#or is it worse to wake up in an unfamiliar place next to a body covered in blood and not know how you got there

[disfrutalaisla]

I hope qCellbit wakes up covered in blood next to a dead body tbh

[iliketangerines]

consider the lin kuei brothers growing obsessive over someone and basically imprisoning her?

bi-han is obsessed with breeding the next lin kuei heir, of course. kuai liang thinks the outside world is dangerous and she's safer here. tomas just wants comfort and a big happy family of his own, and the reader can provide both of these! how lovely :)

i think temperature play and mindbreak go lovely with this - go crazy w this prompt otherwise i love reading ur writing

all ours

a/n: mmmmm, dark content my beloved. also, i do NOT condone this behavior in real life

pairing: bi han, kuai liang, tomas vrbada x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), noncon, dead dove do not eat, breeding kink, pet play, pregnancy kink, pussy eating, overstimulation, creampies, somniphila, degradation kink, fingerfucking

you can feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up, and you turn to look over your shoulder

but all you see is the empty living room, and you slowly turn back to stir the food cooking in your pan

the past few weeks, you’ve felt like someone was watching you, waiting for you, like a predator hunting their prey, and you’ve been on edge

you can’t ignore the hissing sound that sounds behind you, and you whip around, wooden spoon in hand

there’s still no one there, but you see smoke rolling out of your bedroom door

you let out a yelp and turn off the stove, hoping that the candle you lit in there hadn’t set anything on fire too badly

you sprint into your room and find nothing there, candle still half-full, and you let out a sigh of relief

but goosebumps trail over your skin, and you turn around and find a tall man standing behind you, masked with feral eyes and gray hair

you try to run, but hands grab onto you from behind and press something against your face

you’re out before you even know it

you wake up with a start, and the world is a bit hazy as you try to blink your eyes open, perhaps it was just a bad dream

you go to rub your eyes and regain your sight, but the unfamiliar sound of a chain rattling startles you awake

you look to your hand and find it cuffed to the bedpost, which you most definitely didn’t put on yourself, and your breath comes out in quick breaths as you pull and tug on the chain

you start to cry, hyperventilating as you realize your ankles are also chained to the bed with little room to move to get off the bed and that you’re completely naked

a slight pressure is on your neck, and you tug at it and realize it’s a collar, like you’re a dog

the doorway to the room you’re in opens, and you try to scramble back as far as you can onto the bed

it’s not far enough as your back hits the headboard and a man with a blue uniform and hair tied up nicely into a bun enters the room

his eyes rove over your figure, and he stalks toward you, eyes not human as he crawls toward you on the bed

you try to kick him to get him away, but he easily catches your leg and squeezes tight, ice forming at the skin and freezing your nerves

you whimper and try to jerk your leg away, ice sending pain shooting up your body, and he lets out a low growl and jerks you toward him

he pins your hands up above you, freezing them in place and you cry as the ice cold temperature burns you, and he laughs at you

he trails his cold hands down your body, admiring the way goosebumps rise wherever he touches, and you squirm as best as you can in his grip to get away

it’s futile, your legs are spread by his hips, and he presses your hips down to stop you from moving

he growls at you to stop, or he’ll do something much worse

a blade of ice forms from his hand, and he points the sharp edge underneath your chin

immediately, you stop and take in shallow breaths as you hiccup and try not to cry as he hums in delight at your compliance

he puts down the ice blade, but it’s just within reach to remind to be good for him

he rubs at your hips and your waist and mutters something under his breath about you’ll bear his heirs, strong boys to lead his clan

you want to cry, scream, fight, but you don’t want to die and so you stay still and let tears drip down your cheeks as your wrists go numb

he trails his fingers down your stomach and spreads open your pussy folds, pressing his thumb into your clit and watching your hips jerk

you try to keep the sounds in, to not give him the pleasure of knowing he was making you feel good, but as he rubs insistent little circles into you, a small whine comes out

he chuckles and tells you he knew you were just a whore, a good little breeding vessel who’ll take his cock like a little slut

you can feel yourself getting wet, and you moan as he dips two cold fingers into your dripping cunt and fucks you roughly on his fingers

he laughs and presses his thumb into your clit, and you start to sob as he brings you closer to the edge against your will

your back arches off the bed as you cum, and your pussy clenches down on his fingers as you coat his fingers in your cum

your head spins as he brings his fingers out of your pussy and shoves them into your mouth, you have half a mind to not bite down and just let his fingers rest in your mouth

he pulls out his cock, and he pushes into you hurriedly, muttering under his breath how he needs to breed you, secure the future of the Lin Kuei, fuck until it takes

you cry as he fucks into you, hips slapping against yours and filling the room with a loud squelching sound

he rubs at your clit, telling you that you’re such a good bitch, such a good whore, gonna fill you up with his seed, have you round and pregnant as much as he can as you take care of his children

you cry as your mind goes blank, and you whine as you go over the edge, he

he grunts as he buries himself deep inside of you and cums inside of you

he stays inside of you, trailing his icy fingers over your body as you try not to think about how you’re stuck here, but your body jerks and twitches underneath his fingertips and keeps you in the present

he starts thrusting his hips in and out of you again, and you whine, saying you can’t please, you can’t you’re too sensitive

he growls at you to take it, and one of his hands go to tug at your collar as he starts fucking into you again

he makes you cum on his cock over and over again, filling you with his seed until you’re just a drooling teary mess and your stomach slightly bulges

he rubs your stomach, mumbling under his breath, but you’re too far gone to hear what he’s said and you pass out as he starts to fuck you again

you wake up, and you’re mostly cleaned up, ice gone

you’re sore and tired, and you quickly fall asleep again and hope someone will come and save you

but no one comes, and you learn that the blue assassin is named Bi Han, grandmaster of the Lin Kuei

you wake up, not completely sure of how many days have passed, but Bi Han has let you out of the chains and explore around the compound as long as you’re on the leash behind him

he brings you to a meeting, body clad in nothing, and you sit by Bi Han’s lap as he waits for the others show

a yellow assassin walks and sees you in Bi Han’s lap, and he immediately complains that you can’t be out, that it’s too dangerous for you

Bi Han growls that you are protected with him around and to keep him mouth shut

a gray assassin puts his hand on the yellow assassin’s shoulder and says Kuai Liang, you should calm down

Kuai Liang, it seems his name is, has furrowed eyebrows, but he listens and sits down to listen to the meeting

you sit silently by Bi Han’s legs, picking at the floorboards as you wait for him to finish up, and he brings you back to your room and locks the door, leaving you alone and chained to the bed

it’s only a few moments later when you hear the door latch open, and you look up and find Kuai Liang and not Bi Han

he closes the door behind him and locks it and crawls onto the bed

you flinch as he touches you

he’s much warmer than Bi Han, much much warmer, so much that it burns, and you whimper at the temperature difference

he laughs and coos at you, saying you’re just too cute, too innocent, that you need to be protected, too pretty for this filthy world

he mouths at your skin as he mumbles the words, and you let him, too scared to try and fight back like you had when Bi Han had first brought you here

he pulls your legs apart and admires your pussy, already wet for him, and he crawls down to place his cheek on your thigh

he places his tongue against your clit, and you whimper as the heat scorches through you

he hums at your small sounds and laps into your pussy desperately, trying to draw out more sounds from you, and he brings his hand up to fuck you on his fingers

you whine at the feeling, fingers thick and hot, as he fucks you slowly, stretching you out for his cock

he looks up at you, and he hums into your clit at the sight of your head thrown back in pleasure

he doubles his efforts, sucking on your clit and humming around it, and the vibrations travel up your mind and make your mind go blank as you whine and cum on his tongue

he moans into your pussy as he moves down so his nose grinds into your sensitive clit and he licks at your pussy to collect your release on his tongue

he mumbles out that you’re so sweet, so good for him, too good for this world, and he dives back into your cunt to make you cum on his tongue, he needs to taste you again

you cry as he keeps on lapping at your oversensitive clit, but he ignores your protests and keeps tasting you and fucking you on his tongue

you can’t think as he makes you cum on his tongue over and over again, groaning into you messy cunt as he grinds his hips into the bed and comes inside of his pants

but he can’t stop even as you start to push against him against all of your training

he doesn’t care, just can’t stop, and you end up passing out as makes you cum one more time on his fingers

Kuai Liang visits you more often after that

and then, the last one comes out of nowhere

you’re sleeping on the bed, cuddling into the pillows as you try to remember the days before, your past life before all this, but the memories are slipping and you can’t remember

can’t remember your home, can’t remember your friends, can’t remember your family, and all the days are starting to blur

and you can see your stomach growing, and by the way Bi Han had reacted at the sight of your plumping thighs and breasts and hips, you know you’re pregnant

but right now, you’re away from the both of them, letting your body rest

until you feel a hand brush over your stomach and something press into your back, hot and throbbing

an unfamiliar voice croons at you, telling you look so pretty carrying children, so so pretty and beautiful, that you’ll make a great parent, so loving and gorgeous as you’re filled with more heirs

he raises your legs up, cuddling into your neck and pressing kisses into your skin as he slides his cock between your folds to collect your growing wetness

he slides into you, and you whine at the stretch, but he kisses your neck and apologizes quietly as he fucks into you

you can’t do anything except take it as he fucks you and shower you in compliments, and his cock stretches you side and full, tip brushing against that sweet spot inside you

you throw your head back and whine as your oversensitive cunt clamps down on his cock and cums all over him all too quickly

he coos at you and tells you that you’re so good for him as he continues to thrust his cock deep inside of you

you clutch onto the sheets as he makes you cum on his cock a few more times before he grunts and spills his seed into you, staying seated inside of you as he brings your leg down and wraps his arms around your ample chest

you sob and whimper quietly as he tells you you’re so pretty for him, for them all, that you’ll give him and the others a big happy family

months pass, they continue coming to your room, bringing you out only if you’re hooked on your leash, and you’re starting to lose your mind

everything becomes harder as your belly rounds and grows plump with Bi Han’s child, and the men grow more handsy, more dangerous and aggressive towards their own soldiers

you cower in fear as they kill one of their men in cold blood for looking at you for too long, and they bring you back to your room and Bi Han stays with you, marking you in his kisses and hickeys

you’re never returning home, and you finally accept it, tears rolling down as your mind goes blank and forgets your past

[cypherbxbe]

PART 1/4 - Ghost x Reader

next part

notes: I’m still a newbie so bare with me pls, slowbuuurn, portrayal of violence tw (blood, weapons, injuries etc.), will contain smut in part 4 so beware lol

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You and Ghost were friends. At least, that’s how you saw it. He probably saw you more so as a colleague. An acquaintance. Getting close wasn‘t his thing. He kept his distance - it was better that way.

But you were relentless. A persistent storm of warmth and wit, always teasing him, always pushing those buttons he didn’t know he had. It was infuriating. Still, despite himself, he started to tolerate you. Maybe even like you - not that he’d ever admit it.

Right now, though, he was pissed.

Injured and stranded in a dingy warehouse, shot in his leg, he had no choice but to call for backup. And when he heard the sharp crack of gunfire and your telltale whistle, his heart sank. Of course, it was you.

You, grinning and fearless, cutting through enemies like they were paper. A menace on the battlefield, though most of the time you were all sunshine and easy laughter. Even on the Taskforce everyone knew better than to mess with you - and now, so did the pile of bodies in your wake.

The door swung open, and there you were, gun resting on your shoulder, smirk firmly in place. “Miss me?“ Ghost glared from where he was slumped in the corner. “Quite the opposite.” But his faint sigh of relief didn’t slip past you.

“Tsk, tsk… What a way to greet your bestie..” A teasing tone in your voice as usual, but as you stepped closer, your smirk faltered. It was subtle, barely there, but Ghost didn’t miss the shift in your expression. Concern crept into your features, softening the usual mischief that danced in your eyes. “Damn, they really did a number on you, huh?”

Your voice dropped, quieter now, almost gentle. That small furrow in your brow - he hated it. Hated how it made something tight and unfamiliar twist in his chest. He grunted, shifting slightly as pain shot up his leg. “A scratch.“

It was a lie and you both knew it. Your lips quirking, brows raising in disbelief. But weakness wasn’t something Ghost had any intention of admitting - not to anyone, least of all you. ”A scratch,” you repeated, your tone flat. Then you snorted, shaking your head as you crouched down beside him. “Right..“

He shot you a glare, but you ignored it, your focus already shifting to his leg. ”Stop fussing..“ he growled, voice low, an edge of frustration slipping in.

”Yeah, yeah.. Now be a good boy and hold still for me, can ya?“ Your hands were careful as you examined the injury, but your usual teasing was nowhere to be found. For a moment, it was just the sound of his labored breathing and your quiet concentration filling the space. Your eyes narrowed, focused as you worked, the sharp edge of your knife slicing through the fabric of his pants.

Ghost’s jaw tightened, his face neutral. But the stiffness in his posture, the slight twitch of his fingers against the floor, betrayed the pain he was trying so hard to mask. “Just get it over with,” he grumbled, his voice rougher than usual. He was aiming for anger, but the thread of vulnerability running through his words gave him away.

You paused for a beat, glancing up at him. He wasn’t meeting your eyes, gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, his breath coming out shallow and uneven. The wound was worse than you’d expected - a bullet lodged deep in his calf, blood pooling around it, thick and relentless. “Fucking hell..,” you muttered under your breath.

His glare snapped to you, sharp and defiant, but it faltered the moment your hand brushed his skin. A shiver ran through him, subtle but unmistakable. Your touch was light and for a fleeting moment, the pain seemed to fade into the background.

“You’re bleeding like a damn fountain,” you murmured, more to yourself than him, but the corners of your lips curved into a faint, teasing smirk as you added, “Good thing I’m here to to save your ass..“ He wanted to bite back with something scathing, to push you away with words the way he always did. But the warmth of your hand lingered, and for once, the fight just wasn’t there.

You leaned in closer, your breath warm against the cold air as you inspected the wound. The bullet was still lodged deep in the torn flesh, blood trickling steadily despite your efforts. Simon’s chest tightened, and he felt the faint pull of nausea creeping in. The pain was relentless, a gnawing throb that made his head swim.

When you wrapped a tourniquet tightly around his leg, he flinched, a low hiss slipping past his clenched teeth. He forced himself to keep still, his fingers curling into fists against the concrete floor.

“I don’t think removing the bullet here would be wise,” you murmured. Your hand lingered on his knee, a grounding touch that he couldn’t decide was comforting or maddening. Before he could say anything, you were already digging through the med kit, pulling out gauze and bandages with practiced efficiency.

“We need to get you out of here as soon as possible,” you continued, glancing up at him. Your eyes locked with his, the faint worry bleeding into your expression something he wasn’t used to seeing. You were always so composed, so sharp-tongued and fearless, but now your voice carried a softness that made his chest ache.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. His jaw tightened as he swallowed down the pain and the strange, unwelcome sense of relief your presence brought. ”Better hurry up,” he muttered gruffly, swallowing down the unwelcome warmth spreading in his chest. His gaze remained hard, determined to mask anything but irritation.

You secured the bandage tightly, your expression softening as you glanced up at him. Whatever teasing remark had been on the tip of your tongue, you bit it back. “Sure thing, LT,” you said lightly, though the faint tug of a smile betrayed you as you packed the med kit.

Simon’s eyes stayed locked on you as you rose to your feet, dialing for medevac. There was a strange steadiness to you, one that always managed to get under his skin. And then there it was - that telltale scrunch of your nose, your teasing grin slipping back into place like armor. Mischief lit up your features, and irritation bloomed in his chest before you even opened your mouth. “Guess I’m gonna have to carry your ass outta here,” you quipped, voice laced with amusement.

“Carry me?!” he echoed, the words sharper and far more incredulous than he intended. He bristled at the thought. “Like hell you are,” he barked, forcing himself upright with a growl of defiance. But the pain was faster, cutting through his determination like a knife. He crumpled back against the wall, breath hissing through his teeth as a fresh wave of agony radiated from his leg.

“Don’t be stubborn for once in your life. Can you do that?” That grin of yours didn’t waver, playful and infuriating as ever. “Pretty please?” You tilted your head, looking down at him with an expression that somehow made him feel smaller despite your size difference. In that moment, Simon thought, you looked like someone addressing a petulant child rather than a soldier twice your weight.

“Don’t patronize me,” he grumbled, though there was a faint, begrudging hint of resignation in his tone. He hated this - hated that you were right, that he didn’t have a choice.

You crouched down in front of him, arms outstretched towards him. “Come on then, big guy,” you said, the teasing tone in your voice softening just a fraction.

Simon glowered at you, his pride stinging far worse than the bullet in his leg. He hesitated, his jaw clenching hard enough to ache before he finally leaned forward with a heavy grunt, one arm slinging reluctantly over your shoulders.

“This is bloody humiliating,” he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. He shifted his weight onto you, hissing as sharp pain lanced through his leg. You let out a soft grunt of effort, your arms steadying him as you rose. He was a heavy man after all. Each step you took felt like dragging a mountain, but your expression stayed determined, even smug.

As you started moving through the dim halls of the warehouse, his irritation only grew. The awkwardness of the situation pressed on him like a vice, every stumble and shift amplifying his frustration.

“Hold on tight, princess,” you teased, your voice strained but still laced with amusement. „Shut it and keep moving,” he snapped, his tone edged with pain but lacking any real venom.

A laugh escaped you, breathy from exertion. “Whatever you say, LT. Just don’t drool on me.” He clicked his tongue, muttering something incoherent under his breath as you carried on, the tension between you simmering just beneath the surface.

Every step was agony. His weight pressed heavily on you as you carried him out of that godforsaken warehouse, each movement pulling a fresh surge of pain from his injured leg. His vision blurred and swam, but he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay composed. He wouldn’t let you see how much he was struggling.

When you finally reached a makeshift refuge behind a pile of wood, Simon slumped heavily against it. The rough surface bit into his back as his breaths came fast and shallow, his head tipped back as if trying to will the pain away.

“We there yet?” he muttered, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. He hated this - hated how much he relied on you right now. Pride clawed at him, but his body left him no choice.

“Medevac should be here any minute,” you murmured, crouching beside him. Your movements were careful, deliberate, as you propped his leg up on your backpack to keep it elevated.

Simon let his eyes close briefly, the pain dragging him under, making him feel heavier, slower. “Good,” he said quietly, though his voice lacked its usual edge. A moment passed before he added, almost too low to hear, “I hate this.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.

When he opened his eyes again, your expression had softened, the ever-present teasing in your gaze replaced with something quieter, almost tender. “Just hang on a little longer, yeah?” you said, your voice softer than he’d ever heard it. It was almost comforting, though he wasn’t sure he liked the way it settled over him.

He grunted, clenching his jaw as another wave of pain made his stomach churn. His body was growing weaker, his breaths more labored. He could feel it slipping - the control, the strength he prided himself on.

“I’m fine,” he growled, the words a hollow lie forced through gritted teeth. But the truth was written in every labored inhale, every involuntary twitch of his fingers. His body was betraying him, shutting down despite his stubborn resolve. His eyelids grew heavier, threatening to close.

“Hey!” Your sharp voice cut through the haze, snapping him back. “No sleeping!” The worry in your tone startled him, and from the way your brows drew together, it startled you too.

“I’m not sleeping,” he hissed, forcing his eyes open, his vision narrowing to your face. “And don’t bloody coddle me.” But even as he said it, his focus wavered, his eyes struggling to stay sharp. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to sit straighter, forcing himself to fight.

He fixed his gaze on you, his expression hardening despite the haze creeping in. He wasn’t going to pass out. Not here. Not in front of you. He’d be damned if he did.

He could feel your eyes on him, unwavering and silently willing him to stay conscious. The weight of your gaze was grounding, but it wasn’t enough to stop the pull of exhaustion clawing at him. His head grew heavier, the edges of his vision dimming.

The faint hum of a chopper broke through the haze, the sound distant but unmistakable. Relief flickered across his face, though it was brief, replaced by a grimace as he felt himself slipping further. “’Bout damn time,” he muttered, his voice slurred, the words barely audible as his eyelids finally drooped shut.

“You’ll be fine,” you murmured softly, though the words felt more like an assurance for yourself than for him. As his body slumped forward, his head came to rest against your shoulder, his breath warm but faint against your neck.

“You’ll be fine,” you repeated, quieter this time, your voice trembling just enough to betray the tight knot of worry in your chest. Your arms wrapped around his neck instinctively, holding him close and definitely tighter than necessary.

The whirring blades of the medevac grew louder, the hurried voices of the medics cutting through the tension. But Simon was already gone, the darkness swallowing him whole.

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(I‘ll be posting the next part tmrw. thanks for reading ♡)

next part

[lucisfavoritedemon]

Through The Portal: Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: The strange girl slowly begins to reveal her secret past and her true connection to the brothers, and her terrifying encounters with Bill Cipher.

Pairing(s): Stan x platonic!reader, Ford x platonic!reader, Bill x reader

Warnings: flashback, mentions of torture, angst, fluff, mentions of hopelessness, unrequited love, self confidence issues. Age gap (reader looks 21).

A/N: The events and ideas are based on a theory I have about the Nightmare Realm. This is in no way canonically true, just my theories based on what we canonically know about the Nightmare Realm.

The next couple of days were a bit weird. I didn’t sleep very well as thoughts of waking up in that dreaded world again ran through my mind. I hardly slept when I was in that dimension, and now sleep seemed to be something unfamiliar to me. It was strange not having to sleep with one eye open anymore. My body felt uneasy about it.

Mabel being the good hearted person she seemed, showed me around the house. She made sure I could make my way around easily and not have to worry about being awkward. She was a good hearted person, and definitely seemed like she had a heart of gold.

I noticed Stan had avoided me after his comment about me not changing a single bit. It was true though, I freaked myself out when I first looked into a mirror. Still looking like the 21 year old girl who disappeared 40 years ago.

I didn’t get stuck on that fact very long though, the thing I got stuck on was what he called me. Toots. A pet name I haven’t heard in a very long time. I felt like maybe this comment was also the reason he was avoiding me. It probably felt weird for him to call me that again after so long. I couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind though, what happened to me all those years ago? He probably thought I ran out on him after promising to stick with him after everything he had been through.

I walked along the beach trying to find scraps of metal, or plastic that could have washed up on shore. That’s when I noticed a man walking around with a metal detector. I decided to approach him wondering what wonders of the world he was looking for.

“Hello.” I smiled as I walked up to him.

“Oh, uh, hey.” He smiled back, taken aback a bit by my kindness.

“What ya doing with the metal detector? Find anything interesting?” I questioned.

“I’m searching for gold, but I haven’t found anything yet.”

“Gold? Not necessarily impossible, but very difficult here on the beach to find. Uless, you know you find a gold earring, necklace, or ring.”

“Huh?”

“And what are you doing looking for gold anyways?”

“I’m trying to make a fortune.”

“A fortune? Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

“So I’ve been told. I can’t help it. I naturally have a curious mind.”

“I can tell. It’s none of your business anyways.”

I looked him over, sensing a sort of sadness with him, “something happened and you owe someone money.”

His eyes widened, “can you read minds?”

I giggle, “no, but I’ve been told I can read people pretty well.”

“I’ll say. Yeah, I may or may not have ruined my brother’s chances of going to his dream school and making millions of dollars. My pa kicked me out because of it, and I’m determined not to go back till I make a fortune.”

“Woah, sadder than I thought it would be. Well, if you need a place to stay while you go on your mission to make millions, I have a spare room you can use. My parents' house is big enough, and they won’t mind.”

“A-are you sure?”

“It’s the least I could do. You look like you could use a friend in this lonely world, and I want to offer my friendship to you.He smiles and nods, reaching his hand out, “name’s Stanley.”

I smile and take his hand to shake, “nice to meet you Stanley, I’m Y/n.”

I walked downstairs trying to remember where the kitchen was. My nightmare last night disorienting me worse than they ever had. I walk in to see Stan making breakfast and the kids sitting at the table whispering to each other. That was till Mabel noticed I was standing there.

“Y/n! You’re awake!” She beamed as Stan froze in place.

“Morning Mabel, Dipper, Stanley.” I greeted everyone.

“Just Stan is fine, thank you.” He kept making breakfast, an unenthused look on face.

“Sorry, Stan.”

I walked over and sat at the table. I looked out the window at the woods surrounding the house. It wasn’t long till my gaze was yanked back towards the kids as they were staring at me. Mabel was smiling, and Dipper looked like he had a billion questions for me.

“So, did you and Grunkle Ford go through the portal together? Or how did you and Grunkle Ford meet?” Mabel broke the silence.

“O-oh, um…we met when he went into the portal. I didn’t meet Stanford until he went through the portal..”

“What was in there anyways? How long have you been in there?”

“Those are hefty questions, I…” I started to speak when Stan walked over with plates of pancakes.

“And ones that should remain unanswered.” Stan spoke, “I’m surprised you’re not helping my brother in the basement anyway.”

“Wh-what would I help with?”

“I’m sure Ford would figure something out. I think you should go ask him.” Stan stated, hinting that I shouldn’t be interacting with the kids. “Come on, I’ll show you where the basement door is.” He offered, gently guiding me out of the kitchen.

“Stan, what’s going on?”

“I don’t want you around the kids. Whatever happened to you there, it was unnatural. I don’t need them figuring out you’re supposed to be like 60.”

“You don’t think I know that? I understand that I’m a freak, but you don’t need to point it out. You have no idea what I went through, and how difficult it was to survive.”

“If it was that hard, why did you go through your darn portal in the first place?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

“Something went wrong Stan! I didn’t want to leave you. There was a malfunction, and I got sucked in. I’ve spent 40 years trying to survive hoping to get back to you, but I guess that doesn’t matter.” We stop at the entrance to the gift shop of the Mystery Shack, “I know where I’m going from here.” I say and walk through the door to the gift shop. I open the vending machine door and head down to the basement.

Stan had no right to judge me like that. He had no idea what I went through, how hard I tried to find a way back to him, but that didn’t matter to him apparently.

“Y/n?” Stanford’s voice rang out.

“Hey…”

“What are you doing down here?”

“Stan doesn’t want me upstairs around the kids.”

“What? I thought you two were friends?”

“We were…but he thinks the fact I am unaged…if the kids find out it’ll freak them out.”

“The nightmare realm really messed you up huh?”

“You have no idea…Bill was obsessed. Would do anything to get me to reveal where you were. He went as far as manipulating my mind to look like he was torturing Stan…he knew you two were my weakness…”

“Now talk! Or Stan gets it!” Bill threatened.

“You’ve used that on me too many times, Cipher! Stan isn’t here, and I know you wouldn’t go after him in the mind!”

“Is. That. Right.” Bill squinted at me.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you Bill, I don’t know who this Sixer fella is.”

“To think I was starting to like you, but the lying is getting annoying.”

“I’m not lying. I don’t know who he is.”

Bill snaps his fingers making chains appear around my wrists and ankles. He makes me levitate there as one of his henchmaniacs yells to electrocute me to get me to talk. Bill laughs and suddenly my body is sent spasming as hundreds of volts of electricity surges through my body.

“To think I actually liked you. You were the first person to try to build a portal from my decaying dimension to enter yours. I would have loved for us to be partners in chaos had you succeeded. Too bad you decided to lie to me.”

Bill stops electrocuting me for a minute. My body is weak as I float there in front of Bill and his henchmaniacs. “I-I don’t know where he is…he escaped this dimension years ago…”

“And the truth comes out. Maybe you’re still useful to me afterall.”

I shot up in the chair I was sitting in, cold sweat running down my forehead. I pant heavily as I take in my surroundings. I was in the basement with Stanford. I slowly remembered I wasn’t in the night realm anymore. I looked down at my wrists still feeling like I had chains on them.

“You okay?” Stanford’s voice broke me from my thoughts.

“These nightmares are getting more and more vivid.”

Stanford looks at me knowingly. His eyes are filled with concern and guilt. I knew he felt bad leaving us refugees in the asteroid when he decided to venture out to find materials to build his weapon to defeat Bill. I never blamed him though. He only did what he felt he had to do.

“Why don’t you head upstairs. I feel the longer you’re down here, close to the portal, the more of a grasp Bill will have on you.”

I nod, “what about Stan?”

“Tell him I told you that being down here isn’t good. You need to get accustomed to society again, and being down here is not going to be any good to you.”

I nod, “thanks Stanford.”

He smiles softly, “you know, you can call me Ford if you like.”

I smile softly, “thank you, Ford.”

He nods, and goes back to doing what he was doing. I head back upstairs feeling even more disoriented than I did that morning. The nightmares hit me harder and harder each time I close my eyes. I slowly opened the door to see Stan. Mabel, and Dipper are sitting in the gift shop laughing and joking with each other.

Stan notices me and glares, “what do you need?”

“Ford said it wasn’t a good idea for me to stay down there. He wants me to try and get accustomed to society again.”

Stan rolls his eyes, “fine. If you say so.”

“Look, you can be pissed at me all you want to, but I’m sorry I left you behind. I’m sorry it took me so long, but if you had never opened that portal, I wouldn’t be back here. I realized I never thanked you for doing so. So, thank you. Thank you for bringing me back home.”

Stan’s eyes widened. He wasn’t expecting either of us to thank him. He knew what he did was idiotic and reckless. He smiled at me softly, “you’re welcome toots. I couldn’t leave you there for any longer. But, New Jersey is your home, not Gravity Falls?”

“Gravity Falls is now. It’s where my two best friends are. There’s nothing left for me in New Jersey.”

[sister-lucifer]

READ PART TWO HERE

Genre: Fluff, not explicitly romantic

Summary: It’s been raining all day, and you and Tim are stuck inside the cabin together. You can’t sleep because of the thunder, and decide to see if Tim can help you out. 

Content/Warnings: Gender neutral reader, brief mentions of alcohol, uh…if you can think of anything else let me know! This is pretty damn soft, but actually not explicitly romantic.

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

You don’t really notice the sound of the rain against the windows anymore. It’s been raining nonstop since, what, 7 AM this morning? Its not quite storming, at least not yet, but everything is soaked, and you can hardly even walk out onto the patio without your shoes filling with water. It’s dreary, sure, but not exactly unpleasant. It’s a good day to stay in, that’s all. 

You shift your sitting position a bit, wrapping one of the woven blankets from the back of the couch around your shoulders as you gaze out the window. You’re not really expecting to see anything, it’s just trees and trees for miles around, but you always seem to find yourself gazing out into the endless pines. You only turn away when you hear Tim sit down in the recliner, sighing lazily as he puts his feet up. This is a sight you’ve seen many times: A few strands of hair falling between his eyes, an old flannel half unbuttoned over a stained white tank, a beer can in one hand and a nearly finished cigarette in the other. It’s practically Tim’s natural state.

He takes one last drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out in the ash tray he keeps on the end table, chasing the smoke with a sip of his beer before that, too, is set aside. He glances out the window, whistling softly. 

“Ain’t nobody goin’ out in that weather,” He drawls, “Nobody with half a mind, anyhow.”

You nod in agreement, taking a little sip of your hot cocoa. It’s a wonderful way to keep warm in this homely old cabin.

You glance over at Tim, who is now absentmindedly flipping through TV channels. He’s probably looking for sports or Storage Wars or something, you think. Some old man show you’ll never find interest in.

As you look at him a bit longer, just spacing out a bit with your eyes on his face, your mind meanders back to before you two were this comfortable with each other. It feels weird to think about that now, though. You couldn’t imagine being in that place again.

Tim’s told you before that you reminded him of himself when he was a younger, when he was ‘new and green’ as he’d say. You were a wide eyed, scared kid, just like he was. You deserved to be living in a dorm somewhere, getting shitfaced at college parties and making choices you’ll regret the next morning but laugh at for years, not to be forced to cope with this reality. No one deserves it, really, to wake up in an unfamiliar place surrounded only by endless woods, no one and nothing around to help you and your body aching all over with injuries you don’t recall getting. 

He knows that feeling. 

He’s never felt worse. Neither have you. It’s hard to get worse than that, really. 

You were still a bit dazed when he first helped you back to his cabin, but something about the worn walls and cozy, lived-in feeling of the old rugs and antique furniture told you you were safe, at least for now. You were out the second your head hit the pillow. You slept for nearly two days straight. You really needed it. 

Since then you’ve been a permanent fixture in Tim’s life. You don’t really leave the cabin, and you’ve never left alone. Tim says it’s just until you can find a job and a place of your own, but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to kick you out. You’re thankful for that, of course, but you can’t help but smile every time he insists that this is only a temporary situation, that if you don’t get off your ass he’ll quite literally throw you to the wolves, but he always smiles too. You’re definitely on the same page, and the headline says you’re not going anywhere.

The rainy day melts into a rainy afternoon, then an evening, then a quiet night. The rain has slowed down a bit, but now the thunder has rolled in, and every ten or fifteen seconds or so you can hear it clapping loudly overhead. The sound is a bit more…penetrating than usual, a bit more raucous, and far more bothersome. You’re not sure why. The only thing you are sure of is that your once comforting outdoor ambience is really ticking you off. 

You sit up with a yawn, glancing at the clock and groaning with annoyance when you see it’s already passed 2:00 AM. Damn, you’ve been lying here a while, and still no luck getting to sleep. 

The thunder crashes outside once more, making you roll your eyes. It’s mocking you, you think, poking and prodding in an attempt to get a reaction. You simply sit there for a few moments, debating turning your TV on or reading a book to tire yourself a bit more, but neither of those are particularly attractive options at the moment. You bring your knees up and rest your head on them, half lidded eyes lazily wandering around your dark room. It looks the same as usual, no surprise there, but when you look down the hallway you notice that Tim’s door is cracked open. 

Hm. Odd. He never leaves it open. Must’ve stumbled off to bed and failed to realize he didn’t close it all the way. 

It’s not a big deal at all, really, but the light of his TV leaking out through the cracked door paired with the noise of the thunder gives you an idea. 

You slowly slip out of bed, cringing a bit when your feet hit the cold wood. You’re as quiet as you can be, avoiding all the floorboards you know will squeak. There’s really no point, Tim sleeps like a rock most nights, especially if he’s been drinking, but you figure you’re better off safe than sorry.

You make your way to his door, pushing it open just a bit to peek inside. You wince when the door creaks unbearably loudly, but Tim doesn’t move a muscle. He’s sprawled out like a starfish on his bed, limbs in all directions and his single blanket only half covering his body. He looks foolish, but in a charming sort of way. He’s even snoring a bit.

You cautiously make your way to his bedside, watching him for any sign of consciousness. You don’t want to startle him. Even if he didn’t mean to, he could really hurt you if he thought you were a threat, though at the moment he’s not very intimidating. His sweatpants are ratty, there’s no hiding his dad bod in that old sports tee, and his face is illuminated by the cheesy sitcom he left on; not exactly the pinnacle of danger. 

You step up to his bed, debating what to do. You should wake him gently, it reduces the risk of injury, but how do you gently wake someone who could sleep through an aerial assault?

“…Pssst, Tim?” You whisper, but get no response. You repeat yourself, a bit louder this time.

“Tim, wake up.” 

He stirs a bit, but all you get is a groan and a minute twitch of his eye. Dammit. 

You sigh and roll your eyes with annoyance, reaching out to softly shake his shoulder.

“Tim, it’s me. Wake up.”

He lazily swats your hand away, groaning again and mumbling a reply without even opening his eyes. 

“Whaddya want, kid…?” He asks, practically chewing his words.

“I can’t sleep,” You respond simply, giving a little shrug. Tim is not amused at this answer. 

“And why does this have to involve me?” He huffs, glancing at you for a moment before his eyes close again. He turns onto his side towards you, yawning as he tries to pull his blanket back up. 

You don’t really have an answer to that one. Why did you feel the need to come in here and wake Tim up? It’s not like he controls the thunder. It’s not like he controls your inability to sleep…

…But maybe he can help. 

“I can’t sleep,” You explain, trying to figure out how to word your request without sounding stupid, “The thunder is too loud. I thought maybe I could…you know…” 

Tim’s eyes finally open, for real. He raises a brow at you, and for a moment you fear you’ve overstepped, but his expression shifts to tired once more as he turns onto his back again. 

“Kid,” He mutters, clearly annoyed but trying to be gentle, “If you’re old enough to share a beer with me, you are definitely too damn old to be running into my bed ‘cause you’re scared of a li’l thunder.”

“I’m not scared,” You quickly protest, “It’s just too loud for me to sleep. I didn’t know what else to do, I just thought…”

You trail off. You’re not really sure what you thought.

“…Never mind.” 

You turn to walk away, hoping he’ll be too tired to remember this in the morning. You’re in the doorway when his gruff voice stops you. 

“Wait, wait,” He drawls, sleepily waving you over without moving from where he’s lying, “Get back here, I ain’t chasin’ ya off…” 

You pause at that, then slowly walk back to his bed. He’s silent, and for a few moments unmoving, but then he scoots over a bit, patting the bed next to him. 

“C’mon.” 

You sigh in relief, happy to see Tim responding at least somewhat positively. You climb into bed next to him, though you’re careful not to get too close to him. You and Tim don’t really do physical contact beyond a high five for a job well done. 

That’s what makes it all the more surprising when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side but making sure to be gentle, giving you ample opportunity to pull away if you need to. You don’t.

He doesn’t turn to look at you, keeping his eyes closed and his face towards the ceiling, his free hand idly resting over his stomach. 

“…You ain’t too scared, are ya?” He drawls. You’re confused for a moment, but then the thunder sounds again and you realize what he means. You hadn’t even noticed the thunder since you walked in. It was nice. 

“No, I’m fine, really,” You insist, “I’m not scared, it’s just hard to sleep with the noise. It’s more annoying than anything else.”

He gives a grunt of acknowledgment. 

“You get on to sleep, then. Ain’t no reason for you to be tired tomorrow.” 

You nod, moving a bit closer to him. He, in turn, wraps him arm a bit tighter around you. It feels…nice. Foreign, yes, but far from unpleasant. He smells like pine trees and faded Old Spice cologne. 

You yawn softly, pulling the blanket up over the two of you as you get comfortable. A comfortable silence settles over you both as the sound of the thunder mixed with the blurry noise of the TV. You’re the first to break it, a question falling from your lips before you can really think of stopping it. 

“…You were worried I was afraid?” 

Tim shrugs, scratching at his stubble as he answers. 

“I mean, I guess…I just wanted to make sure, ya know? Make sure you didn’t need me to do nothing to make you feel better…” 

That makes you smile.

“Didn’t think you’d care that much…” You murmur with a hint of a giggle. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Tim quickly snaps, “Course I care. I care about you. Ain’t no way for me not to. I’ve cared about you since the second I took you in. You’re not that young, I know, but back then you were just a kid to me. You’ve matured since then, yeah, but I’ll never forget the way you looked when I found you wandering the trail that day…” 

“Yeah, yeah, and you remember when I was three apples tall, I get it,” You tease with a playful laugh. Tim can’t help but chuckle, giving you a little squeeze. 

“Can it, ya little shit. You know what I’m sayin’. I knew what I was doin’ when I let you into my home, I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t care.”

He’s got a point there. Most of the time Tim’s number one priority is self preservation. He rarely goes out of his way to do anything that doesn’t directly benefit him. He must’ve seen something in you absolutely worth the trouble. What exactly it is you’ll never know, but you’re certainly happy with where it’s gotten you. 

You turn to him a bit, giving him a tired smile. He turns to you as though he can sense your stare, cracking open one eye to return your smile before laying his head back again. 

“Alright, alright, ‘nuff yammerin’. Go to sleep,” He orders, reaching over to ruffle your hair before his hand rests back on his stomach. He never was good at being strict.

You stretch a bit before settling into your spot, getting as comfortable as you can so that you won’t have to shift around and risk bothering or waking up Tim later on. He hasn’t moved a muscle, his breathing already slowed and all of his muscles relaxed for once. It’s an odd sight, really. Usually he’s always holding some tension in his brow or jaw or shoulders, but he’s completely relaxed now, as are you. You finally feel like you could fall asleep.

“Night,” You mutter, your eyes fluttering shut. The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is Tim’s southern drawl ringing in your ears. 

“Sweet dreams, kid.”

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[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 14

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"You put your hands into your head, and then smile cover your heart,"

summary: Joel's paranoia is getting worse, and with the new dark truth you found out and the mysterious man...

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 14

masterlist!

previous | chapter 13

next | chapter 15

It’s been a month on the road now, slipping in and out of sleepy towns, worn-out motels, and weathered diners with Joel by your side. The two of you have made a life between highways and backroads, sharing the kind of intimacy that comes from being each other’s only constant in a world that’s always shifting. The hum of the car engine and the crackle of old country songs on the radio have become the soundtrack to your love, which only grows deeper with every mile.

You find beauty in the simplicity of it all—sharing a cup of coffee in a diner that smells of old leather and rain, Joel’s fingers brushing yours across the table as he sips from his mug. The road stretches out before you like a promise, endless and full of possibility, with the sun painting the sky in shades of pink and orange as it sinks behind the hills. Joel’s hand rests on your thigh as he drives, his touch a steady comfort in a world that feels anything but certain.

Every town you pass through becomes a canvas for your love. In every motel room with flickering lights, beneath the worn sheets that smell of something familiar and foreign all at once, you find each other again and again. There’s a certain wildness to it—making love in unfamiliar places, the thrill of knowing that it’s just the two of you against the world. Each touch feels more urgent, more meaningful, as if the act itself can solidify the bond between you, making it unbreakable.

It’s in these moments, tangled together in a bed far from home, that you feel the weight of your connection grow stronger. You’ve seen every side of Joel now—his vulnerability, his fears, his longing—and you know he’s seen the same in you. Your bodies move in sync, a language spoken without words, where every breath, every whisper, binds you closer together.

Joel’s lips find yours in the quiet moments between the thrill of the open road, his touch both gentle and possessive, like he can’t get enough of you. And you welcome it—every kiss, every whispered promise in the dark, grounding yourself in him as he grounds himself in you.

With each new town, each new night, it’s as if you’re carving out your own sanctuary, a place where nothing else matters but the two of you. It’s more than just physical; it’s the way you share the same pillow, the way his fingers trace patterns across your skin as you drift to sleep, the way he holds you after, like you’re the only thing tethering him to this world.

But after New Orleans, you begin to notice a change in Joel, like the shadows he once outran have caught up to him. The nights grow heavier, darker somehow. He doesn’t talk about it, but you feel it in the way he holds you tighter when you sleep, as if he's afraid of losing you to some invisible force lurking just outside the window. His nightmares come more frequently now, muttered words and restless movements pulling him deeper into some past torment you can’t reach.

You wake to find him sitting up in bed, his breath uneven, his brow furrowed in worry. His eyes dart toward the door, as though he’s expecting someone to burst in at any moment. You slide closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist, your cheek pressed to his back, trying to ground him in the present.

“Joel,” you whisper, voice soft and tender, “You're okay, I'm here with you, It's okay, honey, we're fine." you held him into your arms and give his temple reassuring kisses, just like he did to you when you used to had nightmares.

Joel never says much after, just holds onto you tighter, as if he’s afraid to let go. Sometimes he apologizes, his voice rough with guilt. Other times, he just buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. You always tell him the same thing: “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

But you know it’s not just the nightmares anymore. There’s something else. A shadow that follows him in the daylight, too, creeping in at the edges. Joel’s become more paranoid, glancing over his shoulder when you walk through unfamiliar towns, his body tense in a way that puts you on edge too. You notice how he lingers by the windows in your motel rooms, peeking through the blinds, his eyes scanning the parking lot like he’s expecting someone to be there.

“Joel, what’s wrong?” you ask one afternoon, after you catch him staring out at the empty street for far too long. But he just shakes his head, offering you a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nothin’, baby. Just… keepin’ an eye out. Gotta be careful, that’s all.”

You don’t press, even though the unease in your chest only grows. You haven’t seen anyone following you—no suspicious figures lurking in the shadows, no strange cars parked outside the motels—but Joel’s fear feels contagious, spreading like a dark cloud over the freedom you thought you’d found together.

At night, when you’re tangled together in bed, you still dream of your father. His voice, sharp and condemning, echoing in your head. You wake up gasping for air, your heart racing, only to find Joel beside you, his presence an anchor. He strokes your hair, his voice low and soothing, but you can’t help but wonder if those old wounds will ever fully heal. If either of you can truly escape the past.

But now, the roles have reversed. It’s Joel who’s haunted. Joel who can’t escape the feeling that someone is coming for him. You try to comfort him the way he’s always comforted you, whispering reassurances into the quiet of the night, holding him close like you can keep the darkness at bay. But his worry clings to him like fog in the early morning, impossible to shake.

In the daylight, everything feels lighter. You’re back on the road, wind in your hair, Joel’s hand resting on yours as the miles slip by. But even then, you can see the flicker of something in his eyes—a wariness, a question that never leaves his mind. You watch him scan the rearview mirror more than usual, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel whenever a car lingers behind you for too long. And though you want to tell him it’s all in his head, you know better than to dismiss it. He’s been through too much to brush off his instincts.

So, you do the only thing you know how to do. You love him. In all the small ways. In all the quiet moments. You press kisses to his temple when he needs reassurance, you hold his hand a little tighter when the weight of his thoughts becomes too much to bear. You let him know, in every way you can, that you’re not going anywhere—that whatever is chasing him can’t touch you. Because it’s just the two of you, like it always has been, like it always will be.

One evening, as the sun dipped low and cast long shadows across the room, you stood at the doorway, watching Joel step out onto the motel balcony, his phone pressed to his ear. The gruffness in his voice softened when he spoke to his brother, Tommy. You could hear the low rumble of his conversation but couldn't make out the words.

You glanced at the soda cans on the small fridge beside the bed, all empty now. "Joel, I'm gonna run downstairs to grab some soda from the store. You want anything?" you asked, stepping toward him.

Joel glanced back at you, his brow furrowed slightly. "Alright, but don’t take too long, okay? And avoid talkin' to folks if you can," he warned, his protective nature slipping through in his voice. "Just get what you need and come right back."

You nod, offering a small smile to reassure him before slipping out the door. The motel’s hallway smells faintly of old carpet and dust, the sound of your shoes echoing in the quiet. As you make your way to the store downstairs, you can’t help but wonder what Joel’s talking about with Tommy. You know he misses them, misses Ellie. The weight of it is always there, just beneath the surface.

On the balcony, Joel exhales deeply, listening to Tommy talk about life back home. "It's good to hear your voice, man,"Joel says, running a hand through his hair. "How's Maria? Luke?"

Tommy’s voice on the other end is calm, steady. “They’re good. Luke’s growin’ so fast, it’s like he’s got a new trick every day. Maria’s been keepin’ busy with him, but she’s doin’ well. Misses you, though. We all do.”

Joel smiles faintly, though his thoughts are elsewhere. "That's good to hear," he says, pausing for a moment before his voice grows quieter. "How's uh...how's Ellie?"

There’s a silence on the other end of the line, the unspoken tension hanging heavy between the brothers. Joel’s heart clenches in his chest. He’s been running from that guilt, pushing it down, but it’s always there, clawing its way back up.

"She's good, Joel. Don't you worry about her," Tommy replies gently. "She's a strong kid, you know that."

Joel nods, though the guilt gnaws at him. “I know. I just…” He swallows, unsure of how to say it. “I shouldn’t have left her. I hate myself for it sometimes.”

“You did what you had to do,” Tommy assures him, but Joel’s not so sure. “She gets it. She just wants to know you’re safe. You’re happy.”

Joel forces a breath out, eyes flicking to the horizon. "You wanna talk to her? She's here actually," Tommy said to Joel.

“Tommy, no, wait—” Joel starts, but it’s too late. He hears Tommy call for Ellie in the background, his heart pounding in his chest. He hasn’t spoken to her since he left. Not directly. Not like this.

Ellie’s voice comes through the line, a mix of sarcasm and warmth masking her deeper emotions. “Well, well, if it isn’t my old man Finally found some time to call, huh?”

Joel winces slightly at the edge in her tone but tries to match her energy. "Hey, kiddo. Missed you."

There’s a beat of silence, and then Ellie softens, though her voice is still guarded. “Yeah, well… I missed you too, dumbass.” She pauses, her tone growing serious. "You okay? You both… safe?"

Joel’s throat tightens. "Yeah. We’re good. How ‘bout you? School goin’ alright?"

Ellie snorts, but there’s a softness in her tone that Joel doesn’t miss. "School?" she repeats. "Yeah, sure. You know, same old bullshit. But don’t worry about me. I’m fine."

Joel closes his eyes, leaning heavily against the railing, the cool metal biting into his palms as he tries to steady himself. The guilt is an ever-present weight, always lingering just behind his ribs.

"I’m sorry, Ellie," he says after a beat, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m sorry I left you. I had to… I had to figure things out. And I’m sorry for not bein’ there."

There’s a pause on the other end before Ellie’s voice comes through, softer now. "Joel… it’s alright. You had to do it. I get it." She hesitates, her words catching in her throat. 

"Yeah, I was pissed off for a bit. Hell, I’m still pissed off. But I understand. You love her. It’s weird as fuck to say it out loud, but I understand. People do crazy shit when they’re in love. I’d probably do the same."

Joel can’t help but smile at the honesty in her voice, even if the situation is far from funny. “Oh, you’re in love now? Alright, kiddo, who’s the lucky kid?” His tone lightens, teasing, hoping to ease the tension just a little.

Ellie laughs, the sound full of teenage exasperation, and Joel can practically hear her blushing through the phone. “Yeah, right. As if I’d tell you.” She pauses, adding with a grin, “Maybe when you come back… if I’m feeling generous.”

Joel chuckles, shaking his head. The levity in their conversation fades after a moment, and Ellie’s tone shifts, more serious now. "But… Joel, there’s somethin’ else. People talk. At school, about you… and her."

Joel’s stomach tightens, his jaw clenching as he braces himself. “What kind of talk?”

Ellie hesitates, her voice quieter, almost like she doesn’t want to say it. "It’s not good, Joel. They’re callin’ you… a p-word." The word hangs in the air between them, unspoken but heavy. 

"Pedo," she finally says. "I have to fucking punch the people calling you that shit, that's ain't true, they are fucking assholes." Ellie says again.

"I also heard her father reported you to the state police. They’re lookin’ for you. He’s sayin’ you kidnapped her, but… I don’t know. ‘Cause now she’s legal, right? I heard the cops might drop it, like… you just ran off with her or whatever. Like some… runaway lovers thing."

Joel’s grip tightens on the railing, his knuckles turning white as he absorbs the weight of her words. His voice, when it comes, is steady but strained. "Where’d you hear about this?"

Ellie sighs, sounding almost guilty. "I kinda overheard Tommy and Maria talking. They don’t know I was listenin’, but… it’s all over town, Joel."

Joel’s fatherly instincts kick in, his voice firm. "Ellie, you know eavesdroppin’ ain’t good. You shouldn’t be listenin’ to stuff like that." 

He’s trying to sound authoritative, but the concern seeps through. "Let me and Tommy handle it, alright? You don’t need to worry about any of that."

“But I am worried,” Ellie says, her voice cracking just a little, the vulnerability slipping through the cracks in her armor. “I’m worried about you, Joel. This shit is fucking serious."

Joel’s heart lurches at her words, but he forces himself to sound calm, reassuring. "Ellie, I’m gonna be alright. Don’t think about that, okay? Let me deal with it. You’ve got enough on your plate. School, life… I don’t want you stressin’ about me."

There’s a long pause on the other end, and Joel knows Ellie’s fighting back her emotions. When she finally speaks again, her voice is quieter, softer. "You’re all I have, Joel."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Joel feels his chest tighten, the weight of everything—his choices, his past, the danger lurking around every corner—pressing down on him all at once. He knows he’s failed her in so many ways, knows she deserves better. But he loves her, and he hopes that’s enough.

"I know, kiddo," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I promise you, I’ll be careful. We’ll see each other again soon, okay? I won’t let anything happen to me. Or to you."

Ellie sniffs, trying to keep her composure. "You better keep that promise, Joel. Just… be safe, alright? Please."

Joel’s heart aches as he listens to her, knowing how much she’s had to endure, how much he’s put her through. "I will, Ellie," he promises. "We’ll be okay. I’ll see you soon. I swear it."

"Tell her I say hi and me and Emma misses her terribly," Ellie says again, Joel chuckles a little, "I will."

There’s a soft rustle on the other end, and Joel hears Ellie hand the phone back to Tommy. Tommy’s voice fills the line again, steady and matter-of-fact.

“Alright, brother,” Tommy says, his tone shifting back to business. "Let’s talk about her father. He’s still making noise, and it’s getting harder to keep him at bay. We need to figure out what the next move is."

Joel leans against the railing, the weight of the conversation with Ellie still heavy in his chest. He glances out into the darkening sky, thinking about the storm that’s coming and wondering how much longer they can keep running.

"Tommy," Joel starts, his voice low but determined. "We’re gonna keep movin'. California’s the plan. We’ll settle there, lay low. By the time she’s old enough… well, legal enough… the cops might drop the charges. We’ll be free."

There’s a pause, and Joel exhales slowly. "Ellie will come with us, when things calm down. We’ll start over, build a life there."

The words hang in the air like a promise, a hope for something better. Joel’s mind drifts—he imagines a small house by the coast, the two of you living quietly with Ellie, finally free from the weight of the past. Maybe He'll get married. Marry you. Maybe even… kids? The thought stirs something deep in Joel, a mix of longing and fear. After all the trauma, the loss, the heartache—could he even think about kids again? and are you even ready for it after all you've been through?

But the idea of a new life, of peace… it feels like heaven. A place where you and Ellie are safe, where he can protect you both and build something that lasts. "That’s all I need," he murmurs to himself, eyes tracing the horizon.

"Joel?" Tommy’s voice pulls him back. "What’s the plan for now?"

Joel clears his throat, shaking off the haze of his thoughts. "We’re headin’ to Boston next," he says, leaning back against the railing. "We’re in Chicago right now, but we won’t stay long. Got too much heat on us here." 

He pauses, thinking carefully before bringing up the subject weighing on his mind. "Listen, I heard somethin’ on the news. About that Lee boy… and the new pastor at Ellie’s school." He keeps his tone casual, not wanting to raise any suspicion. "They say anything about that?"

There’s a beat of silence, and then Tommy sighs. "Yeah, man. They’re callin’ it a serial killer case now. The cops found parts of Jamie Lee’s body out in the desert. Scattered. They think he was murdered somewhere else and dumped out there. They’re throwin’ everything they got at it, trying to find the killer."

Joel’s stomach twists into knots. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath, his hand gripping the railing tighter. How could he have been so careless? He remembers rushing, panicked, after everything went down—he must’ve left something behind. A piece of Jamie’s body, missed in his hurry to bury them. Now the cops were closer than ever.

Cold sweat beads on his forehead as the full weight of it crashes down on him. If they connect the dots… if they find more evidence, they’ll come after him. And what will happen to you? His mind spirals into dark thoughts—what if they find him before he can get you to safety? What if everything he’s been running from finally catches up?

Joel is so lost in his thoughts, he barely hears Tommy still talking on the other end. His mind is miles away, trapped in the worst-case scenarios of what could happen next.

"Joel?" Tommy’s voice breaks through the fog in his mind. "Joel, you still there?"

He blinks, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, sorry," he says, voice distant, trying to steady himself. But something in his gut feels off.

He glances back toward the door of the motel room, realizing how long it’s been since you went to grab soda from the store downstairs. "Tommy, listen…" His voice tightens with concern. "I gotta go."

Tommy senses the tension in Joel’s voice immediately. "What’s goin’ on, brother? You alright? You sound… panicked."

But Joel’s already hanging up, his heart racing as he pushes open the motel door and steps back into the room. It’s empty. Quiet. He checks the clock. You’ve been gone too long.

Panic claws at his chest, and before he knows it, Joel’s out the door, rushing down the hallway, his mind racing with a thousand dark thoughts.

Joel’s heart pounds in his chest as he pushes through the motel’s front door, heading toward the store. He forces himself to stay calm, but the dread creeping up his spine is impossible to ignore.

When he reaches the counter, the fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a harsh glow on the teenage cashier slouched behind the register. Joel’s voice is tight as he speaks.

"Hey, you seen a girl—'bout this tall, brunette, wearing a light brown dress? She came in for soda."

The cashier looks up, nodding lazily. "Yeah, the pretty girl? She was here. But then she left… with some dude."

Joel’s breath catches in his throat. "What?" His voice sharpens. "What man? Who was it?"

The kid shrugs, barely paying attention. "I dunno, man. Older guy, cool lookin’, maybe her dad or somethin’. Think they went to one of the diners across the street."

Joel’s pulse roars in his ears. "Which diner?" he asks, but the kid just shrugs again, not helpful in the slightest.

Frustration churns in Joel’s gut. "Great," he mutters under his breath before pushing out of the store, his steps growing quicker with each heartbeat. His mind is racing, dread gnawing at the edges of his thoughts, paranoia creeping in like shadows stretching across the pavement.

Was it someone from the police? A detective? Had her father finally found them? His thoughts are jagged, sharp, stabbing at his calm like shards of glass.

He moves through the dimly lit street, crossing between diners, pushing through doors, scanning each place with eyes wild, searching. Every face he sees isn’t yours, and with each diner he leaves, his panic tightens its grip.

"Where the hell are you?" he whispers to himself, his breathing growing ragged.

It’s as though the world has closed in on him, every step forward feeling like running against the tide. The buildings loom like cold, indifferent sentinels, mocking him as he moves from one diner to the next, desperately searching.

His thoughts spiral—what if it’s not just some guy? What if it's someone looking for you? What if they know who you are, who he is? Joel feels his stomach twist, his worst fears wrapping themselves around him like chains, dragging him down into a pit of dread.

And then, across the street, he sees you.

Standing outside one of the diners, you’re talking to a tall man, his back turned to Joel. The guy’s wearing a black leather jacket, his salt-and-pepper beard catching the faint glow of the diner lights. You’re smiling, carefree, like you’ve known him forever.

Then, you hug him, a quick goodbye before the man climbs into his car and drives off, leaving you standing there with a wave.

Joel’s blood runs cold.

You spot him across the street and wave, holding a six-pack of soda in one hand, your sandals slapping against the pavement as you walk toward him with that same innocent smile.

"Hey, Joel!" you call out, your tone casual. "What are you doing out here?"

But Joel doesn’t respond. His body moves on instinct, storming toward you, his jaw clenched tight. The second he reaches you, his hand shoots out, grabbing your arm with a harsh grip.

"Joel?" you say, confused, your eyes widening. "What’s wrong? Ow."

But Joel’s beyond reason now, his mind locked in panic, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. He pulls you with him, his grip firm, dragging you toward the motel without a word. Your steps stumble to keep up, your free hand clinging to the six-pack.

"Joel, what are you doing? You’re hurting me," you plead, but his grip only tightens as he hauls you into the motel room, slamming the door shut behind him.

You nearly fall as he shoves you inside, the six-pack slipping from your grasp and hitting the floor with a clatter. His back presses against the door, locking you both in the small space. His chest heaves with the effort of trying to catch his breath, but the rage boiling inside him leaves no room for calm.

"Didn’t I tell you not to talk to anyone?" His voice is low, rough, a dangerous edge in his tone that makes your heart pound in your chest. "Who the hell was that?"

Your eyes widen, fear flickering across your face. "Joel, I’m sorry, I was going to tell you, I just didn’t want to be rude—"

"Who was that?" Joel’s voice is sharper now, and he moves toward you, his face dark with fury. His hand reaches for your wrist, squeezing hard enough to make you wince. "Tell me."

"That's Negan," you blurt out, your voice shaky. "He—he used to visit my father. He was one of his guests. I met him at my house. We were just talking, that’s all. Joel, please, you’re hurting me."

Joel’s grip doesn’t loosen, his mind whirling. "Your father’s friend? Is he still in contact with your dad? Did you tell anything about us?" His jaw is tight, teeth grinding together, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

"No, no, he’s not," you insist, trying to steady your voice. "He’s not in contact with my dad anymore. He doesn’t know anything about us. I told him I was just on summer break with some friends."

Joel’s eyes bore into yours, searching for any hint of a lie, his fingers digging into your skin. "What did you talk about with him?" he demands, his voice a low growl.

"I'm sorry, Joel, I'm sorry. Nothing important, I swear. Just catching up." You can’t stop the tremble in your voice. "He doesn’t know anything about us, Joel. I promise."

But Joel’s mind is still clouded, still trapped in the dark corners of his paranoia. Every word you say feels like a thread unraveling in his head, and all he can think about is the man—the man who was too close, who might know too much.

You stand there, frozen, your body trembling as Joel finally lets go of your wrist. His breath is shaky, his hands falling to his sides as he steps back.

The anger that just consumed him is replaced by a heavy wave of regret washing over his features, but it doesn’t make the sting of his grip—or the terror it left behind—disappear.

“You… you can’t just do that,” he mutters, his voice quieter now, almost defeated. “You can’t just walk off and talk to people. You don’t know who’s lookin’ for you… for us.”

You nod, mechanically rubbing the spot where his fingers had dug into your skin, still too shocked to fully grasp what just happened. The image of him, face twisted in rage, flashes in your mind, and you feel your heart tighten painfully in your chest.

For a moment—just a moment—you saw someone else standing there. Not Joel.

Your father.

The way his jaw clenched, how he towered over you, the grip on your wrist—it was too much like before, too close to the nights you feared your father’s wrath, his cruelty.

It rips open an old wound you thought had healed. You take a shaky breath, but it comes out as a sob, your chest heaving with the flood of emotions crashing down on you.

Joel’s gaze flickers to your wrist, and when he sees the angry red marks his grip left behind, his eyes widen in horror.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, trembling. “I didn’t mean to— I’m so sorry. I…”

He reaches out to you, but the second his hand moves closer, you flinch, stepping back instinctively, your arms wrapping around yourself protectively.

“Don’t touch me,” you manage to choke out, your voice small and broken. “I just… I want to be alone. Please.”

Joel’s face falls, a look of devastation crossing his features as he lowers his hand. He takes a step back, guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear—”

“Just leave,” you whisper, tears welling in your eyes. “For a moment. Joel… I need space.”

He swallows hard, his expression tortured, but he doesn’t push you any further. He knows he’s hurt you in a way he never intended, and the regret in his eyes is almost unbearable.

Joel opens his mouth as if to say something else, but he sees the way you’re trembling, sees how scared you are. He doesn’t want to make it worse.

With one last look, he turns and leaves the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

The second you hear the click of the door, your knees give way. You sink to the floor, your body shaking as the sobs come harder now, the weight of it all too much to hold inside any longer. You feel like you can’t breathe, the air thick and suffocating, and the tears spill over uncontrollably.

It was Joel… but it wasn’t.

The man who held you just now, who gripped you so tightly you thought he might hurt you… that wasn’t the Joel you knew. And that scared you more than anything.

You scramble to your feet, rushing into the bathroom. You slam the door shut and lock it, as if that simple action could somehow keep everything out. But nothing stops the flood of memories, the fear that curls around your chest like a vice.

The way your father’s face twisted in anger whenever you crossed him, the sting of his words, the threat of his hand. You always knew when it was coming, that moment when his patience snapped, when you’d become the target of his rage.

And for a moment, Joel had looked just like him.

You press your back against the door and slide down, hugging your knees to your chest, your body trembling as you sob. You cry for what feels like hours, the weight of it all crashing over you again and again.

You don’t understand why Joel acted like that. What was he so scared of? Why he's so paranoid? And what stuff that Joel hadn't told you?

It feels like something is unraveling between you and Joel, something you didn’t even know was fragile until now. Joel has always been protective, always had that edge of anger simmering beneath the surface, but never toward you. And now… you don’t know what to think.

After what feels like forever, your sobs finally quiet. You sit there, leaning against the bathroom door, your mind racing but your tears spent. It hits you then, harder than before—you have no one else.

 Your father is gone, your mother is tied to him in a way that leaves her powerless to help you, and the life you once knew, are all out of reach now. You’re alone in this world except for Joel.

It’s just you and him.

You clutch your knees tighter, the realization sinking deeper. Everything you have, everything you are, depends on Joel. He saved you when no one else would. Pulled you out of the hell that was your life, gave you a way out.

You owe him more than you could ever express—more than you could ever repay. There's a part of you that feels indebted to him, like you have no choice but to obey him. He’s all you have left.

And it scares you. You’ve never felt this dependent on anyone before, never felt like your entire world revolved around one person. But with Joel, it does. If you lose him, what would you even have? You wouldn’t survive.

You can’t survive alone. And even though his anger tonight terrified you, you can’t shake the feeling that you need to do whatever it takes to keep him. Even if that means obeying him without question, doing whatever he says. Because without Joel, you're truly, utterly alone.

Tears well in your eyes again, but you quickly wipe them away. You can’t let that fear rule you. You’re strong. You’ve survived too much to fall apart now. But this feeling of being so utterly dependent on Joel, of having no one else to turn to—it gnaws at you.

Even as you cry in the shower, trying to pull yourself together, you know deep down that you’ll have to go back to him. Apologize, make things right, because you can’t lose him.

He’s your only tether to this world, the only person who keeps you from feeling completely lost. And you know, despite everything, you’ll do whatever it takes to keep him in your life.

As the water runs down your skin, you close your eyes and take slow, steady breaths, trying to ground yourself. You can’t keep hiding in fear. You need to know what’s going on. You need to talk to Joel, to figure out what’s haunting him so badly that it’s making him act this way.

He’s always protected you, always cared for you, but now it’s clear there’s something deeper going on. Something he hasn’t told you. And if you’re going to stay with him, if you’re going to trust him again, you need answers.

When you step out of the shower, you feel a little more in control. You towel off, get dressed, and take a deep breath. You have to be mature about this. You can’t let fear rule you. You’re not a child anymore—you need to face this head-on.

Joel needs to tell you the truth, whatever it is. You need to know what’s driving him to this edge, why he’s so terrified of losing you, of being found.

You dry your eyes, gather yourself, and make the decision. You’ll talk to him. You’ll make him talk. Because you can’t keep living in the dark, and you can’t let fear take root between you. You need to understand what’s going on in Joel’s mind—and in his heart.

Slipping out of the room, you feel the cool evening air hit your skin like a reminder of the space between you and him now. You think you know where he went—the bar.

You’ve learned Joel's patterns well enough by now, and after what happened earlier, you’re certain that’s where he’d go to drown out his anger and regret.

As you walk down the empty hallway and push open the doors of the motel lobby, your nerves tighten with each step. You can feel your pulse quickening, the sinking fear that things between you and Joel might never be the same.

But you need to fix this. You need him—more than he probably even knows.

When you step into the bar, it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Your gaze scans the room, searching, hoping. And then you see him—sitting at the bar, his broad back turned toward you. Relief floods your chest, but it’s short-lived.

Joel isn’t alone.

There’s a woman beside him, by the look of her, she looks like she's near his age, younger, probably in her 40s, and she is close enough that her body leans into his space, her fingers brushing his arm as she speaks.

She’s beautiful, with soft waves of auburn hair and an easy smile.

She’s holding something in her hand, showing it to Joel—it looks like a bottle of perfume, and Joel is leaning in slightly, smelling it. They’re laughing. She’s too close, far too close.

Jealousy flares in your chest, sharp and immediate. It burns through your veins as you take a step forward, unable to keep your eyes off them. The way she touches his arm, the way Joel doesn’t pull away—why isn’t he pulling away?

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to move forward. Each step feels heavy, weighed down by doubt, fear, anger—all swirling into one mess inside of you.

When you finally reach them, Joel doesn’t notice you at first. He’s still laughing at whatever the woman said, his head tilted down toward her.

“Joel,” you say, your voice shaky but loud enough to cut through the laughter.

He looks up, surprise flickering in his eyes as he meets your gaze. "Oh… hey, baby." he mutters, his voice slurring slightly, like he’s already had one too many drinks. "Sorry, I didn’t realize how late it was…you uh okay now?"

You stand there, arms crossed tightly over your chest, the jealousy clawing at you. You stare at the woman, waiting for Joel to introduce you. But he doesn’t—he just awkwardly shifts on his barstool, rubbing the back of his neck.

The woman turns toward you with a kind smile, not realizing the tension hanging in the air. “Oh! You must be Joel’s daughter, right? I'm Tess, nice to meet you,”

The words hang in the air like a slap, the shock hitting you square in the chest. You blink, feeling the ground tilt beneath your feet. His daughter?

Before you can speak, Joel clears his throat, his voice low but firm. “She's not my daughter, she’s my partner.”

Tess freezes, embarrassment washing over her features as she glances between the two of you. “Oh… oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she stammers, clearly flustered. “I just assumed…"

"It’s fine," Joel cut in, his hand resting on your back protectively. "Tess was just being friendly."

But you saw the way Tess glanced at him, the way she lingered just a little too long on his eyes. She’d been flirting, and though Joel hadn’t seemed to notice—or maybe he had and didn’t care—you couldn’t help the jealousy that simmered beneath your skin. You shot her a tight smile, pulling Joel closer as if to remind him where he belonged.

"It’s okay," you said, though the tension between you and Tess lingered as Joel excused himself from the bar.

You feel your heart race, the awkwardness settling in the pit of your stomach like a stone. Joel looks at you, guilt flickering in his eyes, and you can see it—he didn’t mean for this to happen.

Tess tries to laugh it off, waving her hand as she takes a step back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll, uh, leave you two alone. Nice to meet you, Joel."

Joel mumbles something, but you barely hear it. Your focus is on him—on the way he avoided introducing you, the way he let Tess get close to him, the way you feel so small in this moment. You're so insecure, because she's like the type of Joel's woman, like she's age appropriate for him.

You glance at Tess as she walks away. You’re left standing there with Joel, the silence between you growing louder with every second. He looks at you, regret heavy in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Where have you been?” you ask, trying to steady your voice. “I was waiting for you…”

Joel sighs, running a hand through his hair, clearly at a loss for words. "I—I'm sorry," he mutters again, his voice softer this time, tinged with guilt. "I didn’t mean to stay out so long."

You nod, feeling the sting of his absence, of watching him with someone else, of realizing how fragile everything between you suddenly feels.

But you push it all down, reminding yourself of what you came here for—to talk, to understand.

“Let’s go,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “We need to talk.”

And Joel, with all the weight of his mistakes hanging heavy on his shoulders, simply nods, following you out of the bar into the cool night air, where everything is waiting to fall apart or be made whole again.

As you both step into the room, you push the door open and walk inside first, the familiar surroundings offering a brief moment of comfort in the storm brewing between you.

Joel hesitates at the threshold, his hand hovering near the door as if he’s afraid to follow. But after a moment, he steps inside, closing the door behind him and locking it with a soft click that echoes in the stillness.

You sit on the edge of the bed, a nervous knot twisting in your stomach. The air is thick with unspoken words, and you pat the space beside you, inviting him to sit.

Joel moves slowly, as if every step is laden with the gravity of what’s unsaid. The silence stretches, taut and heavy, both of you caught in the weight of the moment.

Finally, Joel breaks the stillness, his voice low and filled with concern. “Are you alright, doll?”

You nod, though the tremor in your hands betrays you. “I’m fine.”

“I'm really, really sorry,” he continues, his words tumbling out like stones from a burdened heart. “I didn’t mean to…” His voice trails off, as if he’s searching for the right words but can’t find them.

“It’s alright,” you cut him off gently, wanting to soothe his pain even as your own heart races with anxiety. But the pause hangs between you, heavy with unresolved tension.

You shift your position, turning to face him fully, the intensity of his gaze making your chest tighten.

“What’s going on, Joel?” you ask, your voice softening. “I need to know what’s bothering you. Is it me? Is it something else?"

"Why are you so scared? You’ve been acting different since New Orleans... I need to know, Joel. I… I can’t lose you. I’m scared.”

His expression shifts, the rigid lines of his face softening as he takes your hands in his, holding them close as if they’re a lifeline in the tumultuous sea between you. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and tears threaten to spill from your eyes.

In that moment, he wants to tell you everything—the shadows that have been haunting him, the demons that lurk in the corners of his mind.

But he hesitates, his heart racing with the fear that you wouldn’t understand.

The guilt of what he’s done looms over him like a dark cloud, heavy and suffocating. He’s terrified that revealing the truth would shatter the fragile bond you’ve built together.

Yet, as you look up at him, something in your eyes compels him to speak. “It’s about your father,” he lies, his voice barely a whisper.

“He still reported me… I’m just scared that the detectives will find you and take you away from me. I can’t let that happen.”

You feel a rush of emotions course through you, sensing the half-truth in his words, the fear that lingers behind his stoic exterior. He’s afraid—not just of the detectives but of losing you, and that realization cuts deep.

“Joel,” you say softly, your heart aching for him, “he’s not going to take me away from you. We’re safe. I promise.”

His eyes narrow, skepticism etched on his face. “You don’t know that,” he counters, his voice thick with concern. “He could be lying in wait, ready to pull some strings."

You shake your head, a flicker of frustration igniting within you. “Joel, he’s my father. I know him better than anyone. He’s just bluffing. He’ll eventually let me go; I mean… I’m nothing to him. He hates me. He doesn’t want me in his life, so why bother wanting me back?”

The raw honesty of your words hangs in the air between you like an echo of an unshakable truth. Joel’s expression softens, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction as he searches your gaze.

He can see the hurt beneath your bravado, the wounds your father has inflicted that run deep, yet he struggles to reconcile that with the danger he feels looms just beyond the horizon.

“Doll,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with both tenderness and fear. “I don’t want to think about the worst. I just… I can’t bear the thought of losing you. You’re everything to me.”

You look up at him, conviction burning in your chest. “You will not lose me, Joel. I promise, I will not lose you either. We’re in this together. Always.” But even as you say the words, a nagging feeling churns in your gut, whispering that there’s more he’s keeping from you.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else, Joel?” you ask, your voice steady yet gentle, searching his eyes for the truth. “What do you mean by that?”

He hesitates, his gaze drifting away as if the weight of his secrets is too heavy to bear.

“Joel,” you plead, reaching out to touch his hand, “you can trust me. We’ll stick together, no matter what. Just let me in. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

But he still doesn’t budge, the wall between you seeming insurmountable. You nod, accepting his silence for now. “Okay, but remember that you can tell me anything. My love for you will not change, no matter what.”

The words hang in the air, a vow that wraps around him like a warm embrace. In that moment, something shifts within Joel. He meets your gaze, his heart melting under the weight of your unwavering love, your sincerity cutting through the chaos that clouds his mind.

“What did I do to deserve an angel like you?” he whispers, his voice cracking just a little.

“Just being you is enough,” you reply softly, feeling the tenderness in the space between you.

And then, unable to resist the pull between you any longer, you lean in, kissing him deeply. This time, it’s pure, unfiltered love that surges between your lips—a promise sealed with every gentle brush of skin, every soft sigh that escapes into the air.

The world fades away as you lose yourselves in each other, the moment stretching into eternity, filled with a warmth that chases away the shadows of fear.

When you finally pull away, breathless and glowing, a smile dances across your lips. But as you gaze into his eyes, you see a flicker of something else.

“You haven’t eaten,” he says, concern threading through his voice. “You should rest. I’ll order something from downstairs and bring it back up for you.”

“Joel, I can wait—”

“No,” he interrupts gently but firmly. “You need to take care of yourself. I’ll be quick.” He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before moving away, leaving you momentarily in the warmth of his embrace.

As he steps outside the room, you sink back onto the bed, feeling a mix of warmth and longing. The air around you is still charged with the magic of your shared moment, but the unanswered questions linger, dancing just beyond reach.

You let out a soft sigh, closing your eyes for a moment, willing yourself to rest, knowing he’ll return soon.

Joel heads down to the bar, his mind racing with thoughts of you. He orders food, feeling the pressure of his emotions begin to lighten just a little with each passing moment away from you.

Yet, even as he waits, the shadows of his past loom large, reminding him that he’s not just fighting for himself—he’s fighting for you. And it’s a fight he intends to win.

As Joel waits at the bar, the world around him is alive with laughter and chatter, a stark contrast to the heavy weight pressing against his chest.

The air is thick with the scent of whiskey and lingering conversations, people mingling as if the night holds no threats, but he knows better. Shadows of his past linger, whispering reminders that the fight he’s waging is not just for himself—it’s for you.

You are the light of his life, fire of his loins, and he’ll be damned if he lets anything threaten that.

He watches the crowd, the chaos swirling like a tempest around him. In the corner of his eye, he catches sight of a man ordering a drink, but his view is obscured by a group of women animatedly chatting nearby.

Joel shifts, trying to get a clearer look, but the bustling bodies block his view.

“Got a lot on your mind, fella?” a voice cuts through the noise, pulling him back into the moment. He turns slightly to see the man leaning against the bar, a sly grin playing on his lips. Joel's brow furrows, he can't see his face.

“Yeah, life,” he replies curtly, not in the mood for small talk.

The man chuckles, taking a sip of his whiskey. “I saw you with a young girl. She your daughter?”

At that, Joel’s heart skips a beat, and he freezes, “No…” he responds, his voice low and cautious.

“Oh, she looks young enough to be your daughter,” the man presses, his grin widening, but still Joel can't see his face because the women blocking his view “Who is she then?”

“None of your business,” Joel bites back, his tone cold and defensive, but the man merely laughs, clearly unfazed by Joel's irritation.

“Got a fire in you, my friend,” he remarks, his tone almost mocking.

Joel tries to catch a glimpse of the man’s face, but he’s constantly blocked by other patrons milling about, laughter and chatter drowning out his mounting anger.

“You know she’s a pretty little thing,” the man continues, leaning in closer. “What’s her story? You fucked her, didn’t you? Kidnapped her from her abusive family?”

The words hit Joel like a punch to the gut, and a primal instinct surges through him—protectiveness mingling with anger.

“What?” he snaps, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he struggles to see the man’s face, but the crowd shifts, obscuring his view further.

“Have you heard about this cannibal running around, kidnapping and eating young girls? If I were you, I’d be careful to keep her safe, ‘cause damn, she does look delicious.”

With that, something inside Joel snaps. He stands abruptly, every instinct screaming to confront this man, to demand answers.

But just as quickly as he rose, the man leans back, disappearing into the throng of bodies, leaving nothing but a ghost of a threat lingering in the air.

Joel’s heart races, panic seizing him as he realizes what he has to do. You’re alone up there, and he needs to get back to you—now.

The laughter and warmth of the bar fade into the background as he pushes through the crowd, each step fueled by fear and urgency.

The thought of you, vulnerable and alone, drives him forward.

His breath quickens as he navigates the throng, his mind a whirlwind of protective instincts and dread. The very idea of losing you ignites a fire in his soul, and he bursts through the door to the hallway, urgency pulsing in his veins.

Each step toward your room is a promise—a vow to keep you safe from the dark corners of this world that threaten to creep in.

Joel bursts through the door, and the sight that greets him sends a jolt through his veins. You sit on the bed, your eyes wide and haunted, riveted to the flickering television.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” he rushes to you, concern flooding his voice.

“Joel...it’s Pastor Ben,” you manage to say, your finger trembling as you point to the screen. The news report unfolds like a nightmare made flesh—Pastor Ben, the man who had cloaked himself in righteousness, is revealed as a predator, a monster who has sexually abused, raped hundreds of children in Mexico.

A visceral reaction surges within you, a repulsion that knots your stomach. You remember the moments in his car, the way his fingers brushed against your arm, the unsettling questions he had asked about your age, each touch a violation that makes your skin crawl.

It feels as if the walls are closing in, suffocating you with the realization of the betrayal you had trusted. The reporter’s voice booms through the room, detailing the horrors of the youngest victim—only six years old.

The words resonate with a sickening finality, and you rush to the bathroom, the taste of bile burning your throat as you heave into the toilet.

Each retch feels like a release of the poison that has been festering within you, a violent expulsion of the memories that threaten to drown you.

Joel stands frozen for a moment, grappling with the revelation. His heart races, a chaotic mix of anger and relief coursing through him.

The man he killed had been a monster, but the weight of that truth is heavy. The knowledge that you were entangled in his web, even briefly, gnaws at him.

When you emerge, pale and trembling, Joel swiftly turns off the TV, the silence in the room suddenly deafening.

“Doll, are you okay?” he asks softly, his hands moving to cradle your head, fingers brushing gently through your hair, a comforting gesture meant to ground you.

“Just… let’s go to sleep, please,” you whisper, fatigue washing over you like a tide.

He nods, understanding the weight of the moment. With gentle strength, he scoops you into his arms, carrying you to the bed where safety awaits.

As you lie together in the dark, bodies intertwined in a protective embrace, the weight of the night hangs heavily in the air.

You are cocooned in the warmth of each other, yet your minds are worlds apart.

Each fleeting memory of his touch feels like a branding iron against your skin, igniting a fury within you that is both righteous and shameful.

You lie in a spooning position, the two of you entwined like vines clinging to each other in a storm. The heat radiating from Joel feels like a sanctuary, a barrier against the outside world, yet the weight of your thoughts is heavy as you drift further into your own mind.

In the dark, you wrestle with the shadows of your past. The image of Pastor Ben’s face looms large in your thoughts, a grotesque reminder of the trust betrayed.

You can still feel the ghost of his hand, a specter lingering just beneath the surface, haunting your skin. With every breath, the bile of betrayal rises in your throat, intertwining with anger—a tempest that threatens to erupt.

You are caught in the eye of a storm, where calm meets chaos, grappling with the lingering questions of why you didn’t see the monster hidden behind the mask of a man of God. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, a reminder that safety is often an illusion.

Meanwhile, Joel is lost in his own labyrinth of thoughts, the weight of the evening pressing heavily on his chest. The man he met at the bar—the specter of danger—lingers in his mind like a shadow refusing to dissipate.

He feels the knot of fear tightening in his gut, an ancient instinct urging him to protect you at all costs. He remembers the words the stranger flung at him, laced with menace, and the realization that the world is a cruel place, full of predators who prey on the innocent.

In this moment, he clings to you as if you were a life raft in turbulent waters. The warmth of your body against his is a reminder that he has something worth fighting for—a reason to face the darkness head-on.

Yet, beneath that fierce resolve lies a flicker of doubt, a gnawing fear that perhaps he can’t shield you from everything, that the ghosts of his past may find a way to reach you.

It eats at him, the thought that the world could steal you away from him just as it had stolen so much before.

Both of you are wrapped in a cocoon of silence, where your breaths mingle and become one. You can feel Joel’s heart beating against your back, a steady drum that soothes you even as your thoughts churn.

It’s a reminder that you are not alone in this battle, that there is strength in the bond you share, even amidst the chaos that swirls around you.

“Promise me,” you whisper into the darkness, “we’ll get through this together.”

Joel tightens his grip around you, his body a fortress. “I promise, doll,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “You’re safe with me.”

In that moment, you both find a flicker of hope amidst the storm—two souls entwined, standing against a world that threatens to tear them apart.

Each heartbeat, each breath becomes a testament to your love, a silent vow that even in the darkest of nights, you will hold on to each other, no matter what the dawn brings.

[katyleen]

The Tiger’s Savior

Pairing: Tiger!Soonyoung x reader (hybrid au)

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Depictions of sexual assault (only a little tho), curse words

Synopsis: The world of hybrids are cruel. Humans treat them as if they’re pets, slaves, and many more. What would happen when you stumbled across an unconscious tiger?

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It was supposed to be a normal day. You didn’t have anything special for today, already used to the usual routine of your daily life. So why is it that there is a ruckus caused by a group of teenagers when you are in the middle of a walk? You were sure that they are one of those who think that being bad is cool and was about to tell them to stop when something made you paused. They were surrounding someone and is now on the ground, unmoving.

Thinking that this is a bullying gone too far, you stormed over to them, ready to reprimand them.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!” You shouted, startling the teenagers as they scrambled to escape from the scene. You went up to check on the victim of those teenagers but then you let out a gasp. The victim, which turns out not to be a human but a hybrid. A tiger hybrid to be exact. He was unconscious and has many bruises on his body.

Now you’re not clueless of the world of the hybrids. You know that they live in a cruel word, where humans don’t treat them as equals but as pets instead. You’ve seen many cases where they abandoned their hybrids, turned them into their slaves, or sometimes sold them to the black market. Fortunately, you’re not one of those people. Not having the heart to leave him on the street, you have made a decision. You whip out your phone and dialed someone.

“Hey Seungcheol? Sorry are you free right now? I need your help.”

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“I know that you care about the hybrids but I definitely didn’t expect you to bring a tiger to your house.” He said after laying the tiger hybrid on the bed in your guest room.

You have called one of your closest friends and when he showed up, he looked so shock to see you with an injured hybrid. He was a bit skeptical of letting an unknown stranger into your house, even insisting that at least let him stay in his house, but you were stubborn and argued that your house is closer and he needed to be treated soon. He eventually gave in and helped you carry him to your house.

“I mean what did you expect? Me turning a blind eye and leaving him alone in the streets where people won’t even glance at him or maybe even do something worse to him? Yeah that’s not happening.” You rolled your eye’s sarcastically. You have just finished treating his wounds and now waiting for him to wake up. Seungcheol sighed, and went to sit on your couch.

“Well do you want me to stay here until he wakes up then? Hybrid or not, he’s still a stranger and we don’t know whether he’s dangerous or not.” He asked, worrying about you being left alone with the hybrid. You shrug your shoulders, plopping down to sit next to him.

“It’s your choice whether you want to stay or not. I don’t really mind being alone with him.” You tried to ease his worries. Obviously he chose to stay, turning on the TV as you guys search for something interesting to watch.

Hours have passed and you could hear some noise which is definitely not caused by you, Seungcheol, or the TV. He glanced at you, also hearing the noise. You both then turned to look at the door which the hybrid is currently resting. You went to turn off the TV while Seungcheol is slowly walking to the door. You catch up to him as he grabs he doorknob.

“Wait shouldn’t we knock first?” You asked, grabbing his shoulder. He gave you a deadpanned look.

“This is your house. Why would you need to knock in your own house?”

“But-“ he proceeds to open the door, and you find the hybrid is now awake, sitting on the bed. He jolted as he looks at you and Seungcheol, not expecting to see strangers and in a unfamiliar place. His ears are twitching and his tail is curled up, you think that’s a sign that he’s scared.

“Wh-who are you? And where am I? Why am I here?” The hybrid asked, voice trembling but he tried to hide it. You gave him a reassuring smile as you answer him.

“I’m Y/n and this is my friend Seungcheol. You’re in my house because you were injured so we took you here to be treated.” He seems to relax at that, but still on guard. You don’t blame him because humans are cruel to hybrids. And in his eyes, you might be one of them.

“Listen, you’re hurt. I’m willing to let you stay here until you’re healed unless you don’t want to.” The hybrid and Seungcheol both snapped their heads at you, not expecting you to say that. You almost laughed at them moving in sync.

“Wait wait wait you’re not serious are you? I know he’s hurt but are you really going to let a stranger stay with you alone?” Seungcheol asked, clearly not happy with your decision. The hybrid seems hesitant too, either feeling guilty or uncomfortable you’re not sure. You know it’s dangerous to let a stranger in your house, but for some reason you feel like he won’t do anything bad.

“Seungcheol, he’s injured. Would you leave him alone outside if you were in my shoes?” You asked him. The room was filled with silence until he let out a sigh.

“Fine. I have to go now but never hesitate to call me if anything happens ok?” You let out a cheer as you thanked him. You turned to look at the hybrid who was looking at your interaction with Seungcheol. He flinched when his eyes met yours and quickly looked away. You gestured to him to wait for a moment to say goodbye to Seungcheol.

After seeing him out, you went back to the room only to see the hybrid curled up on the bed. His ears twitched as he hears your footsteps coming closer, hugging himself tighter. You don’t approach him any closer, afraid to make him uncomfortable.

“I know you probably want to leave, but I really think it’s best if you stay here until you’re better.” You started. When you don’t see him make any signs of objection, you continued. “Of course, if you really don’t want to, you’re free to leave. I won’t force you to stay.”

You want to reassure him that either way you’re fine with his choice. You left the room to give him some space and instead going to the kitchen instead. You searched for the ingredients to make dinner, and noticed that some of it is in a higher shelf.

“Seungcheol you jerk. You just have to move them to the higher shelf.” You grumbled, trying to reach them. Obviously you can’t, and you huffed in annoyance.

Suddenly you feel your back being pressed by someone as a hand went to grab the ingredient you were looking for. Surprised, you turned around, seeing the hybrid looking at you with a curious face.

“Is this the one you were trying to grab?” He asked, handing you the ingredient. Still not believing that the hybrid is now in front of you in such a close proximity, you nodded your head.

“Y-yeah…have you decided on whether you’d like to stay or not?” He gave you a little nod and looked at the floor.

“Yeah…I decided to stay for a bit…unless you changed your mind.” He said quietly. You smiled at him, showing him that you haven’t changed your mind.

“So, do you want dinner? I’m making kimchi for tonight’s dinner.” He tilted his head.

“What’s that?” You let out a gasp.

“You’ve never tried kimchi??? No this won’t do. You’re trying kimchi tonight.” He looks confused but decided to be silent about it and watch you cook.

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“Soooo how is it?” You asked, watching him practically inhaling the food.

“Tif is so gud. Wut is it called again?” He asked, still chewing. You chuckled at his response, happy that he enjoyed your food.

“It’s called kimchi. I can’t believe you’ve never tried it before.” He gulped down the remaining food.

“Well my previous owner never really gave me anything but leftovers so I wouldn’t know how other food tastes like.” He answered nonchalantly, as if it’s a normal thing. You gripped your spoon tightly, not believing that his previous owner wouldn’t take responsibility over him.

“Well now you can eat whatever you want. I don’t think I have much food left though so I need to go buy some more. You can go with me and choose whatever you like there.” He looked up from his food, surprised that he’s allowed to pick what he wants. Heck, his previous owner didn’t even let him step foot outside unless they’re in a good mood.

“By the way, I never got your name.” He snapped out of his thoughts after hearing you talk.

“Oh…my name is Soonyoung.” He replied.

“Nice to meet you Soonyoung. We’re gonna go grocery shopping tomorrow so you can rest for now. Ah, that’s right you don’t have any clothes…I can lend you some in the meantime cause I have a few oversized clothes but we’ll need to shop for your clothes then-“

“Wait!” Soonyoung cuts you off. “You don’t have to go that far. I’m probably going to be here for a short while so please don’t burden yourself about me.” He said. He’s worried that if you feel tired of taking care of him you’ll throw him out sooner.

“It’s not a burden at all. I want to do this for you.” You said. After the talk, you help him explore your house to make himself comfortable and even ushered him to take a bath. Once he’s done, he steps out of the bathroom and noticed you yawning.

“It’s getting late, I should go to sleep now. Feel free to stay awake if you’d like but don’t stay up too late. Good night Soonyoung.” You get up from the sofa and walk towards your room, but then you feel him tugged on your sleeve.

“Um-can I…” he hesitates, while you’re waiting patiently for him. “Can I…sleep with you? I-I can sleep on the floor don’t worry it’s just that…I don’t want to be alone…”you smiled at him and grabbed his hand, leading him to your room.

“You can sleep on the bed, it’s big enough for the two of us anyways.” You assured him, plopping yourself on your bed as you drifted away to sleep almost immediately. He slowly climbs on the bed next to you, grabbing the blanket on your bed to cover you to keep you warm. He cautiously looked at your face as you peacefully sleep and noticed a few strands of hair fell on your face so he moved your hair that was covering your face, and he catches himself admiring you.

“I know we just met…but thank you for saving me.” He whispered, even though he knows you can’t hear him.

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“So this is a grocery store.” Soonyoung mumbled in astonishment. You are now very concerned about how he used to lived if he didn’t even know what grocery stores look like. You decided to introduce him to various things in this world until he decides to leave.

“Yep, but it’ll be better if you stick with me. We could get separated and it’ll take a while to find each other.” He gasps after hearing your explanation, immediately leaching to you to prevent any of you from getting separated. You couldn’t help but giggle at his behavior. For a tiger, he sure reminds you of a hamster instead.

You and Soonyoung walk around the aisle, occasionally grabbing things that you need to buy and suggesting snacks that you think he’d like. Soonyoung looks overwhelmed but but he manages to pick some snacks himself. You asked him if he has any favorite food but he replied that your kimchi is the best. It also pushed you to introduce him to every food you could think of.

After you’re done, you wait in line at the cashier. You noticed that a lot of people are giving weird looks to Soonyoung, and you know that he noticed them too from the way his tail is curled and hugging himself in an attempt to make himself smaller. Something inside you snapped, you suddenly feel protective towards him. You put an arm around his shoulders, glaring at anyone that was looking at you and Soonyoung. They got the message and continued with what they’re doing. You hurriedly went to pay and take him outside of the store.

“Hey, I’m sorry that you have to experience that. I know people can be…unsettling sometimes. But I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” He smiled, thankful for your words. He then grabbed most of the groceries that you’re carrying and helps you put them away in your car. This action makes your heart feels warm, but you shrug it off.

“Hmm…we still have time to go clothes shopping. What do you think? Do you still want to go or do you want to go some other time?” You asked, not wanting to make him uncomfortable after what happened earlier.

Soonyoung can’t help but feel safe around you. Even though he just met you yesterday you still treat him with care. Even now you’re asking about his opinion! He has never given the chance to do that before. It really makes him warm.

“We can go now if you’re not tired. But I don’t have any money on me-“

“That’s fine, consider it a gift from me.” You said. He halted, and make a ‘x’ sign with his arms.

“No no no you’ve done so much for me already I can’t-“ he tried to denied but you insisted.

“Soonyoung. I want to do this for you.”

Knowing that you meant it and won’t back down, he relented. After a few minutes of driving, you’ve arrived at a mall. Soonyoung looked around in awe, he thought the grocery store was big but this place is huge.

You couldn’t help but laughed at his cute behavior, making him blushed slightly. You guided him through the mall, tell him to look around and go to the store that caught his eyes. Eventually he tugged on your sleeve and pointed to a clothing store. You encouraged him to take a look around the store and help him decide which clothes to buy.

After deciding and trying out the clothes, you finally paid for it and went out of the mall with Soonyoung’s new clothes.

Soonyoung looks at the shopping bags feeling excited and guilty at the same time. He’s really happy that he got something unlike before where he doesn’t get anything at all, but he also feels bad that he made you spend money on him. In his eyes, you have proven to be a kind person and he decides to put his trust in you. He doesn’t want to use you for his own benefit and he has no idea how to repay you back.

“Soonyoung?”

He snapped back to reality, blinking a few times before looking at you who is looking at him worriedly. Apparently he was thinking to deeply because suddenly the both of you are already back at your house.

“Are you ok? You were deep in thought so I was wondering if something is up.” You explained. He feels even more guilty for worrying you over nothing.

“Ah..sorry. I was just thinking about something.” He mumbled, looking down to avoid your eyes. You nodded your head, starting to put away the groceries. Soonyoung noticed and immediately began to rush to you, wanting to help. You laughed at his eagerness, telling him that you got this and instead suggesting to put away his new clothes. He contemplated for a second and decided to listen to you.

He went to his room, and starts to take out the clothes from the shopping bags. He grabs one of them and looks at it carefully. It wasn’t just a random shirt that was bought carelessly, but you really spent the time looking for the ones he likes and feels comfortable with. He can feel his tears starting to gather in his eyes and wipes it before it can spill out.

He feels overwhelmed with gratitude towards you. You don’t know anything about him, heck you just met yesterday, but you have done so much to him and treated him better than his previous owner. Now, he is determined to pay you back no matter what. He would do everything you asked him to and protect you from anything bad.

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It has been months since you found Soonyoung on the streets. You decided to adopt him after talking it through with him. With you adopting him, it would mean that he is under your care and no one will be able to treat him carelessly whenever he’s out. Although adopting him means he is required to wear a collar whenever he goes outside, Soonyoung insisted that it’s fine and he’s more than willing to wear one.

He also gets along with Seungcheol really well. At first he’s a bit weary of Soonyoung, but he has grown fond of him and sometimes invites him to hang out with his other friends. Now Soonyoung has a lot of friends, especially their hybrid friends. For example, Soonyoung really enjoys teasing the dog hybrid, Mingyu. You can’t help but feel proud that he is finally starting to trust humans and found his happiness.

Besides having a lot of friends, he also has a job now. He insisted on getting a job to help you. You’ve told him that he didn’t need to but he was determined, telling you that it’s not fair for you to do everything while he does nothing while living in your house. You could only sigh in defeat and let him do what he wants. He now works in a cafe which is just a few blocks away from your house. You visit him sometimes to check up on him, and he’s always excited whenever you came. Once in a while, he gave your usual drink for free even though you tried to decline. He only grins at you playfully before going to attend another customer.

After his shift ends, he always tells you about his day, whether it’s about a new drink he made or angry customers who were only embarrassing themselves. His stories always made you laugh, and he also never forgets to ask about your day in return. Whenever you tell him about your day, he always listens intently, nodding from time to time and makes a comment to indicate that he’s listening.

You’ve also introduced him to many foods, and yet he still says that your kimchi is the best. You went to many places together and Soonyoung is always grateful to you. He never knew that the world is so big and wonderful, and there are a lot of things that he discovered. He stays true to his word, often helping you with chores, attempting to cook for you…which resulted in him banned from the kitchen as he almost burned your kitchen.

After spending time with him, you begin to notice that the feeling you had from the beginning grows stronger. At first you wanted to make sure that he’s comfortable around you, wanting to let him see the world that he’s been missing out, wanting to give him a chance to heal from the things he experienced before he met you, but then you noticed how your heart skips a beat whenever he does some act of services for you. How he always offered to help you, how he always make sure you don’t overwork yourself, and how he made sure to let you know that you can depend on him. Your heart beats faster around him lately, you always melts at the way he smiles at you, you can’t help but spoil him a lot just to his excited face.

It’s no different from Soonyoung too. At first he’s only around because he felt guilty and felt the need to repay your kindness, but now he’s starting to do all those things because he wanted to. He genuinely wants to be around you, always wanted to be there for you, and his face always feels hot whenever you’re near him. He wants you to depend on him, to trust him to take care of you the same way you take care of him. Even though he’s a tiger, he’s always gentle whenever he’s around you. You joked that he might actually be a hamster instead, to which he sulked about it for a few days.

It was such a happy moment for the both of you. None of you expect for the happy moment to be interrupted.

One day, as you were deciding on dinner, someone knocks on your door. You were confused because you didn’t order anything and Soonyoung has an extra key with him. You opened the door to investigate only to see a man who you’re sure never met in your entire life.

“Hey. I heard you have a tiger hybrid with you?” He asked, you couldn’t help but feel nervous about him. How did he know about Soonyoung? And why did he come to your house?

“Listen, I don’t know who you are but you need to leave.” You said, attempting to close the door but he blocked the door with his foot. You feel scared now, the unknown man forcefully open the door again.

“I know that hybrid is here. I need him back. That piece of trash belongs to me and he needs to go back.” He steps into your house now, looking at you in an agitated manner. He looks around to see if he could catch a glimpse of the tiger hybrid, but you gathered enough courage to shove him back a little.

“Whether I have a tiger hybrid with me or not is none of your business. Now you better go or else I’m calling the police.” You threatened him, although it only made him chuckle darkly as he noticed you trembling in fear. He grabbed your shoulder and pushed you harshly onto the floor. You hissed in pain, attempting to grab your phone but he steps on your hand with force, making you cry in pain.

He grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him. You tried to stay calm as to not make the situation worse, but you feel yourself panicking even more.

“You’re going to tell me where that little shit is and I don’t care if I have to do this the hard way. It’d be a shame if I had to put a scar on your pretty face, but maybe I can have some fun with you first.” He started to lift your shirt. You trashed in his grasp, trying to get away but he’s much stronger than you.

You feel your tears fall, you are incredibly scared right now and you can’t do anything to stop him. You tried kicking him off you, but that only tightens his grip on you as he use his free hand to run forcefully over your chest. You cried, begging him to stop even though you know he won’t listen but you still hoped that he’d stop.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you had just tell me where that damn hybrid is. Besides, you can’t lie to me you’re enjoying this aren’t you? What a who-“

Before he could finish his sentence, he was yanked off of you and was punched straight to his face. He stumbled backwards, groaning in pain. You’re still paralyzed, not able to move as you’re still in shock of what happened. You almost couldn’t hear anything but you managed to take a deep breath and look at your surroundings. It was then that you noticed a very aggressive looking Soonyoung standing protectively in front of you, growling at the intruder who assaulted you.

“You’re fucking dead you sorry excuse of a human! Touch her again and I’ll rip you out from limp to limp you hear me.” The man was visibly scared, but let out a chuckle at the sight in front of him.

“There you are. You know you belong to me, this wouldn’t have happened to her if you stayed in the goddamn house.” Soonyoung has his claws out, ready to pounce on his previous owner. He broke into your house. He threatened you. He fucking touched you-

That was enough for him to attack. He throws punches and scratches on him to the point where the man started to beg him to stop, but that only makes Soonyoung even angrier.

“You want me to stop? Did you stopped when she begged you to stop? Did you listen to her? You didn’t- she fucking begged you but you still did it. What makes you think I’ll stop just because you’re begging it-“

“SOONYOUNG THAT’S ENOUGH!”

He snapped out of his anger, looking at his prey who is now full of bruises and scars and then looks at Seungcheol who is now standing inside, phone in his hand probably just finished calling the police. He’s breathing heavily, trying to calm down before dropping his prey to the floor. He then gasped, turning to look at you who are still crying and trying to calm down. He rushed to your side, gently grabbing your hands and rubs circle in hope to help you come to your senses.

He sees Seungcheol grabbing the man forcefully from the corner of his eyes, clearly furious at what he did but still holds himself back from giving more injuries to him. He forced him outside, probably to get him arrested to the police. But that’s the least of his concerns, now his priority is you.

Your body is still shaking, you’re still crying which makes Soonyoung panic. He doesn’t know what to do, he never deals with this kind of situation before. He hesitantly moves closer to you, looking at you carefully to see if you’re ok with it. Once he’s sure that you won’t push him away, he wrapped his arms around you, giving you a comforting hug as he rubs circle on your back, whispering things to help you calm down. Finally you take a shaky breath and return his hug. You hug him tightly but he doesn’t mind.

“H-he was loo-looking for you. A-and I refused to-tell him…and then he pushed me-and starts to threaten-and-and…”

“Sshh..it’s okay now. Everything is okay. It’s over, I’m here. I’m here to protect you, the bad man is gone.” He assures you. You stay like that for a few more minutes, enjoying the warmth and comfort he’s giving you.

“So he….he was you previous owner..wasn’t he?” You asked in a low voice. He hums in return, conforming your thoughts.

“I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through. You must have been suffering so badly this whole time. You don’t deserve the kind of treatments he was giving you.” You may not know what exactly he has been through, but you know it’s probably worse than what you had just experienced.

“Don’t apologize. You had nothing to do with it. Yes I suffered a lot, I couldn’t trust others easily but then I met you.” He pulled away from the hug to look at you in the eyes.

“It was hell back then, but after meeting you, suddenly I can see the colors of the world again. I learn how to trust, I met wonderful people and have seen many things in this world. I tasted the best food I have ever tasted in my entire life and all that is thanks to you.” You feel yourself crying again from his speech, you can feel him wiping off your tears gently with his thumbs.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You have shown me how it feels to be cared, to be respected, to be loved…you also taught me how to love.” Your eyes widen at his last statement. Were you hearing things?

“Y/n, I know this is a horrible time to confess…but I have grown to love you for the last few months. I adore everything you do, you are kind, and I just can’t help myself but to fall for you.” He then smiled sadly, looking down to avoid your eyes.

“You probably don’t feel the same way, I mean…a human and a hybrid? That never happened before and you’re probably weirded out by my confession-“ he starts rambling but you feel joy enveloping your heart. You thought he wouldn’t feel the same but turns out he does.

You put your hand under his chin, lifting his face up to look at him. You give him a smile before replying, “Soonyoung, I love you too. I love how you’re always there by my side, how you always make that smiley face whenever something good happens, how determined you look when you’re set on doing something, how can I not fall for you too?” He gasped, not believing what he just heard. You giggled, finding his reaction cute that you can’t help but kiss his cheek.

He pulled away from you, hand touching the spot that you just kissed him. You laughed, seeing his blushing face. He seems to snapped out of it quickly before throwing himself onto you, making you both fall to the floor. He then goes to give pecks on your face, grumbling about how unfair and cute you are.

“Ok I’m back-what the fuck are you guys doing?” Whoops, you guys definitely forgot about Seungcheol, seeing him standing in front of you with a (jokingly) disgusted face.

“I was gone for a few minutes and you guys suddenly become a couple? Yeah ok I’m cool with this. Soonyoung if you hurt her I’m gonna beat your ass, mark my words.” He threatened him. Soonyoung gulps, promising to treat you as the way you deserve. You roll your eyes at them, but at the same time really glad for their support.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“DUDE STOP SUSPECTING ME?? WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS TARGETING ME?” Mingyu whined, as Soonyoung claims him to be the mafia again.

“It’s not my fault you’re always acting suspicious.” He put his tongue out, successfully annoying Mingyu.

“Y/n~Soonyoung is being mean to me.”

“AM NOT? DON’T BRING HER INTO THIS!”

Seungkwan sighed before looking at you.

“So you guys are actually dating? Him? Soonyoung? With you?” Soonyoung gasped after hearing that, abandoning the mafia game, making his way towards you before caging you in his arms.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m a great boyfriend, right Y/n?” He grins at you, resulting in you patting his head softly.

“The best I could ever asked for.” Seungkwan fake gagged before leaving you alone to complain how you guys are acting like a disgusting lovey dovey couple around them.

Soonyoung looks at you expectantly, arms still warped around you as his tail wags happily. You sighed, lifting your hand up and make a tiger sign.

“Horanghae Soonyoung.”

“Horanghae Y/n~”

“SEE? THEY’RE DISGUSTING. WHAT EVEN IS HORANGHAE?”

“Seungkwan horanghae~”

“I’m actually going to high kick you.”

[xmorguekittyx]

Ever Locked

Part 1: New Beginnings?

pairing: Older!Leon x Ex!Coroner’s Assistant Reader

warnings: nsfw, light smut

extra: this story takes place 7 years later, Leon being taken into the government is still a cannon event, same with RE2 being a cannon event. i hope you guys like this! POV has changed, chapters will flip flop from your pov to Leon’s chapter by chapter and these parts will be longer. Next chapter will be Leon’s pov.

Soft wind blew against the cracked window, locked in place with a bolt. Rain pelted the chipped glass, sliding down to draw clear designs as the morning sun started to peek out from behind the grey clouds. Birds singing happily about the new day, the limitless opportunities that the day could bring. Shadows of the birds reflecting over the glass pane, the shadow an unfamiliar view. My eyes aren't use to seeing the sun, not since settling in Seattle, Washington.

Finally, I decided to move my limbs, the numbness taking over as the muscles ached and stretched. Purple sheets wrapped around my ankles, keeping me from getting up as quickly as I wanted to. Those damned dreams, I couldn't get away from him even in my slumber. His face marred into the back of my eyelids, he haunted my every waking and sleeping moment. The bolt that was beat into the window sill, causing the window to never be open, it was because of him. The fear he would slip in, much like he had done all those years ago. The three locks on the front door another reminder that, even if he was, god knows where, I was unsafe.

  A reflection that didn't register in my mind, who was this? Me? Surely not, my eyes didn't have that dark of circles under them... did they? The figure in the mirror moving close as I feel the counter press into my thighs. "Fuck.", I didn't even recognize the person i became once the police men took me from Leon's home. They were shouting something about... a disease, something wrong with people in the city. Their hands gripping at my arms as they pulled me from the shit hole. People, their eyes yellow and skin, a sickly white. My stomach rolled, a groan of nausea coming from my lips. Those people, I watched as they bit into the man behind me, his skin held by tendons and muscle, before that too was ripped away from him.

  A cough of acid, the burning of my throat brought me back to that damned look. It's eyes squinting, searching for some recognition in the mirror. "Fuck off.", a scoff fell from my lips, turning from the eyes that mimicked mine. The knob turned on the sink, water dripping adding to the sounds around, thunder rumbling over the apartment. "You talking to yourself?", a smug voice called, my fingers too busy rubbing the freezing water over the dark circles under my eyes, praying that the water would wash away some of the unfamiliarity. "Shut up, Ryan.", I was not in the mood to deal with the man, his pout the first thing my eyes picked up on as I looked back in the mirror. "You dreamt of him again, didn't you?", he asked, his voice was so concerned, it made me feel worse. "Yeah...", a bitter laugh left my lips, the real monster in my story was him.

  I felt his fingers trace over the scar on my temple, the one, he, had left behind. "You know you're safe now... right? I won't let anything happen to you.", as much as i wanted to believe his words, to trust my boyfriend of 3 years... something in my chest warned me of a possibility. He was a government agent, at least that was the last i heard of Leon S. Kennedy; he'd saved some girl from RPD that night. He was deemed a hero, despite the sins that he had committed, a justice for a death never gained. No body, no crime... that's what the government worker had told her. I'd tried to tell them everything, that I was kidnapped, that Leon had killed Mrs. Jones. They didn't care, there was no proof as by the time I had gotten the chance to speak to anyone, Raccoon City was already bombed to hell and back.

  "I know.", the truth was that I wasn't safe, I never was going to be unless I was nailed in that coffin, the only place he couldn't find me. Then again, I figured even if I had died that day, that Leon would somehow find my corpse just to add insult to injury. The stupid rookie-  I wished I'd never laid eyes on those blue orbs, that the summer blue skies didn't remind me of him, that I didn't fear being home alone... that I didn't think every blonde in a police uniform was him, that I didn't see him in people, I passed on the street. "I know.", my hand came up to hold onto his, my fingers around his wrist. "You'll protect me...", my tone was no more than a whisper, eyes closing, melting into the back of his fingers. As soon as my eyes closed, that face popped back up, the look he gave me as i felt my vision blacken. It's been 7 years, it's time to move on. Ryan deserved a girlfriend who didn't jump in fear every five seconds, or call him crying when she saw a blonde officer.

  "I love you, stop thinking about it. You're making it worse on yourself.", he cupped his hand around my cheek, finger-pads rough from his job as a crime scene investigator. "You're safe with me, he's still with the government agency and you're here... in your apartment with your loving boyfriend.", a deep chuckle left his lips. "A loving boyfriend who wants nothing more than to make his girlfriend relax.", his fingers toyed with my pajama pants string, twisting it between his fingers. "Will you let me do that, pretty girl?", his lips pressed into the crook of my neck. My nails dig slightly into his biceps, holding onto him as his tongue traced little designs into the skin. "Uh-huh.", i couldn't think of anything, i wanted to be distracted, to be lulled away from reality at the tips of his fingers. "Please-", my desperation was rewarded as I felt his fingers dig underneath my thighs, lifting me into his strong, steady arms. "Shhh...", his whisper was so calming, "turn that pretty head off, i can think for you.", he hummed, his lips next to my ear as he kissed the hook of it. His lips were so soft, always slick with chapstick, usually mine.

The thick head of his cock, buried, snug into me. His pants from above as his leg lifted, caging mine to the bed. A whimper, back arching off the bed as his tip prodded at the beginning of my cervix, his love was soft and kind. His lips sparing words of comfort and care as he bullied into me. His chest was slick with sweat, the cold air now stuffy from the breath shared between us. "You're mine... protect what's mine, sweet girl.", he grunted, his eyes closed tightly, black hair falling over his forehead, stuck to the pale skin with his sweat. "Won't let anyone hurt you-", the promise laced in swears, in moans of pleasure and solemn love. Tears probed the back of my eyes, stinging as the salty tears ran down my temples, gliding across the ragged skin of my scar. It wasn't obvious, my hair covered it most of the time, but to me... it was a permanent reminder of how stupid I use to be. I hope, somewhere along the way, I've changed.

"Stop thinking.", my thoughts are replaced by Ryan's words as i felt the band in my belly tighten, the rocking of his hips, his pubic bone grinding my clit perfectly. "Not- thinking-", my words were strained from my lips, teeth biting into the plump flesh, head back and toes curling as his cock hit the spongey, nerve filled spot that pushed me over the edge, more tears sliding across my heated skin. "There you go-", he moaned, his cock twitching, the fluttering of my walls pushing his climax to the tip, releasing his cum into me, the warmth filling up the thin area between us. Weak moms left his lips, his breath mingling with my pants as he pressed his forehead to mine."Good girl.", his hand brushed back my hair, my eyes catching his green ones. "fuck-!", he whined, sliding his softening cock from my folds, hissing at the sensitivity of his body.

  "I have to get ready for work and so do you, my pretty.", his lips press a kiss into my collar, his nose bumping my shoulder as he presses his warm lips to the flesh. "Don't remind me~", my tone whiny, yet playful as he laughs, his clear voice. His body like a fresh winters day. He was the opposite of the warm boy I once thought I loved... my love falling from boiling water to a crisp ice bath, shocking me. "You gotta-", he reached down to swipe his pants up. "How else are those drunks gonna get their fill of cheap booze?", a grumble left my lips, rolling my eyes at the thigh of a few angry drunks muttering about their drinks taking a little longer to pour than usual. "I think they'd survive.", a mutter from my lips, eyes catching his as he laughed, knowing my annoyed look was one that would soon fall into a plead for him to say. "Look, i'll take you out, some place nice and expensive. How about Bella's?", my interest was peaked, "As long as we get that-", "Red wine, you love so much?", he pointed his fingers in a finger gun motion at me, his nerdy personality something I didn't know I needed. "You got yourself a deal.", my eyes watch as he tucks in his button up, his eyes searching for his glasses as he slides them across the bride of his nose. "I'll be back at 5, okay?", his uniform make him look like some... TV show character. Like he was from my favorite crime show, my smile fell... I hadn't watched it since that night with Leon.

"Quit thinking about it. Fancy dinner and drunks are all you should be thinking about.", his lips pressed to my cheek, brightening my expression with a simple gesture. "Be careful driving to work, the roads are slick.", I called out, watching him walk through the bedroom door. "Always am, you better be careful too. That damn Maxima is nearly on its last legs.", my lips parted in a drop, "Don't talk bad about my car!", his laughter was all i heard before the front door shut, leaving me to my thoughts once more. That's all I had left from Raccoon City, the government agent sent me off $500 and my car, telling me to start over somewhere new, that Leon had agreed to work with them and that I'd be on my own. That's what lead me here... to the rainy city. It was similar to Raccoon City, maybe I craved that familiarity.

  Then again this was suppose to be a new start, which is why I'd gave up the coroner's assistant job, instead becoming a bartender at a local bar called White Wolf Lodge, it was a hotel and bar. Somewhere for truck drivers to relax their few off days, getting to stretch their legs and have a bed for the night, some to lace to rest their beer bellies. I wanted to go back to the assistant job eventually, but it's like I'd seen enough death for my life time.

  My uniform shirt was tight, my tits nearly falling over the front of it, my push up bra doing what it was mad to. Keeping those babies up and perky. The black shirt supported a white wolf howling on the back and a 'White Wolf Lodge' embroidered patch on the front. My jeans were simple, bedazzled and hip hugging, showing off for tips wasn't my favorite thing to do but money was tight in one of the most expensive cities in the US. I needed all the tips i could get. My arms covered my hair as I ran out to the white Maxima, nearly slipping on the pavement. "Come on, Come on...", the buttons on the fob has started to give out, the car was nearly on its last leg but that didn't mean that i was going to let it go any time soon. Rain pelted down, lightening causing me to jump as the door finally unlocked. "Shit!", my fingers fumbled the door handle as i jumped in.

 

  My head hit the head rest, eyes rolling as the thunder shook through vehicle. Let's just get through today. Just make sure the customers are happy and the bar stays clean. My fingers slip past the seat belt, hearing the click as it safely secures. My fingers curl over the steering wheel that now bore some rips in it. Eyes catch the rear view mirror, always expecting to see a green jeep parked behind me. A silent wave of relief follows after realizing that indeed there is no jeep, no looming threat.

———

  "Hey! I thought you were off today?", Marina spoke up, her green eyes bright as she leans over the bar counter. "Sadly, not.", my lips curl into a slight smile. Of everyone I've met since moving here, Marina was the one that i got to call my best friend. Her black hair resting under her shoulders and her sparking green eyes always a sight for sore eyes. "Well, at least we're working together tonight, you could've gotten stuck with T.", she raised her brow, a smirk on her lips as he propped up with her elbows. At the mention of T, my mood sours, my brows dropping as I deadpan at her. "Yeah. Fair enough.", my bag is plopped down under the bar, my body resting against the bar with her, elbows bumping as I lay my head on her shoulder.

"I'm glad, i'm here with you.", I sighed, her shoulder tensed. "You've got that tone, you're thinking about that guy again, aren't you?", her tone was accusatory, but concerned. I had told her about Leon before, that he was a psycho sweet heart in a drunk hangout at her place. "Yeah, it's like he's a damn ghost.", I scoffed, my legs bending to crouch under the bar. "Not like i want to dream about the day i got my head split open.", my finger toyed the scar on my temple. "Plus, i just think it's because it's closing in on the day i got moved-", I hadn't told anyone about the dead eating the living, about the monsters that prowled the streets. It was too much for my brain to handle, i wouldn't scar anyone else with the thoughts and images.

  "Maybe so... what's it called?", she kept staring at the patrons, waiting for someone to need another refill or some god awful bar snacks. "Anniversary Reactions, i think is what my therapist told me.", her body quickly turned towards mine, her eyes settled on the tip of my head, i could hear the cogs in her brain turning as she stood in silence. "Go ahead.", I knew where this was going. Why don't you, "see a therapist?", her voice cut in. "Because i'm fine, he's far away doing god knows what and i'm working at this shit hole with you.", a dopey smile crossing my lips, eyes fluttering up to hers. "I think you'd benefit from it.", her tone was serious and i knew she meant it. She'd hounded me for months after i confessed my past to her. "Please, just try it once if you hate it, you don't have to go back.", she used that same line to try and convince me.

  "Moonpie-", the nickname that i made for the bubbly girl, "I'll be okay. I'm doing better, like you said... anniversary reactions.", I was tired of reliving the day nearly daily, my fingers wrapping around a rag as i grabbed a bottle of cleaner, spraying down the empty end of the bar. "I just worry about you. You look like you haven't slept in weeks.", her voice was so small, I nearly felt bad for lying. "I've been sleeping, I've been feeling better than I have in a long time... let me have this.", my eyes meeting hers, whispering the words to her, head over my shoulder to gaze at her as I lean on the counter, wiping the bubbly cleaner. "Yeah... okay.", she wasn't giving up, but she was giving me this and it's all I could ask her. I just wanted to get through today, go to the dinner with Ryan and have a nice day tomorrow.

  "Also, i meant to say-", Marina spoke up once more, her hands busy straightening the back bar, the bottles clicking over the soft rock music and atmospheric mumbling of people talking. "there's this guy, he asked about you, said he knew you and that you two use to date?", her eyes fell on me. "He asked for me by name? That's... really odd. I only had one ex.", my head tilted, eyes narrowing as i tried to think of any body would say that, but some regulars liked to say i was their girl, shit like that. I just assumed it was that. "Yeah, he's handsome. I think he's still here somewhere.", she moved to stand next to me, my head twisting to look out over the tables. "He's...", she scouted the area, finger to her chin as she moved from side to side.

  As she scoped out the area, I decided to try and straighten up, making it look like we weren't just talking, our manager hated when we talked and stood around for too long. "He ordered a whiskey on the rocks and asked if I'd leave the bottle.", she mumbled, trying to spot him. "Did you?", my eyes lingered on her, picking up glasses with my fingers as I picked up them up, walking towards the kitchen window. "Yeah.", she shrugged, "Didn't see why i shouldn't.", she hummed, her lips parting as she grabbed my arm, nearly making the glasses slip from my grip as i was yanked closer to her. "There he is!", she pointed, her slender, manicured finger pointing at a guy with his head down. A half empty bottle of Jack Daniel's laid in front of him. "Him?", my brain wracked itself to try and place the darker hair and tan skin. His leather jacket hiding his build and his head hanging, hiding his features. "Yeah, sorry, no idea who that-", as I spoke, his head raised, my lips stopping, the next words dying on my lips.

A bright blue sky, a raging ocean, not a single cloud in the skies of his eyes. A clashing sound met my ears but I couldn't place where it came from until the lessened weight of my hands finally registered, the crunch of glass under my shoes ringing in my ears as I stepped back. The taste of acid once more meeting my taste buds, he couldn't be... it wasn't true. I saw him all the time, i'm passing strangers and blonde officers- this was one of those moments. Was I losing my mind? Was this real or was my mind's eye once more throwing me into a relived memory? My heart dropped once his lips curled into a knowing smirk, his hand raising the ombré glass up in a 'cheers', his blue eyes lit up with amusement. He chuckled, I couldn't hear it, i could just see his shoulders shake.

  "Hey, what's wrong?", Marina's fingers dug into my shoulders as I didn't respond. "Hey-!", she shook me, her hands rocking me as she moved her face to block my sight of the man. "Are you okay?!", she was near hysterical but so was I. "Yeah-", I squeaked, it had to be him. It had to be, I couldn't be this crazy. "I just... i need a minute, okay?", my hands fell to her shoulders, she nodded, but her brows were furrowed, watching me walk away. The glass crunching with each step as I reached for my bag, immediately calling Ryan as i felt a sob fall from my lips. He was back. I wasn't safe anymore and he had seen me, asked for me... that coffin looked more and more comfortable. The one place he couldn't find me.

[the1975attheirverybest]

Being Funny In A Foreign Language

Chapter 4- Oh Caroline.

read all other chapters here

Warnings: brief depictions of mental illness. Light smut.

———

Matty crawled, shirtless, in the artificial grass towards peanut. He learned from doing this bit of the show every night that, there are some days when he finds it completely routine —just a performer doing the scripted bit that he worked hard to orchestrate for a very specific purpose—and there are other days, like today, when the entire experience feels uncanny. A real lived experience of his personal life being broadcast for the world to see. He is face to face(literally; their faces are inches apart) with his own naked likeness; comforting it, stroking its arm gently, treating it with care and tenderness.

He laid right behind peanut and wrapped his arms around his body double, spooning him in front of thousands of cheering fans. This was always the strangest part. He’s all too aware of the worlds eyes on his every move even as he attempts to drop the act and be vulnerable. The thing about manufactured vulnerability is, though, that it’s always inherently, at its essence, an act. some nights, he wondered, as he laid there next to himself, how much was manufactured and how much was vulnerable.

Tonight, his thoughts drifted back to that brief moment of respite that he experienced in Amelia’s arms. He kissed a line along the expanse of peanuts shoulders, tightening his arms around him. When the platform lowered again, taking peanut away with it, Matty rolled on his back. Tears rolled down his cheeks as the screens in the venue displayed a close-up zoomed in on him.

Moments later, the platform came back up, a guitar and a microphone ready for “Be My Mistake.”

***

Matty and Amelia never spoke of that night after it happened. They found it difficult to speak about anything at all. A fact that unnerved Matty endlessly. But he didn’t know how to be around her anymore. Every time he tried, he found himself clinging too tightly to a pretense of normalcy; trying so hard to act as though nothing had changed between them. He couldn’t bare the way it made him feel, even worse, he couldn’t bare the fact that it was his fault their friendship had now broken.

He leaned into the routines of tour life. Waking up, working out, writing, performing, and getting ready to do it all again in a different city the next day. That is, until he woke up on the morning of the first day of their week off.

His first mistake was not getting out of bed as soon as he’d woken up. What was intended as a relaxed start to the day turned into Matty not getting out of bed at all. After hours of endless scrolling, unanswered texts, and ignored notification, he set down his phone and noticed the lump in his throat. He turned to the other side of the bed, pulling the duvet protectively over himself and squeezing his eyes shut. He felt stuck. Like the whole world around him was moving at whirlwind speeds while he laid there, perfectly still. Even the thoughts inside his mind and the beating heart in his chest seemed to move faster than he could handle. He tucked his knees up into his chest and tried to breathe through the worst of it.

It was 6 pm before Matty had managed to get himself out of bed. And it wasn’t long before he returned to it. The first two nights of the week went by without him leaving his hotel room.

***

“Amelia! Joshua! Welcome back!” The couple turned around to find Mark, sipping on A cocktail at the hotel bar.

“Mark, you’re here.” Amelia hugged him.

“Did you kids have a good trip?”

Mark always made Amelia smile and put her at ease. She thought it was his warm paternal energy, a comfort to have around when you find yourself in a strange and unfamiliar place every other day while on tour. But, perhaps it was even more than that, Mark genuinely cared about each of the boys, their friends, and there partners. He was sincere when he asked to hear about their trip to Joshua’s hometown, and whether or not the weather over there was good. It was clear to everyone why Matty loved working with Mark.

“What about you? You guys must have cut your short trip if you’re already here drinking tonight.” Amelia observed.

“Oh we never went anywhere.” Mark sipped on his drink. “I mean, I think George and Charli are off on holiday. Reckon Adam’s out of town as well. Seen Ross out and about. Not entirely sure where Matty is but he’s in town.”

Amelia couldn’t shake that feeling in her gut. Mark’s words echoed through her mind as the elevator shot them up to the top floor. Not entirely sure where Matty is, but he’s in town. That doesn’t make any sense. Matty often used his days off in the US between New York or, if he was feeling messy, LA. For him to not pack up and go somewhere, when he has an entire week to do was he pleased, was very unusual.

She looked down the dimly lit hallway as she stepped off the elevator. Matty’s room was somewhere in the darkness. Something told her she needed to be there.

“Hun?,” she whispered, tapping Joshua’s shoulder. “Would you mind taking my suitcase and heading in without me? I- just wanna check on Matty.”

***

“Amelia” Matty barely mustered when he opened the door to her knocking.

She scanned him head to toe, noting that he was in a t shirt and boxers. “You don’t seem happy to see me.”

“Just….erm.” He scratched his head “thought you were room service or— house keeping or something.”

It was difficult for Amelia to keep a straight face while looking at the dark circles underneath his eyes, his unshaven face, his defeated look. But she knew Matty well enough to tiptoe around these observations. “Aren’t you gonna let me in?”

Matty hesitated, briefly, but it was Amelia. He could never turn her away. “Yeah. Right. Come in.”

She surveyed her surroundings, her heart shattered into a million pieces. The empty bottles everywhere, the clothes piled up in different corners, his guitar laying diagonally across the floor, various cables and wires everywhere, plates of uneaten food resting on the entertainment unit and the dresser. Everywhere she looked, there were signs telling her that she was already far too late.

“Oh, gosh. Matty…” words escaped her.

Matty averted his gaze, embarrassed.

Her hands reached out to him but Matty stepped back moving out of her reach.

“N-no, no. It’s fine. I’m…I’m fine. You should go-“

“Just wanna keep you company. Can I? Can I just sit with you for a little while?”

“Amelia, please-“

“You need help. Why won’t you let me help you?” She walked over to the couch, pushing the random books and papers that had covered it into a corner and sitting down.

Matty paced back and forth anxiously. “Because I don’t wanna get it wrong! I don’t want to do this- this- depression thing the wrong way-“

“Do you hear how insane you sound right now?

“No; you’re insane. You’re insane. I- listen to me. This thing within me- It’s not attractive or broody or anything. It’s- this!” He gestured passionately at his surroundings. “There’s nothing glamorous or artsy about how I feel. I cry a lot. And drink a lot. And I haven’t had a shower since the show a few days ago and- and I’m scared. All the fuckin time. I’m somewhere between terrified and completely numb.”

Matty felt the ground underneath him shift, losing balance, he quickly sat down next to her with a loud thud of his body hitting the couch.

“You get dizzy?” She asked, already knowing the answer. “Whens the last time you ate anything?”

“Depends….what day is it?”

“Oh for fucks sakes, Matthew!”

Matty leaned his head against her shoulder, cuddling into her. “I don’t want to eat. Please don’t make me do it.” He whispered as he closed his eyes.

Amelia remained perfectly still at first, allowing him to get comfortable. When she was certain that he wouldn’t spook or pull away, she slowly reached for his hair, stroking it gently as she spoke to him in her softest tone. “You been keeping up with the gym?”

Matty shook his head.

“Jiujitsu?”

“No.”

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Everything feels like sleeping. Like daydreaming or sleep-walking.”

They were both silent for a moment.

“What do you need right now? Can i- call down for some food? Do you…wanna go to sleep? I-“

“I need you.”He lifted his head off her shoulder and turned to look at her, pressing his forehead to hers, “please, Amelia? Just this once?” His nose brushed against hers, his lips a hairs breadth away from hers, begging for her to kiss him.

Amelia’s hands rested on either side of his face. “Will you let me take care of you?” She kissed him.

***

She pulled the shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. When she reached for the waistband of his underwear, Matty’s hands quickly stopped her.

“Uhh-umm I’m still- erm…having t-trouble there.”

“Oh. Ok-okay. That’s alright.” She smiled at him reassuringly. “Is there a…specific reason or— I mean is everything alright? Medically speaking….” Her words were clumsy, anxiety building in her stomach as she recalled how badly she’d fumbled this conversation the first time around.

Matty simply shrugged.

“You really need to learn to take care of yourself, Matty.”

Matty laid down, looking up at the ceiling. He whispered. “I don’t deserve to.”

“Don’t say that!”

“I’ve fucked everything up- I-“ he gasped as she brought her lips to the skin of his stomach, peppering him with kisses.

“I have an idea…” she mumbled, barely speaking in between kisses. “We should…come up with a system. Teach you how to let go.”

Matty’s brows furrowed. “System?”

She looked up at him through her lashes, pausing her loving for a moment to give me a slightly coy smile. “For your dopamine addicted weirdly wired brain….rewards for doing the right things, and….” She bit at his skin sharply, making him jolt and wince. “Punishments for doing the wrong things.”

“Might as well start there.” He spoke quickly. “I’ve done a lot of wrong things. Hurt you. Hurt the guys by risking their careers…well, if you believe Twitter, I’ve hurt entire demographics-“

She silenced him with a firm kiss. “I make the rules.” She whispered in his ear, smiling, “you hear that?”

Matty nodded slowly.

“We’ll come up with rules and expectations. They should mostly be around taking care of you. Making sure you get better.”

“Amelia, you don’t have to do all that. I-“

“Yeah, yeah. That conversation is for a bit later. For now, tell me, you ever been fucked in the ass?”

[sdr2lovemail]

Tamayo with a nonverbal demon! reader? they too were saved by Tamayo & works with them like Yushiro.

Silent affections (GN Reader)

Synopsis: Just some short cute fluff with Tamayo.

Notes: Implied poly relationship, I named this doc "Tamayo and Yushiro throuple?!" I'm trying to scrape the rust off, I'm in such a idea drought. Booooooooo!

Requests are open!

The sterile scent of disinfectant is the first thing you sense after waking up. Your eyelids are heavy, and they’re a chore to open. With blurry vision, you look around the unfamiliar room. Nothing catches your eye except the shape of a woman.

“You’ve awoken. If you can hear me, blink once.” She seemed to relax a little upon receiving a sluggish blink.

She looks at you worriedly, kneeling beside the futon. With glove-covered hands, she inspects your bandages. “You must be confused. My name is Tamayo. I’m a doctor. Someone had attacked you in the city. You’ve sustained severe injuries.”

Tamayo sighs and removes her gloves, setting them aside. “I’m going to be honest. I can only see these wounds getting worse. While I hope it won’t come down to such drastic measures, I have a way to cure you. Though, that is only a last resort. In the meantime, I will do my best to heal you.”

For the next few weeks, Tamayo would routinely check up on you, changing out your bandages and offering medicine. Her assistant, Yushiro, would stop by to deliver your meals. Though he always glared at you every time he was in the room.

As time passed, Tamayo’s fears were coming true. You were only getting worse. Soon, you would succumb to your wounds. One night, she enters the room with an almost somber look. Your skin had become deathly dull, and your breathing sounded harsh and painful.

Tamayo sits near your weak body, her hands neatly folded in her lap. “How are you feeling today?” She frowns as you give her a sad shake of your head. “Medicine can only do so much. I… I have another way I can help you, but I want your full consent.”

“Yushiro and I are demons. I turned Yushiro myself when an illness threatened to take his life. I can turn you as well. But that means living as a demon. You will no longer be able to go into the sunlight or eat the food you can now; you’ll have to consume human blood. Your way of life will change permanently.” Tamayo explained the process in detail. She wanted you to know what would happen if you accepted.

Her eyes widened when she felt warmth against her skin. You held Tamayo’s hand in a weak grip, smiling softly at her. Your response was a weak nod.

“Alright, I will get to work now.”

“Lady Tamayo! We’ve returned from the market!” Yushiro all but barrels into the clinic, you in tow. “We got the herbs you requested.” The boy’s arms were practically spilling over with bundles of herbs. He insisted that he carried everything.

Tamayo looks up from her papers, smiling at the two of you. “Thank you. Could you bring those into my office?” The words barely left her mouth before Yushiro rushed off to organize everything.

You step in front of Tamayo with your hands behind your back, giving her a little smirk.

“Hm? Do you have something for me?” She sets her papers down, giving you her full attention. With a hum, you lean closer to her, your face near hers. “Ah, I see what you’re asking.” The demon doctor leans in to kiss your cheek, followed by another on the corner of your lips. Her sweet-scented lipstick left pink stains.

Your smile gets wider. From behind your back, you pull out an intricate hairpin. It was adorned with carefully sculpted flowers. The soft pinks and purples match that of her blood demon art. Tamayo takes the pin, tracing over the intricate patterns with delicate fingers. A sense of warmth fills her chest.

“It’s beautiful. You didn’t have to get me anything. Thank you, dear.” She smiled at you, pressing another kiss to your hand.

Taking the hairpin back, you brush your fingers through her hair. Removing her usual pin, you place the new one in the braid. You clap your hands, wordlessly offering your appreciation for how it looked.

Tamayo brings you into a hug, expressing her thanks once again. “I’ll have to get you something in return.”

Returning from organizing, Yushiro sees the two of you in an embrace and the kiss marks on your skin. He rushed forward, shouting and trying to worm his way into the embrace.

[shdo-xplosion]

PART ONE: STOCK

☼masterlist☼

warnings: captivity, restraints, briefly mentioned medical procedure (no detail), reader sees kendou in a scary situation, mentioned milking, mentioned forced pregnancy. 1.4k

notes: hiii! (◍•ᴗ•◍) was originally going to try to make all the parts really long and have less of them, but i changed my mind. i would rather have shorter chapters more often. hopefully it works out and everyone likes it ( ﾉ^ω^)ﾉﾟ(also I promise bkg shows up in the next part!!!!)

tags: @ssplague @makepastanotwar13

let me know if you would like to be tagged, but you must have your age somewhere visible on your blog!

Pain. All you feel is pain when you begin to wake. It’s in your head, in your chest, in your arms and legs, your guts.

Everything is blurry when you blink your eyes open, like some kind of film is covering them. Shadows move over you, but you aren’t able to make any of them out. Your foggy brain whispers to you, not safe, but when you try to move, you can’t, arms and legs locked in place.

It smells like something is burning, and you hope to whatever divine being exists that it isn’t you, but the prayer doesn’t last long as one of the figures looms closer, giving you the chance to see 2 red eyes before it raises a hand and expels some sort of powdery agent in your face.

Your world disappears again.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

Coming to is a process. You doze in and out of a purgatory-like state for what could be anywhere from minutes to millennia, but once you’re fully awake, you are awake.

Your brain starts moving incredibly fast as you glance around. Unfamiliar surroundings, strange lighting. You can move your head and most of your upper body, but your hands are loosely restrained and your legs are firmly held in place by some kind of contraption. Off of the ground, some kind of table. You can feel the smooth surface on your bare back, like some type of metal, but it isn’t cold. In fact, the whole area is rather warm, one notch from uncomfortable.

There are various mechanisms attached to you, possibly monitors. A band around your head, something collar-esque around your neck, and you think you feel a mass in your ear.

Stretched across your chest is… you can’t tell if it’s another device or if it’s a garment. It might be both, especially considering how it’s perfectly fitted to your tits. The more you focus on it the more you can feel movement, little balls on little tracks that travel over your flesh in a strange sort of massage, gently but obviously kneading the plump tissue of your breasts. You go cross eyed staring down at it, eyebrows pinched in confusion as you try to examine the two tubes that sit right over your nipples.

You start growing faint as things click into place one by one. The creatures of this planet weren’t trying to kill you when they put you in that room. They just wanted to incapacitate you so they could get you in this position, and this position…

Arms by your side, legs held open… one word crosses your mind: breed.

They brought you here to breed you.

“K-Kendou!” Your voice is a hoarse whisper when you try to scream for your captain. You know there’s no point. You don’t see her anywhere in the room, but it’s all you can do for yourself.

What happened to her? To the rest of the crew? Did they take her hands? Did they rip Shinsou’s mask from his face? If they did, he would have had to be asleep for it. You’ve known the linguist for several years and never once have you seen him without the mod that covers his lower face. They would have taken all of Monoma’s weapons and Tetsu’s armor.

What have they taken from you so far? What have they already done to you? You vaguely remember a… surgery? Yes, a surgery. The burning smell. Nausea swirls in your stomach again. What did they take out of you? Or worse, what did they put in you?

“Kendou!” you try again. “Shinsou!”

Your voice dies in your own ears. All you can do is weep and tremble as you imagine all the horrible things that await you.

You’ve left your home planet. Said goodbye to your closest loved ones. Traveled into deep space. But you have never known fear like this before. You’re used to the fear that makes your mouth go dry and shoots you full of adrenaline, fear that gets your heart racing.

This fear isn’t like that. It weighs you down and fills the hollows of your bones. This fear makes you want to give up before even trying to fight.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

The alien you remember as the leader is the first you see. It glides into the room, sparing you a single glance and ignoring the way you begin to thrash against your restraints.

“Motherfucker, let me out! Let me out!”

It doesn’t seem fazed by your shrieking, just goes about checking a few things around the room, standing in one of your many blind spots. Odd sounds ring out behind you, clicking and hissing and distorted beeping. You wonder if there’s more machinery you can’t see, question answered when the confines around your wrists tighten without any touch from the alien. There must be some kind of control panel behind you, buttons and screens that control your fate.

“Kendou! Where is Kendou?” you shout.

Pacing back into your line of vision, the alien tilts its head. The hair-like strands that frame its face are long and dark, a little unkempt, and it looks to be missing its right eye, a thick, ghastly scar in its place.

Reaching up, the creature touches its ear then motions at you with its huge hand, almost like it… wants you to speak again?

“K-Kendou?” you try. “My captain. The other female.”

You’re probably deluding yourself into thinking it understands, but then you hear a faint crackle in your ear, and the mass you noticed earlier suddenly makes sense as the alien begins speaking and you actually comprehend what it’s saying.

The words you hear don’t match up with its mouth, and you can still make out the harsh grunts of its native tongue. Very guttural and heavy on what you know as consonants, but whatever device that’s been placed in your ear translates it all for you.

Alive. In another pod. Would you like to see her?

“Yes!”

Your stupid little pea brain hoped that meant being freed and allowed to find her. Ridiculous. Instead the alien raises an arm, a holographic image popping up over it. You squint at it despite the picture being perfectly clear and see Kendou in a predicament much like your own except… worse.

As you assumed, her bionic parts are nowhere to be seen, her natural hands limp and weak and shriveled as they always have been. She’s locked onto the same table as you, tied at the arms, legs spread, chest covered. The difference is that she is in use.

Longer tubes are connected to her chest, spiraling out of view, but what you can see of them are white save for the occasional air bubble that travels along.

“Jesus Fucking…” your stomach churns dangerously. She’s being milked.

Even worse than that is the thing between her legs. You have no earthly idea what it is, a jointed pole with something on the end that’s level with her pelvis, and you can only see so much of it because the rest is inside of her, almost as if it’s plugging her up.

And, it just might be because she is unnaturally, disgustingly full. Tears roll down your cheeks as you stare at how swollen her stomach is.

How long have you been here now? How long were you unconscious? It looks like she’s several months pregnant already, though not with a human child. There’s something else inside of her, some kind of parasite that they put there, and it could be growing very, very fast.

“m’gonna throw up,” you blurt, shoulders beginning to roll as you heave.

It’s too much. This is too much. You’re nothing more than cattle to these creatures. And for what? Why would they want to blend species?

Saliva pools in your mouth, and you feel the muscles in your stomach contracting—your stomach that will soon be bulging with a monster’s spawn—but before you can actually purge, the alien above you places a hand on your belly and all of the nausea disappears.

You have no idea what these aliens are capable of, how much power they have, but from what you’ve seen you already know that you don’t stand a chance.

2023©️shidou-x. please do not plagiarize or report my work to any other platforms.

[vincentvalenfine]

So I'm new to your page, and I'm not sure what your rules are? But I've had this idea stirring in my head for a while and was wondering if you'd take this request, an isekai soulmates au with vincent valentine perhaps?

(my rules are: don't be a jerk, have fun, and yearn for vincent with all your heart)

At the time, Vincent had desperately wished to believe Lucrecia was his soulmate. She had been so perfect in his eyes, so beautiful... and not once had the faint mark on the back of his left hand begun burning. It had made him stupid, he can admit three decades later, had filled him with self-loathing for not being able to fulfill her needs the way he wanted to. Perhaps in another life it could have worked.

In this life, the one he's bound to now until this planet is nothing but a lifeless husk, he doesn't know or want to know if he has a soulmate. It would be better for anyone that fate might try chaining to such an ill-fated man never to meet him, to make do with a chosen lover bereft of their own soulmate instead and live their short life oblivious to his existence. Maybe it already happened, and he truly is free of the chains of destiny.

That was his hope, until the day he lays eyes on you.

Sudden death is always a surprise. It feels dreamlike, as the car crashes and you feel your body crumple in ways a body shouldn't right up until the snap of your neck makes it all vanish. That you wake up is more surprising still, not to the sterile environment of a hospital but instead to dim yellow light and a thin velvet cushion under your head. You make the mistake of standing up, your stomach mutinies, and over the edge of this coffin you retch a vile green liquid that burns worse than stomach acid as it comes out.

The next hour is a blur. Some of it's spent emptying your guts of more awful green goop with plenty of gagging and coughing, and some is spent stumbling in a daze, trying to get your head to function properly. Everything feels strange and distant, a surreal quality to your thoughts and movements that make you struggle to understand your surroundings. Maybe you really are dead and this is the last seconds of your brain stretching out the final moments of life? You pinch yourself and hiss as the pain is sharp, too real.

There's an elevator, and you take it up into an abandoned house. There's dust thick in the air and bullet casings scattered everywhere - you only realize what they are after you almost slip and fall on them. The front door is heavy and rusted on the hinges, but it still admits you outside where cold air sets you to coughing almost as much as the nasty mystery liquid had.

You feel hopelessly lost in unfamiliar surroundings, staggering past buildings and people who seem almost blind to your plight. Is any of this even real?

You spot a blur of crimson ahead of you, and then the back of your right hand begins to burn like you touched a stove, driving you to your knees with a distressed cry. A fleur de lis etches itself into your skin.

-

Vincent lays his gaze on you, and the searing pain on the back of his hand makes him freeze in place. No more than a quiet grunt of discomfort escapes him, but on the inside he's panicking as he watches you drop to your knees. Dismay, fear, and resentment flood him at the cruel nature of the Lifestream to inflict this on him now, when all he wants is to close out the final pages of his old life here. He wants to run, to pretend he never laid eyes on you, to find a cold dark cave to crawl inside and never leave...

His legs betray him, and he's drawn to you. He crouches, sees the confusion in your eyes and faint smears of mako on your chin, and realizes this... is going to be complicated. His least favorite kind of situation.

"It's going to be okay," he lies, and gently wipes the mako away.

[littlemissmanga]

Song of the Caged Bird (1/3)

Summary: Crosshair has failed. Still imprisoned on Tantis, he sees Omega and knows that his brothers didn't heed his warning. Unable to face his failure, he starts losing what little hope remained as he and his sister are offered as tribute to Hemlock's ambition. But every night, a voice echoing off the mountains soothes his battered and broken soul. But can Crosshair recover himself before that voice is silenced, forever?

Pairing: Crosshair x f!OC

Rating: PG-13 (there will be violence and a lot of dark thoughts and eventually a very vengeful Crosshair)

Tone: Hurt/comfort overall with a happy ending, but this first chapter will be 90% hurt with only 10% comfort.

Warnings: Some depressive/suicidal thoughts, imprisonment, threats of torture, characters dealing with grief and guilt spoiler if you haven't seen season 2 - Tech is dead in this fic, despite my beliefs to the contrary

Chapter w/c: 2,000

It was the constant tinkering near his head that dragged him back to consciousness.

Tap, tap, tap.

Nails against the light metal underneath him, pricking at his ears and sending sharp vibrations along the slab.

Damn Imps were even worse than the Kaminoans. At least the long necks would let him sleep after an experiment.

Arms and legs extended out from his body, cuffed and locked at the wrists and ankles for maximum exposure, Crosshair could feel the cold from the table seeping through his thin prison uniform. He didn’t remember passing out this time, but he already wished he could again.

The exhaustion was starting to wear on him. Though, if he were really being honest, the physical ache he felt in his bones was nothing he couldn’t handle.

It was the rest that was harder to ignore.

Crosshair was tired to the core of his being. Giving up was something wholly unfamiliar to him. The thought used to earn a sneer and a snide comment. But he was slowly coming to understand the allure. How easy it would be to just not wake up.

“Crosshair?”

What was he even waking up for? If he succeeded, his brothers would be far away with the kid. If he didn’t … well, he didn’t want to find that out, anyway.

“Crosshair!?”

The voice was louder that time, more insistent, and the sniper was aware enough to catch a quiver in his name. Emerie Karr had never so much as flinched in his presence. The discrepancy scratched at his brain, irritating until he opened his eyes.

And his heart sank.

Neatly combed blonde hair and large, sad brown eyes filled his vision.

“Crosshair! You’re awake! I was so worried; it was taking so long.” The kid threw herself on top of him, and if he had any air in his lungs, it would have been pushed out by the weight of her solid form pressing down on his.

The moment she pulled back, his eyes narrowed at her, ignoring the tear stains marking her cheeks and the spark of hope now hiding in the corner of her eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Her face fell, and somewhere deep in his heart, Crosshair cared. But that didn’t matter. More important was the fact that she was here. His karking wanna-be hero brothers ignored the warning he risked his neck to send and the kid was still kidnapped.

It was only then that the cold shock of reality bit, clawing deep.

Hunter would never have let her go without a fight … or alone.

“The others?”

The kid sighed and fell back into a seat next to his table. “Safe, I think."

“You think?” he spit.

“Yeah. I think,” she snapped, though it lacked much bite. “I … I was able to distract the troopers long enough for Hunter and Wrecker to get free, and Echo was never captured. But I got grabbed. And I saw Maia in the transport with me.”

The name wasn’t familiar, but Crosshair knew who Omega was talking about. Her. That woman who had been with them on Kamino. The one they replaced him with in the squad mere rotations after they left him.

Of course she got caught, too. A kid and a civvie had no place in this.

“Figures. I risk my neck and you still get caught.” Crosshair strained against his bindings, his muscles aching from disuse. “I assume Tech at least got a tracker on your transport?”

It took a beat longer that it should have for Crosshair to realize the optimistic response he expected from the kid never came.

Omega’s silence said more than her incessant chattering ever did. Never in his life had Crosshair wanted her irritating, chipper voice to grate his ears as he did right then, and every moment he waited for it pulled at his heart until it felt stretched like the silence, far too thin to survive yet it was the heaviest weight he ever carried.

“Tech … he …”

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

“Shut up.”

How many times had he told his brother that? Told him to stop annoying him with his endless rants and useless information briefs?

But Crosshair didn’t dwell on the fact that he’d never tell Tech to shut up again. That the last thing he did say to him was cruel and spiteful. No, he didn’t focus at all on how he could feel the loss as acutely as he did the armor-penetrating cold on Barton IV.

Instead, he retreated to what he knew: turning pain to anger. He let it sit just as heavy as Omega’s silence, his accusations unsaid but understood. If they just karking listened to him, for once, Tech would still be alive.

It wasn’t long before Emerie Karr’s voice actually rang out, calling for Omega. And though he could feel the kid’s stare as she paused before leaving, he kept his face turned away.

He wanted to be left alone with his failure. And finally, he was getting his wish.

It was hours later when the Imps finally returned him to his cell. Just one of countless holding clones prisoner for experimentation and decommissioning.

The densely populated prison was surprisingly quiet, something for which Crosshair was thankful. The somber silence was as far from his experiences with his squad as possible. At least the regs could give him this.

Despite his muscles aching for use, Crosshair could only curl up on the pathetic excuse for a bed. He wanted the weight he felt to crush him, to actually wreck him the way it felt it could. Maybe then he’d be free.

A small part of his brain surged in resistance. Omega was here. He should keep her safe.

But he tried that before. And look where it got him. Where it got all of them.

Where it got Tech.

So instead, he let himself drown in the silence.

That is, until a small, frail sound made its way from somewhere above. A higher level of the compound, maybe. The echo made it difficult to pinpoint, but Crosshair didn’t care to know anyway.

It was a tune, hushed and broken. Its stuttering stops and starts were irritating, distracting him from his guilt and solitude until finally, the source seemed to gain enough strength to force the sound from their diaphragm.

"Somewhere … over the rainbow,

Way up high,

There's a land that I heard of

Once in a lullaby."

The staccato start had smoothed, and the voice rang through clean. It still wasn't loud, but it bounced off the fortress and surrounding mountain range, making it seem as if it were coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once.

Unable to block it out and unwilling to resist anything Tantis had left to throw at him, Crosshair gave in and lost himself in the sound.

"Somewhere over the rainbow

Skies are blue,

And the dreams that you dare to dream

Really do come true."

At first, he bristled at the words. But as the song kept repeating, the lyrics fell away. He felt the bittersweet tune envelope him and, after just a little longer, he allowed it to lull him to sleep.

And when the early morning light cut across his eyes and forced him from the blissful emptiness of his sleep the next morning, Crosshair intentionally ignored the fact that it was his first night without nightmares in weeks.

a/n: This is so not my usual style as I tend to be a fluff author all the way. BUT I had a scene pop into my head (it'll come in chapter 2) and this whole fic started unraveling. It'll be a 3-part series, not very long at all, and it'll be entirely from Crosshair's POV. I hope to get it done before Season 3 debuts so I get all my nerves out here and can still be hopeful for our boys canonically.

Taglist: (This is still broken cause I'm broke AF right now and can't upgrade my google storage so if your name isn't on here and you want to be alerted when Chapter 2 comes out, then drop a comment or DM and I'll add you to the list.

@dreamie411, @wings-and-beskar @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @wolffegirlsunite @secondaryrealm @idontgetanysleep @freesia-writes @clonemedickix @multi-fan-dom-madness @dystopicjumpsuit @sinfulsalutations @sunshinesdaydream @wizardofrozz @anxiouspineapple99 @dhawerdaverd @mythical-illustrator

People who liked my announcement post (Let me know if you want/don't want to be tagged going forward. I just wanted to let you know it was out since you showed interest): @ci-avmovies14 @rogue616, @marvel-starwarsfangirl

Like this fic? Check out the rest of my Masterlist!

[whumpitisthen]

Mori

Previous I Masterlist I Next

CWs: broken bones, religious themes, self-esteem issues, fear, crying, torture, sadistic whumper, non-human whumpee/whumper, multiple whumpees, referenced murder/gore/violence

The first thing Auden senses when he wakes is a delightful softness surrounding him. Consciousness crawls back to him like a lover would into his bed, cradling him gently with care. Everything is perfectly warm and safe. He could sleep forever exactly as he is; snuggled under a heavy blanket, breathing in the smell of pristine sheets…

The quietest groan leaves him with a sigh in tow, a pleasant shiver running through him as he stretches. He doesn't know how long it's been since he slept this well. Half of him believes he is dreaming. He turns over, landing on his stomach. It's even more comfortable, which is almost the strangest thing. He doesn't remember any of his own bedding feeling this cosy.

Wait. He doesn't have a bed. Why is he even sleeping?

His brows furrow in deep confusion before he opens his eyes tentatively with newfound dread. His fingers grip onto an unfamiliar duvet. His eyes lock onto unfamiliar walls reaching high up in the air, ending in a ceiling covered in spectacular carvings. There is a large mirror on the wall in front of him, his own steadily more worried expression reflected back at him just as unfamiliar.

Black locks fall into his eyes, black wings ruffle behind him. Right. He has Fallen. This is Hell, then.

He sits up in the lavish bed, thinking of the worst possibilities for how he got there. His first half-formed thought is that he got… physical with someone. Perhaps charmed, or drugged, or bewitched. A cold sweat develops on his skin at the thought. If that is why he's in a stranger's bed, having no recollection of how he got there, of what happened once he did — he will never forgive himself. Panic rises along with nausea and shame, only embellished by the prolonged silence and lack of company. Where in Hell is he? Who brought him here?

The room is massive, ornate, expensive and spotless. He cannot even begin to imagine what powerful hellspawn it must belong to. The large paintings, statuettes, pillars, rugs — he has never seen a home even remotely like this; not in Heaven nor on Earth. He feels utterly out of place.

In his hazy mind, one thought materialises before any other; — 'I have to get out of here.'

The floor teases at his bare feet with a savage chill, raising goosebumps in a familiar, yet still so new, humanly fashion. He stands with little difficulty, considers bringing the comfortable blanket with him as more of his body becomes enveloped in the cool, strange, but pleasant smelling air. He decides to leave it, his angelic courtesy not letting him take anything without permission, and common sense stopping him from taking from an unknown demon.

He wrecks his brain, yet cannot manage to scour together a single memory that could help orient himself. He remembers falling and burning, he remembers the Doctor and its mesmerising eyes, the imp guards and his failed escape, Miss Thu'lin and her —

…He is alive. How is he still alive? He was going to die. He remembers he was going to be executed. No Fallen lives this long in Hell, how come he is still breathing?

How truly far he has Fallen. From Guardian to demon food.

Numb fatigue encloses his mortal heart as he takes another look into the black iron framed silver mirror. He looks pathetic. His robe is torn and ruined, caked in dirt and his own lifeblood. His feathers and hair have turned an ugly black, forever stained by sin. His eyes are bloodshot and dark, even after his restful, dreamless sleep. His body is abused, hungering, thirsting, changing in a way it didn't used to before he Fell; before he lost his status and the little power and dignity he held. A glorified human with a pair of ruined wings stuck to him, nothing more. Even worse in fact; because humans at least know how to keep themselves alive — he does not even understand his own needs enough to do that. All he feels is claws digging into his stomach and other, harder to conceptualise wrongs flooding his mind. He understands he should not be feeling this way, but does not understand what to do about it. How could he; his job wasn't to understand basic human needs. It was to protect his human from harm mortals cannot defend against.

With a miserable look on his face, Auden turns away from the mirror, trying to focus on anything but himself. A distraction, a goal, anything at all to stop the self-hatred and yearning for a more merciful fate bubbling inside him for a moment. His misty eyes land on a double door; massive, dark walnut wood. It must lead out of here. He hears no sound coming from behind it. He hears no sound at all, in fact.

He turns to the gothic window looking out over a large forest. He sees nothing but woods. No paths, no people, no hope. A fog combs through the woods; thick enough that he barely sees anything past the first couple rows of shrub. He doesn't even find the view familiar. He sees the Sun bleeding high in the sky. It must be in the afternoon right about now.

He pads across the room, looking into drawers and closets. Nothing but sheets and clothes, some old knick-knacks like a rusty old comb, random nails and screws that must have fallen out of the furniture. The act of snooping around, even if it's a demon's house, burns his lungs fiercely, but not enough to sit still and do nothing instead. He has to find some kind of weapon, or just something useful, something interesting. Logic plays small part in his efforts — Auden simply wants to move and forget about his awful fate for a while.

He decides, after enough searching, that he will open the large double door and leave this room. He hasn't even tried it yet, it could very well be locked. No one came to look for him yet. Good, maybe he can sneak away before anyone notices. Maybe he can find his way out of here and run as far as his legs can take him. Who cares, he is basically living on borrowed time anyway. A rested mind provides him not with clear vision, but foolish bravery, while the relative safety brings forth a layer of curiosity as well.

There is some strange power in this place, he can feel it. He must have felt it before he fell asleep here, as it, too, seems familiar. A presence, an aura. He truly does not want to meet the owner of this place. It's as if the walls are breathing the same way he is, exhaling a black fog that slowly suffocates his soul. It's unnatural, difficult to make sense of.

With a spectacular lack of self-preservation or healthy cowardice — truly unlike himself — he sneaks over to the copper handles and puts one hand on the right one. With great difficulty, he convinces himself to push, and manages to turn it downwards. The door pulls open without issue, its weight intimidating as it lazily swings behind him, and suddenly Auden is standing in a never-ending hall of the hellish mansion, all on his own.

The fresh air and immediate thoughts of rebellion and misbehaviour almost have him walking right back into the room he came from, ashamed of his brash actions. An angel is meant to be perfect, docile, obedient, useful. He is being none of those things. He never was any of those things, and he never learned to be since. His shame remains all the same.

He peaks past large vases of begonia flowers to the left and right, catching sight of absolutely no one. His skin itches with unfamiliar feelings urging him to move further into disobedience and leave behind the room he woke in. A battle of whims rages in his brain, where he tries and fails to convince himself that survival is more important than holding onto memories and rules of what his life was as an angel before all this.

'Who cares. I always tried my best to be good, and this is where it got me. Taken and violated and hurt, over and over again,' — he grumbles in his head. He never used to be so resentful.

Tainted by awful, sacrilegious, impure thoughts, Auden begins his journey down the hall of red candle light and dark shadows dressing each corner. The windows are just as massive as everything else seems to be here, tinted a similar crimson. He marches into unknown darkness as his fingers wind together, flinching at every small crack of the floorboards as if it were a gunshot. Silver candelabras reveal his nervous slouch in their misshapen reflections. His exposed skin shivers in distress, making Auden wish he had brought something to cover himself up with after all.

'Where are you even going?' — questions his fractured mind in a voice unlike his own. Doubtful of his own abilities, as always.

His next inhale catches in his throat accompanied by a choked sound. Frozen mid step, he stares at the outline of a figure walking right his way. He feels all of his bravery leak out of him through the soles of his cold feet. His legs snap to jump behind something, a vase, a door, anything — but the stranger freezes along with him, locking eyes for only a moment. Then, a demon is jogging over to him, and Auden is running in the opposite direction.

"Wait, wait — !"

His foot slips on a delicate hide as he turns a corner, and he is sent to the floor. He only hears a hiss of a curse before he is grabbed onto by his pursuer, catching him after such a short chase. Though he is finally well rested, his weak body meant for flying is not nearly as proficient at ground movement as the antlered fellow skipping up to him. Some kind of an animal hybrid, with hooves at the end of their twisted legs and a red sheen on their fur. Their ears flop around as they move. They wear… rags, just like him. Torn and filthy. He sees scars on their face as they lean over him with a distressed expression.

They yell for him, startled, only encouraging him to run faster. Another lie, another trick, that is all that demons do. This one pretends to be worried, sweet, helpful. And then it will take a bite out of him the moment they get close enough. He won't stop, not for anything, flapping his useless wings to give himself just a little more momentum.

"No, g-, get away from me! Don't touch me!" — Auden screams immediately, crawling backwards clumsily with wild eyes. His back hits a wall and his voice rises in pitch. — "No! No, go away! Please —"

"Shh-shh-shh-shhhhh, shut it, shut up!" — Their hand locks around his mouth harshly, muffling his cries. He quiets slowly, recognising his loss as the seconds go by, unable to form another word with their hand clasped around his lips.

'Always so weak and pathetic, aren't you? Overpowered by just about any demon you come across.' 

The demon's whispered shouts confuse him — they don't sound nearly as confident or arrogant as he imagined the owner of this place to be. He also expected them to wear clothes similar to Miss Thu'lin; with jewellery enhancing every part of silk and satin outfits, one of a kind designs, spotless, expensive garments.

The hurtful, almost mocking thoughts come as they always do, always taking the opportunity to wear him down a little more. They have always resided in him, but since he Fell, they have become so ruthless, cruel, and uncontrollable. They sometimes barely even sound like his own thoughts anymore.

No, they don't look like the owner of anything at all.

"Would you shut up already! Fucking Hell, I won't hurt you," — they whisper, distressed, — "you're gonna get us both into shit!"

One final shove on Auden's head forces him to look into the dark eyes of the deer demon and he finally takes a moment long enough to allow him comprehension. — "Please, stop this. I'm not here to hurt you, yeah? I'm only here to help. Listen to me. You listening?"

Using the moment of relative calm caused by the snap in their voice frightening Auden, they quickly explain, — "I want to let you go, but you need to be quiet! If you can do that, I'll stop touching you right now. Okay? Can you do that? Just calm down for a minute, that's all you gotta do."

Auden's eyes hold distrust and sorrow, flicking across their face every millisecond. His breathing comes fast and irregular through his nose, and he feels like he can't really breathe with their hand over his lips, so he reaches for their wrist.

When his hand is grabbed in return, he whimpers and cries, truly lost in a way his façade of foolish bravery wasn't meant to allow as he almost begins to sob. He is tired of being touched, and dragged, and manhandled, and controlled, and hurt and hurt and hurt. He expects pain, squirming more the longer they hold him. Recognition flashes in his pursuer's eyes finally as they loosen their grip. — "Okay, wait, just listen to me for one second! I'll let you go, but — Just listen!"

Finally, uncertainty and unease aside, the angel's animalistic whimpers stop. His sniffles come slower, just enough to signal to the other he heard what they told him. Those long, rough, black nailed fingers leave his mouth tentatively one after the other, until his cracked, pink lips feel the cool air of the corridor and the menacing aura of this mansion on them once again. It's hard to tell which one of them looks more relieved as his lips are no longer sealed; Auden once he is let go, or Mori when he doesn't scream as soon as he is.

Once they are sure the angel won't start yelling again, they find their inside voice to ask once more. — "Okay. Thank you. Now, we gotta get you back to your room quickly. God knows how long we have before he returns."

Their hushed sentence barely ends before Auden is pulling away from them again, eyes wide with confused betrayal. It was a trick. Of course it was a trick. They just want to lock him up again, even using His name to lull them into some sense of familiarity. Tricks are all these creatures know how to do. — "I-I won't go with you! You can't make me —"

"What?"

"You can't, please, I'll scream, I'll yell again!"

He scrambles back up as he hugs the wall behind him, spiralling. He doesn't know what to do, but if he has learned anything during his time here, it's that he can never, ever trust anyone. Not the Doctor, not Miss Thu'lin, not any other Hell spawn he comes across.

The deer demon moves to hold him again, swiftly changing tactics and retreating as Auden opens his mouth to scream as loud as he can, — "no-no-no-no, no, please don't!"

"I am glad to see you two are getting along so well."

They back away until he finally slouches again, exhaling all the air he was going to spend on sabotaging them. A strained voice comes from them next. — "I-I'm… The only reason I want you back in your room is because I was told to keep an eye on you, okay? It was my job to make sure you don't go anywhere, and I left for just a second and now you're out here, and we're both gonna be in so much goddamn trouble if we stay."

Auden's face is a mix of belief and disbelief, wanting, yet not daring to believe them. The deer demon's ears flick and they flinch, turning around as if they heard something, but turn back to him quickly with slowly rising terror, quietly, but firmly finishing their sentence, — "I'm a slave, just like you. Please. I couldn't hurt you if I wanted to; I don't own you, I don't even own myself. They'll — He'll ruin me for this, don't you see? I-I just need to do what I'm told, that's all. Please, just do as I say for one second, and —"

Their frantic pleading ends in a yelp as they jump ten feet into the air at the sudden melody of a voice. Behind them, as if appearing out of thin air stands a familiarly beguiling man, clad in charcoal black and cutting silver. The clacking of the hybrid's hooves echo in Auden's ears as they kneel to the side with no hesitation, head bowed and hands to the floor. It looks painful to be in that position, especially when your knees bend the opposite way. Auden isn't focused on them anymore, however, but on the tall, sickly white skinned individual observing him with a gut-churningly kind smile. A smile he remembers well, now that it has returned to him just as ruthlessly as when he first saw it.

Auden realises his feelings of this man are highly polarising. His fear emerges now past his previous desperate worship and relief at being saved from certain death. Being saved from death by Death himself, with the kindest smile and gentlest hands, yet the presence of slaughter and fear filling the air wherever he goes. He is entirely overwhelmed every time he sees the man, it seems. On the flipside, the Reaper seems only too happy to see him.

In his mind, he wanders back to the sea of corpses, to the scythe of Death, to the spear in the wall, to black magic, to the magic lock and chains, to his rescue. He remembers bits and pieces of the day before, not given quite enough time to catch all those memories of the Reaper just yet; it's all too much to process. Death's face lights up significantly at his recognition, however, no longer hidden behind the grotesque skull of a mask he wore before.

His shadowy crimson eyes are piercing and sharp and intense, yet deceptively charming and intriguing. His face is gaunt, angular, a sickly hue to it that reminds Auden of deadly ill humans. Though still clothed in black, no battle armour or weapon is found, the lack of a coat revealing more intricate, void-black patterns on every inch of skin that shows. Auden's eyes are stuck to what he can only assume to be some kind of dark curse tainting the deity's skin, like the flames of hellfire have burnt their shapes into him, turning one arm a monstrous, clawed, unnatural charcoal black, the marks peeking out from the top of his dress shirt snaking around his throat. Taking a close enough look, the angel can tell that even the veins running up his neck have turned black.

"Not even a hello?” — Pristine white hair falls gently with the tilt of his head, doing nothing to cover up that ever present smirk, — “manners, angel, are truly not your strong suit," — he teases, barely even taking notice of his horror stricken errand servant shivering on the floor below. It's as if it was only the two of them present, an angel and Death, lost in each other's eyes.

In the silence that follows, the slave's voice comes out hushed and trembling, — “I, I really tried sir, I did, I-I only left for a second, I swear on my life!” — they rasp brokenly to the Reaper, not picking their head up off the floor as they grovel. Where there is no fur, their skin shimmers with a cold sweat. — “I was called, called away for only a single minute, and when I came back he was out already and, and — but we were on our way back! I was, I was just…”

“You were just doing what you were told,” — the Reaper supplies.

“Yes!” — they exclaim, a little more confidently this time, — “I really was.”

Finally, in the next moment of silence following their small voice, they are finally given the luxury of attention from their master in the form of a simple glance. They can feel it without needing to see anything at all; looked down upon like this by Death is a mortifying ordeal. One's own heart turns to icy stone, their blood freezes in their veins and their flesh tenses in an uncontrollably. There is no being, living, dead or in-between, that does not have a reaction to being near him. Silence follows him because of that, as even the woods cease their whisperings around him. Auden has felt this power acutely.

“Of course you were,” — the Reaper remarks, giving short-lived comfort to the poor fellow before crushing it under his heel with the merciless mockery he follows up with, — “you are just so good at doing exactly as you're told, aren't you, Mori?”

Auden can hear Mori’s harsh swallow from where he stands against the wall. Their ears flatten further. Their shoulders tense tighter. Their overly submissive, docile nature is a sore subject, that much is clear. The Reaper looks back to him without another word.

“As opposed to you. For a son of God, you are quite the disobedient child,” — he states. There is a fondness in his tone, almost invisible. — “I am much more used to constant prayer and perfect behaviour from your kind. I did not expect one that runs and yells as much as you. From a shivering, confused, lost little lamb to this in the span of only half a day.”

That grin and that knowing look on his face dries up Auden’s throat in a spectacular fashion every time he is confronted by it. He cannot help assuming he knows much more than he lets on with the way he talks. He does not doubt for a second that the Grim Reaper, of all people, would be knowledgeable in all things.

Still, there is only one thing he can think to say. It has bothered him since the first time he saw him, and even in such a dire situation, he cannot take his eyes off it all. When silence stretches once more and Death glares at him expecting some form of an answer out of him, his thoughts betray him as they slip clean through his lips before he could reconsider them.

“What… wh-what happened to your skin?”

Such an infinitely meek, unexpected, simple question stumps both others in front of him. Mori stops breathing entirely. The Reaper's smile slowly disappears, replaced by an emotion Auden didn't know to expect on the face of a living myth — confusion. Did he say something wrong? Of course he did, he always does. He already regrets saying anything at all. Why is the first thing that came to his mind a question about someone's appearance? He could have said anything else and it would have been fine. Self-hatred has taken root in the marrow of his fragile bones and squeezes him from the inside as he waits for the verdict — an explosion of brutality for disrespecting Death himself, no doubt.

A laugh bubbles out of the man in front of him, a truly giddy sound. He looks incredibly amused, to no small surprise from Auden, almost ecstatic. A fit of laughter develops, hiding behind a jewelled hand quick to conceal the flash of sharp fangs that Auden's eyes widen at sharply. His joy sounds genuine, pleasant. Auden is not convinced that that's a good thing.

“Angel, what are you even saying?” — his voice shakes with laughter, — “blunt, bold and nosy above all else. You really are just like him.”

Auden's face is tomato red. He would hide his face behind his hands if he wasn't so scared of letting the Reaper out of his sight for even a moment. He watches the powerful god-like being struggle to reclaim his cool, fighting giggles and running out of breath doing so. Once he finally takes hold of himself enough to continue, he takes one long breath to sigh contentedly. The smile that forms is more genuine and warm than the previously mischievous, empty one he wore. — “Heavens above, you are hilarious. What a rude little dove. I did not expect that.”

Now it's Auden’s turn to be confused. Was it really that funny? He thought it was an awful thing to ask someone, someone so powerful, someone who saved his life. Maybe that's why it was so funny. His wings ruffle in shame.

“I don't understand,” — he admits shyly. There are tears gathering in his eyes. He feels humiliated. — “I-I was just asking… I'm sorry.”

The Reaper's expression brightens again. — “Are you not joking? You are being serious?” — Auden nods, and he thinks he must be especially stupid to make such a being laugh so heartily in front of him. — “Oh, that is even better! You know, most people would greet me first, or ask why I came to see them. Maybe skip past it all and start begging in earnest. I must confess, I'm not used to being talked to like this. It is very refreshing.”

“Oh, don't cry darling. You did not mean anything by it, I know now. You just can't help but be this way.” — An ice cold hand finds its way to Auden’s cheek, comforting, yet so, so scary. A single shimmering tear escapes, and Auden sees clearly the focus it draws from the other man when his blood red eyes follow it perfectly and his pale purple lips open for his tongue to wet them. The light hold he has on Auden tenses just slightly, just enough for Auden to notice, but it's quickly withdrawn when they lock eyes again and the Reaper breaks from the spell that came over him. He notices the angel's concern, of course, and backs off of him entirely to explain; —

Auden's stomach drops. Meeting his new owner? He thought… he doesn't even know what he thought. Is that why he is here? 

“Ah, you must excuse me. I haven't eaten anything yet today, and you are just the sweetest delicacy one could ever thirst for. Being so close is simply… maddening.” — The instantaneous jolt of speed in Auden's heart and the massive, horrified eyes staring up at him nearly hypnotise the Reaper. He wants nothing more than to clutch a clawed hand around the angel's throat and squeeze, hard enough to draw blood and break bone.

He hides his bloodlust behind a practised grin skillfully, looking at Mori’s small form instead. Perhaps his little fawn can make up for their shortcomings in a different way today. They can be a nice enough distraction after sufficient preparation. As he listens to Mori’s frantic breathing, he reassures Auden. — “But I won't touch you. Not yet. You are in perfect condition. I'd sooner tear my own head off than to ruin you right before meeting your new owner.”

‘Well, why else would you be here? To have a little tea party with the Grim Reaper? Did you expect for him to have gone through a horde of vicious demons and rescued you from the Dragon Queen only to whisk you away right back to your Heaven? To belong to him instead?’

His head reverberates with these blasphemous, pathetic thoughts running through it. They come so fast and so alien; truly like they aren't his thoughts at all. A headache forms suddenly, sharp like an arrow going through him. This isn't the first time this has happened, he realises, yet he is no closer to figuring out why it's happening. It catches the Reaper's attention when Auden lifts one cool hand to hold against his left eye to soothe the sting. His expression hardens just a little, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. The smile never falters — Auden starts to understand all depictions of Death with a human skull for a face, forever grinning.

“Perhaps some food would do you good as well. Have you eaten anything at all since you Fell? You look half dead."

Oh, oh, is that what he feels? Hunger? It must be the endless agonising emptiness that built a nest in his abdomen a few days ago. The offer has his mouth watering in preparation just from the thought of satiation, and his headache, along with the strange thoughts, is all but forgotten.

“Can, c-can I have food? Is it… how do I get food?” — comes the barely audible plea from the angel. His black locks shiver like his unsteady hands, forever fidgeting and pulled close to his chest. He wonders if that is normal for mortals; the constant shaking, or if it, too, is from the abuse. He never used to hide and cower quite like this before.

Death’s expression brightens, sending a strange, almost pleasant tingle down the angel's spine. He turns to Auden and beams. — “Tell you what. I will bring you something delicious if you go and retreat to your room. I believe you were already on your way back.” — Mori gasps with a whimper, their fingers forming a fist when they feel their owner’s leather boot touch the side of their hand. At that, the boot simply lifts, moves to the side to trap their hand under its sole, and pushes down until the fist is back in its original open, vulnerable position, resting between the cold floor and the shoe. Mori doesn't flinch away again. The Reaper grins, putting just a tad more weight onto their scarred digits, enough to hurt, and then twists, — “isn’t that right?”

With a whisper of a groan, the deer servant nods, — “y-yeah, yes, sir, we were, we were —”

“Splendid,” — cuts in the Reaper's voice, — “on your way then, angel.”

Auden’s expression shows bewilderment and unease as he watches Mori’s hand being slowly crushed under an almost nonchalant boot. The Reaper’s order was clearly aimed at him, yet his eyes remain on the trembling form of the creature he torments. A horrible chill envelops his soul at the sudden reminder of Death's casual proficiency in doling out pain, frozen as he simply stares, his eyes following the deer thing’s other hand shakily lift and hold onto the wrist connecting them to the source of their misery. They begin to lose the kneeling position they had learned to perfection, curling up on their side as they jerk and whine, their breathing becoming much too loud and strained. Auden presses himself against the wall that much harder.

“Angelll…” 

The deity's haunting voice flows like magma and fills up his brain with black smoke. He does not even notice his own panic rising swiftly, finally led back to the present by Death's pleasant, chilling humming. He manages to tear his misty eyes away from Mori's hand, only to heave in a large breath and turn the other way, purple-blue irises hidden behind screwed shut lids. He swallows as if he is trying to keep his lungs inside his chest.

“Your eyes are fogging over again, dear,” — the Reaper tuts with a sympathetic smile on his face, referring to Auden's blind fear and cowering almost like it's some form of condition and not a very reasonable response to seeing such awful things all the time, — “Best get going now, don't you think? Your friend will be on their way momentarily,“ — he reassures him, glancing down at the whining mess under his foot, — ”I promise. You needn't worry about them.”

The first crack of tiny bones in the index finger of ‘his friend’ is followed by a broken yell, quickly dying down into a sob. Jerking to attention, Auden looks to the Grim Reaper. He witnesses his smile turning into a grin, stretching wider. He sees his eyes glow with malice, entirely fixated on the servant who always does as they are told and tries their best being made to weep and hurt. He listens to the bone-chilling, soul-withering, joy-filled, near breathless chuckle that bubbles out of him, an almost warm sound. He feels the air change, the presence of the Reaper reaching every corner of the corridor, slicing into the skin of anyone close enough to feel his power tainted by perverted bloodlust.

Auden understands now why he was told to leave. Clearly, the Reaper craves, and when he does, no one is safe from his whims. If Auden were to stay, he would be witness to yet more agony, and he would surely have to join in sooner or later; to be another body to toy with, another soul to suffocate in unending terror. An endless circle of keeping the creature who was made to maim entertained and docile. Surely, he would not be hurt? He was told just now that he will be given away; how he is in perfect condition and that the Reaper does not wish to ‘ruin’ him. Yet.

Still, as horrifying as it is to witness and endure, it goes against his very nature to leave someone to suffer like this. What sort of Guardian has the conviction and audacity to knowingly turn their back on someone in pain and live their life as if they hadn't seen a thing? The very thought of it immerses his self-conscious in guilt, and though he hears the voices screaming at him to leave, run, never turn back — he cannot obey. The magic in the air only serves to bring him to his knees in mindless paranoia and groaning lungs, the invisible force not quite managing to send him running. His expression hardens, a fierce concentration present on his face as he turns to the Reaper once again, his voice coming strained, quiet, desperate, but filled with purpose and bravery; —

Another crack comes soon after, and another wave of lust crashes into Auden’s very soul. It is incredible, in a way, just how powerful the Reaper is. His very emotions are capable of altering the atmosphere to such an extent, the angel can only endure the raw, unnatural, mortifying ordeal of being made to feel such uncontrollable, near artificial terror. His body is responding in a physical manner to just being in the same room as him — goosebumps, tender muscles, shivering, weakness, sweating, dizziness, nausea. The feeling of Death's tendrils caressing his very throat though there is nothing there, whispers in his ears, phantom touches along his skin, the feeling of being not only watched, but observed and scrutinised in every possible way. It is almost like an entire other creature, his power — a shadow that follows him around like a loyal hunting dog, jumping to action at the slightest provocation, locking its jaws around the throat of anyone at all who dares to even look upon it. He felt it when he awoke, the ever present pressure upon his skin he knew to be the controlling presence of a powerful being, but to feel it so close and intense was truly overwhelming. He has no doubt that this man could bring an entire nation to their very knees just by showing up in a particular mood.

“Please, have mercy on them, Mister Reaper.” — He avoids looking at the poor soul in front of him, only focusing on the intensity emanating from the man. Another bone cracks and Mori's wail overshadows Auden's pleading, — “Mister Reaper, sir, please, pl-please listen to me. I beg, just stop h-hurting them! Mister Reaper!”

His half sob, half yell finally catches the other's attention. There is nothing scarier than to demand of a deity to stop doing as they wish. Auden feels a somewhat familiar sense of inadequacy and powerlessness as he always did talking to Archangels. Though the Grim Reaper is an independent creature that barely acts like a divine being, he is still on a similar level to his Lord — and so, talking to him in such a demanding, disrespectful, crude way makes him want to shrivel up and turn to dust on the spot all the same. Auden reckons he would feel the exact same way speaking to his God or the Devil himself.

‘It is as if they are not so dissimilar in nature.’

“Do you wish to take their place, little dove?” — he questions Auden. The Reaper does not sound amused any longer, but neither does he sound truly furious. His tone resides somewhen between the two, daring Auden to continue bothering him. He is no longer smiling, and that sends an icicle of fear through Auden's heart. His lips do not work right, his tongue grows heavy and useless in his mouth — that consuming, cutting sanguine glare silences him indefinitely. Mori's fear only grows, now forcing wheezing begging out of them. However, they do not beg for mercy from their tormentor — they beg Auden to shut up instead. Finally, with great hesitation, he shakes his head, his black locks bouncing along.

“You do not? Fascinating.” — He steps off that inflamed, shattered hand, but it's as if it brought no relief whatsoever to the servant. They hug their useless fingers to their chest and cry, but do not move otherwise. No tension leaves them. They expect more pain to come their way. Auden, however, begins to deeply regret catching Death's attention. His presence only becomes more suffocating, so much more than he imagined possible, and he looks at him in a way that feels downright lethal. — “You mistake my cordial nature for safety, angel. You also must think my patience is infinite.”

He corners him again, leering down on him from above as he cowers pitifully on the floor behind his useless wings. Auden’s breaths barely manage to make it past his lips. Shame builds once again inside him, flooding him like a river of mud at the Reaper's words. So he has noticed; how could he not. He knows well just how badly Auden hopes to find repose from all his misfortune in someone like him. Someone powerful, fearsome, kind, gentle, merciful, divine. A replacement for what he has lost; a new being to lift above everyone else and worship, so in turn he may deserve to live a more pleasant life. It's a wretched thing, this obsession Auden develops. It would be less so if at least it didn't happen with even the most dangerous, unholy beings he comes across down here. It's second nature for an angel to be submissive to higher ranking beings in their Heaven; but why is it that he just cannot muster up the decency to act like a good angel would?

‘A pathetic winged fraud, that is all you have ever been. Even before your Fall, you just couldn’t stop disappointing everyone around you. And now, you are even disappointing Death himself, despite his merciful nature.’

“I-I am so sorry, I'm sorry.” — He has done it now. Pissed off the only person who took mercy on him. His string of apologies break down into sobs, muffled by his hands. The longer the silence stretches, the more he believes his death is approaching.

“Angel.”

He expects to be torn apart like all those demons he watched be slaughtered helplessly. He expects roaring, agonising magic slamming into his flesh, corroding it away from his bones. He expects unending misery. What he feels is a cold hand taking hold of his face. Claws dig into his cheeks like teeth.

“Look at me.”

Charm pulls his hands away from his face, forcing him to make eye contact once again. He can barely see through his tears, the Reaper's face a mess of smudged colours. However, judgement doesn't come. On the contrary — what Death gives is an invitation.

“Go to your room.”

Another chance. Another chance. Always another chance, because he never manages to do anything right the first time.

In his shock at being offered one last opportunity to do as he is told and avoid certain horrific consequences, his mouth hangs agape. Blinking away some tears, Auden can tell Death still isn't smiling. His expression shows a careful balance of danger and neutrality. It is hard to read exactly, but it's certainly not a mischievous, giddy expression — it is serious. He cannot squander this opportunity again. If he fails to do as he is told, as he is directly and clearly ordered, he will not get another one.

He tries to nod, finding out quickly that struggling under the clutches of Death is nigh impossible. He can only force a squeak of a response out of his poor throat drowning in the fog of magic; — “Y-Y-Yes, sir, I'm sorry. Pl-Please, forgive me.”

A good few seconds pass, the Reaper's sharp eyes observing his expression in silence. Finally, mercifully, he hums a deep sound, letting go of his face and straightening back up again. He steps back to allow the angel to clamber to his feet, which he does, giving quite a pitiful show for someone who hasn't been hurt at all, knees buckling and hands slipping off of any support they may find. Despite his preconceived notions about the deer hybrid lying on the floor in front of him, as he glances at them now, the slave looks much more similar to a newborn fawn than any other ‘demon’ he may meet down here.

Once he manages to stay on his feet, he only spares brief glances towards the others, not daring to look in any way besides terribly apologetic and pitiful, lest the Reaper think he deserves a lesson in humility after all. With raspy gasps of rigidity, he slides off of the wall he was holding onto all this time and hurries past the two of them, hoping he still remembers where he came from. The last mistake he ever makes would be missing the door that leads to his room and getting lost after this whole ordeal.

He can feel Death watching him intently as he shuffles away shamefully, an indescribable yet unmistakable feeling.

He hears desperate yells and pleading as he turns a corner. He flinches at another ear-splitting, hopeless wail cracking from agony louder than any before it as he fights the urge to look behind him. It's not his fault. It's not his fault. It is not his fault.

‘What a pathetic excuse for a Guardian Angel.’

He does not disagree.

~

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Taglist: @whumpsday @whump-me-all-night-long

[the-bar-sinister]

Lost and Found (1138 words) by thesavagesabretooth

summary: After being captured and savagely beaten, Zelgadis finds himself tended to by the most unexpected rescuer imaginable-- Copy Rezo.

-

Zelgadis' shoulders ached worse even than the rest of his body as they bore the brunt of his weight, chained by his wrists and hanging by the arms from the ceiling in the dank, echoing stone chamber. 

His shirt had been ripped off, and when he could focus well enough to see, he could see the dark blue blood dripping from the smashed stones embedded in his body. They had beaten him with hammers and spiked maces until he'd been unable to resist– until he'd been unable to stay conscious.

He'd awoken here, in the black stone cell, surrounded by faceless armored guards who said nothing. He'd tried to summon his magic to escape, but he had no reserves of energy to draw from.He'd had no idea how much blood he lost, but it seemed like a lot. He kept drifting in and out of wakefulness, with no idea how much time had passed.

Zelgadis was starting to accept that he was going to die there. Alone. Slowly losing track of the pain that wrecked his beaten body.

At some point a flash of light from the darkness drew his attention. There were screams. Lina? Maybe it was Lina.

The flashes got closer and the roar of spells, and the screams of the guards– who apparently could speak if they wanted– split the silence.

He might have lost consciousness again.

The next thing he knew there was a tall figure in white robes standing beside him, and the weight was off his arms. The figure had cut him down, and was holding him.

Zegladis' eyes tried to focus. Deep red hair. A long, sharp face. Refined features. A wide mouth.

A familiar face.

"Rezo?" he mouthed.

Zelgadis realized that he must have died. That was the only way that Rezo could be there, holding him in his arms. Zelgadis had died, and it was Rezo who had come for his soul.

Of course.

But the figure shook his head, and shifted Zelgadis in his arms to pull off the scarf that covered his forehead. There was a bright jewel embedded there.

Not Rezo. Copy Rezo.

But he was dead, too.

"How–" Zelgadis began. He stopped and asked the more pertinent question. "Are we dead?"

"Not quite." Copy Rezo was carrying home somewhere, through the darkness. Quite a feat, considering how heavy Zelgadis was. Maybe it was a spell. "Though you were getting close when I finally found you."

"How are you here?" Zelgadis rasped, the world spinning around him. "How are you alive?"

"I'll tell you later. Sleep now. You've lost a lot of blood."

Copy raised his hand again, and there was a familiar light. Zelgadis had only enough time to register it as a sleep spell before it worked on him.

-

Zelgadis woke up in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, with no idea how much time had passed. The only clue was that his body still ached and throbbed. He reached down, wincing as he did, and peeked under the covers. His arms and torso had all been bandaged up.

Someone had actually rescued him. His heart thumped painfully in his chest. But was it really who it had seemed to be? Or had that been some kind of hallucination.

Zelgadis craned his neck painfully to look around the room– a small, sparsely decorated cottage with stone and wood walls, and a small hearth.

Standing by the hearth, apparently making tea, was that same out of place familiar figure.

Rezo– or rather Copy Rezo– turned toward him with an exasperated expression.

"Don't strain yourself, or you'll undo all the work I did," Copy instructed. He watched him with narrowed eyes, but there was a slight curl of amusement at the edge of his lips. "There's a healing spell in your future, but we have to wait until the venom on those weapons they were using wears off or it'll only make it worse."

The instructions barely made it through Zelgadis' battered skull. All he could manage was to again repeat what he'd asked before in the dank chasm.

"How are you here?"

Copy shook his head, pouring tea from a large iron pot on the hearth into a small earthenware cup and bringing it to the bedside.

"It's almost as mysterious to me as it is to you. After Flagoon, I woke up some time later in what must have been another Copy body, in an old lab. How my memories came to reside in this shell, I don't know. I try not to ask the question."

"Fair enough."

"Can you sit?" Copy asked.

"Maybe." Zelgadis carefully gathered his strength, and sat up a little in the bed. Copy offered him the cup of tea and he took it, sipping it quietly. If Copy was telling the truth, he wouldn't want to contemplate the implications either.

"If you're wondering how I came to find you, the answer is complicated I'm afraid," Copy continued. "You should focus on healing first. Your friends are on their way, but it will take them several days to get here."

"We were separated," Zelgadis grimaced. He sipped the tea again. It had a nostalgic flavor. The same way his grandfather had made it when Zelgadis was a small child.

"Indeed." 

Zelgadis' gaze met Copy's unsettling eyes again and he looked away. It was so strange, to see his grandfather's face, with his eyes open.

"So you have time to tell me what happened," he urged.

"Soon enough. Rest first." Copy put a long fingered hand on Zelgadis' face, and Zel flinched at the touch.

"Please don't put me to sleep again."

"Rest, then. And I won't have to." Copy leaned down, and his forehead rested gently against Zelgadis'.

Zelgadis felt his own breath shuddering in his chest as he let the man's forehead touch his own. He felt the little jewel embedded there brush against the stones in his own skin. Both of them owed their whole existence to the same man who'd hurt them both so terribly.

"You remember all his memories, don't you?" Zelgadis asked softly, their faces close.

"I do." Those eyes peered at him again, and Zelgadis shivered.

"Will you sing to me then?" Zelgadis asked, his cheeks flushing. "Like he did? …Is it cruel to ask you for that?"

"No," Copy sighed softly. He cupped Zelgadis' cheek in his hand. "No, it isn't cruel."

Copy pressed a soft kiss to Zelgadis' temple, and the chimera felt a deep ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his wounds.

He was silent, not knowing what to say as Copy sat down on the edge of the bed and started to sing for him, a nostalgic song that Zel had stopped hearing many years ago.

It was as comforting as it was sad.

[depressed-sock]

Artificial Faith is Better than Storebought (4692 words) by depressed-sock Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed - All Media Types Relationships: Desmond Miles & CC-1010| Fox

Bad things happen Bingo: Held at Gunpoint

So i started with the held at gunpoint part, then wanted to add context and now this is over 4k lol

...

It starts like this.

There’s some part of Fox’s mind that is aware of what’s happening around him. That he’s lying in the Chancellor’s office on the red carpet that is just the right shade of red to hide old bloodstains. Most of which belong to Fox. It has to be the right shade he thinks because no one has ever said anything about it. Not even the Jedi.

He’s also aware that the man standing over him is the Chancellor himself. He’s speaking but as far as Fox can tell he’s not speaking to Fox so he doesn’t waste the energy trying to understand.

He doesn’t remember how he got here or why he’s here. His right hand is out in front of his body, curled over an orb that lies just under it. Fox doesn’t have the strength to try and move his hand. Some part of him says he can’t, that he was ordered to touch it and that order has yet to be rescinded.

“I don’t,” a voice cuts through. Unfamiliar enough that it puts Fox on edge. It’s never a good sign when the Chancellor brings in other people. He can barely make out any of the words the person speaks, only catching their final word. “-unwilling.”

“How unfortunate,” the Chancellor says in false sympathy. Fox can imagine exactly what Palpatine looks like as he speaks. A tilted head and a pitying expression that hides the murder in his eyes.

Then the pain hits Fox.

His jaw locks, as the lighting sears through him, tears crawl down his face making the experience ten times worse as the lighting jumps and hits the wetness. Fox thinks he tries to scream but he can’t tell through the haze that settles over him as the lightning finally stops.

“Well, Mentor, are you truly going to stand by and let this continue?” The Chancellor asks, in that sweetly sick voice that crawls against Fox’s spine and sticks to it like sludge. Fox whimpers as hears someone take a step closer to him.

“You’re a fucking monster,” the other person growls through their teeth. And Fox can feel their anger, can feel their resignation. He doesn’t know how but they’re suddenly next to him, a hand is in his hair. Brushing it back with a gentle touch that he can’t help but lean into. It sings safety and trust and everything that Fox needs right now.

He doesn’t realize his eyes have been closed this entire time, not until he slowly forces them open and he can see the golden light of the figure in front of him. He blinks once, trying to understand. The figure is see-through, reminding him more of a hologram with golden circuitry than a physical person. But Fox can feel them.

Can feel the hand that’s gently brushing his hair, can feel the other hand closing around Fox’s right hand. Can feel the breath on his ear as the figure leans down and whispers apologies. Can feel the stutter of a lie as they tell him everything’s going to be alright.

The hand covering his own gently squeezes. Then Fox is screaming again as molten lava seems to burn through his veins. It goes straight through his hand, crawling inch by inch up his arm. Fox isn’t strong enough to hold on to any kind of consciousness. He slips into darkness even as his body burns with this light.

It starts like this.

Fox dreams of a place. A place where nothing exists but him. He walks and walks and walks. There’s no end, no beginning. Just this nothingness that’s both a relief and at the same time it’s absolutely horrible.

None of his vode are here. None of his batch or brothers or friends.

There’s no pain either. No danger, no torture.

Nothing but him.

When he wakes up he discovers that he’s lying down on his office couch staring up at the ceiling. Idly he wonders how he got there. It’s not the first time this has happened, but it is the first time he’s woken up in no pain after a blackout.

He groans, sitting up and swallowing back the wave of nausea that rolls through him. He breathes in through his nose then out through his mouth and tries to will away the headache that’s immediately started up right behind his eyes.

“Oh good, you’re awake!” A cheery voice startles Fox so badly that he falls off the couch and only instinct has him scooting back and away. Away from the possible threat. Away from any possible pain. Away and right into a wall with a soft thud.

It takes a second for his brain to catch up. When it finally does all he can do is stare transfixed at the man who now sits in the place he’d been. The man wears civilian clothes, the white hoody standing out against his skin tone that’s similar to Fox’s and his brother’s. That’s where the similarities end between him and the stranger though. Golden eyes watch him carefully and after a second it looks as if the gold seeps into the man’s skin, running down his face like circuitry, it highlights the scar that runs through his lips before spreading down his neck.

He smiles at Fox with something that feels like a mix of genuine happiness and concern. He leans forward, arms resting on his legs as he studies Fox. “How much do you remember?”

“I-” Fox stutters, tongue thick in his mouth as he tries to speak. “Who?” Who, how, when? Why was there a stranger in his office? (Why is there a stranger in his head?) Fox’s hands curl into fists and he looks down at his right hand on instinct when he finds he can barely feel anything from it. He chokes the panic that wants to escape when he sees that his entire hand is now charred black with gold veining running through it. Like the gold was used to patch back together whatever was left of his hand. No. Not just his hand. His arm because the blackness spreads up his wrist and he's afraid to see how far it goes.

“Fox,” the man says his name softly and he looks up to find the man now seated in front of him. “Sorry, it’s a side effect of touching my apple and… accepting its gift.” He spits the word out like it’s poison before he sighs. “My name’s Desmond.”

Fox is breathing hard, can feel the panic welling up. “What are you?”

“I’m… let’s call me a guide for the mentor of the Brotherhood of Assassins.” Desmond leans forward, touching Fox’s hand, and Fox watches as the gold lights up, the circuitry spreads from Desmond’s hand crossing over onto Fox’s and up the sleeve of his blacks. “Which you are now…Uhm… Congratulations?”

It starts like this.

Fox has a minor panic attack before he forces himself to stand up and head to the Guard's makeshift clinic. Because if you have a blackout you need to go get immediate medical attention. That's the rule he enforces everyone to follow and he knows he needs to set the example. He’s already had a few shinys try to skip out even though at least two of them had concussions and stab wounds.

He walks down the halls, passing a few troopers who acknowledge him with a tilt of their heads. None of them acknowledge Desmond who walks beside him. There’s a single instance when one of them actually walks through Desmond, their steps stuttering to a halt even as Fox keeps walking.

Desmond looks back, eyebrows drawn in and a frown on his face before he sighs and focuses on keeping pace with Fox.

“You’re all clones right?” Desmond asks, stuffing his hands into his hoodie’s pockets.

Fox tilts his head in acknowledgment. Refusing to speak in case this is in fact another sleep-deprived hallucination. It wouldn’t be his first, especially after a blackout mission. Desmond takes that in stride.

“I’ve been a bit out of the loop for the last-” Desmond makes a pained face, “- If I had to guess the last ten years? How long has the war been going on?”

Fox taps once on his thigh, then curls the finger in.

“One and a half years?”

Fox tilts his head again.

“Right. Ok.” He sighs running a hand over his face. “How many of you are there anyway?”

Fox just quietly snorts at that.

“I’ll just take that as a lot then.”

Fox doesn’t bother to add anything further as he walks into the clinic, taking his helmet off and clipping it to his side as Shivers immediately hones in on him like a massiff on a blood trail.

“You’ve been gone for hours.” The medic glares at him, pointing him to a cot where Fox immediately takes a seat and begins to take off his armor. “What damage are you aware of?”

“My hand. It doesn’t hurt but I think it’s because I’ve lost most of the feeling in it.” He drops his gauntlets, then vambraces at his side, letting Shivers take hold of his hand.

He frowns down at the blackened flesh, gently turning it over, making a pained sound as he asks, “What the fuck Fox?”

“The good news is I still have a full range of motion as far as I can tell?” Fox shrugs, wincing a bit as Shivers tugs up the sleeve of his blacks. The charred skin goes farther up his arm than what’s revealed.

“Alright blacks off too,” Shivers lets go of his hand. “Do you need help?” Fox shakes his head, and Shivers turns to start going through the mess of their desk looking for their scanner. “Anything else?”

“Headache and nausea. Both of those started when I started to move around. Other than that I woke up with no other pain which is a surprise.”

Shivers makes a displeased noise, finally finding their scanner and turning back to Fox. They stop in place, eyes now honed in on his face. They shake their head before continuing, “I’m not sure that’s a good sign considering you’ve got some new facial scars Fox and an entirely new eye color.”

“What?” He chokes out. Right hand immediately goes to his eyes but Shivers catches it with a glare, forcing his hand back down.

They grimace as they study Fox’s face, “They’re gold and I think they might be glowing a bit too.”

“Great, fantastic.” He wipes his left hand down his face, wincing as he feels the scars just under his eyes that run down his cheeks. “How bad are the scars?”

“Looks like the usual lightning, except that it’s already healed,” they frown down at their scanner. Slaps it against their hand and starts to scan Fox’s hand, moving it slowly up his arm and then up to his face. They make a face at whatever the readings are telling them before they throw it back onto the desk. “Piece of shit. Let me see how well you can move your arm.”

It takes over a dozen different tests before Shivers gives up with a frustrated sound. Desmond watches the whole process quietly from the back of the clinic. Where he leans against the wall and studies the room and everything in it. Fox can almost taste the anger coming from Desmond when he notices the lack of supplies.

It starts like this.

Several days later and Fox is sitting at his desk going through flimsi and datapads. Desmond sits across from him, tapping his foot and looking like a shiny who's about to open his mouth and start trouble.

“You know as the new mentor of the Brotherhood I can teach you stuff,” Desmond leans back further in Fox’s guest chair. The one that he chose specifically for the natborns who enter his office because it’s uncomfortable. Desmond seems to have no problem with it. Instead, he shrugs and adds on, “If you want me to.”

Fox sighs, pinching the brow of his nose before looking up at Desmond. He knows he shouldn’t be encouraging this. Should have probably told Shivers about this hallucination that hasn’t gone away too. But… But with Desmond here he’s less lonely. He has his Corries but they’re not his batch. His batch that he can’t contact without putting them in danger.

Who probably all hate him at this rate.

Desmond’s not his batch either but he gets a pass because Fox can tell how Desmond feels. He’s an open book that puts the suspicious part of Fox not fully to sleep but lets it rest.

“Like what?” he asks with a tired sigh.

Desmond grins, sitting back up in his seat and leaning forward to match Fox’s posture. “Well, how do you feel about identity fraud?”

“Identity fraud?” He asks dryly.

“I figured we should start small then slowly work our way up to how to get away with murdering your boss.”

Fox closes his eyes and pretends for a moment that he doesn’t feel like he wants to bang it into his desk. “Why identity fraud?”

“So that we can get you and your men some new IDs.”

Fox feels his breath catch, eyes snapping open to study Desmond. He’s serious. Fox knows with absolute certainty how serious Desmond is about helping them. He narrows his eyes, “What else can you teach me?”

“Everything you want me to.”

Desmond had said he’d teach Fox because he was some kind of mentor now but… “Can you teach more than me?” Fox leans forward as Desmond’s eyes glow bright with delight.

His grin turns sharp and Fox can see the calculations running through his head. “I can do more than that but let’s start with teaching all of you first.”

It starts like this.

Fox, his commanders, and his CMO stand on a high point in the lower levels of Coruscant. It’s nowhere near the highest point but it’s out of sight enough that they shouldn’t draw any attention to themselves.

They stand quietly, watching the flow of life of the lower levels spread out before them. Shivers makes a sound of displeasure but other than that, they just cross their arms over their chest.

“You want us to jump?” Thorn asks again as he peers over the edge. Flicking a disbelieving look back at Fox.

“It’s called a leap of faith for a reason Thorn.”

“Ok,” Thorn drags out the word licking his lips nervously, “I just didn’t realize all that extra training was leading up to throwing us off of buildings.”

Fox grins at him, “If it makes you feel better I’ve already done it.”

Shiver turns their glare immediately onto Fox. “That doesn’t. Did you even go to medical after that?”

“Didn’t get hurt,” Fox shrugs. It wasn’t even a true leap of faith if Fox is being honest. He’d given Desmond control as they were chasing down a criminal and he’d been the one to make the jump.

Shivers somehow manages to frown even harder, his displeasure entirely palpable to every one of Fox’s senses. Stone stands, quietly watching the exchange, head tilted to the side as he studies them all. His eyes flashing with a hint of gold.

He’s the closest to getting the sight, or eagle vision as Desmond calls it. Desmond thinks that it should fully develop for all of them once they’ve all done a leap of faith.

“Usually we’d do a whole ceremony for an introduction into the Brotherhood,” Desmond comments from where he sits on the ledge of the building. “But I know you don’t want to tie them down like that.”

Thire tilts his head in the direction of Desmond’s voice, he was the first of the commanders that have been able to hear him. He looks contemplative as he asks, “If we do join your Brotherhood would your people even help us?”

“They’d help even if you don’t join.” Desmond shrugs as he gives Fox a look, “Especially if you asked Fox.”

“We’ll keep that option as a last resort.” Fox nods his head. He’s not drawing in any more strangers, especially if he can’t be sure if he can trust them. He won’t dismiss them either though. That backup help could save his brothers and he won’t just throw away the opportunity just because he doesn’t want to trust them.

“I should have checked all your heads again,” Shivers mutters to themself before rubbing the back of their neck. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Do you want the words?” Desmond asks as he stands up, dusting off his pants.

Fox studies him for a bit before he turns back to his vode. Thire nods his head, Thorn shrugs, Shivers just sighs, and Stone… Stone looks directly at Desmond with gold eyes, “May as well take the extra insurance.”

“Great, now repeat after me-”

It starts like this.

Desmond is lying in the bed across from Fox’s. As far as he knows Desmond doesn’t actually sleep but he likes to pretend. Something about trying to keep familiar feelings close. Trying to hold onto the parts of himself that are human and not whatever he is now.

Fox knows there’s something that’s been on Desmond’s mind. That’s been eating away at him but he’s been keeping silent about it.

Desmond stares at the bunk above him bites his lip then he shifts those gold eyes to meet Fox’s own.

“You haven’t taken the leap yet Fox.”

Fox hums in response. Thinks over what to say and settles on the truth. “Not until everyone else is safe.”

Desmond nods his head and continues to stare at the bunk above him.

It starts like this.

Almost everyone on base can see Desmond now.

They nod at him, acknowledge his existence, kriff they’ve even started making jokes with him. Relaxing enough in his presence that they treat him like he’s not just an ally but a vod.

It settles something in Fox. Makes it easier for him to breathe knowing that everything Desmond is doing is to protect the people Fox cares about. Right now Desmond is teaching a small group of them to blend in with the populace. How to move about unseen, how to become a part of the crowd. They’re troopers who were at risk of decom and recon.

They’ll join Fox’s Arcs who’ve already fully left the Guard. They’ve been working to set up a base of operations that no one else will ever be able to find. Fox also gave them permission to start contacting the Brotherhood that’s on Coruscant.

It’s slow work. It’s good work.

Fox is going to get his people out no matter what he has to do.

It starts like this.

There’s a 501st Arc trooper that the Chancellor wants dead. Fox knows that he’ll have to kill him. Knows that if he tries to miss the shot that it’ll be CC-1010 taking over to finish the job.

Fox also knows that what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Desmond. Take over and put me to sleep. Don’t let me know what you decide to do with him.”

Desmond’s hand squeezes his own, the sorrow in his eyes hurts to see. “I’ll take care of it,” his voice is a whisper as he says it. Before Fox can actually think about it he’s already asleep. Back into the world of white.

It starts like this.

“I know how he’s controlling you,” Desmond says when Fox wakes up on his couch.

“Sith magic?” Fox asks like that’s the obvious answer.

Desmond opens his mouth and shuts it. Hums a bit before he continues on. “Yeah, that too. But also there are chips in all your heads.”

“What?” Fox sits up straight, his breath catching in his throat.

“The good news is that I’m very good with this kind of stuff. I’ve taken care of everyone’s chips but yours and the other commanders.”

Fox sighs a bit, falling back onto the couch, “Good. We deal with him the most and he’ll be suspicious if we suddenly stop responding to orders.

“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking as well.” He scratches his cheek a bit. “I’m going to make a virus to infect all the other troopers. It’ll be like a head cold but it’ll fully shut down the chips while spreading and infecting everyone. I can make it dormant to spread it faster in case people get quarantined.”

Fox nods his head. Then he asks the question he’s been dreading. “Fives is dead? We killed him?” He doesn’t want to know the answer.

Desmond watches him. Then he completely shuts Fox out, not letting Fox read anything off of him as he answers, “Yes.” For the first time ever Fox can’t tell if Desmond is lying.

He has to remind himself several times that it’s necessary. No matter how much he hates it. “You’ll be able to start with my batch and Rex. They’ll all come to yell at me for killing a brother.”

Desmond winces, “I’m sorry Fox.”

He shakes his head. “We do what we need to do to survive.”

It starts like this.

Fox can barely catch his breath. He knows he’s panicking, knows that something has happened and that he had no say in it.

“Fox listen to me-”

“What did you do Desmond?” Fox hisses as he backs away from the battalion of men who have their guns aimed at him. The 212th and their General stand armed and watching Fox as he takes a step back toward the edge of whatever platform he’s ended up on. He had a blackout.

He had a blackout and he knows it’s Desmond’s fault. That he did it without Fox’s permission.

Out of the corner of his eye, Fox sees a flash of gold light as Desmond steps into sight. Looking more like a hologram than his natural flesh self that Fox is so used to seeing. Some part of Fox knows that he’s seen Desmond like this before but he can’t remember when.

Desmond winces, a look of regret overcoming his face. “I didn’t really get much choice on that front. 1010 was activated and I couldn’t wake you up. Fox…” he lets out a harsh breath, “Fox, he was going to kill you.”

Fuck. He can see the shape of what happened in his head. Pain, an order. His hand on his gun, the barrel pressed against his forehead. If he had to guess that’s about when Desmond took over. That’s when Desmond probably killed Palpatine.

They never did get to the part where Desmond was supposed to teach him how to get away with killing his boss.

“Marshal Commander Fox,” the Jedi with ginger hair and a beard steps forward. Fox knows his name, knows that this is Cody’s general, but his mind is too panicked to put a name to his face. He also knows that Cody is just behind him, his guns are trained on Fox.

Is he going to kill Fox? Is his vod going to be the one to pull the trigger and end this whole fucking thing?

The flash of gold grows brighter, and the Jedi’s eyes narrow as they flick toward Desmond’s general area before settling back on Fox.

Fox who currently looks nothing like the Marshal Commander of the Guard right now. Civilian clothes hanging loose on his limbs. Fox doesn’t bother to roll his eyes at Desmond who shifts nervously beside him.

“I was trying to lose them in the crowds but-” he shrugs, coughing into his fist in embarrassment, “I forgot force users are a pain in the ass.”

“Please,” the Jedi draws his attention back to the situation he’s in, “surrender peacefully. This doesn’t have to end in violence.”

Fox can’t help the snort that escapes, he hears a few clicks as safety’s on guns are turned off. Jokes on the Jedi, everything Fox seems to do ends in violence. Usually with him being the victim.

Fox steps back, closer to the edge of the platform, his hands raised in front of him. “Please I-” he chokes. What can he say? Sorry, I got possessed by the spirit of an assassin and he decided to kill the Chancellor because he was torturing me to death? How the fuck would that work in any court? They’d probably just immediately send Fox to be decommissioned but not before the longnecks took apart his brain.

Fox is a dead man. His men are all in danger because if something’s wrong with Fox the Senate will assume there’s something wrong with all of them.

“They’re safe Fox. Remember? We trained them, they’ll go to the shadows and hide there.”

“I don’t see how that’s going to work considering the Jedi found us pretty easily,” Fox lets out a little hysterical laugh as he takes another step back. He watches as some of the men start to squeeze their triggers. Not enough to shoot just yet, but enough for it to be a threat.

Maybe this is just payback for killing Fives.

“He’s not dead,” Desmond says with an exasperated sigh.

Fox is fully aware of that because ‘Domino’ is in no way subtle. Stone’s been putting the Arc through the wringer, trying to get him in shape so that he stops almost getting caught by the 501st. Fox swears Dogma wasn’t this bad.

The GAR’s not aware that Fives is still alive. And it better stay that way if Fives wants to keep himself and the rest of the Guard safe.

The Jedi frowns, eyebrows scrunching together as he watches Fox, eyes still flicking back to somewhere just to the left of Desmond. Fox knows that he can’t see Desmond, but it wouldn’t surprise him if some force shit is telling the Jedi there’s someone standing right next to Fox.

He takes another step back, and he knows he’s fully at the edge now. There’s a sheer drop right behind him. The Jedi clips his lightsaber to his belt, holding up his hands, “Commander Fox, please it doesn’t need to end like this.”

Cody makes a wounded sound as he steps forward and even with his General. He lowers his guns, “Fox, please. Let us help you.”

Fox lets out a bark of laughter. Help him? He needed help a long fucking time ago.

He shakes his head, giving Cody a sad smile, “It’s too late for that.”

“Fox-”

“Fox, I need you to trust me.” Desmond’s voice is gentle as it cuts through all the other noise around Fox. “Please.”

He drops his hands to his sides, staring down the Jedi, Cody, and the troops with resignation. “Ok,” his voice is barely a whisper but they all seem to hear him. The tension bleeding out of their shoulders. Cody steps forward but Fox’s view is blocked as Desmond stands in front of him.

There are hands on his chest. There are glowing eyes that match his own. There is the cry of a bird in his ear and a shadow that passes from overhead.

Desmond puts pressure on his chest. “Nothing is true.”

“Everything is permitted,” he answers.

It ends like this.

Fox leans back, letting gravity do the rest of the work. Let’s it take him off the platform and into the traffic of Coruscant. There’s running and screams and shouting that follow him to the edge of the platform as he falls.

He thinks for an instance he feels the tug of something trying to catch him or slow his fall. But the feeling snaps instantly. Like a thread that’s been cut.

Fox closes his eyes. He feels nothing but peace when he hits the ground.

It starts like this.

Fox opens his eyes, staring up at his brother’s faces. They’re all in civilian clothing, grinning down at him. He grins back at them, grabbing the hand Thorn offers him. He lets Thorn drag him up and onto his feet. Drag him straight into their new life.

They’ve only just barely gotten started.