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urdreamydoodles · 13 days ago

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Bat-Family x Fem!OC

You smacks their ass as they walk past

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne (aged up), Barbara Gordon, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, Selina Kyle & Kate Kane

Jason Todd aka. Red Hood

- You never imagined how someone like Jason Todd could hold himself with such a dangerous blend of confidence and recklessness. He walks like he owns every inch of ground he treads, his leather jacket slung over his shoulders, the red of his helmet tucked under his arm. You don’t know what possesses you when you walk past him, catching a glimpse of his lean frame and the cocky smirk tugging at his lips. Maybe it’s the sheer magnetism he exudes, or maybe you just can’t help yourself. Your hand reaches out, and you deliver a sharp, playful smack to his rear as you stride by.

- Jason freezes mid-step, his body going rigid for a split second before he turns to face you, an incredulous look spreading across his face. “Did you just—” he begins, his voice caught somewhere between outrage and amusement. But then that signature smirk of his grows wider, sharper, and his blue eyes gleam with a dangerous, playful edge. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that,” he teases, advancing toward you with a slow, deliberate menace that’s all bark and no real bite. You laugh, the sound light and carefree, because you know Jason’s ire is more for show than anything else.

- He catches you around the waist, pulling you into his arms with ease, the leather of his jacket brushing against your skin. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing as his lips ghost over your ear. “But you’re not getting away with it.” There’s an edge of fondness in his tone, a warmth that softens his usual bravado. Jason Todd, the Red Hood, may wear his scars like armor, but when he’s with you, he’s softer, more human. You bring out a side of him that no one else gets to see, and he revels in the feeling of being seen by you, flaws and all.

- Later, as you sit curled up on the couch together, his hand resting casually on your thigh, he leans over and murmurs, “Next time, warn me before you do something like that. I might just enjoy it a little too much.” He grins at your surprised expression, his laughter rich and unrestrained. Jason Todd is a man of contradictions—gritty and rough around the edges, yet tender and fiercely loyal to those he loves. And in that moment, as he looks at you like you hung the moon, you know you’ll always be the exception to his every rule.

Dick Grayson aka. Nightwing

- It’s hard not to admire Dick Grayson as he moves with a fluid grace that’s almost otherworldly, every step a testament to his years as an acrobat. He’s the kind of man who lights up a room without even trying, his smile warm enough to melt the iciest of hearts. As he passes by you, his toned physique impossible to ignore, you act on a mischievous whim. Your hand darts out, delivering a quick slap to his behind, the sharp sound echoing in the quiet space.

- Dick stops in his tracks, his back straightening as he turns to face you, his expression a mix of surprise and amusement. “Did you really just do that?” he asks, his tone playful as he raises an eyebrow at you. But the corners of his lips are already twitching upward, his blue eyes sparkling with laughter. “You know I have a reputation to maintain, right? What if someone saw?” His words are teasing, but there’s no mistaking the delight in his voice.

- He crosses the room in a few quick strides, pulling you into his arms with that effortless charm of his. “You’re lucky you’re adorable,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His hands settle on your hips, his touch warm and grounding as he looks at you with a fondness that makes your heart skip a beat. Dick Grayson has always been a people person, someone who gives his all to everyone he meets, but with you, it’s different. With you, he lets his guard down completely, his love unfiltered and true.

- Later, as the two of you sit on the rooftop, the city sprawled out before you, he leans back on his hands and chuckles. “You’ve got some nerve, you know that?” he says, glancing over at you with a grin that’s equal parts exasperated and enamored. “But I love it. I love you.” In that moment, with the stars above and his hand brushing against yours, you realize that Dick’s love is the kind that makes you feel like you’re flying, weightless and free.

Tim Drake aka. Red Robin

- Tim Drake has always been the picture of focus and determination, his mind a labyrinth of strategies and contingencies. He’s the kind of man who gets lost in his work, his attention consumed by the mysteries he seeks to unravel. But as he walks past you, his nose buried in a tablet, you decide to do something to pull him out of his reverie. With a playful grin, you reach out and smack his rear, the sound sharp and unmistakable.

- Tim freezes, his eyes widening as he processes what just happened. Slowly, he turns to face you, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “Did you just…?” he begins, his voice faltering as he searches for the right words. He’s flustered, his usual composure slipping as he stares at you, half-amused and half-embarrassed. “I didn’t see that coming,” he admits, a small, awkward laugh escaping him. For someone so perceptive, you’ve managed to catch him completely off-guard.

- He sets his tablet down, his curiosity piqued as he steps closer to you. “Care to explain yourself?” he asks, his tone light and teasing as he folds his arms across his chest. But there’s a softness in his eyes, a quiet affection that belies his playful demeanor. Tim isn’t one to let his guard down easily, but with you, he doesn’t have to try. You bring a sense of ease to his life, a warmth that balances out the weight of his responsibilities.

- Later, as he sits beside you on the couch, his arm draped casually around your shoulders, he glances at you and smiles. “You’re something else, you know that?” he says, his voice filled with admiration. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Tim Drake may be the genius detective, always one step ahead of everyone else, but with you, he’s just Tim—a man who’s hopelessly in love with the person who keeps him on his toes.

Damian Wayne aka. Robin (Aged up)

- Damian Wayne walks with the confidence of someone who’s spent his entire life being told he’s destined for greatness. There’s a regal air about him, a sharpness in his gaze that makes people think twice before crossing him. But as he passes by you, his posture impeccable and his expression carefully composed, you decide to test the waters of his stoic exterior. Your hand darts out, delivering a swift smack to his rear.

- He stops abruptly, his head snapping around to look at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Did you just…” he starts, his voice laced with both outrage and confusion. For a moment, he seems utterly at a loss, his usual composure shattered by your unexpected audacity. But then his lips press into a thin line, and he narrows his eyes at you. “You’re insufferable,” he declares, though the faint pink tinting his cheeks betrays his embarrassment.

- Damian steps closer to you, his arms crossed over his chest as he fixes you with a glare that’s more bluster than anything else. “Do you think this is some kind of joke?” he demands, his tone sharp. But there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes, a warmth that he can’t quite hide. Damian may be the heir to the League of Assassins, but with you, he’s just a young man learning how to navigate the complexities of love and vulnerability.

- Later, as the two of you spar in the training room, he catches your wrist mid-strike, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re infuriating,” he says, his voice low and almost fond. “But I suppose I wouldn’t have you any other way.” Damian Wayne may be a warrior at heart, but when he’s with you, he allows himself to be just Damian—a boy who’s discovering that love is the greatest strength of all.

Barbara Gordon aka. Oracle / Batgirl

- Barbara Gordon is a force to be reckoned with, her mind as sharp as her combat skills. She moves with a quiet confidence, her every action deliberate and precise. As she walks past you, her auburn hair catching the light, you feel a sudden surge of mischief. Before you can think twice, your hand reaches out, delivering a playful smack to her rear.

- She stops mid-stride, her head tilting to the side as she turns to look at you, one eyebrow raised. “Really?” she says, her tone dripping with amusement. There’s a playful glint in her green eyes, and you can tell she’s already plotting her revenge. Barbara is nothing if not quick on her feet, and you know she won’t let you off the hook easily. “You realize you’ve just declared war, right?” she teases, a sly smile spreading across her face.

- Barbara steps closer, her hands resting on her hips as she looks you up and down, clearly unimpressed by your attempt to play innocent. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she says, her voice warm and affectionate despite her mock-annoyance. With you, she allows herself to be vulnerable, to let go of the weight of being both Oracle and Batgirl. You remind her that it’s okay to laugh, to let her guard down, and to simply be herself.

- Later, as the two of you sit in front of her computer, the glow of the screens casting a soft light over her features, she leans over and presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re impossible,” she murmurs, her voice filled with affection. “But you keep things interesting.” Barbara Gordon may be a genius, a fighter, and a hero, but with you, she’s just Barbara—a woman who’s found someone who makes her feel alive in a way she never thought possible.

Stephanie Brown aka. Spoiler

- Stephanie Brown has always been a whirlwind of energy and determination, her spirit unrelenting even in the face of impossible odds. She walks past you with that carefree confidence she wears like armor, her blonde hair bouncing with every step. You can’t help but admire the way she carries herself, equal parts stubborn and radiant. Acting on impulse, you reach out and give her a playful smack on the rear as she strides by.

- She stops dead in her tracks, her head whipping around to face you. “Excuse me?” she exclaims, her voice full of mock indignation, though the corners of her lips are already curling into a mischievous smile. “Did you just Spank the Spoiler?” she asks, emphasizing her vigilante codename with a dramatic flair. Stephanie has never been one to take herself too seriously, and you can see the spark of amusement in her bright eyes as she folds her arms, pretending to be offended.

- In a flash, she’s back at your side, poking you in the ribs as she laughs. “Oh, you’re so in trouble now,” she teases, her voice light and full of affection. There’s something infectious about her laughter, a sound that seems to chase away the shadows in your life. Stephanie Brown is a fighter, yes, but she’s also someone who finds joy even in the smallest, silliest moments. She loves fiercely, and her heart is as big as her grin.

- Later, as you both sit on the couch sharing popcorn and bad movies, she nudges your shoulder and gives you a cheeky grin. “Next time, maybe warn me,” she says, her tone teasing. “Or don’t. I kind of like being caught off guard.” Stephanie leans against you, her warmth enveloping you like a cozy blanket. With her, life is always an adventure—messy, unpredictable, and full of laughter.

Cassandra Cain aka. Orphan

- Cassandra Cain moves like a shadow, her every step silent and purposeful. She walks past you with a grace that’s almost hypnotic, her petite frame radiating a quiet strength. You’ve always admired her discipline, her ability to say so much without uttering a single word. But today, you decide to shake up her composure. As she walks by, you reach out and deliver a playful smack to her rear, the sound breaking the otherwise tranquil air.

- Cassandra stops, her body going still as a statue. Slowly, she turns her head to look at you, her dark eyes wide with surprise. She blinks, clearly unsure of how to process what just happened. Then, to your delight, the faintest smile tugs at the corners of her lips—a rare and precious expression that feels like a reward in itself. “Why?” she asks simply, her voice soft but curious. It’s not anger or embarrassment, just genuine intrigue.

- You shrug, offering her a cheeky grin. “Because I couldn’t resist,” you reply, watching as her smile grows just a little wider. Cassandra doesn’t say much, but the way she steps closer, her hand brushing yours, says everything. She’s always been more comfortable expressing herself through action, and with you, she doesn’t need words to show her affection. Her trust in you is absolute, her love quiet but deeply felt.

- Later, as you sit together on the floor, her head resting on your shoulder while you read, she lifts her gaze to meet yours. “You surprise me,” she says softly, her voice filled with warmth. “It’s good.” Cassandra Cain may be the most skilled fighter you’ve ever met, but in your arms, she’s just Cass—a woman who’s learning to embrace the lighter, softer side of life.

Duke Thomas aka. Signal

- Duke Thomas strides through life with an easy confidence, his optimism shining as brightly as the sunlight he manipulates. He walks past you with a casual swagger, his golden-brown eyes warm and inviting. As he passes by, you can’t help but admire the way he carries himself—steady, resilient, and undeniably charming. Acting on a whim, you reach out and smack his rear, the playful gesture a stark contrast to his calm demeanor.

- Duke pauses, his head turning as a look of amused disbelief spreads across his face. “Really?” he says, raising an eyebrow as a slow grin tugs at his lips. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that.” There’s no annoyance in his tone, just pure, unfiltered amusement. Duke has always been good at rolling with life’s surprises, and this one is no exception. He steps closer to you, crossing his arms and tilting his head. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

- You laugh, and the sound makes his grin widen. Duke’s hand rests lightly on your hip as he leans in, his voice dropping to a low, playful murmur. “You know, you’re going to pay for that, right?” he teases, his tone laced with affection. With you, Duke’s natural warmth grows even brighter, his easygoing nature making every moment with him feel effortless and fun. He’s the kind of man who makes you feel like the center of his world without even trying.

- Later, as the two of you watch the sunset from the rooftop, he nudges you gently with his shoulder. “You’re something else, you know that?” he says, his tone soft and sincere. “But I wouldn’t change a thing.” Duke Thomas is a beacon of light in a world full of shadows, and with you by his side, his glow only grows stronger.

Selina Kyle aka. Catwoman

- Selina Kyle is the embodiment of elegance and mischief, her every move a calculated blend of grace and seduction. She walks past you with the confidence of a queen, her hips swaying in a way that’s almost hypnotic. You can’t resist the temptation she so effortlessly exudes, and before you can think better of it, your hand darts out to smack her rear as she passes by.

- She stops, one perfectly manicured hand resting on her hip as she turns to face you, a single eyebrow arched. “Oh, darling,” she purrs, her voice smooth as silk, “you’re playing a dangerous game.” There’s no anger in her tone, only amusement, her green eyes gleaming with a predatory kind of delight. Selina loves a good challenge, and you’ve just given her the perfect excuse to turn the tables.

- She closes the distance between you in a few fluid steps, her fingers trailing lightly along your jaw as she tilts your face up to meet her gaze. “Careful,” she whispers, her lips curving into a sly smile. “I might just decide to return the favor.” Selina Kyle is a master of control, but with you, she’s willing to let go of the reins—just a little. She loves the way you keep her on her toes, the way you’re unafraid to meet her at her level.

- Later, as the two of you lounge on the balcony, the city lights twinkling below, she leans against you, her head resting on your shoulder. “You’re lucky I like you,” she says with a soft laugh, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. Selina Kyle may be the infamous Catwoman, a thief who’s always one step ahead, but with you, she’s just Selina—a woman who’s found someone who can keep up with her.

Kate Kane aka. Batwoman

- Kate Kane walks with the authority of someone who’s seen it all and refuses to back down. Her stride is purposeful, her crimson hair a striking contrast against the stark black of her attire. As she passes by, her no-nonsense demeanor is enough to make most people think twice about approaching her. But not you. With a playful grin, you reach out and smack her rear, the sound sharp and deliberate.

- She stops in her tracks, her head turning slowly as she fixes you with a piercing gaze. “Really?” she asks, her tone dry but laced with amusement. “That’s how you want to play this?” There’s no real annoyance in her voice, just a hint of disbelief mixed with a begrudging smile. Kate Kane doesn’t do surprises often, but you’ve managed to catch her off guard in the best way possible.

- She steps closer, her arms crossed as she looks you up and down, clearly unimpressed by your attempt to play innocent. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” she says, her voice low and teasing. But there’s a warmth in her eyes, a softness she reserves only for you. Kate may be tough as nails, but with you, she allows herself to be vulnerable, to let down the walls she’s spent years building.

- Later, as the two of you sit by the fire with glasses of whiskey in hand, she leans over and presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re impossible,” she mutters, though there’s no mistaking the affection in her voice. Kate Kane may be Batwoman, a hero who stands alone in the darkest of nights, but with you, she’s just Kate—a woman who’s found a love worth fighting for.

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sulleeu · 1 month ago

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VAN DER LINDE GIRL

arthur morgan oneshot!

pairing: low honor!arthur morgan x oc (name or looks not specified)

cw: please refrain from reading if you're uncomfortable with mentions of human trafficking, arthur is a selfish asshole, fingering, missionary, cowgirl, unprotected piv, alcohol abuse, manipulation to a certain extent, sex workers, Dutch owns OC, but there isn't a romatic relationship, OC is in love with Arthur, NSFW, MDNI

wc: roughly 2.9k

summary: Dutch has something Arthur wants. And if Arthur wants something, he's going to take it and claim it.

an: this is loosely inspired by Gibson Girl by Ethel Cain. i'd never dare to disrepect a song or an artist. please take it with a BIG grain of salt. i've recently became obsessed with her music and some of her songs had inspired me to write again. if you look at the lyrics of this song, i tried to incorporate them in this oneshot. i tried to capture the meaning of this song only very loosely in this oneshot - you may find some aspects of it in it with some of my own added pieces.

proofread but there may be grammar or spelling errors regardless.

tags: @frillydolle <3

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The evening air was sharp against his skin, like thousands of needles piercing his flesh, injecting poison into his veins. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples, his hair damp from the humidity surrounding him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and made his way through the camp toward Dutch's tent. The plan had to work tonight. The tension in his muscles, coiled and ready to snap, made his vision blur with rage, always on edge. And the only thing that could make it bearable was her. More specifically, sex with her. The countless nights spent alone in his cot, fantasizing about her naked body, his hand around his throbbing shaft—her breasts, the valley between them, her ass, the curve of her spine as it arched under the force of his thrusts. He imagined taking her, showing her pleasure like Dutch never could. There was nobody else, and he was so selfish about it. No other woman could rile him like she did. She occupied his mind, lived there rent-free, and it was driving him mad. The fact that she was Dutch’s most prized possession only made it worse. He swore he could burn down an entire town if it meant she was his and not Dutch's.

His steps were heavy with the weight of his desires. He rolled his shoulders in frustration, shaking off the chill in his bones, then cleared his throat before calling Dutch's name.

"How 'bout we saddle up and grab us a drink, son?"

The plan was simple: get Dutch as drunk as possible, preferably until he passed out, then ride to her house and fuck her senseless. He knew it would be impossible to get to her with Dutch always nagging about money. Arthur never understood Dutch's obsession with cash, especially when the infamous leader was secretly running a side business with working girls in Saint Denis.

The hustle involved private sex workers. Dutch would find young women, desperate for money and preferably without family, and recruit them to work for him. By day, they appeared as ordinary women on the streets of Saint Denis, but when night fell, they spread their legs for rich men in the privacy of their own homes.

The woman who consumed Arthur's thoughts was part of that hustle, and for some strange reason, she was Dutch's favorite. He kept her for himself, the selfish bastard. The knowledge crawled under Arthur’s skin, gnawing at anything soft or good inside him. All that remained was poison, disguised as jealousy and the burning need to possess her.

So, the two older men mounted their horses and rode out of camp toward town. The ride felt interminable for Arthur, his thoughts sinking deeper into a sea of frustration. He couldn’t help but fantasize about devouring her, marking her body with bruises of pure want. Dutch's words about the next plan seemed to fall on deaf ears. All Arthur could do was give him a hard stare, indifferent to whether Dutch noticed. After all, soon enough, Dutch wouldn't remember a thing about tonight.

They both dismounted, hitched their horses, and strode into the saloon, heading straight for the bar.

"Two glasses of whiskey, sir," Dutch barked at the bartender, slamming two dollar bills onto the counter. The bartender nodded, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and poured two glasses.

Arthur watched Dutch down his shot, then raise his glass with a muttered, "To this night," before swallowing the thick liquid that burned its way down his throat.

A few more drinks and countless stories later, Dutch’s legs grew unsteady. After another two glasses and a heartfelt speech about how much he appreciated Arthur, his head dropped onto the counter, magnetized by exhaustion. Arthur patted his back, slipped a five-dollar bill to the bartender, exchanged goodbyes, and made his way out of the saloon.

The tension in his legs, fueled by the alcohol, only intensified. He could feel an indescribable warmth spreading through his flesh. A shiver of excitement ran down his spine, and his fingertips tingled with anticipation.

At half-past one, he knocked on her door. No answer. A minute later, he grabbed a cigarette from his pack, lit it, and took a drag. Then he knocked again, this time with more force. The door creaked open, revealing her face, peeking through the narrow gap.

"You open that door for just anyone?" he rasped, the cigarette swaying between his lips. "At this hour?" He raised a brow.

Without a word, she stepped back, revealing the interior of her apartment. Arthur took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and stepping inside.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep.

Arthur moved around her kitchen, inspecting the utensils, the counter, the sink, before pulling out a chair from the table. He lowered himself into it, crossing one leg over the other. She stood there in her nightgown, watching him, before clearing her throat to repeat her question.

"What do you wan—"

"Heard ya the first time."

She stood, dumbfounded, scanning him from head to toe.

"C'mere." He motioned with a hand, and she hesitantly took a step closer.

Arthur uncrossed his legs, his hand resting on her hip, pulling her closer. She gasped meekly, shifting on the wooden floor.

"Ever get that feelin' like you're after something real bad, but deep down you know it ain't never gonna be yours?"

She stayed silent, the rhythmic thud of her heartbeat the only sound in the room. After a moment, she nodded.

"Hmm. Ever got it?"

She shook her head.

"Thought so. The difference between you and me is, I ain't waitin' around for nothin'. When I want it, I take it."

Her face scrunched in confusion, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"That's why I'm here tonight. Dutch has somethin’ in his hands, and I aim to make it mine."

His thumb traced a slow, repetitive pattern on her hip, his eyes peeking up at her from beneath the brim of his hat like a predator in the shadows. She bit her lip, a heat blooming deep in her stomach, and she exhaled a slow breath.

Her hands found their way to his broad shoulders, the muscles rippling under his shirt as he drew her close. His arms circled her waist, pulling her between his spread legs. His nose brushed the curve under her breast, his lips pressing lightly against her skin through the thin fabric of her nightgown.

She tilted her head back, her eyes closing to absorb the feeling of his presence consuming her. The scent of gunpowder, sweat, and musk, tinged with a hint of vanilla, enveloped her, shutting down her rational thoughts.

When she opened her eyes again, she met his gaze—dark, hungry. She felt a surge of arousal between her thighs, and she rubbed her legs together. There was something so erotic in his eyes—the way he looked at her, the way his hands explored her hips and thighs, the fact that she was betraying Dutch and letting his trusted son make her feel this way. But it wasn’t like Dutch and she had a real relationship. He owned her body, not her soul. It was Arthur who owned her soul, pure and only his to do as he pleased. And he was about to claim it.

One of his hands slid beneath the hem of her skirt, his fingers grazing her knee, then moving upwards to the waistband of her bloomers. Her fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, and he leaned in to kiss her stomach, his other hand pulling her bloomers down her legs.

Her eyes locked with his, the pupils dilated, as she pulled off his worn hat, revealing his crown of brown hair. He inhaled her scent deeply, then stood, grabbing both of her ass cheeks in his hands. She yelped, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him into a fierce kiss. He wrapped her thighs around his waist.

It took him no more than a few steps before he laid her on her bed. Careful not to crush her, he laid her down on her bed, then pulled away from her momentarily to pull the shirt restricting him from further action over his head and he tossed it over his shoulder somewhere on the wooden floor. With a sharp pull of his teeth, he took off his leather gloves and dropped them on the pile at his feet.

She watched him with lust in her eyes, mentally stripping him entirely, piece by piece until there was nothing left. Her thighs rubbed together at the outline of his cock in his pants and he unzipped them dismissively with practiced ease to free himself from the unbearable restraint. Noticing her hungry gaze, he gave himself a few strokes which made her bite her lip and pull the nightgown over her head, too. He crawled between the sprawl of her legs, his breathing hard, his chest heaving and eyes churning with undeniable arousal.

"I want to claim you." The tone of his voice sent goosebumps and electrifying shocks down her spinal cord, the hair on her arms and back of her neck rising as he traced the back of his finger along her jaw towards the shell of her ear.

A shudder of breath came past her lips. His hands explored her pale skin, beautiful and neat unlike his—endless scars scattered across his torso, healed yet ugly and a constant reminder of the life he's living. His stomach was flush againt her own, his pulsating cock pressed againt her skin. She mewled at the marvel of the moment, gently slipping her hand between their bodies to seize his length, her fingers curling around it.

"Woman, you ain’t got the slightest idea what you’re stirrin’ up in me."

She gave him a few languid strokes with a flick of her wrist, her thumb coming to press at his slit on top and he shuddered above her, lips teasingly nipping at the skin on her neck, leaving a glistening trail in its wake. He thrust his hips into her palm, desperately seeking the friction he needed to ease the tension he had been suppressing all this time.

He felt as though he could shatter into a million pieces right now, and she would be there to gather them, to piece him back together. All his, not Dutch's. The primal urge to take charge, to claim control, settled deeply in his bones. The simple fact that she was now under his control, doing things to him he had only imagined in the solitude of his cot, was enough to shatter his patience in an instant.

He lowered himself to her face, capturing her lips. His tongue invaded her mouth and she gasped into the kiss, feeling his dick twitch in her grasp as she ran the pad of her thumb along one of his veins. She spread her legs around his torso, locking her ankles at his lower back.

"I want you to fuck me, Arthur," she cooed against his lips, her nails scraping at his back with each buck of his hips into her hand.

He groaned in response, pulling at her bottom lip with his teeth before lowering his head to the underside of her jaw, kissing his way down her collar bone until he reached her breast. His mouth closed around her nipple then suckled and her eyes fluttered shut. Her hand released his weeping cock and glided upwards his stomach, soflty ghosting over the density of his muscles before landing upon his hair and her fingers sweeped back the moist strands hanging down his forehead.

With a soft pop he drew himself back from her, catching a glimpse of her gaze and locking his eyes on hers. Something dark churned behind his eyes and she shivered underneath him.

Giving himself a few strokes at hand, he aligned himself with her entrance, hissed under his breath when his tip pushed inside and slipped in easily. She choked on her breath, scratching her nails down his back.

He set a slow, torturing pace, his thrusts tantalizing, hard yet slow. She squirmed under his frame and gasped a plea. His lips captured hers, tongue protrding inside of her mouth in a rough manner, the kiss aggressive, filled with passion and deep rooted lust. Her walls fluttered around him with each thrust of his cock, his hips flushed against hers with every glide of his length inside of her.

She gasped again and his lips were on hers, panting hard against her mouth. His hand palmed her ass cheek, pulling her hips closer to his to close the already narrow gap between them and to angle her to his liking. The tip of his dick hit that sweet spot inside of her, the action making her moan in surprise. He chuckled with satisfaction as he fucked her weak body into her sheets. She cried out his name again and again.

"Good girl," he drawled as he bit down on her collar bone sending her over the edge with a hard moan. He groaned against her skin as he came, too, filling her up with his spend.

She squirmed slightly, feeling his cum seep out of her pussy and trickle down on the sheets. He panted against her chest, his breathing slowly coming down to a haste. And after a couple of minutes his digits dug into the flesh of her waist, and he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him in the motion.

She yelped in surprise, and in the brief moment of impact, braced herself against his chest. His calloused hands slid over her hips, gliding toward her waist before continuing upward to cup her breasts. A low groan escaped his lips as he kneaded the soft weight resting in his palms.

She bent down slowly, her hair framing her face as she landed a soft peck upon his lips before raising her hips and grabbing him at his base. He was quick to move one of his hands between their bodies, his fingers spreading her folds apart and circling her entrance. She gasped against his mouth, letting his tongue dive into her mouth with vigor. Her toes curled when his finger entered her, thick, long and hefty, and he marveled in her pants, possessiveness gnawing at his features.

She ground her hips into him, thighs trembling with anticipation. Her lips traveled along his jaw, stopping at his ear and biting at his earlobe while exhaling sharply. His hot breath fanned over her ear, the man whispering sweet nothings that echoed inside her skull.

"C'mon, baby," he mewled. "Give it to me good."

She sighed in response, releasing the skin on his ear from between her teeth and tilting her head to look down between their bodies. He leaned his forehead against hers, watching her align his cock with her entrance before painfully slowly sinking down on him. He watched the head of his length catch at the rim of her cunt before it disappeared entirely and she moaned into his ear.

Everyone seeks it, even Dutch. But in her mind, only Arthur could have it. There was no one else she wanted more. His strong arms, his eyes, his face, his broad shoulders and wide back, the way his muscles rippled beneath his shirt, the way his riding pants and chaps hugged his thick thighs and long legs, the way he handled a gun, and the cigarette that always dangled from his lips, swaying with every word he spoke.

"If it feels good, then it can't be bad," he whispered to himself.

Oh, boy does it feel good. The tension, the unspoken lust for each other, his cock filling her up, his digits dimpling her skin right above her hips. And she feels so immoral in his lap. Going behind Dutch's back. Fucking someone he trusts.

Her eyes closed as she kissed him again, lowering herself on top of his thighs until he was burried to the hilt. Her heartbeat picked up on speed, her breathing increasing and she took a deep breath, then rolled her hips on him and he moaned.

His jaw went slack from the sheer amount of pleasure, his breath catching in his throat as she continued to roll her hips on him. And he tried his utmost hardest not to flip her around and fuck her senseless. His arms twitching from the effort of holding back, his hips bucking up involuntarily.

The coil in the pit of her stomach spiraled, and she breathed out a sharp breath when the head of his cock nudged that deeply sensitive spot inside of her. His fingers angled her on top of him, the renewed spark circling in her guts as he kept hitting that spot repetitively, bringing her closer to the finishing line. Her toes curled again, her back arched into him. His voice distantly breathed a praise into her ear and she managed to choke out a quiet moan before the coil snapped and she awkwardly settled on top of his chest.

It took few more thrusts inside of her until he filled her up with his spend, the notion making her whimper in overstimulation. His hands came to hold her sides, one of them traveling further down to her ass and gripping the flesh tightly before delivering a sharp slap to her skin. She cried out in pain, curling on top of him.

"I own you."

105 notes · View notes

thewinter-eden · 22 days ago

Text

psycho | han jisung (8/20)

8 : stay with me

Pairings: HAN JISUNG x OC | LEE MINHO x 2nd OC

Rating: mature

cross posted on AO3 under the_winter_eden and wattpad under alone-at-last.

Warnings: discussions of murder, torture, rape.

psycho masterlist

< last chapter | next chapter >

pov : minho

His professors are his mentors, far more so than anybody at the police department is. He storms across campus in a cloud of rage that doesn’t dissipate, even as he arrives at one of the offices and flings the door open without knocking.

A man is inside, reading through essays at his desk. He pops an eyebrow at the intrusion and peers at Minho over the frames of his reading glasses, almost entirely unsurprised. When he sees who it is, he lets the corner of the paper he’s holding fall from between his fingertips and he straightens. “Minho. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Minho kicks the door shut behind him and slumps in to throw himself down in a chair. “I’m considering a mutiny.”

The professor rakes his teeth over his lip for a second and squints. “Are we speaking academically or legally? I can’t say I would benefit from being part of either conversation.”

The younger man cards a hand through his hair and sighs, contemplating his next words. Even sharing the details with his professor is crossing a line that he hasn’t been willing to cross before, but he can’t think of a better reason. “I need you to tell me about Cain Roberts.”

Lifting his chin in surprise, the professor pulls off his glasses and turns to drop the blinds over his window, as though there’s a lip reader posted with binoculars in the fourth floor windows of the next building. When he turns back to Minho, he leans closer over the desk and lowers his voice. “Has something happened?”

The frown he gets in response is telling enough. Minho’s eyebrows dig creases across his face and he rubs his hands together pensively. “There’s an ongoing investigation due to the fact that he’s a serial abductor—and serial killer, apparently—which we’ve been prevented from following up on because he’s, and I quote, ‘a piece of a larger puzzle’ that the feds need to be able to use in a different investigation.”

The history professor looks confused.

Minho goes on. “I’m assuming the larger puzzle is the organization that you’ve been keeping an eye on, since I’ve heard you and the others mention Cain Roberts whenever he or one of his victims show up in the paper.”

Nodding carefully, the older man scratches his chin. “Well, sure. Yeah, he is. But you came in here with such fire that I…I don’t know, I thought you were going to tell me your family broke up with you or something.”

Minho doesn’t find him funny. His face screws up in a scowl and he just barely keeps back a sharp retort. “My partner and I have discovered one of his victims. We’ve been able to discreetly communicate with her while she’s in captivity.”

Now he gets it. The professor’s eyes widen. “You’re in contact with one of his victims?”

Recognizing that they’re already getting off track, Minho waves a hand impatiently. “I need to know everything you know about Cain Roberts, because the police won’t tell me anything. As it stands right now, there are eight girls who are being tortured and killed without any plans being made to rescue them. I need a good reason to not buy a jackhammer.”

“Why a jackhammer?”

“They’re being held underground, beneath the sewers.”

“Oh god.”

Minho just sits there, waiting for his professor to gather his thoughts, wishing he wasn’t considering throwing away the career that he’s spent the last few years putting off college for. Double booking himself with police work (with intention to be promoted) and course work (with intention to graduate with two bachelor degrees) has been robbing too much from him already for it all to come to nothing.

Finally, the older man folds his hands and nods. “Okay, yeah. Cain Roberts is a member of the shadow group that we monitor.”

“The Order of the Blood Feather.” Minho clarifies.

“Right. He’s one of the members of the local chapter, and as far as we can tell, he’s been fairly active in the Idaho area with some…political subterfuge.” It’s a kind way to say ‘political assassinations’. The Order of the Blood Feather is a group of political extremists who tip the scales of power by use of assassination, a fact that Minho is well aware of in his capacity as a member of the collective ‘we’ that his professor refers to.

A number of students, professors, and various other authority figures throughout the city were part of a pseudo-society, these days primarily occupied with keeping the success rate of The Order as low as possible.

“One of our points of interest is how he manages to keep up his hobbies while he’s still working his sketchy day job, as well as presumably working an actual day job.” Dr. Kim purses his lips thoughtfully, concern lacing his tone. “You say he has eight girls? If I’m not mistaken, we have a stack of twenty-two missing persons pages so far.”

A pang of disgust puts a grimace on Minho’s face. “The police have found bodies.”

Dr. Kim draws himself upright in surprise and makes a note on the piece of paper. “We should have learned of this by now.”

It doesn’t surprise Minho that they don’t know yet. “Captain Bang has been keeping this under lock and key. He’s not allowed to divulge any information, not even to the families of the victims. Judge Moe and the FBI have their boots pretty securely on his throat. It pisses him off enough that my partner and I are involved.”

Minho props his elbows up on his knees and leans in to watch the thoughts flicker across Dr. Kim’s face. “I need to now if I can acquire dynamite and blow a hole in the sewer floor.”

The professor shakes his head. “As disgusting as that sounds, you can’t just Bugs Bunny this situation. It’s true enough that Roberts is capable of being traced back to The Order, though we both know the FBI will never pull their heads out of their butts long enough to figure out how to do any good with that information. Let’s not throw your job away just yet. Let’s use your connection with the girl you’re in contact with and get her to spell it all out. Write a book. Present it, start to finish, to Judge Moe, and convince him that you cannot sit and wait for Roberts to lead the feds to whatever they think he’s going to give them. The truth of the matter is that the police and the feds both brought their arguments to him, and the FBI was more convincing. That’s all. Time to issue a reversal.”

Minho: We can take a break if you need to.

Cass: I only have a few more minutes. Let’s keep going.

He’s spent the past month drilling Cass for information. She’s given him stories from before she was even abducted, retelling accounts that had been passed down from the girls before her. She’s given him her own personal accounts, from waking up on a slimy concrete floor with a broken nose and a probable concussion, to her first time under Cain’s knife, to all of the killings that she had been present for.

Like her story of Anna, the first killing after her abduction had been done in front of her, to deliberately frighten her out of attempting to block off her emotions while in the chair.

He’s noticed the way that she refers to the torture sessions as the chair. It’s always the chair.

From what he’s gathered, Cain is a monster of clinical proportions, creating a scientific environment in which to experiment with pain. It makes him sick with rage to think of what goes on under his feet, to think of helpless girls being experimented on to no end other than the curious amusement of their captor.

She’s told him about Han and his little brother Jeongin, who have been in captivity for almost as long as the current oldest survivor, and the servitude that Han has been forced into. Minho suspects that this is a system devised by Cain to make up for the times that he’s unable to be present due to his responsibilities with The Order.

He puts his notebook away.

Minho: Let’s talk about something else. What’s the first thing you’re gonna do after you’re free?

Cass: Take a shower.

He’s glad she managed to say something other than argue the fact that there was no guarantee that she would ever be free again. He smiles and tries not to think too hard about how bad it smells where he is, and at least he and Seungmin have showered recently. He can’t imagine how she must feel down there with no such utilities.

Minho: And then what?

Cass: I think I’d like to go see Mt. Rainier. Or go anywhere up high with fresh air and an unending view.

Minho: You’ll go, then. You should go to Mt. St. Helens, too.

Cass: I’d love to. Have you been?

Minho: No, but I’ve seen pictures. It’s the farthest thing from an underground prison, trust me.

Cass: Let’s go, then.

His heart stutters, and he doesn’t think of anything to write back before his watch dings that her time is up and he rolls up his spool of twine without having sent anything. But it feels wrong to just get up and leave without a word, so he pulls a small package from his shirt pocket—a wad of beef jerky that he’s wrapped in cloth and string so she doesn’t have to hide a plastic wrapper—and drops it quickly through the vent.

It’s not a response, but it’s something. If anything, it buys him time to figure out why his gut instantly started twisting at her message.

Let’s go, then.

Let’s go?

He turns on his heel and heads back up to the street level to finish a patrol shift with Seungmin, briefly reporting to his partner what he’s just learned from Cass. He leaves out the last part of the conversation. There’s no point in explaining something that he hasn’t fully processed yet.

But what’s to process? She wants to be free, that’s a given. She wants to see the beauty of nature and be as far away from an underground tunnel as possible, that’s obvious. He suggested a location for her to do exactly that, and she had merely extended what could have been his own invitation. Right?

Had he invited her?

Minho shakes his head to clear his thoughts. None of this is even worth bellyaching over. It was just a turn of phrase.

When all this is over, Cass will be rescued, and she will pursue every bit of freedom that she desires. He, on the other hand, will return to his classes and try not to get fired and expelled all in one go. That’s all there is to it.

Though, as he thinks on it, he really would love to see Mount St. Helens.

He walks the sewers every day. It gets to the point where he knows the grimy tunnel network better than he knows his own campus. In fact, he’s explored the underground from his downtown beat where Cass’s cell was all the way across town and up the hill to the tunnels beneath campus.

He’s wandered the area beneath The Pink Door so many times that he’s actually become familiar with the voices of some of the nightclub regulars that bounce around overhead.

It’s the countless reports from his locals of Cain Roberts going in and out of the nightclub that causes him to believe that The Pink Door is somehow concealing the entrance to the place where Robert keeps the girls.

As he combs every inch of the disgusting cement for the hundredth time, though, he begins to wonder if his only chance at finding it is to hang around and try to catch Roberts’ comings and goings himself.

The idea of leaving the girls in that hell until the FBI can figure out how to do their jobs robs sleep from him nightly.

Once again disappointed by his inability to find anything that even remotely resembles the gates of the underworld, Minho checks his watch and returns to the opposite end of the block to meet with Cass.

Minho: Leaves are falling all over the place today.

Cass: Can I see one?

Minho leans back to holler her request up to Seungmin, who immediately produces a large maple leaf. Minho handles like it’s an ancient, delicate artifact as he lowers the first leaf Cass has seen in months.

Minho: Proudly sponsored by Seungmin.

It’s well over two minutes before she writes anything back, and he worries (as he always does) that she’s been caught. But then he feels a little tug on the twine and he pulls up her note. The ink from the first pen he dropped experimentally is beginning to fade, so he makes a mental note to bring another one that evening.

Cass: I’m really starting to believe Seungmin is Santa.

Minho cracks a grin.

Minho: Comments like that are making him far too full of himself.

Cass: Do you have more questions for me?

By now, she’s used to his daily interrogations. She understands why. She suffers through, determined to do anything that will speed up the process of being rescued.

Minho retrieves his notebook and skims over their progress, focusing on questions to fill in the parts he’s not totally satisfied with yet.

An hour passes and her answers are getting shorter and more clipped, so he puts his book away.

Minho: That’s enough for now. Thank you.

Cass: I hope it’s enough.

Minho: I’ve got plenty to start a thorough introduction to your case. Tomorrow I want to ask you about the specifics of your treatment, and then I’ll go talk to the police again.

Cass: I’ll need a new pen.

Minho: I’ll bring one.

The twine lays still in his hands for a few minutes. He can’t imagine how hard it is for her to get through every day, much less deal with him constantly reminding her that no one cares about them enough to save them.

But he does.

He’ll break down Judge Moe’s door himself if it has any chance of making a difference.

The twine gives a tug.

Cass: Why are you trying so hard?

It’s the last question he expects. What kind of person would be content to go about his day knowing that eight girls are suffering under his very feet?

Besides Judge Moe, Captain Bang, and the entire FBI, apparently.

Minho: Because you can’t keep living like this.

Cass: To be fair, there’s no guarantee that any of us are gonna keep living like this.

Minho: That’s hardly a solution.

Cass: But seriously, why do you come here every day? Just to talk to me?

Minho: No, actually, I love sewers.

Cass: I can’t believe you’re wasting my time on sarcasm.

Minho: I can’t believe you’re wasting your time on dumb questions.

Cass: They’re not dumb if I genuinely don’t know why you’re still helping me even after everyone else has chosen not to.

He takes a second to think. He still hasn’t told her that he’s a cop. It’s a standard precaution that he started when he first made contact with her, just in case she was the one milking him for information, but now two months have passed and he still hasn’t said anything.

What if Roberts finds them out? How would he punish her if he discovered she was passing information to a cop? Would she have felt more hesitant about talking to a cop than just talking to a dumb college student who could be enticed into a sewer by a fraternity?

Either way, it doesn’t feel like the right time to air all of that out.

Minho: I can’t just do nothing.

Cass: You do a lot more than nothing. Even Cain doesn’t see me twice every single day.

That’s a relief.

He’s not sure what to say. At least he’s more consistent than a serial killer?

Minho: Does it help? Would you prefer that I didn’t come so often?

Why does he feel insecure about reaching out to and trying to help a literal hostage? He debates smacking himself for his own stupidity, but decides against smearing whatever excrement he may be carrying residual traces of all over his forehead.

Cass: That’s not what I mean. Of course it helps. This is the first thing I’ve had to live for since I woke up in this hellhole.

He can’t help but notice that she scratched out the word ‘you’re’ and replaced it with ‘this’.

‘You’re the first thing I’ve had to live for.’

Minho curses himself for feeling his pulse speed up. He can’t be feeling flustered over the desperation of a girl fighting tooth and nail to stay alive and be free. He forces himself to ignore the part of him that suddenly feels nervous.

Minho: Then I’ll talk to you in a few hours.

pov : anna

“Morning,” Han pushes her door open with a foot, carrying the usual tray of hot broth, water, and bread. His eyes strain in the dim light, but he faintly sees her laying on her back in bed and knows she’s awake.

He knows she can only sleep on her side, even when her ribs are still healing. Even so, she doesn’t move as the door closes behind him and he shuffles further into the room.

Anna hears his bare feet scuff across the cold floor, and pretends her imagination isn’t making her hear him sloshing through a pool of blood instead. She pretends she won’t see Lily sprawled on the floor if she turns her head, or Sara sitting in the darkest corner of the room.

She’s not even sure if Han is real.

“Anna?” He places the tray carefully at the foot of her bed. “Blink if you’re still with me, Annie.”

She does blink, both at the levity in his tone and at the nickname she hasn’t heard before. Her hand is suddenly wrapped gingerly in his, twisting and turning under his close examination.

He puts her left hand down and repeats the movement with her right. Satisfied at last, Han takes a step back and rubs his own hands over his arms. “Your burns are looking good.”

That’s the first time she realizes how cold it is in her room, when Han aggressively rubs circulation into his arms and then turns to make sure her blanket is covering her feet.

She feels like she hasn’t checked in with her feet in a while. They don’t feel cold, and she can’t feel if they’re covered or not, so she tries wiggling her toes.

There they are.

They’re numb from the chill, but they’re there.

“Anna?” Han’s voice tries again. “You should eat while it’s still warm.”

He watches as she just blinks slowly at the ceiling, watches the shallow rise and fall of her chest, listens to the wheeze of her lungs.

She doesn’t respond.

“I’ll be back with dinner later,” Han says finally, backing towards the door. He’s speaking to an empty room.

She barely realizes she’s strapped in that chair again. All she can see is the hollow disinterest in Cain’s blue eyes as he ties her arms down. She lets out an annoyed breath. Why does he get to be hollow and she doesn’t? Her eyes follow him when he stands back and consults his work bench.

It’s like she knows the plan better than he does. He looks like he’s forgotten which instrument of pain he was going for, while Anna is still rolling Ruby’s warning around in her head.

“The next thing he’ll do to you is this,” Ruby pulls open one of the many tears in her filthy nightgown and shows Anna a series of thick scars along both sides of her abdomen, stacked like a ladder fourteen rungs high.

Anna’s frightened tears are reflexive as she gazes at the ugly pink lines. “Why? And those?” In between the two ladders are long, uneven vertical scars that run from Ruby’s lowest rib to her pelvis. “When does this happen?”

“When the ones on your sides heal,” One of the other girls, Erin, explains softly. “In your next session, he’ll makes the cuts. Don’t forget to scream. Let him see how much it hurts. In the session after that, he’ll beat you. His focus will be the cuts, and it’s going to suck; not that any of this has been a picnic so far.” Erin gives Anna’s shoulder a squeeze. “I thought that was going to be my last session.”

“But you’ll survive,” Ruby says quickly, before Anna can cry again. “It will hurt, but then it will stop. Just remember that. It always stops. You’ll be back in your room before you know it.”

“And, hey, maybe Cass’s boyfriend will rescue us before you have your next session.”

Cass’s responding “Erin, shut up,” is immediately hissed from across the room.

As though suddenly remembering, Cain’s hand alights on a curved knife. When he turns back to Anna, he’s visibly delighted to find her face already streaked with tears.

She can’t stop him as he lifts her nightgown and secures it over her head so it can’t get in his way.

Her entire body flinches when the cold steel of the blade touches her skin.

“You’re doing so well, Anna.” Cain coos, running his fingers over the blistered texture of her burned hands. “This is your ninth session. How do you feel?”

She slumps away from his touch. “Please don’t.”

The knife presses harder against her stomach. “How do you feel?” His tone hasn’t changed. Piercing blue eyes stab into hers.

Swallowing sobs, Anna resigns herself to the routine of the session, as she always does. “I feel scared.”

“Good,” He responds softly. “Of me? Or this?” He taps the knife against her casually and smiles when she flinches again.

“Both.”

His teeth gleam at her. “Good,” Cain gets on his knees to better reach her seated form. “I like you, Anna. Always so responsive.” The first bite of the blade pulls a gasp from her lungs. “I can’t wait to see how you like all of the things we’ll do together.”

And then he sets to work, feeding ravenously off the tortured screams that follow every cut of his knife.

pov : minho

Minho: I’m presenting the case to the police today.

Cass: Do you think they’ll come get us soon?

Minho: If they don’t, I will.

He means it. He’s gripping the massive document in clammy hands, standing before Captain Bang with Seungmin at his elbow. “This is everything our contact could tell me,” He sets the document on the desk. “If you bring this to the judge, he’ll have to change his position.”

The captain looks like he’s about to blow his top. “The two of you had better quit interfering. I mean it, boys, you’re going to get yourselves into trouble.”

“It’s our responsibility to report the facts and ensure that every detail is taken into account. We’ve spent weeks making sure it’s accurate for the judge.” Seungmin says, as though Bang isn’t scowling at him.

The captain snatches the document and grumbles as he flips through the pages. The further he gets, the weaker his annoyance becomes. “Shit,” He mutters, scanning the sections about Roberts’ chair sessions.

Bang snaps the report shut. “Alright. I’ll see what Judge Moe says. You two get lost. One of the orphans from that boys home has run away again, why don’t you go see if you can find him?”

Minho: The police captain agreed to take our report to the judge.

Cass: That’s great. So now we wait?

Minho: Now we wait

He’s itching to ask if she’s okay. The last he heard, she’s nursing a broken hip that she can’t walk on, and he hasn’t been able to bring himself to ask about her finger since it happened. Worse than that, he’s constantly aware that she’s getting dangerously close to the ten month mark.

Minho: Does Cain work on a time-based schedule or a progress-based one?

Cass: Progress-based. It also depends on how fast we heal.

Minho: Are you on a faster or slower schedule than average?

Cass: I recover quickly.

His heart sinks and he knows there’s less time than he thought. His pen hovers over the paper for a few long minutes, at a loss. Finally, he scribbles out an impulsive message and drops it before he can change his mind.

Minho: I’ll try to get you out before he changes tactics.

Her response is immediate.

Cass: How do you know about that?

Minho: Lily.

Cass’s handwriting is shaky when her next note comes up.

Cass: It’ll be my next session.

Minho stares at the message, heart hammering. He’s waited too long. He’s let her down. He’s known all this time what’s coming, and all he does is pass notes.

He’s waited too damn long.

Minho: I’m coming for you.

But he spends all night in the sewers, scouring for a way into the depths of hell to no avail, and they both know he’s not.

pov : anna

She’s been in hell for four months when her abdomen finally matches Ruby’s.

Jo has her chest cuts and her broken ribs and her burned hands, and Cass has started wearing that same lost, haunted expression that all of the older girls have.

Erin’s dead.

So is another girl, Heather.

“What happens if one of us gets hurt outside of his sessions? Doesn’t it screw up his study?” Anna asks one day as Han cleans her abdomen.

He meets her eyes curiously. “Like what?”

“Like if I fell out of bed and broke my wrist. What would he do?”

Returning his focus to the bleeding lacerations covering her stomach, he gives a nod. “Actually, Lily did twist her ankle one day. When he noticed her limping, he put her back in her room and waited for it to heal before he had another session with her. He’s kind of OCD about it.”

Anna holds her breath at the sudden sting that results from his work, and then utters a low hum.

Han glances at her again. “Hurting yourself isn’t exactly a way to buy yourself time. Either way, you’re hurt.”

“There’s a difference between rolling your ankle and getting a finger cut off.” She shoots back.

They’re both quiet until he’s finished rewrapping her bandages. His hands come to rest on her knees as he peers into the bitterness in her eyes. He can see the damage Cain has done, not just to her body, but to her mind.

She’s hardly the same weepy girl she was even two months ago, tears spilling at every turn. Now, the space she takes up is haunted by the endless wells of her eyes, empty pits completely devoid of hope.

In the mornings, she’s a body on the bed, dead but for the mechanical pumping of her heart. Even the automatic billowing of her lungs is a slow dance with death—breathing in life, breathing out poison.

He doesn’t hear her cry during the day, and she doesn’t scream in the chair anymore. He hears her, of course, she’d be long gone if she stopped making noise altogether, but her reactions to Cain’s routines are nothing more than reasonable.

A hiss at a cut, a grunt at a burn, a groan at a punch. Silenced are the whimpers of anticipation, choked are the long howls of misery, swallowed are the pitying cries when the knife lifts.

When he comes to get her for evening meal, she’s a specter on the bed. She sits against the wall, allowing it to leech the heat of her body until he finds her, pale and shivering.

She skirts the edges of the room, and he knows she’s haunted, herself, haunted by the little girl who had escaped captivity before her eyes.

When the girls are all together in the community room, she sits where Sara always sat and watches the girls check each others injuries.

So when she stares back at him, a ghost against her pillow, her eyes void of recognition, he knows she’s breaking.

“Jeongin wants to meet you,” He says when he brings her back to her room one night, and a flicker of something sparks weakly in her expression.

To him, it might as well be a wildfire. He squeezes her knees. “I’ve told him about you. About how you helped me. He wants to meet you.”

She’s curious, head tilting. “How’s he doing?”

Han swallows a grimace and smiles sadly. “He’s lost the use of his legs. He’s…he’s not good. I’m doing everything I can, but he just keeps getting worse.”

Anna doesn’t answer, all emotion gone in a blink.

More hopelessness everywhere she looks.

He notices. “Stay with us, Anna. Please, stay with us.”

She tries not to.

She really does.

The moment he’s gone, she’s across the room and the single lightbulb is shattering against the floor.

It takes him a few minutes to figure out where the noise came from, but when he does, he finds her laying in the floor, and for a minute all he sees is Lily.

She’s gasping, still clutching the dripping shard of glass. Blood everywhere, seeping into her hair and clothes. He can't see where it's coming from.

Her name is on his lips as he flies into the room, not even feeling the way his knees crash to the cement next to her, not caring that blood splashes on his hands. Before he knows what to think, he feels sobs exploding in his chest, rushing up his throat as he yanks her out of the pool of blood. He crushes her to his chest and gets hit by an overpowering smell of metal and sweat. Her name is a mantra he can't stop chanting.

When he sees the gaping slits in her wrists, rivers of crimson spilling from her weeping flesh, his heart leaps into his throat. Han wraps her wrists in miles and miles worth of bandages and pretends there isn't so much blood on the floor that it literally drips from her hair as she sags against his chest.

Her weak, stuttering breaths seem to even out in his arms, but he can't tell if he's just hoping that he saved her.

"Annie, please." He's rocking them, weeping, feeling the same brutal blade of grief that he feels every time he loses one. "Stay with me, Annie, please."

When her eyes open again, she thinks she dreamed it. Gasping sobs break from her throat, tears rushing into her hair within seconds of waking up to that same miserable ceiling, surrounded by that same miserable smell, laying on that same miserable bed. But then she raises her arms to dig her palms into her her eyes and her wrists scream in pain.

Warm hands catch her arms and her cries silence instantly, terror a hammer blow to the chest.

It's just Han. He's sitting next to her, watery eyes wide and pleading, holding her forearms in his shaking hands. "Don't," He murmurs, and brings her arms down. "You'll hurt yourself." His head ducks to check the thick wad of bandages on both wrists and he misses the new flood of tears that cascade down her face.

Anna can't peel her eyes away from him. Battling emotions rage in her head, anger fighting relief fighting disbelief.

He saved her.

He saved her?

Did he save her?

He could have let her go.

He could have let her choose her way out.

He could have let her choose not to sit in that chair ever again.

Was it saving her to keep her alive?

She lays in her bed and weeps, feeling his hands fall to hers and wishing she could hold him back.

Han hovers next to her, watching her fall apart, and wishes he knew how to help. It's the most emotion he's seen from her in nearly a month. He's just so relieved that she woke up, so relieved that she survived, so glad that he can see the girl she used to be, that he's smiling at her through his own watery eyes. He holds her hands, brushing his thumbs over her scars, listening to her aching sobs like it's a song he can't stop replaying.

The stabbing pain in her wrists is a reminder that she'd broken, and a mockery of her failure.

She feels his fingers against her palms and wishes that warmth could envelope her and take her away from the slimy dungeon that holds them captive.

"Hannie," She hears his name fall off her tongue in a whimper before she realizes she's saying it, but she doesn't have to say anything else.

He lifts his legs onto the bed to lay next to hers and loops his arms gently around her tender waist, pulling her into the warmth of his body. For a second, she's still in his grasp. Neither of them breathe, reddened eyes locked in the darkness.

His body against hers is hand from heaven, a ray of light in the void, a shock of heat in the cold of night.

It feels like her lungs collapse when she exhales.

He saved her.

He's still saving her.

She slides down and tucks herself against his chest. When she feels his chin against her hair she exhales again and he matches her breath for breath.

It all still hurts. Her ribs and her arms and her stomach, and the truth of circumstance, all still hurt.

She's still laying in that miserable bed, but this time he's laying next to her, and she's warm.

"Just stay with me, Annie. I've got you."

pov : minho

He doesn't come in time.

He searches and searches and searches the tunnels until his body fails him, and Cass is assaulted anyway.

He waits day and night to catch sight of Cain coming and going until his sleep deprivation makes him sick, and another girl dies anyway. Captain Bang brings him her coroner's report, C.O.D. ingested cyanide, and he has to be the one to tell Cass.

It's Heather. She's the only one missing from our evening meal.

Do you know why?

We think he uses poison when one of us starts adjusting too well to the pain. It's his way of reminding us he's in control.

He extends his search to every tunnel he can reach until he's so sick he's practically vomiting after every meal, and, a month later, yet another girl dies anyway.

Cass tells him how they all listened to Erin die, and he feels the weight of it come crashing down on his shoulders. The captain confirms it a few days later with a copy of the report that details the knife wound in the fifteen-year-old's throat and Minho goes home and pukes into the toilet until he feels like his stomach is trying to force itself out of his mouth.

Four months since he found Cass, and four girls have been killed under his feet.

#horror #skz #skz x oc #fanfic #stray kids #han jisung #han jisung x oc #lee know x oc #han x oc #lee know #psycho #psycho han jisung #ao3 #wattpad

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cinnamongorll · 1 year ago

Text

a fragile line - chapter 19

read on ao3! (111k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Fic synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Warning: detailed descriptions of physical abuse from a parent

Word count: 7.8k

wasn't going to post this today but I can't hold you all in anticipation for feral Joel any longer ;)

this is both my favourite and the most painful chapter yet...

Chapter 19: 'Strangers'

Joel’s POV:

The frigid night air did nothing to cool the fire raging beneath Joel’s skin.

The bartender, whose name Joel never asked, slipped them out the backdoor. The way his wide eyes darted around, as he pushed open the rusted metal door, told Joel that he was worried, terrified even. But the deep, permanent, crease between his eyebrows also told him that fear was an ever present emotion in the residents of this town.

Joel had neither the patience nor the pleasantries to thank the man, so he opted for a curt nod as his eyes shot to the black street that stretched before them. There were no streetlights to lessen the sense of oppressive darkness which surrounded the path Joel and Ethan began to walk. They kept their steps quick, careful to avoid watchful eyes who were used to peering through the dark.

The thick handle of Joel’s knife was enclosed within his hand, the blade pressed against his jeans. Hidden, but ready to slice anything that got in his way. Joel imagined pressing the sharp edge to Elijah’s throat, feeling the weight of the blade pushing in, and savouring the heat of his blood as it wet his hands. Joel’s lips twisted in the beginnings of a cruel snarl.

Ethan’s steps pounded behind him, struggling to keep up with Joel’s vicious stride. Joel adjusted his broad shoulders, attempting to shake off the suffocating feeling of Ethan’s presence.

They were headed to the armoury. Neither of them had any significant weapons on them, and Joel wasn’t risking stepping into a situation where he wasn’t properly prepared. Juliet’s life hung in the balance; Joel wouldn’t risk a thing. Especially when it was his fault that she was back here, his fault that she was locked in a house with her abuser, his fault that she hadn’t felt she could tell him…

Within the swirling mess of self-loathing, which continued to swell in his mind, lay a puzzle that Joel couldn’t figure out. Why allow Joel to go to the bar? Why allow him to be seen by the townspeople? Joel’s jaw tightened and the weight of his steps grew heavier as he contemplated Elijah’s decisions. Picking apart the mind of a madman was not something Joel enjoyed, but he was good at it. Because he understood strategy, he understood cruelty.

Joel skidded to a stop as they rounded on a corner, his head whipped side to side as he struggled to see through the aching darkness.

“This way,” a rough voice whispered. Ethan stepped around Joel and began walking down another empty street. Joel followed close behind, gritting his teeth.

As they closed in on the armoury, which was really just a run down barn on the edge of town, Joel sunk deeper into the mind of Juliet’s dad. The questions were overpowering and endless. Why hurt Juliet? Why lure her back here? Why not let her go?

Joel’s fingers curled into a tight fist. He felt the harsh bite of his knife begin to press into his calloused skin as realisation dawned over him.

Elijah wanted complete control over Juliet, he wanted to be her protector, her saviour.

Which meant that he had lost something. Elijah had suffered a loss in his past so great that his instincts of care and protection had twisted, becoming darker, more intense, more dangerous. Juliet wasn’t just his daughter, she was his second chance.

Protection and fear often bled into possession and control. There was a fragile line between care and ownership, love and dominance.

Joel’s heavy breaths faltered, stuttering, as his own past crept over his skin, crawling into his mind, bringing forth memories too painful to even visualise.

The sharp blade of his knife finally pierced his skin and Joel could breathe again. The air released from his tight lungs, as the sting on his hand eased the pressure in his mind.

Ethan turned to look over his shoulder, attempting to read the look on Joel’s face. But it was too dark, and Joel was too good at shielding his emotions. He just ground out a quick command: “Keep movin’” and Ethan quickened his steps as they raced across the damp grass.

Elijah was addicted to control. He had this whole town so brutally devoted to him that they were complacent in the torture of two young people. That was why he allowed Joel to go to the bar: surveillance. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer. And who better to watch over Joel than his keen eyed followers?

Joel uttered a quiet “fuck ” under his breath. Ethan didn’t turn around this time. Joel was glad, he wasn’t in control of himself, he might start swinging at the next person who looked him in the eye.

Bringing him to the armoury earlier, showing him his gifted weapons, his gifted vehicle, was all an elaborate trick. Elijah was playing with his food. There was no way he was letting Joel leave this town. He thought back to earlier when he stepped in front of Juliet, when he opposed Elijah’s sick claim over her, and offered Juliet a choice. Joel had watched the ire ripple under Elijah’s stone features. Joel had challenged him, Joel was a threat. And Elijah wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

He should have never stepped away from her. He shouldn’t have left her there when he felt something was wrong. Joel was haunted by many things in his life, but he knew that that decision would cling to him for a long time. Thick regret boiled within him but Joel didn’t try to push it down anymore, he didn’t try to displace it. Joel allowed his fear, his regret and his anger to inflame, to blister, to worsen.

Joel relished in the blood that pooled in his hand, he savoured the sharp sting that throbbed around the blade of his knife.

The pain fueled him.

Juliet needed him, and he wouldn’t let her down again.

………………………………………………..

“Wait out here,” Joel ordered. His voice low but commanding as he stretched his arm out in front of Ethan, blocking him from moving towards the doors to the armoury.

Ethan peered up at him, his eyes narrowing as he registered Joel’s demand. The crease between Joel’s eyes deepened as he watched the shock and resentment wash over the younger man’s sallow features. Ethan opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Joel just raised his hand with impatience, cutting him off.

“I don’t know what or who’s in there, I’m goin’ in alone,” he said, leaving no room for a debate as he began to turn towards the doors. But that didn’t stop Ethan from trying.

Ethan moved forward, grabbing hold of Joel’s sleeve before he could reach the handle. Joel’s head whipped towards him and his hands began to shake with the effort it took not to punch that entitled look off of his face.

“I got Juliet out of his town once, and I can do it again. Who even are you?” Ethan’s words rushed out in a single breath as his eyes darted around, making sure no one had spotted them. He was practically jumping on the spot with the energy that rippled through him.

“You’re gonna want to let go of me,” Joel ground out slowly, after a pause. He didn’t break eye contact with Ethan as his hand quickly unlatched from his tight grip on Joel’s sleeve.

Joel rolled his shoulders and ran a hand over his face. He was growing impatient, he had no idea what was happening to Juliet right now and Ethan was only prolonging her suffering with his whining.

“You stay behind me and you shut up, got it?” Joel hissed, his irritation rolling off of him in waves. Ethan just nodded, sharp and quick. Joel stared at him a moment longer before rolling his eyes and reaching for the door handle.

The inside of the armoury was quiet, there was no one else lurking in the old barn as far as Joel could tell. But he moved slowly through the building, heading straight for the shotguns on the back wall. Elijah and his people had built up one hell of a supply.

A few minutes later, Joel ran his hand over the weapon before swinging the strap of the shotgun over his shoulder. He released a weighted breath at the feeling of a gun in his hands again. Ethan stood beside him, his hand outstretched to grab a gun of his own. Joel looked down at him, his eyebrows raised.

“You know how to use one of these?” he asked, watching Ethan from the corner of his eye as he adjusted his own gun.

Ethan grabbed hold of a shotgun and shot Joel an incredulous look. “Of course I can use a fucking shotgun,” he replied.

If Juliet didn’t care for Ethan, he would have been a dead man from that comment alone. Joel’s lips twitched with restrained anger before turning around and searching for ammo. He heard Ethan release a quiet, relieved, breath.

Once they were stocked up on ammo, Joel and Ethan headed to the side of the barn where the trucks were kept. Juliet had promised him a car battery back in the QZ, but there was way more than just batteries available. There were three trucks lined in a row, each of them rusted and dusty as though they hadn’t been driven in a long time. But Joel guessed that they were well maintained, their batteries charged every now and then in case of emergencies. That’s what Joel would do if he were in charge of a town.

Joel had begun to creep around the first truck, ready to try to hotwire it if needed. He had to know there was a way out of this town, a vehicle ready for him to get Juliet away as quickly as possible. But before he could even reach the truck, he stilled. His muscles locked up as he froze in place.

“Ethan made it to the bar, tried to fight that guy who turned up with Juliet. Joel, I think his name was,” said a voice from outside the barn, his words were muffled but Joel heard them clear enough. So did Ethan, who shot Joel a terror filled look.

Joel reached out his hand, palm up, to still Ethan. His mind began to filter through a thousand possibilities of how they would get out of here alive and without alerting whoever roamed outside. They both stood like statues, Ethan’s eyes latched onto Joel, as another voice from outside raised loud enough for them to hear.

“Fuck, Elijah’s not gonna like this”

Then a third voice…

“Just hurry up and get the ammo, then we’ll go get them. They won’t have made it far.”

Joel jumped into gear, moving with pure instinct. There were three voices outside, that meant they were outnumbered. And they were coming inside, which meant his hopes of a quiet exit were gone.

They would have to fight.

Joel curled his hand towards Ethan, and pointed with a sharp look from his dark eyes towards the door. Ethan frowned but followed, their steps thankfully silent on the old wooden floor.

They positioned themselves on either side of the barn doors. Joel attempted to have a silent conversation with Ethan, but it was either too dark or Ethan wasn’t the brightest, because all Joel got in response was a confused tilt of his head.

Joel’s eyes shot to the ceiling, the pressure on his chest increasing as he heard the voices move closer. Joel lifted his free hand, making quick, focused gestures. Ethan eventually nodded, finally understanding Joel’s clear instructions.

Joel clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth, and waited for the men to open the doors.

Moments later, the handle turned, and Joel was ready. The first man came through the door, and immediately fell forward, crashing onto the dirty floor with a bullet in his head.

Shouts rang in Joel’s ears as the next two men came barging in, stepping over the body of their friend. Their jaws hung open and their eyes moved between Joel and Ethan, obviously unprepared and taken off guard. Joel was right about this town, it may have the weapons and supplies, but there were no fighters living here.

Before the men’s eyes swung back over to Joel, another body dropped to the floor. Joel’s gaze immediately darted to Ethan, who stood breathing heavily, winded by the force it took to fire a gun in his weak state.

Joel recognised the third man. He had ginger hair and a thick, bleeding gash across his forehead, covered in a small bit of gauze. Before Ethan could finish the job, Joel moved, grabbing the man from behind and bringing his shotgun around to press on his neck as the man was forced to push against Joel’s front, wriggling as the shotgun tightened and his air began to lessen.

Joel grunted as the man elbowed him in the ribs but he held steady. “Don’t shoot, we need him,” Joel barked towards Ethan, who had already pointed his gun towards the man in Joel’s arms.

Ethan, confused, began to move closer, stepping over the two bodies at his feet.

Before the man passed out from the crushing force of the shotgun pressed against his neck, Joel moved his mouth to his ear. “Where’s Juliet?” he hissed, still grunting in between breaths as the man continued to squirm against him.

Joel eased the force of the gun just a little to allow the man enough air to reply. “At her house, with Elijah,” the man croaked out as his boots began to kick back against Joel’s shins

Joel held steady, eyeing Ethan. Juliet was still at her house, meaning Elijah hadn’t moved her anywhere. They knew where to go. But Joel wasn’t done with his interrogation.

He tilted his mouth back to the man’s ear. “Who’s with ‘em?” Joel asked, his voice rough with pain as the man got another hit in.

When the man didn’t answer, Joel adjusted his grip on the shotgun, applying more pressure on the man’s throat until Joel began to feel his consciousness slip. Then he loosened it again.

Ethan had lowered his gun as he stared at Joel. His eyes were wide and his gaze kept darting away as though he struggled to watch the brutal scene in front of him. Joel noted this with deep frustration. Perhaps Ethan’s weakness was not only found in the current state of his battered and malnourished body.

“Daniel,” the man in his arms finally gasped out. “Daniel is with them.”

Joel’s lips pulled back to reveal the shape of a vicious snarl. Only one more idiot standing in the way of Joel wrapping his fist around Elijah’s neck.

Before Ethan could even open his mouth, Joel had let go of the shotgun and replaced his grip on the man’s neck with his arm. The muscles in his bicep flexed as Joel forced his arm in one quick movement until he heard the crunch of the man’s neck and felt his body go limp.

Joel stepped back and allowed the body to drop to the floor. He stood over it, breathing heavy while he adjusted the strap of his shotgun.

Ethan had jumped backwards when the man hit the floor, almost tripping over the other bodies. His boots were stained with their blood as it pooled around them.

Ethan lifted his heavy gaze to Joel’s face. “What the hell was that?” he demanded, his voice shaky.

“We know where she is, we know who she’s with. We can go get her now,” Joel said, in a monotone, matter of fact voice as he began to step over the still warm bodies.

Ethan made a sound almost like a growl and whipped his hand out towards Joel, the tips of his fingers almost touching the arm of his jacket before Joel grabbed Ethan by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall beside the doors.

The adrenaline was still pumping steadily through Joel’s bloodstream as let go of one of Ethan’s shoulders, slipped his knife out of his pocket, and brought it to Ethan’s face. “What did I tell you bout’ touchin’ me?” Joel seethed, pushing the tip of his blade against the soft skin of Ethan’s cheek.

Ethan swallowed rough, the action restrained as though he was frightened the knife would cut him. Joel would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted.

“Don’t fucking question my methods,” Joel warned, in a voice so quiet it might have sounded gentle. But the look in Joel’s eyes made it very clear that his words were coated in a razor sharp edge. He pressed the knife in further, careful not to break skin. “If you can’t handle this then leave, cause I'm gettin’ Juliet outta here with or without you.”

Ethan’s jaw clenched, then he nodded sharp and quick.

Joel let go of him and walked out the doors before Ethan could even catch his breath.

…………………………………………………

Juliet’s POV:

There were exactly fourteen steps down to the basement.

Juliet counted every one, each time she followed her father into the dark room below their rickety house. It helped ground her, the counting.

She would count the steps, then she would count the seconds, the minutes, and the hours. And when the number grew high enough for her father to be satisfied with her punishment, Juliet would listen as he walked those fourteen steps back down to collect her.

It was strange how memory worked. It had been nearly four years since Juliet wandered into the suffocating darkness of the basement, nearly four years since she felt the cold chill in the air which coated her skin like an oily slick. Yet, she still remembered to count the steps.

She did it on instinct, her mind was entirely devoid of thought or emotion, all that drifted through her consciousness was the sound of her counting. One, two, three, four…

Juliet was too numb to think anyway, to feel anything other than the space around her. The entire time she had travelled with Joel, Juliet knew what her destination was. The basement flashed through her mind many times, usually waking her from a shallow sleep in the truck or causing her to thrash and kick in her sleeping bag as she lay beside Joel. He would reach out a hand, stilling the movement of her legs, calming her racing heart.

She was always grateful for his quiet strength and his rare soothing touch, but it only kept the monsters at bay for a short while. They were never really gone. Because every mile they travelled led them closer to Juliet’s real nightmare.

Five, six, seven…

Juliet wasn’t sure what awaited her at the bottom of the steps, how she would reach the ‘salvation’ her father spoke of. Through her numbness, a spark of pain shot through her heart when she imagined Ethan facing the same fate. The thought of him hating her hurt more, though. Ethan was the only good thing in her life for so long, to lose that …

Eight, nine, ten, eleven…

Her mind picked up again and brought forth the anxiety and fear that shook her to the bone. Joel would never forgive her. She had brought him here on stupid, naive, false hope. Juliet had been content with returning home and fading into nothing but a memory in Joel’s mind, and a sad smile on Ethan’s lips. But with Ethan turned against her, turned into something vicious, something like her father, and Joel trapped here… Juliet began to feel that her sacrifice was in vain. The only person gaining anything was her father. It was always her father who won their games, Juliet had been stupid to think otherwise.

Twelve, thirteen …

Her legs shook with each step, the world around her travelled in slow motion. Bile rose in her throat and she fought to keep her arms by her side.

For most people, the world ended around twenty years ago. But for Juliet, her world ended with the last step down those basement stairs.

Fourteen.

…………………………………

“You know, Ethan sat in a chair just like this.”

Juliet blinked, her father’s words slicing through the fog that filled her head, clouding her thoughts and numbing her emotions. She looked down, reminding herself where she was. Juliet blinked again, slower this time, when she remembered the thick, coarse rope which wrapped around her wrists and ankles, tying her to the metal chair she sat on.

Eventually, her head tilted back up to meet her father’s icy gaze. His lips twitched into a satisfied smile when she didn’t respond. It appeared that Elijah had counted on her speechlessness.

He lowered his eyes to the restraints on her wrists, then turned and walked towards a fireplace on the back wall of the room, directly in front of Juliet. This was new, there had never been a source of light in the basement before.

“They’re for your safety. Don’t want you running off again. It’s not safe for you out there,” her father explained, his back turned to Juliet as he picked up a poker and prodded the burning logs.

“I managed just fine on my own,” Juliet murmured without a thought. The words just slipped out. Her head shot up and her teeth clamped down on her tongue when she realised what she said.

Her father’s movements stilled, the poker now hovering over the fire.

Then Juliet heard his quiet chuckle, getting louder with every second until she watched her father’s shoulders shake. Juliet squirmed in her seat, her heart had begun to pound against her chest.

Without warning, the laughter ceased. The only sound that remained was the crackling of the fire and the quiet breaths that slipped past Juliet’s clenched jaw. She followed her father’s movements as he dropped the poker back into its stand and picked up the bible resting on the wooden top of the fireplace, then turned towards her.

When he met her eyes, his face was devoid of all emotion.

“Let’s begin,” he said and cracked open the first page.

…………………………………………………….

Juliet’s head swung to the side with the force of the slap.

This time, it wasn’t by her father’s hand, but rather the book he held. Pain blossomed across her jaw and rippled through every muscle on her face. Her mouth filled with spit which had begun to spill out of the side of her numbing lips. She felt a wetness against her ear too, it was most likely bleeding as well.

Her father was bent over her, his face red with muted rage and his mouth open wide as he shouted words that Juliet couldn’t hear. The only sound she heard was a prolonged high pitched noise, drowning out everything else. The hit had stunned her and she struggled to remember why her father had done it. Usually there was something she had done wrong, something that angered him, something that forced him to teach her a lesson.

Her father continued to scream in her face, the hot air from his breath hit her already burning cheek. Juliet just stared back, her eyebrows pinched together in a mixture of pain and confusion.

A scream tore from her throat when a hand gripped her chin and began to squeeze. “Are you listening to me?” her father raged. Her hearing started to return but the sound was still muffled. In an effort to stop his assault on her face, Juliet began to nod her head in frantic movements until her father released her.

Her father staggered backwards and ran a hand through his grey hair, tugging on the strands. Juliet spat a mixture of spit and blood onto the floor and forced her head up to watch him. He looked off balance, his eyes were wild and unfocused as they scanned Juliet.

As the seconds passed, and the pain became less urgent, Juliet remembered what she had done to deserve such punishment.

Elijah decided that the first stage in her ‘salvation’ was confession. It turns out he wasn’t a big fan of the answers Juliet gave him. Her father’s hands had begun to shake when she answered his questions about Ethan. His face turned red when he asked her about Boston. And the slap came after he asked about travelling with Joel.

“Your confession is not done, Juliet. I can sense there is more you have not revealed,” her father urged. “You cannot begin to cleanse until I know how soiled you are.”

The bile rose in Juliet’s throat again, but she swallowed it down and steadied her features. It surprised her, the anger that had started to build within herself.

“Let’s try again, shall we?” he asked, leaning back and crossing his arms across his chest. “Tell me about your time with Joel.”

“No,” Juliet murmured, before spitting more blood. The thought of Joel brought pain far worse than the bruises blossoming across her face. Her father had no right to ask about him. And for what? For some sick possessive insight into the intimate parts of her life. Her father believed he had full ownership of her, like she was his to control like a child’s doll. Juliet hadn’t realised this until a couple years into living in the QZ, when the wounds from her childhood began to scab over. When her memories became clearer, and she saw her father for what he really was.

“No,” she said again, louder this time. That slap had awoken something inside her. That slap was no different to the slaps she received as a young girl. Even when she did everything he asked of her, he would always find something to punish her for. When she opened her eyes into her father’s wild stare, she realised that nothing she would ever do would be good enough for him.

The thought was freeing, almost. Even strapped to a chair in the basement of her father’s house, Juliet felt liberated.

And with that liberation, came a sense of recklessness.

“No?” her father finally asked, repeating her resistance with a quirked brow. “The mention of Joel seems to have hit a nerve,” he taunted, “has Ethan truly been replaced? Joel’s a bit old for you, isn’t he, my dear?”

Juliet’s hands began to tremble. Not with fear, but with rage.

“He has nothing to do with this,” she insisted, her hands curling into fists. Elijah noted the movement with great interest.

“Hmmmm,” he began, walking forward again. Her father liked to tower over Juliet when he could, she assumed it made him feel in control, made him feel powerful. Maybe it reminded him of when she was truly a child, before she had thoughts of her own.

“I saw the way Joel looked at you. I saw the way he watched you. It was like he had claimed you,” her father snarled.

Juliet glared at him as she gritted her teeth. She felt like she was balancing on a tightrope, one wrong move and she’d fall to her death. Bravery was not always rewarded. But Juliet couldn’t stifle the rage that had burned inside her, and the remaining throbbing pain from his slap only ignited that fire.

“I am not a thing to be claimed,” Juliet ground out, struggling to control her anger. “I’m not yours, I’m not anyone’s.”

Elijah was silent, but Juliet held her ground, she didn’t break the withering stare she threw his way. Everything had been taken from her, she had nothing left to lose.

“Who taught you that?” her father demanded, then barked out a short laugh. “I am your father, I have every claim over you.”

“Father’s are supposed to love their daughters, not own them,” Juliet protested. Her eyes began to fill with frustrated tears, but her words grew louder, more forceful. “This isn’t love. It’s possession.”

Juliet had watched fathers with their daughters in the Boston QZ, she had watched their smiles and their laughs. Juliet knew what fatherly love was supposed to look like, and this wasn’t it.

Elijah stalked those last few steps towards her and placed his hands over her restrained wrists, pressing his weight down on them until their faces were inches apart. Juliet leaned back as far as she could, her face flinching with discomfort. Her wrists began to ache, and Juliet’s arms started shaking involuntarily. Elijah enjoyed watching her struggle. His lips transformed into a sneer, and his eyes shone with a sick delight. And the anger… his rage was rolling off of him in waves, he could barely keep it contained.

“The world is not safe, Juliet ,” he whispered inches from her face, her name dropped from his lips like a curse. “There are demons, yes. Those infected monsters, with their peeling faces and sharp teeth. But there is worse out there. Hunters, raiders who crawl the country, killing and gutting people with no remorse -”

Elijah cut himself off with a heavy sigh, then his words became frenzied. “I kept you here, I kept you safe from that. I kept you safe because you are my property, you are mine to protect. And I will not lose another daughter to -”

He stopped, letting go of her wrists immediately. The blood rushed back into them and Juliet began to feel her fingers again, but that relief was the furthest thing from her mind.

Another daughter?

Her father staggered back another few steps, he looked horrified. His mask slipped right off his face as he said those words, now he struggled to put it back on. He wiped a hand over his forehead and when he brought it back down, the horror was gone. He was seething, his whole body moved with the force of his brutal breaths.

“What do you mean, another daughter?” Juliet whispered, but her voice sounded far away.

Her father flinched. Juliet was unsure if what she was experiencing was real, or a dream. Maybe she passed out when he hit her, maybe this was all in her imagination. Because her father’s bravado had never faltered, and yet here he stood before her, visibly flinching at her words.

Elijah started to pace in front of Juliet’s chair, his steps brisk and savage. Juliet’s mind was still clouded, so it took her a few seconds to realise he was mumbling to himself.

Then he stopped, turning to face Juliet. He looked like he was arguing with himself, he was losing control, unravelling right in front of her. For the first time since she could remember, Juliet looked at her father and saw weakness staring back at her.

“Your parents couldn’t protect you, sweet Juliet,” he began. His eyes had a detached look in them, like he wasn’t really standing in front of her.

Juliet swore her heart stopped at his words.

“They didn’t have what it took to survive. They didn’t have the determination to keep you safe,” Elijah continued, raising his bible in the air as he spoke.

Nausea washed over her.

“I saved you. I saved you from them . And then I spared them any more suffering.”

He paused to inhale a deep breath, as though his words were suffocating him. But he wasn’t finished.

“You looked so much like her, with your brown eyes and curls. And your cry, when your parents died, God, it sounded so much like hers.”

Juliet didn’t know how much more of this she could take, the nausea was overpowering her.

“I knew at that moment that you were mine, that you were my second chance. I could take you in, protect you, make sure you were never taken from me. Never stolen away.”

The ringing in Juliet’s ears returned, and she leaned forward and vomited all over the floor.

Her father didn’t take his eyes off of her, wasn’t even remotely startled by the evidence of her disgust. He walked forward and bent down until they were at eye level, then he lifted a hand and reached towards her chin.

Juliet’s entire body recoiled from his touch. She felt a wetness on her cheeks and nearly gasped in shock when she realised she was crying. Tears were flowing down her face and dripping onto her neck. Elijah tried again, reaching forward to grab her chin in his tight hold.

A moment ago, when Elijah’s own confession fell from his lips, his eyes looked wistful, haunted. But now, as he knelt before her, that simmering fury had returned. He began to tighten his grip on her chin.

Juliet couldn’t feel the pain anymore, she couldn’t feel much of anything.

“The one thing I couldn’t protect you from, my dear, was your own stupidity,” her father growled, his lips pulling back into a snarl.

Juliet began to struggle in his grip, attempting to pull herself away from his hand, but it was no use. With her wrists and legs restrained, Juliet was powerless.

“All those years, feeding you, keeping you sheltered in my home, behind the fence I built, in the community I created,” he paused to shake his head. “And you repaid me by running away, by throwing my protection back in my face.”

“You insulted me once, Juliet. I will not let that happen again.”

Elijah released her chin suddenly and Juliet’s gaze dropped to the floor. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes again. There was nothing behind his icy stare. Juliet could no longer predict his movements, his actions.

Her father was playing his own game and she had no idea of the rules.

She couldn’t even begin to unravel everything he just confessed to. Juliet was in shock, nothing made sense anymore. She felt lightheaded, maybe if she just passed out everything would go away, she would wake up lying next to Joel in the woods. Another hot tear rolled down her burning cheek.

“Daniel!” Elijah bellowed.

Juliet blinked, finally raising her eyes to look around her. Her father stood by the fire, the poker in his hand. There was something else there too, he was clipping something onto the poker, but her eyes were too blurry with tears to see.

The door at the top of the basement stairs opened and Daniel came into view. He didn’t say a word, just walked up behind her and hovered, waiting on her father’s instructions. Juliet’s stomach dropped, an icy dread churning in her gut.

After another agonisingly long minute, Elijah pulled away from the fire and turned towards her. Juliet's eyes immediately dropped to the poker in his hands. And the red hot metal letters attached to the end of it.

E.M. Elijah Matthews.

The nausea struck Juliet, hard and fast. She nearly doubled over, but by some miracle, she stayed upright. Her legs began to tremble, shaking the metal chair beneath her. Juliet had figured out her father’s next move.

“No, no, no, no,” she began to cry, pulling against the ropes with enough force to tear skin.

She watched as her father nodded to Daniel behind her and felt his hands come down on her shoulders.

“I don’t want it to be too visible, Daniel please lift up her shirt,” her father ordered, as he continued his slow walk towards her. The white hot end of the poker reflected in his eyes and illuminated the cruel shape of his mouth.

“No!” Juliet screamed through thick tears as Daniel’s rough hands reached down and lifted up her shirt, revealing her stomach.

Elijah stopped in front of her, peering down, relishing in her fear.

“This isn’t love,” Juliet cried, defeat seeping into her tone.

Her father smiled, a real smile this time.

“Love is pain, my sweet Juliet. You just have to be strong enough to bear it,” he said softly. “It’s time you remember who you belong to.”

Then he brought the end of the poker down on Juliet’s stomach.

Juliet felt a scream crawl up her throat, but she couldn’t hear a thing.

The ringing in her ears drowned out everything around her. The smell of her burning flesh met her nose just as dark spots began to dance across her vision.

As the darkness consumed her, a familiar face flashed before eyes. In her current state, Juliet could not recall the man’s name, but she felt warm, and she felt safe as he gently wiped her tears with his rough, calloused fingers.

……………………………………………..

Joel’s POV:

It didn’t take them long to reach Juliet’s house. No one stopped them as they darted through the quiet streets, Ethan staggering to keep up with Joel.

The house looked different in the dark. It was still old and crumbling, but without the twilight sky bathing it in a soft blue light, the house no longer looked sad.

It looked dangerous.

They staggered to a stop at the bottom of the porch steps, the lights in the house were on so they kept to the shadows.

Joel’s fingers clenched and unclenched in a constant, repetitive movement. Joel had fed every bit of fear and regret churning in his gut into his anger, and now it crawled over his skin, desperate for release.

Ethan signalled with his head towards a side door, Joel nodded and took the lead. He didn’t trust Ethan. He didn’t trust that he could protect Juliet, he didn’t trust his motives.

But Ethan knew this house, so Joel had to trust that he knew how to get them in.

“They’ll be in the basement,” Ethan mouthed to Joel before they reached the side door.

Joel frowned, horror starting to overpower his rage. But there was no time to question how Ethan knew this, or what that meant for Juliet. Joel just bit the skin inside his cheek and reached his hand towards the door handle.

It was unlocked.

He turned back to Ethan before entering the house. It was two against two, Joel wasn’t worried about gunning down the men that surrounded Juliet. Joel just wanted to be the one to deal with Elijah. A single bullet was too easy for him.

Killing was not often a pleasure for Joel, it was always a necessity. But he knew he would enjoy watching Elijah bleed.

The house was silent, eerily so.

Joel began to feel that sense of wrongness from earlier. He didn’t listen to his gut the first time, he wouldn’t make that mistake again. They had to hurry.

With another sharp nod from Joel, Ethan moved through the house until he reached a door in the middle of the hall. Then he stepped back, darting his gaze up to Joel’s face.

Joel gripped his shotgun, his fingers flexing across the handle. Ethan echoed his movements, then squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Joel noted the nervous action. He wondered what Ethan had seen in this basement that made him so fearful of it.

Without another thought, Joel, in one powerful movement, kicked open the basement door and began his descent into the dark room. His heartbeat quickened in anticipation of a fight.

Time slowed as Joel moved down the steps, his head turning to try and get a sense of the layout but it was so dark.

The first thing he noticed was the smell.

It was something rotten, but he couldn’t place it.

It didn’t matter anyways, he wasn’t able to give it much thought, because a man rounded the corner, pulling his gun out of his back pocket.

Joel fired a bullet through his skull before he got the chance.

Time continued to slow as Joel reached the bottom step, his gun still out in front of him. Ethan’s presence looming behind him.

Moving around the corner into the room, the smell increased, burning Joel’s nose. If he wasn’t being driven by pure survival instincts at that moment, he would have gagged.

Another step into the room and Joel spotted a dwindling fire at the back wall, and a man standing next to it, his hands in the air, his mouth open.

Another step and Joel noticed the chair sitting opposite the fire, and the bent figure of a person hunched over, their head at an unnatural angle.

Another step and the man scrambled for the poker by the fire, branding it like a weapon.

Another step and Joel rounded on the figure in the chair.

With one sharp inhale, Joel realised that the figure in the chair was a girl.

With one skipped heartbeat, Joel recognised the bruised and battered face of Juliet.

With one glance downwards, Joel noticed the horrific amount of blood pooled around her torso, dripping onto the floor.

With one strangled gasp, Joel knew that she was dead.

Time picked up again, moving at a rapid pace all at once. Joel whipped his gaze from Juliet’s body to the man by the fire. Elijah.

Joel didn’t hear Ethan’s steps pound behind him. Joel didn’t hear Ethan’s pained scream. Joel didn’t hear his own guttural cry as he threw himself at Juliet’s father.

He dropped his gun, letting it swing from the strap on his shoulder. Joel’s hands knocked the poker from Elijah’s grip then met his neck with a brutal intensity, slamming him against the fireplace, pinning him against the stone wall above it.

Elijah reached his hands up, clawing at Joel’s arms. His eyes were wide and bloodshot.

Joel’s face shook with fury, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth. He was snarling at the man in his grip, practically growling as he increased the pressure in his hands. Joel was an animal, his instincts had taken over.

Some distant part of Joel’s brain heard Ethan yelling, screaming. But Joel wasn’t listening, the only thing he was focused on was the man in front of him begging for air.

Juliet’s face flashed in his mind, and he pushed harder, practically crushing her father’s throat.

This was the man who had killed her, this was the sick, disgusting man who had made her life a living hell. And there he was, writhing and choking in Joel’s grip.

But it wasn’t enough for Joel.

The image of Juliet’s neck, bent at an unthinkable angle, and the blood, god, the blood that poured from her.

Joel wanted, no, needed, to watch Elijah bleed too.

He released his grip so suddenly that Juliet’s father almost fell into the fire, but Joel caught him before that happened. With one hand tight on Elijah’s shoulder, lifting him up, Joel pulled back his other arm and fired his fist into his face.

Once

Twice…

Joel lost count after twenty or so hits.

Elijah’s face was unrecognisable, but Joel couldn’t even see him anymore. It was Juliet’s face that covered his vision. He watched her roll her eyes at him, he watched her lips twitch into a reluctant smile, he watched her head tilt back as she laughed.

Joel knew Elijah was dead, but he kept punching.

Blood splattered his face, and his fist burned, but he kept punching.

Joel kept punching because he knew that if he stopped, he’d have to turn around and face Juliet’s lifeless body. He’d have to look at her face and know that she would never smile again, never roll her eyes at his grumpy remarks, never laugh with a recklessness he wished he could imitate.

Ethan’s yelling started to seep into Joel’s consciousness, growing louder. But he wasn’t screaming for Juliet, he was screaming at Joel.

Joel pulled back from Elijah, breathing heavy. How weak, how pathetic he looked as a bloody mess resembling a man.

Joel glanced down at the small fire, still burning quietly, then pushed Elijah’s body into the weakening blaze. Joel watched as the fire started to lick at his skin, blistering his flesh.

The smell struck his nose, and Joel whipped around towards Juliet’s body. That was what he had smelled when he entered the basement. Joel didn’t think that more rage could coat around his heart, but somehow this realisation brought forth a wave of anger he didn’t even think his body was capable of containing.

“Lift up her shirt,” Joel commanded with a lifeless voice, staring numbly at Juliet’s bloodied torso.

Ethan was still shouting, but Joel continued to block him out.

“Lift up her shirt,” he demanded again, louder this time, harsher.

Ethan carefully reached around Juliet and rolled up her shirt.

There it was, barely visible beneath the layer of thick blood, a brand marking her skin. E.M.

Joel ached to turn around, pull Elijah out of the fire and continue pummelling his face. But as he looked closer, a muscle in his very tight jaw jumped when he noticed that, despite the amount of blood, the brand was the only wound on Juliet’s stomach.

Joel’s eyes darted to Ethan, who had cut the ropes on Juliet’s wrists and ankles free, and now sat on his knees with his fingers latched on the underside of Juliet’s raw wrist.

“She’s alive,” Ethan croaked out. “I can feel her pulse, it’s weak but it’s there.”

Ethan’s words washed over Joel and he staggered backwards. Relief was quick and brutal, but it did nothing to ease his horror. Juliet sat broken before him. Not dead, but nearly. Almost.

“Get up,” Joel barked out, gesturing for Ethan to stand and move away from Juliet.

When he didn’t move quick enough, Joel snarled, “get the fuck away from her,” in his lifeless voice. His eyes didn’t leave Juliet’s face. She was so pale, and covered in blood and bruises.

Ethan scrambled away from her and Joel moved forward, his steps were heavy, like he was wading through water. But his hands, though fractured and bruised, were so gentle as they slid behind her back, tucking under her legs and lifting her broken body to his chest. Her head rolled onto his shoulder and Joel tilted his chin down towards her. His eyes shuttered closed as his stubbled jaw grazed over Juliet’s dark hair.

He kept watching her until he felt her chest rise and fall with a shallow breath. Joel almost choked with relief. Then the terror snuck back in. She was so cold, and there was so much blood. They had to get out of here, get somewhere safe.

Joel couldn’t spend another second in this basement.

Time slowed to a crawl again as he walked the fourteen steps out of the basement, Juliet’s fragile body shivering against him.

Joel vowed, with each step he climbed, that he would never again let Juliet out of his sight, never again allow her to suffer, until she begged him herself to go.

If Juliet allowed it, he would burn anything and anyone who ever dared to hurt her.

______________________

@amyispxnk @shotgun-shelby @http-paprika

#joel miller x original character #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x female oc #joel miller hbo #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller angst #joel miller #ao3 fanfic #pedro pascal #tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou hbo #Spotify

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jadewolf22 · 5 months ago

Text

Shoot An Arrow Through My Heart Pt.2

Fem!OC (Adriella Selmy) x Brienne of Tarth

Series Warnings: Men being disgusting, mentions of abusive siblings, gore, death, violence, detailed mentions of murder, mention of parent deaths, slander towards women, fighting (physical & verbal), harsh language, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, ect... (Let me know if I missed any!!!)

A/n: This fic mixes scenes from the show and book but follows the same timeline as the show. Character ages are from the show. I have no clear vision for this story so try to bear with me here. Not sure how long this series will become; might just keep going until I get bored of it.

Word Count: 2,179

Adriella rode for three days straight with no food nor rest. News of Lady Catelyn’s party returning to Riverrun was in the forethought of her mind. If Brienne was with them Adriella would not risk stopping and allowing the company to move on again before she could reach them. Her ass and legs ached from the constant harsh riding but she would not slow her pace unless her mare showed signs of tiring. She was desperate to learn what had become of her friend, the thought alone keeping her awake through the long nights. A sigh of relief fell from her lips when Adriella, at last, came within sight of Riverrun. Pushing her horse just a bit further, Adriella approached the bridge, eyes scanning nervously for any sight of the tall blonde she sought. She paused on the bridge when her eyes caught sight of three bodies hanging over the side of the wall. Adriella only looked at them long enough to assess that they were not Brienne before attempting to shove the sight from her mind and move on.

“Who goes there?!” A bannerman called from the ballister overhead, nearly scaring Adriella out of her skin.

She looked up, using her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she responded, “ My name is Adriella Selmy.”

“What is your business in Riverrun, Adriella Selmy?” the bannerman questioned, his tone indicating that he did not believe she was who she claimed to be.

“I am looking for a friend.” Adriella answered honestly, “Last I’d heard she was traveling with the Lady Catelyn.”

“You’ve arrived just in time it seems.” the man told her, a smug smile playing on his lips as he looked down upon her. Only now did she regret choosing a corset as her armor rather than a proper breastplate, “The Lady and her party arrived just before you. They’re still unloading in the courtyard.”

“Thank you.”

With a snap of the reins in her hand, Adriella rode through the gate, dismounting in the courtyard where a large sum of people were gathered, chatting in soft tones and unloading tents and knapsacks from horses. Stones crunched beneath Adriella’s boots as she navigated the crowded courtyard, her eyes sharp as she searched for the one face she longed to see. Relief washed over her when she finally spotted Brienne, standing tall and stoic among the soldiers. Without thinking, Adriella ran to her, heart pounding with a mix of desperation and hope; hope that her sight was not making a fool of her.

“Brienne!” Adriella’s voice cracked as she called out.

Brienne turned at the sound of her name, her expression shifting from surprise to disbelief when she caught sight of Adriella. Without hesitation, Adriella threw her arms around Brienne in a fierce embrace, nearly knocking the blonde warrior to the ground.

“Oh, thank the gods, you’re alright.” she breathed, arms tightening around Brienne’s shoulders.

“Adriella? You—what are you doing here?” Brienne’s voice wavered as she gave Adriella an awkward hug in return, completely unused to this sort of affection.

Adriella pulled back slightly, locking eyes with Brienne. “After what happened to Renly, I went looking for you. Cain said that the others were saying you’d murdered him, but I didn’t believe him. I couldn’t believe you’d do something like that, not after everything. I thought maybe someone else killed Renly and you to make it look like you betrayed him.”

“You think I would have done such a thing?” Brienne asked as her face hardened, lips pressing into a grim line, as if she hadn’t heard Adriella confess her worries.

“No!” Adriella’s voice rang out with conviction. “I knew it was a lie, Brienne. You wouldn’t betray someone you swore to protect. That's part of why I came. I had to know what really happened… I had to know if my fears were real… If you were dead…”

“I’m fine.” Brienne practically deadpanned, still in utter shock that Adriella seemed to care so much for her. Sure, the two of them had become close, but Brienne couldn’t believe that anyone—let alone someone like Adriella—would actually care to know if she was alright.

“What happened that night?” Adriella questioned, pulling back a bit to look Brienne in the eye, another act the blonde was still attempting to become accustom to, “I saw Renly’s body… and Emmon Cuy and Robar Royce… I thought you were with him?”

Brienne hesitated, then let out a heavy breath. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Adriella shook her head, “You’re not a liar, Brienne. I have no reason to doubt anything you say.”

Brienne swallowed hard before speaking. “It was Stannis. He used dark magic—a shadow that took Renly’s life right in front of me… I couldn’t protect him… Emmon and Robar came in when I screamed. They thought I’d killed Renly and so they… they attacked me… They would have killed me if I hadn’t killed them first…” when Adriella stayed quiet Brienne seemed to take it as a sign that she didn’t believe her and tried to pull away, muttering, “You must think I’ve gone mad—”

Adriella’s chest constricted at the fact that Brienne thought she didn’t believe her, tightening her grip on the woman to keep her from pulling away. “I do believe you, Brienne.” she said firmly, “This world is full of horrors that defy reason. I know you would never betray Renly.”

“Adriella, I—”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Catelyn, her eyes taking in the scene with quiet curiosity as the two women practically jumped apart. “Brienne,” she greeted with a nod, her gaze shifting to Adriella. “And who might you be?”

Brienne straightened, her tone taking on a rare warmth despite the conversation with Adriella not moments ago. “This is Adriella Selmy, my lady. Ser Barristan Selmy’s niece. She’s a fierce fighter, and a good friend. If there’s one person in this world that you can trust, it’s her.”

Lady Catelyn’s eyebrows lifted slightly in recognition, glancing at Adriella again, studying her features closely in search of a resemblance. “Ser Barristan’s niece, you say? That is a name that carries great respect.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Adriella said, inclining her head respectfully.

Lady Catelyn returned the gesture, her face impassive but her tone kind as she spoke, “If you are anything like your uncle, I would be glad to have you in my service. Brienne has already sworn herself to me, and I could use another strong sword at my side.”

Adriella’s expression remained steady as she replied, “I appreciate your offer, my lady, but I will not swear myself into the service of another. I choose my loyalties, and they are not given lightly. As long as Brienne stays, so will I, but my oath is to my own honor, not to any lord or lady.”

Lady Catelyn regarded her thoughtfully before giving a slow nod of approval. “A woman who keeps her own counsel is a rare thing. You’re welcome among us, Adriella.”

With that, Lady Catelyn turned and moved away, leaving the two women alone again. Brienne looked down at Adriella, her expression softening again. “You didn’t have to come all this way just for me.” she said meekly.

Adriella smiled up at her, nudging her in the ribs playfully. “And leave you to deal with all this alone? Never. Besides, without you, there’s no way I would be staying back at the camp with all those men. Who would protect me with you gone?”

Brienne allowed a rare smile to tug at her lips as Adriella let out a light chuckle, the two of them following Lady Catelyn into the castle. The Lady stopped for a moment to speak with her father while the two women stood guard outside before showing them to one of the castle's many rooms.

“I do hope you ladies won’t mind sharing a room,” Lady Catelyn said gently as she led the two into a room, “With the castle so full we do not have many to spare and I do not think either of you would wish to sleep amongst the men.”

“We got along fine in Renly’s camp, my lady, but the gesture is appreciated. And who are we to turn down a small comfort such as this when it’s presented to us?” Adriella said in thanks, inclining her head towards Lady Catelyn. Again, the lady returned the gesture before leaving the two alone to get settled.

Adriella and Brienne both took a look around the room. It was spacious enough with a large bed, a chaise lounge with a small oak table before it, a small bookshelf, a decent sized wardrobe, and a chair off in one corner. The two looked to each other with the same question in their eyes, the ocean blue meeting cold iron; who was going to take the bed?

“You take the bed,” Adriella decided, settling the argument before it could even start as she moved to set her knapsack down on the chaise lounge, “There’s no way your frame is going to fit on this thing.”

As much as Brienne wanted to protest, she knew Adreilla was right. Her monstrous frame was far too large for the piece of furniture so, reluctantly, she moved to the bed and began to unpack. A silence fell between the two as it came time for supper, neither of them sure what to say to the other. It had been easy to speak freely with each other before, to talk of past experiences and such but now, to Adriella, it seemed as though she was no longer with the Brienne she knew. This new Brienne was stoic and quiet, never speaking unless spoken too first, and giving the most basic of responses. She was a shell of the woman Adriella had met almost a week prior, but Adriella understood why. She too knew what it felt like to witness a loved one die, though the death of her parents had not been near as horrific as Renly’s. Even so, no one-especially not a nine year old girl-should have to watch their parents die, struggling to breathe as their throats slowly swelled shut… Adriella understood the want to shut down and build up walls so tall and thick no one would ever see how much she hurt inside, to relive the moment again and again, looking for a way she could’ve changed the outcome even when there was nothing that could have been done. Adriella wanted to console her friend, but she also knew that no words would help ease the ache, especially not when it was still so fresh. And so she let Brienne be, hoping that she would come to her when she was ready.

When it came time for supper, the two ate with Lady Catelyn at the high table, overlooking the hall. The atmosphere there was no different than the dining tent in Renly’s camp. Here most thoughts of war were drowned out by ale and thoughts of home. Singers took turns belting out one ballad or another, some of them sweet and cheerful, others melancholy and grim. Adriella watched the men and serving girls quietly from her pace at the table, only looking away to tear off a bite of bread or cut a portion of her meat. At one point, she stole a glance at Brienne, frowning at the sight of the woman’s plate, still nearly as full as it had been an hour ago, her drink practically untouched.

“You need to eat,” she said as she sipped on her ale, her voice firm though still gentle, “Starving yourself will help no one. Least of all Lady Catelyn and yourself. How can you expect to defend her if you do not keep yourself at full strength?”

“I’m fine,” Brienne grumbled, eyes transfixed on the table as she reached for her water, taking the smallest sip before setting the goblet down again, “I’m just not hungry.”

“Eat.” Adriella said again firmer this time, turning to look at Brienne, “Your body will thank you later.”

Brienne growled, her hand clenching into a fist as she repeated, “I’m not hungry.”

“If you think I’m going to sit here and watch you starve you’re sorely mistaken, Brienne.” Adriella had had enough. Sulking in silence she could allow, but she would not let her friend ruin her health over a man who held no love for her, “You will eat of your own accord or I will force the food down your throat right here in the middle of the hall.”

“Adriella—”

“Choose.”

Brienne pondered the demand a moment before sighing in defeat, slowly tearing into her meal under Adriella’s watchful eye. Adriella hated to be so stern with Brienne in her grief, but she had seen it destroy one too many people. If she had a chance to save others from its grasp, she would.

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #larissa weems #jane murdstone #jan stevens #miranda hilmarson #captain phasma #lady jane #brienne of tarth #brienne x oc #brienne the beauty #game of thrones

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artistesoiree · 5 months ago

Text

Nightfall in Sunridge Ranch

Chapter 1

{'70s Jack Daniels x Fem!OC)

Chapter 2

Rating: Mature Warnings: Mentions of blood and draining blood (she's a vampire, I feel it's a given), drug mention, mc is a bit eerie and her thoughts can be a bit troubling, Likely incorrect things about the 70s and Paris, France, as I was born in '02 and haven't been outside the PNW since I was born, Jack's too suave for his own good and probably shouldn't flirt with vampires, I hope he isn't OOC? Veronica's maker is interesting…(and is named after my favorite IWTV character) but I'll get into that in later chapters, takes place in the late 70s in a made-up Texan town WC: 3.8k

A/N:

Howdy, y'all! I wanted to write this because I've been recently inspired to begin writing again. I was inspired by Interview with the Vampire, 70s Texas, little bit of Ethel Cains Album Preachers Daughter, and my own OCs. The writing might be rough, but I'm proud of it. It's told in the first-person POV, and I hope you guys like Veronica as much as I do. She's a wreck and a weirdo .Oh, and the introduction was inspired by the beginning of The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice.

headers by @/saradika

I am Veronica Sharpe. I am a vampire who stands six feet tall. I have been blessed with my mother's black curls and my father's family's white streak in it. I have my mother's pale complexion, cheekbones, plush lips, and aquiline nose. I have my father's slender green eyes. My father gave me his height, while my mother gave me the gift of a body with feminine curves. Over the years, while I have maintained my feminine body, I have gained muscle, which has dramatically complimented my figure. I am a strong woman. I am proud of that.

I was only twenty-one when I was turned in the year 1904. I lived in Paris, France, and several lovers sought my hand. One of them was my maker, Armand Sharpe. He was a tall man with a fine figure, and he loved his beautiful clothes and long silk like red hair. He collected art pieces and hung them in his home. He had found me painting in the Jardin des Plantes and asked kindly if he could buy one of my paintings. Armand loved his beautiful women; I was flattered to be one of them.

He always talked about how I should be grateful that I remain eternally beautiful, that I will never age like most women, and that my youthful beauty will never leave. He always seemed too proud of it. And I am grateful, his beauty is like mine, eternal.

Although I am thankful that I remember my mother, father, and sister, Armand, when we first met, had made it possible for me to have photographs of my family. While I don’t remember my family name, I remember their names. My mother was named Estelle, and my father was Laurent, and my sister was Lucille. But sadly, I don’t know the name my mother gave me when I was born. I expressed my discomfort with not remembering my name to Armand, and he thought of a name for a moment until he told me that my name must be Véronique. It is a beautiful name, a one I deserve.

As time passed, my name changed from Véronique to Veronica. This transition came in ‘64 when a waitress misheard my name and called me Veronica in a thick southern California accent. She was a lovely gal. She was a Barbie blonde wearing a baby blue uniform, which suited her tanned skin tone. Her hair was styled like Farrah Fawcett's and smelled like Adorn Self-Styling Hair Spray. Veronica stuck. The transition was freeing from the name my maker and husband had given me. The name Armand would use to beckon me to his room was the name he would call with desire.

I am very thankful to the waitress at that Los Angeles diner a couple of years ago; she gave me a new name, and may never know what it meant to me. I am sure Armand felt the same way, it is a gift to give a name to someone.

As I make my way along the winding Interstate 10 in Texas, the sky is painted with the last hues of the sunset, giving way to the emergence of countless stars. The radio fills the car interior with the nostalgic melody of John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads." This song has been the background to my travels for the past couple years. With my hand resting on the smooth, black leather steering wheel of my 1964 Ford Mustang, I tap my fingers in time to the music. The car, painted a deep raven black, seems to blend seamlessly with the night. Despite the darkness, I wear my circular black sunglasses with their delicate silver frame. It might strike some as odd to wear sunglasses at night, but I do so to conceal my naturally eerie and unnerving green eyes, a feature that has often drawn unnerving attention.

I’ve never understood why they were unnerving. They’re my eyes; they’ve been green since childhood. Is there something I’m missing? Green is the color of the earth, why must I have to cover my beauty.

The fuel gauge on my dashboard is hovering dangerously close to empty, and as I glance out the window, a highway sign catches my eye. It reads, ‘Visit Sunridge Ranch, Texas! The Cowboy Capital of the USA!’ I find myself humming in response, realizing that not only do I need to refuel, but it might also be a good idea to find a place to stay for the night. The sun will rise soon, and although I won't burst into flames like in fiction, its rays will still leave me with a nasty sunburn, turning my pale skin red. It’s embarrassing. Armand would scold me like a child when I would come home red. As my husband, he often acted like a father, not my own. Oh no, he decided my father wasn't useful and took him away from me.

As I made my way into town, I was struck by its quaint charm and the subtle nods to its cowboy past. Before heading to the nearby motel, I decided to fill up my car with gas. As I approach the motel, I couldn't help but notice the small sign featuring a cowgirl riding a horse and the name "Desert Ranch Motel." It seems like a beautiful place to spend a day. The sign advertised a pool I plan to enjoy once the sun had set.

I hear the soft jingle of a bell as I push open the heavy wooden door to the front desk. Standing behind the counter is a woman who seems out of place in this ordinary setting. Her immaculate appearance and bored expression tell me she'd rather be anywhere else. I glimpse her name tag and see "Barbara" etched onto it.

"Welcome to the Desert Ranch Motel, where the Old West meets comfort," she recites in a dry, monotone voice. "What kind of room are you looking for?"

The weirdest thing is that Barbara jumps when she looks up at me and tries to act as if she hadn't jumped. Am I creepy? Surely it cannot be my eyes, they cannot be creepy in this light. Was it my staring? My eyes burning into her.

As she asked if I was interested in the suite, I responded, "I will take the suite." I respond, there is nothing fancy about the way I said it. It was monotone. Following my response, she picked up the check-in book to check for its availability, or at least that's what I assumed she was doing.

"Sure... that'll be no problem," she says, keeping her pretty blue eyes on my figure as she checks the lodging book. That will be 15 dollars for the day," Barbara says uncertainly as I hand her the cash. She carefully notes my name in the lodging book and gracefully passes me the key. "The room is 28B. I hope you have a pleasant stay, ma'am," she says.

The prominent feature of the chain is a weathered cowboy pendant suspended from it, effortlessly enhancing the town's rustic charm and Western essence. I wonder who made it; it looks like an artist had a hand in making it.

As I make my way down the hallway to 28B, the weight of my luggage is a reassuring reminder of the countless times I've journeyed down this similar hallway. I navigate the stairs quickly. Arriving at the end of the hallway, I reach for the doorknob and swing the door open. A smile spreads as I take in the view before me.

The wooden door creaks open as I enter the room, unveiling a spacious living area. The room features a sunken seating area adorned with vibrant patterned cushions encircling a central sunken pit that could double as a fire pit. The brick fireplace is the main focus, making everything warm and comfortable.

Large windows flood the space with natural light, offering picturesque views of the pool outside. The high ceiling is adorned with several elegant hanging lights that glow warmly throughout the room. The inviting atmosphere makes it a pretty space to spend time and relax.

Behind the conversation pit, the bed steals the attention, decorated with a striking orange comforter and decorative pillows. The bedframe and nightstands complement each other, showcasing a matching wood. The clock on the nightstand displayed 3:02 am, signaling the impending arrival of dawn. Hungry from my long drive from San Antonio, I couldn't ignore the persistent itch of blood thirst at the back of my throat. As the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, I felt the familiar hunger gnawing at my insides. It is different from a human's regular hunger pains; my stomach feels as if it’s going to turn inside out, and I might die.

The craving for blood pounded through me, and I know I couldn't ignore it much longer. But living in this arid, desolate town presented a challenge—no nearby life sources could quench my thirst. Then it hit me: In such a deserted town, there is an option: to search for the presence of rats. Although I don't like the taste of rat blood, it satisfies my thirst for blood. Or perhaps the local diner could provide a solution. I could order a rare steak and let its rich blood juices satiate my hunger for the night. I always thrived while killing; there is something so satisfying about that iron-rich liquid spilling down my throat.

As I leave the dimly lit motel room, I check that my purse is securely slung over my shoulder. I mentally record the contents within—my wallet holding a substantial amount of cash, my ID, and the all-important hotel room key. Opening it, I make sure that my favorite perfume is safely nestled among the other items. Knowing I'll smell good despite the bloodbath I’m going to put myself through does put a smile on my face.

I stroll across the road from the motel to The Kingsman Diner, relieved to see that it is open 24 hours a day. Knowing that no matter what time, I can always find a warm meal here is a comfort. Approaching the front door, I couldn't help but notice a small cluster of mice scurrying around towards the back of the diner.

Sneaking towards the back of the restaurant, I quickly grab a mouse and sink my fangs into its body. Draining the blood from it and tossing it into the garbage. I continue doing this to a few more mice, draining and tossing. It is not human, but it will do for the night. I need to drink multiple in order to feel fine.

Lost in my bloodthirst, I fail to notice the creak of the back door swinging open. Suddenly, a gruff and low voice startles me from behind.

"Darlin, what are you doin’ near my garbage?" The man asks, and I freeze, realizing someone had caught me. I feel my heart racing as I quickly toss the mouse into the garbage and turned to face him. There was a little blood on my chin, and my hands are stained from the unsuccessful attempt to clean up the mess.

What am I doing? Did Armand’s lessons in cleanliness and manners exit my brain the first moment I stepped foot on American soil? I should vanish now. Wipe his memory, he never saw me.

But as I answered, "Nothing," he gave me a questioning look, and I’m grateful for the overhead light illuminating his face. He was very handsome, with a man in his forties with a strong, tall frame, warm brown eyes, and a mop of dark brown, short hair. A well-groomed mustache adorned his upper lip, adding to his cowboy appeal. He stood before me in well-worn jeans cinched with a leather belt, an apron over his chest, and a vibrant blue flannel shirt. He held a black Stetson cowboy hat in his hand, completing the look of a true cowboy. God, he has kind eyes, clean-shaven eyes, and a beautiful smile. And a confident swagger to him, Armand never really had that sort of confidence or swagger. He was quiet and foreboding.

"Why do you have blood on your hands and chin there, Darlin?" The man asks, squinting his eyes and furrowing his brow as if trying to assess my appearance. My mind races as I desperately tried to come up with some sort of plausible excuse. "Were you drainin’ those rats?"

I stammer nervously in response, causing his brows to furrow even deeper. "I, uh, yes...?" I admit, my voice trembling slightly. "I may have taken ecstasy in my motel room. It seemed like a good idea at the time. In the past I loved to drink the blood on ecstasy, it feels lovely."

"Why in the world would drinkin’ rat blood even cross your mind as a good idea?" the handsome man asks, leaving me speechless. Incompetent to conjure a coherent response, I found myself unable to answer him. How about we forget this ever happened, and I whip up something to satisfy that hunger of yours?"

I nod eagerly, awaiting his following words. "What are ya in the mood for?"

"Can you make mashed potatoes and a rare steak? It's been far too long since I've had a meal like that, not since I left San Antonio," I tell him, wiping the extra blood on the sleeve of my black blouse. It won’t be seen anyway. His face cringes for a moment as I do that. God, he needs to stop staring at me.

As the man mulls over my request briefly, he gently scratches his chin and nodded in agreement. "Come on in. Why don't ya take a seat at the counter," he offered as we entered the cozy diner. "Maybe after you freshen up a bit..."

Pausing, I glance down at my hands and suddenly became conscious of my messy appearance. The fancy clothes I bought for myself have blood splatters on me, and my hair is nowhere near presentable. I should’ve washed up in my motel room.

"Oh, excuse me, where can I find the restroom?" I ask, and he gestures towards the doors at the back of the diner, clearly marked 'Men' and 'Women.'

"I'll be back. I'm sorry you had to see that, handsome stranger," I say to him with a wry smile, trying to lighten the mood. His chuckle is a welcome sound as my eyes wander up and down, finally landing on the name tag labeled ‘Jack’' "Jack, a handsome name for a handsome man," I remark, a twinkle in my eye, nervously laughing. Has it been this long since I’ve been around a man? He must think I'm an idiot.

Jack’s chuckle resonates through the room, carrying a warmth that seems to surround the entire room. "Not a problem, darlin'," he says in a soothing, reassuring tone, his words comforting to my ears. He flashed a kind and friendly grin, and as he did, the well-earned wrinkles around his eyes deepened, adding character to his face. A rush of heat floods my cheeks, betraying the blush that crept up in response to his gaze. Sensing my reaction, he arched an eyebrow ever so slightly, his eyes shining with a knowing glint.

Dieu qu'il est beau. (god he is handsome)

“I will be right back, Mr. Jack,” I chuckle nervously before heading toward the restroom. Mr. Jack?! Why would I call him that? Also, I says I would be back not even a minute before. Must I repeat myself like a babbling imbecile?!

I quickly went to the restroom, but the encounter was still fresh in my mind. As I stand in front of the mirror, I meticulously wash away the stains from my face and hands, taking care to remove every trace of the blood. It's hard to believe that my first impression of this rugged man was being covered in blood. I can't help but wonder what Armand must think of me. I did always turn to him for advice. He was always a posed man; he would get angry when I wasn’t.

But I do not remember even doing anything that vastly embarrassing with him. Did I do something wrong when I was with him? Have I always been this way, and he was helping me? Should I have not left him? I cannot act like a lady around a handsome man who saw me draining mice near his garbage. Well, not that it is a ladylike thing to do, but there are nicer ways of satisfying my thirst. But fuck being ladylike, Armand would use that word so often I never liked it.

Wait, that businessman wanted to get with me at that party in ‘71. Why am I realizing this now? Have I always been this aloof? I need to do better.

“Bloody lady, ya doin’ alright?” I hear Mr. Jack from just outside the door, “You’ve been in there for twenty minutes or so,”

“Sorry, I got lost in thought. I’ll be out in a minute!” I reply, and my cheeks redden due to my embarrassment. Splashing water on my face, I walk out of the restroom with a slightly embarrassed smile, rocking on my heels momentarily. “Sorry about that, it’s been a long day.”

Mr. Jack chuckles again, “‘s alright, darlin’ you not from ‘round here, aintcha?” He asks as I sit down at the counter where he’s prepared my food. God, it looks delicious. Staring at him, a little confused, he smiles again. “You ain’t got an accent like us, ya almost sound European.”

“No, I’m not from around here. I was born in Paris, but I’ve been traveling alone for a while,” I reply, grabbing the fork he’s set out for me. He tilts his head, confused.

“Ya look lil young to be travelin’ for a while,”

“M-My…uhh-” I begin trying to find a good excuse: “My family ages well. I am in my thirties,” Okay, that’s not a bad excuse, and it’s true I do not age. Thanks, Armand; one of the only good things about this gift he gave me. He still deserves to die, though.

"Well, I’ll be damned ya do look good, sugar,” Jack tells me with a suave smile on his face, “that white streak in ya hair is real pretty too, them eyes of yours are real pretty too. I always liked green eyes on ladies,”

“Why thank you, Jack. You sure know how to make a lady blush,” I giggle momentarily, hiding my face behind my hand, and while taking a bite of the steak he made me, and god if it isn’t delicious. That cowboy sure knows how to make a meal.

He and I both chat for a while and continue eating the meal he had prepared. He pauses for a moment before asking, “You says you were born in Paris, that meanin you french?”

“I suppose?” I reply, thinking for a moment. “I grew up there, my parents were born there too. But I have not been there for good while, I am losing my accent.”

“Clearly, you barely sound French anymore, sugar. Are you still speakin’ the language?” he asks, and I nod with a bright smile.

“Oui, j'aime toujours cette langue,” I say, and his eyebrows raise. Is he impressed? “I say, yes, I still love the language.”

Jack chuckles as he takes my empty plate and cleans it quickly while I wait at the counter. Should I wait for him to come back? Or should I leave? This feels weird. My legs begin to sway underneath the counter, waiting for him to come back, my chin resting on the backs of my hands.

He comes back a couple of minutes later, and I've been looking around the diner, taking in the details of it all. It’s a very cozy diner. The warm lighting adds to that. If I lived here, I would be a regular, I know it.

“How long you in town sugar?” He asks, snapping me out of my daydream.

“As long as I want, I tend to keep myself in different towns for a few days before leaving. But I can stay in a spot for months if I’d like. Why do you ask?”

“I wanna offer you a job, if you’d like it. It would be watiressin’ but it pays good with tips.”

My eyes widen for a moment. Is he serious? His expression says he isn’t; extra cash would be nice. I have been running out of it since I left France and stole an excellent sum of Armand’s fortune. It would be nice to stay in one spot long and not be on the run. He also did find me with blood all over me. Why is he offering me a job? Did he not find me in the back with blood all over me..he does not have good awareness.

“I like that a lot. It would be nice to have extra money and save up a good sum.” I say to him, and his lips curl into an almost sly smile. He looks too mischievous with that mustache of his, but that is a reason he’s a joy to be around. He is much better than Armand, so much better.

“Sounds like a plan darlin’ let me get ya the uniform,” He tells me, walking to a closet in the back and coming back with two things, a red dress, it has short sleeves and seems that it would end at my knees. What’s in his other hand is an apron, simple enough. “Here’s the uniform, keep your hair in a bun and simple earrings. You got shoes that could go with it?”

Pausing, I think back to the clothes in my luggage, more specifically, the shoes I’ve been carrying with me. There are a couple of options, and others that would never work for that uniform.

“Would a pair of red-heeled sandals work?” I ask, unsure if that’s what he is asking for.

“I believe they would darlin’. You can wear those with the uniform. Have you ever waitressed before?”

“When I was in Paris, I worked briefly for a cafe. Is this similar to that?”

“You’ll do great sugar. Now go get some rest and I’ll see you here at 2pm okay?” He asks, and I nod quickly, my arms gathering the uniform he handed me in my arms.

When I leave the diner, the sky is empty; spare it for the stars sprinkling in the sky. This town is eerily quiet. Paris was loud, and so was Los Angeles. I like quiet; I've always liked quiet. Maybe I should stay here. Until Armand uses his fledglings to find me again, then I will run. I do miss him, the chase is more fun knowing he misses me. But for now, I will stay.

I hope y'all enjoyed it! I do plan to have more chapters, as this is just the beginning; I've got a bunch planned!

Taglist: @morallyinept @604to647

#pedro pascal #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x oc #pedro pascal characters #agent whiskey jack daniels #agent whiskey kingsman the golden circle #my writing #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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jazeswhbhaven · 4 months ago

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could you write something about astra and cain meeting when cain is a child, like 10? astra is already in a relationship with satan and mammon, and satan decides its time for her to meet his son with his ex leviathan

it could be considered an au in an au, if theyre not supposed to be in the same universe

a request....FOR MY OCS?????? *queue Gunter gif*

YES ^^ I will write a little thing for them.

"Why are my eyes covered?" Astra asks Satan as she walks forward with her hands outstretched.

"It's a surprise. Just wait." He says, a mischievous grin across his face and his body shaking with excitement.

There was a "secret" that Satan had been hiding from Astra ever since they made their relationship official. There was even a strange thing between him and Leviathan the other day that made her question this secret even more. Not to mention the nasty glare received from the envious king of Hades.

She had to know, and the anxiety racked her brain. What could he be hiding that was so bothersome even Leviathan didn't want him to tell her? It couldn't be that bad, right?

Suddenly Satan removes his palms from Astra's face, moving to her shoulders to stop her from running into the purple door in front of them.

"Okay. You can look now."

Astra opens her eyes, instantly confused by the door and how it looked extremely different than the rest of the palace. Normally, all the doors were open and you could see inside everyone's room. Only in Hades were most of the doors closed. And this made Astra slightly nervous.

"What...I mean where does this lead to, Satan?" She asks while rubbing her elbows trying to back away from the ominous presence she felt.

"Open the door. He won't hurt you."

"He?"

Astra was even more nervous, this couldn't be another noble that wasn't mentioned. Most of them were out and friendly in Gehenna. Even the ones she had yet to run into weren't in hiding. Whoever was behind this door clearly didn't want to be bothered.

"Go on, open it." Satan says again, rubbing her shoulders gently until he shoves her into the door without warning.

There was no need for her to turn the handle, the entrance flying open on it's own and her tumbling down on the ground with a rolling thud. She sits up, the room dim at first as she focused, but the lights flicker on one by one. In the middle of the room sat a coffin, no larger than the size fit for a child.

"Uh...Satan what the hell is this?" Astra asks, crawling backward toward the nearby wall. She looks around, seeing that the room is furnished with a desk, pictures, books, and strange creations. There was even an unfinished painting in the corner of Lucifer.

Satan simply chuckles to himself and walks over to the coffin without a pause in his step. He lifts the top of it, calling to the person or thing that is inside.

"You're too old for naps Cain, wake up."

Astra stares in silence as the coffin stirs, a small growl and grumble echoing in the room. Suddenly a small head pops up, tiny horns similar to Leviathan's shape, and fluffy messy hair as thick and full as Satan's. The color of it though was reminiscent of Leviathan's.

The small devil stretches and groans again, opening up his mouth to show a mouthful of sharp teeth and a forked tongue snaking out dramatically.

"Dad, don't wake me up so suddenly. You'll die." the small voice was adorable, quiet, soft. The exact opposite of the energy he gave off and how he looked. He gazed fixed on Astra, all three of his eyes squinting in distaste.

"Who is that woman? My food?"

Astra flinches, insulted that this child immediately thought of her as something to snack on. Who did he think he was?

"No. That's Astra. Remember when I told you about Solomon? That's his daughter."

"Oh, him. Does this mean that she is going to be my bride or something. She's too young." Cain yawns again and sits up, his small body rising from the coffin as he jumps out of it with ease.

"Hey! Don't you mean I'm too old?" Astra retorts as she stands and puts her hands on her hips. "You've got quite the mouth on you for a child."

Cain stares at her stoically, waving his hand at her as if dismissing her statement.

"I said what I said. You're human. What are you like 30 or something? I'm nearly 200 years old." He pauses and then looks at his fingers while mumbling before staring at her again. "That's 10 years old in human years, so you are correct that you'd be older than me. But we're in Hell. In case you haven't noticed."

Satan thumps the smaller devil on the head with his finger, grinding his teeth in annoyance. "Don't be rude, Cain. Astra is with me."

"Great, a stepmother who's an idiot. Thanks dad."

The sarcastic remark has Satan fuming, but he holds back, as if trying to give the child a chance to apologize to Astra or just simply shut up. But as most children, of course he wasn't about to do either of the sort. Astra however was still stuck on how he kept referring to Satan as "dad". The closer she looked, she could see the resemblance but the other features...were so much like...

"Satan did you uh, how do I say this around a child..."

"I have two dads, the one who gave birth to me is not here right now. It's not that hard of a concept, were you dropped on your head?" Cain crossed his arms as he steps forward, examining Astra like a science experiement.

"I was trying to be appropriate but maybe I shouldn't, since this is Hell after all. Screw it, Satan did you knock up Leviathan?" Astra says what was lingering on the tip of her tongue ever since the small devil in front of her started speaking. The condescending tone, the arrogant attitude had Leviathan written all over it. He also had such a calm and soft voice, instead of confident and mischievous like Satan.

"Yes Astra, before you there was Leviathan. This child was the result of that relationship and I enjoy every second of raising him. When he's being quiet." Satan jokes playfully, walking over to ruffle Cain's hair who titled his head away after a few seconds.

Astra stands in disbelief, filled with questions on their relationship and the fact that no one mentioned that devils could get pregnant. As far as she was told it was Lilith who created devils, and with her missing once Solomon and God went away...how was this possible?

"So dad, what did you want since you woke me up. To meet her? It's useless that you did that. I want to go to papa's now." Cain ignores Astra and walks over to the wardrobe in his room, grabbing clothes to change into. Satan rolls his eyes and turns to Astra, smiling as he points back at Cain proudly.

"You see what I'm capable of? That's why I wanted to show him off. It's important that you know what's possible so in the future if you ever think about it-"

"No siblings. I don't want them. Especially not from her." Cain snaps, the venom practically dripping from his words. Astra frowns and taps her foot, clearly fed up with the younger devil's attitude.

"Listen here mister. First, I'm not 30, just wanted to clarify that. Second, if I want to have little hellspawns with Satan or Mammon I will gladly do so. It's my body."

While Satan was grinding his teeth at the Mammon mention, Cain turns his head slowly with a scary expression on his face. He seemed calm but at the same time if he wanted to tear her throat out he would. With no doubt this was the chaotic energy of having both parents with a temper like no other.

"Your body is a consistent rotting corpse. Dad would be lucky if any kind of life manifested in it."

He turns his head around, Satan now truly upset at his words as he charges forward to confront him.

"Cain, apologize. Now." He growls, trying his best not to kick his son's ass. Cain ignores him, only continuing to change his clothes and not caring there were others in the room. Astra looks away, baffled by this child's clear disdain for her. It almost sounded like jealousy...more than him disliking her just for the sake of it.

Astra knew this kind of talk, remembering when Minhyeok was being rude to his older brother each time he asked for the three of them to play together. Minhyeok didn't hate his brother, he just didn't want to share her with him. Perhaps, this was the same with Cain not wanting to share Satan's attention.

"Cain...you will apologize or I won't allow you to go to Hades." Satan's tone is more firm now, but he continues to try and stay calm. Anyone knew that if this were anyone else their ass would be sore for days from just one swift kick. Astra admired how he could hold himself back, something she didn't get to see often.

"Satan, boobear. Let me try." Astra says gently, rubbing the small of Satan's back to calm him down. Satan stares at her, still grinding his teeth as he watches. As she approached the now dressed Cain, she lowers her voice and gets down to his level waiting until he turns around to look him in the face.

For the moment Astra was speechless seeing how all three of his eyes locked on to her with an emotion she couldn't detect, but by the redness forming on his cheeks, perhaps he didn't expect her to be right behind him.

"Why are you so close, human?" Cain's voice is still calm but less hostile than before.

"Cain, I know I'm not a devil. I know that it's weird to meet me and basically find out that your dad is uh seeing someone that isn't your other parent. But I'm not going to steal his attention away from you. You're still his son, so let's be friends huh?" Astra reaches out her hand with a soft smile on her face. Cain looks down at her hand and extends his tiny palm to it, touching her fingertips gently in silence.

"See, I won't hurt you..." Astra says quietly.

Cain suddenly pulls her hand to his face, curious and feeling the warmth against his cheeks. Astra smiles more, wondering if progress is being made, that is until Satan yanked her away only seconds after this moment. Astra didn't see it, but something from Cain's coffin was snaking it's way to her ankles almost wrapping around them. Once found out, the tentacles slither back into the void, the coffin shutting on its own.

"Pity. He was hungry." Cain blinks and walks past a terrified Astra and angry Satan as he exits the room.

"So much for first impressions...the little shit tried to kill me." Astra gasps as she rubs her chest.

"He does that. I lost one of my palace workers recently because Cain didn't like his tone when speaking to me."

"He's...oddly protective of you."

"Cain doesn't like it when people disrespect me or interfere with our bonding time. I find it adorable. Isn't he cute?" Satan looks down at Astra, his gaze beaming with "proud dad" energy. "He's mad at me. This is just a tantrum."

"Plotting to kill your dad's girlfriend is just a tantrum? I'd hate to see how he gets when he's actually mad." Astra says while rubbing her throat nervously.

"Oh, he's the nastiest little gremlin when he's mad. A fourth of the palace was cursed with this black tar that dissolves bones in seconds if you step in it. Only the red lumps who can fly were able to clean it up." Satan smiles, also laughing at the memory while Astra stares at him with wide eyes.

"Uh, what caused that?"

"Sitri told him to clean his room."

"That's it?!"

"Yup."

Satan grins and takes Astra's hands in his while kissing her forehead. "He'll like you, Astra. The fact that he didn't immediately send you to a spiraling void means he didn't hate you."

"Oh...that's comforting..."

Astra stood in Satan's embrace, as he continued to plant soft kisses on her face to cheer her up. The interaction with Cain had started off rocky, but she was more that determined to get to know him if she wanted her relationship to stay steady with Satan.

"What about Mammon?" Astra asks as her lover pulls back from her neck. "Does he know about Cain?"

Satan scoffs and gestures vaguely around the room. "He paid for this room to be built. Paid for the custom coffin and any future ones once he outgrows this one."

"That's good, right? I wouldn't expect anything less."

"It's annoying. I'm one who helped made him. That bastard just throws money around. He probably sees Cain as his son too."

"I think you should let him help. It sounds like he's been doing this before I even arrived in Hell. We know what happened to Mammon's childhood, he...probably just wants the best for Cain."

Astra wrapped her arms around Satan, placing a soft peck on his lips as a peace offering. He growls, reluctantly admitting that she was right. Mammon had been there since the beginning, and feeding a growing devil wasn't an easy feat. That king may annoy him, but when it came to helping him when he most needed it, Mammon was always there.

"Let's go check on Cain." Satan says softly, opting to pick up Astra from the floor and carry her instead of letting her walk. As the two exit the room, a small glowing ball pulses on Cain's desk...the image of an angry Leviathan appearing in the cloudy center of it.

There we go! I hope you like it anon. I know Cain is a brat here, but it would make sense, he just woke up, his dad is introducing him to some random human woman he's dating, and now she's trying to level with him and he's like...no. Lol. If you ever want more about them for this AU don't be shy to ask! I think it's fun adding him in to Astra's world.

#whb #jwhbasks❓#cxc #whb! cxc #fankid #whb fankid #cain and astra content!#astra is stopmommy now lmao

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