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alastor-simp · 7 months

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Alastor with a female reader who is Selectively Mute Part 3

❥Summary: A certain overlord intrudes on both you and Alastor. This situation is going to become very tense, once you realized who exactly this is.

❥Tags: Selectively mute reader, fluff, fluff and romance, friends to lovers, demi-romantic alastor, alastor frowns, vox being vox, alastor is not used to feelings, comedy, alastor and vox rivalry, spoilers of episode 2, protective alastor, confessing feelings, fem reader.

❥Notes: This is the final chapter of this series. I hope you all enjoyed it :).

"Well well well, if it isn't the Radio Demon." You felt Alastor tense, and the static in the air began to increase. Turning around, you noticed there was another demon standing behind the both of you. He stood as tall as Alastor, sporting a dark blue tuxedo and large red bow tie. The most striking thing on him was his head. It resembled a tv screen. On the screen was a pair of striking red eyes and blue colored teeth. His eyes were filled with immense hate, while sporting a cocky grin.

Alastor slowly turned around, smile strained immensely on his face, which you noticed. Did Alastor know this man? "Ah! If it isn't Vox! The piece of shit television himself?" Alastor snarled back at the TV, teeth sharpening the more he spoke. Ohhh this was Vox! You never saw what he looked like, but you knew about the rivalry between him and Alastor, especially since you heard Alastor mention him in his last broadcast. He was part of a group called the Vee's, which consisted of overlords Valentino, Velvette and Vox. The only Vee you knew about fully was Valentino since he was Angel's boss and you really didn't like him. Vox's eye twitch at Al's insult, but the grin was still present on his face. "HAHAHA! Even after 7 years, you still remained an a**hole. Took you a while to show your ugly face back here. Finally decided to join my team?" He approached closer, arms crossed in front of him, as his eyes were locked on Al, ignoring you. Al's head flew back in laughter, before it snapped back into place, as he let out, "HA! No!"

The both of them were locked in a stare off, with the sounds of static and whirring penetrating the air around you, making you a tad bit nervous. Soon Vox broke the stare, and turned to look at you, eyes widen a tad in shock, before they gazed at you, sensually. "My my! Quite a looker, aren't you! May I know your name, sweetie?” His clawed hand had grabbed yours, as he was leaning down to give it a peck. It felt like a hole had opened inside your stomach. Something about the way he acted made you very uncomfortable. You were use to actions like this from Alastor, as they made your heart skip a beat, but coming from Vox, you didn't like it. A small growl was heard next to you, and another clawed hand had grabbed Vox's wrist, removing his hand from yours. "It is quite rude to touch a lady without her consent, you know! So, H̶̱̞̗͈̮͛̓̔̄͐̉a̴̯̜̗̝̠̰͌̈̋̚͝ͅn̸̖̝͙̜̩̳͆͋̿̃ͅd̸̡̤̅̈̐́̎̐̕s̵̭̀̏͛͐̅ ̷̡̢̩͉͔͍̹̐̃̉͌́̕͠ȍ̸̳̗̰̻͚͔͎͒̄ff̵̘̻̠̗̏̆̚." Radio dials flashed on Al's face, along with his shadow demons poking out a different corners, ready to strike. Scoffing, Vox just pulled his hand away, annoyed that Al had the nerve to touch him, before wearing a sinister grin.

"Heh! Who is the little hottie? A new toy for you to mess with?" Now that pissed you off. You were about to start typing your response on your phone, but Alastor had spoken for you. "She is none of your concern! Now, I believe its time for the both of us to head back! Hope you have an unpleasant evening, Vox!" Al wrapped an arm around you again, ready to leave, but he was stopped by a very loud cackle. "HAHAHAHAHA! Oh this is rich! You running away again?!" He was hunched over, holding his stomach from laughter. Your eyes looked over at Al. His smile was completely strained, to the point of it almost breaking. He was trying very hard to maintain his composure, and not rip off Vox's head, but Al didn't want you to see that side of him, his true side that bathed in carnage and gore, while he danced on the corpses of the demons he slaughtered. Alastor had developed a soft spot for you during his time at the hotel. He hated it immensely, that the more he conversed with you, the more vulnerable he got. He was the radio demon, the most feared demon in hell, who broadcasted the deaths of many overlords to all the residents of hell, but you are able to change him, so he made a vow to himself that he would protect you and help you whenever you were under distress. Last thing he wanted to see from you was your eyes gazing at him in fear, after witnessing his true self.

Vox had finished his laugh session, before he stood back, placing his hands on his hips. "I figured after seven years of disappearing, you would be back to terrorizing the streets, but instead your acting like a little pu✪✪✪ bit✪✪, doing absolutely nothing! You have become such a fossil that barely anyone even remembers you, but they remember me, they always do, since I AM ONE OF THE V-SMACK!" Vox's speech was caught off by a strong slap to his screen face, stunning him a bit, before turning back to look at the both of you. Alastor was gazing at you in shock, not expecting that reaction from you, and slapping Vox across the face. Your face was red with anger, and he could almost see steam coming out of your ears. Grabbing your phone, you began to speed type what you wanted to say to Vox, before turning it towards him, voice speaker volume at full blast:

"𝙾𝙼𝙶 𝙳𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝚂𝙷𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝚄✪✪ 𝚄𝙿!!?!? 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙻 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙾 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚄𝙻𝚃 𝙷𝙸𝙼 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂?! 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙾𝙴𝚂 𝙳𝚄𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝙽𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙳𝙰𝙼𝙽 𝙱𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂, 𝚂𝙾 𝙵𝚄✪✪ 𝙾𝙵𝙵!!!!"

Vox was put off a bit by your strange method of responding back, but he shook his head and began to walk closer, peering down at you. "You crazy bit✪✪!! Do you know who I am?! His response earned an eyeroll from you, as you continued to type what you wanted to say:

"𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎! 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝! 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚝, 𝚏𝚞✪✪-𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎! 𝙱𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜, 𝙸 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍. 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝-𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚗𝚘, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚊 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖? 𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚑, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝙷𝚎'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚜𝚘 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚒𝚝!"

Vox's eyes widen, as he stepped back at what you said, stunned. "I'm...I'm not......I don't..." He fumbled with his words, unable to give a good comeback. Alastor continued to gaze down at you in awe, wondering where this side of you has been. Typing a final message, you played it out for him:

𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚖𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊✪✪ 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏! 𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚒𝚖𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜!

Grabbing Al's hand, you pulled it and began walking back in the direction you were going, leaving behind an open-mouth Vox, screen flashing to blue, as his brain couldn't compute that he just got owned. Alastor said nothing, and followed after you, as the both of you continued to walk back to the hotel. The walk was silent, neither you nor Alastor uttered a word to each other. Arriving at the doors to the hotel, you let Al's hand go, knowing that the others would ask questions if they saw the both of you holding hands. Entering inside, you were greeted by the others, asking how was the show and yada yada. You gave a thumbs up, while Al gave a lengthy response saying that the performance was spectacular. Alastor then urgently insisted that he needed to attend something, before snapping his fingers, disappearing from sight.

He hadn't looked at you the whole time, when the both of you came back. Had you upset him? He didn't appear angry when the both of you started to head back, but maybe he was hiding it from you. Thinking back to what you did, you realized that you maybe shouldn't have done that. Alastor was a powerful demon, the fearful gazes he got from others was proof of that. He was fully capable of defending himself against Vox, he didn't need you to do it for him. Your body wanted to head to where Alastor ran off to, but you decided not to, as he maybe needed time to cool off.

**12:00 AM**

It had finally reached midnight, and you had seen no trace of Alastor. He wasn't present for dinner nor did he return to the lobby. Heaving a sigh, you realized that you must have angered him very badly. You hoped you would see him tomorrow and apologize. Exiting your bathroom, you had finished brushing your teeth and put on your apple themed PJs, a gift from Charlie. Heading over to the bed, you took a sit on the fluffy covers, before falling back, cell phone planting on the bed as well. Too many emotions and thoughts were floating around in your head, preventing you from falling asleep. "Knock knock", a soft knocking noise was heard against your door. Getting up from your bed, along with grabbing your phone, you peeked into the peep hole, to see Alastor standing on the other side. Unlocking the door, you softly opened it. "Good evening, my dear! Sorry if I had disturbed your rest, but there is something I needed to discuss with you." His smile was still enlarged as always, but you couldn't tell if he was back to normal or still enraged. It was so hard to read him at times. Nodding your head, you moved your body to allow him in. He walked inside, standing at the center of your room, with his hands placed behind his back. He didn't turn around to face you, making you feel nervous. Suddenly, sounds of static-filled laughter erupted from him, causing you to jump up in shock.

Alastor turned to face you, still laughing with slight tears in his eyes. "Oh, apologies for the sudden laughter, but your little confrontation with Vox was highly entertaining, my dear! In all my years in hell, I have never seen that expression from him! HAHAHA! What a sight!" Alastor was still giggling with glee, wiping his eyes, that were leaking with tears. The laughing quickly stopped when he saw the look on your face, tears streaming down. Panicking, Al walked closer, wondering why you were crying. Pulling your phone up, fingers shakingly typing your message to Al"

𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢. 𝙸 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍. 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝙸…..𝙸

Unable to type, due to how hard your hands were shaking, you dropped your phone, hands flying to your face, wiping away at your tears. Alastor was silent, having not said a word after you dropped your phone. Two hands had grabbed yours, pulling them away from your face, allowing your eyes to look up at Al's. His expression was soft, wearing a small grin. "Why would you think I was angry with you, my dear?" His voice had dropped into a soft whisper, containing no traces of static. You casted your eyes down, still feeling ashamed. "Y/N. Look at me." Goosebumps appeared all over your body. He almost never addressed you by your full name. Peering back into his red irises, you looked straight at him. His eyes always held so much emotion, and the emotion you saw was pure warmth. His fingers wiped at your cheeks, cleaning the tears "I was never upset with you. Frankly, I was quite in awe at what you did. You defended me without hesitation and even called me a "friend." It has been many centuries since someone has addressed me that way, that it stunned me to my very core. Please don't cry, my dear. Tears don't suit your adorable face."

He rubbed your cheeks up and down like you were a cat. His sweet words felt like they were caressing your skin, causing shivers to flow through your body. Alastor leaned forward, placing his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "You....you are quite a special one, aren't you. Being with you makes me feel things I thought had died long ago. Only time I felt anything like this was when my mother was still alive. These things....these feelings are changing me, you are changing me. Part of me wants to push them away, but the other part of me wants to embrace them, embrace this." His everlasting smile had dropped, causing your eyes to widen. He was frowning!! Alastor, the demon who always wore a smile, was frowning?! This was the real Alastor in front of you now, not the radio demon persona. Rubbing his forehead against yours, Al opened his eyes, staring back at you.

The both of you stayed in that position until Alastor spoke again, "All of this...is entirely new to me, my dear. But, I want to explore more of this with you. What say you, Y/N? Would you like for this to become something more?" The butterflies in your stomach were going haywire, as the color of your cheeks dyed a deep red. Alastor wanted to be with you? Have a relationship more than this? Your thoughts were filled with all of the moments the both of you had. The pleasant conversations, the sweet gestures and the looks he would give you. The answer was clear to you. Wanting to grab your phone, you realized you had dropped it, making you unable to tell Alastor your answer. No no. You didn't need the phone. Feelings of nervousness began to overtake you, as you bit your lip. Alastor noticed your expression, and pulled back.

"I'm sorry, my dear. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. I'll take my leave. We can discuss this another time." Alastor's smile had come back, but it seemed almost somber. Shaking your head, you didn't want him to leave without hearing what you had to say. Clenching your fists, you took a deep breath. Grabbing his coat, you pulled him down, back to your level. Alastor bent down. letting out a small gasp, not expecting your actions. Before he could speak, a pair of lips had attached to his. His crimson eyes widen in shock, his body becoming tense. His mind slowly began to piece together that you were kissing him. It left him shook, but he slowly eased into it, reciprocating back. The kiss lasted for a full minute, before you pulled away, and stared at Al. Biting your lip again, baring through the anxious emotions, you opened your mouth.

"I-I love you Alastor. I-I want to be t-together with you"

Alastor nearly gasped, legs almost buckling from what just happened. Did you just speak?!?!?!? You had spoken for the first time, in front of him. Your voice was so precious and soft, almost like an angel. His eyes sparkled with excitement, as he grabbed you by the waist, spinning you around in joy. Grabbing on to him, you let out a small chuckle, at his reaction. The spinning slowly stopped, as Al set you back down, placing his gloved hand on your pink-tinted cheek. His own face was similar to yours, flustered, yet he was wearing a love-struck expression. "I-I adore you as well, my doe." Seems it was still difficult for him to say I love you, but you were content with that. Alastor then leaned in to kiss your forehead, as he pulled back. "I believe it is past our bedtimes, my doe. I must, unfortunately head back to my quarters, but I will be here first thing in the morning." Listening to him, you nodded your head, letting out a soft "okay". Patting your head, he wished you pleasant dreams, as he made his way to your door, exiting your room. Watching him leave, you walked to the door, and placed a hand on it, before you turned around. Sliding your body down, you placed a hand on your chest as you gave a love struck sigh. It was official, both you and Al were going to be more than just friends. It made you nervous, but so excited at the same time. Getting up from your position on the floor, you went over to your bed, placing your head on the pillow. Grabbing the other across from you, you planted your face into it, squealing while kicking your feet in joy.

**Alastor POV**

Having left your room, Alastor still stood at your door, back facing it. Letting out a shaky sigh, he placed his back against it, letting his head fall back against it. His emotions were springily like crazy. All of this was still so new to him. His memory flashed back to what he said to you, annoyed that he couldn't say the three simple words, but he remembered the smitten look on your face, happy with that he said. The black heart in his chest was still beating a mile a minute, and his cheeks were still flaming hot. Sighing again, he moved from his position and walked down the hallway to head to his room. Tomorrow was going the be the first day of the both of you being in this kind of relationship, and he honestly couldn't wait.

~END~

Part 1 of Series is Here = X

Part 2 of Series is Here = X

Tagging:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen, @aceofcards0-0, @jyoongim, @saturnhas82moons, @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi , @forbidden-sunlight, @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping , @danveration , @demoarah, @cookiekyo , @iiotic, @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie , @lokis-imaginary-friend , @themysteriousslenderman , @huntlowfan , @pawstrey , @futureittomainn , @christinaatyourservice92 , @littledolly2345 , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @angelinevalentine89 , @yunimimii , @staryosh1 , @mihawksdemoness , @crystalreads , @blahblahbruhmeow , @madam-strawberryrose , @inkslayer , @azazel-nyx , @lixanjewel , @ainsliemac ,

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delicatebarness · 4 months

Text

bring him home | chapter three

Summary: How has it been a whole year already?

Warning: MCU Spoilers. Mentions of Grief. Violence. Knives. Injury.

Word Count: 1376

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A/N: I love Rocket, okay?

The first anniversary of the Snap, the second most difficult day of your life. Standing before the ‘Wall of the Vanished’ in Brooklyn, your eyes locked on a single name that meant everything to you. ‘James “Bucky” Barnes’. His name began to blur as tears welled up in your eyes, every letter was a reminder of the loss you were still struggling to accept.

You woke up that morning with a heavy heart, the weight of the anniversary pressed down on you. As if you remind you of the silence that had followed that day, the city seemed quieter.

The journey to Brooklyn was blurred as your memories of Bucky, his laugh, his smile, his stare, replayed in your mind.

The ‘Wall of the Vanished’ was a structure, a monument of collective grief. Every city and county had built their own, a testament to the billions who had disappeared without a trace. As you approached, others were standing, some in silent reflection, others weeping as their fringers traced the names of their loved ones.

It felt like a punch from The Hulk as you reached Bucky’s name, whispering it under your breath. As if saying it softly enough could somehow bring him home. Reaching out to touch the cold stone, you felt the roughness under your fingertips. You couldn’t believe that a year had passed since your world changed forever.

The memory of his tortured cries haunted your dreams, even into your teenage years. Some years had passed since that harrowing day, and you were not allowed to be trained by him afterward. As time went by, you knew you had to escape. You bided your time with your older sister Natasha, feigning obedience while secretly plotting. You seized the moment as soon as the opportunity arose, slipping through the cracks of their iron grip and disappearing into the shadows.

You managed to build a new life away from their horrors and your past. Living in hiding in a quiet town, trying to blend in. You began to attend a public high school and tried to reclaim something of a normal life. The world now only saw an ordinary girl, but you were always on guard, waiting for them to come.

After a long day at school, you decided to walk home through the park, basking in the setting sun. The air was crisp, and the scent of the spring flowers beginning to bloom provided a fleeting comfort.

You barely noticed a figure approaching as you got lost in thought. It wasn’t until he was right in front of you, that you noticed him.

“Soldat,” you whispered, the name catching in your throat as your heart stopped. He didn’t look different, his hair was the same length as you remembered and his eyes were still that intense blue.

There was no response, he lunged at you with a knife. It grazed your arm as you barely managed to dodge it, indifference over his features.

“Don’t you recognize me, Soldat?” you pleaded, your voice trembling as the memories flashed in your mind, you continued to dodge.

He stared blankly at you while not backing down, his movements were as mechanical as you remembered. Your heart pounded in your chest.

“It’s me, your Spiderling,” you said desperately, hoping to reach the side of him they would try to erase.

For a moment, he paused, his gaze scanned you up and down. You saw a flicker of something in his eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. You had grown, and aged since the last time you saw him.

“Liar,” he hissed, his voice was cold and detached.

He began lunging at you again. Summoning all your strength, you accepted that the brief hesitation was all you were going to get. You prepared yourself for the hardest fight in your life. One against him.

His knife came at you again, but this time, you deflected it was a swift motion you learned from him. Knocking the knife out of his hand, his response was immediate; launching a barrage of punches. You countered and dodged, drawing on every bit of training you’d received from him.

“Soldat, please!” you shouted between strikes, testing your hope again. “It’s me!”

He didn’t respond, he was relentless. The initial adrenaline rush you had began to fade as you tired quickly. The sound of HYDRA agents filled the previously deserted park, they were closing in. You could only imagine they were tracking him to ensure he completed his mission. You.

You darted into the woods, him hot on your heels as the agents followed. Their shouts echoed through the trees. The only chance was to lose him in the woods, hoping that his memories of you, however buried, would slow him.

As branches whipped your face, and the ground became uneven, you heard him behind you. And, he was gaining ground. Your small frame began to feel as though it couldn’t go any further, yet a shot rang out. A searing pain rushed from your leg, and you stumbled, falling to the ground.

He was on you in an instant, and fear began to rise within you. Yet, he hesitated again, instead of completing the mission, he looked down at you. Your eyes pleaded with his as you met his gaze.

“You don’t have to do this, please.”

His grip tightened on your arm, his eyes flickering with confusion and pain. The voices from the distance grew louder. A sudden burst of strength came over you, wrenching you free from his grasp. You tried to stand but your injury caused you to collapse once more.

“Finish it!” An agent demanded as they reached you, roughly pulling you to your feet. A piercing scream escaped you as the pain through your arm.

His eyes locked onto yours again, for a moment, you didn’t see the soldier. You saw the same man you did as a child. But then, the cold mask returned. You struggled against the agent as darkness closed in around you.

The last you saw was him being led away in the opposite direction.

When you woke up, you were in a dimly lit room. Bandages covered your wounds, and you recognized the faint hum of medical equipment. Leaning over you, a kind-faced nurse began speaking to you.

“You’re safe now,” she said softly, relief washing over her features as she saw you waking up. “We found you just in time.”

The days quickly turned into weeks as you recovered, the emotional wounds taking longer to heal than the physical. At night, the memories haunted you, the sight of him being taken away scared into your mind.

You had lost him once again.

That evening, back in the quiet solitude of your room, you found yourself surrounded by a blue glow, a small hologram appearing on your table. Natasha had given it to you, as a way to keep in touch with those still fighting. With a deep breath, you accepted it, and a tiny shimmering figure of Rocket appeared.

“Hey, kid,” his voice crackled through the device, his sarcastic tone was surprisingly soothing. “How ya holding up?”

His expression softened as you sat down, the weight of the day continuing to press. “Not great. Saw Buck’s name on one of the walls they built today.”

He let out a small sigh, “Yeah, I guessed it might be a tough day.” he took a moment to pause, no doubt thinking about the family he lost a year ago too. “Look, I know it ain’t much, but we’re out here, doing everything we can to fix it.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, only this time there was a small flicker of hope. “Thanks, Rocket.” you sniffled. “It means a lot to know you’re out there, still.”

“We’ll get them back,” another pause from him. “All of them.” his voice became full of determination. “And, when we do… we’ll all have a big, stupid celebration.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Rocket chuckled. “I might finally get that arm.”

The weight of your grief lifted, for only a moment, replaced by the warmth of Rocket’s humor and the promise of a fight not yet over.

---

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#bring him home series #bring him home #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier x you #the winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes x romanoff!reader

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cinnamongorll · 8 months

Text

a fragile line - chapter 22

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

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

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

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

Word count: 7.3k

no context spoiler for this chapter: pride and prejudice mr. darcy hand flex scene ;)

Chapter 22: 'Running Up That Hill'

Juliet's POV:

Juliet ran her finger over the map, tracing the colourful lines on the crinkled paper. The low autumn sun filtered in through the truck windows, tossing golden light onto her trembling hands. Juliet hadn’t stopped shaking since she awoke in the woods two days prior, when she finally regained some sort of lucidity. Luckily, the vibrations from the truck masked the tremble as her whole body shook with the speed of the vehicle. Joel’s driving was always an experience.

They followed a series of bold blue lines to Cody. Joel was adamant that they would find his brother there. Juliet wasn’t so sure. She didn’t much believe in hope anymore.

As they continued down the never ending highway, the surrounding trees began to lessen and, having lost their shadows, the sun started to blind Juliet. She squinted her eyes against the rays and her trembling fingers rose to reach for the sun visor. But as she leaned forward, the muscles in her stomach stretched and her body screamed in pain with the brutal reminder of her burn. Juliet groaned low and her arm instantly returned to her side. Sweat broke out across her forehead as she inhaled deep breaths, attempting to slow her heart rate.

Days had passed but the pain showed no sign of lessening and Juliet was sick of playing the weakling. It was an effort not to make any more noise as pain continued to ripple through her, so she sucked in a silent breath through gritted teeth and waited for the fire in her stomach to dwindle.

One shallow breath later and a hand, still stained with the memory of blood, reached over from its resting position on the wheel and pulled down her visor. Juliet blinked as the sun was shielded from her vision and her eyes cut to the man the hand belonged to. Joel’s stare was unreadable and his eyes dropped to her stomach before returning to her shocked face. “Careful” he murmured, before his gaze latched onto the road again.

Juliet blinked slowly, still shaken by his momentary close proximity. Somehow, no matter how long they went without a shower, Joel always managed to keep his musky scent of pine and smoke. Juliet wanted to bathe in it, let the smell entirely surround her. It reminded her of working in the QZ, side by side with Joel. It reminded her of nights spent sleeping in Bill’s truck or tucked in sleeping bags under the stars. It reminded her of that night in the dark house, her hands still soaked with his blood as she felt the scruff of his jaw scratch against her skin.

Juliet’s hand involuntarily tensed, crinkling the map with her clenched fingers. She began to build that brick wall in her mind again, closing that memory in, desperate to keep it tucked away. Joel had killed her father. He was right, though, he had to do it, her father had to die. But how could she know that and still react the way she did to the memory of his lips on hers? She was sick, deranged even.

Joel was wrong for her. He was too old, too angry, too mean. And yet Juliet was unable to breathe around him; when he brushed against her or held her aching body under the stars. She blinked away that memory too.

Juliet shook her head, desperate to focus on the map in front of her. Joel was relying on her for directions, just as he had throughout their whole journey together. Ethan had attempted to sit shotgun that morning, going so far as to open the door and take the seat. Joel wasn’t having it, though. He had claimed that Ethan couldn’t read a map “for shit” and was determined that Juliet take the seat beside him.

They had argued for a while, until Joel became almost frighteningly silent and Ethan got in the back with a few choice curse words under his breath. Juliet hadn’t realised he’d known those words.

Now, Ethan sat with his arms crossed and his eyes latched firmly on the back of Joel’s head. Juliet snuck a peak behind her, the best she could in her pained state, and Ethan quickly met her eyes with a small smile. She tried to return the gesture but her mouth curved into more of a grimace. Juliet knew that Ethan wasn’t happy with her, that he didn’t like Joel and didn’t want to be stuck in this truck with him. But he had stayed, for her…

Juliet’s chest tightened as her debt to him increased.

They would reach Cody within the next couple hours. Joel was worried about the dark so the plan was to find somewhere to lay low for the night before they began to scope out the town in the morning. Juliet could feel Joel’s anxiety. Somehow, his broad shoulders grew tighter as they closed in on the last place his brother had contacted him from. His regular tapping on the wheel increased at a rapid speed, Juliet didn’t think he was even aware of it.

She was desperate to reach over and enclose her hand over his.

As Joel shifted gears and increased his speed, Juliet allowed her mind to wander. She allowed herself to think about comforting him the way he had comforted her. How would he react to her touch? Would Joel welcome her attention? Or brush her off?

There were so many lines they walked: between smuggler and cargo, friend and acquaintance, accomplice and opponent. Juliet was afraid to bridge the gap, the guilt that lived inside her raged with every thought of Joel’s touch. Ethan was in the backseat, Ethan had saved her, he had suffered for years because of her. She couldn’t do that to him. She couldn’t even visualise Joel returning her feelings. Juliet didn’t even know what those feelings were, but more and more she was struggling to deny that they existed.

…………………………………………………

When they reached Cody, they all sat up a bit straighter. The light was fading fast, but Juliet’s breath caught at the mountains towering over the town. They made her feel small, made everything seem small. The silence was heavy between them and Joel began to tense. Juliet didn’t dare look at his face, she couldn’t bear to see that scrunch of his eyebrows which hinted at danger ahead. They had been through too much, and everything inside her mind was still so blurry. Juliet couldn’t handle another trauma - she could barely remember the last one.

Ethan leaned forward, resting his forearm on the back of Juliet’s seat and pushing the front of his body into the space between Joel and Juliet. Juliet shifted closer to the door to make room for his presence.

“See any demons?” he whispered as the truck slowly moved down the city street.

Joel’s eyes cut to Ethan, a question printed on his face.

“He means the infected,” Juliet murmured as she continued staring straight ahead. Their community didn’t know much about the current blight of the world. Her father had always called them ‘demons’ but never went into detail. Juliet remembered the first time she saw an infected person, stumbling around in a carpark with Blake by her side. She remembered the sound of his gunshot in her ears when it fell to the ground.

Joel didn’t respond, he just tensed his hand on the wheel. Juliet could tell he was entirely focused on their surroundings, scanning every shop window, every corner of every darkening street they passed.

“Looks clear to me,” Ethan announced in a hard voice following the heavy silence, tilting his head towards Juliet. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was scanning the roads like Joel, holding her breath with every passing second. It was almost too quiet in Cody, surely they would have seen at least one infected stumbling around somewhere. Juliet began to curl her fingers into fists, ignoring the pain from her tender palms.

If Tommy wasn’t here, if there was nowhere for them to go… Juliet didn’t know if there was enough room in her soul to house another blow.

Joel slowed the truck to a stop on what looked like a mainstreet. They said nothing for a moment, still waiting, still listening for danger. Sometimes, in the silence, there lay the deadliest of threats.

“We’ll get out,” Joel began his command, before cutting his eyes to Ethan, “Quietly ” he insisted with raised eyebrows. Juliet watched as Ethan rolled his eyes and sank backwards into the back of the truck.

“We don’t know what’s out there, but we gotta find somewhere to stay for the night,” Joel continued. Juliet nodded in response, used to this routine. She felt renewed by this small sense of purpose, this small comfort of familiarity.

For his next instruction, Joel turned in his seat, facing Ethan. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid” he ground out in a low, dark voice, as his eyes narrowed. Juliet attempted to swallow down the tension which lay thick in the air.

After a long moment, Ethan muttered out an agreement then bent forward and began to rifle through his backpack, before pulling out a handgun and making sure it was loaded. They must have cleared out the armoury before leaving the community, because Juliet and Joel had one too, along with two shotguns in the back.

Before she could attempt to lean forward, and aggravate the burn on her stomach, her backpack landed on her lap. Joel leaned over the gear stick, his scent of pine and smoke washing over her, as he began to search through her bag, finding her gun and ammo and depositing them into Juliet’s awaiting hands. When he was done, he moved to his own backpack and did the same.

Tears threatened to fill Juliet’s eyes. The silent gesture from Joel flooded her body with a comforting warmth. Juliet didn’t say thank you, she knew Joel wouldn’t want her to. She just loaded her gun and blinked away her glossy eyes, quietly steeling herself for what the night would bring.

……………………………

They exited the truck as the sky darkened into a vibrant shade of navy blue. Juliet’s legs were stiff and her body felt unusually heavy, her limbs trembled with the chill in the air. The weather had changed rapidly in the last few days, autumn was now truly upon them and Juliet wished for a warmer wardrobe. Joel had found her a new shirt, to replace the one they had to cut open, but the soft flannel wasn’t enough to shield her body from the cold.

Her backpack hung from her hand as Juliet braced herself to swing it over her shoulders, she knew the strain that would have on her stomach. So she took a couple deep breaths and listened to the quiet sounds of Ethan rounding the truck towards her, before biting her lip and begining to lift her arms.

Her backpack had barely moved before a heavy weight landed on her shoulders with a warmth which forced a low groan to instantly release from her lips. She looked down and realised that it was a jacket… Joel’s jacket. The jacket was far too big for her, almost swallowing her down to her knees. Joel stood before her, staring down at her wide eyes and gently took the backpack from her icy hands.

“Joel, no. I can’t take this,” she protested, trying to shrug the jacket from her shoulders.

Joel raised his free hand, silencing her.

“Take it,” he commanded, leaving no room for a returning argument.

She wanted to fight back on this, demand that Joel take his jacket back. But it was so warm and it smelled so much like him, and Juliet was so cold. So, she nodded slowly and pulled her arms through the sleeves, rolling them up so her hands could move freely. When Joel was satisfied, he lifted her bag and threaded her arms through the straps, until it hung securely from her back.

Juliet’s cheeks were burning. She hated that she couldn’t do this for herself, that her injury retrained almost every movement she made. And she hated that Joel saw her like this, as weak and defenceless, as something he had to look after, like a child. Her father had done this to her, he had taken away her dignity and all that was left was a shell of who Juliet once was. She wasn’t a survivor anymore, she was barely a person.

Joel’s eyes scanned her face and Juliet watched as a muscle jumped in his tight jaw. She nodded again, this time to show her gratitude. Joel just looked at her a moment longer and moved away, facing the darkening street in front of them as he sorted his own backpack.

Juliet pulled the jacket tighter around her and turned to find Ethan leaning on the side of the truck, an unreadable expression covered his face. But he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at the jacket now hanging loose on her shivering form. His eyebrows pinched together and he ran his free hand over his mouth, before he tugged the corners of his lips into his signature smile, which didn’t quite reach his eyes, and gestured with a tilt of his head that they should get moving.

Joel walked with his usual quick stride, his heavy steps somehow quiet on the concrete ground. Juliet held her gun steady in her hand, Ethan, who walked beside her, did the same. When Juliet looked closer at Ethan, she noticed his hands were trembling and his shoulders were tight. A sharp bolt of pity fired through her when she remembered that Ethan had no real experience with the outside world. As they walked down this empty street, the masked terror in Ethan’s eyes reminded her of the girl Blake found in the woods all those years ago. She ached to reach out, to offer some comfort, some reassurance for her friend but she needed to keep her wits about her. With every step they took, Juliet grew more and more uneasy. Surely Tommy wasn’t hiding out here? It was too open, too achingly quiet.

Juliet knew that Joel wouldn’t want to go far from the truck so she was unsurprised when his steps slowed outside a building with minimal broken windows and somewhat undisturbed brickwork. He turned to Juliet, tossed his shotgun over his shoulder, and nodded their usual signal for her to keep watch. Her eyes instantly focused on the streets, listening intently for anything amiss as Joel began the work of finding an entry into the building.

Ethan started to pace, holding his gun out in front of him. Even in the near complete darkness, with only the moon to light their surroundings, Juliet could see that Ethan’s eyes had taken on a glaze of wild fear.

“Ethan,” she hissed, trying desperately to get his attention without making much noise.

Ethan’s eyes quickly cut to her but only for a second before they latched back onto the dark street. She tried again, this time moving closer to him. “What’s wrong?” she whispered urgently.

Ethan had stopped pacing. He stood eerily still as he lifted his gun higher. Panic struck Juliet with a fierce blow when she realised that he was aiming at something.

Juliet squinted her eyes, searching through the darkness for the source of Ethan’s terror.

Her breath caught when she spotted it. There. A figure stumbling out from behind a car.

Juliet would recognise those jerky movements anywhere.

An infected.

And Ethan had his gun trained on it. But he didn’t know what the infected were like. He didn't know that if saw one then there were probably hundreds somewhere else, just waiting for a sound to alert them of their presence.

“Ethan, no ” Juliet hissed, reaching her hand towards him.

But it was too late.

Ethan fired the shot and, of course, even in the dark, it landed on its target. Ethan was the one to teach Juliet how to shoot, after all. The infected fell to the ground without a sound, but the gunshot was deafening.

She froze, her hand still outstretched as Joel rushed up to Ethan and pried the gun from his hands.

“What the fuck are you doin’?” Joel demanded, grabbing hold of Ethan’s shoulder with his free hand. Ethan turned to him, his eyes wide.

“I did it,” he gushed, attempting to shrug off Joel’s crushing grip. “I killed one of them.”

“Yeah and lit up a target on our heads. Every infected in the area is gonna follow that sound directly to us,” Joel fumed, doing his best to keep his voice low, but his rage was screaming out of him.

Ethan recoiled, the relief gone. Joel let him tug himself free. “Shit,” Ethan cursed, running his hand through his hair.

“We need to move,” Juliet whispered, searching Joel’s face for instructions.

Before Joel could answer. Before any of them could move. They heard the sound Juliet dreaded with every fibre of her soul.

Gargling. Screeching. Footsteps, pounding on the concrete.

Without a second thought, Joel grabbed Juleit’s arm and pulled her towards the store. Juliet stumbled to the door, her fear weighing her down. She turned and saw, from the distance, a black mass moving at lightning speed, hitting off of abandoned cars and stumbling over each other.

Joel was right. Ethan had led a mass of infected right to them.

Joel pulled against the latch he had just burst open with the handle of his shotgun, pulling the door open and pushing Juliet through. She didn’t have a choice, Joel had moved so quickly she hadn't even had time to protest, to beg for Joel to help Ethan. Within seconds the door was shut and Juliet was alone in the darkness.

She turned to the window, her heart was beating so fast she could hear her blood rushing in her ears. From the foggy glass she could see Joel and Ethan arguing before Joel grabbed hold of Ethan’s shirt and dragged him towards the door. Juliet stumbled back as they entered, Ethan ran straight into her chest, knocking the air out of her. It took everything in Juliet to not scream in pain.

“Watch it,” Joel growled at Ethan.

Ethan had stumbled to the wall and dropped his head into his hands. His fingers were shaking.

“Quick, barricade the door,” Juliet urged, trying her best to bend towards a cabinet but Joel got there first, gently nudging her out the way and pushing the cabinet in front of the door. Juliet moved towards the window, and instantly jumped back at the horror outside the shop.

The infected had descended upon the street. Hundreds stumbling about in the dark, their heads turning at unnatural angles attempting to hear the sounds of their victims. Juliet turned around slowly, her finger glued to her lips.

Joel froze at the sight of her face and moved to the window. They both gazed out, Juliet's shoulder pressed against Joel’s bicep. The muscles in his arm were tense right down to his clenched hand against the windowsill. She could still make out the cuts on his knuckles. The evidence of what he had done for her. Juliet couldn’t let this be the end of his story, when he was so close to finding his brother. Joel deserved peace. He deserved a life without broken knuckles and blood on his hands.

Despite her fuzzy brain and the lightheadedness that had begun to dilute her thoughts. Juliet scrambled to create a plan.

“We keep quiet, keep out of sight tonight. Then, in the morning we can plan a way out of here,” Juliet murmured, glad that Joel stood so close so she didn’t have to speak any louder and risk one of the infected hearing. In the morning light, they would be able to see a way out of this mess.

Joel nodded and his face tilted down towards her. ‘Upstairs’ he mouthed with a jerk of his chin.

Juliet agreed they had to get as far away from the door as possible. Tucked further into the building, they might have a chance of surviving the night.

Ethan still stood pressed against the wall. Juliet gestured to him that they should find their way upstairs and he nodded, finally understanding the gravity of their situation and the need to stay quiet. Juliet would be lying if she said she wasn’t annoyed at this callousness. He should have known better. He should have listened to her, listened to Joel. Juliet wondered if he felt a need to prove himself by killing that infected, to prove that he could survive in this world like she had. Juliet had never known Ethan to be a jealous person, but the years changed people. She knew that more than anyone.

Despite her annoyance, she still brushed her fingers against his hand as she walked past him towards the stairs. Yet, before she could take the first step, Joel tapped her shoulder and raised his hand, asking her to wait. She paused, a question on her lips. Then she watched as Joel reluctantly handed Ethan his gun back. Ethan wrapped his hand around the handle but Joel wouldn’t let go. He held tight even as Ethan pulled against the weapon. Ethan pulled again, harder this time. But Joel held steady.

Just when Juliet was about to step in, Joel grabbed the collar of Ethan’s shirt, pulling him in close. Joel whispered in his ear, words that Juliet was unable to make out. When he was finished, Joel let go and Ethan stumbled back a couple steps, the gun now in his hands. Juliet cringed as Ethan gained his footing, worried he would make a sound by crashing into something.

Joel turned back to her with the slightest hint of satisfaction in his tense expression. Juliet furrowed her eyebrows but allowed Joel to step around her and begin their slow, silent journey up the stairs with his gun raised in one hand and his torch now gripped in the other, lighting their way.

With each step, Joel paused, testing the stability of the steps. Juliet thought back to their time in the museum in Boston, when the entire staircase crumbled beneath them. It felt like a lifetime ago. Back then, Juliet had known exactly where her life would take her. She had a purpose. She had a reason to keep going. Now… Juliet wasn’t exactly sure why she was still putting one foot in front of the other.

She tensed her fingers around the handle of her gun, following Joel’s footsteps as they inched their way up the stairs. Ethan was a few steps behind her, she could hear his quiet breaths.

When Joel reached the stop, Juliet paused, waiting for him to sweep the hallway with his torch. They stayed silent, it still wasn’t safe to make a sound as more infected could be hidden upstairs. After a moment, Joel nodded down at them and Juliet stepped onto the hardwood floor. She had thought this was a store, but she was wrong. It looked more like an office building. If they could find an office at the back and barricade the door, they could stay safe until morning light where they could use the window to plot their way back to the truck.

Juliet eased a slow breath from her lips, finally feeling the weight on her shoulders ease. Just a few more steps, sweep the upstairs, then they could rest. Juliet struggled to stand for too long, her head still ached with the force of her father’s blow, along with the bruising on her ankles. She was ashamed at how weak her father had made her.

Joel walked forward, avoiding a couple crumbling floorboards and pointed his torch into the first room. Juliet was about to signal to Joel that they should split up, sweep the rooms individually then meet back in the hallway. But then she thought of Ethan and his trigger happy tendencies and she restrained herself with a grimace. They should stick together.

Juliet followed Joel into the first room, surprised by the lavish furnishing. It was large, far larger than her father’s office had been. Against the far wall, sat a desk with a leather chair, and as Joel swung around the torch she realised there were two other rooms housed within this deceptively massive space.

Realising Ethan wasn’t behind her, she turned, searching for him in the darkness. Not daring to say his name and disturb the quiet, Juliet walked back towards the door, her steps quickening with her increasing panic. Where was he? What was wrong? Was he hurt?

Every worried thought vanished from Juliet’s head as she crashed to the floor.

With Joel’s torch pointed in the other direction, Juliet hadn’t seen the box on the ground. She hit the hard floor with a piercing cry, landing on her stomach. Juliet had to breathe through the intense pulse of nausea which attacked her.

“Ethan!” she cried, still searching for him, even from her position on the floor.

“Juliet!” Joel bellowed from the far corner of the room, as he ran over towards her.

As Juliet lifted her head, everything went into slow motion.

She could hear Joel’s footsteps thundering towards her, his torchlight bouncing off of the walls. And as the light hit the entryway, she noticed a black crack staining what was left of the white paint above the door. That wasn’t odd, every building was covered in cracks.

This one, however, was growing, rapidly.

“Ethan!” she screamed, not caring anymore who could hear her.

“I'm coming!” he yelled back, it sounded as though he was in a different room.

“No, no, no, no,” Juliet began to murmur, louder and louder, because the crack wasn’t just a crack anymore, it was a gaping hole in the wall. And as Juliet muttered out her final ‘ no’ the ceiling over the entryway came crashing down in a cloud of plaster and brick.

…………………………………

When the ceiling had finished collapsing, leaving only the wooden beams of the attic to protect them from the sky, Joel’s hands finally found her. He gripped Juliet by the shoulders and pulled her to her feet, his breaths heavy in her ear.

“You alright?” he demanded, brushing the white dust off of her face. His eyes were wild as they scanned her from head to toe.

Juliet gripped his arm tight and leaned forward, vomiting at their feet.

It really was like their time in the museum , she thought, grimly.

“Shhh,” Joel murmured, pulling back her knotted strands of dark hair as she continued to spit bile onto the floor.

Juliet couldn’t even feel the embarrassment of the situation. All she could focus on was the pain in her body and the warm touch of Joel’s fingers in her hair.

But as her mind returned to her, fierce panic struck her cold.

“Ethan,” she coughed. “He was in the hallway, Joel. Oh god, what if he’s…” she stuttered, her words spilling out of her. The rubble had sealed them in, she couldn’t see into the hallway at all.

“Etha -” she started to scream, moving to push past Joel. But he was quicker. Joel pulled Juliet to him so her backpack was pressed tight against his chest and he curled his large hand over her mouth. Juliet wriggled against him, trying to free herself from his intense grip.

Then she heard the sound that haunted so many of her nightmares.

Click.

Juliet choked on her breath, thankful for Joel’s hand over her mouth to quiet the sound.

Click.

They heard it again. This time, she could make out which direction it was coming from. The door to their left was left open and she could see a shadow starting to make its way towards the main room. Joel’s torch lay somewhere on the floor behind them, casting dramatic shadows over the room.

Juliet reached her hand out to grip Joel’s. He squeezed back, curling his fingers over her own, squeezing, as he released his other hand from her mouth. Juliet felt Joel slide his hand around to his back pocket and pull out his handgun. Another flood of panic struck her. Her gun flew from her hand when she tripped. It was somewhere on the floor, but without proper lighting, she couldn’t see where.

She needed that gun if she was going to get out of here. Without thinking, Juliet released Joel’s hand and took a step forward… onto a loose floorboard.

First, the wood screeched and groaned and Juliet froze, her entire body pausing mid-step. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited, cursing herself for her own stupidity.

Then came a different screech. A gargling, wet, scream erupted from the other room and the clicker came barreling into the main office space.

Juliet felt Joel grab her by the backpack and swing her around until she stood behind him. He raised his gun, aiming for the clicker’s head, but the shadows were making it difficult and it was getting too close.

Joel slammed into the clicker, still firing shots. Juliet watched in horror, she had no weapons, nothing to help kill the monster in his arms. Her eyes were wide and frantic as she scanned the floor for her gun.

Click.

Juliet’s head turned with a dizzying speed. There it was. Another clicker. It must have been in the back room. And now, it was headed straight for her.

Juliet darted to the side, evading its first attack. But as she moved, she quickly realised that she was backing herself into a wall. A scream crawled its way up her throat and she tried to dart her eyes towards Joel, but there was no time.

The clicker was rapidly approaching, Juliet could smell the decay simmering on its body. If she wasn’t so terrified she would have gagged again. Having no weapons, Juliet did the next best thing: she grabbed the large leather chair and swung it in front of her as the clicker finally caught up to her.

It slammed into the leather and what remained of its teeth snapped at her from behind the chair as its almost claw-like fingers missed her face by an inch. Her terror overpowered her, she didn’t realise it at first, but she was screaming. A fierce, blood curdling scream.

Across the room she heard another shot and the sound of a body hitting the ground. Through a gap in the chair, her eyes caught sight of a clicker on the ground. Dead.

“Jul -” Joel started to shout before he was cut off.

There was another clicker, behind Joel this time. Like Juliet, he was backed into a wall.

Tears started to flood down Juliet’s face as the clicker continued its snarling attack while Juliet crouched in terror. Juliet was beginning to realise that this wasn’t quite like the museum, afterall. Back then, Juliet had a weapon. Back then, Juliet had Joel. Back then, Juliet had a reason to fight.

But what was left for her now? Why was she still fighting against these monsters? She had nothing to protect herself with - what was the point?

Her father was dead. She had saved Ethan, and now he might be dead too. She had no family, nowhere to go. No real reason to go on.

Maybe there was nowhere safe left in the world. Maybe, in every room, in every building, in every city, there was a monster in the closet. Juliet didn’t know if she had the energy to fight them anymore.

She was supposed to die in that basement. She had accepted it.

Maybe now, it was time.

With another sob, Juliet eased her grip on the chair. Her decision washed over her, calming her terror. She’d had enough. She was done.

Still sheltered by the chair, Juliet used her last moment to find Joel. Tears blurred her vision, but she could make out his blurry figure kicking and slashing at the clicker. He was yelling something. Juliet thought it might be her name. But she wasn’t sure.

Without realising, Juliet had regained her grip on the chair, pushing it back against the clicker, stifling its attack. Her body shook with its movements. She continued staring at Joel as her panic returned. As she watched him struggle against the monster, Juliet struggled to catch her breath.

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t watch Joel die. This wasn’t fair. He had to find his brother. He had to live. He still had a reason to go on.

He wasn’t supposed to die.

Juliet couldn’t look away from his quick, sharp movements. He drove his knife into the clicker over and over, with such strength and such fury as he screamed her name.

“Joel!” she yelled back, her voice croaky as his name spilled out of her without warning.

He had a knife.

Wait.

So did she.

Juliet braced herself, pushing with all her strength in her left arm as she freed her right and slid it down into her boot. When she brought it back up to push against the leather chair, between her fingers was her rose carved switchblade.

Her father’s guards hadn’t taken it.

It had been in her boot this whole time.

Juliet screamed with every bit of fury still left in her weary soul and pushed against the chair, knocking the clicker backwards. With the adrenaline pumping through her veins, her pain was no longer a concern, and Juliet leapt to her feet, scrambling over the chair. With one push from her finger, the blade sprung free. The clicker grabbed her shoulder, pulling her towards it, its teeth ready to slash into her neck.

But Juliet was faster. She used the clicker’s momentum to twist her body to the side and drive her knife into its neck. Black, slimy blood splattered across her face but the clicker kept coming at her. Juliet pulled the knife out with a force which almost knocked her backwards. She stumbled but straightened enough to drive the knife towards the clicker’s head, all while dodging its vicious attacks.

She pierced its open skull with her blade.

The clicker slowed but its attack continued.

Juliet pulled back and stabbed into the skull again, as the clicker’s fingers sliced against Joel’s jacket.

This time, the clicker dropped to the ground, releasing its grip on her.

For good measure, Juliet bent down and brought her knife down another few times. Not caring as more blood splattered her face.

“Juliet!” Joel grunted out from across the room.

She twisted, launching to her feet, almost tripping over the first fallen clicker as she ran to Joel.

Near him on the floor, she could see her gun lying where she had dropped it.

She picked it up, moved towards the clicker and fired a shot.

The clicker was propelled backwards with the bullet in its neck and the force from Joel’s kick. But it wasn’t enough, she needed a shot in the head. Juliet put all of her fear, anger and desperation into her next shot.

The clicker stilled on the floor, inky black blood oozing from its many wounds.

The clicker was dead but Juliet’s body was like a live wire. Her fingers shook so hard she thought she might drop her gun.

Her eyes moved from the monster on the floor to the man against the wall. Joel stood with his hands on his knees, breathing heavy.

“Are you okay?” Juliet gasped out as she staggered over to him, tucking her gun into her pocket.

Before she could reach him, Joel closed the gap between them in two strides, grabbing hold of her shoulders. His face was coated in sweat and his eyes were blazing, they were entirely black. Juliet should have been terrified of him. He was the picture of danger and rage. But all she felt was relief. He was alive. He was safe. He was okay.

Joel’s hands moved from her shoulders to her face. His fingers roamed over her forehead, down to her chin, behind her neck, across her collarbone, under his jacket, under her flannel.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” Joel growled as his fingers continued their exploration. Juliet thought he was looking for bites but this felt different. It felt like he was assessing every inch of her, desperately feeling for himself if she was alive, if she was actually standing in front of him.

Juliet did the same, she reached up to his face and cupped her hand over his jaw as her eyes met his. “Do what?” she whispered back. Her body shivered with Joel’s touch. He was unrelenting, his hands roamed everywhere. After a long look into her questioning eyes, his head dropped to her neck and his lips started to roam the delicate skin behind her ear. Juliet couldn’t help the moan that slipped out.

“Make me think you were dead,” Joel replied with a murmur against her neck. Juliet felt his words under her skin, his rough, low, voice sank deeper, and deeper into her body.

“Can’t lose you,” he continued as his hands squeezed her waist. It was like he was in a trance, Juliet could feel his heartbeat pounding against her chest. She felt frenzied, she couldn’t get enough of him. Was this how being alive was supposed to feel?

Joel pulled back until their eyes met again. His black stare melted into her own as his hand left her waist and his thumb brushed over her lips.

“So beautiful,” he said with a low growl which, combined with his southern drawl, made his words almost unintelligible.

But Juliet heard him, and she could read the words written in his deep stare. His thumb brushed back and forth over her lips and warmth flooded Juliet’s entire body.

With a low groan rumbling from his chest, Joel closed the gap between them.

His mouth crashed onto Juliet’s and Joel wasted no time parting her lips. Their kiss wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t nice, it wasn’t gentle. It was hot, messy, and wrong, so wrong. Joel’s fingers gripped the back of her neck, pushing her closer, holding her in place as his mouth claimed her’s. Juliet palmed his chest, reaching under his shirt, gripping his belt, pulling him closer. She needed him with a primal intensity. Colours flashed across her vision as their teeth crashed into each other.

Joel’s chest rumbled with low growls as Juliet attempted to say his name with every quick breath. Her mind echoed over and over: Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel. It was like a chant, a prayer. But she needed more. The hand tucked under his shirt spread around to his back and Juliet scratched her torn nails down his skin. Joel’s tongue invaded her mouth in response as his other hand tugged her hair into his tight grip.

Still, she needed more.

Juliet pushed against Joel until he was pressed against the wall behind them. She couldn’t get enough, her entire body was on fire. Her hands were everywhere, they rounded the front of his shirt this time and then started to descend lower, and lower until her fingers tugged on his belt. She felt his hips thrust as his teeth nipped at her lips and his hand tugged tighter on her hair. Her fingers shook as she struggled against his belt buckle -

“Juliet? Joel?!” a voice called from a distance.

Juliet launched herself from Joel, stumbling backwards as flung herself from his orbit. Joel stood plastered against the wall, his hair a mess and his shirt open, revealing the trail of hair leading into his dark jeans. The place her hand just pressed against.

“Juliet! Can you hear me?”

Ethan.

“Oh god,” Juliet gasped out as she lifted her fingers to her mouth, feeling her swollen lips. What had she done? How could she have forgotten Ethan?

Joel stared down at her, making no move to fix himself. He was waiting to see what she would do, how she would react.

Juliet spun around, finally remembering the devastation around her. There were three dead clickers on the floor and they were sealed in with the debris from the ceiling. Ethan was in the hallway, calling her name. And what was Juliet doing? Kissing Joel. She could barely verbalise those words inside her own head.

It felt so good. Juliet didn’t know she could feel like that. She didn’t know those feelings even existed.

“Juliet” Ethan called again, his voice was desperate, terrified for her.

Her guilt strangled her.

“Ethan!” she yelled, stumbling over to the debris. “I’m here, I’m here.”

Juliet started to pull against the plaster and bricks which blocked their exit and Ethan did the same from the other side. She didn’t dare turn around, she couldn’t bear to see the look on Joel’s face. What could she say to him? She didn’t even understand what just happened. So, Juliet kept pulling against the debris, clearing the way. The adrenaline still numbed the pain but when Joel appeared behind her and started to help, Juliet breathed a sigh of relief.

After a few minutes, they had cleared enough for Ethan to find his way into the room. He scanned the three clickers on the ground and swallowed rough, before meeting Juliet’s eyes.

“That makes four then,” he said.

“You killed one?” Juliet gasped out. That must have been why he disappeared. Had Ethan been battling a clicker this entire time? “Ethan, god. Are you okay?” she asked, moving closer to him. His clothes didn’t look torn and the only mark on him was the black, inky blood of the clickers. Juliet let out a heavy sigh of relief when he nodded.

Then, without warning, he moved forward and pulled Juliet against him. His hand brushed over her hair with such gentleness. Nothing like Joel’s vicious grip. Juliet’s face reddened at the thought.

She opened her eyes as Ethan rubbed her back in soothing circles. He was trying to comfort her, she assumed. But Juliet wasn’t looking for comfort, she didn’t want soft touches and gentle words. Juliet scanned the room for Joel and found him standing against the entryway, his hand flexing over the handle of his gun. His jaw shifted when he met her eyes. They were still black, still staring at her with a fire blazing in them and when he looked at Ethan’s hands, cradled around her, his stare turned lethal.

Juliet bit her lip, and watched as Joel’s eyes followed her movement. His hand gripped his gun tighter.

Ethan pulled away, but continued to rest his hands on her arms. “You’re going to be okay,” he promised her. But Juliet wasn’t listening, her gaze was still focused on the man behind him. The man who would never offer such words of reassurance in this unstable world. Juliet felt remorseful at the thought and made an effort to meet Ethan’s eyes with a small, accepting smile. She didn’t mean to compare them. Ethan was being kind, trying to calm her.

But he didn’t know that Joel’s touch frightened her more than the clickers ever could. He didn’t know that she could still taste him in her mouth. He didn’t know that Juliet liked that fear.

He didn’t know that it was the only thing that made her feel alive.

When Juliet searched for those dark eyes again, they were gone. Joel had turned away, shielding her from the thoughts etched on his face.

Yet as she looked down, she watched his hand flex at his side, almost as though he was shaking off the feeling of her touch.

_________________________

@amyispxnk @shotgun-shelby @http-paprika

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

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sanjisluvbot · 2 years

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Spending time with Yandere Strawhats x Black Fem reader

AN: Hello and welcome new readers, this is slightly a part three to my Isekai series and as I publish this I am thinking about creating separate fics for each of the characters below. If you want to be on a tag list I’ll add you 🫶🏽🫵🏽

MINI SPOILERS BTW

Luffy was the main source of light for your adventure. You hung out with him mostly in the middle of the day when the sun was at its peak. Other times it’s at the end of the day just before Sanji calls you in for the last meal. Those are your favorites, words don’t need to be spoken when you and Luffy are sitting on the head of the Sunny. At least not the words either of you want to hear at the moment. So you both sit in silence enjoying the false sense of bliss.

Luffy sits next to you in all meals, since you’re the favorite, he wouldn’t dare steal food from you.. most of the time of course. The first mate will always be to the other side of you as well neither taking their gaze off of you as if you were nothing but prey.

When you’re all on islands only few are assigned to take care of you and watch you. Nami, Robin, Zoro, Sanji and Jimbei, the rest couldn’t be trusted to not fall for you in their naivety.

When you were able to go adventure with Luffy you had more of a chance to escape when he was distracted by surroundings. However that didn’t last long, it was as if he had eyes on the back of his head. He would know exactly where you were hiding no matter what.

You got better at hiding behind a fake smile the more you hung out with Luffy. It was never a pretty sight with any of the crew when you angered them by mentioning your “ home”

Luffy would usually ignore you when you’d talk about home, he didn’t care about the past he just wanted to enjoy the present with all his friends. But those times you got under his skin he made your life a living hell.

Zoro wasn’t one to really welcome most with open arms especially with the way you ended up with the crew.

Zoro was one who put you in edge the most because even having one eye shut the man’s gaze makes one fully understand that if he wanted to he would end your life.

However that barley lasted a full week, after he found out you both had a love for drinking he made it a mission to get under your skin in the best ways he could. Always checking up on you, rescuing you when you’re in danger, wanting to play drinking games after dinner, and napping on the deck with him on warm days.

On new islands you would go pair off with Zoro, in order to fall into the shadows and disappear from the strawhat crew forever. However, Zoro was resilient, he always held your hand and never took that menacing eye away for more than a second.

You’ve tried to reason with him once when you both were drunk off your asses in the aquarium. “ I want to ask you something.. Zoro” with a heavy sigh he turned to face you from his spot on the floor. “ Why do you like to bother me when we are like this? You’re gonna ruin a good time”

His gaze was so intense making you gulp and turn away while his eye burned into your skull. It’s very unfortunate that this man is so attractive. “ I know it’s a lot to ask but-” “ Then don’t ask me I don’t have an answer to satisfy you y/n” you could tell when he was really inebriated, his hard exterior was down and he spoke to you with such a soft voice.

You and Nami spent most of your time together in her office. You liked to write and paint and she had tons of paper and ink.

Tanning on the Sunny was an essential it felt like you had a real girlfriend, you did your spa days together and talked about anything to come to mind. Sharing baths always made you blush since she would take the time to pamper you and scrub your scalp when it was wash day.

Nami had always been a great actor, that’s how she was able to survive those many years alone and ostracized from her family and friends. Bringing up home around her means waterworks.

It also means being punished by the whole crew because she told everyone you were thinking of an escape.

She loved taking you shopping, you were her little doll she wanted to dress up and take care of. She didn’t want to loose anyone else close to her which is exactly why she would go as far as getting you punished for a few days in order to make sure you can stay with her forever.

Ussop was the one you could relate to the most. You both were very similar in terms of being considered the weakest onboard and among other things.

Spending time with Ussop meant sometimes spending time with Chopper and Luffy playing games and pranks on crew members.

You learned about his garden and eventually started helping him take care of that. He spoke in depth about what he learned over the last two years and how his new seeds worked.

He turned you into a little inventor, bringing you under his wing and you were willing to learn anything and everything. You almost felt bad knowing the real reason you wanted to learn from him.

Sanji was enamored with you to the fullest extent. He is usually head over heels for anything that walks his way with boobs but you, you sparked something in him.

Spending time with Sanji meant you didn’t have to lift a finger because he waited on you hand and foot.

Sanji loved to have you perched on his side when he was cooking so you can taste everything and stroke his ego. He was such a charmer and you both got along so well since it was obvious you both had a soft spot for one another.

One islands like water seven you would pair off with him and go and explore the city and help him buy groceries. This is one of the main reasons out of all the Yandere Strawhats Sanji is the most obsessed. To him, those times were dates and godforbid something happened to you or you decided to leave him he would spiral.

When you used to talk about going home or one of the other crew members would tell him about things you been doing ( escape attempts ) he would get so angry his eyebrow going from left to right. This would cause Zoro and him to fight more often due to him wanting to take his anger out on anything.

Robin was the main one to keep you on your toes. Her eyes always let you know when to stop talking.

Spending time with Robin meant you were able to read a variety of books and inhaling knowledge just as she does. When you looked at books that resembles your situation she was always over your shoulder or had an eye pop up somewhere on your body.

“ Interesting book there y/n would you let me read it when your done?” Her smile never fully reached her eyes on most occasions which always left you drenched in a cold sweat because you knew.

You knew that escaping with someone like Robin on the crew was more than difficult, but you pushed that past you when you hung out. Sanji would bring tea and treats to the library and there would be soft music playing in the background.

Robin was serenity when you ignored the silent threats.

Spending time with the whole crew was usually meal times or when you had important business on an island.

Everyone bounced off each others conversations they truly stuck together like glue which is the main reason you’ve been with them so long.

No matter what the conversations always gravitated towards you. Each sharing their stories of time you spent together or future plans they had with you. Some of which you hadn’t even agreed to ( yet ).

It is hard to escape from a crew that you already ran away from once, they’d be damned if they let it happen twice.

#zoro x black reader #x black fem reader #platonic yandere #yandere strawhats #mugiwara crew #luffy x black reader #ussop x reader #one piece x reader #Nami x black fem reader #nico robin #Nico Robin x black fem reader #sanji x black reader #one piece headcanons #straw hat pirates

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konigbabe · 2 years

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the five times you meet phillip graves

Author: @konigbabe

Pairing: Phillip Graves x fem!reader

Word count: 5.6k

Tags/Warnings: cod mwii campaign spoilers; swearing; enemies to those who tolerate each other; kissing; blood and injury; minor violence; cursing; pet names; gunshot/knife wounds; inaccurate military procedures/terms; inaccurate cia procedures; use of codenames/callsigns

Summary: The five times you meet Cmdr. Phillip Graves and the one time he surprises you.

Inspired by the book The Five Times I Met Myself by James L. Rubart.

masterlist • request • faq • taglist • AO3 • ko-fi

01 ˚✧ ┊ The first time; he irritates you.

A guttural grunt escapes your throat, fingers tightening around the steering wheel as the car before you speed up. A series of fucks and dammits leaves your mouth; foot on the accelerator, you follow the asset on the dirty road.

Where the fuck are they, you curse internally, barely missing the rotten fence as you near the end of the farm; this is the only chance to stop the asset with air support Shepherd sent to help you—that be if they were actually here.

The car never slows down, drifting through the abandoned farm, away from you. A static cracks next to you, before an unknown, rather casual voice comes through, “Echo 3-6, this is Shadow-1. Engaging the silo north of your position.”

Finally, you reach for the transmitter next to you, “Shadow-1, you’re free to fire but do not engage near the car, I need him alive.”

“Roger that,” the man says before all hell breaks loose; and to your dismay, you watch in horror as your asset’s car turns right towards the silo, intended to drive right past it the very same second the Shadow Company opens fire. A loud explosion blinds you momentarily as you slam the brakes.

Almost none of the men manage to exit the plane before you storm into the vehicle, rage surging through your veins; the red lightning matching your emotions.

“Which one of you is Shadow-1?” you stop a masked man about to leave, hand on his shoulder as you look around; and your eyes land on the only man without a mask and uniform—dirty blond hair, narrowed eyes shining with blue ice, lips pressed tight. He stays leaning against the side of the aircraft, hands clutching the top of his vest; and you know, even without anyone answering, that this must be the commander.

“Commander, you have a visitor,” the man next to you announces, shaking your hand off his shoulder.

“I can see that,” his voice is vexed, displeased. His men flow by you, leaving only the two of you in the confined space. Face to face, you feel a mix of frustration and confusion while he walks toward you.

Hand tugging at the side of his vest as he nears you, he takes it off.

“You must be the officer, echo 3-6.”

“And you must be the jerk that disobeyed my order and killed my asset,” the words come out like a hiss, voice laced with venom.

With a whoa, his hands shoot up in a defensive gesture, eyebrows raised, “but you gave me good to go, officer,” the commander takes a tentative step towards you, “I can’t foresee the future.”

Standing before you, his gaze sparkles with a mischievous twinkle, only inflaming the boiling rage that churns within you.

“You should’ve double-checked before firing, commander,” you remark, a touch of poignancy in your voice.

Opening his mouth to answer, his radio abruptly interrupts, calling out his name. As he strides past you, he adds, “I’ll remember your sage advice for the next time, officer.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” he stops by the opening, hand gripping the loose rope on the side, “the name’s Phillip Graves, not the jerk.”

02 ˚✧ ┊ The second time; he offers you a helping hand.

The tight bindings on your wrists sting, the beige material becoming stained with your blood as you squirm in the corner of the small, stuffy room. A moan escapes your lips while you try to find some reprieve from the uncomfortable position, only to be reminded of the dire situation you are in by the fresh wound on your leg opening up; more wet, sticky red substance turning the white camo pants into violet.

Foreign voices can be heard outside the room; malicious content behind the words. Ears perked for potential incoming, you attempt to stay alert; the soft light of the dark room and the throbbing pain in your leg makes it difficult to do so.

The sound of gunshots ricocheted through the building, reverberating off the walls; the voices behind the door go quiet for a split second. Air stills as tension fills the room. There’s a distant sound of a helicopter flying over your head. Someone starts throwing commands; three men to the rooftop, two to the north of the building and—

—the door is bashed open. Back pressed to the wall, your eyes follow a masked man, white camo matching yours. All you can see is his eyes; young, too young to be in this situation, the forest green projecting his worry; something isn’t going according to their plan.

Breath hitched, he strides toward you, handgun pointed right between your eyes. It feels like your heart is pounding so hard that it's going to burst right through your ribcage, his finger dancing dangerously close to the trigger.

“Who did you call,” he barks, accent thick, voice shaky, “tell me!”

“First you tell me who sold the weapons to your boss,” it’s a shot in the dark but there isn’t any other way now; you need to find out and this man—this boy might have the answer.

His hand isn’t steady, he’s hurried, impatient. Restive.

“I’m gonna die anyway, who does it matter if I die knowing or not,” you press further. Gunshots grow louder, closer. Multiple boots hit the hardwood. Ash and dust raise as men keep running around, shouting and shooting.

Eyes flickering between the soldier and the door, you keep pressing, urging him to answer. Both of you are aware of the fate awaiting you; just a matter of time and the right (and wrong) decision.

Through the smoggy air, a dark figure creeps into the room, the crimson beam slicing through the fumes with the precision of a sniper; a killer. Within a second, the no, stop makes it just to the tip of your tongue before a click is all that could be heard.

A warm, wet substance splatters over your cheeks. Clenching your eyes shut in revulsion, you let out a moan of displeasure. The soldier's body collapses to the floor with a heavy thud, his vacant eyes gazing up at you.

“Bleeding all by yourself, sweetheart,” the shadow nears you. Blue pools of larimar running over your sitting form before Graves crouches before you. His gloved fingers touch the tender skin around the open wound, examining the damage in the dim light.

“Seriously,” you hiss at him, “what’s with you and killing my intel? And don’t—”

A groan cuts you off as Graves presses a gauze against the oozing gash, applying more pressure than needed while wrapping a bandage around your thigh; the pain radiates through your body like a searing fire, teeth clenched and putting on a stone-cold face in front of the commander himself.

“—don’t call me sweetheart, Graves.”

“Well,” he finally looks up at you, tying the last knot of the bandage securely, “you didn’t tell me your name, and I gotta call y’ something.”

Standing up, his form looms over you, enveloping your figure in his shadow.

“Think you can walk?”

Your eyes burn into his as you raise your still-tied wrist, silently demanding him to free you.

A corner of his lips turns up, knife still tucked up in his vest as he says, “I think I prefer you tied up.”

“Not funny,” you remark but it gets him to bend down to your level again; the cold of the blade grazes over your irritated skin, gloved hand enclosing one of yours in his, steading your wrists. Few slices later, pain shoots up the whole length of your arms upon the freeing; soothing the wrists for a moment, Graves gets up and with a “Let’s go” walks toward the open door. It takes some willpower to stand up.

Once you steady yourself, just a simple step throws you off balance as you put your body weight onto the wounded leg. A hiss alerts Graves, who turns his head to look back at you. With an annoyed huff, he offers you a hand to help you get balanced again before throwing your arm around his shoulders.

His grip around your ribcage is firm but somewhat tender, fingers splayed over your side like a protective shield while he guides you to the door; the other hand grasping his weapon as he walks you out of the building.

03 ˚✧ ┊ The third time, he takes away your breath; quite literally.

Months of rehabilitation and a psychological evaluation later, you find yourself at a military compound. Shadow Company’s provisional base, covered in snow, in the middle of nowhere as the European winter fell upon all of you.

Simple intel mission, that’s your job; what makes it harder is the utter finesse skill of avoiding the commander by all means—so far successfully.

Since the last time you saw him, back when he killed your intel (again), managed to burn down a whole building just to get you out and almost pushed you out of a Shadow company’s helicopter while taking off (which you firmly believe was on purpose), you haven’t stopped hearing about him, especially from general Shepherd. It’s evident that he’s taken a liking to the company, to your dismay.

The hard mat underneath your bare feet squeaks with each slip, hard thuds and thumps spread through the room with each blow. The heat of the room is stifling, sweat dripping down your back, hands wrapped in tape to protect the knuckles.

Focusing on your breathing and the moves, letting the rhythm of your body drive you through the kata, every movement precise and each strike purposeful, you can feel the energy of the room around you and the strength of your own presence growing within.

With each repetition, you take down the imaginative opponent with more ease. A dull ache pulsating in your leg, the gush already healed but your subconsciousness still bringing it up.

Eyes close, focusing on each move, feeling every muscle in your body flex and contract, the silence is cut short by someone clearing their throat. With only the ceiling light above you being lit up, the intruder steps into the light only for you to huff in annoyance.

The man you’ve been successfully avoiding for days has finally found you.

His blonde hair is ruffled as if someone was running their fingers through it, cheeks tinted with a pinkish hue, Graves stops at the edge of the mat with raised eyebrows, lips tightly shut. Jacket open, the combat shirt outlines his dog tags, exposing the taut body hidden underneath; arms resting in his pockets, he takes a look around before his eyes land on you again.

“Most people spar during the day,” he notes, “and with a partner.”

Nearing where Graves stands, you glowered, “I don’t need a partner. I’m done anyway.”

Graves takes his hands out of the pockets, arm extended in front of your body like a tollgate, firm and unyielding. Looking at him, his eyes stern but form relaxed. It’s admittable that even at this moment, him being less than a foot away, he radiates an air of authority, his commander showing.

“I can show you a move,” he says, losing his arm back to his side, “one that’ll take your breath away,” he specifies.

A huff leaves your lips, “That’s childish.”

He sighs, hand running across his cheek as his eyes stay focused on you, “I’m serious. It might come in handy in combat for you.”

It takes a silent moment for you to think; to weigh whether to give in or not. Graves doesn’t show any signs of making fun of the situation as your eyes scan his face, eyes heavy-lidded, tired; but still, he offers to give you a piece of his knowledge—and even if your dislike to the commander outgrows your sense of authority, he still possesses more field experience than you and who are you not to take advantage of his offering.

When you accept the proposal, he nods in return; jacket and shoes off, the mat narrows as the man walks to stand in the middle of it, motioning you to stand before him. Face to face, he directs your body into the appropriate position.

“Pretend to kick me in my side,” he pats his ribcage, feet apart and ready to defend. The moment your leg is in the air, his hand grips the back of your thigh, just behind your knee, the other gripping your shoulder to firmly stop you in motion.

“When you push against here,” he squeezes the leg twice, “you squat down a little,” his body follows his words, “and the other hand goes for either the knee,” the hand on your shoulder leaves the moment he’s sure you can still stand and listen before gripping your other leg, still on the mat, “or the ankle, depending on the size of your opponent,” his cold fingers wrap around the exposed flesh of your ankle, “and you go back into the standing position, pulling your opponent’s body up and forward.”

This time, he doesn’t follow his words; instead lets go of your body, stepping back.

“Sometimes it’s better to not only pull but slam into the opponent as well, disrupt their center of gravity,” he adds, “it’ll send you both down but you’ll still have the upper hand.”

A mental image of his words replays in your head. Nodding along his words, you reposition yourself and motion for him to come closer, “I need to see it in full force.”

Looking at your leg, where the healed wound left its scar, Graves makes sure to understand your demand, “You want me to take you down?”

“I want you to throw me against the mat, yes,” you reassure him, “my leg’s all healed up or I wouldn’t be here, commander.”

Even with doubt painted on his unshaven face, he steps closer to position himself as well.

“I’ll probably hurt you if I do it.”

“Like you haven’t dreamt about that before,” you snark.

“My dreams tend to differ.”

His words send a jolt of electricity through you, resulting in a leg high up, aiming straight at Graves’ ribcage, the same place he patted before. It’d be an admirable attack if all this wasn’t prepared beforehand.

The commander does exactly as he described earlier; all you manage to do is yelp as his fingers sneak around your ankle. Strong pull forward, up, and back. The next thing you know, the heavy mat feels like an unforgiving surface beneath her.

Using enough force, the air pushes out of your lungs completely, throat closing when you try to take a breath as if a lump blocking the airways. Muscles tight, you sit up. Graves stands over you, starry eyes following your movement as you finally inhale, short and shallow but the air fills your lungs delightfully.

“Told you I’ll take your breath away.”

04 ˚✧ ┊ The fourth time; he saves your life.

The embassy is in flames; searing hot, ever exploding, and growing with every passing second. The sound of gunfire and shrieks of terror echo through the halls, smoke billowing out of the windows. Passing multiple bodies, your group moves in unison. Scouting each hall, each room and every single corner for the target—nowhere to be found.

Passing a windowed hall, glass shattered all over the marble floor, your eyes take in the outside scene, the utter chaos; crowds of people, shouting, crying, fighting. Praying. Their families might still be in this hellish building and as much as you wish to help, the diplomat remains the priority number one. You notice the familiar hooded figures of Shadows exiting multiple cars and heading towards another entrance, clearing other sections of the embassy as you work.

Reaching the end of the hall, all of your team stops next to the stairs as one of the soldiers clears the remaining room, returning to you with empty hands; nothing.

“Echo 3-6 to Watcher-1,” you turn on the mic when the last room is cleared, “target’s position unknown, moving the fifth floor. Over.”

“Negative,” the mechanic voice cuts through the static, “regroup with Shadow-1 and move back to the rendezvous. Over.”

The men around you remain still, their eyes fixed on you as you stand there resolutely, gaze trained on the top of the stairs; the flickering flames of the fire dancing like a sinister symphony. A heavy sense of dread clings to you, the crackling of the fire cutting through the momentary silence before you speak again, “What if the target is there?”

“Negative,” another refusal, “fifth floor’s completely taken over by the fire. Regroup and fall back. Over.”

“Roger that, over and out,” you nod to the group. Turning around, a step behind everyone, a sound pulls you back; silence follows before a distant Help! reaches your ears. It’s weak, merely audible but still enough confirmation that someone is still there.

Eyes on the group, none of them seem to notice you falling behind. Fingers tightening around the handle of your gun, a mere second passes before your body turns around on its own accord; one leg follows the other, and stairs pass by as heat envelopes you in its scourging warmth.

Flames kiss up your skin as you move through the remains of a hall, fire closing you in; stupid, stupid idea and stupid me. The heat is unbearable, each crackle sends shivers down your spine. Dread settles in your bones over the realization that this might be the way you go.

Another Help! throws your thought away. Stopping by the closed door, you bang your hand on them, eliciting a shout from the other side; no matter who’s there, you already know you’re gonna get that person out. Going through all this inferno, it’s the least you can do.

Bashing the door open with the butt of your gun, a figure rams straight into you, slamming your back against the burning wall for a second.

“Oh my god, thank you,” a man bellows straight into your face; the target. Before you notice what’s happening, he reaches towards you and snatches your mask from your face, holding it to his face to inhale.

“Wait,” you try to stop him but it’s too late, smoke and ash fill your lungs upon the unexpected moment. The radio on your neck crackles but nothing comes through. Frantically gasping for air, you focus on the mission; bring the target to the rendezvous, that’s your only way out of here—preferably still alive.

The air is thick with the smell of acrid smoke. Gasping frenziedly, hand wrapping around the target’s thick arm, you drag the diplomat towards the staircase. Heart racing, head becoming dizzy, it doesn’t help that the man slips through your weakening hold, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

“Fuck,” you curse; breathing shallowly, nausea and headache start to creep on you as you try to move the mass of a man on your own. Everything spins, the flames licking and nipping at your skin like fiery fingers, the heat of it all pressing down on you.

The smoke clogs your lungs, air deathly still; your consciousness gives up on you, darkness succumbing you to the all-consuming fire. Eyes watering, swallowing feels like drinking molten lava, the roaring flames devour all in their wake.

A sharp slap jolts your eyes open. A masked man hovers above you, the larimar blue shining through the mask; Graves.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” he hisses, tapping at your cheek harshly, “not dying on me today.” The blonde turns his head around. That’s when you notice other Shadows hovering around, two of them carrying the hopefully unconscious (and not dead) body of the target while Graves stays by your side; hand on your shoulder blade, he helps you sit up.

“Don’t kill this one or I’ll shoot you,” a guttural cough creeps up your throat as his gaze bores into you. Wrapping a piece of clothing around your lower face, a makeshift mask, his arm sneaks around your waist, effortlessly lifting you up to the point your feet don’t even touch the ground.

“What, he’s intel?” he remarks; one hand guiding your arm over his shoulders, his fingers securely wrapping over your wrist to keep your weight onto him while the other arm stays around your waist—basically carrying all your weight on his side, he adds, “if yes, might shoot him them.”

05 ˚✧ ┊ The fifth time; he kisses you.

Everything is going smoothly, too suently to your comfort, causing a shivering sense of unease creeps up slowly on your spine. The pungent smell of cigarettes and alcohol fills your nostrils, chatter surrounding your lonely form in a dull hum as you sip at the drink in your hand.

A group of men and women sit across the confined space, closer to the exit door than you, talking in hushed voices; the deal going according to the plan, except they don’t know about the closeness of sneaky ears encompassing this place.

Observing the ongoing deal, another man joins the group, whispering to one of the men; your eyes firmly on them, fingertips dancing on top of the full glass, you watch as—

—”Echo, your cover’s blown,” a static voice of a Shadow comes through the second two more men enter your peripheral vision, eyes scanning the area; for you.

“Roger that,” you whisper, earpiece barely picking up. Taking one last sip of the drink, feeling the cold liquid cool your burning throat, the chair squeaks as your feet touch the ground.

Before the men manage to look in the direction of the noise disruption, you slide into the shadows of the nearest hall; too bad the only exit was behind them. Now it’s time to come up with plan b. Swiftly moving along the building, you look out from the window, too high. No stairs. No escape route. No fight; instruction clear—don’t get caught, don’t cause a scene.

Heavy footsteps echo from behind you, enclosing you like a wild animal being cornered; slight panic starts settling in your abdomen. You’re a professional, pull it together. Pull. It. Together. Deep breath in, shallow breath out. Looking to your right, then to your left; first doors locked, second as well.

Footsteps growing heavier, closer, faster; deep breath in, sha—

—hand over your mouth.

A firm figure pulls you backward, calloused fingers wrapping over your mouth, digging into your cheek as he drags you into the third door. The smell of suede, the taste of leather, hot breath fanning over your earlobe as a quiet Shhh echoes in your ear; Graves.

The commander guides you into the guest closet; turning you around, you’re faced with the same wide, larimar oceans of eyes, finger over his tightly shut lips as his hand remains over your mouth. With a reassuring nod from your side, he drops it, looking at the open door, the sound of incoming footsteps filling the confusion and tension surging through your body.

“What’re you doing here?”

What are you doing on this mission? In this city?

“Graves,” you hiss, finger digging in the middle of his chest, feeling the metal of his dog tags beneath the fabric of the blue shirt that only enhances the color of his eyes.

“Check the second room, I’ll check the third,” a man’s voice orders. The third—the third, the third where you are currently stationed, hidden.

Graves’ jaw twitches, eyes fixated on the door; a shadow is cast over the light from the hallway. It feels as if time has stopped, and your breath hitches as the anticipation of being discovered takes hold of you. Heart pounding, breath bated—

Lips on yours; rough, wet. Needy. Hands enclosing your face, covering every inch of your head, fingertips diving into your hair. Graves’ body presses against yours, hips flushed together, a leg between yours. A whimper escapes your bruised lips as his tongue swipes along the lower one before biting, tugging at it, drawing a desperate, humiliating moan out of you.

A hum reverberates in his throat, tongue pushing inside you. It’s wet, sticky; messy. His tongue explores the depths of your mouth. He’s aggressive and impatient. Hunger seers through your touch-starved body, jolts of electricity awakening your desire. Bringing your leg up and around his hip, you push him into you, hips grinding into yours.

Groans, grunts, moans; a mess of two people, air filled with desperation.

Your brain goes completely blank, kiss drunk and empty. The heat of his flesh is searing through the material of his shirt; squeezing his bicep, you feel the muscle flex as he angles your head for better access.

He’s the first one to pull away, your lips following his for a split second before the realization hits you; breathless, confused, and way too eager, you shake your head. Eyes staring at his flushed face, the darkness of his pupils overtaking the blue oceans of his eyes like a stormy night, you can feel the raw tension between the two of you. Not good, not good at all.

Graves’ hands slide from your cheeks at the same time you put your hands on his chest, the tight muscle contracting, heart racing; and you push, leg falling from his hip.

“Why did you kiss me?” you hiss at him. The pink hue that decorates his nose and cheeks only adds to the allure of his pale skin; and if it was anyone but Graves, you'd be finding it hard not to reach out and brush your fingers gently against his flushed cheeks. You’d even say it looked slightly adorable (and immensely attractive).

“Why did you kiss me back?” he bites back gruffly. He takes a step back, his gaze shifting towards the door as if he's trying to make a run for it.

“Why did you use tongue?” Not letting him win this, you continue to press into him. He stands at your arm's length, fingers wrapping around your wrist that still rests against his chest, fiercely putting it away before he shoots you a smug look.

“Why did you moan?”

“Stop it,” pushing him one last time, Graves takes a step to the side, letting you go and head toward the door; the hallway clear.

01 ˚➶ ┊The time he surprises you; and it hurts.

The car ride is silent, a sense of relief settling inside you while you return to the Los Vaqueros’ base. That’s before your phone starts ringing, and Shepherd’s code name appears on the screen. From the peripheral view, you notice Graves shifting, the two shadows at the front seats sitting quietly.

The call is rather informational, Shepherd impatiently collects your report before you even arrive at the base to follow the proper procedure.

“What about the third missile, did you manage to locate it,” he asks, voice calm but concerned. Graves’ eyes meet yours, conveying a strange mix of fear and guilt.

With an exhale, you say, “no, sir, but I’m getting close to identifying the source.”

“Say again,” Shepherd’s voice turns stern.

“I have a meeting with an asset of mine, after that—”

“I did not give you the order to search for the source, officer,” he cuts you off, “give me Graves.”

The man next to you watches with confusion as you hand him your phone without much question. Eventually taking it, he talks with Shepherd for a brief moment; eyes flickering to you, you notice his rigid posture and hand lowering to the zip ties in his vest.

Something is off.

Hanging up the phone, Graves’ attention is now fully on you, freeing the zip ties from their restraints.

“I’ll need you to extend your arms, officer,” he commands formally. As the realization hits you, a chill of dread creeps up your spine. Everything after that happens in less than a minute; from reaching for the radio to inform Ghost and the others (who are currently obliviously riding the car behind you) to inform them of the situation to Graves’ fingers wrapping around your wrists, tugging forward. With your face a few inches from his, you kick up your leg, fighting not only the commander but the confined space of the back of the car.

The element of surprise and strength isn’t on your side as Graves takes out his handgun, one hand gripping both of your wrists.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” the bitter words grate through his clenched teeth.; taking his handgun out, the handle lands harshly against your temple, sending a dull pain throughout your body as he knocks you unconscious.

A loud thud jolts you awake, shaking you from the depths of darkness. Eyes heavy, your head spinning and a throbbing ache radiating from the side of your face; a low groan escapes your chapped lips.

Heaving a groan, you muster all of your strength and spin to the side, outstretched arms seeking the door handle. With a click, the door opens. Pushing forward, the rain pelts your skin, eyes squinting to protect themselves from the onslaught.

As you stumble out, the hard thud of your body hitting the wet asphalt sends jolts of pain through you. The echoes of voices seem to linger in the air, blending with the night as it pours down. A dark figure slumps against the car - a shadow. Reaching for his pulse, you can feel the sickly warmth of the blood that’s already soaked through his mask.

That’s when you notice the man looming before you. Back facing your crawling form, hunched, gun ready to fire as he walks to the side of the car; Graves keeps talking, his voice taunting Ghost (who's nowhere to be seen).

You know what you have to do. Heart pounding, you slowly raise your hand to the shadow's thigh, groping for the handgun in the holster.

It takes you a moment to stable your stance and focus your gaze to aim at the back of Graves’ head, pouring rain blurring your vision but this moment, this second is all it takes for a nearby shadow to notice the imminent danger of his commander, to aim his weapon and pull the trigger.

Like a powerful force, a sharp impact sends you crashing to the ground with a pained groan erupting from your throat. The handgun clatters to the asphalt with a hollow click, Graves turns around sharply; eyes wide, finger on the trigger.

Lowering the gun, he walks over to your groaning figure. Calloused fingertips brush back the wet locks of hair from your face, he crouches down; the butt of his weapon resting over the oozing wound on your chest, face solemn, eyes dull and lethargic.

“Now that was a big fuckin’ mistake, sweetheart.”

BONUS ˚✧ ┊

The heat of Adal’s sun burns into your clothing, seeping through the thin layer of fabric and biting into the skin of your arms. Throat dry, licking your lips, you walk in Ghost’s footprints, the city of Al Mazrah behind you.

Snatching a bottle from Ghost’s backpack, the feeling of cool water running down your parched throat brings a wave of relief.

Reaching the cliff, Ghost stands a step before you, looking through his scope; handing it to you the moment he pinpoints the target’s position.

As you search the area with his instructions, your eyes fall upon the familiar face. Commander Ghorbrani stands surrounded by both Quds Forces and Russians, the ongoing deal going according to plan it seems.

Five words; that’s all it takes for you to get involved in taking the lives of dozens of men - “Visual on General Ghorbani confirmed.”

With Laswell’s last confirmation and Shepherd’s orders, you hand Ghost his weapon back. Securing the sunglasses on your face, you listen to the communication; crouched down, barely reaching Ghost’s mid-thigs as the lieutenant hovers above you, providing the much-desired shadow.

“Echo 3-6, Ghost, you are danger close to the zone,” Graves’ voice whispers into the earpiece, “this arrow’s gonna pack a punch.”

Veins thrumming with adrenaline, looking up at Ghost, an affirmative nod is sufficient enough for him to respond, “Copy. Approved.”

“Send it,” you state into the mic around your neck mic before holding onto the top of the body armor Ghost basically bullied you into wearing.

“All stations, Shadow-1. Missile is ready for immediate delivery, stand by for launch,” Graves continues talking as you hold the mic frequency open for possible communication.

Ghost straightens his back the moment Graves announced that the missile is loose, both of you mentally bracing for the impact as the Shadow commander continues informing about the missile’s actual coordinates.

The blinding light fills your vision as the missile strucks its target, the deafening roar of the impact overpowered by an immense shock wave; grains of sand stung your exposed cheeks like tiny droplets of glass; the sensation of the sharp needles nicking at your flesh rather awakening.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Ghost’ voice cuts through the sound of destruction. Both of you watch as pieces of metal and flesh fly in the air; a dance of death. A pungent, sweetish smell fills your nostrils as you get up to stand next to him again.

“Direct,” you confirm, “target destroyed.” As you watch the last remains falling to the ground, you add, “one would say it’s raining men.”

“Fuck sake, Echo, keep it professional,” Graves’ voice echo in your earpiece, a hint of amusement present in his tone. Ghost shoots you a look of disapproval.

Shrugging, arm extended to what was a meeting ground just seconds ago, you state, “What? It’s true.”

#phillip graves #phillip graves x you #philip graves x reader #cod #codmwii #call of duty modern warfare #phillip graves x reader #call of duty imagine #call of duty fanfic #cod mw22 #codmw #call of duty modern warfare 2 #moni writes #phillip graves x y/n #philip graves x you #philip graves #philip graves x y/n

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greetingfromthedead · 3 months

Text

Pitter-Patter (Dad!Vash x F!Reader)

Plot: Vash feels like one more kid is a great idea and that's when the chaos begins, turning your whole life upside down once again.

Series: [prequel - Wedding Bells], [Part 1 - Little Feet], [Part 2 - Pitter-Patter]

Pairing: Vash x F!Reader

Rating: Everyone

Tags: no use of "y/n", post-Trimax (no major spoilers), domestic fluff, happy ending, pregnancy, children, babies, family fluff, cooking, parenting, happy marriage

Word count: 2.1k

Author's Note: Shows up at @jellys-compendium's house in a white van and another dad!Vash fic. It has been in the making for soooo long and it didn't quite work out like I wanted it to (caused me massive writer's block too cause I kept pushing it), but I hope all the readers get at least some joy from this.

"What about one more?" Vash nuzzles his face against your neck.

"You think we aren't outnumbered enough already?" you say with amusement as your fingers tangle into his messy black hair. He chuckles softly, his warm breath tickling your skin. "You really want to be in a 2 to 1 situation?"

"Our girls are so good! They are so big already, and our littlest sprout will start running around soon too!" His hands wrap tightly around you as he holds you close. "Wouldn't it be the perfect time? To have another baby?"

"Well," you hesitate, "you are great with all of them. You are the world's best dad and the greatest husband anyone could ever wish for. If anyone could handle it, then it is together with you."

"Really?" His eyes glimmer as he pulls back to look at you. The man who used to be alone, running from his shadow of death, now has a family and a home to call his own. And it makes him happier than he ever imagined himself to be.

"We better get started then," you smirk, and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him even closer.

You let out a deep sigh as your little boy wouldn't settle into his crib, no matter what tricks you pulled. The exhaustion is getting to you, and you simply give up, taking the sprout into your own bed to finally get some rest. Vash opens his eyes, still half asleep, to look at you putting down the child next to him before climbing into bed too. Vash's hand reaches out to gently stroke the baby's forehead, feeling the softness of their skin under his calloused touch.

"I don't know why he is so fussy today. Maybe it's the heat; it's getting to me too." You speak softly as you make sure everything looks safe. The baby's eyes droop, finally succumbing to sleep.

"You can leave the night shift to me. It's okay; you need your rest." Vash whispers.

"I'm fine. You need rest too; you're a lot more human now, and that means you need to sleep. You can't roughhouse with the kids all day and then be up half the night on top of that. We share the responsibility. We're a team. And don't forget: I have done this three times now already, so it's alright." You reach out your arm over the baby and stroke Vash's cheek softly with your fingers. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, a small smile playing on his lips. He doesn't even look as his hand reaches for your swollen belly, gently stroking your skin.

You don't exactly know when you fell asleep, but Vash is woken up by the little creak of your bedroom door. He raises his head and sees your younger daughter at the door. She pouts and rubs her eye with her fist, a stuffed animal hanging from her free hand.

"What's wrong, sweety?" Vash whispers.

"I had a bad dream." She looks so defeated and sad. "Can I sleep here tonight?"

"Oh sweetheart. Come here, but be careful; your brother and mommy are asleep." Vash scoots a bit more towards the center of the bed, where the baby sleeps with his arms and legs sprawled out in every direction. Vash reaches out his arm to invite the little girl into his embrace. She climbs into bed and snuggles up against Vash, who keeps his arm around her protectively so she won't roll off the mattress. She smiles and drifts off to sleep, feeling safe and loved. Vash smiles at the girl in his embrace. He knows too well what it means to be haunted by nightmares, and if there is anything he can do to make her feel better, he will. His heart is so full of love for his family, his gorgeous wife, and his wonderful children. Tears prickle at his eyes as he thinks about the life he leads now and how grateful he is for it. With such thoughts, he falls back asleep, knowing that he is truly blessed.

You open your eyes in the morning. After a moment to get oriented again, you look over towards your baby and husband. The little boy lays in bed like a starfish, the pacifier barely hanging from the corner of his mouth. Behind him, Vash lays on his back in a similar manner, his left hand under his head, the right one supporting your daughter, who has climbed onto his chest and is sprawled out. They both sleep with their mouths open, and you are surprised they aren't snoring.

You stifle a little chuckle as you settle in better and look at them with half closed eyes, enjoying the moment and your family.

"Mom?" a quiet voice asks by your door, and you see your older daughter, "I was wondering where everyone had disappeared to."

"Morning, sweetheart!" You smile and reach out your hand as an invitation. She quietly walks over and sits on the bed, taking your hand. You shift a bit more to make room for her, and you pull her closer to put her head on your shoulder.

"Mom!" she protests quietly in a more whiny manner, but makes no attempt to move away.

You should have guessed that peace only lasts so long. Soon enough, the baby boy kicks Vash in the ribs, who jolts awake with a start and disturbs the girl on top of him too. This opens the floodgates to chatter that stirs the baby in the middle of the bed. To your surprise, he doesn't immediately start making a huge ruckus, seemingly distracted by the presence of his sisters.

You sit up on the bed and lean into some pillows to be more comfortable and take in the sweet moment of your family all together in your bed. The little girl plops down, off her dad, and settles next to her brother to press her ear on your baby bump.

"I can hear!" she exclaims without elaborating further, her eyes lighting up. The little boy decides to copy her, and you suddenly have two kids sticking to you.

"Dad always talked to mom's belly while she was expecting both of you," the older girl says, as she is old enough to remember your last pregnancies.

"And he did the same with you too." You ruffle your daughter's hair, and she too gently lays her head on your belly.

"HELLOOOO!!!" the younger girl suddenly shouts at your bump.

"Gently, gently." Vash says softly as you turn your face away to hide your giggle, even though your body betrays you by shaking.

Vash scoots closer too, his left arm reaching to pull you closer, sandwiching your youngest children between the two of you. The children squirm and giggle, their excitement palpable in the warm afternoon air.

"Let's have one more, he said. It will be fine, he said." You sigh heavily with your arms on your hips. "As I said before… I am blaming you for this."

"I'm sorry," Vash says quietly while looking like a soaked puppy.

"Well, I guess I am not blameless. I let my guard down," you say, looking up at the ceiling. "I should have known better and considered the risk, but here we are."

"It's going to work out," he says, sounding hopeful. "We're all home again, safe and sound."

"Your boundless optimism is truly inspiring," you say sarcastically. "This is only the beginning, or have you already forgotten?"

"I have not…" he says, sounding defeated.

"Then let's enjoy this while they sleep. Cause if one of them is up, everyone is up. One baby and a toddler would have been manageable, but four children in diapers? That's a different story altogether. We better go." You look down again at the newborn triplets in their cribs before taking Vash's hand and leading him out of the room.

The chaos in your house has only just started. Whatever you believed was "out of hand" before only got dwarfed by what awaited you now. Balancing the babies and the older children and making sure nobody feels left behind is no easy task, but Vash is just as determined to be a good dad as he has always been. You still make a great team, but now it's just chasing around children instead of bandits and reloading milk bottles instead of weapons. And it's a chaotic, messy, beautiful adventure that you wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

Vash often volunteers to be the designated storyteller, spinning tales of your daring escapades to both the more and less captivated members of his audience. He held all three of the triplets on his chest without complaint when they wouldn't settle for a nap in any other way. He always cradled the baby heap with a smile on his lips, and he looked like the happiest man in the world despite the countless sleepless nights.

Vash loves being a dad. He adores all his children. He likes running around with the girls, playing ball, or engaging in pretend games. He loves teaching them all he knows and watching them grow and learn. He loves the toddler, who constantly clings to his legs and blabbers the day away. He loves the noise and the chaos. He takes in every moment and cherishes it, even if it includes screaming, crying, and dirty diapers.

You can trust him fully and have full confidence in him. Often, he has already announced, "I've got it!" and run off to tend to the kids before you can even truly react to the noises of dissatisfaction. Neither of you could handle the chaos without the other, and Vash never misses an opportunity to tell you just how much he loves and appreciates you. He often brings you little gifts when he goes to the market or if he finds something you would like out and about. He brings little treats and nick-knacks to show you how much he cares. You have a whole collection of shiny rocks and little figurines and books he has brought for you on a high shelf, away from little grabby hands that want to put everything into their mouths. The shelf is a reminder of the love he expresses in small gestures.

The older kids like to flock to you as soon as you're in the kitchen for a taste of what you're cooking. You often have the girls helping you out while the little boy sits in his highchair, watching with wide eyes and a smile, ready to wreak havoc as soon as something gets within grabbing distance. He's the perfect blend of adorable and mischievous. He reminds you a lot of Vash, more and more each day. You really shouldn't be surprised by that, but each time that realization makes you smile.

Baking cookies has become a weekly tradition. The girls are always eager to help as you try out different recipes and experiment with new flavors. They shift the flour and mix the ingredients with purpose and grand focus while you take on any jobs requiring chopping or the use of an oven. Vash is looking over the littlest babies to make sure your small space doesn't get dangerously crowded. You've just put the tray in the oven to bake as you turn to the older boy, who dozed off on the highchair because the preparations ate into his nap time. You pick the child up and leave the girls in charge of watching the cookies as you go to put your son to bed.

From your bedroom, you start hearing babbling and a smirk appears at the sound. You have no issues with putting the kid in his crib, and you turn to peek in from the crack in your own room's door. Vash kneels by the bed, his elbows resting on the mattress. The left hand supports his cheek, and the right one dances across the tummies of the triplet boys who lay in a row in front of him. He makes little noises at the babies, and they blabber back in turn. They seem to be having an engaging conversation as the expressions on the children switch from furrowed brows to glee and back. The babies kick their legs excitedly in response to your husband's voice saying something incoherent but clearly amusing to them. None of the four chatterboxes notice your presence by the door, and you retreat with a wide smile on your face. You go back to your girls, but before you reach the kitchen, you start to hear soft singing coming from the bedroom. Something about skipping cats and hopping dogs.

Did you like this? Go check out my MASTERLIST and drop a follow for any and all future projects!

And if you feel like reading more of my dad!Vash, but want to get your heart steamrolled at the same time then I have the perfect thing for you: Stormy Night and Ghost of You.

#trigun #trigun maximum #fanfiction #fanfic #vash the stampede #humanoid typhoon #x reader #plant boi #writing

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sanctuary1988 · 1 month

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~ Flames Of Passion |15| Gwi

French: /the petals of love/

Pairing: Gwi x fem! noble! Reader

Summary: A heartless vampire falls in love for the first time in centuries of loneliness. Passion, secrets, betrayal and love drown the royal palace. Will your love for Gwi prevail through time or will it wither away like a fallen rose petal? Maybe love was his punishment, maybe love was your salvation. Or wasn't it a curse to you both? Because, who can beat a race against time? Who can love in the dark? Who can love without truth? After all, even the most beautiful flower will wither away and end in ashes of time, remembered only by the one who cherished her the most.

Warnings: DARLING, THIS WARNINGS MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! angst, feral Gwi, typical vampire stuff [biting, blood, killing, blood drinking], violence, burglary?, murder, blood, Chief Counsellor (he is a warning for himself), mentions of drugs/being drugged, fire, possessiveness, typical period misogyny, love, confession, kissing, battling of emotions, TENSION!, flower is described to be shorter than Gwi, historical! AU, royal! AU?, cannon copilant (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 4.5k words

A/N: I know this has been an awaited chapter for many lol so I did my best to finish it as soon as I could. I really hope you will enjoy it and also I loved writing this chapter so much because it has a dialogue I had planned for this series since chapter 2 🙈 lmao. ❤️❤️❤️

Please let me know your thoughts in the comments! I'd love to hear from you, loves. Enjoy! 🫶🫶🫶

Dusk had settled. The moon hung low in the night sky as deep hues of purple and blue mingled together with the sparkly darkness of the night that painted the sky in its eternal shadow.

Gwi walked to his underground palace. His hunger satiated, his robes stained with the blood of his victims. But now, as his thirst was satiated and his mind was calm he yearned for nothing else but to return to the palace of shadows where his rose lived among the darkness that was his sole existence.

The flickering torches casted long shadows on the stone walls as he made his way through the labyrinthine corridors. His heart, usually cold and unfeeling, warmed at the thought of you. He pictured you in your room, brushing your hair or in the library engrossed in one of the many books his sanctuary of knowledge held within its walls.

And yet the throne room was filled with a deafening silence; the only thing he could hear was his heart. He frowned, you had said you’d be waiting for him and expected for you to receive him but your absence made his heart sting with the disappointment of your broken promise.

“Petal?”

The vampire called out for you but he only received his own echo as a response. He made his way to the library, his long strides eating up the distance in large strides. But you were not there. Your scent was not as strong as it should be if you were there just as you had promised.

He hurried to your room, his steps frantic as he entered the large space with the tall cherry blossom tree standing proudly in the middle of the room. The air was soft with the smell of the pink flowers but he couldn’t see you, he couldn’t smell you.

“Flower, are you here?”

But here was no response at all. He frowned. The room was empty. The bedding was neatly made, the small table where the vase with roses was untouched with some petals already falling onto the surface. His eyes fell upon your desk, where the rose he had given you lay, still vibrant and fresh. Next to it was a letter. A letter that bore your father’s seal.

Gwi snatched the letter with the broken seal, his dark eyes running over the words inked into the paper. Each word, each threat was enough to make his heart burn with the flames of desperation. His eyes turned crimson in anger, his knuckles white as he crumbled the letter before it fell to the ground.

The realisation that you had been taken against your will filled him with a fury he had never known. His normally composed demeanour shattered, leaving only the raw, primal anger of a man who had been robbed of his most precious treasure.

He turned around, his robes flying behind him as the vampire lord left his underground palace. His domain. His kingdom to retrieve his stolen flower. His beauty among the darkness of his world.

Gwi’s steps were purposeful as he left his sanctuary, the cool night air kissed his sharp features as the nature of his existence resurfaced from the chains of his control. His eyes mirrored the colour of blood, his fangs elongated and there was a sudden thirst that took a hold of his mind. But it wasn't because of hunger. It was a thirst for revenge.

The journey was a blur. His supernatural speed carried him through the city and the woods before he arrived at the mansion of one of the most powerful men in Joseon. The Chief Counsellor didn’t know that by taking the vampire’s petal he had just signed his death sentence.

The guards at the entrance saw a dark figure emerging from the woods. The moon was not high enough to illuminate the dark path ahead. But the red glint in his eyes gave him away. Gwi approached the two guards, his hands around their throats before he lifted them off the ground, their feet kicking the air. He hissed at them before their necks snapped with a single movement of his wrists. The bodies crumbled to the dirty floor and he advanced, his walk commanding as he entered the mansion of the traitor he had nurtured under his throne of blood and darkness.

“My Lord, is there anything else I can do for you?”

The Chief Counsellor didn’t even look at Ji-ho, his loya albeit young servant before he was dismissing him for the night.

“Don’t bother. Tomorrow we are leaving to meet with the Crown Prince. Make sure everything is in order.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

The boy bowed down before he walked backwards and left the room, sliding the door shut as he walked down the corridor with quick steps. The flickering candles cast long shadows on the walls. Ji-ho’s footsteps echoed softly down the dimly lit corridor, his mind occupied with the tasks the demanding noble man had put over his shoulders. As he rounded a corner, the sound of a commotion reached his ears and he couldn’t help but fasten his pace. Curiosity being his worst enemy.

He looked over one of the corners of the nearest wall, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw a tall man dressed in noble robes effortlessly dispatching the guards who tried to block his path. The vampire's movements were swift and lethal, his strength undeniable.

Fear gripped Ji-ho's heart, he turned on his heel and sprinted back toward the Chief Counsellor's room, his breath coming in quick, panicked gasps. Along the way, he alerted more guards, his voice urgent and breathless.

“We must protect the lord! The vampire is here!”

The guards followed the young servant all to the Chief Counsellor’s room. The smell of panic rotted through the air, the clinking of the swords could be heard at the distance as well as the frantic steps of the guards sprinting to the old man’s study.

Ji-ho slid open the doors without knocking, the Chief Counsellor looked up from his desk with a frown between his brows and frustration in his gaze. But as the guards swarmed into the room, he stood up and demanded an explanation from his servant.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“My Lord… the vampire-”

But Ji-ho never got to finish that sentence as the doors to the study opened harshly and in came Gwi, his once white robes were now crimson with the blood of his obsession. The hallways were strewn with the bodies of those who had tried to stop him, their lifeless forms a testament to his wrath. He moved with a predator's grace, his senses heightened by the scent of blood and the urgency to find you.

“Get him!”

The Chief Counsellor ordered and the battle began. Gwi licked his lips before he fought the men who tried to keep you away from him. Each strike, each stab was proof of his maddening love. How dare your father take you from him? How dare he keep you to himself?

How.

Dare.

He.

Blood spilled over the floor and over the once beautiful ornates that decorated the room. The white tapestry was now tainted in crimson and the shouts and clanks of swords filled the room. One of the guards sent a direct attack to Gwi but he managed to dodge it yet the sword knocked over some candles, the flames quickly devouring the fabric that hung from the ceiling.

It reeked of death as he drank the last drop of blood from the remaining guard before he dropped the body to the floor. His eyes were red with fury and the need, the urge to kill. With slow steps Gwi approached the Chief Counsellor. Ji-ho had tried to stop the vampire but his futile attempt ended with his blood on Gwi’s lips and his body on the ground already starting to get enveloped in the flames.

“Where is she?”

Your father swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure as he lifted his chin in defiance even when he knew he was already dead by the single glint in the vampire’s eyes.

“Y-you’ll never find her.”

And yet, his voice trembled and stuttered despite his attempt to sound powerful and confident for the immortal being who now threatened to kill him with his gaze alone. But the monster smiled, a cold, dead smile that stretched over his handsome and sharp features while the cracking of the engulfing flames was the only thing he could hear.

“I will find her. But the longer I take, the more painful your death is going to be.”

With a swift motion, Gwi grabbed the Chief Counsellor by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The older man struggled, his hands clawing at the vampire’s iron grip, but it was futile for his strength was far beyond anything a human could match.

“Where. Is. She?”

He demanded again. His deep voice a deathly whisper. Your father gasped for breath, his eyes widening with fear until he managed to choke out the words that were no longer enough to save his life.

“I-in her room… down the h-hallway-”

Gwi’s crimson eyes reflected the flames that were consuming the room and most likely the entire mansion but those flames were also a reflection of the fire that burned his heart. With a snarl, he threw the Chief Counsellor aside. The man hit the ground with a sickening thud, unconscious or worse but Gwi couldn’t care. Not when the fire spread and the smoke thickened. Not when he had to find you.

His heart pounded with a mix of rage and desperation as he sprinted down the corridor, his robes billowing behind him, the flames danced over the walls but his mind was focused on getting to you. With urgent steps he reached the bedroom at the end of the hallway, the double doors banged open against the adjacent walls as he opened them with his vampiric strength.

The moment his gaze laid on you, he felt his heart drop. His eyes returned to their usual deep brown colour as he dropped to his knees next to the silk bedding. His hands, so rough and tainted with so much blood cupped your face with delicate movements as if you were a glass doll he was afraid to break.

“Petal, wake up.”

But you didn’t stir. You couldn’t. The drugs held you under their chains and left you dancing in the realm of nothingness, of sleep. Of darkness. A tightness gripped at his chest and his eyes stung with tears, whether they were due to the smoke or real fear for the life of his petal he didn’t know anymore.

“(y/n), please.”

He brushed a strand of hair out of your face, even in sleep you were still so beautiful. The very vision of beauty he had missed through his eternal life. He lifted you up, pressing your body against his chest but just as he was about to slide his other arm under your knees, the rackling of the chains rattled against the sound of his own heartbeat drumming in his ears.

Gwi looked down at your wrist, his lips parted at the sight of the iron cuff that kept you tied to the room. To your past. To this house. To the life you had escaped when you had taken his hand that very day in the gardens. When he decided he wanted to keep you for himself.

Gwi lay you back down on the bedding, his hands tingling with the need to keep you in his arms. But he needed to free you.

His eyes painted crimson once more as his hands gripped the shackles. His knuckles turned white with the force as he gripped them tightly and with a grunt he broke the hot iron. Your skin was marred by the tightness and it pained him to see your pristine skin so hurt and damaged.

“I’ll get you out of here.”

Gwi picked you up once more, one hand around your shoulders and the other under your knees before he stood up with you cradled in his arms, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. Which you were. You were his treasure in his world of darkness.

The flames had spread rapidly, the heat was becoming unbearable but he knew he had to get you out of that burning inferno. He moved swiftly, his heightened senses guiding him through the maze of corridors and fire.

The smoke was thick, stinging his eyes and filling his lungs, but he pressed on, driven by a fierce determination to get you to safety. The mansion groaned under the weight of the fire, beams collapsing and walls crumbling but Gwi's steps were sure and purposeful.

Gwi carried you out of the burning mansion, his grip tightening around your smaller form as he pressed you against his chest. He could feel your shallow breaths against his neck, could hear the weak pulse of your heart through his enhanced senses. The beautiful blue dress you had once worn was now ashen and dirty.

He knelt on the ground, the estate consuming in flames behind him as he looked down at you. Your red hairpin caught the moonlight and he sighed as he had you in his arms once more.

“My sweet flower, you have to wake up. Open your eyes, for me. Please-”

One of his hands supported your back while the other cradled your face, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek. He sighed, closing his eyes as his forehead rested against yours. Feeling a tsunami of emotions drown his heart. The desperation, the anger, the fear came crumbling down as he looked at you with such tenderness that belied the rampage that had gripped his soul and left the estate in a bloody bath of flames and ashes.

“Let’s go home, flower.”

And with that, he picked you up once more, carrying you in his strong embrace through the forest and back to the underground palace. Where you belonged. In his dark domain. In his kingdom of the night. By his side.

The sound of soft leaves rustling filled your ears. That was the first thing you were aware of before you were to open your eyes. There was a headache that nagged at the back of your skull, causing a groan to escape your lips. Your eyes opened and you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom. The scent of the cherry blossom reached your senses and you instantly calmed down. You knew where you were. You felt instantly safe when you recognised that you were back in the underground palace.

With slow movements you sat up and noticed you were alone in the room. The only company you had were the shadows casted by the flickering candles around the large bedroom.

But it didn’t make any sense. The last thing you remembered was going to your father’s estate upon his daring letter. You remembered all the rage you had felt as you read his words, all the frustration to the man who was supposed to protect you but in reality he only used you as his pawn in a game you never agreed to play.

You remembered the tea he had given you, the dizziness that had wrapped your mind. And how he had looked at you in disdain before your world turned black.

With a sigh, you looked around the bedroom and your eyes caught sight of the rose Gwi had given you the day he left. It was on your desk, the petals were withering away and an immense sadness pulled at the strings of your heart at the sight of the sad flower that had once been so beautiful.

You pulled the covers from your body, noticing you were no longer wearing the blue hanbok but were now in a simple white gown, the skirts not as puffy as your usual dresses, the softness of the fabric was more delicate against your skin. And your hair was down, cascading behind your back as you stood up.

The drug was still in your system and you stumbled, catching yourself against the full-length mirror in your room. You looked up and watched the reflection of yourself, feeling a burning desire that consumed your senses. You were alone in the bedroom. But you craved his presence. It could only have been Gwi who had taken you back to the underground palace.

Your eyes filled with tears with the need that cursed through your veins and you forced yourself to part from the mirror, walking across the room and through the corridor that led to the throne room.

Gwi sat on his throne, the candles around him sharpened his ethereal beauty. He heard your footsteps before you entered the spacious room. He smelled your delectable scent as you approached him more and more with each passing second. His heart quickened and his knuckles turned white as fisted his hands over his lap.

“My Lord…”

Your voice was soft. Shy even. But he didn’t look at you. He couldn’t. Not now. Not when his mind screamed at him to be angry at you and his heart whispered at him to be relieved that you were fine and alive with him.

From the corner of his eye he saw you move through the room, your steps hesitant and he could practically taste whatever herb your father had given you mingling with the scent that kept him addicted to you.

“My Lord, please.”

His eyes met yours in a cruel dance of emotions. You swallowed as he met your gaze, for his eyes were as dark as ever but you saw no emotion whatsoever in his dark pools of eternal secrets. There was no storm of emotions in them, no warmth, only the coldness of his authority that drowned you in a freezing embrace of regret.

“You disobeyed me.”

Gwi stood up and you took a step back. His towering height made you shrink within yourself. You had never seen him so cold and stern with you. Not like this. He began descending the steps that led to his throne slowly, like a predator waiting to pounce on his prey.

“I told you to not leave the underground palace.”

His hissed words made you flinch and you continued to walk backwards as he approached you, instinctively trying to put some kind of distance between you and the barely contained anger that held his heart prisoner.

“Are my orders nothing to you?”

You shook your head, gasping silently as your back collided with one of the columns in the large space.

“No, My Lord.”

His eyes narrowed at your response, his sharp features hardening even further. His approach was deliberate, each step getting him closer and closer to you, the candlelight accentuated his fury simmering beneath the surface and you found yourself fisting the fabric of your white skirt that kissed the ground.

“You defied me. You risked everything—your safety, your life—all because you refused to obey a simple command.”

You pressed yourself against the column, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of his disappointment was crushing, and the fear that he might truly hate you for your disobedience was almost too much to bear. Your mind raced for an explanation, a way to make him understand, but words failed you under the intensity of his gaze.

Gwi halted just inches away from you, his towering figure casting a long shadow that enveloped you entirely. The air around you felt charged, thick with tension as if the very atmosphere was holding its breath.

“I-I was scared. I thought I could handle it, I thought-”

“You thought wrong.”

Tears filled your eyes at the harsh and deep voice in which he spoke to you. It made your heart clench in your chest with the knowledge that you had disappointed him. That you had angered him.

“I’m sorry..”

You lowered your gaze, not being able to keep eye contact for much longer. He frowned down at you, taking a step closer that narrowed the space between you both even more that had you not been conflicted with your own emotions, your breath would have hitched in your throat at the proximity. Gwi's expression softened for a fleeting moment, the mask of anger slipping to reveal the turmoil within. But just as quickly, the hardness returned, and he took another step closer, his hand reaching out to grasp your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Sorry?”

He laughed, a humourless laugh that made a shiver run down your spine. You looked into his eyes, even if you wanted to look away his grasp wouldn’t allow it as his fingers travelled from your chin to collar your neck instead, keeping you pressed against the wall behind your back.

“You think sorry is enough? That man you call your father has only ever used you for his own interests. I said I would protect you but you can’t just go wandering into the lion’s den and expect to walk out unharmed.”

His grip tightened slightly, and you could feel the tension radiating from him, the barely contained fury that threatened to boil over at any moment. But within that anger, you could also sense something deeper—a fear that ran so deep it twisted every thought, a fear of losing you.

“Forgive me, My Lord.”

“Silence.”

His command forced your lips shut. His voice was a mixture of something else. Something deeper. Darker. Something almost like a fierce desperation.

“You don’t understand do you? You are the only thing in this cursed world that matters to me, and you throw yourself into danger as if your life means nothing.”

You swallowed, he felt the motion through his palm that still held your neck. The words hung in the air, leaving you waiting. Expecting for what he had to say when he had already bared his soul out to you.

“I cannot lose you. Not to that man. Not to whatever fate we tangled ourselves in. I can’t.”

Gwi spoke through clenched teeth, his feelings a whirlwind of emotions within him that he couldn’t bring himself to part from you nor to step closer to the flame he so desperately wanted to burn in.

There were many things left unsaid. Many emotions that you weren’t quick enough to grasp. But there was a certain warmth in his gaze that was there, for just a split second. A swirling of emotions, the battle between mind and heart. And you surrendered yourself against him.

“Do you love me?”

The question left your lips in a soft whisper. And yet, it was loud enough to break the fog in his mind. His eyes softened, his lips parted as he stared down at you with so much sadness in his dark gaze that you couldn’t help the tear that rolled down your cheek. But his silence was like a dagger to your heart.

“You have never said anything but your eyes tell a different story… Forgive me, I thought you loved me as well.”

You dropped your gaze, your hands released the tight fist you had on the white skirt of your dress as you felt the weight of his silence press down on you. You danced in the middle of his secrecy. Of his silent words that left his soul as his grip on your neck tightened ever so slight.

“You speak as if you harbour such feelings for me.”

His voice was softer, more gentle. But it was that dark symphony of words that made your heart race and your mind spiral with emotions too complex to understand.

“That’s because I do.”

You looked up once more, meeting his intense gaze that held a softness in such darkness you had never seen before.

“You claimed me as your own; unknowingly you claimed my heart as well.”

Gwi shook his head, the words he was hearing were not meant to leave your lips. He wasn’t meant to feel his dead heart come back alive with such a declaration of devotions that went beyond your service to him.

“You cannot love me.”

His words were laced with so much pain, whispered to the air as if he was confessing the biggest of sins. Silent tears rolled down your cheeks, your heart aching for the man that owned you in more ways than he should.

“Why?”

A question so small yet filled with pain. You couldn’t stop looking up at him. Waiting for him to give you his heart as well.

“Because you will end up hurt, petal. And the single thought of you being hurt pains me to no end.”

“Then don’t. Don’t hurt me. Do not break my heart.”

He knew the risks. He knew that loving you openly would endanger your life more than it already was with the mere knowledge of you living under his roof. But he couldn’t deny it anymore. He couldn’t resist the pull; not from hunger, not from obsession. The pull of his heart to yours.

“Please.”

You barely uttered your plea before his lips smashed with yours. The intensity of it took your breath away, his lips moving against yours with a desperate urgency. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing against yours as you stood on your tiptoes and kissed him back.

You responded in kind, your hands clutching at his robes as you kissed him with equal fervour. The world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you locked in this moment of raw, unbridled passion.

Gwi's hand tightened on your neck, not in a painful way but with a possessive intensity that made your pulse quicken. His other hand slid down to your waist, pulling you even closer as if trying to meld your bodies together. The taste of him was addictive and you craved more, more, more. You whimpered softly as he broke the kiss, your lips were left tingling with the sensation of your passion. His eyes opened to gaze into your own as you both panted softly into each other’s mouths.

“Love me. Love with me.”

You craned up your head, wanting nothing more than for him to take you. To mark you. To love you in such an intimate way.

“I love for you, my petal.”

You moaned as he kissed you again, your hands cradling his face as he pressed you to him in suppressed emotions that spilled like a tidal wave.

Gwi's lips moved down to your jaw, trailing kisses along the sensitive skin of your neck. His breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as his hand slid from your waist to your lower back, pulling you even closer. The sheer need in his touch made your heart race, each kiss igniting a fire within you that burned brighter with every second.

A flame of love.

August/12/2024

A/N: Want to be tagged? Let me know in the comments!

Thoughts? O.O

My inbox is open, darlings! Or feel free to leave a comment! I'd love to hear your thoughts and inputs for the story! Take care, everyone 🫶

~ Masterpost

#sanctuary1988 #lee soo hyuk #kdrama #kdrama series #the scholar who walks the night #gwi #kactor #gwi x reader fluff #gwi x reader #gwi x reader angst #scholar who walks the night #lee soo hyuk characters #vampire #korean drama #korean actor #les pétals d'amour #vampire gwi

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inevitably-johnlocked · 2 months

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Hi, Steph. I'm hoping you can help me find a fic I read years ago. I'm pretty sure I read it before S3 came out.

It's an AU in a world where everyone has some sort of companion animal. John's companion is a friendly dog. Mycroft has a beetle he keeps in a metal tube welded shut in his pocket. He says she feels safe and secure that way (spoiler, that's a lie). And Sherlock just. doesn't. have. one.

This is super strange because everyone has one. If someone's companion animal ever dies, the person generally goes insane and dies too. John and his dog once in a field tries to see how far apart they could get from each other before it became unbearable.

Sherlock also talks to and touches John's dog. It's generally frowned upon to touch someone else's companion animal.

The only other things I remember are that there's a scene where Sherlock and John have cornered a suspect, and Sherlock shoots the suspect's companion animal. John is flabbergasted. And there's a big reveal about why Sherlock doesn't have a companion animal of his own.

Hi Lovely!

OH GOSH, this sounds SO familiar; I THINK it's a His Dark Materials or Daemons AU... Here is what I found doing a tag search on my MFL list, perhaps it's one of these?:

Asteroidea Series by etothepii (E, 16,253+ w. across 3 works || Series WiP || His Dark Materials Fusion || Daemon Sherlock, Untagged Stories) – In the pocket of his trousers, next to his phone, Mycroft carries the standard-issue steel capsule meant for protecting arthropod daemons. When people ask about it, he smiles and tells them she's not fond of the light, or of people other than himself. This is a lie.

Unsettled by AxeMeAboutAxinomancy (E, 33,879 w., 10 Ch. || HIs Dark Materials AU || Daemons, Dark Themes, Non-Con) – Sherlock's dæmon hadn't settled. Once John realised that, so much made sense. Though so much else didn't, because it practically wasn't possible. Part 1 of the The Utmost Edge of Hazard series

The Republic of Heaven Series by Blind_Author (E, 128,844+ w. across 3 works || Series WiP || His Dark Materials / Daemon AU || S1 Compliant, Witches, Bears, BAMF John, Mutual Pining, Oblivious John, Evil Moriarty) – John and his dæmon, Amarisa, have never quite fit in, largely because she settled as a wolfdog. Sherlock and Raniel are similarly isolated, mostly because the woman they call Mummy is a witch. These two men and their dæmons end up sharing a flat together and the rest, as they say, is history. And with a witch-clan out for John's blood and a man known as Moriarty emerging from the shadows, they're certainly not going to be bored.

=====

I haven't read any of these, but my money is on the "Asteroidea" series given the description mentions the stuff you're looking for!!

If anyone knows for SURE, let us know!!

I hope one of these are it, though, Lovely!

#steph replies #johnlock fic reqs #help steph find fics #daemon au fics #his dark materials au #my fic recs

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thehistoriangirl · 11 months

Text

The Delirium of Still-Lifes [One]

Putting a unrelated gif of the blorbo because I haven't done the headers yet :D and because looook at hiiiim sirrrrr i wanna be ur hexcore--

Happy Halloween! <333

Vampire!Viktor x Fem!Artist! Reader----1.2K---SFW

> MASTERLIST -> Next

Synopsis:

Debts are paid with blood.

After a visit from death and ending all alone, you had no other option than to become like your late guardians—seeking refuge in the shady business where rewards are as high as the risks.

Your latest mission: steal and forge an expensive painting from a secretive private collector to complete the series of your current boss, and thus finally pay off the burden you still carry.

Debts are passed on by blood.

When infiltrating ends up being harder than planned, you have no choice but to apply as a working staff. Though working inside isn’t as easy as it seems, with all the strange noises echoing at night, and the random droplets of crimson staining the floors, the endless hallways with their flickering lights.

There are eyes always watching, whispers carrying secrets—and of course, the hidden painting that would define your life forevermore.

Maybe freedom can be given without the need of blood.

Ruins, fragments of a gilded past that had died with the house’s owner.

The building itself seemed to mourn; the curtains in the gigantic windows dirtying, sending grey hues against the dusty floor that clung to your footsteps, in the need of company after so many years of oblivion.

Yet there were strange signs of life blooming in the corners of the rooms; there where the furniture wasn’t covered in ghostly bedsheets, with no presence hidden behind them, waiting to haunt you.

Your boss was right—someone was renovating this house, which meant you had to find the forgotten painting, and soon.

The house creaked, breathed alongside you the further you went, the flame of your oil lamp flickering with each step, morphing you into a monster just like the ones the stories said haunted here at night.

From the second floor, you heard the slam of a door. The little hairs on the back of your neck rose with a blow of chilling wind, almost whispering to you to run away.

But you couldn't—there was no escape in that rusty gate you crossed, almost devoured by wildflowers. There was no escape out of the life blood that had tied to you, out of the debts death hadn't erased.

Closing your eyes, tucked in a corner with your back against the wall, you remembered the plans of construction for the house. The third floor was the office and library, your last option. In the second, all the bedrooms were divided in the East Wing, for the members of the late Ulhir family; and in the West, for all their guests. Unlikely.

The first floor, however, was meant to be the gallery, the nursery, and the music room.

A burned and draped carpet was laid over the spiral staircase that submerged in the darkness. However, you only need to go so far. An empty music room, a desolated nursery, all but bare of paintings, though the outline of their places hung in the wall prevailed.

Then, it was the shadow.

A dash of black against the discolored grey of the ruins, of something almost alive—certainly, if it moved that fast. From under the stairs like all monsters crawled under beds in those children’s stories, to the ballroom with the broken chandelier at the right.

Your palms were sweaty while taking ahold of the revolver, the metal becoming sticky and hot too quickly.

Monster or not, you doubted something could survive a dozen bullet wounds. If only you could finish with the monsters in your life so easily.

How the thing had been under the staircase? Nothing was supposed to be under it, only the wall where there was barely a corner to hide, or so the house plans said.

Aiming to the dark, the sensation of being accompanied by something had vanished, leaving only a cold void that could taken as relief when you saw the secret door.

Contrary to the other wings in the house, this gallery’s entry was tucked beneath the staircase, similar to the structure of a wooden decorative wall a simple ebony door, almost drowned in the shadows of midnight, with the clock suspended in the south wall of the foyer chiming so hard it made you tremble.

But with the cacophony, you could open the creaky door without a problem, still thinking that someone may be watching you.

The once spotless, dark ebony floor was covered in the ghostly veil of dust, welcoming your presence with avidness, marking each step you took inside as if the gallery had missed company, with all the unfinished portraits looking at you with the impassive gaze of eternity.

You almost dropped the slippery gun, tucking it behind the belt cinching your dark pants together.

All dozens of paintings, gold-framed and slightly crooked hung on the walls, none of them the ones you were looking for. These merged with the chaos of the desk, stains of color, and unfinished lines like paths leading nowhere.

Except for the one ahead of you; free of furniture, with the floor opening a path to show a bare wall where a lonely easel stood in front of a mirror, the canvas barely visible beneath the web of black scratches covering what once was a sketch.

Not only a sketch but a self-portrait, if the mirror was clue enough.

Opaqued by dust, you could barely see your reflection in it, passing your gloved hand over the surface to let you see the shameful image of what you have become. A liar, just like your parents. A thief. Would your parents be proud of you?

Probably. And such realization hurt so much more.

“I wasn’t aware I’d had guests for dinner.” A voice said, its strange cadence echoing in the still room. “And such a familiar one, at that.”

Your scream mixed with the thud of the canvas falling to the ground, turning to see the tall silhouette of a man leaning against a column, barely some feet away from you, two golden beacons as eyes piercing through the dark to keep you frozen in fear.

“W-wh-who are you?!” you said, trembling fingers trying to pull out the lent revolver, unsuccessfully. Part of you tugged at the sudden dèjá-vu, the cloaked man. Death.

It was Mr. Ulhir, of course. The owner of the manor and the one you were meant to steal from. The one that had died… years ago.

I’m talking with a ghost.

“I believe you shouldn’t be the one asking questions, should you? What are you doing in my house?”

“This can’t be your house—this… this place had been abandoned for decades!” You stopped, thoughts pouring into your brain. “Oh, I get what this is. You took this place for yourself and now you feel the owner…” you spat, walking toward him, just to discover that said beacons were too, too high up.

I’m talking with a ghost.

Your grasp on the revolver tightened, his eyes flickering down to where you kept it hidden in your back.

The man chuckled. “Well, this is getting interesting. What are you hiding there?”

Feeling bold at his taunt, you aimed your revolver toward him, only to feel cold, gloved fingers wrapped around your wrist as soon as you raised your arm. His presence leaning against yours, the soft cotton of his shirt brushing your cheek.

He was cold, yet solid.

He was no ghost.

You tried to yank away, but his grasp was like iron. Huffing at the effort, your eyes got drawn to the mirror, hoping the moonlight could at least decipher the outline of this sudden presence.

Alas, all that you could over its broken surface were a dozen of reflections of you, completely alone in the room.

“Truly unfortunate,” the man said, his free hand guiding your gaze away from the mirror and into his face, long fingers pressing the back of your neck as he tilted you toward him. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

See what? There was nothing there—

He was no ghost. He was…

The man sighed. “Nothing personal, little fairy,” he said, pressing the sides of your neck with his fingers, your pulse quickening at the cold, ruthless movement. Your gaze swam toward the ceiling, parched glass ceiling to block the moonlight, and yet you saw him, truly, saw him.

"Ah—!" you tried to scream, but only a gurgle rippled out your mouth, your limbs becoming heavy, heartbeat exhausted, slow.

“Goodnight,” you heard his voice where there was nothing anywhere else, your gaze becoming black, brain shutting down until you were one with the night—all darkness, all void.

#viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x you #viktor fanfic #arcane viktor fanfic #viktor arcane fanfic #arcane x female reader #viktor arcane x f! reader

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kyndredravenstories · 25 days

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Eyes of Infinity: Delirium Chapter 9

Hello, I have been posting my work on AO3 and recently decided to venture here to Tumblr. Please note: This story is 18+. No minors. Please read tags carefully. Link to AO3 below but I will also be posting the chapters here.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53564641/chapters/149190919

Pairing: Sylus/Female MC with some elements of Xavier/Female MC

Genre: Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Adventure, Smut, Porn with Big Plot and Big Feelings

Content Warning (For the entire fic): Explicit sexual content, spoilers and alterations to existing lore and cards/memories/tender moments/secret times, size kink, size difference, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, anal sex, fingering, all kinds of fingering, elements of consensual somno, dom!Sylus, jealousy, possessive!Sylus, Mephisto stalking, typical game violence, battle and combat

Summary: To love him meant stepping over the threshold and crossing into darkness. To be with him meant accepting the lure of the shadows. And to protect him from betrayal meant sacrifice. I knew not how, only that I would not let time sever our paths ever again.

Previous Chapters: Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch 3 / Ch 4 / Ch 5 / Ch 6 / Ch 7 / Ch 8

Leaving the N109 Zone is no less dangerous than entering it. I learn this much as Xavier transports us through the menacing metropolis using his Evol. Even my partner, who is not afraid of anything, is on high alert. His body is tense, his brow furrowed, and sweat beads on his temples. His eyes move restlessly as he transports us from place to place, as though he's searching and preparing for an attack at any moment. He moves with relentless purpose, not taking any breaks or giving me a chance to breathe.

For me, all of it is blinding and disorienting. I struggle to make sense of where we are or what direction we are moving in. Though it's only been days since I came here, after being in the darkness for so long, Xavier's Evol hurts and stings at my eyes. It's bearable at first, but soon I'm so dizzy I might pass out. My breathing turns fast and labored, my arms shaking as they cling to Xavier's neck for dear life.

Finally, after what seems like an endless series of jumps through the light, he sets me down so I can walk. But, I can't follow him. I stumble and rub at my eyes as they struggle to adjust.

"Xavier," I gasp. "Wait. Please, slow down."

I hear footsteps as he approaches me. His hands settle on my shoulders.

"Is it the light?" he asks in a low monotone I'm not used to. I reach out my hand, trying to figure out where he is as white blotches dance in my vision. "Wear this for now," he says, and I can finally place why he sounds off. It's not the way he normally speaks when we're together. It's his Hunter voice, the one he uses when we're fighting Wanderers and our lives are in danger.

I hear the tearing of cloth. A breeze as he bends down in front of me. I start when I feel something brush against both sides of my face. When I try to back up, he tugs me forward.

"It's alright," he promises. "Trust me." He wraps something around my head, helping me feel it with my fingers when it's finished.

"A blindfold?" I ask.

"It should help until we get to the next checkpoint. Keep your eyes closed."

I gasp when he lifts me up again. With that, the jumps continue. He's right, though. The blindfold does help. At the very least, my eyes aren't fighting to adjust to a light as blinding as the sun. Xavier's Evol feels different after this most recent encounter. Its presence is stronger, more aggressive. No doubt it has something to do with the breaking of the collar around his neck. Xavier's never spoken to me about it before, and I never pried. Yet, Sylus seems to believe that it's some kind of handicap.

"We're here," he tells me as he sets me down.

The checkpoint Xavier was referring to is an abandoned safe house. Though I can't see where we land, I hear the ping ping ding of a familiar keypad as Xavier types in the code to enter it. I've been in enough of these to know the distinct sound, though I'm surprised to discover that the Association would have built these in a No Hunt Zone. I guess that the borders between these zones and areas managed by the Hunters aren't as well defined as I had been taught to believe.

I hear faint humming when the bunker security pad accepts the code. Xavier removes my blindfold as the internal steel lock thuds and rotates inside the four inch thick door. Bullet proof, blast proof, pretty much everything proof. Once this door is closed, nothing can get in. I blink experimentally. At last, I can see him somewhat clearly. As we enter the bunker and shut the door behind us, I examine the main control hub. It's a large touch pad riveted into the wall in the entryway.

Status: Inactive

Safe House Charge: 12%

WARNING: Critical power failure imminent. Remaining hub power estimated at 13 hours and 3 minutes.

"This thing is almost dead," I comment.

Xavier makes a sound of agreement. "It charges with the sun or via replacement of its energy source. Neither are readily available." He flicks a switch to turn on the emergency lights. It's a series of tiny blue bulbs stretching in a cord around the perimeter of the single room. They'll use less power than the full fledged lights. While he takes his blade off his back, I check the sink for running water. Fortunately, it's clear and doesn't have an odor.

"Filtration system must still be good," I say. "How long will we stay here?"

"Just a few hours."

Walking back to Xavier, I grimace when I see the state of his clothes. Concern wells up in my chest. I try to get him to face me, but he dodges out of my reach.

"Wait, Xavier. Please stop," I demand, grabbing at his arm. It's bright enough for me to see the splotches of blood all over his uniform and hair. "Let me see. You're injured. You need first aid."

"I'll be fine," he says in that same harsh monotone from earlier. He pulls back when I resist. I'm not ready for it, and he ends up jerking my injured arm so hard that I yelp in pain.

His head snaps around to look at me; the transformation in him is immediate and disorienting. Frozen cerulean eyes widen in surprise, pupils shrinking and honing in on me. He raises his hands to reach for me, the tension in his core seeming to dissipate all at once. His lips part, and the next time he speaks, it's the Xavier I've grown so fond of.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, placing a hand against my arm. It's a touch as gentle as a spring breeze. "Let me look at you. Where are you hurt?"

"You first," I glare at him, refusing to let his puppy eyes sway me right now. I point to a nearby chair. "Sit. Right now."

Like a chameleon, he shifts again. His blue eyes narrow, the line of his mouth straightening into pursed disapproval. He complies, but it's not in the way I expect. Looping an arm around my waist, he sits in the chair and pulls me to stand between his legs. I catch my balance by placing both of my hands on his shoulders.

"The last time I listened to your request, you nearly died," he grinds out, each word like a blade meant to slice at me.

"That was--" I try to breathe past my shock. "We had to help Tara. It was an emergency."

"I heard you screaming," he cuts in without a shred of mercy. "You were begging for death."

I shudder, his words bringing back memories I don't want anything to do with.

"Do you know what that did to me? I could do nothing...nothing at all..."

Have I ever seen his eyes so dark? Is it the light? Or something else? Right now, with his voice as low as a building earthquake and some kind of shadow lurking in his gaze, I can hardly recognize my friend and my partner.

"But you did," I rush to contradict. "You came for me. You're here now, taking me back to Linkon."

Even sitting, he's only marginally shorter than me. He leans forward in his seat. For a moment, I'm stunned as our faces are so close they're almost touching. Beneath my hands, his body is blazing hot and firm. His hands remain around my waist, and I can't explain why I'm suddenly so aware of them.

"I heard it all," he says, his eyes holding me immobilized.

My ears burn at those words for too many reasons to name. Somehow, my mind doesn't stop at what happened with my injuries and the LUMINIS. It goes farther, to what happened at the mansion with Sylus. In his room; in his bed. Instinctively, I shut my lips tighter. Surely, I'm overthinking it. There's no way Xavier could possibly know anything about that. Not to mention -- what the hell is wrong with me, thinking about something perverse in a moment like this?

Xavier is trying to tell me that he's hurting. That this experience was traumatic. That's what I should focus on. Comforting him. It's my duty as his friend and partner.

"The LUMINIS spilled on me," I explain in a strained voice. "It was very painful. I didn't know that one of the side effects could be...um...Xavier?"

Without breaking eye contact, he brings his fingers to the zipper of my jacket and unzips it part way. Something about him is off. Really off. My hand snaps to his, stopping him. His skin nearly burns me, as does his gaze. I swallow past a sudden lump in my throat.

"Who is he to you?" Xavier demands. I shudder at the way he says that. Frigid as an icy dune. Threatening. Menacing. His sharp eyes slide to my red ears, and he doesn't need to say Sylus's name for me to understand that he's the one in question. I grit my teeth. The hand on my waist slips lower, almost to my hips. I hold my breath, not quite grasping the situation or the sudden strange atmosphere between us.

"Xavier, none of this matters right now," I mumble. Forcing myself to snap out of my stupor, I press my hand to his forehead. "You're burning up."

"It does matter," he insists, ignoring me. "I shouldn't have left you that night. I've never regretted anything so much in my life."

This time, the pain comes through his voice, and my heart goes out to him. I feel even more stupid for thinking of ridiculous things at a time when he's obviously vulnerable. More than anyone, I know how protective Xavier is of those he cares about. I've never ever pried into his past, but I've always had a feeling that something terrible and tragic happened in his life. It's made him a little cold and distant, made it harder for him to bond with others. Made him much wiser than the youthful beauty of his countenance.

Despite all that, we had bonded. I can't imagine how worried he's been all this time. If it had me in his place...just thinking about our positions being reversed makes me queasy. If he had disappeared on me like that, I would have been devastated. Terrified. I don't know what I would have done to try to get him back.

I'm a horrible partner...and a horrible friend...

"I'm sorry," I breathe. Overwhelmed with emotion, I wrap my uninjured arm around him and stroke his hair. I press my cheek against the top of his head. With not even a second of hesitation, he returns the affection in his own way.

I missed him, missed this completely natural intimacy between us. We aren't lovers; I don't believe Xavier would ever look at me as a woman. Yet, we'd always been intensely close, craving each other's company and physical touch. We held hands and hugged often. A few times, we'd even fallen asleep in each other's apartments while sharing a dinner or watching movies.

Ever since I met him in the ruins on my first mission as a Hunter, he's always been my starlight. That small bit of untainted magic that's so rare in my life. Tara was one such treasure. Grandma and Caleb, taken from me. And now, Sylus too. At the thought of him, my chest grows tight. I feel his absence like a void. Yet, now is not the time to dwell on it.

I push away my frustration at how abruptly we had to part ways. None of that matters right now, especially since Sylus went completely overboard in pushing my partner to his limits. He's burning up with fever, and who knows what breaking that weird collar did to him? He's cut and bruised all over, and clearly the last week has taken a mental toll on him because he isn't acting like himself at all. I'm worried about how stubborn he's being; I need to convince him to cooperate. It's my turn to support him and take care of him now.

"Thank you, Xavier. Thank you for coming for me. For fighting through all of that. I'm sorry you had to."

He hesitates before his hand continues unzipping my jacket. "Show me your wounds," he asks, his voice sweet and gentle again. "Please."

I pull back and cup both sides of his face, playfully and gently shaking it from side to side. "No way. I'm treating your injuries first. None of mine are critical, nor are they bleeding." His eyes soften, and he finally breaks eye contact with me to look away. I give him another shake. "Let me take care of my partner, alright?"

I don't know whether the faint pink on his cheekbones and ears is from the fever or my words, but I can't help but think that he looks entirely too adorable right now. Like a boy who has been thoroughly lectured. Oblivious to my offensive train of thought, he nods and makes a small sound of agreement.

"Alright," I perk up, "please take off your jacket first."

I look around the bunker for the first aid kit. Fortunately, everything is arranged in the exact same way in all of these safe houses. I find the grey metal cabinet in the corner of the room and take out an armful of supplies. The cabinet beside it has meal bars and nutrient blocks. I grab those too. By the time I make my rounds and return to Xavier, he's removed his jacket and undershirt.

I steady myself at the sight of his wounds. Scrapes, burns, cuts, and swelling that will definitely turn into nasty bruises. A few spots could use some stitches. My teeth grind together. Suddenly I'm furious with Sylus. None of this was necessary. Absolutely none. Xavier is the strongest Hunter I know. He's plenty powerful even if that collar was limiting him somehow. Not to mention, I'm not completely helpless either. I don't need some God-tier bodyguard running around with me. I can take care of myself!

"Scary," Xavier says, snapping me out of my daze. I glance up at him to see that his eyes are sparkling with mirth. "The look on your face is like the time when the claw machine got stuck before it dispensed the limited plushie you wanted." His voice and mannerisms are back to normal again, and I let out a breath I didn't even realize I'd been holding.

"I'm glad you think this is funny," I glare at him playfully. "You should be scared. I can't believe you were refusing to let me help you when you're this injured." Though Xavier doesn't explicitly reveal what he's been through while I was missing, I don't need him to spell out the details to see them reflected in his countenance. He's thinner than I remember, and there are deep black circles under his eyes. I regret not insisting on contacting him earlier. I should have tried to push Sylus to let me talk to him.

"It looks worse than it is," Xavier shrugs.

I don't let him mess with me anymore after that, coming at him full tilt with tweezers, disinfectant, and gauze. I get to work cleaning all of his injuries, removing tiny shards of glass, and wiping away dried blood. He winces a few times, but I'm honestly surprised that he doesn't make more of a fuss as I clean and bandage him up. Holding my arm up to do all this hurts, but I stubbornly push the pain to the back of my mind. I owe him that much.

While I work, Xavier and I talk about the last few days. He explains that UNICORNS has filed me as MIA after the disaster at the Mythe. Currently, the mainstream media suspects terrorism as the cause of the explosions, but no one knows the full truth of the events of that night. I need to report to UNICORNS right away. Likely Captain Jenna will be relieved to see that I'm safe, and we will absolutely need to reveal everything we know about LUMINIS. At this point, we have no alternative. It will be up to the Captain to take measures in order to keep the information from being leaked.

"They can't know where I've been," I tell Xavier as I cut the string after stitching up a gash in his arm. "Please. Can we make something up?"

"Why?" Xavier asks. A loaded pause. Then -- "So you can protect him?"

I flinch at that accusation and give a nervous chuckle. "The last thing he needs is my protection. No, it's...more for me than anything else."

It takes me a solid hour to clean and wrap all of Xavier's injuries, and by the time I'm finished I'm so exhausted that my eyes are trying to close on their own. I keep shaking my head to clear the murky bog out of my thoughts, but it doesn't help. Even munching on a nutrient block does nothing to clear my drowsiness. My shoulder is throbbing, and the pain is becoming impossible to ignore.

As I pack up all the trash and bloodied gauze, Xavier beckons me to come closer. When I pad towards him with a full trash bag in tow, he stands up and takes it from me, setting it aside. Again, I'm reminded of how tall he is, and with his body exposed I take a moment to appreciate how sculpted his muscles are. Somehow, that train of thought is quite invasive and embarrassing. I do my best to look away, angry at myself for ogling my friend.

"You promised," he reminds me, mistaking my shyness for reluctance. He's referring to examining my injuries.

"There's really no point in worrying about me anymore. I'll be fine."

His touch soft yet deliberate, he sits back down and pulls me to stand between his legs again.

"I won't accept that," he says, his straightforward gaze unsettling.

With a sigh of resignation, I let him take off my jacket the rest of the way and help me with removing my knitted shirt. Standing before him in just a tank top, I let him examine my stitched up shoulder and arm. I can't read what he's thinking as he slides his hand across my skin.

"It's swollen, and there's some blood." He reaches over to the first aid kit. "Ellara, you need to put this in a sling. Stop moving it or it's going to get worse."

I can't really argue with him, not when I'm so tired and in so much pain. He cleans my shoulder and puts some numbing antibiotic on it.

"Lean on me," he says as I waver on my feet. I do so, using his broad shoulder for support. "You were shot."

"Once or twice."

"And your leg?" His hand brushes against my knee. "You're limping."

"Things got physical after I ran out of bullets." I take a breath, remembering how frightening it was to fight for my life. "They wanted to capture me. Not kill me."

"Noxis?"

I nod.

"Do they know about the Aether Core?"

"What other use would they have for a single Hunter?"

Xavier thinks for a moment. "And the sample?"

"That vial of LUMINIS we stole from the auction spilled on me in combat," I tell him. "All of it." His eyes jump to my face, boring into me. "It hurt. A lot. I don't remember much except for the agony." I hesitate, unsure about how much I should reveal about the rest. "Sylus, he...saved my life."

"By kidnapping you."

"No. He was helping me."

"So you went with him willingly?"

My body tenses at his sharp tone. "Listen, I wasn't really in a position to make that decision."

"He should have taken you to a hospital." Xavier reaches up to run his fingers around the stitches on my shoulder. "This is going to scar."

Stitching a wound isn't something I have practice with. It will probably scar.

I shrug off Xavier's hand as his voice overlaps with Sylus's in my memories. "So what? I already have plenty of scars. We're Hunters, not models."

"You must be close to him if you're defending him this much."

I stare at the wall. "N-Not really..."

"You never did tell me what he is to you."

I wince when Xavier's grip on my arm tightens unexpectedly. I'm still reeling from his shift in tone again, so it takes me a good minute to realize that he's been staring at a very particular spot on my chest. A shadow crosses his face again, lurking like a viper in the brush. Without consciously deciding to, I reach up and touch the spot he's examining. It's right around my collar bone near my neck. I frown, trying to figure out why the skin there is sore.

The bike. The dark city view atop the forsaken hill. Sylus's lips, and teeth, and breath on me as he holds my hips and makes me scream his name. His voice rumbling in my ear, making filthy promises, telling me what I want to hear the most.

It's like someone dropped me into a frozen lake. My drowsiness vanishes in a puff of smoke. My heart skips a beat, and my face catches fire. I rush to push the memories back and away, simultaneously covering up the spot with my hand. But, it's too late. Xavier's seen it, and only an idiot wouldn't know a hickey when they see one. Not to mention, my face is so red you could probably use it as a stop light.

And the look in Xavier's eyes. The look. Like I've stabbed him. But, in this moment it's me that's being stabbed. The pain in his gaze pierces through me like a spear. My throat clenches tight, my hands curl into fists. Sweat breaks out across my forehead and my back. Who knew that eyes could hold so much at once? Accusation. Anger. And something else, too. Something I absolutely don't want to acknowledge for my own sanity.

I whirl away from him, my eyes scrambling around to find my shirt. I'm so mortified that I want to fall through the floor and never be seen again.

Run.

I want to run.

"L-Like I said, there's nothing to worry about. I'm perfectly fine." I take some steps towards the other side of the room, but I don't make it far. Xavier grabs my hand.

No.

No. No. No.

If he confronts me about this now, I don't know what kind of nonsense is going to come out of my mouth. I'm not ready to talk about what happened or my feelings. Sylus might think it's as simple as saying we're in a relationship, but what could somebody like me know about stuff that complicated? The most serious relationship I've ever had with anything is my favorite Betsy doll in my apartment, an object that's heard my emotional outbursts and absorbed rivers of my dramatic tears for years in leu of a friend.

I'm not in the mood to reveal our relationship to anyone anytime soon - Sylus's conviction replays in my mind.

Neither am I, but how am I supposed to keep a secret this big by myself when I barely understand the meaning of it?

I yank my hand away from Xavier, but he's always been a stubborn one, just like me. He tries to snag my waist. I turn to avoid him, but I'm so nervous I trip over my own foot. He catches me so I won't fall, and as a result I somehow end up with my face smooshed right up against his very warm and very naked chest. This is completely unacceptable by any stretch of the imagination, so I immediately shove him away.

Or, I try to. He doesn't budge.

"Xavier, please let go." A moment passes. Then two. He releases me, and I put distance between us. I don't want to look him in the eye. I don't know why, but I'm ashamed. Like I've done something unforgivable. My feelings have no logic behind them. Xavier and I are friends. We're partners. I don't owe him any explanation about my personal life. I don't pry into his business, and he doesn't ask me any uncomfortable questions. It's always been that way.

So why do I feel like something between us is stretched like a rubber band, ready to snap if I make a single wrong move?

A breath.

Then four.

Then --

"Ellara."

Low. Hard. Angry.

I keep looking at the ground, wrapping my arms around myself.

"Ellara."

A bit softer now.

My eyes sting, and I take a ragged breath to suppress my tears.

Footsteps. Coming closer and closer. A warm body stopping right in front of me. I stare at his boots now.

"Ellie..." The soft whisper floats to me like a feather on the wind. A hand reaches to caress my face but stops just short. He's never called me that before. Nobody has. Immediately, I love it. I want him to always call me that.

"Can I hug you?" he asks, his voice tense.

I nod, and he follows through, pulling me into a warm embrace. We stay like that for a while.

"You don't have to explain anything right now," he sighs. "Let's just focus on getting home, alright?"

I nod again. His fingers stroke through the hair at my nape. As I calm down, the exhaustion and drowsiness catches up with me again.

"What's the plan after this?" I ask.

"I have a contact waiting to pick us up at an exit point. He'll arrange for transport back to the city."

"Sorry for all the trouble," I mumble against him as sleep finally takes me by force.

#eyes of infinity delirium #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfic #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x mc #sylus/mc #sylusposting #sylus #love and deepspace mc #lnds #lnds xavier #lnds fanfic #lnds sylus

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