh in relief as you are freed, but knowing you are practically powerless against her. She is stronger in this domain than she is on earth, or in heaven. You have absolutely no chance of defeating her.

Following Wanda, you made your way through the many hallways of her fortress. “Why won’t you just let me go?” You ask as the two of you reach a large wooden door.

“Because heaven won’t let you back in…” Wanda responds, smirking at your expression of confusion. “Anyway, this is where you’ll be staying.” She opens the door, a red, medieval-looking room on the other side.

You were suspicious as to how welcoming she was being. This was not natural for a being of her kind. Swallowing, you take in the overwhelming room, definitely not the same as the white and elegant room you resided in, in heaven. You stop in the middle of the room, and you turn to her. “What am I really doing down here? You did all of this on p-purpose, didn’t you?” The sentence rushed out in a string of angry whispers, just trying to make sense of everything.

“What do you mean?” Wanda asks, stripping herself of her red, floor-length gown and making her way to her dresser.

Out of purity, you turn away, giving her privacy. “You know what I mean. You killed my human, and took me because I know Bucky.” You keep your eyes down, wrapping your arms around yourself.

She huffs and shrugs. “Yeah, well maybe…” Closing the drawer, she puts her arms through the sleeves of a red, silky robe and secures it around her body. From her hand, a red tendril pulls a spell book from the bookshelf, and she settles herself on the seat by the window.

While Wanda is occupied, you beeline to the open door. But she is two (2) steps ahead of you. With a flick of her finger, the door shuts and locks, and your response is to growl and slump against it in sadness. Your dress protects your body from the ground, and you bury your face in your hands.

Only two (2) minutes into reading, Wanda yawns, your cries bothering her. “God, you’re so fucking annoying!” She says, throwing her book across the room, almost hitting you. Your eyes widen and you duck your head, holding your arms over your head. Wanda looks at you from her spot by the window, thinking it's finally time to play with you.

“Get up. It looks like you’ll be getting what you want after all.” A smirk appears on her lips as she stands up and makes her way towards you. Her fingers tangle in your [color, length, texture] hair and she pulls hard, forcing you to stand up. You grip her hand, trying to ease the pain from her strong hold on you.

However, her grip loosens, the stinging on your scalp manifesting on Wanda's scalp as well. She growled at the fact that she kept on denying it. No demon should be a soulmate with an angel. It made her sick.

She lets go of your hair, pulling you by your wrist down the same hallways, and to the same door where Bucky was being held. Wanda smiled at Bucky standing in the middle of the room, arms folded in front of his chest. His head turned at the sudden opening of the door and he smirked too.

His eyes see your white dress and follow up to your sobbing face. He smirks and his pupils blow with lust. “Can’t fuckin’ wait any longer, baby…” The door locks and Wanda drops you on the floor. As a defense mechanism, you plant your palms on the marble floor, looking at Wanda as she holds her hands against the cool silk of her robe.

“Stop that!! Stop!” She growls, whimpering along with you as both yours and her hands blister and burn. Bucky sees what is happening and picks you up by the neck of your dress. “God, that hurts so fucking bad!” Wanda whimpers, her magic only coming out in small sparks at first, then at full force. Just enough to heal the bubbling blisters.

Bucky’s strong arms hold you up, your limbs flailing around as you try to grab something. Once he knows that Wanda is safe, he throws you onto the bed in the corner of the room. You watch, speechless as you see Bucky, completely unharmed, his wings now painted pitch black. He’s become an archangel too.

Wanda sighs and pulls Bucky in by the leather collar around his neck, kissing his lips passionately, and lovingly. “I want to ruin her, break her.” She whispers against his lips, her arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.

You swear you could see guilt, and regret in Bucky's eyes when he turns his attention to you. He is quick to hide it as he looks down at Wanda with a smile on his face. “I’ll get the blades, you get the toys. I’ll chain her up, and we’ll decide not he rest. Got it?” He is unfamiliar with the control in his voice, and Wanda tuts softly.

“Ah, ah, remember who is in charge here, baby boy…” She says, kissing his nose.

“You, mistress. You always.” He whispers back, the submission falling over him again.

“Good boy, now go.” Her hands cup his ass and she smacks it lightly as a gesture to make him obey.

As Wanda gathers her things, Bucky approaches your shivering form on the bed. He uses his ungodly strength to easily pick you up, placing you in the middle of the room.

You kick and struggle in his arms, his hands easily grabbing a hold of your wrists and pulling them above your head. “Bu-buck! What are you doing?? Please! Don’t listen to her! She’s only here to hurt you!” You shout the cold metal now around your wrists.

Bucky growls, slapping you across the face. At the other end of the room, Wanda startles, turning to face Bucky. “Jesus, you hit hard.” She says, feeling the sting across her face as well. Sheepishly, Bucky mouths an apology and moves back to you.

“Im with someone who cares about me.” He says, collecting the rest of the blades that Wanda directs him to grab, setting them on the tray in front of your dangling body; the tips of your white flats barely scraping the floor. You shake your head, silently begging Bucky to come back to you.

Wanda reaches for a knife specifically to hurt angels, the blade laced with the blood of a newborn hellhound. Deep down, she was hoping this would only hurt you and not her as well. If she inflicted the pain, it couldn’t possibly hurt her too, right?

She starts to cut the dress from your body, ripping it into pieces to finally see your naked skin. You hear her hum from behind you and feel her eyes raking up and down your backside. Her hand rubs the ample skin of your ass, slapping it softly. Hm, I couldn’t feel that… Wanda thinks to herself. Again, she spanks you, harder each time not feeling a thing.

Every smack of your ass made you whimper and pull at the chains to try and get as far away as you could from the source.

“She doesn’t care, Bucky. Your father did, your mother did, our superiors did. I- I did!” Your body shivers in the cold air of the room, which confuses you as this is hell. Hell is supposed to be hot… You try your best to cover up but fail as the chains hold you right where Wanda wants you.

“They didn’t care. And you!” He passes as he grabs a blade from the table, putting it on your neck. “You used me to get cozy with the big man.” He accuses. Wanda watches from afar, hitching her breath as she feels the sharp tip of the blade against her neck as well. She was proud of how far Bucky had come, and she didn’t mind if she got hurt in the process if it ended with Bucky becoming even stronger than he is now.

Along with Wanda, you suck in a breath as the blade is pushed against your skin. You give up on hiding your tears, Wanda was quick to collect the falling ones in vials as they fell from your eyes. “N-no I did not. I worked my way to the top just like you did!”

To some demons, tears were the only thing that they thought was to be of silver and sparkles. But only the purest of angels had blood of gold. Ones who have never lied, cheated or hurt anyone. Ones who did their best and passed any test their lord gave to them.

You defended yourself to the best of your ability, knowing you did in fact work hard to become a guardian angel. The force of your response boosted you forward just an inch, causing the blade to nick your skin. Immediately, gold liquid drips from the small cut on your neck.

Bucky was filled with so much rage, that Wanda could feel it radiating off of his body. “You’re lying!!” He shouted the intent to kill in his mind.

Before he could do any more damage to you, Wanda's eyes widened. “Bucky, stop!” She ordered, placing a hand on his shoulder, holding him back. “Baby, look at her blood. Its gold!” She laughs and turns to him. “Its gold!”

You sigh, your secret revealed. Weakly, you look at Wanda, trying to cover the wound on your neck with your shoulder. “Please, i-if you’re going to kill me, just do it now, and make it quick.” Your voice cracks as you beg for a painless death.

“Mmm, no, we’re not going to kill you. You’re far too valuable.” Wanda says, licking your blood off of the blade, moaning at the glorious taste of it on her tongue. “Oh wow… so sweet…”

Bucky adds to Wanda's intentions, “We wanna keep you. You’re going to be so useful…” He forcefully moves your head to the side, lapping at the wound on your neck. You give everything to try and push him away; Kicking, wiggling your body, anything. But you are promptly stopped by a searing pain in your wrist.

Wanda has her special blade against your sensitive skin, tracing it down your arm and ending at your exposed collar bones. “You are gonna stay put…” Wanda growls, pushing the knife into your skin and dragging it to one side. A scream of agony leaves your mouth, your throat hurting from the sheer force of your voice. She moans at the sight of the shimmering, gold liquid seeping from your body. Licking the excess blood from the knife with a satisfied smile.

But Wanda was never satisfied. She needed more. And she went right to the source.

She presses open kisses to your neck, sucking your gold blood from the cut on your chest. It smears along your skin, feeling sticky against Wanda's mouth. “So fucking delicious.” She mumbles against you, holding her hands on your naked hips and squeezing them roughly pulling a scratchy whimper from your throat.

“Please,” You beg, tears of silver continuing to fall down your cheeks as you look down and away from your torturers.

Wanda smirks at your soft whisper, “Please what, little Angel? Hm? What are you beggin’ for?” Your head is forced up, her hand holding your cheeks roughly. “You look at me when I’m talking to you.” You shiver, yet you disobey. Ignoring her was a bad idea.

You pull away from her grip, closing your eyes as you hide your face in your arms.

Bucky smirks at Wanda, “It looks like someone is in for a punishment…” He says in a low growl, seeing you pull away from Wanda after a clear command.

The witch's eyes narrow, your disobedience earning you a harsh slap across the face. “Bad little Angel…” You yelp as your head is thrown to the side again, a small tear falling to the ground. “Look at me!” Wanda shouts, and finally, you look up at her. “Ah, good girl… Now Im going to have my fun with you.” She smirks and caresses your cheek softly, wiping away any stray tears.

Her thumb brushes against your quivering lips, gently pulling your bottom lip out into a pout. It takes every nerve in your body from pulling away. Wanda chuckles as she feels you shaking in your restraints.

“Don’t be scared, little Angel.” Wanda smiles and her hand travels down your bleeding chest right to your cunt, her hand cupping it softly. Instantly you cross your legs, Bucky being fast to kick your ankles to keep them apart. You see him in the corner of your eye as he moves to the far side of the room, making it very clear what he is doing once you feel your body raise just a little more.

“Please… don’t do this,” You whisper as you look Wanda in the eyes. She ignores you, pressing soft kisses to your neck as her pointer finger rubs your clit. Again, you pull your legs together. “S-stop, please! I have to st-stay pure!” You whimper, Bucky at your feet and connecting a bar to your ankles, forcing your legs to stay open.

Wanda pauses, her hand wrapping around your back and touching the base of your wings connected to your back. “Oh you know thats all bull shit, Angel.” She says, softly plucking a feather from your sensitive wing. A pained whimper escapes your mouth, and your gold blood-covered feather falls to the ground in front of you.

Wanda's fingers continue to circle your untouched clit, forcing a reluctant moan from your mouth. The chains rattling above you as you struggle to move away from her. You can feel her smirk against your neck, and she eggs you on. “I know it feels good. Just let me in.” She whispers in your ear, nipping your lobe softly.

Your head falls against hers, a connection of something much bigger than the both of you, making your skin tingle. “P-please…” You beg, her finger moving faster against your clit. “Wh-what do you want fr-from me?”

“Nothing, Angel… I just want you,” Wanda whispers, smiling as she presses her lips to yours in a soft and loving kiss. The kiss takes your breath away, letting Wanda take the opportunity to push her tongue into your mouth along with her finger into your wet cunt. Pushing it in painfully slow.

Your hands grip the chains, and you look up at Bucky who stands behind Wanda. “Buck, this- this isn’t you. Please, y-you can g-get- ohh, you ca-cant get us out o-of here.” The pleas come out in a stutter, small moans interrupting each word. He ignores you, the only thing you get from him is a shrug and a palm of his hand against his cock.

The breaths from your lungs quicken slightly as Wanda's finger continues to pump in and out of your pussy. “Please th-this i-is everything o-o-oh my stars,” You shake your head trying to ignore the pleasure you are being forced to feel. Wanda doesn’t stop at just one finger, she enters another finger, curling both against that one good spot inside of you. “Ah!” Your little yelp only encourages her to keep going, her fingers moving faster by the second.

“I- I can’t do this,” You whisper, the new feeling inside of you rippling pleasure throughout your entire body. Slowly, the orgasmic feeling arises in you, and Wanda can tell you are close.

“You can, I know you want to give in…” Wanda whispers, her lips sucking soft love marks onto your soft skin. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

You shout at her, “N-no, I can’t do this! I can’t!” Somehow she can understand your feelings, holding you against her body as she fucks you with her fingers. She can tell you are so close, not only to cumming, but to breaking too. You were one tap away from shattering.

Slowly, your head leans forward and your eyes begin to close. “Come on little angel, I just wanna make you feel so good…” Wanda whispers, kissing your forehead as you crumble underneath her touch. It felt like fire touching your skin, and your body relaxes against the chains, allowing Wanda to slide even further into your cunt.

“A-all I ask i-is to be g-g-, Oh my stars... b-be gen-gentle please,” You whisper, knowing you can’t escape her.

“I will be, little Angel. Just relax,” She responds, kissing your cheek and letting you lay your head against her chest. “Oh, you are such a good girl, my little angel.”

Bucky smirks as your walls start to break and tremble, his thoughts coming out into words. “I told you she would be easy to break…” He puts on a fake frown as he looks at your shaking body, Wanda getting you oh, so close to your orgasm. “I was hoping there would be a lot more of those precious little tears. But we have aaaaall that blood, don’t we mistress?” He whispers in Wanda's ear, her lips forming a smirk against your forehead.

“We do, baby…” She says, her fingers ceasing movement inside of your pussy. You were so close, but Wanda had other plans for you, and you had no idea what you had gotten yourself into. “Grab mistress’s strap, will you love?” She asks Bucky, who gladly obliges.

Your eyes widen, “Wh-whats a s-strap?” The innocence of your mind fully shined through, and your voice quivered in fear.

The woman above you only chuckles, saying softly, “Lets just say… it will feel much better than these…” She moves her fingers inside of you again, pulling out and forcing them into your mouth. “Suck them clean,” She says in a dark voice, your eyes avoiding her gaze as humiliation falls over your face. But, you obey, licking her fingers clean of your slick.

Wanda praises Bucky, kissing his cheek and tugging his hair. “Now be a good boy, and get some restraints on the bed, ok?” He nods, handing her the strap and occupying himself on the bed. You pull your eyes away from him and to the strap in Wanda's hands.

“Wh-where does th-that go?” You ask with even more fear than before, with sparkly tears in your eyes once again.

“That goes in here…” Wanda's fingers enter your cunt again, even deeper than before. You suck in a deep breath and double over, pulling on the chains above your head.

“N-no no no absolutely not! Please! It's going to hurt it-its going to hurt!” You sob, that last bit of hope inside your heart dimming as you look to your former friend. “Bucky, do something! Please!”

The woman in front of you tries to soothe you, gently cupping your cheek and bringing your attention back to her. “No, no. Mistress is going to stretch you out so so good, and it won’t hurt.” She whispers, adding a third finger to the two already inside of you. “M’gonna take your virginity, my little angel…” She smirks.

Your head shakes vigorously, “Thats my soulmates j-j-job and m'not su-supposed to be taken yet please!” A single silver tear rolls down your cheek and onto your exposed breasts. “Please," You whisper, your voice small and weak. “There h-has to be another way…"

She chuckles, pulling her fingers from you again. “No, there is no mistake. You of all people know that,” Her whispers make your skin crawl, and you look up at her. “Your soulmate is the queen of hell,” A low and dark laugh leaves her mouth, your body going numb. “Watch, angel. And you’ll see exactly why,” She grabs a knife and orders Bucky to stand next to her. “I want you to cut a straight line on my palm. Y/n, if you feel it too, then you’ll know.” She smirks.

“No…” You whisper, still in denial of the initial news. The proof was most definitely there, but you did not want to see or feel it. Moving your head up weakly, you watch as Bucky drags the blade along Wanda's hand, a similar pain aching on your hand as well. You whimper, golden blood oozing from your hand. It drips down your arm, and around to your chest, but you ignore it. “M-my soulmate is the queen... of... hell…”

Quickly, Bucky bandages his mistress’s hand and gathers more vials to collect your blood. He is very close to you now, his body mere centimeters from you. Your eyes meet his cold blue ones, and your friendship finally breaks. “She’ll keep you safe,” Bucky whispered, guiding the last bit of blood into a glass bottle. “She’s kept me safe.” He pulls away, setting the now collected blood onto the table against the wall of the cell.

The silver tears in your eyes now fall freely down your face, the feeling of betrayal and sadness hitting you like a wall.

“I will keep you safe, little angel. I promise,” Wanda steps in front of you again, her un-bandaged hand slipping in between your spread-apart legs. To fingers enter you, and her thumb rubs your clit slowly, coaxing your orgasm out of you.

“H-how can i t-trust yo- Ohhhh,” You let out an involuntary moan, your head falling forward against her shoulder.

“How can you trust me when what, Angel?” Wanda asks and she continues to rub your clit in just the right way. You look to Bucky, but shake your head, ignoring her question and focusing on the feelings.

Your whimpers get loud and Wanda can sense your orgasm is coming close, your walls clenching around her fingers once.

“Cum for me, little Angel. Let me give you pleasure.” She whispers, kissing your lips passionately as you cum, imaginary fireworks going off around you and her.

You are barely able to return the kiss, worried about doing anything wrong. While your walls squeeze and clench around her fingers, your legs shake and knees buckle, making you fall limp against the chains. The strain against your wrists makes you whimper, and Wanda instantly takes notice of this. Gently and slowly, she pulls her fingers from your wet pussy and wipes them on her robe. Next, she unlocks the cuffs from around your wrists and holds you in her arms.

Weak arms wrap their way around Wanda, your body clinging to hers as your juices leak from your cunt and onto your inner thigh. She smiles down at you and gently picks you up, taking you to the bed in the corner of the room. Your head hits the pillow first, and then the rest of your body is cushioned on the semi-soft mattress, your wings splayed out underneath you.

From above you, Bucky’s shit-eating grin glows. He grabs your arms and clasps the cuffs around your wrists again, pulling the chains tight so you are all spread open. Doing the same to your ankles, he smirks at his handy work, every inch of your body exposed to him and Wanda.

“How's that mistress? Do we need a gag if she screams?” He asks in a quiet voice, making sure you don’t hear anything.

Wanda shakes her head and unties her robe, her beautiful body practically glowing in the dimmed lighting of the room. She smirks at you chained up and spread out, shaking her head. “Everyone screams in hell.” She says, crawling on top of you, kissing your skin softly to remind you that she is still there and cares.

The bed shivers along with you, tears rolling down your cheeks like a leaky faucet. “P-please,” You whimper softly, looking up at Wanda as she cups your face in her soft hands.

“Hey, its ok, I’ve got you…” Her whispers are soft and genuine, yearning to make you feel comfortable and not scared. Your nerves are slightly calmed, your eyes locking with hers as they look down upon you.

You whimper, her lips meeting yours softly. “I don't wan-want it to hurt,” Wanda hears your worries, gently rubbing her nose against yours as she leans closer to you.

“It won’t, my Angel. Just a bit in the beginning then it’ll feel so good.” Wanda smiles, pecking your lips again. You close your eyes as she embraces your delicate body, only pulling away to reach for her strap, a whimper escaping your mouth as you see it. She secures the harness around her hips and uses some saliva to make sure it is ready for you.

With love, she lays down beside you, softly entering her fingers into you again, stretching your walls to accommodate her large cock. She kisses your neck, smiling as your back arches off the bed. When you turn your head, you are met with the sight of Bucky, playing with his hard cock as he watches the two of you. It scares you and you move your gaze back to Wandas.

“Just focus on me, sweet Angel.” She whispers, kissing your lips as she sits up again, settling between your widely spread legs. Taking some slick from your tight hole, she rubs it over the cock on her hips, wetting it so it does not cause any pain. Seeing the fear in your eyes makes her pause, only poking the tip into your entrance. Her body lays on top of you and you bury your face in the crook of her neck. A gentle hand cradles your head, and she slowly starts to push into you, rubbing your clit with her other hand.

Bucky was angry that she stole your attention away from him. His stare burns holes in the back of your head as you look up at Wanda, he was supposed to be in that position; taking your purity without the comfort of a bed. He wanted to tear you in two, fuck you in every single hole you had, and kill you in the end. But he couldn’t because he’s the queen's pet. He wouldn’t let that happen.

He tucks his cock back into his pants, reaching for the vials of tears from the table and putting them in his pockets. Your moans and whimpers die down as he leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. He was going to take over this place, intending to anyone who got in his way.

Once Bucky is gone, you and Wanda continue, not aware of his exit. All you can think of are these overwhelming sensations you are experiencing. It feels like you are being split in half, your arms and legs pulling at the chains. Your back arches hoping the movement will ease the pain.

“Angel… just relax…” She whispers in your ear, kissing up along your jaw right to your lips. You try your hardest, you really do, but the fear is just too much and it makes you tense even more, your toes curling at the sensations. Your lips part, a small moan leaving them just before Wanda captures them in a kiss.

“Let Mistress in,” Her hand moves from your clit to your hip, rubbing your ample skin so softly. Opened-mouth kisses are planted along your neck, small bruises most likely going to show.

“I- I can’t s’too big,” The stretch is almost too much, tears falling down your temples and onto the pillow underneath your head.

“You can take it, angel, I know you can…” She whispers in your ear, her cock finally bottomed out inside of your cunt. You yell out in pain, muffling your scream by softly biting down on Wanda's shoulder. Her cock stretching you out contorts your face of discomfort to a face of pleasure and euphoria, the feeling of being so full the only thing on your mind.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay, my sweet Angel.” Wanda begins to move her hips, pushing her cock in and out of your cunt. Squelching can be heard, your juices making moving effortless and painless. Of course, the large size of her cock was still prominently there, and the movements turned from pain to pleasure very quickly.

But soon, your breaths quicken, your senses heighten, and you become uncomfortably aware of everything that is happening. Your wings aren’t sitting right, your wrist is twisted in the cuffs weirdly, and Wanda's lips feel much too hot against your skin. Wanda looks down at you and halts her hips, taking in your disoriented and distressed look.

“Hey, just breath. Take a deep breath for me Angel…” She whispers, her hand cupping your cheek and her thumb brushing against your lips. “You gotta trust me, little one.” Her head tilts and you nod softly.

You whimper, letting out a small response. “O-ok…”

“Good girl, oh Angel, you are such a good girl.” She whispers as she kisses your forehead. The butterflies in your belly flutter to life, a small smile appearing as the praise finally starts to affect you.

“Was that a smile?” Wanda quirks her brows, her heart feeling big when she sees your lips turn up. You nod and she nuzzles her nose against yours as she starts to move again. “Good girl. All I want is to make you happy.” She leans down to kiss your bare collarbones softly, “See, Angel. I’m not a bad person.”

You nod, agreeing with her. “Y-you aren’t, a-and I’m sorry- ohhh-” A moan cuts you off, her fingers rubbing your clit again. “I-I’m so sorry I said you w-were.” Looking up at her, you see her face soften at your apology.

“Oh angel,” You know she forgives you. Even if she doesn’t say the words, you can feel the way she holds you, fucks you, kisses you, and talks to you.

Wanda smiles down at you, and in the next moment, her lips are on yours once again. She smiles stupidly against your lips as she starts to fall in love for the first time. Her hips begin to move again, her finger moving faster on your clit. It's not only you who can feel how close you are to your release - Wanda can feel it too, she can see it.

As your cunt hugs her cock, you cum with a shout. Your legs shake in their restraints and Wanda swallows your moans with an even more passionate kiss. Her hands rub your hips and she smiles at you once she pulls away. Returning the smile, you pull at the chains holding your limbs in place.

Wanda sighs and gently pulls out of you, wiping you down with her discarded robe. “Here, lets get these off of you…” She says, a snap of her fingers making the clasps come loose. You rub your wrists and bend your knees to curl up, moving to your side where you can fold your wings to your back. “There, are you feeling alright?” She asks, sitting up next to you and pulling you into her arms. You nod and kiss her cheek softly.

Your legs bend and you lay your head against her chest, smiling as her hand strokes your soft wings. “So soft…” She nuzzles her head into the soft, white feathers, and wraps her arms around you. Tenderly, she presses soft kisses to your neck. “Such a good girl, my sweet little angel.”

~~~~~~~

Bucky's plan had worked. A power he had never felt before was flowing through his veins, and god, he loved how it. He was confident that the power from the angel's tears would make him more powerful than the queen of hell herself, and he was ready to execute them both; the angel and the queen.

He checked the dungeon first, but both you and Wanda were gone. Next was the bedroom, not there either. Last was the library. Wanda spent a lot of time there, so it was most likely that she would have shown it to you. Alas, there you were. Wanda was holding your white-robe-covered body in her arms while her favorite book to you. That book is the story of Peter Rabbit.

There was nothing in particular she liked about the book, other than the fact it involved a chase. She absolutely loved a good chase and with possession of her own little bunny, she could do what she wanted. Not for long, of course, as in the next few moments they will be dead.

Bucky glares as Wanda finishes the book, her hand coming to your cheek and caressing it softly. Her thumb rubbed over your bottom lip, and he had enough when you kissed it. Quietly, he enters the room with a large sword in his hand and a dagger in his other hand. He smirks as he sees you hug Wanda, her arms wrapping around you protectively.

“What do you want?” She spits, moving you to the other side of the couch and putting herself in the middle of you and the threat.

Bucky raises his dagger, “Her.” The blade pointed straight at you. You shivered at the silver edge glistened in the light of the library.

Wanda growls, “Not gonna happen,” She stands up, her hand glowing a bright red with a ball of energy beginning to grow. You watch in horror as a blast of gray energy hits Wanda, forcing her across the room. You jump up in response, running to her and making sure that she is okay.

“No, no, no, no, Wanda, please stay with me, Wanda please!” You whimper, sensing Bucky getting closer by the second. You growl at Bucky who is now just a couple feet (or meters for you non-Americans) from behind you. Standing up, you focus on your power is much more powerful from the source, than Bucky's use of your tears.

A bright white light shoots across the room and shoots Bucky straight in the heart. He starts to glow and shine as pure, white rays strike through him. Once he catches his breath, Wanda is able to get up on shaky legs. Her eyes burn bright red and large tendrils extend from her hands and each one cuts through Bucky's floating body. Crimson blood splatters everywhere as each long tentacle of energy stabs through his torso, legs, arms, and head.

You cover yourself with your wings as his blood splatters across them painting them red. Out of curiosity, you put your wings back, only to see the finale of Wanda's revenge. The red tendrils wrap their way around Bucky's limbs and neck, pulling in different directions. His severed torso falls to the ground and the rest of his blood is splattered everywhere else.

Your body is soaked and you are frozen in fear. Wanda continues to control each of the tendrils, stabbing in and out of Bucky's dismembered being leaving him just a pile of bloody body parts. Your eyes flick to Wanda, and you sigh knowing that she should stop.

Approaching her carefully, you gently place your hand on her shoulder. She whips around, the energy in her hand turning into a ruby-red sword. She was ready to kill anyone who got in her way. Once the realization hits that it is you, she falls to her knees and lets out a chilling sob.

You drop with her and you smile softly as she pulls you to her chest. “Hey, its ok… it’s ok…” You whisper in her ear, not thinking that you would be the one comforting her at this moment. Her hair is coated in the sticky crimson liquid and you do your best to brush it out of her hair with your fingers as best you can.

She smiles at you, and you close the gap between you two, kissing her passionately with every fiber of your being. Wanda being Wanda, she deepens the kiss, wrapping her hand around the back of your neck to bring you impossibly closer. Silently she brushes her fingers over your blood-coated wings and she is in control and emotionally intact, she gently picks you up, one arm going under your legs and the other cradling your back.

Your arms wrap around her neck and nuzzle your face into her chest. As you see the direction she is walking, you smile. You first enter the bedroom, a large room filled with the most exquisite decor, the softest blankets, and the finest clothing for your and Wanda's likeness. You then entered the bathroom, a tub large enough to fit three in the center of the room. A glass chandelier hangs above it, and numerous candles are nestled in their places.

Wanda sets you on your feet and begins to press soft kisses to your jaw and to the nape of your neck. She reaches around your front to untie the robe draped on your body, and her hands gently drag it down your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet. Your wings spread, stretching out to their full span, and fall back to their settled place at the center of your back. The queen ogles at your beautifully open wings and smiles as she pets the feathers.

“So beautiful, angel,” She whispers in your ear, causing your heart to skip a beat. Her hand hovers over your shoulder, her magic turning the faucet on to a desirable temperature. Wanda cresses down your arm, goosebumps pebbling on your skin, her hand grasping yours softly. Guiding you to the tub, you step in and allow the warmth to embrace you.

The water turned red the moment you stepped in, but it was meant to happen. Wanda was happy to see Bucky's blood come off of your precious body. You rested your head against your arm, looking up at the beautiful queen gently scrubbing the blood from your skin. She was going to save your wings for last, wanting to spend every second she could with you.

With each wipe of the soft cloth, your natural skin color began to show again. Your body is restored and clean, and you have never felt better. Even in heaven, you could never relax and feel safe at the same time. There was always someone lurking around a corner, waiting to catch you in the act of anything unholy.

It was true, that when Wanda and Bucky made love to one another, you felt everything. Since you were so far away, it was a much lighter feeling. But the nights when you were in your own bed, and in the privacy of your room, it seemed like that was when the pair would go at it the hardest.

Wanda pulled you from your thoughts as she stood. Looking up at her, you smile as she takes her robe off as well, letting it drop to the floor. You happily move forward in the tub, making room for the queen behind you. She smiled as she moved her legs around your body, her hands meeting your feathered wings softly.

“Let’s clean these up… make em’ all pretty again.” You smile at her words, her kind hands against your wings causing you to shiver. A good shiver this time! This time, your shiver was induced by an intimacy that only lovers can define. Your wings may be just another part of your body, but to you, they are so much more. It was a part of you that no one got to touch. If they were touched, it was forced and unwanted. Until now…Now your soulmate was able to feel you and feel that part of you that you let no one touch.

You vowed to never let anyone touch your wings after what happened the first time;

Soap is lathered up in Wanda's hands, and suds with warm water gently cascaded down your wings. With care, she lifts up some of your feathers to scrub deeper, but she is met with a large scar that follows the span of your wings. Her lips turn down to a frown as her finger softly traces the faded, yet obvious scar. “What happened?”

Your eyes open, and you feel her fingers on your wings. “Hm?" Realization hits, and you sigh as you gather the courage to tell her the story.

“I was given a second chance to go to earth. I was working out the basics of invisibility with guardianship, and I accidentally showed myself to my first human. His name was Steve Rogers. He kept me in his basement, put hooks in my wings. That scar was the consequence of praying for help… He cut a whole layer of feathers off, and made it a garland for his mantle.” You pause, once again finding the strength to finish. "Ever since then, my lord kept me from going to earth until he found a more gentle human for me. But she died, and now I’m here.”

Wanda's heartstrings were pulled, and a tear fell down her cheek and dripped into the red water. She had a hard time finding the right thing to say, but she knew she had to say something. “You didn’t deserve that, my sweet angel…” She leans forward to kiss the skin between your wings, comforting you the best she can. She remembered that day. She could feel everything that man did to you. It may have not shown up on her, but she felt every feather he plucked, each poke to hold your wings out, and the pull of the chains for him to see even more.

You knew this too, but she understood your silence. The bathroom stayed quiet as Wanda cleaned your wings, ridding them of Bucky's blood. It was just the trickling of the water dripping off your feathers that echoed throughout the room.

Finally, your wings were white again, and you helped Wanda clean herself too. Once the two of you were clean, she emptied the bathtub only to fill it again. There was no need to protest as you loved baths. They made you feel like you were wrapped in a big hug. To make it even better, Wanda's black-feathered wings curled around you and her, your head laying on her chest, and your body contently in her arms.

Now with your soulmate being that embrace, you felt like you were finally home. You had a purpose here. You had fallen right into her embrace, and you will forever be her fallen angel.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #soulmate writing challenge #Creatures and Foreigners #wanda maximoff #wanda x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda marvel #wanda x you #Scarlet Witch x reader #demon!wanda x angel!reader #Wanda Maximoff Smut #CAF #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader

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bamsara · 2 years ago

Note

"I just wanted to say. Thank you for protecting me"

Eclipse-Centric | Wordcount: 805 | AO3 Version

(Maybe some major spoilers for Solar Lunacy, TW for some robot gore, human injury)

The damage to their body was... extensive. Not life-threatening. But extensive.

You don't know how you're going to fix this right now, but Gramps has a toolbox in the shed, and there's duct tape underneath your kitchen sink, and Eclipse is very, very patient as he sits numbly on your coach, of few words and more looks, as you pluck out charred wires and plastic out of the hole in his arm to the robot that's probably held together less out of reasonable sense and more out of will and magic that you don't understand.

The arm that was torn off has sharp edges in the metal that cut at your fingertips when you try and brush it off, and you don't know if the animatronic feel pain if you were to try and sand it. So, in a comical fashion, you've put an oven mitt over the end of it, taping it to hold its place.

The other arms are laying limp, two on the couch, resting with its palm up in your lap. There's fried wiring around the elbow, dents in the forearm where Monty grabbed him, and openings that you can't tell look like they're from wolf claws or the steel of a knife.

The sight of them makes the wound under your own bandages ache for a moment, but you swallow back the wet soreness in your throat and continue working. The hospital gave you decent pain meds. You needed to stay on task while they were effective.

"Lift, please." You talk quietly, fearing that your voice may crack.

Eclipse doesn't respond, eyes locked onto the television. The news is playing, covering the fire. The sound is low so not to bother you. Still, the animatronic shifts his limbs for you, head turned towards the screen.

There's melted plastic stuck to his forearm, and you're peeling it off with chipped fingernails and whatever willpower you have left, flicking off the pieces onto the carpet to vacuum up later when you have the energy. Leaning back, you gather the duct tape from the coffee table, pulling out a strip to cover the hole in his shoulder.

It's...not what he needs. But it's all you have. All you can do is pick up the pieces and cover up the damage so it doesn't get any worse.

"I'm gonna put this over the opening, okay?" Two long strips are wide enough to cover this 'wound', and it seals the inside of the wiring away. "So nothing gets in your chassis. Or falls out."

Eclipse doesn't make a movement to acknowledge what you said, staring limply with the default smile toward the news broadcaster detailing the company's statement, and it's an estimate of the cost of damages.

Their ability to emote is not currently active, just like their voicebox. Not until they are both fixed. You wish they were active. You wish you could get something, a facial expression, a joke, a sentence, anything. You're taping your friend's fingers together like broken bones only theirs were stuck as claws.

A warmth travels down your face, past your mouth and you don't feel the wetness until it hits your neck. Lips pressed together into a thin line, you rub the tear away. You'll do that on your own time. Not now.

When you blink, you see a shift in the corner of your eye. Eclipse is staring at you now.

Your tongue feels swollen in your mouth. "I, uh-" You busy yourself with his hand, grey-tainted with burned-off paint and scorched sharp points. "I wanted to say thank you for protecting me. You know-" You keep your head low. "Back then."

He looks at you with black eyes and still pupils. The crack in his faceplate feels like guilt and sorrow in your ribcage.

You missed them saying things. You'd be happy for a stupid nickname, even.

The fingers you were treating suddenly tense in your grip, and by instinct, you let them go, until they turn and they fold around your own hand. Long, damaged fingers curl into your own, grasping your hand and holding it along with your wrist.

You freeze as Eclipse leans down, and his faceplate presses against your forehead. Not barely, but heavily, firmly, resting in your hair.

He lingers there as the news broadcast flashes familiar images on the screen, casting different colors on both of you.

You only raise a hand to press your fingertips to the bottom of his faceplate pushing him back as you mummer you needed to remove his ruffled collar so you can clean the soot you've spotted hidden underneath it.

He lets you, but the hand not using the rag stays in his hold, and his other comes up to palm away a warmth that falls from your face and onto your neck again.

#Solar Lunacy #fnaf eclipse #writings #drabbles #eclipse x reader #the daycare attendant

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j-eryewrites · 3 months ago

Text

Look for the Light

The final part of A Sinner's Redemption

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Word Count: ~9.8k

Author's Note: Agh, I'm honestly crying. It's all too bittersweet. I started this fic over a year ago, and now it's over. I'm happy with how it ended and I'm glad you were all there along for the ride. Thank you for all your support for "A Sinner's Redemption". I hope you all enjoy the conclusion to Ellie, Joel, and Piper's story.

- With much love, the author.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, spoilers for the last episode and game, Joel goes full momma bear, mentions of death, suicidal ideation, mental health, explicit language, major angst and hurt (with comfort), deceit and lies, gun violence, mentions of gore, description of gore, Joel kills a whole bunch of people, mentions of surgery and medical procedures, mentions of infected, descriptions of child birth, mentions of trauma and coping mechanisms, mentions of injuries and scars (let me know if I missed anything)

Look for the Light (the Final Chapter)

Piper seemed to hit every low branch as she was dragged along. The warm hand holding hers was sweaty. Her mother’s long fingers tightened its hold.

“Ow, mommy,” Piper whined. She looked up at her mom, who quickly apologized, fighting off a painful groan.

“Baby, let’s keep going. Come on.” Anna, the girl’s mom, tugged her child along. A distant howl made her blood run cold. Everything was going wrong. Contractions constricted her body’s muscles. A runner was after them. She’d been running for who knows how long with Piper in tow. Despite the overwhelming surge of fear, Anna knew one thing. She had to keep her sweet girl safe. Both of them, now that the other one was fighting to come out into the world.

“Mommy, I-“

Anna pulled Piper along. “I know, sweet girl. I know. Once we get to the house, we’ll be safe. I promise.”

Heavy huffs of breath fall from Anna’s mouth. The pains were getting worse. She couldn’t keep the sound in—the sound the monster used to track them.

“Fuck,” Anna cried, using her free hand to clutch her round stomach.

“Mommy?” Piper peered up at Anna with worried eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Anna softly smiled down at her daughter. “Mommy’s okay, Pipes. Mommy’s okay.” She knew Piper didn’t believe her. Three-year-olds were brilliant, especially when it came to their mothers.

“Look, Pipes.” Anna pointed to the tall gray house up ahead. “We’re here.”

Anna hastily waddled her and Piper along into the house. The door swung open. “It’s me!” Anna announced. No one answered. Frantically, she looked around. “Anyone?!”

“Mommy?”

“Not now, sweetie.” A screech pierced the air. “Shit!” Anna cursed, pulling Piper up the stairs and into the farthest room. “In here, sweetie.”

Letting go of her daughter’s hand, Anna closed the door, locked it, and dragged a chair to barricade the room.

“Mommy?” Piper whispered. Her tiny finger pointed to the puddle of water underneath Anna’s legs.

“Oh…” Anna grasped her stomach. “Sweetie,” Anna winced. “Help mommy sit down.”

Piper ran to her mom’s side, reaching for her hand. With a thump, Anna collapsed against the floor. Gently, she wiped some of the grime off of Piper’s face.

“I love you; you know that, right?” Anna asked. Piper nodded.

Suddenly, glass broke. It came from downstairs. Anna bit her lip to stifle her groan. “Baby, go hide in-,” Anna howled in pain. “Go hide.”

The chair against the door thumped. Growls seeped through the cracks. It found them.

“Piper! Go-“

The door flung open. The infected charged into the room. Its sights were set on Anna’s little girl. Except it didn’t attack Piper. With a swing, the girl was tossed to the side. The infected’s actual target was revealed as it lunged at Anna.

Piper screamed, and Anna fought. With a switchblade, she swiped at the monster, fighting it off as her body fought to push a baby out. The creature gnashed its teeth, searching for something to bite. The rotten bones found home in Anna’s thigh. She cried out in pain, bringing down the blade into the Infected. She grunted with each slice of her weapon until it dropped dead.

A new cry filled the air. It was the baby.

“Oh…oh…” Anna cooed, lifting her baby. She was tiny. Her frail arms flailed in the air. Her dark eyes crinkled open.

“Mommy?” Piper’s voice called to her mom.

Anna glanced up. “Piper, come meet your sister.”

Piper tip-toed over to her mom and new baby sister.

“Hi…hey…” Anna cooed. She turned the baby over to Piper. The young girl brought her face as close as possible to her new sister.

“She looks funny,” Piper muttered.

The baby started to cry again. Anna held her close. “Did I make her cry?” Piper sniffled. Anna shook her head and chuckled.

“No, sweet girl. Babies just cry.” Then Anna turned to the baby. “Yeah, you tell ’em. You fuckin’ tell ’em, Ellie.”

“Hi Ellie…” Piper whispered. Baby Ellie grew quiet. Her bright, wide eyes looked over at her mom and sister. “I’m your big sister.”

“Do you want to hold her, Pipes?” Piper nodded. With her tiny arms, Piper held Ellie close.

“Hold her head like this, and-“ Anna adjusted Piper’s arms. “Just like that.” Anna sank deeper into the wall. Her eyes watched over her daughters, the view growing blurry.

“Yeah, it’s okay…” Anna whispered to herself. The pain in the thigh crawled its way around her body. She could feel the infection spread.

“Piper,” Anna said. “Can you take your sister and sit in the corner over there?” Piper looked confused but did as her mother said.

Anna bit back a growl. “Fuck,” she quietly cursed. She prayed that Marlene and the others would be back soon. She prayed the last thing her daughters would see was their mother become a monster.

“It’s okay.”

When Anna opened her eyes next, crickets began to chirp outside. Silently, she scolded herself for closing her eyes. Beside her, Piper sat, curled up around her baby sister, the two of them fast asleep. Anna lovingly smiled even if Piper had left the corner.

Taking a hand, she began to run her fingers through Piper’s hair. Her voice croaked but quickly smoothed out as she sang to her baby girls.

♪ Hold me ♪

♪ Close to your heart ♪

♪ Touch me ♪

♪ Give all your love to me. ♪

“Anna?” Marlene’s voice called out. Anna sat up straighter as the door to the room creaked open. Bright white lights momentarily blinded her.

“Oh god,” Marlene cursed, noticing the bite on Anna’s thigh.

With a calm voice, Anna looked up at her friend. “It’s not your fault.”

“We were delayed getting out of the zone. I’m so-“

“They’re hungry,” Anna said, looking down at her girls. “The baby needs to be fed, and I…I didn’t wanna nurse her.” Marlene furrowed her brows in skepticism. “I cut it before I was bit, and it never got to Piper. Marlene,” Anna begged.”Before.”

Sighing, Marlene lowered her gun and approached Anna. Her hands gently reached for the baby in Piper’s arms. Unconsciously, the young girl’s grip tightened around her sister.

“Sweet girl,” Anna whispered, rubbing her finger gently up and down her daughter’s nose. “Piper, I need you to wake up.” Piper stirred and snuggled deeper into her mother’s side. “Baby, please.” Piper awoke. Bringing her hands to the sides of Piper’s face, Anna smiled. Her eyes fought back tears. “There’s my sweet girl.”

“Mommy?” Piper said groggily.

“Yeah, it’s mommy. I need you to promise me something, Piper. Can you do that for mommy?” Piper nodded. “Can you promise to watch over your sister?” Again, Piper nodded, wiping the sleep away. “I need you to be a big girl and a big sister.” Tears began to flow out of Anna’s eyes. “I need you to promise me you’ll always be with her. Piper and Ellie forever. Okay?”

“Mommy, why are you crying?” Piper’s hand reached up to her mom’s face. Her tiny fingers wiped away tears. Anna struggled to peel off her daughter’s hands.

“Piper, remember Aunty Marlene? She’s gonna take you and Ellie to a new home.”

“Where are you gonna go, mommy?” Piper asked, and Anna wanted to break in two.

“I want you to…” Anna’s voice trembled as she looked at Marlene. “…take them with you to Boston… find someone to bring them up, and make sure that they’re safe.”

“I can’t do that,” Marlene breathed, but Anna ignored her.

“And I want you to give her this.” Anna handed over a small switchblade.

“Anna.”

“Her name is Ellie,” Anna explained.

“I can’t,” Marlene sternly said.

“How long have we known each other?” Anna asked. Her eyes held strength even as her mind fought the monster crawling within.

“Our whole lives,” Marlene answered.

“So you pick her up right now…take Piper, and then you kill me.”

“I can’t kill you.”

“Please, please, please.” Anna cried as Marlene stepped away with her daughters in tow. “Please!”

“Mommy?!” Piper began to cry, seeing her mother so distressed.

Anna groaned as a growl grew from her chest. It was coming—the monster.

“Marlene!” Anna screamed. Tears poured freely from her face.

“Mommy!” Piper flailed around as Marlene drew her back from her mom. “Mommy!!”

Suddenly, Marlene’s hand withdrew and was replaced by another.

“Here,” Marlene instructed the Firefly. “Hold her head… There you go.” Ellie cooed in the man’s arms. “Cover her ears.” Then she crouched down to Piper. “Cover your ears for me, Piper.”

Piper shook her head. Her only thought was her mother. “Mommy!” She cried. Anna’s sobs followed the sound.

Marlene clenched her jaw and stood up. The gun felt heavy in her hand as she marched back into the room. She had to make it quick. Anna nodded and closed her eyes. Thoughts of her daughters flashed before her as the bullet tore through her skull.

Piper’s ears rang. Ellie cried, and her sister screamed. Piper didn’t stop screaming for her mother until sleep overcame her petite body. Even when she woke up, she still cried for Anna. But she’d never come. Instead, Piper clung to her baby sister. Although memories faded with time, one thing remained clear. Piper promised. It was her and Ellie. Sisters forever.

꧁_____________꧂

A smile beamed from Joel’s face at his surprise find. Pulling himself away from the car, he called out to his girls. There was no response. He sighed.

“Ellie! Piper!”

No reaction. Joel walked closer to the truck the girls sat on. Their eyes glazed over, stuck in their own heads.

“Girls!”

Piper blinked, her ears ringing as Joel’s voice called out to her. With a gentle nudge of her elbow, she pulled Ellie out of her trance.

“D’ya hear me?” Joel asked the girls.

“No…,” Ellie shook her head. “What?”

“Well,” Joel began, “found this in there. Beefaroni. Chef Boyardee.” He proudly grinned at them.

“Oh, cool,” they muttered at the same time. Their postures shrank back down.

“And have you ever played this?” Joel blurted, regaining the girl’s attention. “Boggle? It’s a word game.”

The girls shook their heads.

“Well, if you wanna beat me at somethin’, it would be this.” Ellie’s ears perked up at Joel’s words, but she didn’t speak. Neither of them did.

With each moment of silence, Joel felt his heart tear in smaller and smaller pieces. “Well, all right then. We’re gettin’ close.” He strolled over to the girls, packing away his finds.

“Mm-hmm,” Ellie hummed.

“Hospital that way.” Joel pointed over their shoulders. “May be the one we’re lookin’ for.”

“Got it,” Ellie muttered, hopping off the back of the truck.

Slowly, Piper placed her feet on the ground. Her hands clutched tightly to the metal of the vehicle. Joel’s eyes flashed with pity, looking at the teen.

Scars had littered her body. The biggest one was found on her face like a crevice carved by tears from her now pale eye. She couldn’t see out of it anymore. A consequence Joel blamed himself for. Joel had done his best to help her heal, but it was never enough to stave off the bouts of pain that would arise from time to time. He knew even more scars were hiding deeper under her skin—for both of them.

“Take this for me?” Joel asked Piper, holding up his gun. She held it as Joel slung the backpack over his shoulder. “Thanks.” Piper nodded, brushing her hair behind her ears.

It had grown out since they’d left Jackson. Her dark curls were tucked beneath her chin. The length helped hide some of the more minor scars that lined her face.

“They had a guitar in that RV,” Joel announced as they passed an abandoned RV on the highway. The girls nodded with false amusement. “It was all smashed up but got me thinkin’, maybe I should find one. I haven’t played in forever.” Joel turned to look behind him at Ellie and Piper. “In fact, I was thinkin’ maybe I could teach you two. I bet you guys be great at it. Maybe make our own little band.” A slight chuckle left Joel’s mouth as he thought about a band of the three of them plucking away at guitars. “Do you two wanna learn how to play guitar?”

Piper shrugged before tripping over some rubble. Thankfully, she caught herself before falling to the ground.

“Ellie?” Joel muttered.

“Hm?” Ellie’s brain quickly recovered. “Oh, yeah. That’d be great. A little guitar band.”

Joel smiled at his girls. His grin was big enough for the three of them when neither of his girls felt like smiling.

The birds chirped louder and louder as they entered Salt Lake City. Even in late spring, the city emitted a ghastly heat.

“Okay, so this is what I’m thinking…” Joel began, wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Cut through that building to get around that stuff, find the skyscraper, go up and look around,” Ellie vacantly finished.

Joel’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly collected himself. “Uhh, actually, this time, I was thinkin’ we blast our way through that rubble.” The girls looked up at him with expressions of pure confusion. “I found some dynamite in that RV back there,” Joel said, fighting off a telling smile.

“Really?” The girls cocked their brows.

“No,” Joel teased. The smile exploded on his face. “So we’re gonna cut through that building, find a skyscraper, go up and look around. But I had you goin’, didn’t I?”

Piper rolled her eyes and bit back a smile. Ellie scoffed and continued on walking.

“Look at this place,” Joel muttered, peeking around the abandoned construction site. “Talk about bad luck.” Ellie sent him a questioning look, and Joel answered. “Military drops bombs… not one of them hits the building you’re trying to demolish.”

“No way up,” Piper mumbled. Joel peered around, discovering she was right. Spotting the edges of a ladder above, Joel turned to the girls.

“I get you two up there. You guys can drop that ladder down; maybe we go through that way,” Joel proposed. “Come on. I’ll give you a boost.”

Piper stepped up. Her hand clutched onto Joel’s shoulder as he hoisted her up. He could feel her legs shaking in hesitation as she reached for the edge. Suddenly, her legs buckled beneath her.

“You okay?” Joel asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just my leg.” Piper’s hand rubbed the area where she got shot. “Get Ellie to do it.”

“Alright.” Joel nodded. “Ellie?” The girl didn’t answer him. “Ellie?”

“Els!” Piper yelled.

“What?” Ellie said, whirling around. Her attention had been taken away from the flapping construction sheet.

“You alright?” Joel questioned. “It’s just you kinda seem extra quiet today, so.”

“Oh… I’m sorry,” Ellie apologized.

“No, it’s fine,” Joel reassured her. “Did you hear what I…”

“Yeah, boost. Got it.”

Marching over to Joel, Ellie copied Piper’s earlier motions.

“One… two, up.” Ellie stood up tall and reached for the edge. A grunt escaped her mouth as she pulled herself up. The ladder clattered as Ellie slid it down to Joel.

“Ya got it?” Ellie asked.

“Yeah,” Joel huffed, trying to latch onto the ladder. Suddenly, the ladder dropped. The metal clambered to the floor. Joel narrowly dodged the object.

“God damn it, Ellie!” Joel cursed and picked up the ladder. “Shit.”

“You stay there!” He instructed Ellie.

She didn’t listen. Joel heard her voice echo off the walls of the building as she moved away from the ledge. “You gotta see this!” She exclaimed with excitement.

“Ellie?!” Joel yelled. Climbing up the ladder. Upon reaching the top, he helped Piper come to her feet before they ran after Ellie.

“Up here!” Ellie announced.

“Ellie!” Joel reprimanded.

“C’mon!” He could practically hear the young girl jumping up and down with joy. “C’mon, slow pokes.”

“Just wait. God damn it,” Joel grumbled. His knees ached as he trekked up the stairs and after Ellie. When he got to the top, his breath stilled.

His feet didn’t move. He stood there watching Ellie admire a giraffe. Piper stopped beside him, catching her breath before she approached her sister and the animal. Joe wanted to freeze time as the girls stared in awe at the peaceful creature. But time didn’t work like that.

Slowly, Joel stepped forward.

“Don’t scare it,” Ellie whispered.

“I won’t.”

His hands deftly snapped some leaves off the tree the animal was munching on. He passed the leaves to his girls.

“What are you doing?” Ellie asked, taking the leaves.

“It’s all right.” Then Joel stuck out his hand, feeding the giraffe. He raised his brows and motioned for the girls to do the same. “Come here, hurry up. Come on.”

Ellie was the first to step up. Hesitantly, she stuck out her hand as far away as she could from her body. The giraffe sniffed the leaves before opening its mouth to munch on them. Its dark tongue licked around Ellie’s hand. Giggles erupted from the girl’s mouth.

“Ellie, give me a try,” Piper interjected, sticking her hand of leaves to the creature. The giraffe moved from Ellie’s hand to Piper’s and began to feast. Disgust and amusement contorted on the teen’s face.

“God, it’s wet and it tickles.” Piper felt a shiver go down her spine. Ellie laughed and teased her sister.

Scratch what he thought earlier. If Joel could freeze time, he’d do it now. His girls were happy. God, he hadn’t heard them laugh in so long. It was better than any music he’d ever heard in his life.

“So fucking cool,” Ellie muttered at the giraffe. Before the girls knew it, their hands were empty of leaves, and the giraffe had pulled back. Its lanky legs were taking it away.

“Aw, where’s she going?” Ellie hopped back before entering a sprint, determined to follow the giraffe. “Come on, come on, come on, come on!”

Piper skipped after her, eager to spend longer with the animal.

“Okay,” Joel chuckled, chasing after his girls.

When he finally reached them, Joel couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of deja vu. There, Ellie and Piper stood, gazing out across a city. The sunlight reflected off the shattered windows of the skyline. Nature overcame the city. Vines and trees ensnared everything in sight.

“So… is it everything ya hoped for?” Joel repeated himself.

Ellie grinned. “It’s got its ups and downs… but you can’t deny that view.”

Joel laughed and then joined them. The view was lovely. His eyes scanned the scene and froze on what appeared to be a hospital.

“Look,” he turned to Ellie and Piper. “I don’t know exactly where this hospital is…”

“Yeah, we’ll find it.” Ellie didn’t remove her gaze from the view.

“Sure. It’s just…” Joel trailed off, thinking of his following words. “Maybe there’s nothin’ bad out there, but so far, there’s always been somethin’ bad out there.”

“We’re still here, though.” Ellie was facing him now.

“I know. I’m only saying there’s risk.” Taking a deep breath, Joel made sure he had both girls' full attention. “We don’t have to do this. I just… I want you to know that.”

Piper froze. All of a sudden, she felt like she was on fire. Did she want to do this? She knew what awaited her and Ellie. Sick boiled in her stomach, and Piper wished she hadn’t eaten anything that day.

“What do you mean? What else are we supposed to do?” Ellie questioned.

“Nothin’. We just go back to Tommy’s.” Piper could tell it was all he wanted to do by the way Joel spoke. “We forget about the whole damn thing.”

Ellie shook her head. “After all we’ve been through… everything I’ve done… it can’t be for nothing.”

With Ellie’s confirmation, Piper knew her answer. She could see the hope in Ellie’s eyes. Those eyes had been so void of anything since their entrapment with David. Piper had already failed Ellie once. She knew she couldn’t do it again. How would she live with herself if she let her sister mindlessly walk alone into death's hands?

“I know you mean well,” Joel began.

Standing straighter, Ellie interrupted. “I know you wanna protect me. You have. And when we’re done, we’ll go wherever you want. Tommy’s, sheep ranch, the moon.” Joel laughed.

Inside, Piper cried. Her dream flashed in her mind. She returned to it every night and almost stayed in her dream that day. God, Piper wanted more than anything to have her dream come true. But Piper had made a promise. It was her and Ellie until the end, and if Ellie wanted to march right into death's arms, so would she. After all, maybe then Piper could do something good. Maybe in her death, she’d finally be able to do what she always wished- then perhaps she’d be able to save someone instead of killing.

“I’ll follow you anywhere you go,” Ellie continued. “ But there’s no halfway with this. We finish what we started.”

꧁_____________꧂

Joel’s plan was a plan. That was all Piper could say. After they’d found a way around all the rubble, Joel decided they would just walk around. They’d stumble upon the hospital eventually. However, Piper saw through Joel’s confusion. It was hard to comment on anything over her pain.

The worst of it came from her leg. Getting shot wasn’t fun. It's definitely an experience Piper wouldn’t recommend. Next came the pain in her eye. About a day or two after they escaped from the cannibalistic cult, she started to lose vision until she became completely blind.

It was tricky navigating the world with a crippled leg and a narrower peripheral vision. Some days, it was too hard. Phantom pain from her other injuries nabbed at her, cutting deep into her mind. She was weak. Piper couldn’t even walk a few miles without her leg giving out. Most of their travels to Salt Lake consisted of Piper using Joel as a crutch. Eventually, Joel assembled one for her, but she refused to use it. She just couldn’t. Not when she knew how strong she could be. If anything, Piper would just suffer through the pain. After all, it’s what she deserved for failing her sister. Piper deserved it all.

“Was this a FEDRA thing?” Ellie’s voice cut through the torment circling Piper’s mind.

Joel shook his head as they entered the abandoned encampment. “No. Army,” he corrected. “They put these places up all around the first few days after the outbreak. Emergency medical camps. Obviously, it didn't last. They had me in one just like this.”

Looking back, Joel noticed Piper lagging. Her face clenched as her hand grazed over her leg. Nodding to Ellie, he led them to a makeshift bench. The tension in Piper’s face eased.

“Were you there with Sarah?” Ellie asked, resuming their previous conversation.

“No,” Joel’s face dropped as he looked at his hands. “She was gone already.”

“Oh,” uttered Ellie.

“So what did happened?” Piper piped up to distract from the lingering pain in her thigh.

“It was for this.” Joel pointed to the scar on the side of his head.

Ellie’s eyes widened with recognition. “Ah, the guy who shot and missed. I figured that would’ve happened later.”

“No. Second day,” Joel explained.

“Well, I’ve gotta hand it to the Army people,” Ellie sighed. “They were way better at stitchin’ you up than Piper was.” She peered at her sister, hoping her teasing comment would help distract Piper. It didn’t.

“It was me,” Joel admitted. “I was the guy who shot and missed.”

Piper gulped. “Oh…” She breathed. All thoughts of her pain were replaced with concern for Joel.

“There’s no story.” Joel began. He hated telling this story. He was at his lowest. His weakest. He had lost everything. “Sarah died… and I couldn’t see the point anymore. Simple as that. And I wasn’t scared either. I was ready. I couldn’t have been more ready. When I… When I… went to pull the trigger, I-I flinched. Still don’t know why.”

Piper fiddled with her fingers, tracing the scars along her palms. She’d been there. Piper would have done it, and she wouldn’t have missed. In her mind, she saw the mall, the infected, and Ellie and Riley. Unconsciously, Piper trailed up to the scar of her bite mark. The mark was a perfect match to her teeth. She could still hear Riley and Ellie’s begs–asking her to kill them.

“Anyway, the reason I’m telling you all this…” Joel trailed off, looking at Piper’s, whose knuckles had turned white.

“I know why you’re tellin’ me all this,” Ellie interjected.

Joel turned to her. “Yeah, I reckon you do,” he smiled.

“So time heals all wounds, I guess.” Ellie jokingly rolled her eyes at the cliche.

“It’ll be fucking years then…” Piper mumbled, making Joel’s heart shatter.

“It wasn’t time that did it.” It was said so softly, but even through their trauma-induced daze, the girls heard it.

“Oh…” Piper softly said. A faint smile ghosted her lips.

“Well, I’m glad that… that didn’t work out,” Ellie muttered.

“Me, too,” Joel admitted.

Suddenly, he felt a gentle weight on his side. Joel’s eyes trailed over to Piper, who leaned against him. She avoided his gaze, but the gentle pressure said more than anything she could muster. Like a domino effect, he felt Ellie rest her head on the other side. There, they sat in silence, embracing each other’s comfort.

Just as fast as their moment started, it ended.

“We should probably get going,” Joel sighed, pushing himself up.

“Yeah,” the girl half-heartedly agreed.

“You know what I’m in the mood for?” Joel announced.

“What?” Ellie asked.

Joel smirked and peered down at her. “Shitty puns.”

A groan erupted from Piper’s mouth. “God no, Joel, why’d you have to-? “

“Oh-ho-ho.” Ellie chuckled, already flipping through the pages of the book. “People are making apocalypse jokes like there’s no tomorrow.” Joel winced. “Too soon?”

“No, it’s topical.”

Ellie giggled. “Oh, I love this one.”

“Moon rocks taste better than Earth rocks. Why?” She paused, wiggling her brows at Joel and Piper. “Cause they’re meteor.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Joel exclaimed.

“Fuck you,” Ellie scoffed. “That was actually good.”

“That’s a… That…,” Joel waved his hands in search of words. “That’s a zero outta 10.”

“All right, all right.” Ellie read a new joke. “What did the green grape say to the purple grape? Breathe, you idiot.”

“That was a three outta 10.”

Ellie shook her head. “Seven, minimum.”

“Uh-uh.” Ellie disagreed.

“I’m sticking with the three,” Piper added from behind the group.

“I’ll give it a five,” Joel settled.

“Five outta 10. Five?” Ellie dramatically gasped.

CLANG!

The trio whirled around. In between Ellie, Joel, and Piper sat a small flash bomb. Joel grabbed onto Ellie’s shoulder, pulling her close. Piper ducked and covered her ears.

As Piper’s head hit the ground, she couldn’t hear anything. She knew she was calling out for Joel and Ellie. It looked like they were saying her name if she squinted hard enough. Her head hurt, and it felt wet. She groaned and fell to her side. Two foggy figures loomed overhead. And then it was black.

꧁_____________꧂

“Is her head okay?” A faint voice tickled Piper’s senses.

Someone was touching her. Piper’s hand clasped around the person. Her eyes whirled open, and then she pounced. She fought until the poor woman lay on the ground. The teen could see the terror oozing from the woman, her hands raised.

“Piper?” A familiar voice commanded. “Piper! Let her go.” Piper tore her gaze off the trembling woman and onto Marlene.

“Marlene?” Realizing she still sat over the woman, Piper pushed herself off. She sent a silent apology, collecting herself. One thing was for sure. Everything hurt, more so than usual. “What happened?” She croaked, rubbing her aching head. Her hand felt sticky. It was covered in a clear ointment mixed with blood. Her blood.

Marlene dismissed the woman, who quickly left the room. “Patrol didn’t know you were coming. You got the worst of it.” The woman pointed to Piper’s head injury.

“Yeah,” Piper scoffed. “I could tell. Where’s Ellie and Joel?”

There was a pause before Marlene answered her. “Ellie’s fine. Been asking about you. Joel’s still unconscious.”

Ellie. The Fireflies. If they were here at the hospital, then… “Can I see Ellie?”

“Piper,” Marlene’s gaze grew avoidant. “All you need to know is that she’s safe.”

It was a bullshit answer. An answer Piper wouldn’t take. “Marlene, where’s my sister?”

Marlene sighed with a look that made Piper fear the answer. “She’s being prepped for surgery…” Piper shuddered, and a gasp left her mouth. She couldn’t look at Marlene. She couldn’t look anywhere. Piper couldn’t do anything as sobs choked their way out.

“You know.” Marlene stood straighter and marched over to Piper. Her eyes glared down at Piper. “Did Ellie-?”

“No,” Piper sniffled. “I…I couldn’t tell her. Not when I had- can I say goodbye?” Marlene shook her head. “Fuck…” Piper whimpered. Tears stung her skin as they trickled from her eyes down her cheeks.

“Piper, I’m sorry-” Marlene tried to comfort her.

“What about Joel?” Piper yelled. She stared up at Marlene. The pools in her eyes reflected the woman’s stern expression. “Can I say goodbye? Please, Marlene. Please.” Marlene didn’t answer her. Piper had to see Joel, she had to–“I’m saving the fucking world, and you won’t let me say goodbye?!”

Marlene took in a deep and steady breath that seemed to last hours. She raised her finger, and in came a Firefly soldier. “Grab her some paper and a pen.” The materials magically appeared. Marlene threw them into Piper’s hands. “Here, you’ll write your goodbye.”

Piper hurriedly placed the papers down and uncapped the pen. “Does Joel know?” She asked.

“Know what?” Marlene’s voice came out harsher than Piper had ever heard it.

“That you’re killing us for the cure.”

There was a deafening silence before Marlene answered. “No.”

“Are you gonna tell him?” Piper asked, tearing her attention away from the letter.

“Just hurry up and write that goodbye,” Marlene hissed.

Piper didn’t need another warning and scrambled to scribble on the papers. Her hands shook so much that Piper worried her last words would be illegible. She inhaled. She exhaled. She calmed herself, but only as much as could be expected from someone about to die. As she wrote, her vision grew sloppier. It was hard to see even with her blind eye. Still, she pushed through. With a trembling hand, she signed the letter. When Marlene snatched it out of her hands, a strangled sob scrambled out.

“Promise me he’ll get it,” Piper begged. “Promise me, Marlene.”

Marlene folded the letter and shoved it into her pocket. “Finish bandaging her up and get her prepped,” she instructed her fireflies. Then, turning on her heel, Marlene stepped out the door.

Behind her, Piper yelled. “Marlene, please! Please promise me. Please!”

꧁_____________꧂

“Welcome to the Fireflies” was the first thing Joel heard once his consciousness returned. Groggy, he pushed himself up to sit opposite Marlene.

“Easy.” Marlene gently spoke. “Ya got hit pretty hard. Patrol didn’t know who you were.”

Joel’s eyes scanned the room. Something was missing. Someone. His girls. “Where’s the girls?”

“Ellie wasn’t hurt,” Marlene began. Her answer relieved Joel, but it was not what he needed to hear. “Not even a scratch. Piper got the short end of the stick. My people are fixing her up now. They’re mostly worried about you.”

“Where are they?” He gruffly asked. His eyes stared down into Marlene’s, who remained calm.

“We lost half our crew crossing the country.” Joel frowned. She didn’t answer him. Why? She refused to answer him. “I had five men whose only job was to protect me. And I still almost got killed. How’d you do it?”

“It was all them,” Joel admitted. “Ellie and Piper fought like hell to get here.”

Marlene shook her head in disbelief. “They would’ve been dead on day one.” Sighing, she leaned back into her chair and crossed her arms. “You are the one person I never wanted to be in debt to. But I owe you. We all owe you.”

“Just take me to them,” Joel pleaded. His voice was soft, and in a tone Marlene had never heard from the man.

“I can’t.” Joel’s face contorted, and his jaw clenched. “Ellie’s being prepped for surgery. Piper soon after.”

“What surgery?” Joel questioned Marlene so slowly it sounded like a growl.

“Our doctor…,” Marlene explained, “he thinks that the Cordyceps in the girls have grown with them since birth.”

His teeth started to grind against the others. His tanned knuckles grew paler by the second. “Why is Ellie in surgery?”

“It produces a kind of chemical messenger. It makes normal Cordyceps think that she’s Cordyceps. It’s why she’s immune. He’s gonna remove it from her, multiply the cells in a lab, produce those chemical messengers… and then we can give it to everyone. He thinks it could be a cure, Joel.”

“A cure,” Joel scoffed. Then he froze.

No. No. No. No. No!

“Cordyceps grow inside the brain,” Joel stated.

Marlene gulped before confirming Joel’s fears. “It does.”

“Find someone else,” Joel gasped.

“There is no one else.” Marlene stood up and held out her hand to Joel. In it were wrinkled papers. He could see dark ink seeping through the thin sheets. “Here, this is for you.”

He snatched them from her hand and flicked them open. His hands gently straightened out any faults caused by Marlene’s mishandling. His breath shuddered, and his body trembled as he began to read.

To Joel:

I’m not really sure when and if you get this, but God, I hope you do. Marlene wouldn’t let me see you; she said you were out. She wouldn’t let me see Ellie either, and I’d rather get out one goodbye than never have said anything at all.

When we started this journey, we were just cargo, and you were our carrier. That’s how it was supposed to be. Then you did something I never thought would happen. You made me trust you. You made me feel safe. You made me feel at home, even when it was the last thing I ever wanted to feel. You reminded me how to live and not just survive.

God…I…there’s so much I want to say, but I can’t. Marlene’s getting impatient. Ellie’s going into surgery, and then I’m next. You came into this thinking we’d walk out, but we won’t. And it’s okay. It’ll be okay, Joel. Maybe now I can save someone. Maybe with me dying, I don’t have to kill anymore.

I just want you to know that when I go, I’m gonna dream of that farm. I’m gonna dream of Ellie and her puns, you playing guitar and yelling at some stupid sheep. Cause that’s my dream. A home with my family. A home with my sister and my dad.

Goodbye Joel Dad

- Piper Williams

With as much care as he could muster, Joel folded the letter and placed it in his breast pocket over his heart. A large tear fell to the floor, and Joel stifled a sob.

Marlene took Joel’s silence as a cue to speak again. “We didn’t tell Ellie. We didn’t cause her any fear; there won’t be any pain. Piper-she knows.”

Joel’s head started shaking. A physical sign of his rejection. He couldn’t let them do this. He wouldn’t lose his girls. Not when he’d just- “No. No, you take me to them. You take me to Ellie and Piper right now!” He stood up, all anger and fury, and lunged for Marlene. Joel was fast, but her men were faster. With a swift kick of the knee, Joel toppled to the floor.

“Please...” Joel cried. You don’t understand.” He kneeled in front of Marlene as if to pray. He needed the girls; he loved them. They were his redemption. “Please.”

“I do. I was there when she was born, Joel.” Marlene glared down at Joel. “I promised her mother that I would save her children. I promised. So I do understand. I’m the only one who understands. I’m sorry. I have no other choice.”

But he did. Joel had a– “I do,” he growled.

“Walk him out to the highway,” Marlene commanded. “Leave him there with his pack. Give him this.” Joel saw the glimmer of Ellie’s switchblade. His baby girl. “He tries anything… shoot him.”

The Fireflies nodded and nudged Joel off the floor with their guns. Joel scowled as Marlene watched him be escorted away. Each step farther away from the room, from his girls, was agony. In the dimly lit hospital hallway, Joel plotted. He was Joel fucking Miller, and he was going to get his girls back. The lights flickered, and Joel saw it. It was a sign reading “pediatric surgery: 6th floor.” The sixth floor. That’s where his girls would be.

“I didn’t hear anyone say, “Stop.” One of the Firefly men shoved Joel along.

“Which way?” Joel mumbled.

“Down the stairs.” They pushed Joel along.

As Joel stumbled down the staircase, he found his feet frozen. He refused to move any farther.

“The fuck are you doin’? Keep walking!” Joel stayed still. He waited. Marlene had only sent two men to escort him out—a mistake. Marlene should have known it would have taken much more to keep Joel away. “I said keep walk–”

Joel brought the heel of his palm into one of the men’s noses. CRACK! Blood poured out of the broken nose. The firefly tumbled to the floor, clutching his injury. Joel saw his chance and grabbed the gun. He cocked it and fired. The second man died. Shot right in the head.

“Where is she?!” Joel demanded, holding the gun to the surviving Firefly's head.

Through all the blood, the man looked up at Joel. “Fuck you.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

BANG! The Firefly fell limp. His radio blared to life.

“Shots fired. Shots fired!”

Joel frowned. They’d all be coming for him now, but he didn’t care. He had to save his girls. Marching up the stairs, Joel began his prowl. Expertly, his gun aimed and fired. The soldiers dropped like flies in the path of Joel’s protective fury.

BANG!

The sound of the gun followed Joel wherever he stalked along the halls of the hospital. Some of the people he came across fought. But like a bear in pursuit of protecting its cubs, they didn’t stand a chance. There was no such thing as mercy for Joel when these very people were out to kill his girls. He was swiftly making his way through the hospital–a trail of bodies in tow.

BANG!

And then silence. His breath stilled as the sign for pediatric surgery came into view. He scoured each room for any sign of his girls. But he found none. Still, Joel trekked. A faint light seeped from beneath a pair of doors up ahead. Quiet beeping sounds echoed louder than the shots from before.

“Do we have enough power?” Someone asked.

Joel pushed the door open with the butt of his gun.

“She’s ready,” a nurse said. Her hands hovered over Ellie.

The young teen’s hair lay long and brushed. All the grim from before had been washed from her body. She looked clean and peaceful as she lay on the surgery table.

“Unhook her,” Joel uttered. The nurses gasped at the sight of the gun, immediately raising their hands.

The surgeon, however, seethed with anger. In his hand, he held a scalpel. The blade glinted over Ellie’s scalp. “How did you get in here?”

Joel carefully watched the blade. “I said unhook her.”

No one except the surgeon made a move. The surgeon surged forward and stood between Ellie and Joel. In his hand, he defensively held the scalpel. “I won’t let you take her.”

BANG!

The surgeon dropped dead. Nurses screamed and cowered.

“Unhook her!” Joel yelled. “Move!”

Quickly, the nurses unhooked Ellie. Silently, they prayed to a god, to anyone to have mercy. The beeping monitor went silent. Blood trickled down Ellie’s arm from where the IV was placed.

“Cover her arm,” Joel commanded. “Fast.”

Within the blink of an eye, one of the nurses had covered the wound.

“Turn around.” Joel watched as the women quickly turned away. Just as fast, Joel lifted Ellie off of the table. She was cold but breathing. Her head flopped against Joel’s shoulder, and he worried. If Ellie was in this state, what about Piper? He didn’t have the arms and the strength to carry both girls out of the hospital. Joel held Ellie tighter. He’d have to do something he never wanted to do. Joel would have to get Ellie safe and then find Piper. He just prayed she’d be fine until he could rescue her.

Elevator doors closed in front of Joel. His arms ached from the unconscious weight of Ellie. He sighed, and Ellie snuggled closer to him. Soon, the silver doors slid open. Joel stepped out into the hospital’s parking garage. If the Fireflies had power, then they’d have cars. Working ones. The low rumble of a car engine drew Joel’s attention. He shuffled over to the vehicle.

CLICK!

“You can’t keep her safe forever,” Marlene taunted. Joel turned around. There stood Marlene with a gun. But it wasn’t pointed at Joel. No. It was pointed at Piper.

“Joel,” Piper sobbed in Marlene’s clutch. Relief flooded her body at the sight of Joel holding Ellie. She was alive. Her sister was alive.

“Piper…” Joel met her dark eyes. “Let her go.” He demanded.

Marlene shook her head. “No. I won’t let you take them, Joel.” Her hand pushed the barrel of the gun deeper into Piper’s head. The girl groaned from the pain.

“Let her go!” Joel yelled.

“Joel!” Piper gasped. “Take Ellie. Take her and let them have me. Save Ellie. Save her.”

Shaking his head, Joel fought back tears. No, he had made it this far. He was going to save them both. He had to save them. “No, Piper. No. I’m gettin’ you both out of here.”

“No matter how hard you try, no matter how many people you kill, they’re gonna grow up, Joel,” Marlene scoffed. “And then you’ll die. They’ll leave. Then what?” Marlene cocked her head. “How long till they’re torn apart by Infected or murdered by raiders?” Piper whimpered under Marlene’s grip. Her grasp tightened around the teen’s neck, making it hard to breathe. “Because they live in a broken world that you could have saved.”

“Maybe,” Joel agreed. “But it isn’t for you to decide.”

“Or you,” Marlene scolded. “So what would she decide, huh? ‘Cause I think Ellie’d wanna do what’s right. And you know it. It’s not too late. Even now…even after what you’ve done. We can still find a way.”

Joel gazed down at sleeping Ellie and then at Piper. They were his world. Maybe he wouldn’t be saving the world by taking them, but he’d be protecting his. It was selfish. He knew, but Joel deserved to be selfish, and so selfish he chose to be.

“Piper…” Joel muttered. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Piper whimpered.

BANG!

The world thrashed around Piper as the tight hold on her loosened. Marlene groaned. Her body was on the floor as blood flooded from her.

“Joel!” Piper screamed, running to him. Her feet tripped over her hospital gown as she ran. “Joel!” She collapsed at his side, clutching his shoulders. Sobs ransacked her body. Joel leaned his head against hers. It was the best he could offer with his hands full of Ellie.

“I got you,” Joel whispered. “I’ve got you, sweet girl.”

A guttural cough cut through their reunion. Joel’s softened face grew dark as his sight landed on Marlene. It was a pitiful scene. The woman’s hands clawed at the floor over to the discarded weapon. A trail of her blood trickled after her.

“Piper,” Joel calmly said. “Take your sister and put her in the car.” He passed Ellie’s body into Piper’s arms. Momentarily, she buckled under the weight. Regaining herself, Piper limped over to the vehicle. She braced Ellie against the doors before lifting her to lie in the back seat.

Behind, Joel stalked after Marlene.

“No, wait.” Marlene raised her hand. “Wait, wait, wait.” Joel peered down at her. “Please,” she begged. Her breaths had become pants as her body pumped more and more blood onto the concrete. “Let me go.”

“You’d just come after them.” Joel cocked his gun and aimed. “You’d come after my girls.”

꧁_____________꧂

They had left the city far behind. Now, the tall buildings were specks of dust in the wind. Piper sat with her head against the passenger window. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel. One thing was for sure: Piper didn’t feel numb. After she danced with death in the smoke of the room, she was almost butchered in; Piper found it hard to feel anything but pain. A part of her only wanted to feel pain. It made everything easier: the guilt of failing Ellie, the guilt of leaving Joel in that basement, the guilt of– Piper hissed. Her nails had dug into the skin around the scar on her thigh. Damn, these hospital gowns for being so thin.

“You okay?” Joel asked, peering over at her.

Piper removed her hand and shrugged. “I’m…” fine. It was the easiest thing to say. She’d said it before, and Joel didn't push. But was it what she wanted to say? “No.” Joel stayed quiet. She was thankful for it. As long as she continued to look out the window, maybe she could trick herself into thinking she wasn’t telling anyone these dark thoughts–that she wasn’t telling anyone the truth. “I don’t think I’ve ever been okay. Ever.”

Getting into a more comfortable position, Piper continued. “I was twelve when I first…when I first killed someone. I thought I could trust him, that he’d keep me safe, keep us safe.” Joel peeked at Ellie through the rearview mirror. “But his safety came with a price. One I couldn’t pay, so I–”

“Piper,” Joel interjected. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“But I do, Joel. I need to. Please?” Joel nodded and remained silent. “I killed him, and then FEDRA decided that if I could kill a man in self-defense, I could kill for them. So I did. That’s all I did for five years.” She stifled a sob. “I couldn’t–mess up, get sick, nothing, or else they’d leave Ellie all alone. It was my punishment. Then, one night, we ended up in the clutches of the Fireflies. They kept us chained in a room until you came along. Next thing I knew, Ellie and I were special cargo to be taken across the country.”

Piper sniffled and then chuckled. “You know when I first met you, I hated you.” She laughed again. “Funny how we ended up here, huh?” Joel gazed over at Piper. Her laughter died down, returning to sniffles. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah,” Joel replied.

“When you said,” Piper hesitated, “you weren’t afraid of death, that you welcomed it, what did you–what did it feel like?”

Joel sighed. “It felt…easy. Every day after Sarah’s death was filled with pain. It still hasn’t gone away,” Joel turned to give Piper a comforting smile. “But it has stopped hurting.”

Piper nodded, taking in Joel’s words. “When I was trapped in that building, knowing I failed Ellie, that I’d failed you-” Joel desperately wanted to tell her she hadn’t failed. She had survived. They all had. “I wanted to give up. It was easy just to lay down and breathe in the smoke till I–” She looked down at her hands. “But, I didn’t…and some part of me still wishes I did. That’s why I didn’t tell you or Ellie. It was easy to keep quiet and march like a lamb to slaughter. I wouldn’t be in pain anymore. I wouldn’t have to feel all this guilt and hate. I wouldn’t have to be a killer. I wouldn’t have to be Piper.”

A warm hand encased Piper’s shoulder. Joel’s fingers rubbed up and down in a soothing manner. “Even if some part of me wanted the easy way out, the others didn’t. I-” Piper took in a shaky breath. “Thank you, Joel. For saving me. For saving Ellie.”

Joel knew that no simple “you’re welcome” would suffice. Instead, he wrapped his arm around Piper and pulled her to his side. “Always,” he whispered. “Always.”

Pulling back, Piper wiped tears and snot away from her face. “Joel?” Her quiet voice questioned.

“Hmm?” He hummed.

“What are you gonna tell Ellie?”

Joel sighed. His hand holding the wheel tightened. “I don’t know, kid. I don’t know.”

As if on cue, Ellie groaned. Her body shifted on the back seat. Piper grew quiet and leaned back up against the window.

“What?” Ellie mumbled.

“It’s all right,” Joel cooed. “You’re with me.” Ellie pushed herself up but immediately toppled back down. “Take it slow. The drugs are still wearin’ off.”

“I was with the Fireflies, and then…,” Ellie groggily furrowed her brows. “What drugs?”

“They were runnin’ some tests on you…” Joel trailed off, finding his next words. “And some others. Turns out there’s a whole lot more like you… people that are immune. Dozens of ’em. And the doctors, they couldn’t make any of it work. They’ve actually…They’ve stopped lookin’ for a cure.” Joel heard Piper hold her breath at the lie.

“Where are my clothes?” Ellie wondered in her dazed state.

“Raiders attacked the hospital. I barely got ya outta there. We’ll find you some new ones on the way.”

Ellie laid her head back down, snuggling into the seat. “Were people hurt?”

“Yes,” Joel solemnly said.

“Is Marlene okay?”

Joel gulped. “I’m takin’ us home.” Ellie half-presently nodded before dozing off again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to the young teen.

After Piper was sure her sister was out, she turned to Joel. “Joel?” She asked.

“You should get some rest,” Joel brushed off her inquiry. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Piper scoffed and shook her head. “I’m not tired.”

A knowing smile crept onto Joel’s face. “That’s what they all say, kid.” Piper wasn’t having it. Sighing, Joel compromised. “Just rest your eyes. It’ll be a long drive.”

“Okay…” Piper reluctantly agreed. She sniffled one last time before closing her eyes. The constant rumbling of the car’s tires rolling against the road beneath lulled her to sleep. Her breath slowed, matching the cadence of her younger sister's slow inhales. All the while, Joel drove. Strangely enough, he found himself feeling content. His girls were safe, and they were going home. Home.

꧁_____________꧂

“Well,” Joel’s hands slapped against his thighs as the car hood shut. Steam angrily fled into the air. “She got us close enough. We gotta walk the rest of the way.” He trotted to where the girls sat and leaned against the car's frame. “Probably about a five-hour hike… but we can manage that. Remember?”

“Yeah.” Ellie nodded.

Piper finished rolling up the sleeves of her shirt. Joel had found both her and Ellie new clothes. The hospital gowns weren’t the chosen attire for an apocalyptic world. “Yeah,” Piper chimed.

Joel flashed them a smile, and then they went off. Piper found herself welcoming their journey. She hated to admit that she missed trekking through nature. While driving in a car was nice, easy, and fast, it wasn’t what she was used to. Besides, Piper preferred feeling the ground beneath her own two feet.

“You know,” Joel huffed. The hike was getting to him. “Sarah and I used to hike like this all the time. I wouldn’t say it was her favorite thing. She wasn’t a fan of the mosquitoes and such. But she was a big climber… or scampering. That’s probably the right word. That girl… she’d see a big rock and just… pew.” He chuckled as a memory of his daughter appeared in his mind.

Piper nodded her head and playfully nudged Ellie. “Sounds like someone I know.” Ellie rolled her eyes.

“Sounds more like you–” Ellie countered.

“Well, you were the one who climbed up a tree and couldn’t climb down.”

“That was–”

Joel snickered at their bickering. “She woulda liked you two.” Piper and Ellie stopped arguing. “Not to say the three of you are the same.” Joel smiled as if he knew some inside joke the girls didn’t. “Definitely different kids.”

“How so?” Ellie wondered, stepping up beside Joel. Piper stood on Joel’s opposite side. Their attention was drawn to Joel.

“Well,” He began, “she was a lot more… I wanna say girly, and I’m not sayin’ that you’re not girly.”

“I’m not,” Ellie smirked. “If anything, Piper’s more girly than me.”

Piper wasn’t sure if she should take it as a compliment or an insult. However, responding to an insult was preferably much more fun. “Hey!” She feigned offence.

“Yeah, you’re not,” Joel agreed with Ellie. “She was taller. She had a killer smile. Again, not sayin’ that you two don’t.” Ellie smiled broadly at Piper and winked. Piper rolled her eyes but smiled back. Joel laughed. “But you know why I think she’d like you, Ellie?”

Ellie’s smile fell. “Why?”

“Cause you’re funny,” Joel stated. “I think you would’ve made her laugh. Anyway, I bet you would’ve liked her back.”

“Yeah, bet I would’ve,” Ellie muttered.

“And for Piper,” Joel said, not forgetting the other girl. “Sarah would love to try and make you laugh. And she’d look up to you.”

Piper paused, and a soft smile appeared on her face. “Thanks, Joel. Sarah sounds nice.”

“She was.” Joel concurred. Briefly, he looked down at the cracked watch adorning his wrist. Once he glanced up, he beamed. Ahead stood the faint outline of Jackson. Home. “Not much further now.”

Joel and Piper eagerly continued down the path. Ellie did not.

“Hey, wait.” Joel and Piper whirled around. Ellie’s eyes widened as if she didn’t expect them to respond. “Fuck,” she softly cursed. “Back in Kansas City, you asked me about the first time I killed someone.” Joel placed his hands on his hips. His ears listened as Ellie spoke. Meanwhile, Piper grew distantly quiet.

“When I got bit in the mall, I-It wasn’t just Piper and me.” Ellie looked away. Piper could see the tell Ellie tried to conceal. “My best friend was there, and she got bit, too.” Ellie sniffled. Piper felt her own eyes grow watery. Riley. Sweet Riley. “We didn’t know what to do, and she says, “We can just wait it out… be all poetic and just lose our minds together. And then she did. And I had to…” Piper wanted to draw Ellie into a hug, but she knew her sister had more to say. The comfort could always come later. “Her name was Riley… and she was the first to die. And then it was Tess. And then Sam and Henry.”

Joel shook his head. “That’s not on you.”

“I know, but…” Ellie tried to argue, but Joel continued.

“Look, sometimes things don’t work out the way we hope.” Joel peered over at Piper. He wasn’t just saying this to Ellie. It was a message for both of his girls. “You can feel like… like you’ve come to an end… and you don’t know what to do next. But if you just keep goin’… you find something new to fight for. And maybe that’s not what…”

“Swear to me,” Ellie interjected. “Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies is true.”

Piper looked away. She had never been more interested in her feet. Joel had an expressionless face as he answered her. “I swear.”

After a moment, Ellie spoke. “Okay.”

She had believed him. Piper let out a shaky breath and looked over at Joel. They shared a glance. Their eyes agreed to the lie. It was a necessary one. A lie that they both now concealed.

The rest of the journey to Jackson had been uneventful. Tommy had found them close to Jackson when he was on patrol. The reunion was sweet. Joel hugged his brother before breaking away, allowing Tommy to steal hugs from the girls. They hadn’t been expecting it by how brief and tight the hugs had been, but they had been welcomed embraces.

Maria smiled when they walked back into town. The streets had changed from the snow-covered, Christmas-decorated roads to colorful and lively bustling ones. People discarded their winter gear for lighter clothes. The summer sun and heat crept over the mountains, waiting to pounce. But for now, the air was at a pleasant temperature. As Maria showed them back to the house they had stayed in during their brief stay in Jackson, Piper spotted a familiar head of curls. Charlie. He amicably waved at her. By amicably, Charlie practically jumped where he stood, calling out her name. Piper flushed a deep shade of red and flipped him off. Joel laughed, and Ellie smirked. Her clever eyes darted between the two teens. She had something to tease her sister about.

The sun had begun to set as Joel, Piper, and Ellie settled back into the house. Each crawled out of their rooms after a long nap. Joel was the last to emerge. Age had made his cravings for naps extremely powerful. With a yawn, he pushed open the front door. A wave of deja vu fell over him.

There sat his girls on the porch. Ellie was teasing Piper about the boy they’d seen on the street. Piper rolled her eyes and denied everything, making it hard for Ellie to continue her interrogation. Instead, the young teen pulled out her pun book. Fingers flipped through the pages, landing on a particular joke. Piper dramatically groaned, and Joel realized he had seen this all before.

It was the dream. Joel’s dream. Here they were, his girls safe and sound with a whole life ahead of them. Joel felt a pleasant warmth spread throughout his body. He stood and leaned against the door frame for ages, capturing this moment in his head. The girls had been his redemption–a sinner’s redemption. Now that he had his dream, Joel was content with just living it. This was why he missed that day. This was why he stayed. He, too, deserved a second chance. They all did.

꧁_____________꧂

Thank you all again for your support. If you enjoyed this series please comment and reblog so that more people can embark on this journey with Piper, Ellie and Joel. :)

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heartpascal · 1 year ago

Text

please don’t lose it again

— joel miller x platonic!f!reader

— summary: the aftermath

— a/n: i’m replaying tlou2 and got to the scene again. this followed. sorry if the flow isn’t great!! im all over the place. please please please heed warnings. love you so much. not the official ending for itdws!

— warnings: major tlou 2 spoilers, major character death, grief, burying a loved one, loss, spoilers for itdws, throwing up / vomiting (referenced, not really explicit), all the stages of grief in like 3 minutes, guilt, blame, being sad, GORE, or descriptions of gore, and dead bodies

— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything) @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being (pedro)

a what if one shot from the if the door wasn’t shut universe!

masterlist (part one , part two , part three , part four , part five )

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

The world is full of horrors.

You learned that much a long, long time ago. In your formative years, your youth, when you were actually a child, you had experienced more horrors than you could name. You didn’t have enough hands to count them on. There was loss and there was pain and there was Joel.

There was a brief time, after arriving to Jackson, where you didn’t have Joel. A part of you always knew he would come back. Not for you, that was true, but you had always known that he would be back. That he wasn’t gone in the way so many were. That Tess was. In the very depths of your mind, he lingered. Even if he had left you behind, he was still with you, in the worst of ways.

You have never lived in a world which didn’t have Joel Miller.

He had always seemed untouchable. Unmovable. As if the world could only move around him.

You never thought you would have to live in a world without him.

There was always a certainty that you’d held. Joel would outlive you. He would survive, where you wouldn’t. Despite how you had improved in your skills out in the wild, in the back of your mind, when you saw Joel, you had always believed he would be the one to bury you.

Because even if Joel hadn’t stayed for you, he would surely stay for your death. It was who he was. Always the survivor, always the one to bury the bodies, always the one left.

You had never considered what it would be like to bury Joel.

Even now, as you sit with your hand pressed against the freshly turned earth, frozen at your fingertips, you aren’t sure you really know what it’s like. Because, surely, there’s no way that Joel Miller could be reduced to this. A body in the dirt. A faceless name left upon a headstone, forgotten in a garden of the dead.

He was alive yesterday.

He was alive.

How could they have buried him? You think of the way the dirt has iced over, numbing your fingers. You wonder how much effort had gone into plunging a shovel into the dirt. How much ice had formed on Joel’s skin when they put him in there?

He would be cold, out here. Without the jacket you knew was hung up in his closet. He would be cold.

“C’mon,” Jesse said, faintly. “Put your gloves on.” He tried, crouching beside you, beside Joel, with the very gloves Joel had gotten you held in his hands. Did you thank him, for those? You needed to. You needed to thank him.

You turn your head away from the wooden headstone, the clumsy carving that Joel could’ve done better, the letters spelling his name. If you don’t look, if you turn your face away, or close your eyes, Joel is still out on patrol. He’s wearing his jacket, holding his gun, pressing a warm hand against his hip in his signature pose. He’s not cold.

But when you turn back, it’s still his name. The ground is still frozen, and as much as you press your hand against the dirt, Joel doesn’t reach towards you. Joel doesn’t do anything. Joel stays buried underneath frozen dirt, underneath snow and ice. Joel stays cold.

Jesse’s hand is warm when he grips your own, his stare concerned and helpless. You wonder what would have happened if it had been you on patrol. If you were the one taking Joel and Tommy off duty. You wonder if you could’ve saved him. You pull your hand away.

He follows you when you stand up.

When you look back, Joel’s headstone blends in with the others. There’s nothing remarkable setting it apart, nothing screaming that it was Joel and he had been alive yesterday.

You wonder who the other headstones belong to. You wonder if anybody remembers them. You wonder why nobody is here, visiting. You wonder if Joel’s grave will end up the same way.

Vaguely, you notice that you’re counting. As you walk, you count the crunch of snow beneath your boots. There are thirty-three steps from Joel’s grave to his door. Thirty-three measly steps between his home, and where his body is buried. Did he know, yesterday, when he was drinking his morning coffee — the coffee you had brought him — that he would spend the rest of time buried thirty-three steps away? Did he have any idea that he would never come home? That he would always be thirty-three steps away?

Tommy is stood in the house when you walk in. His head is bruised, blood still crusted on his skin, and you wonder what happened. You wonder how this could have happened. He doesn’t look like the same man who had once walked on a patrol with you, gun raised, vigilant in every movement. If they let Tommy live, if they let Ellie live, why did they kill Joel? Why did they stop him from coming home?

It’s not long until you realise that you have nobody to ask about Tess. Tommy had long ago told you everything he could remember, most of which was corrected by Joel. Is there anybody left in the world who knew her? Anybody left who would ask about her?

Will it just be you, until your death, who remembers Tess? Who remembers Joel? After you, Tommy and Ellie are gone, who will know him? Who will remember him? Who will put flowers on the grave in which they buried him?

You wonder how long it will be until people wonder about his grave, as you had with the others. How long it will be until he’s forgotten.

What’s going to happen to his pictures? The photographs of Joel and Sarah? Of him and Ellie? Of you and him? Who is going to understand each of these pictures? Who is going to know what was happening in each? How many memories are gone, now that Joel is dead?

“Kid, I…” Tommy trails off, eyebrows furrowed.

Joel is dead.

He’ll never finish the supply of coffee you gave to him. He’ll never complete the guitar he was making for you. He’ll never finish reading your favourite book. He’ll never receive the new mug you’d made for him. He’ll never do anything. Because Joel Miller is dead, and he’s buried thirty-three steps away.

How do you fix that?

How do you tell Joel that you’ll forgive him for ever leaving, that you’ll forgive him for everything, if he just comes back? If this time, he comes back to you. How will he know that things could go back to normal? That you’d— you would do anything. You would bring him all the coffee you found. You would watch every shitty movie he wanted. You would make him every damn mug he asked for. You would forget about him ever leaving at all. You would go back to normal. To before he left, but better.

All he had to do was come back again. That was it.

He just had to prove that it wasn’t him they buried. That the disfigured body they’d brought back to Jackson wasn’t him. That he wasn’t the one who’d had his head caved apart. Joel had proved things that had been far crazier. Surely, for you, he’d be able to prove this.

He would come through the door, all amused grins and warm jacket, and he would walk the thirty-three steps to his grave and tear the headstone with his name on from the ground. He would make fun of Tommy for ever believing it to be him, and he’d make a better gravestone, the name — which wasn’t Joel Miller — carved on neatly, more clearly.

Joel Miller was a survivor. He had to survive.

You aren’t quite sure what you’ll do if he doesn’t.

“I’m sorry.” Tommy says eventually, finally finding his words, and the look on his face reduces your denial to ash. You look at him, trying to find the similarities between him and the mess of the body that had truly been Joel. You find nothing. No resemblance between the body and Tommy. It makes it all the more difficult to believe that he’s dead. You’re not quite sure what Tommy is apologising for. Was it his fault? Did he goad that—that girl into cracking Joel’s skull? Into spilling his blood out of his veins? Into leaving him there like that? Like a body, not a human being?

Jesse says your name, gently, as if your skull would cave if he spoke it any louder. You realise that you’re standing here, in Joel’s house, in the very place that you had drank tea and coffee and whiskey with him, and you have no reason to be here. There’s no Joel to make you a terrible cup of tea, or to play his guitar while you carve at his workshop desk. There’s no Joel, and all of Tommy’s apologies won’t change that.

“I didn’t—” You cut yourself off, finding that you can’t speak any further, lest your throat go dry and your eyes get wet. And really, the words you had gotten out are enough. You didn’t.

You didn’t save him. You didn’t give him that god forsaken mug. You didn’t take him dinner. You didn’t tell him how much you appreciated him. You didn’t tell him that you loved him. You didn’t tell him that he was your dad when nobody else was. You didn’t forgive him.

“It’s okay.” Jesse tells you, and he believes it, obvious in his arms as they wrap firmly around you. Obvious in the way he holds your head, in the way he breathes. But it’s not. It’s not okay.

How could it be okay? You want to yell at him. You want to scream at him that Joel is dead, that it’ll never be okay. You want to do something, anything, but there’s nothing you can do. It wouldn’t matter. Joel would still be dead, and still, nothing would be okay. But you can’t do anything. You can’t vocalise a thing, except for what becomes a choked sob as it leaves your throat.

This is the first time that you cry.

And even though Jesse squeezes you tighter, as if he could possibly put your pieces back together, you fall apart. Once it starts, it doesn’t seem to stop.

There’s an acceptance here. Tears wash away any hint of denial, and you’re left with a reality you can’t help but accept. A reality where Joel Miller is dead, and you will never see him again. The arms around you will never be Joel’s. He’ll never teach you to play a new song on the guitar he was making you. He can’t hear the way you cry, even if you scream and yell and call out for him.

For once, you can’t feel him lingering in the back of your head. As if his absence has removed him from you. It feels like losing him all over again.

You didn’t see Tess’s dead body. Now, you’re glad. If there had been anything left of her to see, anyway. But you had seen bodies before. Mostly of Infected. Or of raiders and hunters who were often shot and killed, sometimes when you were the one shooting. Either way, you’re not used to remembering them as being so… still.

When you close your eyes, forcing the tears to fall, you see him. You see the flashes of skull and soggy brain tissue and smears of blood. And he’s still. You think that you’re so used to seeing Infected people that this just… wasn’t natural.

And to think of that body as Joel? It was even more unnatural.

“C’mon,” Jesse urged once more, voice a murmur in your ear as he tightened his arms around you. “Let’s get you home.” He said, moving to leave.

It was wrong. You didn’t want to leave. It was making you feel all wrong, like there was a constant chill sending shivers down your spine. How could he ask you to leave? How could he ask you to leave when Joel had never come home? Who was going to wash Joel’s mug — the one you had made, that he had stolen — of coffee that he’d left on the side? Who was going to make his bed? Who was going to clean the dirty dishes Joel inevitably would’ve left on his dining table?

Joel wasn’t coming home. So who would do it? How could you leave it like this?

“Kiddo,” Tommy sighed, stepping towards you and taking hold of your hands as Jesse dutifully stepped back, expression creased. He looked tired, more than anything. He looked his age. Tommy blinked, looking up towards the ceiling as if holding back tears, and squeezed your hands in his. “Please, don’t… Go home, okay? I’ll send Maria by. And we’ll—we’ll talk later. Alright?”

It was hard to face the fact that Tommy didn’t want you here. It was incomprehensible. How could you be anywhere else but here? How could he want you anywhere else but here?

How could he expect you to go home? To go back and see that stupid mug you’d almost finished? That Joel would never see? All because you had insisted upon it being a surprise. Insisted that he couldn’t see it until you were done. And now he would never see the mug that matched his own, a slightly better looking owl painted upon its side? The size of it just a smidge smaller than Joel’s own?

He had been complaining that you always had to use the shitty old mug with a football logo on the front. You wanted to surprise him with a mug which matched his own. A sign of your bond. A symbol of your trust, your forgiveness.

Things hadn’t been the same since he left you, all that time ago. Both of you had known it. It was almost tangible, every time you saw one another. But you were getting better. You were seeing him at least once every week, which was improvement from the sporadic visits that’d been occurring last year.

You were all he’d had, after he and Ellie had fallen out.

You, perhaps better than anybody, knew that isolation. You knew how cold it could get. You wonder whether or not he would have even been on that patrol, had you not declined his offer of dinner, in favour of working on the mug.

It was a bitter feeling that bloomed as you pulled away from Tommy. An ugly, rearing feeling that was biting at your throat, and the only thing that stopped you from falling to your knees was Jesse. You wanted to be angry at Joel. You wanted to be able to scream and cry at him, to scold him for leaving you once more, even after he had promised he would never do it again.

And you know it wasn’t his fault. You know that he wouldn’t have chosen this. You do know that. But who else can you blame? Tommy, who is grieving the same as you? Jesse, who had done nothing but support you since you had known him? Ellie, who had no choice but to helplessly witness his death? And there was the girl, of course, Abby, Tommy had said to Jesse. But she seemed… inconceivable. A figment of imagination. After all, Joel was the strongest person you knew. What could have taken that away? Who?

It’s not fair. None of it is fair.

Abby had taken so much from you, and you know from the state of his body, that she hadn’t done it quickly. You feel sick.

Jesse is rubbing your back as you kneel on the snow, the shock of the cold seeping through your trousers bringing you to reality. You hadn’t even noticed leaving Joel’s house.

In the corner of your eye, you can see all of the flowers that people left for Joel. It doesn’t help. These flowers, too, will be cold. They’ll be cold and they will die and then Joel’s porch and garden will be covered in flowers just as dead as he is.

And all of the notes will be left unread, because Joel Miller is dead, and he is not coming home.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

if the door wasn’t shut taglist: @sleepylunarwolf @am-i-shit-or-am-i-the-shit @mandowhatnow @aphrcdites @doodlebob-mp3 @rrickgrrimes8 @nikt-wazny-y @fallenoutofrose @wrathofcats

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mockerycrow · 1 year ago

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Hey again Crow, I wanted to see your take on ghost x male!reader w/ "I already lost them, I can't lose you too." I know this one is gonna sting, bring it on!

HEAVEN FORBID (Ghost x Male!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

[THIS HAS MAJOR MWIII SPOILERS. DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS.]

[WARNINGS; mentioned mcd, blood and gore, descriptions of major injury, talks of dying, hurt/no comfort, unconventional confessions, open ending.]

THE FIRST THING you notice is the pulsing in your side; it’s matching up with the pounding in your chest, your heart. The second thing you notice is that your eyelids are heavy, almost like they’re refusing to cooperate—then it’s the ringing. Fuck, the ringing. Your tongue feels like a piece of cotton as you try to lick your lips—they taste odd—you barely feel the sensation, anyway. Your eyebrows scrunch together for a moment as you try to move your legs and you’re not too sure if they did move. Huh.

Your eyes eventually open, your blurry vision staring up into the night sky, smoking swirling into the dark view. You think that the view is gorgeous, the stars populating the wide sky. You don’t get to see them too often because of light population but holy shit, are they beautiful. Twinkling with their everlasting light for anyone to see. Right below your ear tickles, so you bring one of your hands and wipe at your own skin, noticing how.. difficult it was to move your arm like that. Your fingertips feel wet.

You pull back your hand which is trembling and your fingertips and glove is coated in dark red; your own blood. Your eyebrows furrow as you wipe at the same spot on your neck and your hand just comes back with more. That’s not good. You blink slowly, not even minding that you can’t hear anything than ringing right now. You don’t have to listen to the sound of gunfire anymore, explosions..

Wait.. Explosions?

You turn your head to the left and you notice that there is rubble all around you, making you blink once again. Your lungs sting a bit, sure, but why is there rubble? You turn your head to the right and you see your gun pinned under a large concrete block as well as a rapidly growing blood puddle forming underneath from the next large pieces of rubble to your rifle. That’s.. What the fuck.

Then it hits you all at once.

The pain is fucking blinding, coming from multiple areas of yourself; your head, your ear, your back, your side, your fucking chest—but your legs only have dull pains. You squeeze your eyes together as you cannot hold back the choked groan that leaves your lips as both your body and mind tries to comprehend your pain and your injuries. Your left eardrum has surely bursted, you’ve never felt this type of pain before and you can hear the sounds of gunfire and blazing fire roaring in the right. Your radio. You remember your radio. Your left hand, the one coated in your blood, reaches for your chest radio and you flip stations until you hear any chatter, chatter that sounds familiar—

Nothing. You let out a harsh breath as you get fucking nothing, which means they either knocked down the towers or your radio is fucking busted. You try to swear but your throat aches so badly you don’t try again. You take in a shaky, deep breath, trying to reel your mind back in to focus; you need to check how injured you are. First step is to assess. No big deal, right?

You pick your head up—it takes a lot of effort to do so, and the back of your head is wet—and you look down—oh fuck.

You feel the bile bubble up in your throat when you catch sight of rusty rebar sticking up and is in your left side, penetrating it and coming out a bit near your belly button area, the metal coated in a sheen layer of your blood. Your uniform is stained and slick with your blood, there’s a large concrete price of rubble pinning your right hip down, and there’s other large pieces of rubble pinning both of your legs down, neither of them which you can feel at the moment.

You put your head down as you try to swallow a sob whilst closing your eyes, trying to ignore the pain and the gunfire around you, the aircraft’s flying back and forth in the sky. You aren’t sure how long it is when you hear someone approach you, but they aren’t rushing towards you. You already feel quite cold, but a rush of freezing panic flows through your veins to your fingertips.

“Who said yer allowed t’die??”

Huh. Soap. Didn’t expect him. You note that his voice is very overpowering, the sounds of gunfire dulling. “I’m talkin’ t’ye, eejit!”

‘I know that.’ You think, but you just can’t will yourself to open your eyes. You hear Soap approach you and you feel his gloved hands grab your hand, cradling it, as if he’s trying to protect you. “Y’need to focus on t’pain, aye? C’mon, don’t stay here. Y’can’t stay here.”

‘But it hurts, John. It hurts so bad.’ You reply in your head—you don’t question how he knows what you’re thinking—but all of your pain is slowly melting away. Why wouldn’t you want to stay here? Pain free with one of your closest friends, even if he is getting angry with you.. You very much prefer it over the excruciating pain in your abdomen, ear, and back. And probably your legs if you could feel them.

You feel a gentle hand swipe at your ear and jaw, like they’re cleaning the blood away. Another gentle touch to your chest up to your neck near your pulse point, but without a glove this time. “I miss you.” You whisper, feeling yourself unable to rub your face into Soap’s gentle touch. “I know, lad, I know.” Soap murmurs, his voice soothing and gentle. “Don’t let Makarov take ye like he took me.”

“Wake up.”

You gasp as your eyelids fly open, three people looming above you whilst one of them is cradling your face. You cough violently, your throat burning and aching as your vision attempts to focus on the figure that is closer to your face than the other two. The pain is unbearable, a broken sob leaving your lips as your hands go to clench your abdomen, but the person cradling your face uses one of their hands to swat your hands away.

“C’mon—yeah, there you are, love, there you are..” The man who is above you murmurs with a slight shake to his deep voice. You note he sounds familiar, but that thought doesn’t last long as you can tell the two other blurry figures quickly start to begin to move rubble away from you.

“Huh?” You say mindlessly, unable to comprehend what’s going on. You hear fire roaring and and people’s worried chatters and your own heartbeat, fuck, it’s so loud and you can barely hear as it is—

A hand cups your face and moves your head. “Focus here, yeah?”

It takes you a hot second to focus your eyes, but you’re met with a familiar skull plate attached to a balaclava—Ghost. He’s staring at you with wide and worried eyes, a look you’ve only seen a couple other times. “G.. Ghost.” You croak in surprise, looking at him. He nods insistently, a little relief lighting his eyes. “It’s me, love. It’s me. Glad to see those pretty eyes of yours.”

You laugh, but it more comes out as a weird noise as your eyes fill with tears, blurring your vision once more. You blink and they spill down your dust and blood caked face. You vaguely note in your head that Price and Gaz are working to get the pressure off of your legs. “Pretty eyes?” You croak. “Last I recalled, I was a pretty boy.”

That earns a huff from Ghost and a nod, his eyes locking with yours. “That too, the prettiest. Prettier than Gaz.” Ghost remarks, making you snort gently—you feel lightheaded. “No one’s prettier than Gaz, mate.” You mumble, your eyelids threatening to close. “Oi—“ Ghost hisses out, grabbing your face more harshly to shock you awake, which it does. “—Stay awake. We need y’to stay awake.” He insists, his voice breathless. “Trying.” You whisper, your hand coming up to wrap around his wrist.

You try to look down but Ghost keeps your head in place. “No- just keep lookin’ at me, darlin’. Only me, alright?” Ghost hums, trying to conceal the shake in his tone. “Already saw,” You reply with a sniffle. “It isn’t pretty, I know.” You watch Ghost close his eyes in sadness for a moment, you both know if you survive this, you’ll likely be plagued with this image for the rest of your life. A piece of rebar sticking out of you as well as the image of your legs covered in debris. You aren’t even sure if you’ll be able to use your legs after this.

“Need you to stay wit’me, alright?” Ghost murmurs. “I already lost him.. I can’t lose you, too.”

Your pounding heart stutters in your chest from the admission—you and Ghost both miss Soap. You have for months; Makarov got away after brutally murdering your boy. You’ve grieved for so long, grieved with the others; it was so obvious someone has been missing from your team dynamic. Every time Ghost makes a joke, you always half-expect to hear Soap’s relentless comments, but they never came. A heavy silence fell over everyone after every joke, because all four of you knew what everyone else was expecting. His voice.

How do you explain that you talked to him just five, maybe six minutes ago? How do you explain to the others that Soap is the reason why you opened your eyes again? You aren’t sure. “Fuck, please—“ Ghost suddenly shakes you—you were closing your eyes again, and you’re blinking awake once more. You inhale sharply as you slur something without thinking about it, but Ghost’s eyebrows furrow. “Couldn’t hear you, love. Speak up f’me, yeah?”

You clear your throat and blink, hot tears trailing down your face—you feel colder than earlier. “I love you,” You slur, followed by a sob. “N.. Need you t’know that. Love you, I have for.. a while.” A beat passes. “Soap knew that.” There’s a unreadable noise that comes from Ghost after you say that. “Don’t—don’t bloody tell me that right now, you fuckin’ wanker—“ Ghost hisses, but you can tell his voice breaks at the very end. You let out a wet laugh before you cough a bit. You wipe your lip with the back of one of your hands to see more blood staining your gloves.

You shudder as you look at Ghost, and you wonder if you’ll make it out of this alive like Ghost wants you to, like the others do, like Soap does. Like you do. You sob as you lean into his warm touch, his heat radiating through his remaining gloved hand, his bare hand wiping the debris off of your forehead. You hope you’ll be able to properly confess after this.

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l00na24 · 1 month ago

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Fates Edged On A Blade (Noah Sebastian AU) - Masterlist

Pairing: Samurai!Noah Sebastian x Princess!Reader

Rating: NSFW, 18+

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, Angst, Fluff, Blood, Gore, Violence, Sexual themes, more as it continues (individual warnings for each chapter), MDNI

This story contains mature content! Please be aware that this work is entirely fictional and doesn't reflect real people's thoughts, behaviors or personalities! Also it will not be accurate to reality as it contains some fantasy elements and is kind of a lovers to enemies & enemies to lovers story.

Summory:

5 Friends. 5 Fates.

For Noah myths and legends didn't exist, they were just made up stories, nothing more than lies to justify people's actions - that's the way he grew up.

But one day his entire world gets shattered by something taking place at Y/N's birthday which doesn't only change her life but everyone else's too and he has to realize that the world he had known wasn't as he had been made to believe.

He gets confronted with the decision if he remains loyal to the throne like he was raised to as a samurai and hold onto his beliefs or if he accepts that there is more than he had thought and breaks with everything he had known for the person he harbored such deep feelings for.

Will what has been developing between Y/N and Noah get to blossom or will it all crumble down and fall away underneath their feet in the face of death?

Chapters:

Prologue Part One 🌸 Prologue Part Two/ coming soon 🌸 Chapter 1 🌸

#noah sebastian #bad omens #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian au #bad omens au #fates edged on a blade

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lunarw0rks · 1 year ago

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slasher!graves 🩸 in honor of spooky season !!! w/c; 2.7k

warning(s): implied violence/gore, drugging, fem!reader

endless crop fields surrounded the dirt path, crunching under the tires audibly, overbearing the hum of the pickup's old speakers. as soon as you crossed county lines, only the two local stations played: gospel or vintage country. any tuning of the knob, and it was buzzing static.

mellow country music it is. preferable to a pastor lecturing you about the ins and outs of hell. don't worry father, i'm already there. or i've made it halfway to purgatory — east Texas backroads.

though, you don't need the faceless pastor; the decaying signs along the way are enough. hell is real, God bless, repent — every single one rusted, scratched, peeled in some way.

limitless, barren farmland; half-murky swamp the further east you go.

who's feeding the lumps of livestock you see grazing? what about the herding dogs that lay by rickety fences and intently watch your car pass? if it weren't for the occasional passing truck, you'd assume no one inhabited this county at all.

your pupils retract, blinded by the sun glaring off the hood. vibrant hues of orange and yellow, that would otherwise be soothing if you hadn't been in the driver's seat so long. for once, the lack of traffic and straight and narrow is a blessing, otherwise, you surely would've caused a collision.

the blinding sunset fades over time, indicating that you drove through golden hour instead of lying back and enjoying it. though, the thought of pulling over in this area sounded like a painful ordeal.

from straight, unpaved roads to skinny windy ones with taller grass on the border. as the sky darkens, the foliage is surely full of critters, snakes, and spiders that would crawl and tickle your flesh the second you stepped foot. the thought alone makes you shiver against the leather seats.

as the tires climb a particularly steep hill, the engine sputters, as if hacking and choking from the exertion. please don't let it happen here, is all you can think. the vintage pickup creaks and moans the further along you go — but thankfully doesn't let you down. it's any wonder you've made it this far in your trip.

your fingers reach across the seat, peeling back the page of your guide. the map you snagged at the first — and only — rest stop in the area. a few pages, tainted with coffee and grime, aside from hints of its original eggshell stain. the booklet is rough in texture but still partially legible, so you decided to take what you can get.

besides, once you finished up in the bathroom, bought water, and felt the judgment of the locals, you weren't in a position to ask for a clean map. and the geriatric clerk, brandishing a crucifix and eyes so blue they could pass for pearl, staring at you with grief.

for what, you couldn't wager. your unsaved soul?

your unwise decision to stop there? at least you can agree with the latter.

at last, your finger skimmed the section of road you were supposed to be cruising on. a straight one, like you had been on before. not the thin, windy dirt you're nearly stuck in — which doesn't exist on the map. either you're trespassing in some form, or you really have gotten lost in purgatory.

muttering a curse, you twist and turn your heads in hopes of finding an opening. somewhere, anywhere to turn the truck around and get back on your intended route.

once you spot the first opening, you turn into it. the truck travels down the short path, mud squishing underneath the overworked tires.

up ahead, the first residence you've seen that wasn't moldy or collapsed. three floors, milky paneling, original windows older than two of your lifetimes, and steps sure to give you splinters and creaks under the slightest movement.

from the outside, it's... average.

only slightly unsettling at best, which was a major improvement from the rest of town. frankly, it was shocking there wasn't a higher fence around the perimeter. you imagine this property being prime pickings for bandits and adventurous country teens.

after taking in its appearance for a few moments, you begin to reverse, now feeling the most resistance in the entire trip. the harder you push your foot down on the gas pedal, the deeper the back tires go into the thick mud.

the engine sputtered louder, beginning to spit out smoke from under the hood. considering your efforts, all you'd successfully done was splatter mud on the windows and kill the engine, hopefully not permanently.

you slumped forward and lightly smacked your head against the rim of the steering wheel, cursing yourself for literally ending up deeper in the mud.

through the cracked window of the truck, the windchimes sounded, reminding you of your only way out. raising your head, you laid eyes on the white farmhouse again, taking in its mystifying essence. the decor rustled in the gentle breeze, as did the fuzzy white clusters blowing off the cottonwood trees.

against the unforgiving summer elements, the outmoded residence stood still — as if the stoic constant stuck in the middle of a brewing summer storm.

motionless and deathlike; if a tornado dipped down through the dusky clouds, you were mildly convinced the residence would be the only structure left standing.

as it stands, your options are either to sit in the truck and sulk or take a gamble and knock on the old farmer's door. deciding on the latter, you step out, not bothering to shut the car door behind you, in case you're met with a cliché shotgun barrel for trespassing.

the rickety porch creaked under your weight when you stepped up, occupied with examining its every detail. there were the chimes you heard. some were standard, high-pitched jingles — others made from small animal bones were dull clicks — all suspended with twine.

aside from the roadkill and rocking chair, there were few signs of life in terms of decor. through the windowpanes, you were only met with pearly, lace curtains blocking any view inside.

caving, you raise your fist to the door. it's slathered in the same blanched paint as the rest of the exterior, only riddled with indents and scratches from age. three small knocks against the wood, and you're hoping whoever's behind it won't lead with hostility.

the house settles and croaks from inside, its joints as noisy as the deck you’re standing on. eventually, the door opens. behind it, the owner reveals himself; and it’s not the stereotypical image of an old man with overalls and a noisy coonhound at his side.

your prediction couldn’t have been more inaccurate.

“how can i help you, ma'am?” the voice speaks, oozing a subtle regional twang. casually, he leans against one side of the doorway, blue eyes sweeping you up and down.

younger than expected, and clean despite the gritty environment he lives in. his blond locks are carefully groomed and swept, and an aroma of musk and cedarwood permeates from him.

"i don't mean to be a bother," you stammer a bit, then motion behind you. the man's demeanor remains unbothered by the intrusion. "my truck is stuck in the mud, and i was wondering if you could get it... unstuck?"

he hollows his cheeks as if taking a few moments to consider your request.

but Graves already decided the moment he saw you. with a click of his tongue, a rumble rises through his chest, "no bother in askin' for help, is there? why didn't you just say so?" a faction of a smile spreads on his lips, easing the tension in your shoulders.

you return the break in tension with a small chuckle, biting back the urge to start twiddling your thumbs. he glances at the truck, "i'll pull her out for you. keys in the ignition for me?"

you nod, and he steps out of his relaxed pose. "i would really appreciate that. thank you, sir."

but instead of stepping out toward the vehicle, he moves to the side and flicks his head. "don't mind waiting inside, do you? 'sides, young lady like you shouldn't be shivering."

you really were helpless, or at least, that's how it felt.

the desire to reject is futile and forgotten. before you knew it, you stepped inside and followed him. the entryway was quaint with only a coat rack and mat, and open to the kitchen. the gray and white tiles were patterned like a checkerboard, blended with natural wood cabinets that matched the original wood everywhere else.

in the middle, a circular dining table with two chairs, brandishing hack marks — some fresh, some old. with a scrape, he pulled out a chair for you, and you settled on it.

rather than asking first, he went straight to the vintage refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher. he reached into the ice bucket and dropped a handful of cubes into two glasses, then tipped the pitcher and filled them with lemonade.

you stopped watching when he turned, instead setting your attention on the decor. it was as average as the exterior; a country kitchen that was slightly rough around the edges. Graves slid the glass in front of you, then set his own on the opposite side, sitting instead of heading straight outside to deal with the truck.

he sighed when he sat down again, holding onto the glass but not sipping from it. for a few moments, there was silence between you; a studying stare making you feel like you were in a fishbowl. swallowing dryly, you raised the glass and took a sip from it.

lemonade, a partial punch of citrus, coaxed by tons of added sugar. you let out a polite mhm and smiled, hoping to let your courtesy break the silence again.

"gets awful lonesome out here, don't it?" the man finally spoke, and you took another gulp to pass the time. "can't say i mind the company. not a lot of tourists in these parts, i guess."

you nodded in agreement, eyes darting toward the ticking clock behind his head, "i'm sure it does." you really should be back on the road by now.

he must've noticed your eagerness, because he gave his knee a slap and sat up, "here i am, talkin' your ear off again. should only take a few minutes if you don't mind waiting here."

his footsteps retreated back down the hall, leaving you in silence except for the ticking, which now sounded louder. you glanced down at the glass and swirled it around, deciding it best to finish your drink off before you left the man's seemingly good graces.

once the front door opened and closed, you took a better look around at the kitchen. the knickknacks along the wall, and the dusty china in one of the cabinets.

further along, you skimmed past the doors leading to the rest of the home. the l-shaped staircase came down to the kitchen, steep and rickety. adjacent, was a door similar to the one in the foyer.

when curiosity got the better of you, you stood up and crept over. pressing your ear against it, you heard no one behind it; not even the drone of a television.

you wrapped a hand around the knob and twisted it, pushing the door open. it led to a sitting room of sorts, or perhaps the only living room in the farmhouse. an old-fashioned wood fireplace in the corner, a brown couch against the wall facing the back windows, and the box TV posed on an end table.

the windows had the same sheer, white curtains as the kitchen, blowing gently from the breeze outside. custom shelves covered the other wall, filled to the brim with outlandish decor.

you first stepped closer to the window, seeing his figure outside. there was your truck, still in the same position you'd left it; the door still cracked, and its tires were embedded in mud. and the man, a distance away and moving toward the red barn in the distance — a more powerful, agile stride than he'd shown with you.

thinking nothing of it, you occupied your boredom with snooping. the shelves were what caught your attention, so that's where you ended up.

standing in front of them, you scanned through every item, growing more unsettled the longer you ogled. first, it was ancestral photos old enough to be in black and white, eerie but not abnormal. then, on the second shelf, the appeared uncanny.

quaint, mason jars and teeth.

fangs from coyotes and bobcats alike, mixed with bloodied molars that only could be pried from human mouths. the sight was akin to a gnarly car wreck, causing your morbid curiosity to overtake your sense of danger.

you glanced out the window again, seeing the barn door cracked open, indicating he was still occupied. crouching down, you examined the lowest shelf. the only clutter visible was VHS tapes, thick books, and small chests and boxes.

you took the first one that caught your eye, undoing the clasps and opening the velvety chest. newspaper clippings and passages alike, and a mini-Bible lay in the mess of words.

shaking your head, you set it aside and grabbed one of the tiny boxes, taking off the lid. your blood flow went icy, and your fingers trembled as you set the lid aside and continued processing.

possessions; watches, necklaces, wedding bands, and choppy strands of all hair types. when you noticed the hair, you gasped and ejected the box from your grip.

they weren't belongings; they were trophies.

the front door creaks from across the house, then slams shut again. you scramble to put the lids back on and pinch your finger in one of the latches, reflexively dropping it. all its contents clatter against the wood floor, compromising your cover.

"find somethin' you like?"

his voice appears behind you, effectively sending you into a startle. graves glances at the mess below you, still maintaining an eerie stillness about him.

frantically shaking your head, you begin to feel sweat cake your hairline. you ball your fists and go clammy, taking steps back, "this is my fault— i shouldn't have let my curiosity get the better of me." he remains untouched by your apprehensive shift, only worsening your instinct to run.

but he doesn't lunge or creep closer; all he does is linger by the shelves.

despite how dry your throat is, you gather saliva and gulp tensely, "i should get going. long trip ahead." that's hopeless; you know he didn't move the truck. you would've heard an engine. how far could you make it on foot?

your words come out sluggishly as if your brain is working at half speed. you peer down, stepping around every morbid souvenir — though all you do is stumble, rather than make any distance.

"won't be necessary, sweetheart." his voice echoes, stance unchanging while he observes your struggle.

you grasp at one of the walls, lids drooping as your feet drag. the lemonade he never once put his mouth on, laced with some sort of sedative. it all hit you too late; too late to retch it up or bolt down the hall ahead of him.

eventually, he steps closer, watching as you make an 'attempt' to swat him away. all you do is whack your hand at the air, thoroughly wasting more of your dwindling energy. instead of words, all that comes out are slurs or whimpers of intense turmoil.

your view of the doorway tilts and twists, turning blurred and doubled the further you stagger. a swirl of nausea erupts in your stomach, causing your knees to buckle. your head collides with the edge of the coffee table, leaving you stunned.

as the tranquilizer pumps through you, the drowsiness is indomitable. you roll onto your back and cough, lying at his feet. with the last of your remaining lucidity, you tug on his jean leg, as if in one last ditch effort to get to your feet again.

despite his opportunity to kick away your pleas, Graves stands idle, his neck craned down to watch every moment of it, a sick rendition of his favorite hobby. the most noticeable sensation — the tender skin of your temple throbs from the impact, until any and all discomfort fades away.

eyelids weighed with bricks flutter shut, squirming limbs cease, and the heave of your chest slows into gentle waves of slumber.

"atta' girl."

‧˚₊ divider cred. - cafekitsune ‧₊˚⊹

#what's the verdict fellas #i'm iffy about my dark writing #slasher!graves #phillip graves #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves cod #shadow company #phillip graves x you #graves x reader #philip graves x reader #graves x you #mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #mw2 fanfic

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