#that they contained a small trace of radiation and thought i was going to die of radiation poisoning from banana proximity)

[valtsv]

seeing the chernobyl fanfiction ask i got last month on my dash again and while i have never and will never write chernobyl fanfiction i feel like i might as well confess that i used to play littlest pet shop nuclear fallout disaster rp as a kid (nobody lives/everybody dies, graphic descriptions of radiation poisoning) so like anon wasn't that far off i guess

[dovithedarklord]

Age of Monsters - Chapter Seventeen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Author's Note

Leona and the team travel again, and more and more interesting situations arise.

Hello!

I noticed that with all the upheavals in my life, I can safely upload approx. every two weeks, so I'll stick to that! :D

I don't have a separate Trigger Warning for today's chapter!

Have fun! :D

I.M.L. – Infected Mammal Lifeorm I.H.L. – Infected Humanoid Lifeorm

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Seventeen

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The small room is enveloped in motionless semi-darkness, and only the flickering lights of the machines resting next to the bed paint the two figures clinging to each other on the patient's bed into a neon-colored rainbow. And although their faces now finally radiate peaceful calmness, as they rest in the whiteness of the sterile bedding, they look more like plants floating on the edge of death, intertwined with their dry branches as a last refuge. Yet, despite their almost painful weakness, the aura mixed with terror that reigned over them seems to be easing at last, which was ingrained in each of their cells like an ineradicable illness.

And as I look at the crumpled bed on the other side of the room, I can read from the wet stains on the pillow that the boy probably woke up from a bad dream and sought solace from the woman. It's not surprising that he chose close proximity instead of comfort, because, in the many horrors he has experienced so far, his older companion has been his protector. Perhaps she anchored him in reality now as well, when he floated, writhing in tears, on the border between the bitter images of the realm of dreams and this world. And a rather bitter taste invades my tongue when it occurs to me, that it cannot be ruled out that he will suffer in this temporary nightmare for the rest of his life. Stuck in the middle of painful memories and fleeting safety.

Because I'm dead sure that the government won't let two very young Healers, whom they can squeeze out a few more years of service from, go to waste. No leader will let them take early retirement, even if they die while serving the Hunters. This system isn’t kind to anyone, especially not to those who, according to the authorities, were born to serve. And even though it's better for everyone if a Hunter stays sane and doesn't slaughter everyone in their path if they run out of energy, it doesn't change the fact that, as per the current state of the world, there isn't even time for people to mourn their traumas.

And this thought weakens the contentment purring inside me, which I experienced last night with the help of my clever ability. Because my little action seems infinitely futile as I watch them. I treated all their wounds, and all traces of the pain they suffered disappeared from the tissues, but every minute they spent in the dark little hole where they were pushed into lives just as vividly in their minds. And neither my energy, nor that bastard's pitiable death, nor time will cure this. I doubt that any of them will ever recover, and I can only hope with the utmost benevolence that they lose their sanity and wither in a lab for the rest of their lives, high on medication. That would be the slowest but most merciful death that life could give them. 

I must be quite deeply immersed in my thoughts, because I only notice that a tall figure casts a dark shadow on me, when he settles next to me in front of the window of the small ward and joins me in my silent observations. I don't need to look at Riley to know the expression on his masked face, because the barely suppressed rage that emanates from him when he glances at the pair hiding in the small, dim room almost stings my skin. And my mind, buried in resignation, has the strength to feel pleasure for a minute at his agitation, for it soothes my soul in a sick way, that, despite the fact that his kind doesn't need to fear such horrors, I still see the glint of anger in the dark eyes of his reflection. This gives me some faint relief from the gnawing doubts that snake into my bones, which have burrowed deeper and deeper since yesterday with such insidious efficiency as worms feasting on corpses. Because I can't get rid of the image of the terrified faces of the two Healers, and in those few passing hours, when I was finally able to close my eyes, I saw myself in the dirty corner instead of them.

"What did Price say?" I speak up suddenly, diverting my thoughts to safer ground, because the further development of our mission seems a much more pleasant topic than discussing the future of the two poor souls shrouded in doubt, or reviving the damned delusions of my brain. And even though I don't look away from the seemingly peaceful scene unfolding before me, I can see him examining me inquisitively, as if he would be searching for something in my expressionless features. And he must have found it, because even though I can bury my emotions expertly, even my persona created for denial cannot hide from his trained senses.

"Laswell looked the thug up." He finally answers, and whatever was going on in that mysterious mind of his, he goes into the game of ignoring my strange behavior without comment. And I'm immensely grateful for the fact that he is able to turn to duty so quickly, because no matter how much my mind is occupied by the miserable fate of my two fellow colligues, our mission is more important. Now only my subconscious and I should be on the same page about this. "We're leavin' tomorrow." He informs me, stating a certain fact, and I just glance at him curiously from the corner of my eye. Laswell works faster than the devil, and it looks like she hasn't let us down now either. Even though we only had a name and a colony in our hands, which could have been too little to be able to move on with our pursuit. But our station chief's nose is much sharper, and she picked up a hot scent again at such a pace that belies the fact that she is just a simple human. And the knowledge that tomorrow I can finally leave this cesspool, and all this dreadful moment will be an unpleasant experience lost in the mist of the past, selfishly calms my mind. Because I don't want to face why I want to leave the two Healers so enthusiastically and forget about what will happen to them.

"Are they coming with us too?" I continue to inquire, raising another important question, which, although less intensively, but with sufficient enthusiasm, strains my skull. Because the two short days I spent in the company of our new teammates helped to plant the seeds of suspicion and foreboding in my mind enough to make me prefer to part ways with them, even if that would mean the loss of their help. There wouldn't even be a problem with Horangi, but König... he's a different story. And I don't just want to keep him away from my friends, because I'm secretly afraid that they work together like a ticking time bomb, and it's only a matter of time before they have a punch-up due to their incompatible personalities with Riley. There is something inherently dangerous about the hooded Hunter that clings to his every cell like a bloodthirsty demonic presence. It was already difficult for me to decipher the masked man, but König is a completely new kind of riddle, and I'm not sure that I want to know what is hidden under the dark textile. I have a gut feeling that if I dip even one toe into this shallow, murky mystery, the monster lurking in the bottomless swamp will grab me and drag me under. But despite my vivid imagination, my rational side is perfectly aware that I need to observe just enough to be able to read him and know what he and his little companion are up to behind the scenes. Because they are most certainly not so willing because of their good heart and conscience.

"Shepherd won't let us go without his dogs." The Hunter notes curtly, and based on his tone it's clear that even without saying it, he understood whom I was aiming at so skillfully. The edge of disdain moves into his deep voice, which has been lurking under the surface ever since we were drawn here by the clues given us by Valeria. And although I know the kind of self-restraint and discipline the man possesses, it's still impressive how effectively he can rein in his temper, even though his colleague's behavior made it a difficult task for him on several occasions. They cooperate with us with perfect professionalism, but they make sure, with small and sly signs, that we know that, thanks to the old shit, we are not in control here. Our little adventure yesterday made this very clear.

"How surprising." I remark dryly, and I don't even try to make the words crawling on my tongue a little less sarcastic, because I know that my cynicism now finds a match in my partner. Shepherd wants to keep us on a short leash through the two Hunters, and I'm pretty sure it would only take one wrong move to make the kindness of our new helpers disappear like a mirage in the desert. But it's even more likely that the old bastard will wait until we smooth this little nuisance out for him, and then he will get rid of us. That would be very clever, and would give a good reason why the two mercenaries are coming with us. In light of this, we not only have to get hold of the serum and be careful with the mutants, but we also have to keep a watchful eye on when they stab us in the back. Wonderful.

"You shouldn't have come to the interrogation room." Riley deviates from the thread of our conversation, and I'd be lying if I said that I didn't expect him to bring up my little incident sooner or later. It's a fact that it would have made a much better impression on our hosts if I hadn't poked my nose into their business, and perhaps if anger hadn't burned inside me like an inferno, I would have been able to think clearly and stay away. Undoubtedly, it would have attracted less attention, and it's also likely that even without my intervention, they would have found the bloody method that would have made that scumbag want to spill every last bit of info he had. The secret of my little abilities would also have remained under wraps, which would still give me a trump card in case one of our hired babysitters decided to help me cross over to the other world. But the icy hatred that closed its teeth around my insides injected a poison into me, causing a red fog to descend on my mind that I was unable to fight against. And to be honest, I didn't want to.

"I'd argue with that." I retort dispassionately, and I still don't meet his gaze, the weight of which now almost suffocates me. Although our relationship has fallen into something quite attractively complicated, I know that when it comes to work, he knows no joke. And it occurs to me that he might want to scold me now because I wasn't able to do what was expected of me again. And I would like to warn him well in advance, before he can even delve into his disciplining, that no one forbade me to interfere even with a fucking word. Horangi's feeble attempt was more of a less-than-enthusiastic warning than an actual command. If he was serious, then he would have easily arranged it so that I could not barge into the interrogation room. Because he could have killed me with one move.

A frightened whine penetrates the noise of the chirping machines in the ward, and as I see the half-asleep boy moving closer to the woman, who just begins to draw soothing circles through the blue material of the hospital nightgown on his bony back, then the terrifying feeling that brought me to the container on swift legs rises again in me. There is no protocol or rule that could have stopped me then, even if my brain now knows that sitting on my pretty ass and waiting for the big boys to take care of the situation would have been the right thing to do. But I'm too stubborn for that.

"It was our task to find out what he knows."  The man states the truth flatly, and I only carefully divert my gaze from the Healers hugging on the sick bed to immerse myself in the inscrutable eyes of Riley's reflection. Because from someone who carries out his duties with such rigor and keeps to what is expected of him, I wouldn't exactly expect him to let my newest naughtiness pass without a word. Although I had already managed to avoid the retort that my misbehavior would have deserved once, I had saved his bosom friend by disobeying the order. But now, guided only by my own feelings, I charged into the middle of their party like a bull gone wild. Not that I mind for a minute.

"It took a long time. I sped it up." I offer the most acceptable reason, which I'm sure can soften the condemnation that might be camped in his mind. Because even though he knows that my terrible game was about much more than that, he can't argue with the fact that I forced out the answers that we were after much sooner than they could have achieved by beating him into a bloody pulp. And it's just an insignificant factor that I used specific tools, and the motivating force behind my actions is another completely negligible detail. The point is, that we got what we needed to continue our search for the serum. It's best for him and me if we leave it at that.

"You took revenge." He specifies simply, and even I'm surprised that there is no reprimanding weight behind his words. As if he had merely made a frivolous remark, rather than stating why I had so vehemently stormed in when they worked so diligently on their victim. But if his insight strikes me unexpectedly, my surprise quickly fades, because it's clear that he already knew why I was there when I crossed the threshold of the interrogation room. But instead of feeling ashamed for exposing my not-so-nice motives, the uncomfortable tightness in my stomach that hasn't really gone away since yesterday just flares up again. And as petty as it may be, I was filled with vengeance indeed when I laid my sly little hands on our prisoner, but I'm by no means such a noble soul as to refrain from it. This kind of meanness fits right into my repertoire of personality traits.

"Is it such a big deal?" I turn back to spying on the small room, because it's much easier to study the dark walls than to digest how effortlessly he can see through me. Of course, it's not that I have lost my mystery to him that bothers me, but rather the fact that I feel like a little kid caught doing mischief. Because from his tone it's like I did something completely wrong. Although I know that my approach was truly merciless, that dirtbag deserved every single moment of it. I don't care if what I have done is questionable, because as soon as I saw the desperation on that disgusting face swimming in tears and snot, my mood turned better in an instant. And if there was even a little justice left in the world, then all the wretches like this bastard would receive this punishment. What's wrong with such scum finally getting a taste of their own cruelty?

"No."  He breaks the short silence, agreeing with me almost too naturally, which is completely foreign from his mouth. Because this makes me unsure for a minute about why he brought up the whole topic in the first place. If it doesn't bother him that I took control and used my own little incentive, then what is his problem? "But you don't have to get your hands dirtier at all costs."  He adds, and I don't like the tone he puts into his voice at all, like he wanted to scold me. Which sounds bad coming from him, because we both know that while I may be a sneaky bastard, he doesn't need to go next door when it comes to brutality. We aren’t different in any way, and he shouldn't point out how unfeminine and not-so-delicate it is when I use these merciless tactics.

"There's enough blood on them anyway. A little more won't make a difference." I remark nonchalantly, keeping my eyes fixed in front of me with all my strength, because I'm afraid that if I look at the Hunter, I will glimpse something that my soul couldn't bear. I don't want to see his contempt or his superiority, because I don’t feel an iota of regret. This cruelty helped me through hardships all my life, I took what I needed to survive. If there was even a little less blood on my hands, I'd be lying there in that fucking bed right now, beaten, starved, raped and used. The only thing that kept me from this was that I immersed myself in the filth as deeply as was necessary, and my selfishness served me quite well. And if I have to drown in this infectious pool, I will.

But the movement comes completely unexpectedly, as one of his big hands finds my shoulder, and as his fingers gently tighten around the tensing muscles, I turn my head towards him with a starled shiver, because the tenderness in his touch reluctantly tears me out of the gloomy monologue going on in my head. And the way those brown eyes glance down at me makes my stomach jump instinctively, because the inscrutable flickers dancing there make the anger raging inside me fade away in a minute. The heat emanating from his palm pleasantly licks at my skin, which has cooled down due to the bitter rage, and brings my attention back to him so decisively from the chaos in my brain, as if he would be my anchor keeping me in reality.

"I know you're cruel. You don't have to prove it." He states, and his voice fades to a grumble, as he takes a small step to close the distance between the two of us. And as he leans down to me and his scent fills my nose like a familiar visitor, every nerve in my body is sharpened to what he has to say. "But you don't have to do it alone anymore." He declares, and with this one sentence, he dispels all the doubts that have nested in the hidden corners of my brain so far. And the realization that this is exactly why I wanted to leave the two Healers behind me tears into my mind. Because I saw in them the fate that could easily have found me too. I could have ended up chained and abused to the extreme, but instead, for all my selfishness and dishonesty, karma has led me to a place where I am treated much better than my background would justify.

And now here is Riley, who knows my worst side, has experienced firsthand the caustic sarcasm I can use to dig into other people's weaknesses with my words, and what evils my hands are capable of when my interests demand it. Yet knowing this, he offers that I don't have to walk this dark road alone, but willingly joins me. He doesn't expect me to leave behind my dubious methods accumulated over the years, he doesn't ask me to wash my hands clean. And because of this, something completely inexplicable awakens inside me, which simultaneously fills me with a pleasant warmth, which is followed by a hot trembling lightness that spreads through all the fibers of my being. And along with that, an icy fear creeps into the pit of my stomach, because the warning flashes in my subconscious almost immediately that I mustn't let this go. I can't waste this opportunity that fate has given me, because I'm not sure I could survive if I lost them.

And as a result of the realization, the invisible fingers of the tears spurred by the rising emotions gnaw into my eyes with almost painful force, but forcing the feelings down my dry throat, I just nod with a faint smile on my face. Because now I can see clearly. It takes shape in my head firmly that I'm willing to cling to the team, and especially to him with every drop of my blood, that this pledge almost burns into my brain.

⃰

The warm rays of the sun caress my naked arm peeking from under my shirt with deceptive peace, and as I leave the cargo deck hand in hand with my companions, and wade into the wild grass, the sweet scent of wildflowers fills my nose, and I allow myself to drink in the picturesque landscape for a minute. As if I had fallen into a dream, the meadow stretches to the edge of the horizon with such unimaginable calmness, where Nik so skilfully put down our plane, the soft noise of which is accompanied by the buzzing of bees and the chirping song of crickets as background noise. And at other times, this huge open space might make me nervous, where we are easy prey for the mutants who are stalking us, but behind the large building not far from us, the abundance of trees stretching to the sky cover us beneficially from at least one side. A real, hidden corner of paradise.

In other circumstances and in another life, this beautiful weather might even tempt me to have a little picnic in this undisturbed clearing that spreads out in front of our temporary accommodation. Of course, this would be a realistic idea if there was no chance that my idyllic pastime would be interrupted by a deformed monster or one of its humanoid friends, who would pay their respects with a slightly different kind of snack in mind. Although based on Price's information, the safe house might be located in the middle of nowhere, but it's just reassuringly close enough to the colony to be at a comfortable distance from any reckless beasts. Of course, the suspicion raging in my brain doesn't ease one bit, because, during my ever-longer mission, I already had the opportunity to experience what kind of horrors can be lurking behind such beautiful landscapes with watchful eyes. And most of the time they don't appear in the form of malformed animals, but take on a much more human face. Naturally, in this filthy place laced with death, we are still each other's greatest enemies.

"Good to see you're still alive!" A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts, and as I turn my head in the direction of its source, my dark little heart leaps with real joy. Because as soon as I see Garrick emerging from behind the battered door of the house, a definite line of a sincere smile crosses my face. And although it's barely been a while since I last had the good fortune to admire the Hunter's good features and even more pleasant aura, yet, in an almost disgusting way, my soul is relieved that amidst all the complicated misery, I finally have a familiar figure near me.

"We need more than that to bite the bullet!" MacTavish exclaims, and  he hurries forward grinning, so that when his friend is within arm's reach, he simply pulls him into a brotherly embrace enthusiastically, patting his back with the weights of the unspoken words of happiness in the small movement. It's no wonder that this meeting is so heart-warming, since every single mission is another chance for these happy moments to never happen again. And this is probably not the first party they got involved in, but in light of the fact that we are drowning deeper and deeper into unknown complications, even I can sympathize with the zeal of my two fanboys.

I don't have to wait long for the one person who is still missing from the impromptu celebration to show up, and as I recognize the well-known figure of Price marching out from the dim depths of the house, the fleeting feeling of absence that may have been present in me until now disappears. The man carefully studies us gathered in the field, and when his gaze settles on me after Riley, who is anchored next to me, and his beard-framed mouth curls up in a satisfied little smile, then my stomach jumps with excited joy with such ridiculous speed that it's downright disgusting. Still, it doesn't bother me for a minute that such crippling emotions rear their heads in my little soul, because I would be willing to do anything to never have to live without them.

"I've hoped this would be the case." Price also joins in our greeting, referring back to my Scottish friend's earlier confident statement with his small comment, as he comes close enough to welcome us. And when one of his big hands lands on my shoulder with the greatest naturalness and squeezes it gently, the pleasant warmth, that only the small team was able to revive in me for a very long time, spreads through all of my limbs following his touch. And I swear that an almost paternal pride shines in those bright eyes, as they survey my face, and I have to keep my cheeky superiority in my features with all my strength, because I don't want to get emotional in front of our audience just getting off the plane. "I've heard a lot of good things about you." He adds, and even though his praise is enough to awaken an impossible cheerfulness in me, but as his gaze meaningfully moves to the masked Hunter enveloped in silence, I understand to whom I owe this exceptional treatment. And because of this, I feel that the tremble in my stomach paints surprise on my face despite my will and all my attempts at indifference. I didn't think that it would be Riley who would so enthusiastically praise my performance to the boss, when earlier I had him to thank for the bright idea of my forest trip, due to which I almost got impaled by a mutant piggy. But this is enough for the hope in my head to push me even deeper into the embrace of my complicated feelings for him. Great.

And at that moment, Riley, who was already more wordless than usual, joins in the warm welcoming, and although he remains silent, he greets our leader with a firm nod. Others might not find his curtness particularly striking, but he cannot hide from the captain's eyes either. And I'm sure that Price also realized by reading his companion's body language that his stand-offishness is directed much more to the two mercenaries who approach us with lazy steps. Because it would be impossible not to notice the distant aura he puts on when he has to share the same space with his colleagues. And although this tense atmosphere made our plane ride excruciatingly long, considering the unique show we were treated to during our joint mission, the grumpy mood of the masked man doesn't seem exaggerated one bit.

Even though they close the distance between us with the silence of the predators lying in wait, I don't have to look back to know that our new companions have arrived at our small gathered group, because the tiny little hairs reflexively rise at my back as I feel that unmistakable gaze burning the back of my head. It was enough for me to look into those blue eyes once over the mangled body spread out on the floor of the interrogation room to know that the wisest thing to do was to ignore the existence of the hooded Hunter altogether. For although I don’t know to what, apart from his obvious interest in my kind, I owe that persistent attention with which he honors me every time we come into forced proximity, yet I'm sure that no good would come of entering into this dubious game. Whatever his purpose is by obnoxiously and shamelessly staring at me at every opportunity he gets.

Price is the one who, as a true leader, grasps the noble task of breaking the ice, and turns to the two mercenaries, straightening his back out with confidence. And although there is a diplomatic impassiveness on his face, and I might even detect a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, but my trained eyes catch the troubled wrinkles gathering on his forehead under the cover of the hat just in time before they disappear. It's rather cunning and tactical of the man to show his best face to those who might run to report to their master after his first questionable move, but despite his best efforts, the visible traces of suspicion remain in his gaze, with which he measures his colleagues up.

"Thanks for the help." The captain expresses his gratitude, and if he has doubts about the two men, it doesn't show in his voice for a minute. And although it's quite clear that he did this out of mandatory politeness, but even I'm impressed when he fixes his eyes on the hired Hunters with the keen attention of a hawk, as if he is trying to read even the smallest twitches, assessing every second how trustworthy the newcomers really are.

"We were paid well to do it." Horangi comments with complete calmness, and even though it was evident that the credits made them so willing until now, even I find it bold that he chirps out this little detail so casually. He doesn't even try to deny his motivations, and it can only happen for an infinitely simple reason, which helps my eyebrows furrow. The Korean Hunter and his no less pleasant companion are so carefree because they don't see an iota of threat in us, which would make them think it would be worth behaving more cautiously. Although under normal circumstances the goal would be for our group to be able to work together without stress, but it's quite obvious from the small, nonchalant little movement as the man cocks his head in interest that this isn’t the case. This is at least as humiliatingly belittling as it's irresponsible, and helps to spread the sparks of tension for a minute in the warm air swayed by the spring wind.

But as rapidly as the unpleasant atmosphere arrived, it dissolves as quickly, for MacTavish breaks the silence, loud with the buzzing of the beetles, that has set in, before my masked friend has time to act driven by the spark of irritation in his dark gaze. As he leaves Garrick's side and takes a few hasty steps closer to the captain, all eyes are suddenly on him, beneficially interrupting the storm that was no doubt slowly brewing.

"Did ya find out anythin' interestin'?" The Hunter with the mohawk turns the attention to the mission instead, directing our conversation in a much safer and more important direction. Despite his best efforts, no one moves for a couple of uncertain seconds, and even the blades of grass stand on guard, waiting to see if one of my buddies would like to test their skills against each other instead of working together, but in the end, it's Price who is the first to settle back into his composure with the impeccable nimbleness of years and routine.

"Maybe." The captain answers thoughtfully, and his gaze lingers on the two mercenaries before he nods toward our new shelter, inviting us inside. Whatever Laswell has dug up from the depths of yet another bottomless drawer, it's not a topic to be discussed in the open, and this sufficiently awakens my curiosity. "Let's go inside." And as he sets off towards the entrance of the safe house with quick steps, I'm the first to follow him, not only because instead of the tense atmosphere that slowly fills the peaceful meadow on the wings of the pollen blowing in the breeze, even the vague emptiness beyond the threshold is more inviting, but also because there are much more urgent problems scratching my mind than the struggle for dominance stemming from masculine vanity. The serum is what made us so beautifully wander to almost the other side of the world, and this very dangerous little vial of hell is why we crossed the ocean to visit another continent. The clever trick Shepherd will use to remove us from the uncertain variables is the problem of the future, which won't come if we don't concentrate on the task with all our focus. And it seems that after the fleeting intermezzo, the others come to this conclusion as well, because without further ado everyone heads towards our temporary headquarters too.

And despite the desolation of the building from the outside, as I cross the border of the house and the cool darkness embraces me, I'm greeted by a very well-maintained, almost homely interior. The gaudy stains on the walls preserve the old tasteful pattern of the torn wallpaper, and there is no doubt that a whole series of family photos could have rested on these eerie square patterns, which the residents might have taken with them in a hurry, in order to have a few memories frozen in the past peace, to which they can long to return to. And as I follow Price further into the uninhabited depths of the house, from the worn furniture forgotten behind and the child's toy lying in the corner, and from the curtain submitted to a slow rot I feel like I had trespassed into somewhere, where the faded ghosts of the late inhabitants still haunt, locked in the objects left behind. But I quickly suppress this short-lived unpleasant sensation, because if there is anything remaining here from the previous owners, it can only be a few bones and decaying scraps of clothing left by the victims when the beasts inevitably found them.

"What a nice place you got us." I note pulling the corner of my mouth into a grimace, and although my voice is noticeably laced with irony, considering the circumstances, the captain has managed to find a really impressive den, which is just right for us to hang out in for a few days. And even though my pretty little body is used to the puritanical comfort of the colony, but for once I'm willing to set aside the inconvenience that I might have to share my bed with ghouls.

"The credit is our helper's. The big guy gave us the coordinates." Garrick shares the information quietly as he catches up to me, and it's enough for him to nod behind with his head to let me know who he might be talking about from our new teammates. And the fact that the pleasant shack is thanks to König explains a lot. Up until now, it was obvious, based only on his rather strong German accent and even more German-sounding name, that he was not from an American colony, but the fact that he provided such accurate information about this safe house hidden in the desolate wilderness confirms that he was born somewhere in the area. And it's quite logical that a terrifying butcher like him started his later adventurous journey from one of the largest and world-famous colonies, because the mention of the name of the Hunter training center operating here fills even civilians with sufficient foreboding. And where else could such a burly giant have been trained into such an efficient killing machine than in Purgatory? It wasn't by chance that they gave it this apt nickname, because the miserable little kids who are dragged there endure such sufferings that, although they become "purified warriors", the few years they suffer there, leave a permanent mark on them. Or at least this urban legend is spread by word of mouth. But it's enough to just recall the bloodthirsty pleasure with which the hooded Hunter stomped someone to death, and it immediately becomes clear that there is perhaps a hint of truth in the rumor.

The captain finally ushers us into a spacious dining room, in the middle of which stretches an old table, where a myriad of documents and weapons are spread out, indicating that the man had just felt at home enough to get to work while he waited for us to join them. And although they got here with less than a day's lead, based on the scattered reports and papers, the two Hunters had enough time to review the important pieces of information, and perhaps even work out the beginnings of a plan to celebrate our arrival. If Laswell took swift action, then Price rivals this momentum, because as my eyes discover the map of the colony among the many pages, and the tangled chaos of streets and buildings highlighted on it in bright colors, I quickly understand that our leader wasn't lazy and must have already studied the field.

"Kate had a hard time with this. She managed to find out that the Rat is in the colony indeed and that his organization is involved in several businesses." The bearded man immediately jumps into the middle of the briefing, not wasting a minute, as we all gather around the table, and he skilfully pulls out a file, which he pushes to the center and opens in front of us. And when the picture of an unknown guy richly adorned with tattoos appears, it becomes obvious that our aforementioned criminal is staring back at us from the low-quality photo. "But he hides well, and no one finds him if he doesn't want it." He shares this not-necessarily positive development, and with this, he succeeds in planting an easily recognizable atmosphere of pessimism in the dim little room. Of course, we could guess that this bastard had to earn the nickname somehow, so it wouldn't be easy to get hold of him, but now we can't allow ourselves to start this search with uncertain assumptions. We need to find him quickly, but mostly immediately, because the clock is ticking, and with every minute we are getting closer to that damned poison finding a new owner.

"This doesn't make our job any easier." MacTavish voices some of the doubts in my head, and as his dark eyebrows meet with annoyance in a rather troubled grimace, it becomes quite evident that he had a similar train of thought in his head as I did.

"We have to get him before he sells the serum." Riley joins in as well, and although the seriousness of the situation should require my undivided attention, I can't help but acknowledge with satisfaction that he almost automatically lined up next to me, like a loyal shadow. And even this small detail can ignite excited little sparks under my skin, because his proximity is enough for all my senses to be painfully sharpened. And I have to forcibly divert my concentration back towards our discussion, because no matter how much I want to read every tiny movement of his face covered with a mask, now my useless brain has to deal with the analysis of bigger complications. Pull yourself together, Leona.

"If he doesn't come out on his own, we'll smoke him out." Horangi puts forward the rather radical idea, and leans comfortably on the table with folded hands on the other side, as casually as if we weren’t just trying to find the ever-cooling trail of a drug that leads to certain death. And I find his ease interesting, because I'm pretty sure that fat credits won't be of much use if the army of hybrids and their little minions overrun every corner of the surviving civilization. Because this tiny little suggestion would most certainly lead to that.

"It would be an irresponsible idea." I interject my comment, looking through the file that was probably dug up by Laswell, searching for anything that might narrow down where in this huge, bustling city we should start our search to find our criminal in the shortest possible time. And Price was really not exaggerating, the dude got his hands into almost everything from trading with weapons, to prostitution, to drug and human trafficking, so it's no wonder that his criminal organization weaves through the colony like a spider web full of decay. Because, except for the central sectors, where the centers of the official bodies are concentrated in each colony, areas where he has influence have been circled in bright red almost everywhere else. Fabulous.

"Scum like him is easy to catch. All it takes is force." König chimes in for the first time since our arrival, and as his voice resonates through the barren walls of the building, I also break out of my observations and shift my gaze from the piles of documents to the man with careful deliberation. And from the way he straightens up and stands out from our small group without the slightest uncertainty, it's clear that he sees nothing wrong with his idea full of violence. And although it's already quite obvious from this how they managed to find the weak link leading to the Vultures so amazingly quickly, this approach won't work now. Because it's the least of our problems that everyone is in a foreign land except him, but if our target is such an influential person that he has ears on every corner, then he will know that we are in his heels before we have a chance to touch him with a finger.

"If he finds out he's being targeted by Hunters, he'll take off before we can even get close to him." I explain this non-negligible factor, and as I firmly hold the unpleasant weight of his gaze fixed on me, I know I'm not imagining the curious glint in those ice-blue eyes. "That's why we're here now instead of the colony, I imagine." I add this detail almost as a side note, and I don't try to prevent cynicism from creeping into my voice, because I want this behemoth to know that no matter how menacingly he stares, he won't be able to force me to surrender. Especially not when I know I'm right. If it were so easy to track down that goddamn thug without being noticed, then Price would have been breathing down the dude's neck before our plane even touched the ground.

"She's right." Garrick agrees, his face involuntarily giving way to the helplessness that must have settled in his head, and which helps to plant the faint line of resigned wrinkles on his face. Without a doubt, he would have been the first to bring our target to us wrapped in a pretty bow if he had the chance to lay his deadly little hands on him. But it wasn't a coincidence that they arrived here first and waited for us, because this action requires much more caution than they can organize with their usual bloody techniques.

"But we can't just sit around and wait!" MacTavish argues, spreading his hands out passionately, thus effectively voicing the frustration that is probably slowly forming in everyone upon hearing our increasingly hopeless mission. But even though I can understand his powerless rage, we cannot run headlong into the wall, because at this point we risk the complete destruction of humanity with every wrong move.

"I agree with Woods on this. We can't act hastily. We need intel." Price affirms, his eyes scanning our small gathering meaningfully, silently signaling that although he would like to throw himself into the middle of action, even his experience cannot guarantee success right now. "Nik, can you help us?" He suddenly turns towards the entrance of the dining room, and I look back over my shoulder in confusion, because I could swear that we left our pilot at the plane. But as I see the man leaning against the doorframe with complete peace of mind, many questions arise in my mind regarding our friend, who until now was believed to be rather harmless. And judging by the fact that my companions aren't at all surprised that Nik was able to sneak up to us so unobtrusively, I have a very strong feeling that I quite misunderstood the guy. His remarkable ability to follow us without being noticed is only a negligible detail in addition to the fact that the captain turns to him to solve our predicament.

"I have a few contacts in Colony No. 2. I'll see what they know." Nik offers, with such a self-evident simplicity that deepens my suspicion that the man mostly plays pilot as a hobby, and pursues very dubious activities as a full-time job instead. Because there is no other logical explanation as to why he has contacts on another continent who hide deep enough in the underworld to help us. Very interesting.

"All right." Price gives his blessing to the proposed solution, and then immediately turns his determined attention back to our small team. "Until then, we'll wait." He shares our next step, and although I can feel that not everyone is filled with unclouded happiness by this development, he gets a nod of agreement from everyone, even from our mercenary comrades. "Let's rest. The last week has been busy." He adds in conclusion, now with a much softer tone, and the hoarseness of exhaustion settles in his voice, which he has been able to more or less successfully remove from himself so far.

As our two mercenaries take the opportunity without further comment and leave the scene of our meeting with comfortable steps, I have the opportunity to take a closer look at the face of our leader. And although for a fleeting moment, I still feel the scrutinizing gaze of the giant man on the middle of my back, I'm much more occupied by the very pale grayness that I now quite clearly discover appearing on the captain's skin. Up until now, it might have been the excitement of the trip that could divert my attention, but now I see the weariness dominating the features of the bearded Hunter, and in the semi-darkness surrounding the room, the circles under his eyes seem even darker. And as I shift my searching gaze to Garrick, I can make out the small gray veins running along his temple even from the cover of his cap, which can indicate only one thing. And after a quick calculation, my suspicion is confirmed, that I haven't been able to handle them with my clever little hands for weeks, and although they probably didn't have to use their ability extremely, stress can very effectively bring out exhaustion in them. Although my Scottish buddy and his masked bosom friend received a charge not so long ago, at the gate of our important little mission, a little boost won't hurt them either.

"By the way." I speak up suddenly, effectively drawing all eyes on me, and I take advantage of this to get around the table, strolling closer to Garrick, who looks the most worn out, and who only curiously raises one of his dark eyebrows, when I pull off the glove from one of my pretty little hands to hold it out towards him. "It would be time to regenerate you." I note, bringing a mixture of surprise and concern to the man's face.

"Won't it be a bit much?" He asks, his voice full of doubt, and I can't hold back the cheeky little smile that escapes my lips, because the way he peers at Price for help makes him look infinitely boyish. And I also know from this small confused gesture that it's only worry speaking, because there is no doubt that he doesn't want to strain my little body in the least by asking for my aid. But unfortunately, determination works much stronger in me than the dull grip of the slowly awakening hunger in my stomach, and I'm willing to go to painful ends if I can guarantee that the care with which they turn towards me won't disappear. And although this admission fills a part of me with the right amount of disgust and contempt, I just have to think about the fact they mean my safety, and I immediately manage to suppress these unwanted voices. Because thanks to the suffering of the two Healers, the motivation to feed my selfish desires with their attention lives much more vividly in my consciousness, as if I were pouring oil on an already insatiable fire.

"I'll survive it." I comment simply, and although I know that by charging four Hunters I will wake up the torturous hunger gnawing at my insides, this small nuisance seems bearable. Even knowing that it’s uncertain how I will get blood, because I'm sure, even if Price brought me a tasty treat, it won't alleviate my problems permanently. And I can only wildly hope that the power of the mouth-watering dinner given by Riley will last until I maybe manage to catch an unsuspecting fool in the colony to quench my thirst. But no matter how much these troubling thoughts arise in me, as Garrick's damp hand wraps around mine, and the first burst of my energy penetrates his body, then I feel the familiar pull of the demanding force, and I know I have made the right decision. Because my hunger is a negligible inconvenience, if I can guarantee they will be in top shape when it's needed most. Even if every single nerve in me cruelly warns me that this will have consequences.

⃰

The silence in the house echoes in my ears with painful loudness, and the creaking of the old floor under my boots screams in my skull in an almost ear-piercing way, as I drag my legs, which are growing heavier by the minute, toward the room assigned to me. I wasn't wrong in that the charging of my four companions would sufficiently flare up the well-known pangs of hunger twisting my insides, and although it doesn't besiege me nearly as strongly as last time, I feel that it's only a matter of time before the feverish agony hits me. And even though I don't regret for a minute that I was able to solve my team's problem, I have to get some food very soon, if I don't want to be the one who, weakened by hunger, hinders the mission. If I have a little luck, the captain has been kind enough to surprise me with a delicious morsel, which will be just enough to ease my suffering. And as soon as we wander into the colony, I make sure to catch some stupid criminal and refuel with nutrients, because I have a bad feeling in my mind that tells me that our deployment will take turns where it will come in handy if I'm in peak condition.

And as, lost inside the massive building, I finally reach the corridor on the floor where my temporary quarters rest, instead of being relieved, all my limbs fill with tension in a split second, because I discover someone who shouldn't be hiding here in the least. Because Price certainly planned it so that I would be given the one out of the dozen rooms which is farthest from our guests, in case they wanted to use my services. Although I don't think they would openly force me to regenerate them, in this dirty world even less deadly people are capable of horrible things, and it's even better to be careful with someone who can crush another's skull with their bare hands.

Certainly, he had already heard my steps when I was tramping up the rickety stairs, but now, as I approach him, König turns his head in my direction with leisurely calmness, and even this small movement is enough for caution to gain a foothold in my mind. I have already acknowledged the amazing size that genetics has blessed him with, but now, as he is surrounded by the faint light filtering through one of the broken windows, he looks more like a shapeshifting demon than a human being. And even though he's comfortably leaning his back against the worn wall, there's something quite unsettling about the way the fabric of his black uniform strains painfully on his arms, as his folded hands rest on his chest. Because he may seem perfectly harmless to an unsuspecting observer, but my paranoid mind warns that it's only an ephemeral illusion, and that an artificial peace resides in each and every inch of him. But I'm even more interested in why he's here, because I was sure that after our impromptu meeting, he and his friend went off to rest. And even if he has zero navigational skills, he couldn't have accidentally wandered in here, because their room is most definitely on the ground floor.

But no matter how much caution creeps into my limbs, I don't let any of it reach the surface, because it would be a mistake to show him the concerns he can arouse in me. I have just seen enough of his behavior to know that this operation is just as much about polishing his ego as material goods, and what could be a more tempting pastime for such a man, than to frighten a unique little thing like me. I saw the barely concealed fear in the eyes of his men during the mission, and it's quite easy to deduce from this what kind of respect the Hunter desires. The kind that makes the knees of the unfortunate person who stumbles in front of him tremble, and that makes him feel even more powerful. A pathetic but perfectly legitimate goal. After all, instilling fear is at least as effective a control strategy as gaining respect.

His bright eyes follow my every step with unbroken attention, as I walk closer, and from his gaze resting on me, I feel like a mistrustful small animal that approaches a larger predator in the hope that it will be merciful enough not to kill it. And although we are currently playing on the same team, nothing guarantees that this hunch of mine won't come true at some point in the not-so-distant future. Because, unfortunately, my observations and intuitions are very rarely wrong, and now every nerve fiber of mine screams that I'm dealing with a beast in the guise of a man who, if he could, would have wrapped his needle-sharp teeth around my throat a long time ago. And while in the case of Riley, I was sure that he rewarded me with his disdain for my not-so-appealing behavior, in the case of the hooded Hunter, I have no idea what could be causing this outstanding interest.

"Your team is unusual." He breaks the heavy silence that has settled between the desolate walls, and I just stop at a safe distance from him and raise one of my eyebrows curiously, because he starts the first direct conversation we have with a rather interesting remark. And with this one sentence, he succeeds in reminding me that the good life I experienced in the unit is a unique privilege, which normally my kind hardly ever gets. And while in most cases the Healers are kept away from all the nitty-gritty details of the actual deployments because they get more use out of them unharmed, it cannot be denied that the active role that my team so generously gifted me within the ranks of Unit 141 is quite unusual. And although I don't like the fact that he expresses his comments so freely, it's indisputable that as a stranger, and especially as a Hunter in a leading role, the dynamics of my team can be a real curiosity for him.

"If you think it's strange that I dare to speak in their company, then it really is." I answer with an unimpressed tone, trying with every cell to be able to keep my confidence. Although he still doesn't move from the wall, the way he stares at me with an almost abnormal immobility makes the goosebumps prickle on my back. As if every single muscle of his would be stuck in a deliberate frozen state, but my keen senses catch the tiny little movement as his fingers wrap a breath tighter around his biceps. And this simply gives the impression that he is forcing himself, against his nature, into a less threatening position than his instincts would like. Maybe my brain overthinks every little thing, but it's no coincidence that I honed my observational skills over the years. I see that something completely different lurks under the surface than what he lets on.

"This isn't common in many places." He states simply, but his remark doesn't throw me off in the slightest, because I'm also perfectly aware of this fact. That's why I'm so motivated to keep my place. "But Price seems to be a liberal leader." He notes almost only to himself, and his voice is full of fascination, as if he had just made a very profound statement. However, it bothers me much more, and it can suddenly turn my already sharpened mood into a more prickly one, when my clever little ears hear the breath of derision hidden in his tone. Others might not even notice it, or would attribute it to something completely insignificant, something that is not worth pointing out, but I have analyzed just enough people over the years to know that nothing is completely unconscious that is buried behind one's words.

And even I cannot explain the angry flame that kindles within me at the thought that this complete stranger is making such casual comments about the captain. Of course, I'm aware that Price is not an innocent virgin, nor a flawless saint who needs someone to protect his honor, but there is something viscerally infuriating about the way the hooded man turns to him with barely veiled criticism.

But, as the stagnant emptiness in my stomach tightens, I decide that I shouldn't engage in this conversation when my mind is dulled by the pull of hunger slowly coming to life. Nothing good will come of this irritation taking control of my brain, because I might say something that would give him a reason to leave behind his false peace and show what secret temper lies beneath the no less dangerous exterior.

"If you came here to provoke me, then don't waste your time." I sigh tiredly, and as the exhaustion screams in every corner of my body at the same time, I set off with renewed motivation towards the door, behind which the solitude awaits that I yearn for. "It won't work."  I add, not even sparing him a last look, my eyes strictly fixed on the worn wood that hides my shelter. And once again, I have to note that he didn't come here by chance, because out of the countless possibilities, he managed to settle down right before the entrance where I'm heading, with almost measured accuracy.

"I didn't mean to insult you." He says plainly, and it's quite disturbing that there is still no obvious emotion in his tone, which makes him seem much less human than my nervous system finds comfortable. His statement doesn't seem like a lie, but my impatience grows with each passing minute, because I can't figure out what the hell is going on here. I could think that he only wanted to forge closer unity between our teams, but then I would have to be much more naive. In that case, he wouldn't have waited to catch me alone and without any witnesses to see whatever he was planning in that mysterious mind of his.

"You want to befriend me, perhaps?" I inquire with a malicious little smile on my face, and the sarcasm that nestles in my voice stings even in my ears. And I know it's not the smartest idea to taunt a guy who can tear me to pieces with his hands, but that didn't stop me even when I was mouthing back to Riley. And my sharp little tongue won't go on vacation when the starved tension working inside me rages in my head. "How nice of you." I sprinkle at the end, considering the whole tense conversation as closed, because no matter what reason he strayed here for, I don't want to talk it out with him now, when we are all too alone. And even though carefree mockery shines from every cell in me, my hands wrap around the doorknob too quickly when I finally arrive before my room. Because he may still not move from the place he has occupied until now, but the threatening aura that emanates from him like some uncontrollable, poisonous gas almost gnaws at my skin.

But before I have the chance to finally disappear into my little cave, so that I can finally be left alone with the suffering clinging to my insides with its nails, the floor behind me creaks and my fingers freeze on the metal as suddenly as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water in my neck. And for a suffocating moment, everything is shrouded in quietness, and there is such a silence between us that the crackling screams of the old house travel through the walls like an ominous melody.

"I liked what you did in the interrogation room." He utters, and it takes me a second to understand what kind of compliment he gave me due to the stress and the agony of the spasm that is slowly closing my intestines in an iron fist. And when the recognition penetrates my brain and I decode his words, I turn back to him with complete confusion, looking up at him with such shocked astonishment on my face that almost certainly paints a cartoon-like shock on my features. Because suddenly I can't find any logical explanation for how the thread of the conversation has led us to this point, and I can't discover any answers as to why he feels so comfortable around me that he can point this out to me so freely. What the hell?

"Excuse me?" The startled question breaks out of me, and I'm unable to hold back the surprise creeping into my voice, doubting for a fleeting moment whether I heard what he said correctly. But as soon as my eyes meet his, and I discover a glimmer resembling admiration in them, I’m completely dumbfounded. Because under other circumstances, my twisted little soul might even be touched by this unusual recognition, but I know all too well who is standing in front of me. And that makes the unexpected turn the situation took seem even more surreal.

"The bloodlust in your eyes was beautiful." He continues his grotesque praise, almost undisturbed, and as he takes a step towards me, I need the combined work of all my nerves in order not to back away from him, because the distrust drills itself into my brain that if I turn my back on him again, it will end very badly. Because I suddenly sense very well how unbelievably huge this man is, and as my troubled eyes reflexively run over him, I become painfully aware that if he attacks me, I won't be able to defend myself. "I doubt your friends could truly appreciate it." He claims, and now some deliberate malice creeps into his voice, which he doesn't even try to hide, thus clearly showing that he has been holding back his real thoughts until now very willingly.

But when my body breaks out of the paralyzed shock, and I get over the fact that he could crush all my bones to dust with a strong hug, then I finally have the brain capacity to understand what he shared with me so carelessly. And from this simple sentence, the alarm disappears from my mind, because it suddenly makes sense why he honored me with his presence. And as my mind realizes that this little discourse is about nothing but the rivalry that has existed since the very first moment our team met, then my little soul calms down in the blink of an eye, because no matter how terrifying the man may seem, according to this, he is driven by just as fallible and transparent motives like everyone else. And although it's very difficult for me to maintain my indifference due to the intrusion of hunger in my stomach, now that I know why he is so persistently interested in me, the doubt of the unknown disappears from my mind.

"Interesting deduction. But I'm afraid I don't care." I respond with utter disinterest, and as the line of a sardonic smile stretches across my lips, I see the first bewildered wrinkles appear around the skin covered with dark paint. And it's painfully obvious that he didn't expect this reaction, but believed that such a big and strong Hunter's kind approach would make me fall at his feet from the pleasure. But he is seriously mistaken if he thinks it's so pathetically easy to sweep me off my feet.

"You’re wasting your talent with them." He laments, and if I were a little more stupid, I would really believe the sympathy in his voice to be authentic, but even if he hadn't blown his disguise so irresponsibly, I would still see through his benevolence. Because I can tell when someone tries to manipulate me, especially if said someone does it half as skillfully as it would take to be a successful strategy against me.

And at other times, I might want to play with him verbally and continue this complicated moment, but when my stomach convulses with the pain tearing into me, then all my patience evaporates like the last sip of water in the desert. Every single one of my nerve cells is stretched to the point of breaking, and this straining ache makes my body braver than it should be, because the sooner I put an end to this extremely bizarre situation, the sooner I can collapse into my bed to finally rest a little in the embrace of the slow ache that spreads to every fiber of me. I quickly cross the distance of a few steps that are remaining between us, and my hand shoots out towards him with the speed of a venomous snake. It seems that he didn't expect my attack, because before he could react, my fingers close around the fabric covering his face, and as I pull him down to me with a movement that is perhaps more forceful than necessary, he obediently leans down to me, stumbling towards me, and I see genuine shock in his eyes.

"It's unnecessary to try to flatter me." I murmur with deceptive kindness, and it seems that I managed to stun him so much with my unexpected act that he even forgets to protest, because he almost dazedly lets me intrude into his personal space to finally have stare off with him without him towering over me. And although it seems that his spine bends in rather uncomfortable positions in order for me to do this, it only makes the contemptuous grin on my face grow wider. "I know this is all about measuring who's dick is bigger. They have something that you don't and it hurts your ego. It's sad, but you'll have to live with it." I curve my mouth downward pitifully, savoring every single emotion that flashes through his eyes. But as soon as I see one of the gloved hands moving in my periphery, I let go of his hood with nonchalant ease and dance away from him in order to return to my door and open it again. "I recommend that you focus more on the mission. A lot of credit is at stake, isn't it?" I throw my last words at him from the threshold, and as I enter the embrace of the darkness of the small room, I have one last chance to catch his gaze stopping on me as he straightens up, and I'm almost relieved when I'm hidden by the thick wood.

Because even though it was only for a few seconds, I saw something very dangerous flash in those bright eyes, and the warning voice waking up in my brain tells me that this is exactly how the predator stares at its slowly cornered prey. With curious hunger. And that makes me realize, even despite the pain that is slowly squeezing my stomach, that I have crossed an invisible border, which sooner or later will bring the trouble that I so enthusiastically sought out for myself. Wonderful.

[thehiddengodsofficial]

The Corrupted Gods Origins Book 1: The Rapture

!!TW!! Graphic depictions of gore, violence, fear, assault, potential abuse, and hefty mental topics, DNI if under 18

In this alternate Reality, instead of a small Assault to kill Jackson, it was an all out war.

It was a very long battle which at the very End Writer was forced to expend his Perfect Hatred ending the War and killing this version of Jackson.

After this The Writer would Vanish without a trace. Calista would then go on a universal search for him, as she was second in command and everyone would have to follow her.

This would eventually lead her to Writer Reality where she would find him.

But something was wrong with him. He was acting afraid of almost everything.

After seeing This Writer’s abilities, she decided what her next goal was.

Harness this power and take The Writers place.

However Mathe and Mailure would attempt to stop The Writer, understanding that he would become something… other than himself, but they were unknowing of Calista’s manipulation.

They would narrowly lose to The Writer and Calista and were assimilated into The Writer, this would cause the 2 main Traits that Mathe and Mailure had to become integrated into The Writer.

Mathe gave him his Intense Paranoia.

 Mailure gave him his unmatched Bloodlust.

Calista would then begin her plan, after experimentation she learned that The Writer was now emitting a new form of energy that she called:

“Rancor Radiation”.

It was INCREDIBLY DANGEROUS energy with mind-altering properties and was capable of easily killing Collective Gods, with unknown effects against Hidden Gods.

(Theorized to be an inconvenience for them)

Calista then made her first model of the extraction device which made the most powerful explosion ever recorded and caused the death of James Anderson Jr.

Once Calista finished it, she would then needed to maintain it which to do so she would send Writer ally’s and POW’s to throw chunks of Matter infused with Rancor Radiation into a pit where Writer was restrained.

Nameless One however would nearly die and be badly altered in a way he hated, and would leave Calista to her devices.

It was noted how the device containing Writer was growing Flesh inside of it which turned into humanoid figures trying to crawl out.

Calista would discover Writer was generating broken clones of Valter Richter the Man Writer used to be, Writer was using them to try and claw himself out of containment.

It turned out the extraction process would hurt The Writer. But Calista craving more Power ignored this concern.

Then one fateful night, the containment system for The Writer was overpowered.

The Writer had made Tens of Thousands of incomplete Valter Clones break open the lid of his containment unit.

The facility was utterly destroyed when Calista and Writers old Allie’s arrived.

Writer was floating in the sky, motionless, he was thinking.

Calista began to speak, “Valter? Are you their?”

The being quickly appeared infront of her

“VALTER IS DEAD!

I AM

WHAT REMAINS!!!

I AM 

THE RAPTURE 

YOU CREATED!!!!!”

The Rapture yelled.

The Rapture then flew through Warden and tore his head off his body and Crushed in its hands, ending what was thought to be immortal.

He then began laughing before a mass of flesh of energy erupted from his mouth and encased him, it bursted revealing a new form. 

The Rapture then sent a shockwave at the Tarnished Minds and they were turned to bones; they didn’t fade to ash.

6288 rushed The Rapture with his greatest attack and launched the massive blast of energy at The Rapture, only for Rapture to put its arm up and catch it before PUSHING IT BACK. 

The Rapture Condensed the Blast into a Spec before sending it back to 6288 who abruptly disintegrated.

Calista used Comet Azure on Rapture only for him to run through it.

The Rapture roared and began a relentless attack of thousands of swings.

It was a Rabid Animal whose Bloodlust had overtaken him.

Calista's head was then grabbed before she was clotheslined by The Rapture, lifting herself up off the ground she saw someone’s boots Infront of her.

It was Nameless One.

“N?! HELP ME!”

Calista cried out.

Nameless One took off his hat.

“I’m no longer the Nameless One, I have broken my oath to never speak for the guilt I carried for killing my pregnant wife, I am now who I was before;

I am Kaiser.

And you are not worthy of my help.”

The Rapture then grabbed Calista by the sides of her head and absorbed her power until she was nearly dead, The Rapture then Screamed in Calista’s face.

The Rapture picked up Calista over his shoulders, jumping up and landing breaking her spine before ripping her in half and letting Calista’s blood splatter on him.

The Rapture was then stabbed in the Back, phasing to turn around as the Blade was still stuck in its chest.

YanderAda stood defiantly.

The Rapture wasted no time pouncing onto her and began flailing her around like a Ragdoll.

The Rapture roared and began tearing her apart.

But he stopped…

The Rapture then fell to its knees looking at the blood on its hands.

The Rapture roared, causing Blood to rain from the sky.

Rapture then picked up what was left of its daughter and looked at Kaiser, they exchanged a long glance, Kaiser claims it was a mutual respect.

The Rapture would leave through a Portal.

After extensive procedures, it stabilized YanderAda.

However to Fuel the machine keeping her alive, he required Blood.

The Rapture would do anything for this Blood.

The Rapture then said:

“The Story is dead.

Blood is Fuel.

 I must Cull.”

The Rapture would then go on Rampages Killing everything and absorbing the Blood to keep its Daughter alive.

It would do ANYTHING as long as she endured…

[archibaldcurothers]

Take the Long Way Home, Part Seven

—————————————-

“I spy something…green!”

You chuckled, this was too easy. “Is it Jaken?”

“There are many green things,” Jaken protested, “why do you assume she refers to me and not the grass or trees or-“

“But she was right; it’s you, Master Jaken!” Rin happily announced.

The small demon was about to protest further but Lord Sesshomaru had halted and Jaken collided into the back of his leg.

“P-Pardon, my Lord!”

Sesshomaru ignored him. “Inuyasha is near.”

“Oh! do you wish to confront him, my Lord? He would surely benefit from a humbling altercation with yourself; he is far too arrogant for his own good. It would do him well to be reminded he is but a half-demon!”

You waited anxiously for Sesshomaru’s decision. If he decided to intercept his brother then perhaps you could speak to Kagome about crossing back to your own time. It might be tricky to do with the two brothers quarreling, but it could be your only chance.

“No. I have no business with him at present.”

“Um, excuse me, my lord…”

Sesshomaru turned his head to glance back at you, waiting for you to continue.

“I know you don’t have reason to go, but do you think, perhaps, we might go pay a visit so that I may speak to Kagome?”

Sesshomaru glared at you for a moment as Jaken gaped at your insolence, but before the steward could chastise you, his lordship spoke, “I said I had no business with him.”

You had been in his company long enough to know this was his restrained way of telling you to drop the subject, but, in desperation, you pressed further. “Please, Lord Sesshomaru, Kagome is likely the only one to know how I might-“

At this, Sesshomaru turned to face you fully, and snapped, “If you’re so concerned with meeting that woman then go find them yourself.”

You recoiled. "I’m sorry, I just-“

“You’re not needed here anyway,” he snarled. “Just leave. Go back to your own time.” At this, he turned from you and stormed off.

Jaken and Rin stood in stunned silence, looking from Sesshomaru to yourself, unsure of what to do. Even Ah-Un had instinctively taken a few steps back at the venomous outburst. Sesshomaru had never spoken to you like that before. He had always been a man of few words, but the words he had shared with you before had never felt hateful. Your throat constricted and you could feel your face getting hot; Rin and Jaken’s anxious glances your way did nothing to ease your nerves. They’d been put in an awkward spot, and it was your fault. They couldn’t defy Sesshomaru, but you knew they pitied you and were hesitant to turn and leave. Feeling bad enough at the position you’d put them in, you decided to spare them of having to make the choice to abandon you. You looked to them for a moment, gave them a pained smile, and slinked away.

*************************************

Night had fallen at last. The remainder of the day had been spent walking in a tense silence. Now and then, Rin had let a whimper escape, but she had done her best to limit her outward emotion. Now they rested by the fire Jaken conjured with the enchanted staff, the two disciples leaned against Ah-Un as they ruminated over the happenings.

Sesshomaru was not with them. After dictating they rest there for the evening, he had slipped away, and none were confident enough to chase after him. This was a small blessing for him. He didn’t want their concerned looks; didn’t need their apprehensive eyes boring into him with that hounding question: “why were you so cruel to her”.

He stood on an outcropping, looking out at the night sky. He remembered her telling Rin that, in her time, there were humans who dedicated their lives to these celestial bodies. An aching pain swelled in his chest, and he winced. Those humans of her time, they had travelled through the stars and arrived at the moon, but they needed only look to the sky to see their destination. (Y/N) hadn’t known where Inuyasha’s group was, nor did she possess Sesshomaru’s keen sense of smell to be able to track them. She would not have found them. She would be lost and alone, with no one there to defend her against the cruelties and dangers of the world.

He wrestled with this reality; it was none of his concern what became of her, and yet he could not put the thought from his mind, could not snuff out the worry that plagued him, could not silence the shame he felt…

******************************

You hadn't anticipated the terror you would experience upon being alone at night, though, to be fair, you hadn't had time to consider the repercussions of your decision to go it alone. You no longer had the security of companions. No longer could rest your weary feet by riding atop Ah-Un. No longer had the the protection of Sesshomaru.

You stopped next to a large oak tree. You could feel panic swelling inside yourself, threatening to split you apart. The world swirled around you, it felt like you were dying. In desperation you crouched down and rested your head on your knees as you tried to keep your breathing steady.

In...out...in...out

After a minute of this you stabilized slightly and raised your head, but then you felt the cold drop off water splash against the bridge of your nose. Rain. As if things couldn't get worse.

You were incapable of gathering the energy to do anything more, it felt useless to even try. In exhaustion, you collapsed back against the trunk of the oak. At least nothing could sneak up on you with the large tree behind you. Its foliage partially shielded you from the storm brewing, but, between the wind and the droplets that did reach you, a shiver coursed through you.

A crack of thunder broke out, sounding as though it had discharged right by your ear. Panic raced once more through you. You could no longer contain it. You collapsed into yourself, weeping; you would die here.

*******************************

It hadn’t taken Sesshomaru long to trace his way back and follow (Y/N)’s scent. He soon found her huddled and whimpering under a large oak. He observed for a few moments, hidden from sight by the flora of the forest and the shadows of night. He had expected to find her and bring her back. Simple. However, confronted with the raw emotion of her dejected spirit, he found himself rooted to his spot. What should he say? Would she even want to go back with him? Would she demand he escort her to Kagome so that she could leave this world forever? The thought pained him, but he mentally chastised himself for it. What was it to him what this woman chose to do? Sure, he had become accustomed to her and so had wanted to insure she was safe, but he hadn’t really cared that she was gone…

He wondered what story she might have been telling Rin this evening if he hadn’t lashed out at her. She did well with the girl.

He stepped from his covering and approached (Y/N), halting just in front of her. He gazed down and observed as her shoulders trembled, her crying muffled from her face being buried into her knees. She hadn't heard him approach. Between her own lamentations, the rumbling thunder, and howls of the wind, she had heard nothing.

"(Y/N)."

Her crying sputtered to a stop, and for a moment she did not move. Hesitantly, she lifted her head and met his gaze. They stayed like that, eyes locked, neither moving, until Sesshomaru abruptly offered his hand.

"Come. You are missed."

************************************

You stared at his hand for a second, in shock, until the realization you were being offered salvation dawned on you. You eagerly took his hand, and he pulled you up. However, he didn't seem to know his own strength and as you were brought to your feet the momentum caused you to stumble forward into him. You were pressed against his chest with his cold plate of armor digging into you uncomfortably, while his kimono radiated with the heat from his body and his fur stole tickled at your cheek. Your mind froze and so did your body; the scent of rain and wet earth clung to him, and the musky aroma quickened your heart. Glancing up at him, you saw him peering down at you.

You had expected him to look cross about you colliding into him, but instead his face looked almost gentle as he asked, “Are you alright?”

At the realization you were still pressed against him, you hastily stepped back and averted your eyes as you replied, “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry, I-”. The fur he kept round his shoulder was being draped around your neck.

“We should get going. That is, if you want to…”

The uncertainty in his voice was so unfamiliar. He was always self-assured, never questioning himself. And yet, here he was before you, a mere human, testing the water to see if you might acquiesce to his request. Never before had he been so vulnerable with you.

“Yes, I’d like that, my lord.”

*

*

*

*

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[wishfullyeternal]

Remus Lupin- Changes in Blood

Remus Lupin- Changes in Blood

Words- 1274

Warnings- Graphic Descriptions of Gore, Violence, Self Harm, Neglect

*If you are suffering from anything of the above please exercise caution when reading this*

Holding Harry, trying desperately not to let him go, watching his best friend die, right in front of him.

Remus shouldn't be surprised, he's seen many people die right in front of him. It's the same every time, the single second of bliss before they turn into a shell of themselves, their souls already departed for the afterlife. He found comfort in their deaths, pondering their afterlife and how they would spend it. Randomly he would find himself imagining Sirius as his infamous dog form, running through the forbidden forest without a single care in the world.

He remembered so much, many call it a blessing but most of the time it was a curse to him. He remembered the pain of turning before Snape's potions, he remembers the crying and fights of his parents, deciding what to do with him for that month. One time he was locked in his room, another locked in the basement. One time he was even locked in a dog cage. That was the worst one, so many cuts were strewn upon his body and most of them left tangible scars that he would rub his fingers against, an agonizing memory following suit.

"Get in the cage Remus, it will help keep you safe" Remus couldn't understand, he was only seven. He hated himself and hated the pain that came with turning, the ways his bones would snap and form into lanky and horrible grotesque features. Fur began to cover his body, concealing his new scars for once, yet bringing a whole new host of problems. He was becoming feral, wanting the taste of blood in his mouth, and stopping at nothing to incite violence. He was a monster in his eyes, and everyone elses'. He wasn't someone plagued by a disease, he wasn't human, he was only a monster, and only a monster he would stay. The cage wasn't abnormally small and housed him quite comfortably if he were to curl up, much like a large dog, perhaps a Doberman, or a German Shepard. However, once he changed, it was a completely different story. His parents left him downstairs in the basement, leaving him in a corner to scream and cry.

"Mommy! Daddy! It hurts so bad! Please, please come back..." He kept saying things to try and comfort himself, knowing that nothing would come of it. Yet when he screamed for the last time before he turned, he couldn't help but feel anger and resentment towards his parents. In his adult life, he knew what they did was wrong, but he was just a kid. He was only five feet tall and hadn't even grown hair on his face.

His bones were beginning to stretch and twirl into places that they were never supposed to go. Fur beginning to cover his body, sprouting like grass on a rainy spring day. He was sweating from the energy taken to become this monster, and gasped at the teeth that began to grow, overtaking his canines and making them double the length, digging into the flesh of his gums and causing him to wince in pain. Claws began to form at his fingertips, and his eyes were pinned, his pupils the size of the head of a needle. They were a stark yellow, much different from the warm light brown they were before. He couldn't think straight and was pummeled with thoughts of blood and clawing at flesh. Wanting to feel the stringy muscles between his claws and seeing blood cover his hands. Wanting to feel the veins beneath his fingers, and struggling to contain the bloodlust that consumed him. He wanted to feel the warmness, the tackiness, and stickiness of the blood. He yearned for the metallic tang the air had when blood was shed, and couldn't help but put a sharp claw to his arm, lightly scratching it and watching tiny droplets form at the cut. He put his finger to the cut and wiped the blood onto his fingertips, watching as the blood traveled through the tiny grooves that made his fingerprint. He smeared it across his other finger and yearned for more.

"Fuck," He whispered, a new word that he accidentally had learned from his parents, pulling at his new fur. A headache began to ring through his head, constantly banging with the beat of his heart. The way the pain would radiate slowly, starting with the beginning of the beat, peaking, and then slowly decaying at the start of the next beat. Never-ending and never more painful than turning, yet it still managed to bring him to scratch at his face, desperately wanting to distract himself from the pain, even if it meant giving himself more pain. He had accidentally scratched too hard, and blood began to ooze from the wound, flowing through the wrinkles in his skin, and ending up down his neck and staining his already stretched shirt.

My birthday is March 10th

I am seven

I like books and candy

I like chocolate frogs and love my Mommy and my Daddy

He said this to himself over and over again, rocking back and forth, and wiping the blood off his face.

He's now thirty-six, and still has the scar from that night. Barely visible, faded through the years, and covered by a couple of other deeper scars in the same area, both from different changes. Every night, he holds a stillness in his heart that will never move. He watched the moon rise and fall in the sky, illuminating the soft glow of starkly off-grey concrete that covered the outside of 12 Grimmauld Place. His breath is uneasy, and he can almost taste the tension he created in himself, because he knows he's going to turn soon, the full moon almost upon him in a few day's time. Yet he didn't take the potion, and he didn't restrain himself. Remus Lupin simply stayed, sat down onto the creased leather couch, running his hand through his hair, and lightly tracing the scars across his body, a nervous habit he picked up.

Remus Lupin misses Sirius Black.

Remus Lupin doesn't take the potion because he knows that his mind would be filled with memories of Sirius, of Padfoot.

Remus remembers how distinct Sirius's footprints were as a dog. Toes slightly turned out, claws lightly dragging onto the ground, and the print of his paw, Remus memorized the look of his pawprint.

Remus doesn't take the potion because thinking of blood and violence is so much better than thinking of Padfoot.

Watching the scene replay again and again in his head, the rolling back of his beloved friend's eyes as he passes into the veil.

Remus didn't get to say goodbye, he was holding James back.

No, not James, Harry...

Remus regularly made that mistake, especially when he was Harry's professor.

Yet here he was, crying silently at the idea that he could never tell Padfoot that he loved him, that he was in love with him. Making sure to inflict pain upon himself because god that is so much better than thinking about him.

Remus couldn't even look at dogs anymore, and one time, far after the death of Sirius, Harry and Remus were speaking. In the background, a dog barked and for the slightest second Remus perked up, pondering the idea that his old friend may not be dead. His eyebrows raised and eyes wide, looking widely for the source of the sound.

He would end up looking at the ground for the rest of the conversation. Until he found somewhere he could be alone and ponder the thought of his friend.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Hi! You're by far my favorite writer for the man himself so I wanted to ask you.. can we plleeasse get a super sweet and passionate morning sex smutty-fluffer with Mr. Washington? Maybe the two of them had a stressful week at work/school or something and they decided to drive up to the lodge to escape by themselves for a long weekend together?? I'm on a massive Josh kick right now, there isn't enough love for him 😫😫

13. sleepy sex 14. being ridden

Another perfect place to answer two requests—I’m feeling accomplished! I love you all so much 💋

Also, this sucker is almost 3,000 words. I SWEAR I try to answer your prompts quickly on days like this, but sometimes, a story happens. Well, if this can even be considered a “story” 😆

* * * * *

Every year, Josh Washington hosted one hell of a summer-kick-off party at his parents’ lodge. He watched the weather like he was auditioning for a job on the local news, carefully choosing the warmest, clearest day. Despite the label of “summer,” the temperature in the Rockies at the lodge only ever flirted with anything near 75°F (23°C) yet Josh insisted, every year, that it was a “pool party” and that guests shouldn’t wear much more than a swimsuit.

At least that’s what your mutual friend, Chris, had explained to you.

It had been a stressful final month of school—exams, moving out of your dorm and back home with your parents, finding a summer job—so when Josh finally chose a date for the party, you requested the weekend off and offered to help him get things set up.

Josh eyed you suspiciously, considering that you and he had been engaged in a sort of “will they, won’t they” dance for the past few months. You were locked in a battle wondering if he just wanted to check you off his list as another notch in his bedpost, and he was wondering if you even liked him as more than a flirting buddy, considering you seemed to have quite a lot of those.  

“You sure?”

“Totally!”

Josh took your phone and typed in the address for the lodge. “Can you come up Thursday? That way we have all day Friday to get ready.”

You nodded and plucked your phone out of his hand, but not before he tightened his grip, making you look up and smile at him as you tugged on it.

“Gimme. Or I won’t come up at all.”

Josh released his grip with his trademark grin before he schooled his features into a contortion of pain as he gripped his chest. “Call the medic! I’m wounded. My heart’s been plucked from my chest,” he exaggeratedly panted.

You tried to stifle your grin, knowing it only encouraged his antics, but how could you not smile at that adorable goof?

* * *

The drive up to the Washington Lodge was fantastic for your stress level—nothing but empty roads, gorgeous scenery, and all the cheesiest, upbeat pop music you could cram onto a playlist. When you finally parked your car behind Josh’s in the horseshoe driveway, you were humming the lyrics of the last song as you pulled your weekender bag from the backseat.

After you slammed the door shut and rounded the car, you looked up at the lodge and whistled.

“Jeee-sus.” You knew Josh’s folks were rich, but this was the kind of rich you had only ever seen on Instagram … or maybe on an episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians. It was so intimidating, it made you think twice about Josh.

He was just so … normal. Well, normal in a film-nerdy, goofball kinda way, but he never struck you as someone who grew up in a bubble of privilege.

It was close to 8:30 pm, but daylight still persisted and the pinkish sky lit up Josh’s face as he stepped onto the porch and looked down at you while you still stared open-mouthed at the lodge.

“Was the drive okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah it was great,” you said as you shook your head and climbed the stairs. “Josh—this place is … insane.”

“You’ve never been here?”

You shook your head no.

Josh frowned and thought for a moment. “I guess I forgot we haven’t known each other that long. You sure feel like an old chum, lil buddy,” he said as he slung an arm around your shoulders and walked you into the house.

“Chum? ‘Lil’ buddy?” you said with amusement.

Josh cleared his throat and removed his arm, nervously running one hand through his freshly cut hair. “What else should I call you?”

You bit your lip and looked up at him, a small smile on your face. “Guess we’ll see, huh?”

Josh grinned, his face lighting up as his white teeth flashed, and butterflies unexpectedly danced in your stomach.

“Let me show you around.”

* * *

The house was just as impressive on the inside, and when Josh finally showed you his room, you flopped on his king-sized bed and begged him to never make you leave. He laughed and made you promise not to move a muscle as he dashed out of the room, returning in about 15 minutes with food, drinks, extra pillows, and a stack of DVDs tucked under his chin as he tried to balance it all. He kicked the door shut, nearly spilling a bowl of popcorn he had tucked under his arm.

“Now you’re my prisoner,” he attempted to declare, but given the comical way he was shuffling toward the bed, you could do nothing other than laugh.

As he deposited everything onto the comforter, you asked, “DVDs? Is there even a TV in here?”

“Au contraire, lil lady. Behold!”

Josh walked over to the wall and slid the wooden paneling open, revealing a huge flatscreen. “Ta-da!”

“I really could stay here forever,” you mumbled as you kicked off your shoes and scooted to the top of the bed.  

“But don’t you think you’d be more comfortable in your PJs? Unless, of course, you sleep in the buff? And in that case, you would absolutely be more comfortable in your PJs,” Josh finished as he settled onto the bed next you, his elbow propping him up as he laid on his side to face you.

“If I came out of your bathroom naked, you wouldn’t even know what to do with yourself, Joshua Washington.”

“You’re right. I’d die of happiness,” he confirmed with a smile.

The room felt a lot hotter than it did a moment ago, so you sat up and looked down at Josh, his big green eyes bursting with affection.

“Let’s see how the night goes,” you promised with a sweet kiss to the tip of his nose.

* * *

As it turned out, the night passed chastely. You were a lot more tired than you had thought, and halfway through the first movie, your hand still sitting in the bowl of popcorn, you fell asleep.

When your breathing deepened and it became clear you weren’t going to wake up, Josh chuckled as he removed your hand from the bowl. He cleared off the bed and turned off the TV before snuggling into your side and quickly falling asleep.

Sunlight streaming through a huge window woke you up with a start. For a moment, you forgot where you were until you shifted under the weight of Josh’s arm. You smiled as you felt him stir, the arm wrapped around your waist tightening as he burrowed between your shoulder blades, probably trying to unconsciously hide from the sun.

Squinting, you shuffled out of bed and fiddled with the blinds until you figured out how to draw them. The room darkened to a greyish hue and Josh rolled over, seemingly still asleep. Since you were up, you went in to use the bathroom, and as you washed your hands in the sink, you looked at your reflection.

A slight blush colored your cheeks as you thought about how much you wanted to wake up like this again, preferably after figuring out if the big dick jokes the boys directed at Josh were because he actually was well-endowed or if they were just being idiots.

You had left your bag in here after changing last night, so you dug around for your toiletry case to retrieve your toothbrush.

After adjusting your tank top and sleep shorts, you gave your just-brushed hair a sexy tousle and glanced longingly at your lip gloss container.

“Too much,” you said with a dismissive shake of your head. You piled everything back into your bag, and exited the bathroom, hoping Josh was still asleep.

As you rounded the corner the bathroom was tucked into, you felt that familiar hot flush creep over your cheeks as you took in Josh’s form.

In your absence, he had sprawled out in the middle of the bed. He was on his stomach, his hands tucked under his pillow as he faced away from the window. His chocolatey-colored curls had lost their definition in the night and stood out against his light-grey pillowcase in a wild puff. The blankets were pushed down to his waist and the plain white t-shirt he had worn to bed was pushed up to his midback, exposing an expanse of light brown skin. His legs were spread, one foot sticking out from under the messy pile of blankets and you had to tamp down the temptation to see if he was ticklish.

You slid back into bed and settled on your side so you could face him. Tentatively, you reached out with your finger and ran it gently down his spine. His skin was smooth and the depression of his spine contrasted so deliciously with the strong muscles of his lower back that you wanted nothing more than to trace that indentation with your tongue.

Still touching him lightly, Josh stirred, his arms flexing as he stretched them before lifting his head and turning to look at you.

“Hi,” he said, his grin half-hidden by his bicep.

“Good morning.”

“Sorry. Forgot to pull the blind.”

“So you were awake?”

“Just waiting to see how much of me you’d touch if you thought I was asleep. Pervert,” Josh teased.

You opened your mouth in mock-offense and smacked his shoulder. “Rude.”

He chuckled and stretched again before he wriggled out from the blankets and stood, offering a mumbled, “Be right back,” as he made his way to the bathroom.

Josh wasn’t gone long, but it was long enough for your eyes to slip shut, a smile still on your face as you thought about him.

When you felt the bed dip, your eyes popped open.

“Sleepy girl?” Josh asked, his hand crawling under your tank top to rest on your bare stomach.

The heat radiating from his palm scorched through your body, a pool of arousal settling between your thighs.

“Not anymore,” you whispered as you looked at him, your eyes locked on his as you slid your hand along his arm, resting it on top of his.

Josh pulled his hand from beneath yours, off of your stomach and up to the side of your face. He cupped your cheek and slid closer, his body warm and connected with yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

In answer, you pulled him to you by the front of his shirt, causing both of you to softly sigh as your lips connected and began to move. You both tasted like the spearmint of Josh’s toothpaste, and when his tongue licked along the seam of your lips, you opened for him, the tips of your tongues touching before he dove into your mouth.

You kissed and kissed and kissed until you were both a panting mess, the blankets twisted around your legs, your once-sexily tasseled hair once again a mess, and Josh’s poof of curls even more wild than they had been against his pillow from you running your fingers through them, scraping across his scalp and around the back of his head.

Reaching for the bottom of his t-shirt, you tugged until he detached himself from your mouth so he could pull it the rest of the way off. You seized the momentary lull to push him onto his back, and as you sat up, you pulled off your tank top, Josh’s pupils dilating as he watched your breasts bounce.

Immediately, his hands reached for them, but you pulled back as you wiggled out of your shorts. Josh licked his lips and followed suit, pulling off his sleep pants. You glanced at the outline of his cock beneath his boxer-briefs and smirked.

“They weren’t just jokes,” you mused as you reached out and gripped him, pulling a mix between a moan and a chuckle from his throat.

It was your turn to control the kissing, so you straddled his hips and lowered your body to rest on top of his, once again relishing in the warmth of him and the masculine scent that seemed to be a mixture of expensive cologne and something that was just … Josh.

His hands roamed over your back and your backside, kneading and massaging as you kissed him—lips, jaw, neck, and when you sat up to catch your breath, he begged, “Ride me. Please.”

Again, that electric heat shot through your body and you knew your pussy was a mess for him. He reached up, finally able to wrap his big hands over your breasts, and you leaned back, grinding on his cock as he worked your nipples gently pulling on them before he leaned up to capture one in his mouth.

You shuddered as he sucked, his green eyes looking up at you, full of unabashed want and affection. He moved his mouth to your other nipple and you thought you might spontaneously combust if you didn’t slide his dick inside of your body within the next three breaths.

“Do we need protection? I’m on the pill.”

“Are you asking me if I’m a slut?” Josh said as he nuzzled between your breasts.

“Yes,” you answered, not caring if it sounded callous.

“I’m clean—and you?” he queried, laying back onto his pillows.

“Me too,” you answered before pulling down his underwear and moaning as you palmed his dick.

“Such a big boy,” you praised before looking up at him. “Tell me why we waited this long?”

“How about after we fuck?” Josh suggested, leaning up to tug at your panties.

With a huff of laughter, you slid your underwear off and returned to straddle him, sliding your soaking pussy lips over his cock until it glistened.

A whiny moan slid out from Josh as he watched and his strong hands reached up to grasp your hips and tilt them, the tip of his cock finally sliding inside your body. You adjusted the top half of him, sliding up and down a few times before taking him in all the way, both of you letting out a whoosh of breath once he was fully sheathed.

“Oh my god,” you groaned as your eyes rolled back at the sensation of his big cock. “Wow!”

Josh snorted and gave your ass a light smack.

“See what you were missin’ out on?”  

“Mmm,” you hummed as you began to ride him, slowly and purposefully, not wanting your first time together to be over in a flash.

“You feel so fucking good,” Josh stated as his hands slid over your body. “So good.”

The rhythm you settled into was natural, even lazy, like you had been fucking for years. It felt so right, to be here with Josh, to feel him moving inside of you as you locked eyes, both of you shedding your protective layers and letting yourselves feel exposed, finally knowing that all each of you would see in return would be a sweet tenderness, the kind that could easily turn into love.

“Touch me,” you breathed, leaning back to rest your hands on his thighs so he could have full access to your clit.

Josh’s fingers immediately went to work, stimulating your swollen clit. The sweat blossoming across his brow in tandem with the flush of red settling over his chest told you he was trying his best not to come before you did.

“Come, Josh. Come for me,” you commanded as you clenched your inner walls around him and swirled your hips.

His thumb stuttered across your clit until he couldn’t do anything other than grasp your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass bruisingly as he cried out, his hot cum flooding your pussy while you rode him through his climax.

He looked beautiful as he came, his eyes widening before slamming shut as a series of gravelly groans fell from his parted lips.

Swallowing for breath and still hard inside of you, Josh flipped you onto your back and reached between your thighs, furiously working your clit until you came, clenching around his softening cock.

Josh said something to you, but you couldn’t hear him over the roar of blood in your ears. You shook your head and raised your hand, silently begging him to give you a minute.

Josh placed light kisses across the heated skin of your chest, before shifting slightly so his weight wasn’t crushing you.

“What was it you said?” you asked when you could finally form a sentence.  

Josh looked into your face, smiling. “That good, huh?”

You giggled and smacked his shoulder, again. “That was not what you said.”

His face turned serious as he nodded, clearly building his resolved to repeat his spontaneous emission.

“Will you be my girlfriend? I … I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing.”

You were speechless as your eyes roamed his face, your mind wondering how you got so lucky.

“Yeah. I wanna be your girl, Josh.”

“Fuck yeah!” he yelled, rolling over and pumping his fist into the air before he pulled you back on top of him, his hands tangling in your hair to pull you down for a kiss.

You pulled away after a minute to ask, “Can we cancel the party? Just do this instead?”

“And miss a chance to see you prancing around in a swimsuit for hours, knowing I get to tear it off of you at the end of the night?”

Your body flushed with a familiar warmth as you grinned. “Guess I didn’t think about it like that.”

“I can’t wait to show you off,” Josh whispered against your lips, both of you smiling as you exchanged sweet kisses.      

[hellisheuphoria]

Chapter 3: Melancholy

The MC has their first heartbreak after weeks of freezing out their friends, and drama ensues.

[This chapter contains scenes depicting mental health issues such as anxiety and anxiety attacks, so read at your own risk. And don’t hesitate to write constructive criticism or point out any mistakes, thank you <3]

“MC!” You gasped, sitting yourself up. Mammon loomed over you, with a hand outstretched to shake you. You stared at him, not knowing what to do.

You just woke up, having fallen asleep on the couch the minute you got home from school. Absolutely exhausted, you had lay down on the couch and used your bag as a pillow, snoozing soundly.

You tried your hardest to shift yourself away from everyone. That meant walking away when they tried to initiate a conversation with you, ignoring messages, calls or whatever and eating somewhere else during lunch- a whole list. They were really invested in you, and you were exhausted.

Struggling to see due to the intense light, you rubbed your eyes. Mammon was already dressed in his usual clothes with his signature tan jacket. It was pretty, and made him look even more like a model.

You pulled into your collar a bit, feeling awkward to be caught like this. You grabbed your bag and muttered out “Sorry.”, before getting up and turning away, trying to keep your distance.

You felt bad for ignoring him, as Mammon never hurt you once. He held you in his arms as you died. But you were still afraid of him. You were afraid of his kind, having been murdered by one yourself- his brother, too!

You were afraid of his reaction if he figured it out. You didn’t want to hurt him, yourself, or even Belphegor. He had calmed down in the recent weeks, but you could never forget the way you’d died by his hand.

Mammon, not having any of your attitude, pulled you by your arm and brought you back to him.

”Hey, MC! Where do ya think you’re going!?” He talk-yelled, clearly agitated at your cold attitude. He twisted you to face him, not noticing your anxious expression.

”I thought we were friends? I thought I was your first man! Why would you- why would you ignore me like this..!” His voice cracked, almost as if he was going to shatter.

You panicked, not knowing what to say. You didn’t know what to expect from him, but you couldn’t expect anything less than this. He was hurt, and you could tell it from miles away.

Mammon was a kind, sweet individual despite how idiotic he could be. But you didn’t know the extent of his power, with him being the second oldest sibling. You had witnessed Lucifer and Belphegor using their powers, and didn’t want to think about how powerful Mammon would be. It must take a lot for him to snap, seeing how patient he was with the insults he would get from his brothers.

You felt bad for him, but didn’t want to let your guard down. You didn’t want to be betrayed or hurt again. You didn’t want to feel anything at all for the rest of the year until you got to go home.

“MC! Say something, please-! I can’t help you if you won’t tell me. I don’t want you to ignore me anymore, MC, please!” His eyes became glossy and small droplets of tears escaped his eyes.

You felt like crying yourself, too. You didn’t want it go this far. It hurt to see the way his cheeks went red and his eyes swell up with tears.

He was beautiful, nonetheless. Crying, or not crying. But you remembered how deceiving his younger brother was, trying to convince you into believing he was a human. You knew he wasn’t telling the truth, but you still trusted him. You helped him escape. But in the end, he betrayed you anyways.

He murdered you, and left you to die, alone and scared. Even if you made a pact, you didn’t want to use it as way of controlling them. They’re not puppets, they have feelings too, and pacts go way deeper than just a form of control. You didn’t want to disrespect them in that way.

And that’s why you just shut down. You ran away from your friends, you ran away from yourself, you ran away from everything. You had changed too much. The other you felt like a lie. You were ashamed of yourself, and would forever be reminded of that.

You pulled him off you and walked away, ignoring his plea for you to not go. It hurt you, but it was better this way, wasn’t it? A human lifespan can not even compare to that of a demon. Better you distance yourself now then later.

He still begged you to stay, yet you continued to ignore him, sealing yourself away.

———————————————————————

The afternoon was, to say the least, silent. No one spoke a word, and even Asmo who would usually be chattering was quiet, unspeaking. The atmosphere was cold and tense, you could feel it radiating from them, including yourself.

Nothing could be heard except the clattering of cutlery and Beel practically inhaling his food. It was funny, seeing him like that. Oblivious to the awkwardness of today’s dinner.

Mammon sat in his seat, gloomy and depressed. He wouldn’t eat his food, he would just play with it and take small, practically nonexistent bites. You could feel his gaze on you when you weren’t looking.

You remembered the shock and surprise of everyone when they witnessed the “argument” you and Mammon had. They tried to stop you from leaving, with Beel grabbing your hand and Lucifer practically bombarding Mammon with questions.

They tried to get an answer out of you, but you ignored them, looking the other way.

Finally, they left you alone, unsure of which side to take if there was any. They were worried for you after weeks of your coldness, but they didn’t have it in them to trace it back to Belphegor. They thought you would get over it, seeing that you were alive now, anyway.

It was all too overwhelming that you lost yourself for a bit, and forgot how to feel. You were gone, numb. Any gossip, questions or whatever just bounced off you. It was all so dull.

You excused yourself early and allowed Beel to eat your leftovers, not feeling quite hungry yourself. Their gazes fell on you as you left, and then they went back to their own business.

You sat in your room, feeling quite sad and tired with everything. Nothing felt right anymore, and it made you nervous. But your room cheered you up a bit. It was beautiful and colourful, the complete opposite of you. The plants growing on your walls and the tree made you feel nostalgic, reminding you of the human world.

A knock on your door shook you out of your thoughts and you turned your head toward it. “Come in.” You said, wearily and confused.

Lucifer came in, looking more worried than stern. You stared at him, confused as to what to do. He wouldn’t usually come into your room like this, or at all, really. He was always busy with the work he was assigned, usually disappearing into his room.

”MC, I have something I wish to speak to you about, regarding the last few weeks.” He oddly spoke, observing you.

”Oh.” You muttered out, unsure as to what to say. He sat next to you on your bed, about to continue.

”I understand something may be bothering you to have made you act as how you are now. And I would like it for you to explain it to me.” His gaze fell on you, and his voice unusually soft.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his gloved hand soothing your bare skin. “MC, has any of the lower demons been bothering you? Or Mammon, like today? What is going on, MC?”

You looked at your clenched hands on your lap, scared to talk. No matter how nice was trying to be, you still felt on edge, and attacked.

”It’s nothing. I’ll be fine, and tell Mammon I’m sorry.” You murmured quietly, too conflicted and scared to talk anymore.

”MC, you managed to make Mammon cry today, and that alone is not entirely what’s been worrying me. I want to help you, we all do. You do not have to confide in just me if you do not wish to.” He held out a hand to hold yours, but you wouldn’t let him.

”I.. Lucifer-“ You whispered, your eyes darting everywhere and panic rising in your chest.

You threw him off of you and thrashed around hysterically, feeling stressed and frustrated. “Please! Leave me alone, damn it!”

Lucifer got up immediately to calm you down, but you wouldn’t let him, running out of your room and heading towards the front door.

Everyone had apparently heard the commotion in your room and collectively got together to see what was going on. But they didn’t have the reflexes to catch you as you hastened outside.

”MC!” Lucifer yelled, shocked at your sudden outburst.

Bur you didn’t listen, you didn’t even wait to put on your shoes before you ran out of the House of Lamentation. You ran, and ran until you were a good few miles away from there. Your feet hurt, but you were glad that you wore socks. At least they wouldn’t be dirty.

The wind blew and you shivered, regretting not at least grabbing a jacket. You heard telling dad bwhind, and hurriedly speed walked yourself further, trying to get yourself lost.

It was evening and dark, so not many people were outside. You wandered around, alone and cold. It was better than being put on the spot like that.

The wind blew and goosebumps appeared on your skin, the cold intensifying.

It was entirely deserted and you were glad for that. You would be by yourself, just the way you liked it.

You sat down on a bench, pulling out your phone. You had multiple missed calls from everyone and a whole bunch of texts. Especially from Levi- he was still spamming your phone with his texts.

You shut it off and placed it back in your pocket, leaning forward with your arms on your knees to stare at the place around you.

It was darker than it usually was in the Devildom, with everything being barely visible. It was scarily quieter than usual, not even the Devildom birds were chirping.

The only thing that could be heard was the sound of the water from the ponds, looking eerily shiny. Then you noticed a darkened figure creeping up behind your own reflection.

You felt something, or someone, behind you. The hair on the back of your neck stood up, and you froze, worried you were caught.

Then you felt a hand on your shoulder.

”Hello, MC.”

[detectivecarlosreyes]

In Case of Emergency (Ch 5/10)

Ao3 | 2.8/8.9k | Eventual Buddie | Status: Incomplete

Prev. Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 5: Bad memories can make the worst nightmares Buck has a bad night in the time after he gets out of the hospital following the firetruck accident. Set somewhere in the season 2 finale, around the time of Eddie's probation graduation. 

Eddie was woken suddenly in the middle of the night to the sound of his phone ringing. Barely glancing at the screen, he accepted the call without checking to see who was calling at such an absurd hour and buried his face back into his pillow with a mumbled, “Hello?”

Thinking it might be a prank call upon hearing the prolonged silence accompanied by the sound of heavy breathing, he dropped the phone from his ear and properly looked at the caller ID. It was only when he saw Buck’s name glaring back at him does his heart rate spike as he quickly brought the phone back to his ear, sitting up with a sense of urgency, completely awake.

“Buck?”

No response.

“Buck, what’s wrong?”

The only possible indication that Buck had even heard him was a slight hitch in his breathing which was now beginning to sound more and more laboured, like he was on the threshold of a panic attack.

“Buck! Evan. Talk to me, what’s going on?”

Eddie was already scrambling out of his bed, phone held between his ear and shoulder as he slipped on some pants and then shoes that were tossed beside his bed. As he gathered up a hoodie and briefly checked on Chris, he fished his keys from the bowl beside the door as an almost inaudible whisper came through causing him to pause.

“…Eddie.”

He heard a few thuds and clatters from Buck’s end of the call, sounds that Eddie couldn’t quite decipher until he heard the recognisable sound of rushing water. It was at that point that the call suddenly ended, with three ominous beeps. Eddie swore, setting the house alarm knowing that Chris wouldn’t be moving around in the middle of the night, and rushed to his truck as he hit redial, putting the phone on speaker as he started driving, the dull ringing tone the only sound filling the silence.

“Come on Buck! Answer the damn phone.”

His call rang out without being picked up and Eddie just hit redial again, doing his best not to take his eyes off the road. Buck still didn’t answer the second time. Giving up on the phone, Eddie tossed it on the passenger seat and pressed his foot down further on the accelerator, pushing the speed limits, thankful that the late hour meant minimal traffic.

It had only been a couple of days since Buck had managed to convince Maddie he would be fine back in his apartment. When he first got out of the hospital after all the surgeries to his leg, she had insisted that he stayed with her until he was more mobile on his crutches.

That was little more than a week ago and now with the way the call ended, all Eddie could do is fear the worst thinking maybe it was too soon for him to be by himself, far removed from help. He had stairs in his apartment, what if he had fallen down them? Recalling hearing the sound of water, maybe Buck slipped in the bathroom and he reinjured himself through the cast? All these scenarios played in his head as he made his way to Buck’s place.

Finally arriving at the apartment complex, Eddie haphazardly parked his truck and flew out the door, barely stopping to lock it with the button over his shoulder.

He took the numerous flights of stairs two at a time, easily arriving at Buck’s apartment in half the time the elevator would’ve taken. Fumbling with the keys, Eddie easily picked out Buck’s new blue one for this apartment thankful that it was easy to identify. As soon as it was open he rushed inside, calling out to Buck.

“Buck! Buck? You here?”

A croaky reply of, “In here,” could be heard coming from the downstairs bathroom.

It was only now that he heard the shower running and found the bathroom door wide open. From where he stood, Eddie could see Buck’s crutches laying messily inside the door frame.

Stepping inside, his attention was immediately drawn to the bathtub revealing Buck lying inside still fully dressed and completely soaked to the bone by the running shower, his casted leg awkwardly hanging over the side.

“…Buck.” Eddie breathed out with a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding taking in Buck’s appearance for a moment before he swiftly moved to the bath, pushing up his sleeves. The ice cold water splashed on his exposed arm causing Eddie to flinch at the temperature as he reached for the tap to turn it off.

Buck only acknowledged his presence when the water was no longer running over his head and he looked up at Eddie with a haunted expression marring his features. The nearly healed scratches beside his eyebrow look even more pink than usual, standing out against Buck’s pale, cold skin.

His eyes looking almost sunken, shadowed in the lighting as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. A small whimper passed through his lips as recognition set in, tears intermingling with the water droplets that were still falling from his hair.

Buck reached a desperate hand out to him, and Eddie took it in his own, kneeling down next to the bath now at eye level with Buck.

“Eddie? You’re…here?”

“Yeah Buck, I’m here. You called me, remember? And then you hung up on me and wouldn’t answer your phone, I was worried.”

“Oh.”

“Come on. Let’s get you out of the tub and into some dry clothes.”

Eddie helped hook Buck’s other leg to the side of the tub and turned him around so his body was facing out and all he had to do was pull him up to a standing position. He then guided Buck to the toilet and got him to sit down so the water from his shorts didn’t drip down into his cast.

Eddie handed him his towel that was hanging on the towel rail and instructed Buck to dry off as much as he could while he went to get some plastic wrap and fresh pajamas. Searching in his chest of drawers, he easily found some comfortable and warm clothes, and coming back to the bathroom, Eddie was greeted with a much more alert Buck who was still soaking up as much moisture from his shorts as he could with the towel.

“I have something dry for you to change into and some plastic wrap to cover the top of the cast while you change if you think you need it.” He set both items on the counter next to the sink and picked up the crutches that had been left abandoned, resting them within Buck’s reach. Catching Buck’s eye, Eddie gave him a quick nod before leaving the bathroom, closing the door behind him for privacy.

While he waited, Eddie was able to take in the state of the apartment, noting all the details. Every single light was turned on, from the kitchen to the living room making it seem like it was daytime. The couch had been turned into a fold-out, with blankets and pillows strewn across it. His work duffle bag was resting open next to the couch, presumably containing a selection of clothes for Buck to wear instead of having to go upstairs every day to get dressed.

His attention was brought back to the man in question, who awkwardly managed to open the bathroom door with his crutches and sheepishly ducked his head as he moved past Eddie to get to the couch bed. Eddie followed him and took a seat in the armchair next to the tv. He waited, watching Buck as he straightened up the pillows and blanket around him, doing what he could to avoid eye contact.

Buck finally sat down on the edge, briefly making eye contact with Eddie before running a hand through his hair and letting his gaze slide away, “You don’t have to stay you know. I’m good now.”

Knowing that he wouldn’t get a straight answer from Buck by pushing him with questions, Eddie stayed quiet leaning back in the chair with hands resting on his stomach, clearly indicating to Buck that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. It didn’t take Buck long to realise this, so he picked up a pillow and rested it on his lap, smoothing out the wrinkles in the pillowcase as he traced random shapes that only he could see. He exhaled slowly before opening his mouth.

“I’ve been getting nightmares about the bomb, ever since I got home and was off the heavy meds. From what I can remember it tends to be the moments leading up until the explosion with me and the guys riding in the back of the truck except I always know what’s going to happen before it does, and I always managed to wake up just as it went off.”

Buck paused and gathered the pillow up in his arms, hugging it. Eddie waited patiently, giving him the time to gather his thoughts.

“Before, when I was in the hospital, I said that I couldn’t remember anything after the explosion and at the time it was true while I was all doped up. And I’ve remembered bits and pieces, but tonight was different.” His voice cracked before he breathed out, “Tonight I remembered everything.”

“I remembered all the pain from being thrown out of the truck, and the crushing weight of it on my leg. I remember thinking that I was going to die there, stuck and alone when that kid came over in his vest, surrounded by this intense heat trapped from the explosion in the metal and radiating from the road. There was no escaping the heat, it felt like I was burning from everything around me.”

Eddie leaned forward, concern colouring his voice with his observation, “I’m guessing that’s why I found you freezing yourself in a cold shower.”

Buck nodded, knowing where Eddie was going with that line of thinking, “I don’t even remember getting in the bath, but I guess even in my panicked state I recognised that I needed something to cut through the heat and properly pull me out of the memory.”

Eddie hummed, knowing all too well the need for a shock to the system to break of a memory.

“I’m surprised you managed to call me if you were that far gone.”

“I honestly don’t remember doing that either, I just remember you holding my hand back then, and then you actually were.”

Eddie bit his lip, recalling that moment and all the conflicting feelings that came along with it, his heart and his head fighting for control as he tried to decipher what they all really meant.

“What do you need?” he eventually asked after a moment of quiet.

Buck looked at him in confusion, not understanding the question.

“You called me – what can I do? What do you need me to do?” Eddie clarified, wanting to be of use, to help the person that has helped him through so much, his closest friend and confidant since moving to LA.

Buck answered with a shrug, looking away. “I- I don’t know. Really, you should just go home to Chris, I don’t want to keep you from him. I’m fine now, honestly.”

Shit. Eddie chewed his lip feeling both guilty for leaving his son and torn, wanting to help his friend who was clearly in need of some comfort but with the reminder, he didn’t want to leave his son for any longer than an hour even with the security alarm on.

Coming to a decision he shifted to the edge of the chair and leaned forward, “Do you trust me?”

“More than you could know Eddie.” Eddie couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Lie down. On your stomach.” And Buck does as he’s told, hugging a pillow under his face which he turned to the side to watch Eddie as he settled a pillow under Buck’s cast before moving around the apartment to turn off most of the lights.

He left the lamp beside the couch on, so now the apartment was bathed in a soft glow without feeling oppressively dark. Once all that was done, he took a seat beside Buck who gave him a questioning look but said nothing.

“Just close your eyes, let’s see if we can get you a few more hours sleep.” Buck shut his eyes without question, showing Eddie how much he really did trust him, which had him hoping against all hope that this idea would work.

He started to hum, a soft tune that his mother used to sing to him as a child that he now sings off-key to Christopher at times when he couldn’t get to sleep and started tracing the backs of his fingernails in lazy circles across Buck’s shoulders and back, gently enough that wasn’t scratching but firmly enough that it didn’t tickle.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take long before the tension in Buck’s body started to bleed away until his breaths evened out into a slow deep pattern. It looked as though he’d fallen quickly into a deep sleep and he didn’t stir when Eddie stopped in his ministrations. He couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief to see Buck looking to be at peace before he headed home to his son.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Buck woke disorientated, somehow feeling more refreshed in the few hours of sleep he’d gotten than in the days after he’d left the hospital, unsure of how he even managed to fall asleep in the first place with that lasting memory still fresh in his mind.

It was only as he started paying attention to how he got in this position did Buck begin to notice the quiet clattering of dishes in the kitchen and the low murmuring of two very familiar voices causing him to blearily open his eyes to see not only Eddie but also Christopher huddled together over the island bench bathed in the morning sunshine making his heart flutter over their presence.

Seeing Eddie brought back the rest of his memory of what happened in the time after he’d woken from the nightmare and put himself in the tub. Remembering that Eddie had not only come at such a ridiculous hour because he’d called him in an irrational state of panic, but he also helped him out of his sorry state with zero judgment and stayed long enough to him get back to sleep which he didn’t think he would be able to do.

Sitting up slightly he sniffed the air, smelling the familiar scent of pancakes permeating the air and drew the attention of Eddie who caught the movement, gesturing for him to stay put while looking quite pleased with himself. Buck turned over to sit in a more comfortable position as the two Diazs’ continued murmuring to each other as they finished before they changed tact and made their way over to him in the living room laden with the freshly cooked breakfast.

“What are you guys doing here?” he asked, unable to keep the incredulity from his voice at having them being there on a weekday morning, “Not that I don’t appreciate that you’re here and made me breakfast, but shouldn’t you be at work, school?”

Buck watched bemused as Eddie carefully settled the tray on his lap, ensuring no coffee was spilled and sat down on the arm of the couch as he answered, “Well, Chris has just started spring break and I have an afternoon start, so I figured you might like some company for at least part of the day,”

They share a meaningful look at that and Buck gave him an appreciative nod, before patting the spot next to him, inviting Chris to join him, and laughed when Eddie quickly rescued the coffee mug just before Chris bounced into position excitedly.

“And I’m guessing you’re the genius who decorated these delicious smelling pancakes.” Buck proclaimed to Chris as he surveyed the strawberry slices and whipped cream smiley faces adorning the stack.

“Yep, Dad let me do it!”

“That’s a good thing, I don’t think your dad could have done a better job.” He said in a staged whisper to Chris.

“Excuse you! I managed to cook these pancakes, didn't I?” frowned Eddie in feigned indignation, causing Buck to laugh.

“Of course, Eds, and you did a great job,” he answered lightheartedly with an appreciative pat to the knee before reaching to reclaim his coffee which Eddie begrudgingly returned to him.

As he sipped at his mug, Buck couldn't help but feel his heart swell over having these two in his home taking the time out of their own free time together to spend the day with him, for no reason except to make sure that he was okay. And if he was ignoring his crush on Eddie that was slowly but surely growing, it was near impossible to ignore now.

[suuung]

Interconeccted, chapter (1)  kylo ren x reader

a kylo ren x reader fanfiction.  warnings: this fanfiction will develop dark themes as it goes on.

chapter 2: here

through which two force-sensitives could influence each other or even feel each other's physical, emotional or mental pain. 

                                                 “The food we’ve managed to get will last us months.” Your cousin cheered.

You hum back reading one of the few books in the abandoned pile. All of them were quite dusty after finding them scattered on the ship you rested on. It was titled; The Forgotten History of Jedi

“Now we’ll just have to sneak it back.” She mumbled.

Shea grabbed the heaping bags and stepped out, putting them on the horse.

“Lets go!” She hollered, annoyed.

You reluctantly placed the book in your bag, leaving the rest behind. You sat up on the horse and felt sadness erupt through you again. The both of you live on your own in a small village, a very isolated one for sure. ‘Adventure’ like this didn’t happen often, only every few months. She thinks she knows well. She is the older cousin and the only one to take care of you after your family died of famine at your young age. It wasn’t common for families to survive on this planet, there was little to food and yet your family was not rich, and barley had made enough to get by so ultimately you and Shea are still struggling.

As you rode the horse back to town heat licked at your sunburned face and coiled around your limbs. Looking up at the bright sky and everything seemed to have a glaze. The headache that the heat brought felt unbearable. You suddenly felt your thoughts slip away, a blackness coming over you. Like a blanket, but not a blanket of warmth but a blanket of coldness making you recoil in fear. Suddenly, a sharp pain drove through you.  Collapsing and falling on the hard gravel beneath you both. Pain sizzled through your legs up your chest increasing in small waves across your face. Swiftly your body curls into a small ball while the pain burns and radiates.

 Everything became fuzzy; then nothing at all. 

You woke, everything feeling broken and detached. The familiar decaying ceiling in your eyesight. You had bandages wrapped tightly around your head, assuming that was from the fall you sat up slowly. The headache was unbearable. Looking around you were alone and Shea’s bed across from you was empty. 

You called for her but your response was silence. Glancing at the chipped and broken clock, noon just hit. She’s probably at the market selling junk. 

There was water beside your bed, hesitantly reaching for a sip the glass slipped. Pain coming over you in sparks. Reflecting something sharp, making it worse each time it touched. The glass broke and made a loud shatter. You didn't wanna bother cleaning it up. It ended as soon as it started, although the headache was worse, the pain had subsided.

Swinging your legs over the bed and walking into the crooked kitchen catching yourself from tripping on your own feet.   You lived in a small hut outside the village, fairly run down and little to no insulation. You were hungry, you hoped she would return soon as you looked at the empty containers. 

You remembered the book from yesterday, your memories did feel fuzzy. You walked over and grabbed the book, returning to your room and sat on your bed.

The Jedi are the opposite of the Sith, another group of force wielders, the Sith use their passion, and other strong emotions to fuel their power.

Turning the page brought you to the index. 

History Of the Jedi 

Force Chosen       

Movementuls 

Force Bond

It caught your eye, going to the page number. 

Common to occur between Jedi Masters and their apprentices, a Force bond, also known as Force chain or Jedi kinship, was a link through which two Force-sensitives could influence each other or even feel each other's physical, emotional or mental pain. 

Stronger force bonds need a balance of the light and dark sides. Weakers have light and light; dark and dark. 

Turning the page again you felt your fingertips burn. 

Another page flip.

Fighting or hardship together with the forcebond causes their powers to become amplified as the bond between them grows stronger with every passing moment.

It is known for the beginning of a force bond to include physical pain bursts and may cause the pain to double by the effect of altering two minds. 

This can’t be real, the tales were true about the force. Mother always told you and your sister it was a hoax, a scam. Something the galaxy could never accomplish.

Suddenly loud crashing and screams were heard from the village.  Fear choked you as the face of your cousin appeared in your head. This must be another attack from the first order. You’ve heard hellish tales about them, they must be looking for someone. 

You stumbled to the window looking out. Your heart sank. Everyone in this village has had a family member snatched. Giving a child freedom to roam was asking for the first order to take them.  

You ran outside, grabbing a knife from the kitchen. Clutching onto your shirt you held it up to cover your mouth, wind was blowing furiously from the ships landing on your planet. Blasters were shooting civilians and they were taking men and children. You snuck behind ships, running over loose rubble and tumbling down steep sand, feet slipping as your throat shocked and inhaled deeper, faster crying for Shea.  

You caught yourself off guard. A stormtrooper spotted you and yelled out. Your adrenaline demands you to run, you keep running but you know your time is up. Out of the corner of your eye you see something sharp and red shooting at you. You try to jump out of the way but it's too late. You scream and collapse to the ground as your wrists are bound and you are guided onto a ship along with other kidnapped citizens. 

The whole thing felt fuzzy, and soon enough the doors closed and the ship took off. You woke to the doors opening once again, but now being inside a landing bay for ships. You must be on the imperial navy ship. Only bad things have been heard to be done here. A stormtrooper barked orders for everyone to stand, they grabbed each person kidnapped and pulled them into different lines, Men and women. A stormtrooper tugged harshly at your shirt shoving you into the line of other girls, everyone was terrified. You were all barked at again to follow each leader of your group. Still handcuffed you walked down the hallways of the imperial ship. It was dark and tourture filled. 

You were halted, all of you given a number by a droid. 

“CLASS: FEMALE: TROOP” “ID: 2310984” 

 You watched those numbers inbrand into a storm trooper suit, then gave them to you. You wanted to die. Your new life you must act as you can cope with being caged, now fed on a schedule as farmyard pigs, and spoken to without the slightest trace of love.

It has been a month in this hell-hole. You still havent seen a trace of Shea. Your life feels so meaningless, perhaps it's because there is no love here, no hugs or kind smiles, no-one to tell you everything will be okay. And then there are the eyes of everyone here, alive and dead, as if they are so desperate for this nightmare to be over, to be able to leave this place.  

You started off your morning like all the other mornings. The female base dorms are cold and dark. You never manage to sleep so breakfast feels like an eternity to arrive. You are given cold scraps of food each morning, along with water. You are in stormtrooper training for the next 2 weeks. You still don’t know what to expect after this, perhaps things will lighten up and you will be brought more light into your new dark life. You are taught daily the mantra not to feel bad for the killings of villagers. Not to feel guilt anymore, not to feel human emotion. You’ve seen so many things this past month you want to forget, one thing still burns within you.

The image of General Hux and the Commander Kylo Ren. You were with your cohort of Stormtrooper Trainees going to retrieve practice guns. The mantra settling in your head once again, You are stormtroopers. You are the keenest weapon in the Emperor's arsenal. Do not fail him. Do not fail me. Your world felt in slow motion as you walked past the commander.

Your heart felt like it stopped beating and your whole body felt heavy, like it was pulling you. The shackles on your handcuffs strained and made noise. 

Panic. It drove through me fast and hard.

Breath. It felt so hard to capture.

Movement. Something I could conjure once again.

Force you've never felt before, a force that was screaming at you to run but as if your body were reborn in its most perfect form.

You coaxed yourself to sleep each night trying to re-feel that day. To grasp those feelings of warmth and pulling you felt for that short moment. You needed to be close to him again, your body screamed and ached for it each day but you were still met with the same cold mattress each morning. 

The helmet of Kylo Ren was all you saw each time you close your eyes. Suddenly you were brought out of thought by an announcement calling a meeting for all stormtroopers led today by General Hux and Commander Kylo Ren. 

You and all the other female soldiers in your dorm put on your uniforms quickly, your heart pounded as you put on your helmet. Your leader lined you all up and made your way to the docks outside where all thousands of them were perfectly lined up. One screw up and your life will be over. 

About a half hour later of stormtrooper groups getting led in to get ready for the announcement General Hux with Kylo Ren stood at the podium. Your heart started to pound rapidly as you kept your composite and stayed as still as you could. Anxiety crept up as you started to shake. Kylo spoke, his voice altered from the mask. 

“As commander of the first order, we will be initiating an attack on the desert planet of Jakku tomorrow morning. Trainees will not be sent out but will remain on the ships as extras if needed. We are in search of Lor San Tekka. We believe he has a piece of the map leading us to Luke Skywalker.”

You began to zone out as Kylo stepped down from the podium and General hux began to preach about the attack. Your mind felt fuzzy as you kept your gaze on Kylo through your helmet. His cape flew furiously in the wind, flapping and whipping. 

The more you stare the more dizzy you feel. A sharp pain woke you out of your trance. It was on the side of your head, like a headache of a million arrows shooting at you. Your arm fell down slightly but you picked it back up hoping no one had seen the slip up.

 You kept your eyes on Kylo, and you swear you felt your heart drop out of your chest at the sight of him clutching the side of his head staggerly. He stumbled and looked down at the ground still clutching his head. 

You gasped quietly as your heart pounded, the pain you had felt stopped completely the moment he felt it. Soon enough he stood and gathered his composter. 

You felt yourself not being able to breathe properly, not being able to conjure what just happened. Then, suddenly, he turned his head towards your direction and the cold eyes of the helmet stung into you. 

[thinkingoutlouddblog]

Pearls // Adore You

summary: Y/N has a gift for Harry on Adore You day

A/N: this is pure fluff and feel good vibes. I should’ve written and posted it last week because the timing would be better but instead I wrote it today as I listened to Fine Line on a loop. If anyone wants to chat about the album send me asks and messages! 

“Happy Adore You Day!” Harry is awoken by Y/N cheering at the end of his bed.

“What?” He grunted, completely disoriented. He rubbed his eyes blearily, looking confusedly at Y/N holding a tray with a freshly made breakfast and a small bunch of flowers, grin lighting up her whole face. “Adore You isn’t out until tomorrow,” he stated, but a smile had graced his face too as he sat up in bed.

She took a step forward and placed the tray on his lap before sitting at the end of the bed. “Well I know that but your first ever performance of it is being recorded today and it’ll drop at midnight which is basically still today anyway. So, I wanted to do something special to celebrate.”

Harry’s heart swooped. This girl was as sweet as honey. The excited energy was positively radiating from her, it was in the way she spoke, the way she could hardly sit still and the bright smile which hadn’t left her face for a single second.

“You’re too good, ya’ know that?” He asked her, prompting bashfulness to colour her expression. “Now come here and give me a kiss,” he leaned forward so that her lips could meet his own. Her hands found their way into his hair and soon the two of them were lost in the moment. Her left hand slowly traced towards his face, cupping his jaw, until it slowly drifted downwards towards his neck. As soon as her hand met his throat, all her movements halted, suddenly remembering something. She pulled her lips away, and Harry subconsciously leaned forward, needy for her kiss.

“Hold on!” Was all she said before she was darting out of the room in a whirlwind. A minute later, she was back in the room, a bunch of flowers in one hand and a small box in the other, wrapped in light blue paper and complete with a pink bow. “The other reason we’re celebrating today is because I finally picked this up yesterday and I actually can’t wait to give it to you. At first I was going to give it to you on album release day,” she ranted quickly, excitement and nervousness possessing her, “but then I couldn’t wait until then and now I can’t wait until tomorrow so,” she shoved both the flowers and the box towards him without eloquence, “here.”

She grabbed the tray of food now going cold from his lap and popped it onto her side of the bed which was currently empty. She fidgeted as she returned to her seat on the edge of his bed, Harry unable to contain the soft laughter at his girl and her antics.

He went to start unwrapping it, but Y/N quickly interrupted as she spoke anxiously once more. “Please don’t pretend to like it if you don’t. I promise I won’t be offended, and I can take it back it’s literally no problem at all and-”

“Darlin’,” it was Harry’s turn to interrupt now. “Can I please just unwrap it before I die of anticipation here?”

Y/N just nodded, not trusting herself to speak without beginning to ramble. She crossed her legs at the end of the bed, trying to contain her nervousness.

As quickly as his hands would allow, Harry unwrapped the paper to reveal a necklace box. He paused for a moment, before opening the lid to reveal a string of pearls. “Oh my god,” he breathed, mouth slightly ajar as he stared down at them, as though in a trance.

“What kind of oh my god is that?” Y/N asked, doubts clouding her mind. “I need more words please and I need them now.” He opened his mouth to respond, but she spoke first, pointing a finger in his direction. “And don’t lie to me, I know you’re good at this acting and politeness shit but it won’t work on me.”

“I love it,” he rushed out as soon as she shut her mouth, sure he only had a moment before she opened it again. “No acting or politeness shit needed because I really really really love it,” his eyes were glossy, overcome with emotion.

“You’re sure?” Y/N asked, hesitantly. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Harry to be honest with her in situations like these, it’s just that she wanted to give the perfect gift. Harry had worked so very hard on this album, she thought he deserved to receive something from her that was as special as the body of work he had created.

“I’m sure,” he crawled forwards, box still in hand, and placed a sweet kiss on her lips. “Thank you,” he whispered, as he rested his forehead against her own.

With those four words, the anxiety she felt ebbed away. The feeling was replaced by pure joy, and below the surface, a deep calm. She relished in the moment, in the thrill of the intimacy and connection they shared. Y/N was sure she had to be the luckiest girl alive.

“Can you please put it on me?” He

“Of course,” she took the box from his outstretched hand as he turned so Y/N could see the clasp at the back of his neck. Once she had secured it around his neck, he was up in a flash, off towards the en suite.

Y/N was quick to follow, shadowing him shyly as he gazed upon his own reflection. She wrapped her arms around his bare chest, linking her hands together at his front. She stood up on her tip toes to kiss the skin just below the necklace.

“I love it so much, Y/N,” he spoke softly. “And I-” he stopped short, unsure of himself. “I- I adore you.”

“I adore you too, H,” she said without pause. His hesitancy did not go unnoticed, but she didn’t want him to dwell on that too heavily. He would say it, in his own time, when he felt it. If he felt it, she tried not to think.

He hummed in response, hand subconsciously tracing the pearls as he got lost in his thoughts for a moment. Y/N just held him tighter, breathing in his scent.

“Oh, fuck it,” he muttered suddenly, he turned within her hold, unlinking her hands. He grabbed them in his own before they could fall at her side, needing the physical connection. “I love you, darlin’.”

Before Y/N could get a word out, he was rambling nervously just as she had before. “And not to be on the nose or anything, but you don’t have to say you love me. Because I get it, it’s scary and it’s- it’s early, I know that, I do. I just- it’s how I feel so I’m saying it. And I hope you feel that way too but if you’re not there yet then that’s completely fine-”

“Harry,” she stopped him in his tracks, face portraying nothing, leaving him completely on edge.

“Yeah?” He gripped her hands tighter.

“I love you too, you idiot,” she smiled, and he swears to God, his heart stopped for a second.

His hands were gone from hers in an instant, instead wrapping around her figure and lifting her up, in a state of pure nirvana. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he sang out as he spun her around. He wished he was recording the sound of her giggling and reciprocating his love. He was sure it would forever be music to his ears.

That night, and every night after that, he sang Adore You for her.

[script-nef]

You left me | Oikawa Tooru

Inspiration: [Hiraeth]

Category: angst

Warning: Character death

1.1k words; my home, my everything. I can’t breathe without you.

Hiraeth (n. Welsh)

/ˈhɪraɨ̯θ/

 : homesickness for a home which one cannot return to    nostalgia, longing and yearning for the past

Guests leave one by one, gently patting him on the shoulder and expressing their sorrows on their way out. He thanks them softly, not knowing what to say other than that. He says goodbye to your parents, eyes lowering at their crying and broken faces. They had the same expression for the past few days, but he couldn’t bring himself to show the same. He just can’t feel anything right now. 

Everyone but him left, but he can't move. The only he can do is stare blankly at your beaming face. You look gorgeous in the photo. He remembers the day, only because you begged him to go with you on a date/errand run. You always tried to spend time with him due to his hectic schedule. He should have done more.

It was a happy day, one of bright sunshine and soothing winds. The week had been cold and you put off leaving the house under the pretence of contracting “a rare illness where I die if I’m in the blistering cold and harsh winds”. He chuckled whenever you repeated the phrase, and it brought a smile to you as well. So when a break from the horrendous weather coincided with a free day for him, you leapt at the chance. 

He remembers you practically skipping down the street, drawing attention but not having a care in the world. The sun’s rays glistened on your skin and you looked so radiant. Your laughter was music to his ears, and he thought that you were a work of art when beckoning him to catch up with a hand stretched out.

You went to the photography studio for photos to put in a resume for a new job. You were really looking forward to it as it gave you the possibility to work more flexible hours with better benefits. So that you could spend more time with him. Ah, he laments, I should have been more attentive. I should have tried as much as you. 

You took a serious one, as it was needed for a resume, with a borrowed jacket. Then one where you were smiling, urging him to come into the shot. You laced your arm with his, leaning onto his shoulder while radiating happiness. He could feel himself become lighter around you, like only the two of you existed in that moment. That photo hung on the mirror in his room. My room. Not "ours" anymore. Just… me now.

Reality comes crashing back, a tsunami of anguish and heartbreak and loneliness and so much pain. A sob rips past his mouth, his lungs aching and he feels like he's caving into himself. Heartbeats echo in his ears as he reaches out to your face which is adorned with a small smile.

How could you leave him like this? You promised to always be there for him, you promised. He clutches the photo frame, hugging it so tightly that it might break and pierce into him. Would he be able to meet you if that happened? Would you be there when he opens his eyes, snoring softly and off in your dreamland like every morning? But he knows you would scold and cry at him for coming so quickly, for leaving his life behind just for you. It would be worth it if he could just meet and remind you of his love even if it’s for the last time—I love you, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, please don't leave me behind, I adore everything about you, thank you for loving me, please don’t go.

He sits there for what feels like aeons, cradling your photo. He nearly falls into slumber, and a part of him hopes that this is just an elaborate prank, that you would jolt him awake and laugh at how stupid he is for falling for that.

But life isn’t that kind. He’s woken by the owner of the establishment, adorning a sad look, telling him that he needs to leave. He looks at your face again. The frame is returned to its original spot, and he presses a kiss onto the glass pane. The cold flat surface is so different from your soft and warm lips. He bows to the owner and walks out, feet as heavy as lead. 

The autumn sunset is beautiful. Orange and red hues reach across the sky and it looks like it’s leaking onto the surviving leaves on trees. You would have loved this scene. You would have exclaimed the beauty in fragility and time, where everything wasted away but at the same time thrived. You were deep and romantic like that. It was an endearing characteristic, even if he couldn’t understand all of your infinite thoughts and wisdom. 

He needs to move. He can't stand here, in the middle of the footpath for all eternity. He needs to go back to—he needs to go—where? Where can he go now? Everywhere is filled with memories with you; his favourite café, the park down the road, the school in the neighbourhood you both went to, the bridge where he confessed to you, his home. Where every nook and cranny contains traces of you; your perfume, your ridiculous charms, your art, your plants, your clothes, your photos. Endless memories; moving in together, the first fight, his failed attempt at breakfast-in-bed, professing his adoration for you as you drifted to sleep, redecorating the house, the uncountable number of kisses and soft whispers of love.

He can't go back. He can’t. Not when everything is so raw, not when he still loves you so impossibly and so limitlessly. Not when he’s so weak and so close to breaking.

The lights feel like it's dimming, like the world is closing down on him. You would have held his hand and sung softly into his ear, telling him to calm down and breathe, that you love him so much. That he doesn’t have anything to worry about and how competent and kind and loving he is. He can’t breathe, can’t escape the panic that covers him and can’t function without you.

He’s lost, so, so lost because you’re not here. He begs to the empty space for the past, for it to come and give his love and world back along with the joy he felt every time he opened his eyes to meet with yours in the morning. To give back the warmth in his life.

Ah, my love, my heart, my everything. You left me and took everything with you; my soul, life, passion and home. I long for you. I long for the space where we could love each other. I long for my home in you.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 180

180

Lance cleaned. He cleaned like a vampire possessed. Nothing escaped his cleaning. From the top of the house to the bottom was vacuumed, mopped, scrubbed, washed, packed and organised. He didn’t stop for sleep. The door to the nursery was shut. The room taboo in the household. Every trace of Keith’s scent was washed away. Keith’s things packed up neatly. Some things slightly tear damaged and a photo frame may now be glassless as it’d been hurled out the bedroom window in a fit of anger. Kosmo didn’t escape. He got bathed, groomed, nails clipped, and bedding washed. Blue got extra wet food, plenty of snuggles, and carried around as she protested loudly.

Stripping his bed, he told himself he was being stupid sleeping with so many blankets. He was a grown man, and grown men didn’t act this way. He also didn’t stop limiting his strength. Able to lift most furniture one handed as he vacuumed, then again as he ran the mop over the floor. Frustrated at the lack of speed with human appliances, he’d nearly hurled the washing machine outside in a fit of rage when the rinse cycle took too long. If Keith couldn’t love him any more, he needed to stop relying on him and believing in love like a dumb teen. Show after show was deleted from his watch lists. He’d have deleted the whole section off streaming if he could have. Matt and Rieva were in Platt so Keith could get used to their scents before the moon, leaving him alone, after asking Pidge and Hunk for some space and time to rest up.

Every single particle of his house reminded him of Keith. Every joke they’d shared. Every dumb plan they’d made. The scratches in the floorboards from where Keith tried to kill him. All the good times. By the time he was done, the only scent in the air was the “pine fresh” scent of aerosol disinfectant and cat poop from Blue’s litter tray. When the house was clean, he started baking. In all his cleaning, he’d forgotten Keith’s favourite coffee cup. Seeing it sitting next to the coffee machine, he missed the other half of his soul that didn’t seem to exist any more.

*

Keith... Keith didn’t know what to make of the world anymore. Fangs. Claws. Yellow eyes. A rage inside him that couldn’t be contained. He didn’t know left from right. Everyone was a foe. Everyone including the one person who absolutely hadn’t been. Lance. Lance who smelt like something he wanted to roll in. Lance who’s egos made him all weird and jumpy, and this weird other messed up self mad for no reason that he could understand. He didn’t know it’d be like this. This... this existence. He didn’t know this and he didn’t know himself anymore.

He was scared. He was scared of the world. He was scared of himself. Lance came and said a lot of things to him, and he didn’t get it. Lance was being kind and sweet, but he was just so angry. He hated this. Lance hated him. Then Lance loved him. Then Lance was leaving. Then Lance wanted him at the scan. Then he didn’t. Then he was gone. And he didn’t get it. He didn’t get why he opened his mouth and said the wrong thing. He’d driven Lance away from him. They’d been so happily in love. Every single touch radiated love. He didn’t really remembered mad at Lance. Coran said that was coma related and okay. He just... didn’t... How could he be around Lance when he was this mad?

Starting small, Keith wasn’t allowed out the medical wing. He’d Shiro twice. The third time he couldn’t look at him. His ego saying some not so nice things about his brother. He got Shiro didn’t want him to die and that he’d thought this Keith’s only chance. But Lance didn’t like him like this. He didn’t like him like this. Everything was too much, but it didn’t stop coming and he didn’t know what to do. He was being too blunt. Krolia had tried to have a conversation with him, but then he’d gotten all cranky and before he knew it he’d broken the hospital table in front of him. He couldn’t do anything right. He just... wanted Lance. He wanted Lance to fix things. To fix him. The furthest he’d gone since turning was down the hall and back again, to get him used to sounds. God. He hated sounds. He didn’t see how he’d ever get used to things he’d never noticed before. As he sat waiting patiently, he could see Coran on the phone outside the room. He looked worried and Keith knew he’d taken the call outside so Keith couldn’t hear what he said. They were probably organising his execution order instead of letting him go see Lance.

Letting himself back into the room, Coran looked upset. He smelt funny. If old man had a scent that smelt slightly like mushrooms were growing on him, that’d be the closest thing to Coran’s scent he could come up with. Sitting down, Coran rested his head in his hands. This was Lance related and Keith fucking knew it. His ego disgustingly annoying. How could it be okay with Lance hurting, and hurting for Lance? How Matt, Rieva, and Lance made a family, he didn’t know

“What is it? He doesn’t want me there, does he?”

With a pained groan, Coran raised his head. The man seemed as if he hadn’t been sleeping well. Actually, this had to make the top 20 times he’d seen Coran stressing

“Well. What happened?!”

Keith had noticed he’d turned into Krolia 2.0 with the bluntness. He could see why werewolves were thought of as dicks, because he felt like a bag of ducks deserving a dick punch

“I’m sorry, my boy. I think you may have to stay here. Rieva and Matt returned home today... Lance has had a bit of a breakdown”

What did Lance have to be having a breakdown over?! He wasn’t suddenly a werewolf. There went this stupid poxy new ego of his. He didn’t like it

“What do you mean?”

“He’s cleaned the house and shut himself up in his office”

That didn’t sound that unusual. Lance took pride in his house being neat and organised. Plus Pidge and Hunk would keep him from going too far into his head

“He left two days ago”

Keith wanted to shut up. Why did he have to be so angry? Why did his ego see Lance hitting the end of his mental rope as weak. Lance wasn’t weak at all. He was strong, kind and very beautiful. Why did every emotion have to be anger. Happy, nope, better glare at the world. Confused, whelp, better snap. Actually angry, here came the growls, snarls, and claws. Lance was beautiful. But suffered from low self esteem and anxiety. He knew that... But how did he know that? He wasn’t Keith anymore. He shouldn’t know things about human Keith’s life.

“Yes. It seems he told Hunk and Pidge he came to rest, cleaned the house, and locked himself away, instead of resting. Rieva said he’s stripped and remade his bed”

What was wrong with that? That’s what he normally did

“I must go to him”

“He’s probably just working”

“Keith, you misunderstand. Rieva said he’s... not in a good state”

“Lance loves cleaning”

“His bed only had one blanket on it. He’d denying himself the comfort of a nest, and gone against his instincts to nest. The staff barely managed to bring him out of labour. He doesn’t know how close he truly came to things being too late. I fear he wishes to do something very stupid. He called Curtis, asking if Curtis had ever heard of vampire returning to being a human”

Why would Lance want to be human again? Okay. Lance had always wanted to be human again. But he couldn’t carry the twins if he was human. His ego didn’t like that. It kind of liked the twins. It was a weird feeling. Like pride and confusion. What did Lance gain from being human. He wouldn’t...

“He wants to be human again because of me”

“I fear so. Curtis called Rieva, not knowing she and Matt were returning. They’ve both being commuting for work as it was. Lance feels that you cannot love him because he’s a vampire”

Keith let out a shaky breath. Ego angry. Him... shaken. That didn’t sound safe or sane. Two weeks was a lifetime when their lives were so messed up..

“If you’re going to see him, can I come?”

Coran lifted his head

“I don’t know, my boy. You’re still going through the changes of being turned. Your ego is currently unpredictable...”

“But Lance is hurting!”

With a shaky breath, Coran let his head drop again

“He’s been hurting for a long time. He didn’t wish the turn upon you. He and Shiro haven’t spoken to my knowledge since you woke. He requested we not be mad at Shiro, knowing Shiro was in an impossible situation with me unable to do anything. I tried all I could. But each time I adjusted your quintessence you had a negative effect. Initially when you were comatosed, Lance’s presence kept you stable. You seemed to know he was there, despite that being quite impossible. He made you a nest, gathered things of comfort, trying to make this transition less scary for you. But as strong as he is, he couldn’t help but lose his cool when it came to you. He combatted his depression staying by your side to care for you. He still loves you a great deal. Any actions you perceive were done in pity, were done in with great love and respect. He knew his presence may lead to insanity by overwhelming you with his own ego, that is the sole reason he left. He placed your health and needs above his own... It was agonising to watch”

And what had he done? Lost his cool because he didn’t know why there now felt like were two of him in his body? Told Lance he wanted to die? That he’d rather be dead than with him

“I hurt him”

“I spoke with Allura. Lance understands. He too went through the change, though he was much younger and slept longer before waking. Vampires also don’t rely on the first full moon to stabilise their egos. She said Lance was most distraught over having broken your trust in him”

This was what Keith didn’t get. How Lance could love him when he wasn’t Keith anymore. Lance smelt weird, but maybe it wasn’t a bad kind of a weird. It was kind of a weird that made him want to roll around in it

“Coran. I don’t know. He loved Keith. I’m not Keith anymore”

Coran chuckled, the sound turning deep into a proper laugh. Trying to recompose himself, the fae wiped at his eyes as Keith clenched his hands, angry automatically

“Sorry, lad. If you’re not Keith, then I don’t know who you are. Just because you’re now a werewolf doesn’t mean you’ll forget being human, or have a whole new identity. You’re still Keith, you just Keith with a little extra now. Goodness me, don’t tell me you’ve been fighting with your memories. You’re still you, my boy! Yours and Lance’s quintessence are still very much connected. That may have wavered but it’s still there. Fancy thinking you weren’t Keith. That would be like Matt not being Matt. I will say, once the moon passes you will notice I real change in my our ego”

Keith felt like of how Kosmo looked each time he had to scold him. He didn’t know how this worked. All Lance’s explanations on ego seemed lacking, not that Lance hadn’t tried, he’d thought he got. He didn’t. He was so tired of being angry, but was angry at himself for being angry so it was kind of like being stuck in an infuriating loop

“So I’m still me?”

He didn’t feel like him. He wouldn’t be so angry at Lance if he was him

“You are, my boy. I know it’s very scary right now, but things will be better. You managed not to snarl at Matt the last time he visited. That’s excellent progress for a wolf who wasn’t been touched by the moon”

He hadn’t liked being visited. He felt like a caged animal on display

“Will this anger ever go away?”

“With time. Oh, dear. We really must be going to see Lance. Any later and you’ll transform in the car. I’m most anxious to drive again today. I’ve been practicing”

*

Coran still couldn’t drive. Keith frustrated and feeling quite ill well before leaving city limits. The restlessness he felt seemed to have turned his stomach into a pit of snakes. He could hear the way the car gears screamed in abuse each time Coran tried to change gear. This was not fun. Maybe it’d have been safer for him to stay at VOLTRON for his first full moon. Matt and Rieva always seemed to be particularly horny and energised before it happened, but they weren’t douches to Lance like he’d been. He hadn’t even asked Coran for a phone to talk to Lance, as Lance had suggested he did. The amount of faith a vampire seemed to have in him made his ego go all weird. How was he supposed to be with Lance if he seemed to hate the mere fact his boyfriend existed?

And that was another thing. Were they still boyfriends? Like, boyfriend boyfriends? Or estranged boyfriends? Lance didn’t come see him until Shiro went running to him. His Lance would have flipped the world off and stayed. This Lance wasn’t acting right. Like Lance was mad and he could feel it in the air. He didn’t get it. If this was his Lance, than why did he have to be mean and cruel to feel better? He felt like everyone who’d ever bullied him had taken over his body and now he enjoyed inflicting pain as much he did.

Reaching Lance’s house, things felt stranger than ever. He knew the house. He knew the drive. He knew it, but it was as if he was seeing everything all over again. The sounds of nature made him feel as if he had that chirping arsehole symphony of cicadas playing just for him. He could smell cow shit... something dead... Lance... as well as two werewolves. Lance always said they smelt like wet dog. He supposed there was a definite trace of that. Matt didn’t smell awful, but he did smell like he needed to be on guard around him. Rieva smelt nicer. Like flowers and girly shit... and stuff. Matt was pretty growly too. Apparently sniffing someone’s mate was a no go, even if you’re only trying to tell your ego that they’re not a threat.

Opening the door, Kosmo came bounding out. His precious boy all paws and no grace as he crashed into Keith, knocking him on his arse as he took a paw to his junk

“Kosmo!”

Kosmo yipped as he gave exactly zero fucks, pushing Keith down and laying on top of him. What the hell was this? Kosmo had knocked him down in the past, but wasn’t he supposed to be a powerful werewolf now. And why was he laying on him. Coming out the house, Rieva came jogging over, Keith growling at her sending Kosmo bolting away from him with his tails between his legs

“That’s enough out of you. Coran, thank you for coming. Keith... what are you thinking letting Kosmo climb on you? He’ll never respect you as his owner if you let him boss you around”

Keith spluttered. His ego bruised enough over being taken out Kosmo

“Me? He knocked me down!”

Rieva placed her hands on her hips as she stared down at him

“Because he’s missed his human. He’s been glued to Lance’s side until Lance shut him out the office. Coran, I think it’s best you go see Lance right away. The sun will be setting soon and Keith needs a run down on what to expect”

Coran took the weirdness in his stride. All their friends were so goddamn weird

“Right you are, my girl! Matt not here?”

“He’s around the back trying to stop Lance if he tries to climb out the window. I did tell him Lance was too pregnant to be running off, but you know Matt”

“I’ll make sure to talk some sense into Lance. You two enjoy your run. Please don’t let Keith do anything stupid”

“Coran, you know Keith. He and Lance are very stupid”

Coran winked at the pair of them

“In all the right ways. Rightyo, I’ll see you two later”

Left with Rieva, Keith continued to stare up at her. He’d only come to see Lance, this whole moon thing made little sense

“Stop staring. You’ll be changing soon, and I suggest you not do it in the drive way”

“I’ll be changing?”

“You’ll be meeting your wolf side tonight. The first step is getting naked”

Oh no. Not more nudity. He wasn’t okay with the nudity

“I... uh...”

Rieva thrust her hand out

“You can’t deny it. You feel the energy don’t you? We feel it. Like there’s electricity in your body with no where for it to go”

“How do you know?”

Rieva rolled her eyes at him

“I’ve been a werewolf for years now. I think I know when I meet a newly turned wolf. Though you are rather sane so that does make talking easier”

“I don’t feel very sane”

“You’d be feeling differently if you weren’t. Tearing at your own skin by now. I was not entirely convinced in Coran’s methods, but you have definitely changed”

“What methods? He had someone bite me while I was unconscious”

“He did no such thing. He even chose a different werewolf at the request of Lance, trying to spare you the awkwardness of having one of us sure you. Now, out to the back with you. Unless you want your clothes destroyed when you turn”

Reluctantly Keith took Rieva’s hand. He didn’t feel like he was going to turn into anything. He just felt... cranky. Scowling at Rieva, Rieva ignored his mood, leading him off behind the house.

Matt gave up his window duties when Keith and Rieva came around the corner. Kalternecker letting out a lazy moo, eyeing him with zero interest

“Keith! Oh, man! Look at you. How do you feel?”

“Cranky”

“I remember my first time. Rieva turned me on a moon, so I was lucky there. We’ll have you back to normal soon enough”

“Matt, be nice. He’s still developing his ego. Keith, how do you feel?”

“Like I want to punch myself in the dick”

Rieva giggled at him

“We’ll the moon is in the sky. But you really do need to strip off. It won’t be long now”

“Can I not?”

“And have Lance sew your clothes back together? I think he’s having a hard enough time as it is. The house has never looked cleaner”

“Lance cleans all the time”

“Ah, but this time he cleaned Blue’s litter tray twice, before crying when she messed it up a third time. Now, clothes off!”

Keith hid himself behind Lance’s roses to strip. Matt and Rieva not caring as they stripped off in the backyard. Matt scolded for not picking up his clothes. Keith didn’t get how Matt’s ego could take it... and look happy about it. Whistling as he dropped his pants, Keith glared at Rieva who clapped her hands

“Take it off!”

“Fuck off”

Matt chuckled at him. Keith wanted to thump him

“Oooh, this is going to be so much fun. Have you gone over ground rules?”

Rieva shook her head

“Not yet. But you can, if you’d like?”

“Okay, man! Listen up. Rieva is my mate. She sets where we go and how far we go. If we get horny, you go away. I’m not to blame if you come too close to my mate. That’d be like me watching you and Lance have sex... actually, that wouldn’t be too bad, but it’d be more like me being in the middle of it and I’d prefer to keep my balls. You stay with us. If you get lost, stay where you are. We can sniff you out. You don’t come back to the house until the sunrises again. No chasing humans and no going near town. Pack playing is a thing. We fight and we bite, but it’s not to hurt each other. Oh! Don’t wake Lance up. And don’t try to hump a stray dog... What am I forgetting?”

“The most important thing. You’ll be overwhelmed. You’ll want to run. Let yourself run. It’s good for you. It gets the good feelings going. You’ll only be able to partly control your ego, so you’ll howl and do all sorts of wolf things that you don’t need to be embarrassed about. You’ll probably feel really horny too”

This didn’t sound fun. Rieva and Matt kept staring at him

“What?”

“We’re waiting for you to come out of there”

“I don’t think I want to”

“Dude, get used to the nudity. Babe, can I shift now?”

“If you want to. I can watch Keith”

“As long as that’s all you do”

Rieva wrapped her arms around Matt, the pair sharing a very passionate kiss. He used to kiss Lance like that. He missed Lance. Why couldn’t Lance be a werewolf? Then he’d be able to be with him... Shifting into a wolf, Keith noticed things he hadn’t noticed before when the pair had turned. Like the way Matt’s bones cracked in a way that sounded like agony. Lance looked so cute when he “batted out”. A little ball of anger that fit nicely under Keith’s chest and fed off his fingers with those razor sharp teeth of his.

Nudging at Rieva’s leg, Rieva ruffled the fur between Matt’s ears

“I’ll join you soon. Why don’t you race to the back fence and back, warm up a bit for tonight?”

Matt nudged up into Rieva’s hand, before fixing Keith in the gaze of his yellow eyes. Keith feeling like someone had doused him in cold water. Rieva was Matt’s mate. If he touched her, Matt would tear his throat out. How this was going to be fun, Keith didn’t know.

Uncomfortable being naked, Keith sat on the grass. Blades stabbing into his bare arse as he hugged his knees to his chest and waited for something to happen. His butt felt wet and he didn’t like it. With his keen sense of smell, he knew he wasn’t sitting where Matt had peed. He’d never noticed how much things smelt. From outside he could smell the scent of tea on the air. He’d heard Lance answer the door to Coran. Lance knew he was here, but he hadn’t come out... and Keith didn’t like it

“Stop thinking. Let the feeling build”

Easy for Rieva to say. She wasn’t stuck in this weird arse situation. Looking back at the house, he wanted Lance to appear in the doorway

“He won’t come out. It’s safer for him and your twins to stay inside”

“He doesn’t even want me here”

Rieva smacked his arm

“Don’t be stupid”

“He wanted to know how to be human again. He doesn’t like me like this”

“He adores you”

“That’s why I’m here and he couldn’t care less”

“If you’re going to be like this, I’ll leave you alone for your first turn”

“No one asked you stay! Go on then”

“Damn it. We both know I wouldn’t. Being a werewolf isn’t too terrible”

“Says you”

“Yes. Says me. Both Matt and I enjoy a relative non limiting normal life. It is possible... oh, I’m going to shift... I can feel the changing coming. It’ll hurt for your first time, but as fast as your body is breaking, it is healing. The more you change your form, the less it’ll hurt”

Rieva shifted into her wolf form, howling at Matt who was running around like an idiot. It disturbed Keith that he could see the pair. Running over to his mate, he tackled Rieva down, Rieva nipping at Matt’s ear, before looking at Keith as if to ask him why he hadn’t turned. How should he know? He was sitting. The slimmest line of red had already disappeared. Maybe he was broken wolf? That’d be hilarious. And just about on par with his life. Opening his mouth to the tell pair to fuck off, he felt the bones in his hands start to shift, horrified as his skin slowly rippled and tuffs to fur pushed through. The pain was immense, yet he couldn’t help but scream when that pain hit his chest and he could literally feel his ribs cracking. Rieva was right. The pain was weird, he could feel it, then came this almost rush of release on its heels.

Turning for the first time took time. His body writhing on the grass before the pain finally left and he was left feeling limp. Looking down to his hands, he saw big black paws. With all the grace of Kosmo after taking a thermometer up the butt, Keith rose to his feet, everything seemed so much bigger, clearer... with a growl, he got that Matt wanted him to follow him. Keith trying to work out how to move his legs. He felt like he looked like one of those cats from the videos where the owner puts cardboard rolls on their legs and they walk funny. He didn’t like it. He swayed like he was drunk. He could smell way too much. The dew on the grass. The birds in the trees... and his hearing... He could hear the TV on in the house, but somehow knew Lance wasn’t watching it. Miserably failing at walking, his legs got tangled and he fell.

Matt didn’t laugh at him. Keith confused by the fellow wolf’s actions as he trotted over started pushing into Keith’s side. Oh. Matt was trying to get him back on his feet... his feet that felt weirdly big. They’d said he’d lose control... was he supposed to be thinking in wolf? Was he thinking in wolf and his brain translating to human? Or was he thinking in wolf and just knew what it meant? Raising his moist nose, he sniffed the air. Something smelt really, really good... and he wanted to pee on it. Growling at him, Matt practically shoved him onto his feet. Keith stretching out each step. He knew how to human walk, but four legs... they didn’t move like his arms and legs. His ego was laughing at him. Mocking him. It was so weird. It didn’t have an actual voice yet he understood it so clearly. He was a wolf. He was a werewolf. Top of the chain. His actions were disgracing himself and the werewolf community.

Not moving fast enough, Matt nipped on his ear. Keith letting out a whine so pathetic he wanted to be scooped up like when Kosmo was a puppy and carried around. He could scent Lance way too clearly. His ego like “Who the fuck is this!?”, while his heart longed to see Lance and show him he’d made it through to this stage. Casting his gaze up to the moon, he really could feel something there. An imaginary tug. Almost as if the moon was so much closer to Earth than it should be. He couldn’t see the craters on the moon, yet it shone pretty damn prettily up there in the blue black inkyness of the sky.

Moving back to his side, Rieva nudged his front foot with her equally wet nose. Matt growling at the pair of them as Keith breathed in her scent. Parts of him were tingling, but not for her. What was this? 30 seconds in and he was horny? Is that what it was always like? He could smell Matt wanted Rieva as badly as Rieva wanted Matt. He wanted to bite Matt, but this was all so weird. Nudging his foot again, Keith took a cautious step forward, stretching out his leg then not sure how to make the rest of his body reach his front paw. The grass was squishy... squishy and he could feel the grains of sand against his paws. He didn’t like it. His body wanted to run, but there he was... not even able to walk. Whining sadly, Rieva huffed, knocking into him, and making him fall back over. Why did he have to have four legs?! No one needed four legs! Is this why octopi had 8. Because four sucked?

Rieva and Matt ended up boxing him in. Keith moving his legs to match their steps. He felt huge compared to them. Their paws seemed nicer than his huge black ones. His huge black ones just wanted to trip him over... He must have got the hang of it though, before he knew he’d done it, he’d reached the back fencing with the pair of them. Casting a glance back at Lance’s, he could still pick up traces of Lance. He didn’t want to cross the fence line, but his new pack gave him no choice. Rieva going first to show him how it was done, then when he failed and got his legs tangled up again, Matt grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him over the wooden fencing and off towards the wooded area in the distance.

[cthulhuoflongisland]

Fem Roadrat fic below, they’re in love and they bang:

They tore out of Australia like Mako’s fist through a paper screen.

That had been the easy part. The mad dash in the raft to get out, fueled by adrenaline and the knowledge that if Junkrat kept running her gigantic mouth, Mako would be out of a job quicker than it began. The world deserves this, she tells herself as Junkrat chatters away beside her, contained energy making her muscles shake and her voice come out high and giggling. She can’t let this scrawny slip of a woman get choked out before she gives this godforsaken planet what it’s earned, after all.

Junkrat fills Mako’s silence easily, fingers twitching and eyes wild. She never stops for more than a minute, but forgets frequently what she’s talking about. She has no regret or remorse for what she plans to do, or the destruction she plans to bring. She delights, in fact, at the possibility of it without an ounce of shame. Without tears or hesitation or any reflection at all.

The world deserves this, Mako tells herself.

The world deserves this.

--------------------

The hard part comes much later, shoved into a tiny motel room with one bathroom and a shower so small it wouldn’t fit half of Mako’s body. There’s a single queen-sized bed, and for now Mako’s claimed it, thumbing through a water-stained romance novel as Junkrat tries and fails to relax.

The heart pounding exhilaration has receded, after a lot of heists and daring escapes, and now they’re forced to hole up in places like these between jobs. At first, the novelty of vaguely soft sheets and tiny bottles of shampoo were enough to stave off Junkrat’s complaints, but she’s bent over the desk now, tinkering with her arm and periodically letting out growls of frustration. More accurately, Junkrat is cycling between taking apart and reassembling her prosthetic for twenty minutes at a time and then pacing around the room with a sour look on her face while Mako silently rereads the same paragraph about Elizabeth tearing her corset off to succumb to her base desires. 

The cycle breaks when Junkrat flings herself onto Mako’s belly in a display of aggravation that’s so familiar at this point that Mako doesn’t bother to push her away or tell her to knock it off, or even look up from her book. 

“ Roadie.”

She turns the page.

“ Roadie.”

“ What.”

Junkrat tries to hide the stupid smile she gets on her face every time Mako responds to her, like Mako hasn’t learned to pick up on it. She wriggles to a position where she can look up into the eyeholes of Mako’s mask, which requires her to shove her head under the romance novel Mako has yet to put down and rest her pointy, pointy chin on Mako’s rather expansive breasts.

“ Was just wonderin’ when you’d be finished.”

Mako rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, too used to this game to be truly irritated. “ Won’t be for a while if you keep this up.”

Junkrat squishes her sharp cheek against Mako’s cleavage, like they’re well-worn pillows and not human flesh. Mako’s gotten used to the sharp pinch of her, and lays the book down with a sigh. She lays her massive palm on top of Junkrat’s head, pushing her face into Mako’s chest, which makes her cackle and squirm, like she couldn’t suffocate and die there if Mako willed it. Mako ignores the fluttering feeling in her stomach when Junkrat stills and relaxes, only barely twitching when Mako withdraws her hand.

Those eyes meet hers as Junkrat begins to chatter again, subdued and almost focused. Mako silently strokes a thumb over her jaw as she listens, absorbing nothing, not willing to acknowledge that she could spend forever like this.

---------------------------------------

Junkrat stands there, wreathed in flame as she throws her head back and howls with laughter, like all she could ever want is this destruction. Like it fuels her. Makes her. She’s nothing but fire in the vague shape of a woman, lithe muscles glistening in the warm light. If Mako were a weaker woman, she’d fall to her knees and worship her in awed silence, but instead she looks away and stares at the shattered glass of the suits’ offices, as if she can’t see Junkrat’s reflection in the pieces. 

She loves her then. It burns (God, it burns) just like the heat that radiates off of her, her blonde hair wild and stained with soot, a reminder that Junkrat claws her way into everything and everyone with no regard for anything but herself. Mako savors it as she fires bullets into the back of another snivelling billionaire, ready to let it cave her chest in. They all deserve what they get, and Mako meets their empty pleas with the pull of her trigger. The ones that charge her find their skulls crushed and their lips silent, and it’s only when all of them are dead that she realizes her lungs are rattling and she’s bent over a broken desk. 

Junkrat’s fingers are at her back, scorching hot, and suddenly her mask is filled with gas. Mako gasps it in and feels her lungs clear with every breath, Junkrat’s metal hand pressing the canister to its opening until it clatters to the floor, empty. Her smile is wild and crooked as it ever was, and God, she has no idea. No idea what Mako would do to kiss that smile, to keep it on her lips all the time. 

Mako can’t pretend anymore after that, but stays silent. 

There are some things she doesn’t deserve.

-----------------------------------

In another motel, a coast away somewhere on Long Island, Mako lays next to Rat on a bed too small for either of them. It’s four in the morning, too dark to see and too cold for summer, but Junkrat has been talking for hours now, mostly to herself. Mako lets her, knowing that she’ll eventually trick her brain into shutting off, and quietly enjoys the drone of Junkrat’s mismatched ideas. She’s half-way to dozing when Junkrat turns to face her, groping for her arm in the dark.

“ You listenin’ to me?”

Mako grunts, not in the mood to speak.

“ I said, what was it like? B’fore the omnium?”

Mako grits her teeth, letting out a long breath. She hates this question. It always comes back to this, and no amount of silence can deter Junkrat from asking.

“ Less fucked up. Bugs were a lot smaller.”

She can practically feel Junkrat’s eyes roll, and she slaps the mattress in frustration. “ Fuck’s sake, you really weren’t listenin’, were you? I was talkin’ about pickin’ up girls. Used to be easier, didn’t it?”

Mako really must have been half-asleep, because she has no fucking idea how Junkrat stumbled onto this subject. She’s suddenly wide awake, not sure if she’s about to give herself away.

“...Some ways. Depends on why you were pickin’ ‘em up.” Fucking got a lot easier in the wasteland. There were no more nice bars for Mako to sit at, making women blush and taking their numbers home. It all became physical, rougher and faster and leaving Mako wanting for something deeper.

Rat shifts, incentivized by such a long response. “ Yeah? Bet you were good at it.” Her voice lowers a little, and her hand stays on Mako’s bicep. “ Ladies love the big quiet types. Ain’t ever had much luck, m’self, squawkin’ ‘n spillin’ my drinks.”

Mako sits up, her stomach turning at where this is headed. She can’t bring herself to shrug Rat off and go back to sleep, though. Her heart pounds against her rib-cage, and it’s as if she’s found something she’d thought had burned away years ago. Her mouth opens, and she can’t stop the words from spilling out of her throat. 

“ You’re young. Pretty. Wait a while longer and someone’ll snatch you up.”

Junkrat jerks away, like Mako’s reached out and shocked her. A truck passes by and the light that blares through the window lets Mako see her face, chapped lips parted in surprise and those big, amber eyes wider than Mako’s ever seen them. She wonders if Rat can see her, too, and if the brief flash of light makes her look half as perfect.

“ Since when d’you think I’m pretty?”

Mako pauses, unsure of how to answer, but Rat snatches up the silence and fills it herself. 

“ Are you tellin’ me we coulda been fucking this whole time an’ here I was thinkin’ you didn’t like me?”

“Jesus,” says Mako, rubbing a hand over her face, “ I said you’re pretty. I didn’t say I wanted to fist you.”

“ But that’s what you meant!” Rat is suddenly climbing on top of her, jittery and overjoyed. “ I know I ain’t pretty. That’s just what people say when they wanna get in my pants.”

Mako’s heart sinks, her face softening as she strokes the hair out of Rat’s face and behind her ear. “ Rat.” Her hand runs down to trace over Junkrat’s features, worshipping them in the dark instead of just fantasizing about it. “ You’re pretty.”

Rat slows, awed by Mako’s admiration. She lays flat against Mako’s body, so their faces are inches apart, her breath tickling Mako’s cheek. Mako wonders how many stupid men have called her ugly, told her she was too bony, too tall, too strange to be attractive. Mako would kill all of them with her bare hands if she could find them.

“ I’m not saying that to fuck you. I just want you to know.”

Rat nuzzles against Mako’s palm like an affectionate cat, and then steals a kiss from Mako’s scarred, unsuspecting lips. Her nose pokes Mako’s cheek, and her back arches when Mako’s hands, huge and strong and warm, wrap around her tiny waist. Mako feels herself fall into that heat almost instinctively, her surprise melting away and giving rise to slow pleasure.

“ I think yer pretty, too,” says Rat as she pulls away with a smack, filling Mako’s silence for the millionth time, “ Real pretty. You make me wetter ‘n a hurricane.”

Mako snorts, but doesn’t take her hands off Rat, who melds against her like liquid metal. “ Romantic.” She kneads Rat’s tense shoulders, and lays her chin against the top of her head. Rat never could beat around the bush.

“ I’m tryin’ my best!” Rat squishes Mako’s cheeks together, her metal leg catching the sheets as she drags herself up Mako’s body, hips already squirming. “ ‘s kinda hard to set the mood when I know you’d fuck me now!”

“ Never said that.” Mako’s hands, reaching down to squeeze Rat’s hips and feel her shiver, betray her cool tone. She’s already restraining herself, hungry but tender. She’d never forgive herself if she cracked Rat’s bones or left bruises just because she’s been so starved. She deserves to be savored. Treasured. 

Loved.

Rat starts to kiss up her neck, and Mako moans, feeling that wicked smile in the hollow of her shoulder. She feels up Rat’s flat ass, massaging those bony hips that never stop jerking against her, biting her lip at the sensation of a woman’s feverish flesh finally under her fingers again.

Rat wriggles out of the torn tank-top she throws on every cold night, and God, dear God, Mako can’t help but slide her hands up to Rat’s soft, bite-sized tits, pinching them just to hear her gasp. She wants to bury her face in them, feel Rat’s mechanical fingers tangle in her hair as she covers her chest in dark hickies. The smell of her, gunpowder and smoke and faint sweat, is enough to drive Mako wild with long suppressed desire, her head swimming as she tries to make Rat out in the dark.

Rat has no time for such romantic gestures. She flicks the table lamp on after a few times fumbling in the dark, panting, “ Lemme see you, Hoggy, c’mon, lemme see-,” and delights when Mako is suddenly bathed in warm light, maskless and flushed and letting out low, deep groans as Rat grinds against her crotch. Mako’s chest swells with pride when Rat licks her lips, stripping down to nothing and lifting Mako’s worn t-shirt in such a frenzy it’s as if she can’t help herself. She leans down to roll a nipple between her teeth, and Mako holds her there, huffing through her nose.

“ Rat,” she wheezes, “ Slower.”

She pulls Rat’s head out of the cleavage she’s created by pushing Mako’s breasts together and kisses her again, overtaking her thin lips to feel her melt and shiver, both hands grabbing at Mako’s loose hair. Mako squeezes her hips, her ass, her thighs, never hard enough to bruise, and listens to her muffled moans as Rat desperately slides her tongue into Mako’s mouth, tracing her sharp incisors. She vibrates with impatience, pawing at Mako’s covered crotch as she’s held there before she jerks her head out of Mako’s hands.

“ Fuck,” she breathes, still shaking as she presses her forehead to Mako’s, “ please, Hog. I can’t wait no more. I can’t, I can’t, please please please-”

Mako can’t deny her what she wants. What she deserves. She lifts her by the waist effortlessly and sets her spread thighs down on her face, not unlike she’s imagined thousands of times. Rat cries out for her tongue, which pushes into her slick, warm pussy without hesitation and pistons in and out of her until Rat shrieks so loud someone pounds their fist against the wall in the room next to theirs. She lets out high, begging whimpers when Mako sucks her clit between her thick, practiced lips, her thighs pillowing Mako’s head even as she cums, tongue lolling out as her voice chokes in her throat. 

Mako feels the familiar burn deep in her gut as Rat slides back down to kiss her cheeks, her wide nose, every scratch and mole and acne scar. She rubs her cheek to Mako’s like it doesn’t feel like sandpaper, so lovely in her nakedness that Mako can barely stand it. She yanks Mako’s pajama pants down low enough to stick the fingers of her flesh hand inside, still kissing her and murmuring slurred praise. She furiously rubs Mako’s clit, engorged with arousal as two long fingers slip inside her without any struggle at all. She moans for Rat as she’s fingerfucked by shaking hands, which pound the spot inside her that makes her roll her hips and kiss Rat’s pleased grin until she clamps around her and bites her long, tanned neck to keep from having the cranky heterosexual yuppie next door report them to the manager.

She lays there half exposed as she catches her breath, her arms wrapped around Rat’s waist as the lanky little minx snuggles against her, grinning deliriously. She’s so tender when she kisses Rat’s forehead that she feels her heart clench inside her chest, gently rubbing circles into Rat’s naked ass as her muscles relax. 

Rat in turn feels Mako’s biceps up with lazy joy, giggling in between pants.

“ Ain’t never thought that was gonna happen outside my head.”

Mako grunts in agreement, and Rat begins to babble again. She passes out to the sweet cacophony with the light still glowing beside them, and doesn’t wake up until noon the next day.

----------------------------------

Things don’t change as much as Mako worries. Rat is no less fierce in battle, not regretful or ashamed of what they do every night they can manage. She holds Mako’s arm tighter now, calls her by her real name when they’re alone, screams at anyone who openly looks Mako up and down to sneer at her to keep their eyes off her girlfriend. She is just as rough and jagged as always, and Mako is so proud. So grateful to have this gleaming piece of desert glass stuck to her side, stealing her lingerie and black jewelry from the malls they loot. They murder the people who’ve earned their death, steal what they want, and have their wanted posters hung up in teenage girls’ bedrooms. 

They leave the States to hide in some obscure Sicilian village where no one could understand their accents even if they were speaking the right dialect. People give them a wide berth when they sit together in the bar there, holding hands as casually as Rat orders Mako the most expensive cocktail on the indecipherable menu by jabbing at the picture and demanding it in some of the most atrocious Italian ever spoken.

When it comes, pink and sweet as Mako used to enjoy all the time, Rat slaps her on the back with a wide grin.

“ Go on, mate! You deserve it!”

“ Yeah,” Mako tips her mask up and smiles, “ Guess I do.”

[hypnoshatesme]

All Eyes

The world was over but the hallway stayed the same, even if hallways outside ceased to exist as they used to. Gerry spent a lot of time in it. So did Michael. They had to do little to feed anymore as the only thing certain about the new world was the fear. So they often spent their time in the hallways, doing nothing in particular, and, sometimes, everything.

It was the closest Gerry had ever come to having a normal home where he spent more time in it rather than hunting down books or doing research to find them. In a way, it felt nice. It didn't matter that his home gave him a headache. It was slight. He'd had worse.

Gerry was sitting by the open door, as he often did, smoking and watching the world burn, metaphorically and literally. His eyes were eager to drink all in, even the ones covered by clothes seeing just fine, seeing details he realistically shouldn't be able to see.

His original two eyes were looking into the middle distance, not focusing on anything as he drank in the suffering. Part of him wished it wouldn’t feel quite so natural, but he knew that was pointless to linger on. This was his life now. And Gerry wasn’t sure whether he liked it worse than how it used to be before. He probably should.

Too long, too thin arms wrapped around him from behind as a too heavy head came to rest on his own. Neither felt right, but this sense of wrongness had become a comfort. It still made Gerry's head buzz slightly, and he welcomed it. He wasn't completely numb to everything, at least.

"Enjoying a meal?", the words fell from Michael’s lips directly into Gerry’s ears, like it was talking directly into them, not resting its head on top of Gerry’s.

It used to give him a headache, that voice, but now the distorted many layered noise made him buzz pleasantly and he leaned into the hug. Gerry couldn’t really bring himself to like this less than before.

"Yeah.", he mumbled, flicking the ashes of his cigarette down. The door was on some kind of high building or tower right now. It didn't matter. The world looked the same everywhere. Gerry could see.

Michael's finger came to trace it's way down the side of gerrys neck, around the eye right under his left ear, currently trained on some poor bastard being fucked over by the Stranger. Gerry shivered. The eye had done little to make that spot any less sensitive.

The fingers wandered further, between the cluster of eyes on his neck, all watching different horrors. They were forced to blink as Michael dragged its finger between them. With this cluster, Michael had no problem getting through while his finger kept its three dimensional shape. Some of the eyes were too close to each other for that.

Michael brought its hand down Gerry’s arm, eyes there fluttering close, irritated by being interrupted in their watching. It didn't bother Gerry much personally. He loved the slight electricity of Michael’s touch.

Gerry had plenty other eyes that were still wide and taking in the fear that had now become the only thing really there on earth. It was a feast, really. Gerry hummed as Michael digged his sharp fingernails into Gerry’s arm, feeling the muscle.

"What about you?", Gerry mumbled, leaning his head back a little. It did little to see Michael’s face. His chin was out of focus, though, and Gerry wasn’t sure if it was his brain or if Michael was just not bothering to keep its shape somewhat.

Michael chuckled, "Mhm, there's currently quite a few lost in the hallways. Been making for a good snack for quite some time now."

Gerry nodded, turning his head around to press his lips against Michael's throat. It felt as wrong as ever, and Michael made some sort of noise that sounded like a pleased buzzing. Gerry grinned at that.

Gerry had wondered in the beginning if he would ever run into any of Michael’s snacks while wandering the hallways. He had asked, once, watching Michael changing the colours of the hallway out of boredom, losing its form more and more as it was having, what Gerry assumed, some sort of fun. It would be cute, if watching Michael dissolve into spirals and patterns and colours, drifting apart, moving together, everything at once wouldn’t still make Gerry’s headache spike.

"Only of you want.", Michael had chuckled, shrill and gleeful, and Gerry had to control the urge to press his hands to his ears. It was too late anyways. The sound was already in his head and it was making his brain vibrate in his skull. "I don't mind sharing food.", Michael laughed, its laugh head-splitting and Gerry managed a pained grin, hands clenched into fists underneath his folded arms over his chest. His knees felt a little wobbly.

Michael was coming together again, and then it was right in front of Gerry, wrapping too-flexible arms around Gerry’s neck, “Too much?”, it giggled, and this time Gerry’s head didn’t feel like bursting.

It leaned its head against Gerry’s, ignoring the fact that a neck should not be able to bend like that. That was a big positive with Michael, Gerry guessed. There was little problem in pressing it close and kissing it at the same time if Gerry wanted, despite the height difference. Anatomy was a mere suggestion to it. And by now Gerry was getting used enough to it for his brain to not shut down at every wrong twist. Well, there was more fucked up shit going on outside. That probably helped with desensitising.

“Do you want to meet them?”, it asked, and its voice could barely contain the excitement radiating from its form.

Gerry shook his head slightly. He didn’t feel like adding to Michael’s playthings’ horror. Well, part of him did. Part of him was very curious about what their reactions might be. He wasn’t outside much anymore. He didn’t know how people might react, if they were still present enough to really see him. If they weren’t consumed by a different fear already.

Eventually, Gerry would probably give in to that curiosity, as always. But for now, he was fine, closing the gap to press his lips to what passed for lips on Michael, arms unfolding to bury in the ever-moving curls that eagerly wrapped themselves around Gerry’s fingers.

Gerry was used to his new existence. It had been a gradual process after the Eye took over. He had known that he was becoming too close to it before that already. It had been surprisingly easy to give up his humanity. He had been desperate. He hadn’t want to die yet.

And Gerry had always been too curious for his own good. He couldn’t have resisted for very long.

The eyes had started to appear when the tower became the centre of the new world and Gerry started to be able to see . It took some getting used to and he was thankful that they appeared slowly, new eyes breaking through skin at seemingly random. One more eye to watch another misery with.

Gerry had been dreading they'd take over his whole body, but after some time he had known that was it. There was still plenty of skin that was without eyes overall, through the eyes were often spread out so it wouldn't go long before there was another. Gerry didn't think he would care anymore. Except that he quite liked the feeling of Michael's fingers finding those patches, mapping them out with too sharp fingers. They didn't feel half bad when brushing over his eyes, but there was something about the spots that were still Gerry as he used to be that made Gerry shiver pleasantly.

Michael had let him stay in the hallways to give him a break from the overwhelming new experience of seeing. It was easier to get used to it that way. He couldn't see very well in the hallways. It distorted his vision. The eyes were eager to get out and take things in again, twitching and moving most of the time he was inside the hallways.

Gerry liked to draw it out, see how long he could go before the urge, the curiosity became too much and he’d had to open a door to look outside. Otherwise, it didn’t bother him. He joked about fitting in better, that way, watching Michael’s ever shifting and glitching form from where he was laying in Michael’s lap. Michael would be an absolute pain to draw, Gerry thought, and grinned. Michael laughed, high and painfully beautiful, or maybe beautifully painful.

It was hard to think straight with Michael’s long fingers touching his face tenderly, lovingly. Gerry would never figure out if it was due to Michael - or the hallway - fucking with his brain, or because of the fact that somehow Michael put himself together enough to clearly convey those feelings and that was just a little too much for Gerry to take. He was still very much himself, in that aspect. He sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the touch of Michael’s finger against his lips.

All the mirrors in the hallways made Gerry stop getting too bothered by his reflection, too. Michael had offered to remove them for him when it caught Gerry stare at his reflection too intensely, looking anywhere between disturbed to outright disapproving. Gerry had shook his head. He was determined to get used to it. He was curious to see where the next one would be, to keep track of them. It was fine.

He did wish the eyes would have all been the same colour, though. They were messing up his aesthetic. Michael laughed when he heard Gerry complain about it once.

“I always told you some colour would look good on you.”, it had said, playfully twirling a strand of Gerry’s hair around its finger. Gerry had been relieved to find out that it had just stayed black for good after he started changing.

He huffed out an amused laugh, “And yet you seemed to be unable to resist the black.”

Michael tugged at the strand, covering Gerry’s mouth with its own as he let out a small whine. “Hasn’t changed.”, it muttered against Gerry’s lips, and Gerry rolled his eyes, but before he could say more Michael closed in again, wrapping its arms around Gerry and pulling him flush against its form.

Gerry let his cigarette fall to the ground beneath. Michael was tracing the eye at the back of his hand, seemingly enjoying finding out just how close it could go before the eye closed.

"You done?", it asked, pressing a kiss to Gerry’s forehead, right where his hair began. Its neck really shouldn’t bent like this, and Gerry was glad it did. The kiss felt nice and Gerry sighed.

"Think so.", he mumbled.

Michael got up and pulled Gerry to his feet and turning him around to face it. It pressed a kiss to Gerry’s cheek - the one relatively devoid of eyes - before pressing its lips to the cluster of eyes on the other, lingering there as it took Gerry’s hand in its own and squeezed gently. Gerry could never tell if Michael did this because he liked annoying the eyes or because it might like them.

Michael had been quite interested in the eyes from the beginning, fingers constantly coming to touch them whenever they were sitting around relaxing, Michael usually sprawled over Gerry’s lap at some ridiculous angle, barely bothering to keep his form humanesque since Gerry didn’t seem to mind it that much.

He used to keel over, overwhelmed with perceiving Michael’s chaos, but now he just scrunched up his nose a little, staring up - down? - at the ceiling - floor? - of the hallway. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered and nothing ever was right, and Gerry had come to just roll with it.

"Do they feel like eyes?", Michael had asked him, once, early on.

Gerry looked down at it, regretting it instantly as his headache spiked for a moment. He bit his lip and swallowed a grunt. Michael was slowly coming back into focus, as much as it ever did. It started to look vaguely human again.

Gerry sighed, running his fingers through hair that curled and wrapped around his fingers, seemingly caressing them, "Do you have any idea what eyes actually feel like, Michael?"

"No.", Michael said cheerfully, grin wide and sharp, but a little lopsided on its face, a little warped at the edges. “I was just curious. They react like your eyes when I touch them.”

“When have you ever touched my actual eyes?”, Gerry raised an eyebrow.

“That one time in the archive? It was an accident.”, its grin said otherwise.

Gerry took a moment before he remembered. That had definitely not been an accident. Gerry had been spacing out while Michael had been talking about something or another, or both at the same time, probably, and was suddenly jolted back into reality because Michael’s sharp fingertip was suddenly dangerously close to his eye.

Gerry scowled at the memory, making Michael laugh his shrill, shattering laugh, that still got under Gerry’s skin, but maybe in a slightly different way than when he had first heard it, “I remember now…”, he was trying to pull his hand away from Michael’s hair but the strands didn’t let go and he sighed, continuing to run his fingers through the too sharp hair. “Don’t do that again.”

“Why? You have eyes to spare now.”, it chuckled, and it reverberated around them until it seemed like the hallways were chuckling. In a sense, Gerry guessed, they were.

“‘Tis unpleasant. My eyes haven’t changed much. I’d like to keep them.”

Michael reached up, tracing Gerry’s cheek, the one that was relatively eyeless, “How sentimental.”

Gerry grinned, “You’re one to talk. You never change too much from Michael’s form.”

“I am Michael.”, it grinned.

Gerry returned the grin, “You really aren’t.”

Michael’s mouth curled into a cheerful smile, “That’s just as probable.”

Silence had settled as Gerry kept petting its hair, the strands becoming more and more staticy as Michael melted into the touch, then snapping back into something more corporal when it couldn’t actually feel Gerry’s fingers too well anymore.

“I think I want you to keep them, too.”, it eventually said, eyes focused on Gerry’s face.

Gerry looked back down, “Hm?”

It smiled, “Your eyes. They’re still the prettiest of all.”

Gerry laughed, “Is that so.”

It nodded, “I checked.”, the smile was toothy - still too many teeth, it never got that right, which was probably the point - as it brought a thin finger to trace Gerry’s jaw.

It was endearing to look at, adorable, really, and Gerry stopped questioning the fact that he thought that way a long time ago. He put his hand over Michael’s, running his fingers along the too big, too thin hand. The skin felt all off, but it was closer than it had been in the start. It didn’t cut anymore, at least. Michael was looking at his eyes now, the original two, smiling somewhat deamily. It looked really off, and Gerry chuckled. Its giggled.

Gerry had asked it, once, when there was sparsely a spot on him left without an eye, if it bothered it. He had sounded genuinely curious. Michael hovered over Gerry’s bare form, watching those eyes twitch and rapidly move, trying to see, to no avail. But they still tried, only the two original ones trained on Michael, heavy-lidded and expecting.

A couple of the others would join if Michael waited long enough, curiosity getting the better of them and, well, there was little else to look at for so many eyes in the hallway. Michael liked to wait, liked to guess which one would turn to meet its eyes, would like to give itself more eyes just to return all those gazes equally. Gerry rolled his original eyes when it did.

Michael licked what went for lips as about a dozen eyes settled on it, and it brought its long, pointed fingers down to travel up Gerry's sides, enjoying the bumps of the eyeballs underneath as they closed where his fingers passed. The noises falling from Gerry’s lips were delicious and Michael shivered, hands travelling over Gerry’s chest.

"Are you finally going to kiss me?”, Gerry gasped, when Michael’s fingers started wandering down his stomach, as it stared down at him, eyes frantic and wanting. Gerry somehow still managed to fit some annoyance in his breathy tone.

Michael laughed, "Mhm, I love when you get all impatient like this.", it purred, bending down, stopping when its face was mere inches away from Gerry’s. It could feel Gerry’s breath hitching as Michael brought his hands to his hips, thumb running over the navel piercing on its way.

Gerry looked up at it, meeting its eyes, "You love the weirdest shit, Michael.", he bit his lip as he felt Michael’s hand wander further south.

"You included?"

Gerry groaned at that, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”, he buried his hands in Michael’s hair and finally pulled him into a bruising kiss, face burning a bright pink. Michael didn’t miss that, eyes never closing if it didn't want to - and it never did when they were looking at Gerry - and giggled into the kiss, before kissing back.

No, the eyes didn't bother Michael at all. There was something quite thrilling about it, a pleasant tingle running down its warped spine when it could feel the many eyes focusing on it. Michael wondered, distantly, if something might be wrong with it.

Ah, but that was the whole point, wasn't it?

[talesmaniac89]

Choices Sam Ending - 6

New to Choices? Start Here

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Summary: Choices is an interactive Supernatural choose your own adventure story where your choices determine the outcome and whether it’s a Dean x Reader or Sam x Reader. Go to the intro to start your story now!

Triggers: Dark, curses, heartbreak, loss, violence, angst, mental torment, fear of abandonment, loneliness.

Choice: [You chose to kill the witch]

Y/N = Your Name | Y/L/N = Your Last Name

---

Feeling the anger flood your body, searing your veins with white hot rage, you clenched your jaw and lined up your gun with her wide blue eyes. Fuck. The witch killing bullets were just too easy. You wanted to hurt her. Really hurt her. Not just a bullet. That was too quick, too painless. After the torment she was putting Sam through, she deserved to get back tenfold what she’d given. 

Taking a step forward you still kept your gun pointed at her. Using the threat of steel to keep those painted lips shut in case she thought she could slip in a quick spell and send you flying across the room. But as your boot connected with the carpet again, she clearly chose to increase her own future load of pain instead. A manicured hand reaching out to where Sam was standing lost and frozen. 

The French tipped talons weren’t touching him. No… But they were proof that she was close enough to do so. To harm him, if she wanted to.

“No no no… Don’t come too close now. You don’t want him hurt do you?” The pain in your eyes betrayed you, and helped the witch find her voice again. Once more believing she had the upper hand. That she could win against the bullets in the chamber and the anger in your blazing eyes. 

“What did you do to him? Fix it,” You could hear your voice trembling. Hear the raw, rough sound of agony they twisted into, as the broken pieces of your heart cut up the words before you spat them at her. 

Yet, you couldn’t make yourself care. All that mattered was Sam. So, what if one stupid reject from an Audrey Hepburn lookalike competition thought you were weak? She was going to die, and you, you were her executioner. Whether she knew it or not. 

Yet, apparently the witch only found weakness in your shattered voice, not the rage simmering below. Her own ego and misplaced feelings of victory only grew as she barked a laugh at you. Staying just within reach of Sam, she kept her blue eyes on him as she spoke, obviously still not brave enough to look down the barrel of your revolver.

“Lover boy here... He’s trapped in his own head. Can’t see a thing...” The witch in front of you drawled the words. Just echoing what she’d already told you. Like she had all the time in the world, like her death wasn’t just a small squeeze of a single trigger finger away. Hiding in the shadows between your broken heartbeats.

“You already said that. Get to the fucking point,” You took another heavy step forward as you laced your words in endless promises of hurt past anything the witch could ever imagine. The demand left your clenched jaw as more of a growl than actual words. 

She somehow managed to keep her back straight, but you could see her attempt at false bravado slipping at the silent threats radiating off you and wrapping like tendrils around her neck. Making her next words shaky and slightly breathless before she found her power again.

“It’s… Uhm… The spell, it’s old. Ancient. In his head he’s here. Or, he was here. But all other life is gone. A world without monsters… No people either for that matter. His own little playground. Doesn’t that sound nice?” By the end of her agonising monologue your roles were once again reversed, her voice stronger where yours were just a pained gasp for air.

“No. It doesn’t,” 

Sam… The same man who feared rejection and loneliness more than anything was all alone. Oh God. Did he think you left him? Was he wandering somewhere in there, lost? Thinking you’d just watched him walk in to deal with the fucking witches all alone and then turned on your heel to run away from him? Leaving him to fight the monsters instead of having his back like you’d always promised you would. Just like how his father handed him a gun instead of wrapping him up in a hug when he spoke of monsters in his closet as a child. Did he think you were just another back turned away from him?

“Well… Either way… It might be nice to some, for the first little while. But...” The damned witch wasn’t giving you time to spiral into the dark depth of your anguish. Speaking up from the darkness that had momentarily clouded your vision and violently pulling you out of it with a voice that sounded like viscous poison to our mind.

“But what,” With the realisation of how much torment the witch had forced on the man you loved, your anger was back, and it was oh so much more than it had been before. Searing rage had blazed, becoming a firestorm. Where there had been dark tendrils of fury chaining her to the spot, they were now the first flames, licking against the witch’s skin and making her flinch.

“I. Asked. You. What?!” Straightening your arms, you made a show of cocking the gun, letting her know exactly what to expect if she didn’t start talking, fast. A contained apocalypse, an explosion, within four white walls as you promised yourself you’d take her down with you. And oh, she could feel it. Threatening to turn that pretty black dress into ash along with her. 

Burn witch, burn.

“But, I mean… He’s… Uhm… It’s been years for him by now,”

“What did you just say?” Your voice betrayed you. Easily extinguishing the fire raging in your chest as your voice broke over the realisation. And though the witch still cowered, she found her voice again in the loss of yours. Signing her own death warrant with words just a little stronger than a cowardly shiver.

“It’s the spell; time works differently in his head. Your boyfriend here, he’s been lost and alone in his own mind for years. All alone. No humans around. Just poor little Sam and the monsters in his closet,”

“Don’t you dare say his name bitch…” Your voice was shaky as you forced your breathing to stay even, to keep the lethal steel pointed at the witch without it trembling along with your body.

Years.

Sam has been stuck in his own mind, lost and alone for years. That realisation alone was enough to turn every last piece of strength left in you into ash as ice replaced fire in your veins. Travelling down the length of your spine and turning your body numb and cold with a pain so unbearable you couldn’t scream, you couldn’t cry, you couldn’t… Breathe (Y/N). You had to breathe, you had to save Sam.

Oh God… Years. 

Sam Winchester, the man with a crippling fear of being abandoned had been deserted in the shadows of his mind for no more than thirty minutes in reality. But to him... To Sam it had been a lifetime of finally seeing all his worst nightmares come true. The one thing he feared more than anything else, yet secretly thought he deserved. In his mind, he was lost & alone. Leaving him thinking that everyone had abandoned him, that he wasn’t good enough.

Yet, he was still looking. Even as your heart shattered into a million small pieces that tore into your lungs and traveled through your veins in an attempt to tear you apart from the inside. Sam was still calling out for Dean. For you. He hadn’t given up. Even in an empty world. He was trying to find his way home. To you.

And that bitch was in the way. She was keeping Sam from finding his way back. Gritting your teeth, you saw red as you took another angry step forward. Fueled by the shattered fragments of your heart and angry acid that was slowly tearing through your veins with echoes of the eternity Sam had spent hurting in the last thirty minutes. 

As you stepped closer, the witch lifted a manicured hand again, reaching out for Sam to stop you in your step. However, this time the threat didn’t end with inches of air between her and him as she let the back of her hand glide against his cheek. Slowly stroking her claws in a mock gesture of care against the clenched and trembling jaw of your lost hunter.

“Get. Your. Hands. Off him,” Clenching your own jaw, you fought the nausea of watching that monster touch Sam. It left a bitter taste in your mouth and a sick, jealous feeling heavy as a ton of bricks in your stomach. You knew you had no right to feel like that. But your body wouldn’t listen to you as something raw and possessive tried to claw its way out of your chest. She wasn’t allowed to touch him. Sam was yours.

As if she could hear your twisted thoughts, heavy in a possessive selfishness that you shouldn’t be feeling, she attempted to laugh at you. But the cowardly attempt at a barked laugh died out in a whine as you stepped forward again with an inhuman growl and raised your gun back up from where it had fallen limply to your side without you noticing.

“Witch killing bullets bitch. Remove your filth from Sam or I’ll do it for you,”

“You wouldn’t…” Her hand was still on Sam’s cheek. Still touching him, a manicured finger tracing the line of his trembling jaw. One French tipped nail against a soft bottom lip teasing a strangled sob from Sam as his clenched jaw loosened. She was touching him, she was torturing him, and it was all too much. Before you even realised what you were doing, you squeezed the trigger.

The bullet exploded from its chamber and straight towards the witch’s skull just as Dean ran into the room.

--- 

You could smell the mix of gunpowder and blood in the air. Taste the copper of your own blood in your mouth from where you’d bitten the inside of your cheek. Somewhere far away you could hear Dean’s voice calling out to you. But nothing really registered. Nothing except for Sam. Standing still and motionless in the middle of the room, the dead witch by his feet. 

You killed her, but Sam… Sam was still lost to you.

Spells normally wore off when you killed the witch that cast them. So why wasn’t it wearing off? Damn it, you should have checked. She did try to warn you and even if you thought it was a lie, you should have checked. 

You should have kept a clear head. But seeing her touch him in such a sickeningly gentle way… Her fingers against lips you’d spent the last year and a half daydreaming about, it had all just been too much when paired with the knowledge of the years passing in Sam’s mind.

Squeezing your eyes shut you swallowed hard as your jaw clenched around the nausea and pain that was sitting heavy in your stomach. You could still hear the gunshot echoing in your ears, feel your finger on the steel of the trigger and the strain of tense arms keeping it raised and pointed at the empty air where the witch had been only moments earlier. Here one second, gone the next… How long did it take to squeeze a trigger? How long had it been since you shot her?  

“(Y/N)! Hey! What’s wrong with Sammy?” As Dean tried to pry the revolver out of your stiff fingers, the warmth of his hand brought you back to reality. The sound of worry and the early warning signs of panic clear in the hunter’s voice as green eyes jumped from your numb and frozen form to his brother’s. 

“I… I thought if I… I don’t know…” You couldn’t find the words. You had to tell Dean. Tell him about what the witch had done to Sam and… Oh god. What you had done to his little brother. 

Sam was stuck and you did that to him. You killed the witch. Even after all your big talk about not abandoning him you’d done something so, so, so much worse. You’d watched as his mind was reshaped into a solitary prison, and then you’d killed the only one who held the key. Crushing his last chance of escape. You did this to him.

You killed her.

Sam wasn’t waking up and she could have fixed it. Maybe she was the only one that could bring him back. There had been other spells before… Spells that couldn’t be ended with a bullet. You knew better. What if Sam was stuck forever? All because you let your rage control you and rearranged her skull, permanently. 

“Sam’s trapped in his head… He can’t see us Dean, he can't see anyone and… Damn it Dean, she said it feels like years to him. Years,” It hurt to push the words out. Not because it made them more real. No, the sight of Sam, lost and alone in front of you already did that. But because you knew your words would hurt Dean too. 

“Alright, so we get Sammy back,” Dean’s voice was trembling, but he didn’t ask any other questions. He wasn’t blaming you. Why wasn’t he blaming you? You just pushed a fuckton of agony his way, and you hurt his family. He should be blaming you. 

“He’s stuck and... Oh god, I’m sorry, I… I did this to him,” You forced the words out through a sob. Needing Dean to understand the guilt on your shoulders. To deal with you like the Winchester’s always did with monsters; a bullet to the brain and a shallow grave somewhere in the woods. But your best friend wouldn’t budge as he gently removed the gun from your hands and wrapped you in a warm hug.

“It’s not your fault (Y/N),” Dean’s voice was a deep familiar rumble. The comfort of a friend. Comfort you didn’t deserve. He just wasn’t seeing what you were yet. What you’d doomed Sam to. You couldn’t let him comfort you, you couldn’t stain him like that.

“Yes it is! What if she could have brought him back? And I killed her?” You pushed against Dean’s arms, stepping away from him and closer to Sam. Though you didn’t deserve to be near him either. Your tattered and broken heart was barely hanging on to his sleeve by its seams. Still you needed to be close to him. To know he was still alive, if a bit lost on his way home to you.

“No. We’ll find an answer. We’ll look for their spell books and…” 

You cut Dean’s words off with a broken sob shaped like a barked laugh. Bitter tears stinging your eyes and clogging your throat as you forced the words out. Another burden of blame on your shoulders. 

“I burned their books…” The flames licking against brittle spines that had tasted like victory only 45 minutes earlier now burned like defeat as you forced yourself to swallow down the sour words in your mouth. Defeatist words. You’d destroyed not one, but two ways to save Sam with your own hands. Hands that had been supposed to build him a home. Not tear down the small place he’d already made himself in the cruel world you were living in. 

“We will get him back (Y/L/N). There’s other witches. Maybe Rowena…” You blocked out Dean’s voice. You knew he meant them; that they weren’t just empty promises to soothe his best friend. Dean would do anything to save his baby brother. Just like you would. But right then, you couldn’t listen to hope. Not when you were standing numbly in front of Sam, watching him struggle in desperate silence. 

You wanted him to look at you, to see you. To warm up your freezing body with sunshine eyes, unclouded by loneliness and fear. But he was lost in his fortress turned prison, and where you’d been his sentinel you’d now become his prison guard. You needed to make him look at you, but your body wouldn’t listen to you. Your arms stayed limply at your side as you just watched him. Could you even touch him? You had no more right to wipe away those frustrated and heart-breaking tears than that damned witch did.

“I’m so sorry Sam. Oh god… I’m so sorry,” Licking at chapped lips you found your voice again. Seeking forgiveness even though you knew he couldn’t hear you. 

“Hey… It’s not your fault kiddo, alright?” The answer came from behind you, not the man in front of you as Dean tried to absolve you of sins he had no say in lifting from your shoulders. You loved him… He was family. But his little brother was lost, and he was just afraid of losing his best friend too. He wasn’t thinking clearly.

“Sam, come home to us… Please?” You didn’t answer Dean’s attempt at salvation. You were too far gone in the imagined shadows of Sam’s mind. Walking next to him down empty streets. Searching the abandoned bunker alongside him, though invisible to the man himself as you clung to his shirt sleeve, broken pieces safety-pinned just out of sight of lonely hazel eyes.

“(Y/N)....” Dean’s voice was more insistent now as he tried to shake you out of your numb shock. Out of your own sentencing laced with guilt, shame and decisions you could no longer take back. The older hunter was trying to get you to listen, but you could barely hear him.

“I’m begging you alright? Please… I’ll do anything,” Crossroads deals, other witches, sacrifices. You’d do anything to bring him back. Be it prayers to devils or angels alike. Though you knew, deep down, that Sam wouldn’t want that. Even in his own little personal slice of hell. If you sold your soul to bring him back, that would be the same as abandoning him all over again. Yet, if you had to…

“Hey… (Y/N), we’ll get him back. But you can’t fall apart on me now. We’ll bring him home and we’ll get him back,” A big calloused hand landed on your bare arm, but you shook it off as you stepped closer to Sam instead. You weren’t ready for the real world yet. You couldn’t explode into action and handle this like a hunter. Not just yet. 

“Hey Sam… I’m still here. I… Please come back to us ok? Dean and me, we need you. I need you Sam. I…” Taking a shaky breath you lifted yourself up on the balls of your feet, clutching at the collar of Sam’s flannel shirt. Your desperate pleas dying on your tongue as you let your lips ghost over his unresponsive ones in the faintest whisper of a kiss. 

“I love you Sam Winchester…” But your confession, one you’d promised yourself you’d never speak out loud to anything but your bedroom ceiling, came a little too late. Sam couldn’t hear you. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you kept your lips just a breath away from his, knuckles whitening around the flannel as you tried to use his trembling gasps for air to ground you. Dean was right. You wouldn’t abandon him. If less than an hour felt like years in his mind you couldn’t stand around here and fall to pieces for even another minute, adding to the eternity in his mind. 

“Is anybody there?” Sam’s broken and scared voice flowed across your chapped lips as you forced your eyes back open. Looking into dull eyes clouded by shadows and loss. No, you’d bring back the sunshine in them. You’d be the sharp gust of wind that forced those clouds away. No matter what you had to do. Consequences be damned.

You’d find a way to save him. You had to. Sam was living his worst nightmare and you weren’t going to abandon him now. You’d do anything for him. 

Anything. 

 ---

You reached the end - You got Ending 6: Sam: Lost & Alone - Bad Ending

[Click here to return to the start and try again]

[Alternatively, click here for the full masterlist breaking down each path] Note that choices are named so it may spoil the experience.

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Please tell me which ending you got in a message, comment, ask or through a reblog. This took a lot of time to make, and I want to hear from you guys, and see if you enjoyed it. That way I’ll know if I should make more as well as know which parts you enjoyed/where I can improve them. 

I already have some ideas for some other ones; an undercover office based one that’s fluff vs. smut… Plus another hunt based one with TFW. But I won’t start them if it doesn’t seem like there’s any demand for them.

You can also tell me which ending you got by clicking here to answer my poll.

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[giingers]

The Worst of Nightmares (part one)

Request: Omg can I request one where the reader gets shot and bleeds in Tommy’s arms

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader 

Tag list: @peachy-aisha @crazyonesarethebest @peachyblinderss @spaghettirogers @mclfoybaby 

Enjoy guys! This is loosely based off of S2 EP5 but I’ve changed it around to suit the story. 

“Love is the most beautiful of dreams and the worst of nightmares” - William Shakespeare 

The rushing of his blood that coursed through his veins, the thumping echo of his heartbeat and the erratic breaths that fell from his chapped, dried up lips were the only sounds he could hear. Arthur was screaming nonsense at him while Aunt Pol cried from where she had thrown herself onto her knees but he couldn’t focus on any of them. He couldn’t even focus on the figure of his mother who had suddenly appeared in the dark corner where John now paced up and down. His brother didn’t even seem to notice her, but Tommy could see how she stood there, pale and unmoving, with the glow of the flames that now engulfed The Garrison flickering across her ghostly skin. 

Where had she come from? Why was she here? She was dead wasn’t she? But he couldn’t answer those questions. Not when the most almighty chaos had just reigned down on his family. His eyes that had scanned his surroundings momentarily, now came to rest on the horrific sight that had caused so much destruction to his family. 

You were in his arms, bleeding and frozen by the icy kiss of death. Your face was pale and your eyes were closed and no matter how much he had screamed your name he knew you were gone. He had ran so hard to get to you but when he had rounded the corner and saw the pub up in flames and your lifeless, bloodied body lying in the middle of the road he knew he’d lost you. 

Get help! He had screamed loudly at his family, his throat scratching itself hoarse and his eyes filling with tears but it seemed none of them had been listening. He looked at you and through his blurry vision he could make out the outline of the deep scarlet patch that was soaking through your coat. His hands were slick with blood as he held you, he could feel it pouring out of the wound and through the wool of your coat to stain his hands. 

How had it come to this? How had he let you die? It was all his fault. 

“Tommy” he heard a voice say softly and he stiffened from where he knelt on the ground. His eyes flickered from your figure to land on the ghostly shadow of his mother who now was walking towards him with outstretched hands. 

“Tommy” she said again softly “let her go, I’ll take care of her” 

“No!” he almost screamed at her “I won’t let you take her” 

Her eyes were piercing and they stared into his as she knelt down beside him, her cold dead hands taking his face. He hadn’t looked into his mothers eyes since he was a child, and despite the fact he was holding your dead body in his arms he felt some sort of comfort. He knew then and there that if his mother was taking you, then he’d end his own life shortly afterwards. 

“Tommy, my darling boy” his mother told him gently as she stroked his face “wake up” 

A jolt went through his body that was sharp and electric, and with it his eyes opened widely only to squeeze themselves shut again when the morning sun beamed harshly in the window. He was in a bed- of that he was certain as he began to familiarise himself with his surroundings. He was lying flat on his stomach and his face was pressed deeply against the pillow, and he was aware of the softest scratching at his back. 

He turned around with a groan, his mind still whirling from the dream he had just woken up from. It hadn’t been the first time he’d had it either, and for the past month it had plagued him relentlessly each time he closed his eyes. Each time he dreamt it, it was always the same. You were dead, The Garrison was in flames and somehow his mother had been allowed to resurrect momentarily just to bring you with her. 

All thoughts of his nightmare vanished from his mind at the sight of you as he turned over. His eyes met yours and your hand that you had been using to trace patterns on his naked back now came to his face. He sighed as your cool fingertips traced along his stubbly jaw and up towards the shaved velvety hair at the back of his head, each touch causing the nightmare to remain in the past. 

“Morning” your voice was almost a whisper, but a croaky one at that, and Tommy smiled to himself as he shuffled closer to you under the warm covers.

“Morning, my love” he let a rough hand come to your soft face, and began to trace your features just like you were doing to him. Your hair was a perfect mess, now temporarily moulded into a tangle of knots that Tommy’s hands had created last night as he’d gripped the tendrils during the height of pleasure.

He thought then how bitter it was to love you so much and spend a night in your arms, only for it to be shattered by the cruellest of imaginings. It was almost like god himself was trying to persecute him. Thomas Shelby could never be fully happy. Some terrible act of violence always had to turn his happiness into prolonged misery. 

“Did you dream again?” you asked him softly, a finger tracing under his eyes where Tommy was sure the evidence of his nightmares lay. He frowned a little, making a deep line appear near his forehead but your nimble finger only soothed it out with your touch. 

“Yeah, I did” he sighed and now it was your turn to frown as you took in how tired he really looked. His skin was normally a placid ivory but now it looked like a deathly white with no blushing undertones at all. 

“Was it the dream about your mother?” you asked him softly and he felt his heart twitch beneath his rib cage. He’d awoken many nights before with the horrific image of your dead body swimming behind his eyelids, but instead of voicing aloud the depiction of his nightmare he instead chose to tell you he had been dreaming of his deceased mother. Only a half lie, he told himself, and a half truth. 

“Yeah, it was the dream about my mother” he spoke with a sigh as he pulled you closer to him under the covers. The warmth that was radiating from you was tangible, and he felt his heart thrum contently within his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist. A gentle kiss was pressed against his bare chest and Tommy let himself melt into your body, allowing himself to be consumed by comfort and by the thought that for now you were safe within his arms. 

___________

The Garrison was eerie and still without the hustle and bustle of the usual rambunctious pub goers. There was no heavy clouds of dense tobacco smoke that swirled through the air or the sounds of clinking bottles and glasses. For most of the evening there had just been silence and calm for once, yet you now polluted the quiet with the soft threading of your feet and the jingle of keys as you made your way to the front door. 

You had stayed behind for the evening to do some book work that Tommy had wanted you to do, trusting you to get it done before anyone else. You thought of him now as you stepped outside and shut the heavy door with a bang, the night time air chilling you under your clothes. You pulled your coat tightly around yourself and let a small huff out that made the air turn icy as it left your mouth, your eyes scanning the dark for the figure of your husband. 

He was meant to meet you here and walk home like he had promised you under the covers in bed this morning but so far there was no sign of him. You just stood under the doorway and waited, your arms folded tight to keep in any warmth that you managed to contain and your eyes cast towards your feet. 

Minutes upon minutes passed before you heard the voice. But it was not Tommy’s. 

“Mrs Shelby?” the voice was clear and demanding, and your eyes jumped up to meet the shadowy figure that was getting closer to you. You felt your heart skip a beat when the man got closer, his face now half illuminated in the glow of the moon and half shadowed in the obsidian curtain of darkness that surrounded you both. His eyes were hooded and dark and they bored into you with a glare that you could only describe as venomous. 

“Yes?” your voice was strangely calm despite the fact you were now feeling an undeniable fear. You’d nothing to fear though, right? Everyone knew who you were around these parts. The man had addressed you by your married name, and no one dared mess with a Shelby. Right? 

“Sabini sends his regards” 

The gun was drawn before you could even take another breath, and your eyes widened in fear as it was pointed at you- glinting dangerously in the moonlight. The sound that reverberated off every surface surrounding you was deafening and you shut your eyes tightly as you awaited the impact.

Naivety came before logic however, and for a solid minute your mind began to convince itself you weren’t wounded. But when a shaking hand came to clutch your side and came away covered in scarlet red any doubts began to trickle away. You swayed a little on your feet and threw a hand against the cold stone of the pub, but the pain was coming fast now like a horrific and stifling wave. It was like your body was ripping itself apart from the inside out and the hand that was gripping the wall faltered and before you knew it the ground was getting closer and closer until you were lying on your back. 

The man who had just shot you was gone, you could barely hear his running footsteps in the distance, but his words rang loudly in your head. Sabini sends his regards. 

Those words rang around in your head as you lay on the cold ground, nothing but the dark solitude and stony silence to keep you company. The world was dismal and quiet in that moment, and it became even darker as your eyes began to close.