#been working on this one for 3 days straight
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The Hero and Hope (part 3/5)
(part 1) (part 2)
Summary: You've been adopted before. That's why you know better than to hope for another chance, especially a second chance with the Bahrs
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It’s not that you don’t want to be adopted. You just know that you’re not going to be. You’re the oldest in the orphanage, barely three years away from aging out. People don’t adopt kids your age, especially not obstinate, mean ones like you.
Besides, you’re a Hero. As soon as you master your power, you’ll be compelled to leave and fight evil anyway. That’s why it doesn’t matter if the Bahrs want you or not. You’re not somebody that’s supposed to have a family.
You barely remember the first time you were adopted. That was back when the Director of the orphanage was mean and biting. You have a vague memory of gold exchanging hands and leaving in the middle of the night. Your new parents barely looked at you and didn’t call you by your name at all.
You don’t remember a lot of that time. You were five and it was a struggle to go from living with a dozen kids to no one at all. Your new family gave you your own room in their small house and told you not to get underfoot.
The first time you ran away from their house, you didn’t get far. The baker in town brought you back to them and warned them about how kids your age are always slipping out when not paid enough attention.
“If you do it again,” the person who paid for you said, “you’re going straight back to the orphanage.”
And you do.
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The day of the picnic, every kid wakes up early without being told.
You watch as Hera fusses over all the younger ones, straightening new shirts and brushing dust off knees. Josiah is reading one of the newest books Mrs. Bahr – Marie – brought, biting the skin on the side of his thumb. You snag Hera as she races to find Annie some ribbon for her hair.
“Hold up, let me brush your hair first,” you say.
Hera frantically pats the braids she slept in. “I forgot about my hair!” She turns large, watery eyes on you. “Islaaaa!”
You snort and help her unwind each braid. She decides to leave it down, charmed by the waves the braids left in her hair. Your hands don’t shake as you work even though your heart is racing. Today is the day of the picnic.
Today might be the day the Bahrs pick one of you to adopt. The younger kids don’t know that, the information carefully hidden from them, but Hera knows. Director Sarah knows. You know.
It’s been a long time since you felt this sort of anxiety. The second time you were adopted was just before the Winter and it wasn’t bad at first. The couple who adopted you ran an inn in town. It was exciting to have your own room and your new mother wanted you to call her Mom right away. Six-years-old and you were so excited just to be able to call someone your parent. This time you were going to listen. You weren’t going to run away or complain if their house felt too big and too lonely. This time you were going to get it right.
You didn’t think about what they wanted from you in exchange.
It wasn’t until the second week when they found out you weren’t really much use for anything that things started getting bad.
You breathe in through your nose and proclaim Hera’s hair finished. She thanks you and races off to find Annie, determined to put the ribbon she picked in the younger girl’s hair.
The Bahrs aren’t like the innkeepers. Whoever they adopt won’t be expected to know how to read or do math or how to take care of horses. If they are required to then Marie and Ivan will teach them first. Both have spent enough time at the orphanage for you to believe that. Isn’t it Marie who’s teaching all of you your letters? Wasn’t it Ivan who taught you how to better put up a fence?
Whoever they choose will be fine, you think. It’s both a relief and a sting. Whoever they choose will be fine. It’s just probably not going to be you. Not when Annie is so sweet and social and Hera is so strong and kind. Not when Josiah works so hard to soak up everything they have to teach him.
“Is everyone ready?” Director Sarah asks. She’s standing by the door. Her clothes are nicer than usual too, a dress made of a light blue fabric you’ve never seen before. Her hair is carefully combed back into an updo and fastened with a tie Hera made for her last winter. She runs a critical eye over all of you. “You all look very nice. Josiah, tie your shoes, please. Annie, leave the slate in your room, what you do if you lost it? Honestly…”
You let Director Sarah fuss over the kids, slipping out the door ahead of everyone. You don’t own a dress, but the button-down shirt is new and starched. Director Sarah helped you embroider bluebells on the collar and sleeves, and you think it turned out well.
You may not be getting adopted today, but you’re excited to see the Bahr family’s estate. The sun is warm overhead, the sky an endless blue. The summer is mild this year, perfect for a party. Isn’t that what Mr. Bahr – Ivan – told you to think of it as? A party. No strings attached.
A wagon comes up the lane. The Bahr family’s home is too far for the younger kids to walk to, past the town and closer to the Lord’s manor. They said they’d send a wagon for all of you, but something still clenches in your chest when you actually see it. Wagons are an expense the orphanage can’t justify, but, apparently, the Bahrs can.
The driver smiles kindly when he pulls up next to you. “Everyone ready to go?”
Before you can answer, the kids are pouring out the front door, chattering excitedly. You help Director Sarah lift the smaller ones into the seats near the front. The wagon is open topped, so Director Sarah can look over everyone sternly, twisting around in her spot next to the driver.
“No playing during the ride,” she instructs. “Mr. Dallen is very kindly driving us so you must listen to him, alright?”
Mr. Dallen also turns around. “I don’t have too many rules,” he says. He pretends to think, scratching his thick beard. He grins “Don’t fall out!”
He’s joking, but that’s why you’re stationed at the back of the wagon. From your seat, you’ll be able to stop any roughhousing before “falling out” becomes a real danger. Already you’re eyeing the way Josiah is fidgeting. He’s incredibly calm when he’s reading, but otherwise he’s like a tornado. There’s a reason he’s the one that fell into the well in the first place. Hera sits primly next to him, her hands folded in her lap. You can tell she’s watching him from the corner of her eye. There’s a reason she’s the one who pulled Josiah out of the well.
Mr. Dallen directs the horses away from the orphanage, through the orchard, and along the road cutting through the fields. When you’re going to the forest to hunt, you take the narrower path that winds through the orchard and more directly into the tree line. The wagon is forced to stay on the wider road where the horses won’t sink into any mud and the wagon wheels won’t catch on rocks or dense foliage.
After the fields is the town. The kids wave to every Villager and Blacksmith they see. “Good day!” “Morning!” “We’re going to a picnic!” Hera pulls Annie back from the edge of the wagon before she tips over onto the street.
You slouch in your seat, wishing you were wearing a hat. While the first family who adopted you left town ages ago to live in the Capital, the innkeepers are still around. You don’t look as you pass their business and try not to listen to Josiah carefully sounding out the name of their inn.
When you open your eyes, Director Sarah is looking at you. You okay? She mouths. She wasn’t at the orphanage for your first adoption, but she was there for the innkeepers. You feign going to sleep. Just tired. She pretends to believe you and turns back to continue chatting with Mr. Dallen.
The kids are excited to go through the forest. Many of them are too young to even go into town with Director Sarah, a privilege you earn at ten years old, and they point to every bird, deer and mushroom they see amongst the trees. You let the sound of nature and the kids’ chatter lull you into a sort of meditation. The estate is only thirty minutes away now that you’re out of town.
You’re nearly dropping off to sleep when Director Sarah’s voice changes in pitch. Your sensitive hearing can pick up a thread of concern in her voice. What makes Director Sarah concerned, makes you concerned.
“—demons in the woods,” Sarah is saying very quietly. She glances out of her peripherals towards the back to make sure no kids are listening. If she notices how you’re only pretending to sleep, she doesn’t show any sign of it. “Shouldn’t we ask the kids to be quiet?”
“The Lord’s Knights have been patrolling,” Mr. Dallen says equally quietly. You can see him scan the trees for a moment before he smiles reassuringly at Director Sarah. “We’ll be okay so long as we stick to the road.”
“Alright.”
You keep a closer eye on the surrounding forest.
“There! There it is!”
Annie’s shout drags you attention from a (suspiciously) shadowed gully. The woods have thinned enough that hedges of the Bahrs’ estate can be seen. You’ve only been out this far once, a long, long time ago. You’ve never been past this point.
You’re just as surprised as the rest of the kids when the hedges give way to a castle.
That’s not a manor. You’ve never seen either, but you’re sure of this. Manors are supposed to look like the orphanage or any of the buildings in town, just larger. The Bahrs’ home has towers. The front doors are three times the height of a regular one and you can see that the handles and knockers are made of copper. The stone isn’t white like the castles in picture books, but it’s clean and neatly cut.
“Wow,” Hera breathes.
You agree.
Mr. Dallen directs the horses right up the main driveway, cheerfully explaining that the roses are the flower of the estate, aren’t they beautiful? Even Hera can only manage a faint noise of agreement, eyes wide on the house.
“The party’s around back,” Mr. Dallen says cheerfully. He clicks his tongue and the horses stop just short of the front doors. “I’ll take you there.”
Around back. You expect him to lead you around the side of the castle, past rows of rose bushes and the fountains that are tucked between the hedges. Instead, Mr. Dallen opens the front doors without knocking and directs everyone to follow him.
You’ve never seen anywhere so grand. The kids follow Mr. Dallen in hushed awe, gaping at the marble staircase that bisects the foyer. There are two chandeliers to either side of the grand staircase that each send a spray of rainbow light across the walls. Is the manor a little bare? The walls empty of portraits and artwork? You eye a pair of crossed axes hanging just beyond the shadow of the staircase.
“They’re ordering portraits from the Capital,” Mr. Dallen says, gesturing carelessly to the space where a portrait of the homeowners might hang. Then under his breath, “Unless they hang more swords there instead.”
“Excuse me?” Hera asks.
“Nothing,” Mr. Dallen says cheerfully. He guides them past the staircase and a row of doors to the back of the house. The large doors at the back of the house are already open. Mr. Dallen cups a hand over his mouth and calls, “Ho ho, look here! Look who’s arrived!”
“Surprise!” Ivan shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. He’s standing on the stone patio just outside the house, but he’s not the only one. Mrs. Bahr is next to him, her hands clasped in front of her, beaming. Behind her is a dozen other adults. “It’s a party!”
“Welcome,” Mrs. Bahr says warmly. She’s dressed elegantly in a long, red tunic that’s embroidered with the Lord’s crest. The Lord is here as well, his golden hair and eyes unmistakable even amongst the crowd. “Welcome to our home.”
You’re already at the back of the group, but you hang back further as the younger kids cautiously step out into the sun. Your eyes flick from face to face. You recognize a few of the people. There’s the Baker from town and her wife, there’s the Merchant that comes through every third week, there’s the Villager that donates zucchini—
And there are the innkeepers who, once upon a time, told you to call them your parents. They’re older than you remember, light hair gone silver in the sun, but it’s them. They’re right by the Lord, eagerly waiting near him for the opportunity to talk.
It’s very clear what this is. You watch the kids stream out onto the patio to greet Ivan and Marie. The other adults study the kids like zoo animals, eyes flicking to their clean party outfits to their happy faces. This isn’t a party for the kids. It’s a party for them. They’re showing off to each other. Look at how great they are! They’re helping out the poor orphan kids! You’re very familiar with these sort of events from back when the other Director was in charge. You just didn’t think you’d ever have to be near one again.
You take a step back and are stopped by Director Sarah.
“It’s okay, Isla,” Director Sarah murmurs. You didn’t even notice her falling back to your side. Her hand is gentle on your elbow. “It’s not what you think.”
Not what you think? You watch the Villager who runs the general store ask Josiah about the book he’s reading. The Bahrs are proudly introducing Annie and Hera to the Lord. There is something different about it, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. All you can see is the way the adults are watching the kids. You breathe in through your nose like Ivan taught you. In. Out. “What is it?”
“Fixing my mistake,” Director Sarah says.
That gets your attention. Your eyes dart from the happy scene in front of you to Sarah and back again. With the white umbrellas over the food tables, the streamers strung between garden trellises, and the kids dressed in their best, it looks like a painting. In contract, Sarah’s lips are pursed and the shadows of the house make her appear more tired than she is.
“There’s a parlor,” Mr. Dallen says. You jump when he speaks and he grimaces apologetically. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “If you need to talk.”
Marie is looking over the heads of the kids to where you’re standing, a frown on her face. She mouths your name, concern in her eyes. Your jaw clenches when the Merchant steps in front of her, hiding you from view.
“Yeah,” you say. “Let’s talk.” You spin on your heel.
Sarah follows you silently. You feel wrong-footed and caged by the entire situation. This was supposed to be a picnic, wasn’t it? No strings attached? Your dress shirt is tight around your neck and you flick open the top button.
“I should have told you,” Sarah says as soon as the door closes. There are two couches in the room adjacent to a large window that overlooks the party. Neither of you sits down. Sarah folds her hands in front of her skirts. “I apologize.”
“What are they doing here?” you ask. You gesture to the window. “The Lord, I understand. He’s the Lord. But the Baker? The Merchant?” You bark a laugh. “They’re not here to adopt anyone.”
“Maybe not,” Sarah says evenly, “but they’re good connections to have.”
“Connections?” You scoff. You remember watching the empty road through that winter nearly seven years ago. “What good are their connections?”
“Annie loves baking,” Sarah says. She doesn’t flinch in the face of your anger. She watches you calmly and doesn’t so much as shift her weight when you start to pace. “The Baker is a good connection for her to have, even if she doesn’t want to adopt. Many of the shopkeepers in town are open to taking on apprentices.”
You falter. You didn’t think about that. Your eyes drift towards the window. You can hear Hera laughing and Josiah complaining good naturedly. You’re nearly 15, just a few years away from aging out. You can’t say you’ve never thought about the future before. “They said they’d be willing to do that?”
“Who knows what the future holds?” Sarah sighs and goes to take a seat on the sofa. She makes a sound low in her throat when she sits. “That wagon ride was not good for my back.”
“I don’t trust them,” you say. You stop pacing to sit opposite her. From this point in the room, you can see the party on the patio. They can also see you. Ivan doesn’t turn away from the dessert table, but you can sense his attention on you. You swallow. “We don’t need anything from them.”
“I agree,” Sarah says.
You blink. “What?”
Sarah laughs. It’s not her usual laugh that she shows the kids, gentle and fond and warm. It’s cold and a little sharp. You’ve only heard it once before when the snow finally melted, chasing the snow spirits away, and the town came to see what had become of the orphanage.
“You and I are a lot alike,” Sarah says. Her eyes drift somewhere distant. “Like you, I remember that Winter. I remember waiting for any sort of response to our pleas. I remember hearing nothing back. The helplessness I felt as our stores dwindled…” Her voice cracks. She shakes herself, swallowing hard. “Well. I don’t need to tell you what their lack of aid cost us.”
It takes you two tries to speak. Director Sarah feels the same way as you. “So why?”
“Why did I agree to the party?”
“Yes.”
“Because I need to forgive, not forget, if I want to fix my mistake,” Sarah says. Her lips thin. “I’m not perfect. Since I’ve been Director of the orphanage, there hasn’t been a single new hire. There have been no volunteers or extracurricular programs for the kids. I’ve kept us hidden.”
“You’ve kept us protected,” you say. Things under Director Sarah have always been better than what they were before. The kids are happier and brighter, and the pantry is always full. No one disappears in the middle of the night or dies under her watch. “We know you have.”
“I’ve tried,” Sarah says. She opens her hands, palms facing the ceiling. “I rebuilt the orphanage to be independent. I thought that if we were completely self-sustaining, we’d be alright. But in doing so I’ve hurt the children. The orphanage is not supposed to be forever. They need connections with people, with the town, for when they grow up.”
“That—” You don’t know what you’re going to say. You fall silent, your anger fizzling out in your chest. She’s right. As much as you want everyone to stay together, you know that can’t happen. What Sarah is saying isn’t wrong, but… “Today is supposed to be for the kids. Not for them to feel better about themselves helping the orphans.”
“The kids are having fun,” Sarah says. There’s a peal of laughter from outside as if to underscore her words. She smiles as she stands. “Kids includes you too, you know. Let me worry about the adults.”
You stand too. You know the conversation is coming to a close and that, soon, you’ll be expected to go out there with Sarah. “Um…”
“Yes?”
You nearly don’t say it. But the way Sarah is waiting for you to speak is so patient that you muster up the courage. “The innkeepers are here. They aren’t…?”
Again, you’re not sure what you’re about to say. There’s a sick fear in your stomach that they’re here to tell the Bahrs all about how awful you were when you with them. Maybe they’re looking for another kid to demand too much of. Maybe they’re here because, in the end, you didn’t mean anything to them and what happened between you and them doesn’t make a difference--
Even if you don’t know what you’re going to say, Sarah must. Her smile darkens. “I’ll take care of the adults,” she repeats. She smooths her hand over your hair when you follow her to the door. “Why don’t you stay in here for a moment? I’ll just have a word with the innkeepers.”
You wait in the parlor while Sarah joins the party. You twist your hands together to keep from picking at the embroidery on your sleeves. You almost want to stop Sarah from talking to the innkeepers. It was so long ago, before the Winter, it shouldn’t matter anymore. You’re being ridiculous to be so worried about them when there are bigger things going on. You—
Hera throws open the door to the parlor. Her braids are a little frizzy already and there’s a flush high on her cheeks. “Isla! We’re playing team tag and you’re the only one fast enough to catch Marie. Come on!”
You don’t have the option to say no. Hera yanks you by the sleeve out onto the patio. The guests are much more dispersed now, pockets of adults around this table or that. They’re not studying the kids now. They’re just watching them as they run to and fro across the lawn, bemused smiles on their faces.
Ivan cheers when he sees you. Like Hera, his face is bright red. “Isla!” he pants. “You’re on my team!”
Marie sprints past, her skirts hiked up to her knee. She runs as if she’s in full armor, strides long and shoulders square. You wonder if she notices no one is chasing her anymore. “It won’t be enough!” she cries.
Josiah is laying on the grass. He chucks his fist in the air. “Go, Marie! Go!” He gasps for breath. “We’re unstoppable.”
“You’re out,” Annie tells him crossly. She’s also laying flat on her back, but seems to be faring better in the breathing department. “You’ve stopped.”
“Shut it—”
You scan the crowd. You don’t see the innkeepers anywhere, not even near where the Lord is sitting. You look over your shoulder back towards the house just in time to see Director Sarah disappearing around the corner. She’s talking to someone just ahead of her. Is she escorting the innkeepers out?
“Isla?” Hera slips her hand in yours. Her eyes are knowing. “You okay?”
You clear your throat, aware of all the eyes on you. You tuck some hair that’s escaped her braid behind her ear. “Just trying to decide which team I should join.”
Ivan cries out in dismay. “Isla, please!”
Grinning, you join the game.
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(part 1) (part 2)
Thanks for reading! If you'd like to read the conclusion of Isla's tale before next week, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)!
Up this week is a continuation of my Cinderella Retelling, Cinderella Doesn't Believe in Fairytales
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Would you ever write a prequel to Sharing is Caring? Like when Leon says to Chris, “Trust me, she’ll be into it. I can’t even tell you how wet she gets just from talking about shit like this,” or when he’s just talking to reader about how wet she gets when thinking about someone else watching her with Leon, would you ever write a small drabble or something based on that scenario that obviously took place before the threesome with Chris? I hope you understand what I mean! 😭
yeah bb i got you <3
leon kennedy x fem!reader
prequel to this fic
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, guided masturbation, daddy kink, mentions of spanking, exhibitionism, threesome w/ chris, p in v, blowjobs, and cum
so when i wrote that part, i was thinking it happened on multiple occasions between reader and leon. this is how i believe one of those times would go *dream harp music and dissolve transition*
Today had been a lazy day for you and Leon since the two of you woke up that morning. The bedroom was dim from the overcast sky outside, and music played softly in the background as you and your boyfriend cuddled in bed and talked about nothing. It was your personal heaven on earth. The prettiest slice of paradise you could imagine.
You laughed at his corny jokes while he entertained random questions you’d asked him. Eventually the conversation reached a lull, and in the brief pause, you remembered something you’d been meaning to ask him.
“We’re still going to that work dinner for you on Friday, right?” you ask, glancing over at him.
“Mhm,” he responds, “Why?”
“Gotta get my nails done,” you answer.
He can’t help smiling at that. The effort you put in for him was adorable.
“Yeah? What color you gonna do this time?” he asks.
“Red.”
“Why red?” he says, reaching over to stroke your cheek.
“Cause aren’t guys supposed to like red the most?” you say as if it’s the most obvious fact in the world.
“You know I like what you like, baby,” he chuckles and leans in to kiss your neck.
“Yeah, but it’s a dinner full of guys. I gotta impress them for you. Can’t have your work people thinking your girlfriend is less than the best,” you say.
He exhales sharply at your attitude, finding it funny.
“So you’re painting your nails for other men?” he teases, “Be careful or I might get jealous.”
A smile rises to your lips, and you squirm a little from the way he’s kissing your neck. In truth, Leon loved showing you off. It drove him up the wall when guys’ stares would linger on your cleavage or cast down to your backside. They could look all they wanted, but you were all his. And you knew he felt that way, which is why it drove you a special type of crazy when he’d play with you like this.
“No, I'm painting them for you. So your work guys will be impressed and jealous of you,” you say.
“Ahh, I see,” he says, feigning realization, “You want them all to see that you’re such a good girl, right?”
His voice drops and it hits you straight between your legs. You fidget a little, masking your desire with a laugh. Nodding playfully, you act as if it’s a joke rather than your honest motivation.
“That’s why I gotta wear a pretty dress too,” you tease back.
“I see. It better not show off too much though, else I might have to take you over my knee right then and there. They rent out a private dining room, y’know. I could do it. Show them all how I keep my good girl in line,” he whispers.
He nips at your throat, and now you’re officially turned on. The heat in your cheeks and neck migrate south to fester between your hips. Your thighs rub against one another in a pathetic attempt to sate yourself for the time being. He notices of course, and that only means he’s not stopping any time soon.
“Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he breathes, “You’d like getting to whine and pout while everyone watches you get put in your place, hm?”
Tingles spread throughout your chest through your tummy. His hand slips beneath your shirt and rubs up and down your side. The painfully slow pace of his palm brings chills over you.
“Answer me,” he whispers.
“Yeah, I’d like it,” you say. Your voice was short and quiet as it often was in moments like these.
He chuckles and moves his hand up to your breast. Your nipples had stiffened into little peaks against the cloth of your top. He pinches one as he licks a stripe up your neck.
Shuddering, you whine for him, “Leon.”
“If you said that in front of them, that’d earn you a couple more smacks. What are you supposed to call me?” he prompts.
“Daddy…” you correct yourself with a whimper.
“That’s my girl,” he croons.
His hand continues to fondle your breast for a few moments more before his hand leaves your chest and grabs your jaw. He tilts your head in his direction, so you have to look in his eyes.
“That’s what you’d cry out in front of all of daddy’s friends. That’d really show ‘em you’re a good girl. It’d show ‘em more than any dress or color on your nails,” he says before connecting his lips with yours.
He kisses you deeply, slipping some tongue into your mouth and holding the back of your head to keep you close. His movements lead yours, luring you further into the lustful exchange with him. When he pulls back, you’re breathless with puffy, wet lips. His eyes have clouded with the desire to toy with you.
Now his hand slides down to your panties. The pretty garment had already started to dampen and cling to your cunt. He pets you over the barrier, teasing you with the anticipation of what’s to come.
“You’d be perfect, spread across my lap, ass out in these cute little things. Which pair would you wear?” he teases, nuzzling you as his fingers start to increase the pressure.
“The ones you bought me for my birthday,” you answer.
“Good choice,” he grins, “You’d look so precious in those, even more with your skirt bunched up over the top of them.”
You squirm a bit, wanting more from him, but he keeps up the same light caresses to your center.
“I know you’d love it, babydoll. I can just see it,” he whispers, “You’d love being the center of attention, having all those eyes on you. You know they’d all talk about you too. They’d talk like you weren’t even there. They’d talk about how pretty and cute you are, how sweet you look while taking your spanking, how much they want a girl like you all to themselves.”
All you can respond with is a soft whine. Your heels slide against the mattress as you fight to maintain some sliver of composure. And he continues running his mouth.
“They’d all get so hard for you, princess. Especially Chris. He’s gonna be there on Friday. He’s got a little crush on you,” he teases.
That snaps you out of your lustful daze. You’d met Chris a few times before this. He was nice enough. The two of you didn’t really have anything in common except Leon.
“He does not,” you say softly, rolling your eyes.
His eyebrows raise with amusement. “Does too,” he insists.
“He does not. You just want someone to tease me with,” you say before his mouth is back on yours, silencing your words with a kiss.
“Trust me, baby. He does. Bet he strokes it to you every night,” he murmurs against your lips.
You don’t want to admit the spark of heat that strikes in your belly at the thought of that. You’d be lying if you told Leon you didn’t find Chris attractive. He fits right in with your type. He was older, big and muscular, and condescendingly affectionate. All you can muster in response is a muffled “no he doesn’t.”
“Mhm, I can tell by the way he looks about you. And he’s always asking about you too. He’s got a thing for you, sweetheart. Wishes he could be your daddy instead of me,” he says. His voice comes out husky from the close proximity to you.
A little moan slips from your lips just as his hand slides into your panties to play with your clit. The pad of his middle finger finds it with ease. With the amount of times he’s made you cum, he’s sure he could find it while he’s sleeping. He presses down on the swollen bud and swirls his digit lightly.
“I know he’d love to see you get spanked like a little brat. But his favorite part would be the ending. The part where all those smacks have knocked some sense into you and you’re back to being a good girl. I think he’d jizz his pants if he saw your puppy eyes while you begged me to stop,” he whispers.
More arousal drips from you as you picture the scene your boyfriend is setting. You still weren’t fully convinced Chris was into you, but fuck, it was hot to imagine he was. Your mind conjures visions of his eyes locked on you. In your fantasy, he’s flushed, lip between his teeth as he wishes he could have a turn. He palms himself over his pants lazily, not putting in enough effort to distract him from the sight before his eyes. Your voice would be begging for Leon to stop, but your eyes would be begging for him.
Leon can see how into the idea you are so he continues. Simultaneously, his finger down below increases its pace on your bundle of nerves.
“You like thinking about that?” he coos mockingly, “But that’d be kind of cruel, wouldn’t it? Dangling you in front of him like that. Maybe I’d have to give the poor guy a break, let Chris come along with us after all the others had gone their own way. Let him see just how good you are for your daddy in private.”
Your eyes are starting to gloss with desire as he draws you further into this dream.
“Would you like that, honey? Letting Chris see this beautiful body, letting him see how well you can behave when you want to. If you were really really good, maybe I’d even let him play with you too,” he purrs.
Internally, your heart jolts. You had never brought up your interest in threesomes to Leon. He knew you had a bit of an affinity for being watched, but the potential conversation about being shared scared you. It was something that turned you on like damn near nothing else, but in reality, you weren’t certain of it. Plus, if he wasn’t into it, it’d be something you could never come back from.
The relief you felt from him bringing it up on his own was immeasurable.
You nod to answer his question.
“Use your words, babydoll,” he says.
“Yes, daddy.”
“Good girl,” he praises.
His hand slides down to cup your pussy before he pushes two fingers into your cunt. You whine at the intrusion, but your hole was used to the sensation. He had your breath hitching and your eyes fluttering within a couple of pumps.
“You could sit in my lap while he fucked you. I’d hold you the whole time like the sweet thing you are while he stretched you out,” he says, “Or we could take turns with you, one after the other, fucking you till you were seeing stars.”
You nod again and arch your back slightly. “Please daddy. Want that,” you whimper.
“I know you do, sweet girl. I wouldn’t want you getting overwhelmed though. Your mind has less stamina than that pretty pussy does,” he teases.
Your lip juts out into a pout at his taunt, but it’s quickly wiped away by a mewl that erupts from you when he curls his fingers inside you.
“I think it might be better to let Chris fuck you and get you all warmed up for me. Then I could take over, and you could suck him off. I’d make that cute cunt cry on my cock for a while, and you could get a taste of him. I know you love having something in your mouth.”
“Yeah daddy,” you whine.
He rubs his palm against your clit as his fingers fly back and forth, working you closer towards the edge. In the same rhythm he was grinding his bulge on your hip. He was rock hard beneath his boxers. The hypothetical situation was clearly getting to him just as much as it was getting to you.
“I’d be the one fucking your pussy full of cum just like you needed. And if you’d shown Chris what a perfect angel you are, I’d let you choose if he came in your mouth or all over your gorgeous face,” he says.
His eyes close as he rolls his hips with a little more force. He throbs in his boxers. Your head tilts back, allowing him to kiss your neck a few times before speaking again.
“I know you’d probably pick swallow, but I think all of us would love to see your face painted with his cum. Maybe let him pretend for a second that you belong to him,” he grunts.
“I’d pick on my face cause I know you’d wanna see it,” you whimper. And it was true. The most pleasurable thing in the world was Leon’s approval. It brought you more satisfaction than any orgasm or cum shot ever could.
“Such a good girl,” he moans, “That’s my baby. Another guy’s cum on your face, but all you can think to do is please your daddy.”
Both of you hit your highs almost in time with each other. You’re a little quicker than Leon which is fortunate since he loses precision when he cums. You feel like you burn into a blaze of euphoria when it hits, your body rapidly heating up. It’s like you’re light as a feather and floating through a blissful abyss of comfort. He cums in a more intense burst. His hips buck against the plush flesh of your hip. He locks his free hand on you to keep you close so he can thrust against your warmth till he’s empty.
The two of you lay there for a few moments after, taking a second to calm down. You feel like you could fall asleep at any second. You barely register Leon stumbling out of bed to clean himself up and change. He hits the fan on the way back to bed,which you’re grateful for.
As soon as he’s back in bed, you roll over and drape your limbs across him. He nuzzles the side of your head with a few kisses.
“You need a nap now, baby?” he asks softly.
“Mhm,” you mumble back.
“Close your eyes for me then, pretty girl. Get some rest,” he says before smirking and whispering in your ear, “Just promise me you’re not gonna dream about Chris now.”
You whine and lightly jab your knee against his ribs.
“Shut up, Leon.”
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x y/n#leon kennedy x you#leon kennedy imagine#leon kennedy smut#resident evil x reader#resident evil imagines#resident evil smut#resident evil x you#chris redfield x reader#chris redfield imagine#chris redfield smut
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hey!!! Ugh I just love your account! I have a request for Spencer Reid x fem reader!! Can you do one where he is always working and it makes the reader upset bc he is cancelling dates and coming home late and kinda neglects her feelings and doesn't really notice how much it affects her and how sad she gets and then he misses their anniversary dinner and she breaks and tells him that it makes her upset when he's gone all the time and he just feels so awful bc he's so in love with her and never wants her to feel that way because of him and apologizes and reassures her and makes sure she feels loved!!
ty for the request and i loved the idea for this one!
wishful thinking.
pairing :: spencer x fem!reader
warnings :: angst with a fluffy ending; very mild makeout session at the end :3
word count :: 2.4k
author’s note :: i kind of giggled at the ending as i was writing it, but i’m pretty proud of how this one turned out!
accompanying song :: neverthere by xander
spencer’s phone is quite literally the bane of your existence.
you know what to expect whenever it rings, so you hate when it actually does – its earthquaking vibrations and trilled beeps tear the happiness straight out of you.
it’s the second date in a row that he’s had to pass, and you wonder if you should just stop trying so hard. was it selfish to want to have him all to yourself, to have him seated right across from you, sharing your laughter as you pass him his plated pasta? were you expecting too much, imagining a serene life with him ten years down the road, perhaps with kids or pets of your own? was it unfair to think that you could craft a lie, telling him your stomach hurt really bad, so bad that you would have to curl up on the floor and pray he’d stay by your side just this once to comfort you?
all you ever wanted was spencer. more specifically, you wanted spencer during your first three dates, when he’d silence all of his phone calls, and wave them off like nothing even though you insisted he take them. maybe if you didn’t bring up the importance of taking work calls, none of this would have ever happened. maybe it was all coming back to bite you for your non-confrontational nature, since you could never plead him to actually stay.
but he’s your boyfriend… and that’s all that matters, right? after all, he has lives to save – people whose names are called out during prayers day and night by their loved ones as they cling on to the sliver of hope that your boyfriend and his team promise during the darkest hours. granted, spencer would drop everything if you were in a similar situation, but none of your problems have actually been life-threatening. but a girl can dream, can’t she? your first anniversary date was when spencer promised to make amends, a formal compensation for all of the past dates that he missed and left you feeling empty on your shared bed, stains of mascara chalked up on your dry cheeks.
“i’m so sorry, honey, i’ve just been… called in for work,” spencer stands, dusting the napkin that was folded nicely on his lap. you watch as he takes a sip of his glass of water, then walks over to you to plant a kiss on your forehead.
he runs his fingers along the velvety texture of the sleeves of your dress, and you offer him a weak smile.
“it’s okay, duty calls, right?” you feel the tears surfacing and you have to fight yourself to not blink. it’s too early to cry.
“i-it’s a really bad one this time, and i hate to do this on such an important day-” spencer begins to apologize frantically, and his face marks an expression of genuine concern with his brows furrowing and lips twitching.
“it’s okay. you need to go, i understand.” you state plainly, and you immediately feel shameful – your words are too assertive and snarly for how you normally respond.
spencer pauses briefly, fidgeting with his fingers, before he gives a slight nod in your direction. he then walks over to the couch, grabs a book, and tightens the clasps on his bag.
“i’ll be back as fast as i can,” spencer utters quietly and walks out of the door. when the apartment door locks with a click, you break down immediately.
at first, the tears fall one by one. but then, a salty stream evident of pure emotional wreckage makes its way into the slight gap of your lips, and it’s an unstoppable domino effect. your shoulders shudder and heave as you struggle to catch breaths in between, and you splutter cries of your boyfriend’s name.
maybe it would’ve been better to just stay as conversational partners, to exchange updates once in a while when he’d actually commit to a time. it was your fault for getting your hopes up high, and all of this – fanciful dinner and dressing your best for the occasion – was wishful thinking. you just didn’t want to admit it.
“y/n?”
you look up to see spencer in front of the doorway, and his bag that was barely holding on to his shoulder drops to the floor with a thud.
you quickly look away, brushing the tears away with one arm and sniffle before choking out a response.
“i thought you left already, why are you here?” again, your words come out icier than you had hoped and hit you with a sharp pang of guilt.
spencer narrows his eyes ever so slightly as if he’s scrutinizing you, observing your body language. it doesn’t take a genius to know that you’re upset.
“i was going to. realized i forgot-,”
he clears his throat when you raise your eyebrows and proceeds, "i misplaced my wallet."
he slips out of his loafers, shoving aside his pair of converses that lie adjacent to your pretty pair of heels. he walks over to you, and you realize that you’re still seated at the dining table. you must look so stupid right now, waiting as if he’d just be returning from a bathroom break.
“i need to head out, but i promise… i promise we’ll talk about this really soon. we’ll have the anniversary dinner and-”
“did you even try?” you blurt out, and you look up at him with your puffy eyes glazed with tears.
a deathly silence clouds over the entire apartment, and you’re thinking of two options: leave the apartment and go run to a friend’s place, or confront him and see whether making amends – again, wishful thinking – would be possible.
“y/n. please believe me when i say that i’ve tried to, i’ve tried-”
you slam a hand to the table before standing up, your face twisting into an expression of outrage.
“no, because then you would’ve silenced it. you would’ve cut the call, just like you used to.” you fire your words at him as your hair sticks to the drying tears on your cheeks, and you begrudgingly wipe at your face.
a slow sigh escapes from spencer’s lips, and he looks at you with those eyes – the eyes that seemingly warn you, saying you don’t want to go there. not right now.
but you double down on him, the rage fueling your words as you lash out.
“it was just this one time. i only wanted you to stay for dinner just this one time.” you helplessly drop your hands to your sides, the tears landing on the floor with soft plops.
“i know. and i’m terribly sorry.” spencer bites his bottom lip and takes a step toward you. but you take a step back, and maybe that pulls a string between the two of you, because you can see how his shoulders tense up.
“look, can we talk about this when i get back? i’ll make it up to you, i swear.” he combs through his hair, the stress almost palpable as it leaks from his shaking fingers.
while you know he has to head out again, the way he so easily brushes off the conversation like it’s something he doesn’t even want to think about feeds into your disbelief. soon, however, your anger subsides into a tired frown.
“i don’t know, you might come home late… when i’m asleep or something.” you look at the wall where a photo of the two of you is framed, and you weakly smile at how happy you seemed then.
“i’ll give you a call, is that okay?” he searches your face for any signs of approval, but you’re zoned out thinking about the past, of how everything used to be.
“whatever, just go.” you wave him off and walk to the couch, where you lie down and turn against him to face the plush fabric.
spencer sighs, and his hand looms over your head momentarily before he grabs his wallet from the table. you hear a faint sorry trail from behind as he leaves the room, and your nails claw at the arms of the couch before the darkness cradles you once again.
it’s 10:30 pm, and you hear the doorknob click again. you had just cleaned up the dishes after eating dinner alone and left his portion in the fridge. you were now changed into your pajamas and getting ready for your night routine.
you peep out of your bedroom door to see spencer, his suit all wet. he looks at you as he takes off his shoes, and a sullen expression paints his face. did it start raining after he left? you realize that you were mostly cooped up in the bedroom since his departure, so you wouldn’t have known.
bravely looking up at him in the eye, you state: “you came back early.” you hate how unwelcoming you sound in his own home.
he pauses before he sets his wet bag on the floor and removes his blazer jacket to throw over a chair.
he approaches you, hands in his pockets and hair twisted in matted curls.
“hm.” he grabs a towel from the closet and makes his way to the shower, brushing past your shoulder. you feel an icy shudder spread through your spine after he closes the bathroom door.
was he giving you the silent treatment right now?
you hear the water start from the bathroom and you sink into your bed while turning to twist the lamp lights on.
after all that torturous waiting you went through, he was giving you the silent treatment?
fifteen minutes later, a knock reverberates from the other side of the bedroom door, and even though you don’t respond, spencer steps in. he’s changed into a t-shirt and black pajama pants, and he drops next to you on the bed.
“i’m taking the week off.”
the sentence startles you, and it’s something so unexpected you choke on your own saliva.
“what, what do you mean you’re taking the week off?” you ask him, finally turning to face him in the eyes. his brown irises blaze into your own.
“i’ve been pushing off everything you wanted to do with me — things that I wanted to do with you — and i’ve just been…” he turns away to play with the wrinkles on his pants as he speaks, picking out the dust that lies embedded between the folds.
he pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a deep sigh. he continues, “i don’t know if it’s all worth it.”
silence casts a blanket over the two of you.
“spence,” you say after a while, and hesitantly lay a hand on his thigh.
“nothing’s more important in the world to me than you. you and your happiness. i know you love this job and i know you love helping people. you’re such a kind hearted man, and it’s why i fell in love with you in the first place.”
when spencer gives you no response, you confess: “spence, i get jealous sometimes.”
this time his eyes widen, and he looks at you.
“you do?” he asks softly, peering into your eyes and you cave instantly.
“of course i do. it’s… everybody wants you, spencer. we all need you, whether we realize it or not.”
he scoffs.
“but i only want you.”
his voice is raspy yet mellow at the same time, the smoothest stream of sweetness seeping through your eardrums. god. you can never stay mad at this gorgeous man, the same man that made you cry on numerous occasions just counting the past week.
“you need to do more than that, if you… you know.” you quietly murmur as you fidget with the hem of your nightgown.
“i know,” he speaks with a hushed tone. “i told hotch, and i told him it was going to happen whether he liked it or not. the demands of this job are… tough, but i don’t want to miss out on all the things we planned together. i won’t.”
you start bawling right when he delivers the last word, and all the tears that you were holding back spill over your flushed cheeks. your boyfriend immediately leans in to console you, pulling you into a tight embrace as his chin rests on top of your head.
it’s okay, he murmurs reassuringly. you ease into his touch, and you realize how much you missed this. how much you missed spending time with him.
his left hand tugs lightly at your soft hair while his right rubs your back in smooth circles.
“i missed you,” you speak with a hushed voice, looking up into his eyes as a glassy coat of tears blur your vision.
he cups your face with his hands before whispering, “i missed you too.”
you continue to blabber words of love-stained anguish but he cuts you off short, pulling you in for a short kiss on your lips, which are now tainted with your tears.
“you taste… salty,” he whispers, giving you a slight smile as he brushes off the rest of your tears that weigh down on your eyelashes.
“it’s because of you, silly,” you drawl as you taste the salty residue of your tears.
yeah, spencer responds hesitantly. but he’s wearing a small smile, tilting his head to one side as his eyes emit a glint of tranquilizing peace.
he reaches into his pajama pocket and takes out a piece of candy. you curiously watch as his fingers quickly remove the wrapper, revealing a glazed cherry-flavored sphere.
“may i?” he asks, and his faint voice is a gravitational force that you can’t resist.
you briefly respond with a lazy hm? before he plops the candy into your mouth and kisses you again. the sweetness explodes like fireworks with his warm breath, and the sticky layer of sugar melts like acid on your intertwined tongues. you let out a satisfied hum when you pull back, and it’s undeniably attractive the way spencer licks the corner of his lips.
a tear falls from your eye again, and this time, it’s not out of sorrow.
#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid angst#spencer reid x you#spencer reid fanfic#mgg x reader
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I lied
this fic is going to have at least four parts. oops.
Sorry this took longer than I intended! I started working on it literally the next day after the first part went up and banged out 3K words, then wrote another 1.5K over the next couple days, ended up hating it, deleted the whole thing and started over. I'm much happier with this version.
I had intended for this part to go deeper into the immediate aftermath buuuut this part ended up so long I decided to make that the next part!
And I got enabled on discord to be mean with the cliffhanger, so... sorry <3
CW: minor violence, angst, nobody having a good time, Bishop being Bishop
btw this is Part 2 of the Room Fic that doesn't have a title yet. If you're confused, start here!
-----
They're somewhere in Nebraska, and Raph's never seen so many stars before.
He thought he had seen stars, when they went camping in the woods that time with Todd. Now, sitting on the side of the road by the Turtle Tank, he's realizing that he didn't really see them.
He wishes he could enjoy it, but he can't. Not really. Because nine days ago, Leo stormed out of the lair and never came home.
(Raph knows the thing he'll always blame himself for is picking the fight in the first place.)
It took them several days to learn what had happened to him. Even more days to learn where he was taken. And now they're stuck on the side of the road in Nebraska while Donnie fixes a flat.
Mikey's dozing against his shoulder. He hasn't been getting enough sleep, not that any of them have. April's handing Donnie tools and keeping him company while he changes the tire. Draxum and Splinter are inside the tank, on the lookout for cops with the help of Donnie's police scanners.
It's cool since the sun went down. Quiet. Crickets are out and playing their songs. Raph's seen a few deer, and an owl. The stars are twinkling overhead, and it's calm, peaceful.
The weight on his shoulder is suddenly gone; Raph looks down to find Mikey sitting up straight, wide awake and head cocked to the side like a bloodhound who just caught a scent.
He opens his mouth to ask - and then he feels it too.
It's a cacophony of emotions, strong and hot and mixing together until they're overwhelming. Fear, pain, exhaustion, loneliness, and a blinding fury like even Raph has never felt before. Hatred and bile and the desire to attack, to harm, to destroy.
And underneath it all, a presence as familiar to him as his own, one that's been by his side since almost the day he was hatched. One that is fragile and desperate and screaming out for help.
Leo.
Raph stands up - next to him, Mikey is already on his feet. Raph reaches out his hand, his ninpo flaring to life, straining out into the open air like if he just stretches far enough, he can pluck Leo out of the hell he's trapped in and bring him home.
But he can't reach far enough, because the EPF took him all the way to Colorado. And they're still on the side of the road in Nebraska.
As quickly as it came, the presence is dying away again. It shrinks smaller and smaller and then fizzles out. Raph releases his breath, letting his ninpo fall away, his fingers still grasping open air.
A sniffle. Raph looks down and finds Mikey sobbing. He scoops his little brother into his arms, and Mikey throws himself into Raph's chest, heaving breaths shaking his tiny frame.
"Leo," he whimpers. All Raph can do is pat his shell.
He turns to take stock of Donnie next, carrying Mikey over. His other little brother has tears trickling down his face, too, more subdued but still visible. He's holding his wrench in a vice grip, and for once he doesn't utter a single protest when Raph reaches out and tucks him in under his free arm.
"...What just happened?" asks April, hesitant. Raph wishes he knew how to explain.
"It was Leo!" Mikey does it for him. "He... he's reaching for us."
"What!? Like, mind meld or something!?"
"No," answers Raph. "I don't really know what that was... but it was definitely Leo."
"So..." April pauses, eyes searching each of their faces. "Is he... okay?"
None of them know what to say, but she gets it anyway.
"...I'm going to destroy the EPF," says Donnie, voice dark and cold. "I'm going to raze it to the ground. There will be nothing left."
Raph squeezes his shoulders, pulling him closer.
He doesn't know what to do other than agree.
-----
"This is a good thing," says Draxum. "That means he's still alive."
"But they're hurting him!" Mikey argues. He's halfway in Draxum's lap, arms wrapped around Draxum's middle. Donnie sits on one of the bench seats, curled tight around his own legs, while Splinter strokes his head. Raph sits on the bench seat across from them, April leaning against his side.
"I told you what the EPF is capable of," Draxum reminds them. "This is not a surprise."
"Read the room, Barry," says April.
Splinter's look is increasingly far away, his touch on Donnie's head automatic and absentminded. He's able to stay in the room with them when there's something to do, but now the fear and depression are threatening to take him away again. For the hundredth time since this nightmare began, Raph feels the hopelessness set in.
Draxum sucks, but he's right, echoes the voice in his head that sounds too much like Leo. The plan hasn't changed. Now get moving before you tire out.
"Drax is right that Leo's alive," Raph echoes. "So we need to get a move on. Donnie, how's the tank?"
Donnie uncurls, coaxed by the request to talk about his baby. "The spare's on, and I did some checks on the engine and interior systems. We're ready to go."
"Alright." Raph stands up, rolling his shoulders. "It's Raph's turn to drive. Everyone buckle up."
The mood in the tank shifts after that; they have a direction, and a plan. Leo is hurt, but he's still alive, and nothing has changed.
Donnie and April sit together in the front seats. Mikey passes around snacks and drinks from their cooler, then snuggles in between their dad and Draxum. Draxum says something negative about the snack food, which pulls Splinter out of his trance and starts up some heated bickering between them. Even more of the tension leaks out of the cab.
Raph puts the tank in drive and pulls back onto the quiet highway, driving west again. At their back, the sun starts to rise.
-----
It's late in the day when they reach Colorado Springs.
Donnie was able to pin the EPF base's location down to the mountains surrounding the town, but he couldn't find its exact location. Whatever equipment they have, it's completely scrambled the subcutaneous tracker Donnie put on Leo (and boy, was that a stir when Donnie revealed he'd put trackers on all of them). It had taken a combination of Donnie's hacking and April's investigative skills to get this far.
"It makes sense," says April as they pull the tank into a campsite outside the city limits. "There's, what, three bases here? Where better to hide a secret branch of the military than with the military?"
There's snow on the ground outside, even though it's early May. Even so, the temperature was pretty mild while the sun was up. "It's the proximity to the mountains," Donnie explains when Raph mentions it, but the rest of the explanation blurs together. He's too tired to keep up with Donnie's science facts, but infodumping calms his brother down, so he lets him do it and nods along.
They eat a proper meal that Mikey cooks for them on one of the campsite grills, then settle in to nap until the sun goes down. Raph isn't sleeping, and he can tell from all the shifting around that Mikey and Donnie aren't, either. They're too close to Leo now to rest.
But you gotta catch some Zs before you go storming into enemy territory, the Leo in his head reminds him.
Raph hates every second you're in there, he thinks. But it won't be long now. Big bro's comin'.
He wishes the Leo in his head would say that he believes that. But all Raph can remember are the words they said during the fight, and he never quite goes to sleep.
-----
They break into pairs for their search. Raph goes with April, Mikey with Splinter, and Donnie stays with Draxum at the tank. Donnie uses his tech to try and narrow down the location of the base, while the other two teams go in opposite directions and start scouting the area on foot.
It takes a long time for them to learn anything, and as the sun comes up again, Raph starts to worry that they're going to have to leave Leo trapped for another full day.
But then he and April finally get a lead. They send the info to Donnie, and it helps narrow down his search.
Just after dawn, they reconvene at the tank, gathered around satellite images and drone shots of a nondescript military compound several miles outside the city.
"There it is," says Donnie with finality. "That's where they're keeping Leo."
"Then what are waiting for?" asks Mikey.
Wait for dark, says the Leo in Raph's head.
And that advice makes sense. There will be fewer employees at night. The dark provides natural cover. It's sane. It's smart.
Raph ignores it entirely.
He's not leaving his little brother with those people for one second longer. Not after what he felt, sitting on the side of the road in Nebraska.
"We're not waiting for anything," he says. "Let's move out."
From the looks on their faces, they all agree.
------
The site looks as generic as possible. There's a high electric fence circling the whole thing, with a basic "No Trespassing - Government Property" sign. A simple guard stand sits at the drive-in gate. The buildings visible beyond are drab and featureless.
The government stopped publicly funding the EPF in the nineties, Draxum had told them. But the organization had never truly gone away; it was just funded through underground means now. Miscellaneous defense funding. Anonymous donations. Private benefactors.
Originally it had been founded to defend Earth against aliens. But when no alien threat appeared, they moved on to a new mission: defending the United States against yokai.
"Even though we were here first," Draxum had said testily. "Typical Americans."
Raph hadn't liked anything Draxum had to tell them about the EPF. That they weren't bound by any of the laws the rest of the military was. That the yokai they had managed to capture were never seen again. That Draxum had had a very brief run-in with them once, decades ago, and he doubted they had ever forgotten it.
Really, though, all he'd needed to know was that they had his brother.
It's the middle of the morning, so their stealth options are limited. Still, they aren't ninja for nothing; they use the forest and the snowy terrain to their advantage and sneak their way into the compound. Raph has to admit, he was a little worried about Draxum on the trip over, but the old goat does a pretty good job keeping up.
It takes them a bit of time to work out which building to enter. They rule out a mess hall, a medical ward, the barracks, and some kind of training center first. Then, toward the furthest reaches of the compound, they find a building that looks particularly suspicious, with a guard gate on the path leading to it and more armed guards on the roof.
"That has to be it," says Raph. No one disagrees.
They use a passing supply truck to slip past the guard gate, then sneak around the back and use a fire ladder to get to the roof. They dispatch the guards on top quickly and easily, then find a ventilation shaft leading inside. Mikey, Donnie, April, and Splinter fit easily enough, but Raph and Draxum are too big to wiggle through.
"Find out where we're going. Radio us as soon as you find something," Raph says. Then he gives Mikey, April, and Donnie's shoulders each a squeeze in turn. "And be careful."
"Take care of Red," their dad says to Draxum just before he follows the others inside.
"He's safe with me," Draxum promises.
"You're safe with Raph," Raph feels the need to say. Splinter chuckles before disappearing into the shaft after his siblings.
Waiting outside becomes nerve-wracking quickly. Raph starts to pace the length of the roof, back and forth, glancing at the unconscious guards from time to time to make sure they're still unconscious.
"You're going to wear a rut on the roof," Draxum admonishes him. Raph keeps going anyway.
-----
Finally, after what feels like ages but is only about ten minutes, his radio crackles. Raph freezes, pulling his wrist close, where Donnie's tech is hidden under his wraps.
"Hey." It's April's voice. She sounds out of breath, but not distressed. "Come to the back of the building. Should be a door."
"On our way," says Raph, waving at Draxum to follow before dropping off the roof.
The door is easy enough to find, the snow around it trampled down. He gives the metal a rap with his knuckles when he gets there, and the door swings open, April grinning, her bat perched against her shoulder. Behind her is another unconscious guard.
"Nice, April," says Raph, hustling inside. He kicks the last of the snow off his feet once he's on the cold linoleum floor, Draxum following suit. April lets the door swing shut again. "Where's everyone else?"
"We found some kinda security room. Leo's gear was in there." She pushes by and starts to lead them down the hall, voice low, eyes watching for anyone rounding the corner. "Donnie's poking through the camera footage. Didn't look like anyone much was in this hall, so I came to get you."
"And Leonardo?" asks Draxum.
April gives a shake of her head. "Haven't found him yet, but he's gotta be here. There's not much more of the building to search, so we're close."
Raph peeks in open doors and through windows as they walk, taking in the space. It looks like an ordinary office building inside; nothing nefarious, except for the fact that the people working here are kidnapping scum who have done something so terrible to his little brother it made him scream out in anguish and fury. But if he hadn't known that coming in, he wouldn't have expected anything. It all looks very...
Raph comes to a sudden stop. Through the sliver of window in a door, he sees the first occupied room since he's entered the building. Only one person is inside, wearing a white lab coat and tapping away at a computer.
But what's more interesting is the door on the other side of the room: solid metal with no window, and a sign that reads "Inmate Observation - Authorized Access Only".
Raph grabs April by the shoulder before she can get too far ahead, pointing at the window. "Do you know what's in there?"
She turns back and takes a peek. "...No. I don't think we went through there yet."
So they haven't ruled this part of the building out yet. And it's the only one so far with anyone inside.
Inmate Observation.
"Raph, wait, I think we should-" April starts, but Raph doesn't listen. Raph can't stop himself.
His little brother is in here. He knows he is. The one who was taken from them. The one who cried out to them in fear, begging to be saved.
He's not making Leo wait a moment longer.
Raph throws open the door and marches inside.
"...Okay," April says behind him. "I guess we're doing it this way.
-----
The scientist or whoever they are tries to radio for help. Raph picks the radio up and crushes it in his hand. They turn and run, and that takes care of that.
April calls the others on her radio. Raph doesn't listen to the conversation. His eyes are locked on the door.
Inmate Observation.
He reaches out and throws the door back with a bang.
He's ready for the gunshots before they come, and his ninpo is already active, forming a protective bubble around himself and shielding Draxum and April. He's expecting bullets, but instead it's darts; they embed themselves harmlessly in the arms of his projection. Raph waits until the volley stops, then drops the projection, and the darts fall harmlessly to the floor.
He steps into the room and clocks one of the guards on the head before they can reload, watching as they fall to the ground. April wallops the other one, then kicks their fallen gun under a desk. She brandishes her bat at the other occupants of the room: two more scientists in lab coats, and one steely faced man in a suit.
The scientists seem intimidated. The suited man does not.
"Ah," he says. "So you've finally made it here, Draxum."
"Bishop." Draxum sounds equally unimpressed. "I thought you died in the nineties."
"So does most of the world. It's convenient for my work."
"You guys know each other?" April asks, looking between them.
"We know of each other." Draxum sneers. "If my plans had gone as I intended, he would truly be dead by now."
Raph narrows his eyes at the man. "Are you the one who's been keeping my brother here?"
To his credit, Bishop still looks unphased, even though Raph is tall enough to hulk over him. "I am the director of this facility."
It's enough of a yes.
Raph rushes Bishop, slamming him into the wall behind his back. Raph keeps him pinned, one hand on his neck, the other arm pressed against his chest, and Raph presses until he feels something start to crack.
Bishop hisses but does not cry out.
"Where are you keeping him?" Raph demands.
"He's in there," says Bishop, wheezing only slightly from the constriction on his lungs, his voice firm otherwise.
Raph tosses a look where Bishop indicates, seeing a large window. It's looking into a seemingly empty room; white walls and no furniture other than a toilet in the corner.
"Raph don't see him," he growls.
"He hides under the window." Bishop's eyes flicker to one of the scientists. "Pointless, really," he says, giving the man in the lab coat a nod. "Show them."
The scientist looks uneasy, but he turns and clicks a few buttons on a desktop. A screen pops up, but it doesn't show anything other than static.
"...Something is wrong with our camera signals, sir," the scientist reports.
"Ah." Bishop's eyes glint, and then flick back to Raph's face. "So there are more of you."
Raph doesn't answer that. He gives Bishop a rough shake. "What have you done to him?"
"Your brother?" Bishop clarifies. "Nothing."
Another shake. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying." Bishop's eyes are steely, even as his wheezing picks up the more Raph leans into his chest. "Other than as was necessary to move him, we have not touched him."
Raph doesn't move an inch. "I don't believe that."
"Then see for yourself." Bishop looks at the other scientist now, giving a small nod of his head. "Dr. Keller, open the door for this brute so he'll stop assaulting me."
Raph scowls, staying exactly where he is while the other scientist scurries to the metal door by the window and inputs a code into a keypad. There's a beep, and a clipped, artificial voice says, "Inmates clear the door. Security personnel entering. Stay still and you will not be harmed."
Finally, Raph lets Bishop go, and approaches the door.
-----
When Raph imagined one of them getting kidnapped by a shady, quasi-governmental agency intent on imprisoning mutants, he always pictured something... different.
He thought they would be in cages, not tall enough to stand in. That they would be fed from dog bowls or water drippers. That handlers would patrol the room with cattle prods, ready to shock anyone who stepped out of line.
But there is no cage, and no cattle prods. Leo is just in a room.
The first thing Raph notices about the room is the cold. The rest of the building is hardly stifling, but even then, the blast of air that comes through the open door feels like Raph is stepping into a freezer.
As he saw from outside, there's no furniture. Or he doesn't think there is, until he looks down, under the window, and finds a cot.
And what's on the cot makes his heart stop.
Raph can barely remember the last time he saw Leo pull himself fully into his shell for anything other than shell bowling. He complained that it was too small, that the hot and cramped space made him feel claustrophobic.
Now he's completely pulled inside, still and silent in a way Leo should never be.
For an eternity, Raph thinks he's too late. They came all the way here only to save Leo's corpse.
"Leo...?"
He kneels by the cot, reaching out and putting a hand on Leo's shell. He's cold to the touch, and it unsettles Raph even further. He shouldn't be this cold.
Raph keeps his hand where it is and stays very still and very quiet. And he waits.
And then he hears it, so faint he almost misses it: a terrified, whimpering chirp.
Leo is alive.
Raph feels tears spring to his eyes. He puts his other hand on Leo's shell, rubbing in big, soothing motions.
"Leo! Leo, it's me! We're here, we're getting you out! It's all going to be okay, just trust Big Raphie, alright?"
So saying, Raph straightens back up, and grabs Leo's shell in his hands to carry him out, to take his little brother home.
A hand shoots out of the shell, stick thin. Though it's clearly weak, it grabs on to Raph's arm with a desperate ferocity, clawing at the skin there.
Raph freezes, not putting Leo down but not lifting him any further, either. He peers into the gap in Leo's shell, and sees eyes peering back at him, glassy and wide and full of terror. A cornered animal fighting for his life.
Raph takes a deep breath. He summons all the love he has for Leo, all the relief he feels at finding him alive, all the happiness he has from having his little brother in his arms again, and he pours it into a genuine smile, no matter the danger outside.
"Hey, Leo," he says, voice soft. "It's just me. Raph came to get ya. Everything's okay now."
A second passes, then five, then twenty. April starts to come in, but Raph waves a finger at her to tell her to go back before she startles Leo. He keeps the smile on his face, his eyes locked on Leo's, his hold secure but non-threatening.
And then, slowly, Leo pokes his head out.
"Raph?" he asks, in a voice that is exhausted and hoarse and warbling and absolutely beautiful.
"Yeah," says Raph, blinking tears back. "Hey, buddy."
Steadily, Leo unfurls the rest of himself, one limb emerging at a time. He looks terrible. His cheeks are sunken and gaunt, his skin is an unhealthy color, his eyes are ringed by dark black circles showing off how little he's slept.
Raph is so happy to see him. He so wishes this wasn't the state he was finding Leo in. If he could turn back time and make it so Leo never suffered, he would in a heartbeat. But he's so happy to have Leo back that the tears keep flowing.
The grip Leo has on his arm shifts. No longer trying to claw himself free, but grabbing on, holding still, with all the same desperation as before. His eyes search Raph's face, over and over until it seems he's finally satisfied.
"Raph," he repeats, and it's not a question this time.
"Yeah," Raph says anyway. "I'm here."
He lifts Leo the rest of the way, cradling Leo against his chest. Leo's so much lighter than he should be, and Raph feels a sharp pain in his heart over it.
It's okay. They'll leave. They'll take care of him. And then Leo will be all better again.
Leo shifts himself, reaching one arm up and hooking it around Raph's neck. Just that much movement seems to sap a lot of energy, and he slumps his head against Raph, giving up on holding it upright. It reminds Raph of when they were little and he would carry Leo to bed, before Leo started insisting he's too old for that.
"Am I dreaming?" Leo whispers.
Raph's heart breaks, but he doesn't lose his smile. "Nope. You're wide awake."
"Then..." Leo nuzzles closer. "Can we go home?"
"Yeah." Raph sniffles, shifting his grip so he can get a hand free without disturbing Leo. "We can go home."
Leo doesn't say anything more, just hums quietly against Raph's neck. Raph wipes his tears away, then turns and carries Leo out of the room.
-----
Bishop is still against the wall; it's Draxum's vines holding him there now.
When Leo sees him, he shrinks into himself, crossing the arm not hooked around Raph over his chest. Raph turns his body so Leo is shielded from view, glaring hard at Bishop as he does.
"Didn't do anything to him, huh?" he asks, voice icy.
"He is unharmed," says Bishop, equally cold. Raph wants to kill him.
"That's enough out of you," says Draxum, and a new vine wraps around Bishop's mouth. That shuts him up.
April's eyes are wide, her hand over her mouth as she looks at Leo, but she quickly pulls herself together, her expression turning to one of hard steel. She comes closer, only softening when Leo's eyes lock on her.
"Hey, Leo," she says, reaching up and giving his arm a pat. "How're you feelin'?"
"Happy to see you," Leo rasps, and it's so sincere that Raph feels tears spring to his eyes again. April has to blink hard behind her glasses.
"We're really happy to see you, too."
"Yes, everyone is happy now," says Draxum, though his eyes are worried as they look Leo over. "But we still need to get out of here."
"Right." April opens the door back into the offices, letting Raph through, before she pulls up her wrist to talk into her Donnie tech. "Guys, you there?"
"We're here, April," comes Donnie's voice. "We've extracted the information and we're on our way to meet you."
"Great." She smiles up at Raph. "We got Leo."
"Leo!" Mikey's voice comes booming through the radio, loud enough that April cringes and leans back. Raph can hear Donnie make a noise of protest in the background. "Is he okay!? Can I talk to him!? Did he miss me!?"
April raises her wrist so the tech is in front of Leo's mouth. He tilts his head towards it, saying, "Course I missed you."
"LEO!" screams Mikey even louder, and Raph thinks he hears the shout from somewhere in the building, too.
"-key, give me back my arm-" comes Donnie's voice, then there's an exaggerated throat clearing before he's saying, "We'll be there in one minute. Be ready to move."
"We're ready," Raph assures him. They move to the door and watch for the others to appear.
-----
Days of stress seem to fall off his brothers and Splinter when they see Leo.
Raph wishes they could have all the hugs and reassurances he knows they all need, but there's just no time; they're still in enemy territory, and the man who hurt his brother the most is just behind two doors, only being held by Draxum's vines. There's time only for brief shoulder touches and for Splinter to jump up on Raph's shoulder and give Leo's forehead a quick, relieved kiss.
Raph gives the rest of his family a quick glance over. Mikey is carrying Leo's gear, the katana sheathed across his shell and the rest of it slung over his shoulder. They haven't gotten any injuries, as far as he can tell. Everyone looks good to go.
"How do we get out of here?" asks Raph. Donnie pulls up his wrist tech.
"It may be inevitable that we'll face resistance on our way out... But the closest door is this way." He points down the hall, back the way Raph, Draxum, and April came from.
There's a weak thump against Raph's shoulder. "Gunners on the roof," Leo rasps once he has Raph's attention.
Raph wonders how he knows that, but there's no time to ask.
"We took care of 'em," he says instead. "You just relax, okay? We're getting out of here."
Leo lets his head fall against Raph's shoulder again, and Raph takes that as the okay to move.
It takes less time to get out than it did to get in. No need for stealth now that the director knows they're here, after all.
They run down the hallways, through doors, past the still unconscious guard April took care of earlier. Draxum takes the lead through the door, and they all crash as a group outside.
Where a ring of soldiers are waiting for them, guns trained their direction. And Raph isn't sure they're loaded with darts this time.
Leo shudders in his arms, and Raph curls protectively around him, already summoning his ninpo to shield them. His family forms their own protective barrier around the two of them, readying their weapons and squaring off against the soldiers.
Behind them, the door opens.
"This doesn't have to end in anyone getting hurt," says Bishop as he walks out.
Raph doesn't turn towards him, keeping the shivering Leo out of his sight. "What, like you didn't hurt my brother?"
"I've already told you, I didn't touch him." Bishop sounds only mildly put out. "He can attest to that himself."
"It's cute that you think any of us care what you have to say," snaps April, rounding on him and pointing her bat his direction.
"You should care what I have to say." Bishop nods at Raph. "Your comrade needs medical attention. Care that I can provide, if you lower your weapons and surrender."
"Care he only needs 'cause you jerks kidnapped him!" yells Mikey.
"Mikey," whispers Leo. Raph glances down at him, but Leo isn't looking his way.
"I gave Inmate 24365 plenty of chances to cooperate in exchange for more comfortable living conditions. That he declined was his choice. But I have no wish to see him dead. We were going to transfer him to the medical unit just as you arrived and interrupted us; surrender, and we'll take him there now."
"No," snaps Splinter, stepping toward Bishop. "You will come nowhere near my sons ever again."
"Mikey," Leo hisses with more urgency.
"These turtles are your sons? Really?" Bishop sounds disbelieving. Raph still doesn't turn his direction. "What am I supposed to believe next? That humans can give birth to birds?"
"They are my sons!" Splinter asserts. "Come near them again, and you are dead!"
"Perhaps we should kill him now, Lou Jitsu, and be done with it," Draxum suggests.
"Mikey," says Leo, kicking one emaciated foot. Mikey finally looks their way, confused. "Gimme... swords."
He doesn't have to explain. But Raph feels uneasy. He exchanges a glance with Donnie, who seems similarly concerned. "Nardo, I don't think-"
"Hey," says Leo, and even though his vocal chords sound tired and out of use, they can all hear him, their confident face-man of a brother, with a big ego and a cocky tone, shining through. "Trust me, I got this."
Mikey gives him the katana.
"The American government have allowed the yokai to live peacefully within our borders up until now," says Bishop. "If you kill me, that peace will be ruined."
"This war was started when you kidnapped my child!" cries Splinter, snapping his tail.
"You threaten the Hidden Cities as though you know anything about them," says Draxum. "They do not fear you."
"We know more about them than you think."
"You expect me to listen to this blathering?"
"Is it a chance you're willing to take, Draxum?"
Draxum falls silent. The lack of answer makes Raph feel even more on edge. But Leo is holding his katana now.
"You'll threaten the yokai no matter what we do today," says Splinter, voice dark. "No. We will not hand Leonardo over to you. You will not lay a single finger on him."
"So you're saying you won't surrender." Bishop pauses. Leo takes a deep breath. "You agree, Draxum?"
"...Leonardo is my creation. My son." Draxum sounds resolute. "No. I will not surrender."
Bishop scoffs. "Your son... this animal."
It's only the fact that he's holding Leo, fragile and shaking in his arms, that keeps Raph from turning around and killing Bishop right then.
But he doesn't, and Bishop raises his voice.
"Baron Draxum is a known yokai terrorist, who has threatened mass murder on the civilian human population of the United States and the rest of the earth. These five yokai are co-conspirators, and this woman with them a sympathizer and accomplice. They are attacking this base with the intent to harm those inside, and so anything we do now is self defense."
There's a smile in his tone as he says it.
"Fire at will."
Around them, triggers are pulled, and gunshots sound off.
But the flash of blue under their feet is faster.
For the first time since coming outside, Raph chances a look over his shoulder at Bishop, just as he's falling through the portal. Bullets whiz overhead, and one hits home.
The last thing Raph sees as he disappears into the blue light is blood blooming across Bishop's suit.
-----
They fall out of the portal somewhere outside the fence. Raph's not sure exactly where. He's not even sure Leo was aiming, beyond getting them away.
He lets out a relieved laugh, looking around at everyone, in one piece and notably not shot. They still have to get back to the tank, but they made it. They're safe.
"Leo! You did it!" He whoops, looking down at his little brother. "I can't believe you really- ...Leo?"
That's when he realizes that Leo isn't moving.
He's slumped over in Raph's hold, no longer holding himself up. His katana slip out of his lax grip and fall into the snow with a soft whump.
"L-leo!? LEO!"
Part 1 | Part 2 (here) | Part 3 (coming soon)
#rottmnt#dandy fanfiction#rise raph#rise april#rise mikey#rise donnie#baron draxum#rise splinter#rise leo#cw violence#cw guns
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Wish You Were Here | Part 3
You and Joel get stuck in a blizzard during patrol. It leads to something unexpected.
Series masterlist
Pairing : Joel Miller x f!reader
Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, some smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, jackson joel, joel is a good parent to ellie, protective joel, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence
WC : 8.9 k
Warnings for part 3 : Minors DNI! swearing, drinking, mentions of trauma and PTSD, mild violence, explicit sexual content (masturbation, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough-ish sex, praise kink, pet names, limited aftercare), more hurt than comfort I'm sorry
Writing this one hurt a lil. But I'm happy with it. So please enjoy.
It’s been half an hour. Thirty minutes of riding side by side in complete silence, interrupted only by the sounds of Old Beardy and Willow’s hooves rhythmically crunching in the snow. It seems like an eternity. The tension is so intense it’s almost palpable. Your presence, a blur in Joel’s peripheral vision, is putting him on such an edge that, at any given moment now, he could turn around and gallop back to Jackson, or start saying things he’d better keep to himself, or get you off your horse and take you by the waist and…
No. Nope. Stop it.
His grip on the reins tightens and he bites his inner cheek until the stab of pain rips his mind off that absurd train of thought. He stares straight ahead at the deserted highway, the stretch of the 191 carved in a broad valley. The landscape is lost in a sea of white, the concrete below invisible, crashed cars resembling large animals sleeping in a snowy den. Joel’s face is numb from the cold, rugged skin humid, a few wild strands of hair on his forehead pearling with ice. The brim of his insulated cap isn’t enough to shield his eyes from the stinging wind, but still, he stares, almost unblinking. His neck itches with the urge to turn and glance at you; he has been actively fighting it ever since leaving. He has to remain collected, he has to concentrate on the job. That sentence is playing on loop in his head like a mantra, so much so that the words are getting jumbled, barely making sense anymore.
He doesn’t understand why it’s been so difficult to just move on from what happened. Not one day during those two weeks has passed without his thoughts drifting back to that brief intimacy he shared with you, without wondering what you’re doing, how you’re doing. And he loathes it. Hates being confused, hates not having control, hates that you’re having such an effect on him. So, before he drives himself crazy, he decides to start counting the cars until the both of you reach the first checkpoint on the Hoback route. Joel has calculated about five miles since Jackson, only around three to go until the job gets more active. There are two cars on the right, their shapes stuck together in a permanent collision, and one on the left. Joel can make it.
Small, repetitive rituals like this always helped him focus; back when he was working construction, a lifetime ago, he’d recite stupid ad jingles to himself, trying to remember as many as he could and associate them with the correct brand. There was a famous one that Sarah used to sing just to annoy him, delighted when it worked without fail every time. He’d be reading the newspaper in the morning, or watching a game, or driving her to school, and she’d pipe up out of nowhere. And then it’d be stuck in Joel’s head for days. Some annoying rap about credit reports. How did it go again? F-R-E-E, that spells free…something something dot com, baby. Sarah’s mischievous giggles, after he begged her to stop, echo around his mind. Less than a year back, it would have sent him down to a dark, sunken place with slippery walls nearly impossible to climb out of. Not anymore, after Ellie. The memory’s still stained with grief, but it doesn’t feel so crushing to carry. He’s accepted it as part of him. Joel tries to recall the rest of the lyrics to that damned song; he thinks Ellie might get a kick out of it. She’s always so eager to learn about even the most meaningless things that existed before the outbreak.
It does the trick to distract him from you. It works so well, in fact, that he nearly misses the turn to the checkpoint. He pulls on Old Beardy’s reins suddenly, steering him in the right direction. The horse neighs in protest.
So much for concentrating.
You’ve certainly noticed the mishap, but you don’t comment on it, much to his relief.
Get a fucking grip.
Joel begins down the side path to an abandoned gas station, the tension rising. Maybe, if one of you were to point out the obvious, it would make this whole situation a bit less miserable. But Joel isn’t going to be the one to do it. It would come out all wrong, anyway.
The place is small, a few pumps decaying under a canopy that’s barely holding on to four crumbling steel rods. The convenience store isn’t in better shape, its windows shattered, the signboard crashed by the entry. You take initiative and move towards the back of the building; Joel takes it as a cue for him to check out the front. The advantage of being an experienced patroller is that you can do your job without much communication; at least there’s that. He jumps off Old Beardy and walks up to the building, unworried but readying his weapon nonetheless. If there were infected around, he’d have spotted them already. Just as he thought, the interior is empty, what’s left of it is covered in a thin film of dirty snow. Just for good measure, he checks the storage and the restrooms in the back. Still nothing. He jogs back to his horse just as you turn a corner, you and Willow coming back into view, calm, unperturbed.
You don’t wait for him to leave. He scrambles to mount Old Beardy, and you’re already back on the highway. It sustains Joel’s growing irritation; he almost yells out for you to slow down. Sure, ignoring each other is one thing, but being unsafe and disrespecting patrol rules is another. So, as a punishment, Joel spurs Old Beardy into a run and catches up before overtaking you, almost knocking you off Willow. He hears you gasp out in surprise. You try to swerve to the right, but he blocks the move. He wants to make you crack. Because he can’t be the one to do so first. You try the same move, to the left this time, and again, Joel is faster. He takes things a step further and lets out a dry, arrogant scoff.
That’s it. You’re about to rip into him. But only the whistling of the wind responds; you keep stubbornly quiet. You don’t even give the man a glance when he finally lets you pass and get back on his side, your expression set in stone.
Damn it. You’re good.
Joel doesn’t attempt anything else, deciding it’s wasted energy. You both continue on the road, status quo, for another hour. You stop at a few other checkpoints around the highway : an old RV park, a fire station…Warm, sheltered places that would draw in people, or things, at this time of year. But there’s no sign of life anywhere. By this point, Joel would usually have had to take out at least a stray runner. It’s almost unsettling. Like the calm before a storm. That little seed of concern plants itself inside his mind, heightening his senses. You must feel it too, because you guide your horse closer to his, and he notices your right hand leaving the reins to rest on the rifle hanging from your shoulder.
Sombre clouds are accumulating in the sky, hanging low, menacing. The wind increases as you both reach the highway exit to the small village of Hoback, carrying sharp snowflakes that cut Joel’s exposed cheeks. The path is narrow, flanked by tall conifers that grow denser, their branches drooping down from the weight of the snow. You’re forced to get behind the man, your gaze on his back piercing, nervous, uncomfortable. The both of you still don’t talk, but the atmosphere has shifted, the unspoken conflict momentarily forgotten.
Joel moves forward cautiously on trot, alert, scanning his surroundings. The first cluster of residences comes into view, simple log cabins settled at the foot of a hill a couple yards away. From the distance, nothing looks out of place. He signals for you to follow him, and you patrol up and down the short street, hastily inspecting the houses on both sides. They’re frozen in a dead silence, immobile, ravaged by years of negligence and harsh elements. Instead of being reassuring, the absence of movement only causes Joel’s foreboding feeling to develop. Something is very off here. The both of you repeat the process through the village, falling into calculated, practised gestures. And, while patrollers have the habit of checking some key places for supplies to bring back to Jackson, this time, your pair instinctively works as fast as possible, not entering a single house. There’s an unwritten agreement to get the hell out of here as soon as you can.
You’ve cleared out most of the village and, at last, you reach Snake River, the sounds of its turbulent waters mixed with the wind is tumultuous. There’s a bridge ahead, just large enough for a car. Its wooden structure is unstable, some slats have fallen, the rest are icy and split in places. This next part has to be done on foot; the horses would collapse through the bridge and drown if they even took one step on it. Once you cross the river, you’ll need to walk a couple miles to the outskirts of the village, finishing off the route at an old golf course. The clubhouse is a great lookout to the area; it holds the patrol logbook. Joel halts Old Beardy before the river, and you stop next to him. The animal shakes his head, freeing his mane from the layer of snow. Joel hesitates, not quite ready to leave the protection and speed horseback offers. He’s debating if an acute gut feeling is reason enough to turn back and leave patrol unfinished.
That short moment of doubt is precious. Because a second later, nature seems to fall completely silent around you. As though a predator is roaming nearby. Sudden, horrible snarls erupt from the woods stretching to your right. The ground trembles beneath fast, uneven footsteps. A lot of them. Too many. Time stops as Joel looks in your eyes for the first time in hours. They’re full of fear.
And then a runner stumbles onto the trail about three hundred feet behind, twitching, its mangled head snapping in your direction. Followed by another. And another. It jolts the man right into action.
“COME ON!” He urges you, spurring Old Beardy to a gallop.
There’s no way to go, but forward. Joel barrels around the bridge and down the slope, reaching the riverbank. You don’t leave his side, thighs clenched around Willow’s flanks, arms straining with the reins. And as your horses hooves hit the ice, the horde has crossed the distance, pouring down the embankment. There’s at least twenty. Some of them fall into the water, the current seizing them immediately. But it’s not enough to stop them. Joel’s heart is hammering out of his chest, his body rocking with the movement as Old Beardy pushes on, fueled by the danger. Joel lets go of the reins, expert fingers grasping his rifle. He swiftly points it at the first runner that lunges at his left, and lodges a bullet in its brain. The next one steps on the corpse, ready to attack. It meets the same fate. The gunshots coming from your side clearly indicate that you’re handling yourself. Before long, Joel has emptied the chamber, not one bullet wasted.
“RELOADING!” He shouts.
You cover him, taking out an infected, mere inches before his claws dig into Joel’s ankle. He doesn’t have time to thank you, however, pulling the trigger the second he readies the rifle again. You both maintain the rhythm up for what seems to be hours, the horses snorting through the effort, runners dropping like flies. Joel has lost all sensation; he doesn’t feel his lungs burning or his muscles pulling; the adrenaline has completely taken over. He keeps riding. Shooting. Reloading. And…Yes, there.
Only two of the fuckers left.
One on your side, one on his. He fires. Perfect shot. He thinks the two of you might make it out unscathed.
But then, something happens. Your weapon is pointed at your own runner, about to shoot. But you hesitate. Joel watches as the creature strikes. Willow panics. She rears up. And you are thrown to the ground.
——————————
That runner.
It looks so much like her.
Your body hits the riverbank, head bouncing on a rock, wind knocked out of you. A sharp pain erupts in your skull, high-pitched ringing explodes in your ears, stars appear in your vision. In a fraction of a second, the creature is straddling you. You weakly push an elbow against its chest, keeping its jaws from locking around your neck. It twitches, screams, clacks its teeth.
And you just…accept it. Twenty-one years of surviving, and this is how it ends.
You close your eyes.
And you’re back in the forest. That day. You’re running, faster than you’ve ever done in your life, branches grabbing at you, slicing your skin, like they want to prevent your escape. You glance over your shoulder. She’s gaining on you. Her eyes have turned a milky white, her clothes are ripped, her skin bloodied. But she still looks so much like herself. She still sounds like herself. Your baby sister. Her discorded weeps fill you with a gutting terror. You can almost make out the repeated word. Your name. Tears fall down wildly as you dart between trees, your breathing erratic, throat on fire.
“PLEASE! ANI! STOP!” you howl. But she’s gone. She can’t understand. So she chases, and you run.
Until your foot catches on a large root, sending you tumbling through the underbrush. Your gun clatters away from you. You lay there, stunned, dirt in your eyes, your nose, your mouth, ankle bent at the wrong angle.
She pins you to the ground, broken nails digging in the skin of your arms. You flail around, kick at her, trying to free yourself from her impossibly strong grip.
“STOP IT! ANI! STOP!” you cry out again, voice raspy, hollow, desperate.
Your right hand pats around blindly for the weapon, your left is pushed against her forehead, forcing her mouth away from your exposed shoulder. Your heart is beating so fast it seems like it’s stopped. Maybe it has. Maybe you’ve died, and this is just a flash of your last moments as you drift into peaceful, eternal rest. Or maybe it’s a horrible nightmare, and you’re about to wake up, a hand laced in your sister’s soft hair, light snores escaping her lips. She always looks so innocent when she sleeps, like all worries have washed off her, like she’s been sent back to a happy childhood in her dreams.
Your fingers brush against cold metal. You close them around the handle.
Bang.
The shot echoes, in the past and in the present.
You’re still alive.
The runner’s corpse slumps down against you, coating you with gore, a foul smell making you gag. You’re paralyzed, trembling, chest rising and falling erratically, gasping for air. You look up at the angry grey skies, the snow plummeting down, catching in your eyelashes. Everything stands still for an instant.
It all comes rushing back as the dead infected is ripped off your chest, discarded to the side like a rag doll. You sense a presence crouching down next to you, and Joel obscures your view.
He calls out your last name, loud, snapping you back to reality. You focus on his face; it’s flushed, expression tight with stress, eyes darting, searching for yours.
“Hey! Are you okay?” he yells.
Joel takes you by the shoulders and pulls you into a sitting position, the sudden movement making you dizzy. You stare back at him, eyes wide, blinking rapidly, unable to answer. Stunned.
“HEY! Did it bite you?” he continues, shaking you.
You move your head side to side in response, causing it to throb in pain. You wince, raising a hand to your occiput. Your glove comes back crimson. Joel’s eyes fall to the blood, and he mutters a curse. He reaches into his coat pocket to take out a rag, balling it up and pressing it to the back of your skull.
“Keep that there for me. Can you do that?” He speaks in a low, steady tone, but there’s an edge to it you pick up on. You nod and execute yourself. Willow comes over and nudges you with her nose; her way of apologising. You pat her with your free hand, reassuring. It was your fault.
Joel runs back to Old Beardy, the poor beast trembling from the fright. He takes something out of his pack’s front pocket and brings it back : a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. He twists the cap off with his teeth and kneels behind you, taking the rag and pouring some of the liquid on it. He rubs it on your wound, eliciting a shriek.
Holy shit that hurts.
Joel inspects the injury, parting your hair to expose it, the rough fabric of his gloves like sandpaper on your scalp.
“Cut isn’t deep. But you’re gonna get a mean bump.” Joel explains, applying more pressure. He stops the bleeding, aided by the cold, and wraps the rag around your head, securing it with a tight knot. “We gotta keep moving. Can you stand up?”
This version of Joel, assertive, protective even, catches you off guard. It’s such a stark contrast from his attitude earlier in the day. It nearly makes you forget how close to death you just came.
“Uh, I-I think so-” you reply, regaining your voice, before attempting to push yourself off the ground and falling back down. Your head spins.
Joel offers you his hand, which you take to pull yourself up slowly, your whole body protesting. Bile rises up to your oesophagus. You lean over, breathing through your mouth.
“Shit. I think you have a concussion,” you hear Joel say, from far away.
And, then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, the storm picks up. The snow gets so dense you can barely see five feet in front of you. The man takes the lead, urgently guiding you towards Old Beardy. He helps you mount, taking you by the waist, and you don’t even think to resist. There’s no way you can ride by yourself in this condition. Joel gets on and takes the reins while you hold on to him, chest pressed against his back. He whistles for Willow over the wind. She follows right behind.
Joel leads his horse out of the riverbank and into the surrounding woods, visibility getting even poorer. You’re blinded by snow, breathing it in, wheezing. You put all trust in Joel’s sense of orientation, praying that somehow, he gets you back onto the road. He presses forward, a hand raised in front of his face to protect it.
What a stupid fucking way to go out. Lost in a blizzard. With Joel Miller. At least the town would have something to talk about.
But then, miraculously, the trees begin to thin out; ahead, you can make out the faint outline of a trail.
He did it.
You squeeze Joel’s torso tighter, as if to thank him. Old Beardy perseveres, pushing one leg in front of the other. Your head is getting heavier, the concussion pulling you towards a dreamless sleep.
“Hold on. We’re almost there.” Joel affirms. You’re not sure who it’s destined for : himself, you, or the horses. Maybe all four. But it’s all you need to let go, and you pass out, head slumping on Joel’s shoulder.
——————————
You wake up to the sound of snow pelting against glass. Your skull feels like it’s being drilled into with a jackhammer. You pry your eyelids open and try to get your bearings, vision foggy, as though you opened your eyes in a chlorine pool. You find that you’ve been laid out on a frayed, deformed couch, springs digging into your back, a quilt smelling of mothballs thrown over you. Your winter attire has been taken off. You push yourself up on your elbows and look around the room. It seems to be the small living area of a cabin; there’s a rustic coffee table where both packs lay next to the bloody rag that acted as your bandage. To your left is a large, frosted-over bay window; the outside is an infinite, oppressing white. Two sets of jackets and ski pants hang from antler-shaped hooks next to the front door, a puddle forming underneath. A stone hearth takes up the wall in front of you, fire crackling inside. And, to your right, a plaid armchair. Joel is sitting in it, leaning forward, forearms resting on his thighs, watching you intently with knitted brows. His expression is hard, severe, unfriendly; he’s back to his normal self. You hold his gaze, your sight slowly getting clearer.
“Uh. Hey,” you speak hoarsely, throat dry. It makes you cough, which prompts Joel to get up and rummage through your pack to retrieve your canteen. He tosses it to you carelessly, and you fail to catch it. It lands on your lap with a thump. Joel plops back into the armchair, huffing. He is very transparently upset with you.
Great.
You take a long gulp of water and wipe your mouth with the back of your sleeve, the day replaying in your mind like on a movie theatre screen, pausing on your near-death experience. And you’re baffled, ashamed of your own actions. You can’t believe Joel had to step in and save your sorry ass, like you’re some kind of damsel in distress.
Fucking rookie mistake. And now you have a goddamn concussion.
You massage your temples and suppress a groan. “How long was I out?” you ask instead.
“About an hour.” Joel answers, tone glacial, deprived of any sympathy.
“Did you try calling Jackson?” You nod over at the small radio sitting on the ground by the window.
“Couldn’t get a signal,” Joel answers, gruff, as if it’s an obvious fact.
You roll your eyes. You know he’s right, but still, you stand up despite sore muscles, and go over to the device, cranking it a few times before trying the channel knob. You’re met with static. Joel mumbles something under his breath; it doesn’t sound pleasant, or polite. You put the radio back down and return to the couch, avoiding eye contact with the older man.
You glance at your watch. It’s right after 3PM, and the blizzard hasn’t let up. You’re going to be stuck here a while. You rest your head on the arm of the sofa, staring at the beamed ceiling, lost in reflexion. About how genuinely worried Joel seemed when you got hurt, how he jumped right in to take care of you. It makes you seethe. He tucked you in so you’d stay warm. He even changed your socks; the wet pair is drying by the fireplace. How dare he? You shift on the cushions, stiff, ill at ease. And Joel chooses that moment to break the silence.
“What the hell was that back there?” He questions, his tone accusatory.
You tense up. The blame you’re putting on yourself is more than enough. He doesn’t need to twist the knife. You ignore him, your jaw clenching.
“Hey. I’m talkin’ to ya,” he nags.
It makes your blood boil, and you sit up to glare at him. “Won’t happen again,” you grumble.
“Yeah? You sure about that?” He continues, harsh.
You take a deep breath. “Look, I-”
He interrupts you. “You don’t freeze up like that. Ever. You understand me?”
“Oh, wow. I had no idea!” You strike back, not missing a beat. “I don’t need a lecture from you, Miller,” You spit out.
Joel lets out a chilling chuckle. “Oh, you’re welcome, by the way!” He barks, “You know. For keepin’ you alive an’ all.”
You spring to your feet, heat shooting to your head, exacerbating the migraine. “I didn’t ask for your fucking help,” you utter.
Joel gets up too, towering over you, hands balled up into fists. “Right. Next time I'll just let you get infected. That what you want?”
“I told you. There won’t be a next time!” You shout, holding yourself back from punching him in the gut, or kneeing him where it would hurt most, or pulling him down to the couch and pushing your lips to his neck and letting him-
No. Nope. Not again, not here, not now.
You desperately need some air. You move towards the front door, but Joel strides up to you and blocks the way, arms crossed.
“You ain’t going anywhere,” he warns.
“Let. Me. Out.” You command. Your head is so painful you think it might explode.
Joel chuckles again. “You got a death wish or somethin’? Settle down, girl.” He talks down to you as if you were a child, smug, condescending; but that word makes your heart skip a beat.
You try to make a pass for the handle, but he grabs your wrist and shoves it backwards effortlessly. You’re seeing red. So you opt for the next best thing; you spin around abruptly and storm off to the other side of the cabin, into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.
“Oh yeah. You do that. Real mature.” Joel yells out.
You hear the creak of the floor under his steps and the rustling of fabric as he sits back down. You take your frustrations out on the shower curtain, displacing thousands of dust particles, before biting down on your hand to muffle a scream. When you’re done, you climb into the bathtub and curl up against the lime-scaled cold porcelain, forehead on your knees. The space is dark, stuffy, suffocating. You wonder how you’ll be able to make it through the storm without ripping Joel’s head off. Or doing something exactly opposed to it. How easily that man is able to just get to you is incomprehensible. Enraging. And, worst of all, despite how reluctant you are to admit it…
Arousing.
It must be the concussion dysregulating you completely. But the feeling grows, and you extend both legs to squeeze your thighs together, trying to release the pressure building between them. It’s no use. There’s only one thing that would satisfy it, and he’s right outside the door. Without your control, your right hand moves to the waistband of your jeans, undoes the button and goes down, past the elastic of your underwear…Fingers reach down to your entrance, already slick, and glide back up to the hardened nub, the touch sending a rush of pleasure through your body. You rub clumsy circles around, slow at first, mind filling with Joel, his calloused hand there instead of yours, stretching you out, whispering filthy things in your ear. You increase the speed, biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning, cheeks flushed, the pressure becoming almost unbearable. You push two fingers inside, curling them to stimulate that sensitive spot, bucking into your own palm to deepen the sensation. In a matter of seconds, you’re unravelling, free hand gripping the side of the tub, your walls clamping down on the other, come seeping in the fabric below. Your lips part and you can’t help a low squeal from escaping them. You immediately clap your left hand over your mouth, heart racing.
Fuck.
Did he hear?
You take a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. The reality of what you just did comes crashing down. It only worked to heighten your desire. And your anger. You button your pants back up and step out of the bathtub, wiping your hand on a scratchy towel you find in the linen closet along with a colony of spiders.
You’ve been in here for too long. You have to go back out. It would raise suspicion if you didn’t.
——————————
Joel is oblivious, too busy sulking over the events of the day as he tends to the fire, flames illuminating his face in a flickering glow.
That was too fucking close.
The image of you, frozen up under the runner, keeps snaking its way into his thoughts. It infuriates him. How you just gave up, like your life was worthless, like you deserved what came to you. And yet, the sentiment is so familiar it makes his chest ache in a burst of empathy. He can sense the burden in you, the intense trauma you endured. Most people have, in this unforgiving world, but you…There’s something more. It was the look in your eyes when you saw that infected, as if it reminded you of something so vivid it stole you away for an instant. He knows because it’s happened to him. It still does, sometimes, although less frequently. They’re these moments of sheer panic, where he’s choking, the world blurring around him. He has to count things he can see, or touch, or hear…He feels so miserably weak after it’s passed, as if he’s just a small, scared old man. Maybe it reveals his true nature.
And he’s so angry at you for making him care. Because for some reason, he does. Ever since that night at the tavern. Maybe even before. How scared he got when he thought you might be done for is direct proof of it.
He can’t afford to have another person to protect.
A quiet cough brings him back to the present. He peers over his shoulder. You’re standing behind him, seemingly troubled by something; you fiddle with the hem of your sweater, gaze glued to the ground.
He turns back to the hearth, sighing, and forces out an irritated “You good?” The thing is, he actually is concerned with the answer.
“Fine.” You reply, your tone not an ounce more affable than his.
That is as far as the conversation goes. Joel eventually gets tired of rotating the same log with the fire poker, pretending the action is crucial to keep the flames alive. He goes back to the armchair, glancing at you. You’ve reclined on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, mindlessly chewing on a piece of dried meat. He decides to imitate you, because he needs something to do with his hands. So he digs in his bag for the sandwich he’d packed; it’s mushed, tasteless. You both eat in thick, loaded silence.
The sunlight is starting to decline, and the storm rages on, casting the room in an eerie shadow, the cold seeping in through every tiny crack in the cabin’s foundation. Joel shivers despite himself, shoving both hands under his armpits in an attempt to preserve his body heat.
A second later, you’re out of your seat. Joel watches as you climb up the spiral staircase that leads to the loft bedroom. You shuffle around the space, partially concealed by the railing, and come stomping back down, carrying a crumpled blanket. You hold it out to him at arm’s length. Joel cocks a brow; the sudden kind gesture leaves him completely confused. You jiggle the blanket under his nose, impatient. He decides to take it, and drapes it around his shoulders, the relief immediate.
“Uh. Thanks,” he mumbles.
You give a shrug in response, dismissive, wrapping yourself in the quilt and retreating to the sofa.
What the hell?
An hour ago, you were fiercely arguing with him. Now this. The flip-flopping is giving him whiplash.
Time passes, excruciatingly slow, nor Joel or you daring to say another word. The sun fully sets; the darkness outside is opaque, as if the little cabin is drowning alone in an abyss. There’s no way around it, you’ll both have to spend the night here. Around half past 5PM, Joel can’t stew in the tension anymore, so he goes to check on Old Beardy and Willow, confined to the veranda at the back of the house. They’re cramped, but otherwise fine. Joel risks a short trip to the yard to fill an old, warped bucket with snow for the horses to drink. As he shines the beam of his flashlight around, he notes that the blizzard has weakened slightly. This mess might be over in the morning. Just a few hours. He can last until then. It’s not like he has any other choice.
He feeds the animals with a pile of straw forgotten in a corner of the veranda, behind some gardening tools. At the start of the outbreak, he couldn’t help but imagine who inhabited the places he used as shelters, what their daily lives looked like, if they were still alive. Sometimes, he’d come across evidence of the contrary. It used to disturb him, he’d feel like an intruder, but he’d quickly grown desensitised. Cordyceps didn’t spare anyone. It made suffering the new normal. It’s useless to dwell on what was or wonder what could have been. So, he doesn’t pay more attention to the objects scattered around the space as Willow eats from his hand.
Once he comes back inside the cabin, he finds you exploring the kitchenette that’s crammed underneath the loft. You’ve opened the cupboards, revealing stacks of chipped, dusty dishes. You’re going through a drawer, a few utensils clinking inside. You haven’t noticed Joel, too focused on your search for something of value. He observes quietly as you move on to the second drawer, when he decides to make his presence known. He clears his throat before speaking.
“Don’t bother, I already checked while you were sleepin’.”
His words only make you search harder, meticulously inspecting the contents of the drawer, bent over, your back turned to him.
Goddamn it. You’re exasperating.
And yet, his eyes are drawn to a specific part of your anatomy, the curves made obvious by your position, your jeans hugging them so well he could just-
“Or do whatever the fuck you want,” he mutters, the hostility compensating for the sudden surge of lust.
He plants himself in the armchair, once again, the noises of your continued investigation grating, setting his nerves on fire. After a few minutes, they stop. And you come walking back to the living area with a subtle, conceited smirk on your lips, and a bottle of very nice, before-the-apocalypse whisky clutched in your right hand.
“Didn’t check well enough, Miller,” you say, failing to hide your satisfaction.
“Where was it?” He asks, upset at himself for missing the item.
“Back of the sink cabinet,” you answer smugly. “Quality stuff,” you add, reading the label. You’re absolutely right, but Joel isn’t going to recognise it.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky,” he grumbles. You don’t waste time and unseal the bottle before raising it to your mouth.
“Don’t think that’s smart,” Joel cautions, making you pause mid-air. “Y’know. Concussion,” he continues, his tone more unpleasant than he anticipated.
You don’t listen to his advice, staring at him tauntingly as you sip. He’s quickly learning that you thrive in defiance. And this audacity you possess, it’s…Attractive. Joel inexplicably likes that you’re provoking him. Your expression remains neutral as you swallow, even when Joel knows for a fact it must sting like hell. You offer the bottle to him.
It’s been a long time since he’s had liquor that didn’t have an aftertaste of battery acid, and the sight makes him crave a good drink. It’d certainly make the night pass by faster. He knows it’s a terrible idea, considering where getting drunk with you led him last time, but it’s so damn tempting…
He takes the whisky from you.
——————————
You’ve made a considerable dent in the liquor. It’s dulling the pain in your head, reducing it to a distant ache. You’re sitting cross-legged in front of the hearth, and Joel has joined you on the ground, close enough to pass the bottle back and forth without having to stand up. His back is resting on the bottom panel of the couch, legs spread out casually. The fire, as well as the whisky, is enveloping you in a calming warmth, eating away at your inhibitions; you’ve taken your sweater off as a result, stripped down to a tight thermal shirt. There’s silence again between you and Joel, but this time, it doesn’t make you want to claw out of your own skin. It’s strikingly comfortable. And you find yourself wanting the man to come closer, longing for contact, connection. You haven’t forgotten your little adventure in the bathroom; in fact, the liquor is feeding those feelings, and they’ve risen to a nearly overwhelming level.
You take another sip, and, during the exchange, Joel’s fingers graze yours, sending your heart in a frenzy and a burst of flustered heat to your face. You jerk your hand away.
Idiot.
You play it off by brushing it through your hair. Joel’s mouth twitches upwards before he drinks.
“What?” You ask, defensive.
“Nothin’.” Joel passes the bottle back to you with a faint air of amusement. You decide it’s a good time to stop, and you set it down on the floor.
“Done already? I was expecting more from ya,” he teases.
You hate how well it’s efficient in riling you up. “Like you said. Concussion,” you retort, pointing at the site of injury.
“Hm. So now it's a good enough excuse,” he presses on, narrowing his eyes at you.
“Yup,” you answer simply.
“Really? That’s all you got?” His smirk is more assured now.
You give a drawn-out sigh in response, studying the fire like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
“Damn. I was startin’ to like the snark,” he says. It seems like the liquor has taken a toll on the man’s reservations, too.
“Don’t wanna waste my breath on you,” you reply, unable to resist the banter.
Joel chuckles. “Ah. There she is.”
You had forgotten how lovely Joel’s laugh is. How natural it feels to talk to him like this. Funny how booze seems to have that impact on the both of you. And, after a tortuous day of being at each other’s throats, you welcome the change of mood. “Did I just hear you say you like me?” You turn to gaze at him, an eyebrow raised.
“Nah. Must be your concussion.” He answers, deadpan, unfazed.
You can’t hold back a smile as you reply. “Hm. Sure, Miller.”
He pauses and appears to consider something, chewing on his bottom lip. “Uh. Joel,” he finally lets out, voice deeper, more serious. “Just- call me Joel.”
You’re taken aback by that sudden request.
His first name. It feels informal, intimate even, as though you’ve moved past the status of coworkers, into murky, foreign territory. You know you should refuse. You’ve dropped too many of your principles with this man already.
“Alright. Joel.” You gulp. “Uh, same goes for you.”
He gives a short nod, and mirrors your sentence, only with your name instead.
It’s significant. This moment. It feels like the two of you have reached a point of no return. Like from here on out, things can’t just go back to the way they were.
“Man, this isn’t how I was planning to spend the night,” you revert to humour to diffuse the returning tension.
“Yeah?” Joel follows your lead. “Got somethin’ you’d rather be doin’?”
“Pretty much anything else,” you quip. “I was gonna work on this painting I’m late on.” You’re not sure why you’re opening up about that aspect of your life, but it’s the direction the whisky has picked. It’s futile enough. Still safe.
“Oh. Right. Painting,” he says. “I knew you did that.”
He does?
“Didn’t you do one of Tommy and Maria?” He continues. “For their wedding?”
The man truly is full of surprises. And to think you were convinced he was completely indifferent to you, at least before today.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that was me,” you reply after a few seconds.
“It’s good work. You managed to make Tommy look half-decent. That’s talent right there,” he jokes.
“Yeah. Thanks. I tried.” You chuckle, and your stomach flutters at the compliment. You’d shoot those butterflies one by one with a tiny gun if you could. “What about you? What’d you have on the schedule?”
“Hm,” he answers, “not much either. Was gonna ask Ellie to join me for dinner. And get rejected again.”
“I don’t blame her,” you comment, a teasing grin forming. “What teenager wants to hang out with a grumpy old guy?”
“Hey. Rude.” Joel feigns offence. “I can be fun,” he adds.
“Won’t believe it until I see it,” you push further.
“Okay then. Just you wait.” He glances around the room for inspiration, until he is hit by a stroke of genius.
“Truth or dare?”
You snort. “Are you twelve?”
“Truth or dare?” Joel repeats, voice raising in pitch.
You shake your head in disbelief.
Joel fucking Miller.
“Fine. Truth,” you capitulate.
Joel smirks. “Okay. Uh,” he concentrates, “What’s your favourite colour?”
You take a second to process the words that just came out of his mouth. And then burst out laughing.
“Come on,” Joel protests, a grin brightening his eyes, deepening the wrinkles around them. “What’s wrong with that question?”
It makes you double down in laughter. You wheeze, trying to catch your breath, and Joel joins in with a few low chuckles. The stoic mask has vanished. Why does he look so sweet?
“That-that- was the best you could come up with?” you get out between deep inhales.
Joel doesn’t back down. “You gonna answer it or what?”
“Okay, okay. Uh-”
You realise you haven’t thought about that tiny aspect of yourself in about two decades. Cordyceps has had that strange effect of destroying souls, personalities, the little things that used to make one human. By infecting some, and coercing others into survival. You’re not sure which fate is worse.
“It’s yellow,” you finally reply. Yellow like the sunshine. That was your sister’s nickname. And you were Moonbeam. Opposites who completed each other. And now there’s only one left, lonely, broken.
Joel nods. “Fitting.”
“Hm?”
“Your tattoo.” He gestures at your exposed collarbone, where a sun made up of a multitude of ink dots is etched into your skin. Joel is scarily on point; that was for her, too.
“Yeah.” You don’t linger on the topic. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” Joel replies instantly.
You’re not prepared. “Uh- I dare you to-” Your mind is sluggish, moving in slow-motion as you try to come up with something. “I dare you to sit next to me.” It comes out without your control.
Shit.
“Easy,” Joel brags. He pushes himself off the ground with a grunt and takes five steps before settling back down so close that your legs are touching. He doesn’t acknowledge it, eyes on the fire ahead, and neither do you. But it sends a chill up your spine and your thoughts to a dangerous place. You determine you’ve taken a long enough break from the whisky and take a swig of the liquid courage. Joel does too.
“Your turn,” he reminds you.
“Truth.” You still have enough wits left to be worried of what he’d make you do as a dare.
“Takin’ the coward’s way out?” He teases.
You drink again, ignoring the remark.
“Alright. Uh, tell me about- your first time,” he says, glancing over at you with a sly smile.
That’s a huge jump from the innocence of his first question. You shoot him an unimpressed look. “You’re gonna have to be more precise.”
“You know exactly what I mean. Now start talkin’,” he playfully orders.
You sigh. “I was seventeen. With a friend I had in the QZ. Nothing special to it.” Your teenage years aren’t a period you like to reminisce about; you had to grow up much too fast.
Joel stays quiet for a moment, and bumps your knee with his, in a movement that could be passed as accidental, or as an attempt at comfort. You’re not certain which is the truth. “D’you love him?” He asks, his tone genuine, devoid of mockery.
“Her,” you correct. “And…I don’t know. It was years ago. Doesn’t matter.” It’s a lie. You remember it like it was yesterday. And you did.
Joel’s expression is one of surprise, and embarrassment. He turns a shade of red deeper than he was the second before, the temperature having nothing to do with it. “Oh. Uh. I- Sorry, uh, didn’t mean to assume- That’s- Good for you- I-”
You’re very entertained by his reaction. People usually fall into one of two categories when you tell them; awkward ally or plain bigot. You’re glad it’s the first one. You cut him off before he digs the hole deeper. “It’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up. Your turn.”
He seems rather grateful for the change of subject. “Uh. Right. Truth,” he replies, regaining his composure.
You give him a taste of his own medicine. “Same question.”
Joel is unbothered, and tells the story nonchalantly. “Okay. It was my date at senior prom. Back of my car in the school parking lot.”
It makes you laugh. “Wow. How very original. I gotta know what kinda car it was.”
“My dad’s busted old Wrangler. I put that car through a lot of shit.” he replies, chuckling.
“I could have guessed that.”
For a second, you and Joel look at each other, smiling. He almost appears timid. And for a second, the horrors of the world retreat into the shadows that birthed them. For a second, everything is alright. You could stay here forever.
——————————
Joel could, too. He wishes time could stop here. Because he’s confident that the night will inevitably end in something he’ll regret. No way around it. It’s taking an enormous effort already to keep himself from reaching over and closing the distance between your lips and his. The booze isn’t helping. You’re not either, with that radiant smile that’s melting his hard shell little by little, and your eyes that keep wandering around his face, his chest, and lower too, though you try to be discreet. He’s doing the same, and he’s certain you’re aware of it. Now, it’s a matter of who will succumb to the temptation first.
You speak up again. “One last thing, Joel. Did you get the girl?” The question is lighthearted, but the memories it brings back certainly aren’t.
He sighs. “Yeah. I did.” Sarah’s mother. They’d been high school sweethearts. Young. Dumb. A tale as old as time. “Got married. Had a kid. The whole nine yards. Then she wasn’t ready to be a parent. And, well-” He trails off, the words slipping out, motivated by the liquor. He’d never have confessed such a thing in a different context. Especially not to you. And just like that, he’s ruined the mood.
Your eyebrows shoot up in shock, before your expression softens, as you realise what must have happened to said child. Pity? Compassion? Joel can’t be sure. “Oh. Uhm. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know-”
“‘S’okay. It’s, uh, it’s been a while. And I got Ellie now,” he reassures, slurring the words slightly.
“What-what was their name?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
“Sarah,” he answers after a pause. He’s only recently started being able to talk about her out loud without breaking down. He doesn’t know if that still applies when he’s inebriated. And he’s not willing to test it out. He drowns the sentiment in more whisky, before giving you the bottle.
“Uhm. That’s pretty.” You take a swig and hesitate. “I, uh, I- know what it’s like. To- to lose someone like that,” you say, softly. The pain the words cause you as they escape is evident. Joel believes you.
And then something happens. Your right hand leaves your lap, moves to the side and comes to rest on his.
His gaze travels from your hand, up to your face. It’s full of doubt, eyes wide, as though you’ve just made a horrible mistake.
It’s all it takes for the floodgates to open.
——————————
Joel grabs your forearm and pulls you into his lap. His mouth collapses on yours. You don’t protest, accepting the kiss immediately, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, knees on both sides of his thighs.
A rugged hand goes to the small of your back, pressing your chest to his, while the other slides up to the back of your head, carefully tilting it to deepen the kiss. Tongues collide, hungry, eager. He sucks on yours, stifling a moan.
You’ve been pent up so long you’re soaking already. He breaks away from the kiss to trail his lips across your jaw, before going down your neck, biting and swirling his tongue on your pulse point, not mindful of the mark he’s undoubtedly going to leave. He earns a gasp, your fingers interlocking with his hair, holding him in place. You grind against his growing bulge to try and alleviate the fervent pressure rising at your core. He thrusts his hips up to meet yours, the friction sending sparks of electricity to your hazy mind. A hand wanders to your breast, fingers groping the soft flesh, flicking the nipple raised through your shirt. But you need more. Need him inside of you. Now.
And you tell him so, voice quivering with desire. “Please,” you add in a whimper.
It isn’t long before your clothes are ripped off, his lips refusing to break apart from yours for more than a few seconds. He lays you down right there on the floor, bare, trembling, aching for his touch. He sits back on his heels and admires you for a moment, eyes darkened, intense, reflecting the flames as if they are blazing behind his pupils. You watch, mesmerised, as he undresses in the dim, dancing light of the fire, casting him in an aura that’s almost ominous. He stands up to take off his underwear, cock springing free and hitting his lower stomach.
The sight makes your mouth water. God, he’s big.
He climbs on top of you, your legs encircling his torso, granting him access to your entrance. And he pushes into you. Hard. You’re so wet his cock slides in without resistance, filling you completely, nearly hitting your cervix, the jab of pain delicious. The act isn’t kind, or tender; and it’s exactly what you want. For him to use you, to ruin you. And he does. He fucks you senseless, each stroke bringing you closer to oblivion, to forgetting who you are. The sounds he’s letting out are outright sinful, grunts laced with dirty sentences that could make you finish on the spot. But you’re holding on. Until he lifts you up by the waist, angling himself to hit that bundle of nerves over and over again, making you cry out in ecstasy, clawing at his back. You’re almost there, your walls pulsate around him, driving him deeper inside.
“Think you should come for me, darlin’,” he hums into your ear, nibbling on the lobe.
You obey.
The orgasm ripples with such force it blinds you. You can’t even scream. You’re gone. Not a person anymore, but a being of pure pleasure. Joel coaxes you through it with a few more thrusts, erratic, uneven, as he reaches his own release. He pulls out of you at the last second, painting your belly with spurts of the thick, warm substance. Your entire body spasms before going limp.
All the fight has been drained out of you. You’re reduced to a panting, throbbing mess on the floor, arousal pooling out of you, coating your inner thighs.
“Did so good for me,” Joel praises, hands cupping your face, left thumb rubbing circles on your cheek. “So fuckin’ good,” he repeats.
You stay still, eyes closed, brain shutting down your functions one by one. As you’re about to drift off, you feel strong arms carrying you to the loft, carefully placing you on the bed, cleaning you off with a soft cloth. He climbs in and embraces you, limbs tangled with yours, and you nuzzle your head in the crook of his neck. His fingers gently brush the hair from your face to plant a kiss on your forehead.
“Sleep tight, darlin’,” he whispers.
It’s so vulnerable it makes your heart ache.
Because you know this’ll all be gone tomorrow, along with the alcohol evaporating from your system.
——————————
You’re right.
The sky is clear by the next morning, harsh sunlight brutally waking you. You’re alone in the bed, shivering, sore, his scent all over your skin. You get dressed, head pounding, filled with excruciating remorse.
Joel is waiting for you by the front door. Glacial. Austere. Haunting. The person that you went to bed with a few hours ago has been torn to shreds. As though he never even existed. Maybe he was a product of your imagination.
And, once you’re outside, standing side by side on the horses, ready for the return trip, Joel utters a sentence that reverberates in your head all the way to Jackson, its echo deafening as you ride in silence.
“What we did. It meant nothing. Understand?”
You keep the tears in until you’re back home.
To read on AO3
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel tlou#the last of us#tlou fanfiction#fanfic#pedro pascal#joel miller x female reader#joel miller smut#tlou part 2#send help#fic: wish you were here
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So I was looking at waiter Yakumo and noticed that he had wavy hair. His hair straight normally so who was the one who curled his hair? DOES KLEIN EVEN HAVE CURLING IRONS???? Anyways all of this is to say please imagine Eiden helping Yakumo get ready and that involves putting those old timey curlers in Yakumo's hair before he went to bed so he can have curls the next morning
uhdisomFINMF
u are making me IMAGINE!!!!!!
yakumo about to apply for the job and wondering if he should present himself a certain way
eiden going ;))) you look sexy with your hair pushed back ;))) (but before yakumo can stutter out his embarrassment) eiden gives him the very encouraging "but for real i think you look great as you are!! <3"
then aster crashes onto the scene and announces that he will not have his servants treasured colleagues looking anything less than PEAK presentable!!!!! *whips out the old timey pink hair curlers*
#aster asking if a uniform is gonna be provided and if it's not up to his standards he will get it TAILORED for yakumo or smth#he'll get the custom made snake brooch ready within a day LOL#aster's generosity of spirit gives Master Eiden more eye candy#and anything that makes Master happier is worth the time and money <3#idk why but i just imaged aster being the only one in the mansion to own hair curlers#'but mr aster!! i... i haven't gotten the job yet!!'#'pishposh this is you we're talking about of course you're gonna get the job NOW STAND UP STRAIGHT n lemme get a look at u'#not like aster needs to actually look at yakumo to get his measurements. that lil vampire has everyone's measurements memorised LOL#after aster establishes yakumo's beauty routine and uniform standards ahahah he leaves it to eiden to enforce#so eiden does indeed end up putting curlers in yakumo's hair every night before work#not for too long though! one time yakumo did it himself but fell asleep reaaally early and the next day he was extra wavy#like.... full on princess curls... how did he accomplish that... how dense is his hair actually......#i imagine blade hustling in during aster's demo and going#OH!!!! you know what!! i got better at drawing maps on people!!! darling got a little lost last time#but for little yakumo i'll make sure to draw the MOST helpful map for you!!!! i've been practising!!!#*draws a compass on yakumo's wrist*#eiden in the background: heaves a silent sigh of relief that blade didn't actually stick-and-poke tattoo yakumo#puzzling invitation#asks#nu carnival yakumo
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Ebony Coasts [Part 5]
Batten down the hatches, my friends. This one is a L O N G one but it was so worth it.
Pairing: Merfolk!Corvus Corax x fem!Marine Conservationist!Reader (second person POV)
Song recommendation: Unloveable - The Smiths
“If I seem a little strange / well, that’s because I am /
But I know that you would like me /
If only you could see me / if only you could meet me /
I don’t have much in my life / but take it, it’s yours.”
Warnings: Ocean mentions / thalassophobia, culture shock and misunderstanding between species, hospital mention, blood / injury descriptions, AMERICAN HEALTHCARE, more horrors of a nine-to-five (Dolly Parton would have words), extreme weather, angst, hurt / comfort
Word Count: 3.9k (SORRY)
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]
Driving on uneven roads is difficult enough on its own, and having only one hand while amped up on adrenaline and preoccupied about potentially having lost Corvus forever makes you downright reckless. A particularly hard thump! has you worried about your car’s alignment but you simply add it to the list of things wrong and continue down the road.
The emergency room sucks. You’re not even fully in reality by the time you finish checking in, clutching your still-bleeding hand in your lap with not more than a couple pads of gauze and a random towel you had laying around in the back of the car. It’s a miracle how a human can bleed for over two hours and still be fully coherent enough to lie to their nurses and doctors about a knife slipping while cutting twine.
They don’t believe you for a second, but they both aren’t paid enough and are over-worked enough not to care. Everyone lies in the ER.
A shot of lidocaine and eighteen stitches later, you’re sent on your way with opioid pain meds you won’t be taking and a deep appreciation that Corvus hadn’t scored your dominant hand. It’s still irritating when you get home and try to undress to shower, unable to flex your injured hand at all. You straight up decide against actually cooking, heating up a frozen meal in the microwave and sitting on the couch to overthink everything once more.
The look of complete dismay on Corvus’s face before he left haunted you.
You had long accepted that the black betta mer wasn’t the most emotionally expressive individual. His carefully neutral countenance rarely gave way to more than a quirk of a brow or occasional lip-turn, so the twisted look of open terror on his pale face shook you to your core both now and then. Hell, in the moment you had even been able to forget about a two and a half inch long laceration in your palm from sheer worry for him.
You never would have expected a creature so powerful to run.
Another cold spoonful goes down roughly at the thought, and, dissociated, you decide you’ve had enough sustenance. You crawl into bed, exhausted, and feel your limbs sink heavily into the mattress as a deep sigh leaves your lungs. A hollow feeling permeates your chest.
You can’t help the rush of emotions that suddenly overcomes you, choked sobs racking your body as you curl up into a miserable ball around your pillow. The action brings only scant comfort to the throbbing ache in your chest. You don’t remember falling asleep.
The beach is cold, but you don’t care.
You felt stupid coming back to the shoreline the day after everything, so you waited. Your Monday rolls around and you try to go back to the coast before work, briskly searching high and low for a glimpse of black fins and a glittering night’s-sky of scales. The tides grant you no such favors, and two hours are wasted on nothing when you’re forced to leave. You deflect every question from your coworkers with lies about a kitchen accident.
The next day is scarcely different. You finish your shift in the office like a reanimated corpse, putting in the bare minimum to not have anyone look twice in your direction. You can’t even remember more than the gist of the report you had just read on illegal fishing activity a hour south of you, another damned case of foreign bodies trying to use nonexistent loopholes in the law to talk their way into overfishing protected areas. It was a Coast Guard issue and never should have crossed your desk to begin with, but here you are, tangled in another mess outside of your depth.
You slam the door of your Bronco shut before you stomp onto the dark shore, not bothering to take the cliff down to Corvus’s den this time because you know you don’t have the brain capacity to even think about scaling the rocks. The extra five minute trip down and around the cliffside riddles you with nausea that intensifies when the light of your flashlight finds the entrance to the cavern.
Of course Corvus isn’t there; you weren’t expecting him to be, yet still it anguishes you. Three days without the merman in your life and you’re already starting to fall apart? It makes you feel pathetic for having grown attached to him so quickly.
But Corvus had never made you feel that way. Never once had he made you feel like your presence had been a burden to him, eagerly listening to every word you had said to him. He always replied with a caring thoughtfulness to any query you gave him, firm with his boundaries yet forgiving to the innocent faults that had occurred.
Corvus had a way of making you feel genuinely listened to, even when he didn’t always reply. It was weird to describe someone like him as warm, given his penchant for reserved silence and generally closed-off nature, but the sincere cordiality he had with you had never failed to stir emotions in your chest that you had felt far too anxious to put a label on at the time.
You realize just how taken care of you had always been with the merman. He offered to hunt for you, even if the incident with the ducklings had been an awkward misunderstanding. He made a place for you within his den that could never have any functional use for him as his size. Hell, he would stride along you in the sand instead of asking you to join him in the waves because it was easier for you. You’re wearing a piece of his hoard!
He cared about you.
Your hand gently grasps the raven head pendant, and you sit down in the rickety chair that Corvus has specially gotten for you. The luminescents on the walls seem dimmer than before, and you notice how wilted they’ve become in Corvus’s short absence. Pushing aside the thought that the mer had been putting in actual maintenance to accommodate for you, you brush your hand against the cerulean phosphorescent flora.
Corvus had taken care of you when you hadn’t asked for it, so you were going to do the same.
Searching the den for anything vaguely cup-like to transfer water with turns up nothing, so you resort to cupping your healthy hand in that small stream leading into the den. You punctiliously pour the brine over each of the parched plants until they’re saturated. By the time you’ve finished, you notice the vegetation you had started with has already begun to glow brighter. You glow brighter than the cave in that moment.
Wednesday still bears no sign of Corvus, but it does teach an important piece of information: this den had not been abandoned like the others.
You finally gather the courage to check inside of the decorated bed space at the back of the den for the first time since the giant’s disappearance, and you’re flooded with relief when you see the large cache of dazzling objects still lining the walls. Corvus hadn’t left, per se. He just hadn’t returned yet.
In your jacket pocket is the trusty metal pen Corvus had fixated on so long ago, and in a moment of weakness, you leave it on the stone shelf at the center of the cavern. You had other pens. This one should be his… even if he can’t use it.
You keep coming back to maintain the cavern: wetting the algae and mushrooms, clearing the space of any excess sand the tides brought in, polishing the corroded metals in his collection�� nothing escapes your watchful eye. You’ve even accidentally fallen asleep on the bed of furs and grasses, waking up in a flurry to see that you were late for work and needed to leave now, even if you dreaded doing so.
You always leave a new trinket behind on the round stone ‘table’. Old jewelry, a piece of abalone shell, a tea ball you haven’t used in ages, rose quartz, an entire abalone shell (that you’ve now started to use to hold everything), cool brooches you found at another beach, an enamel pin in the shape of a flying crow, and many other items from around your apartment make their way into Corvus’s den. You rearrange the items into a nice display before you leave.
A week passes. Half of a month. An entire month. The gash on your hand has healed well, the stitches removed with strict instructions to keep the area clean.
Each day, no matter the weather, you return to Corvus’s beach. The den is monotonous, and recently, you’ve begun to avoid going inside of it lest you have to face the untouched items on the rock shelf more often than necessary. The physical effort to place something in the pile is nothing by now, but mentally, it wears on you.
What if all of this had been for nothing? You had been forcing such doubtful thoughts out of your head for a month faithfully, always trying to look on the bright side. You’ve waited longer for a pay-off before, haven’t you?
Why was this any different?
…because it hurts. No matter what pep talks you give yourself or happy memories you relive, coming back to the beach hurts.
You’ve been persistent to the point you’re starting to think that you’re nothing more than an annoyance instead of the oh-so-great protector of the coasts you had foolishly thought yourself to be. What a sick fantasy, you think, meddling in the life of something so obviously beyond you. The delusion that you could ever be a part of Corvus’s realm has poisoned you to the point of desperately coming back to the barren sands for even a hope that you’ll see more than the black apparition in the reveries of your mind.
The apartment is a mess. Unfolded laundry piles in the basket, dirty clothes along the floor. You’ve used the same towel to shower for long enough that it’s starting to smell of mildew, but just thinking about the effort of washing a load of towels makes you feel like lead. It took an infestation of ants for you to do the mountain of dishes that piled in your sink. Everyday tasks become chores, and chores feel impossible.
Still, you drag yourself out to work again today. The weather is awful: torrential downpour with gusts of wind that nearly knock you off of your feet. No one is working in the field today lest OSHA get a taste of blood in the water (literal or metaphorical). You drum your fingertips across the wooden desk as you read a private request for development nearby a protected habitat, opposite hand fiddling with your necklace. You can’t bring yourself to take it off, even if it hurts to see in the mirror each day.
You’re in the middle of a paragraph about intended waste management when a heckling voice jogs you out of it. “I didn’t take you for the goth type,” it jeers, and you look up to see one of the environmental science team leads. A man twice your age. What was his name again?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you retort, audibly weary.
“The necklace,” he gestures at your throat. Your coworker sits against your desk, uninvited, looking down at you with leery eyes. “Haven’t seen you in that number before.”
You simply shake your head and look back down at the paper, uninterested in the conversation. He doesn’t take the hint.
The lead continues, “You haven’t been as chipper recently. Where’s your spunk? Your fire?—” he follows the words with a ridiculous hand gesture— “Those bags under your eyes could be checked in at the airport.”
You’d laugh at his joke if you weren’t already in such a piss-poor mood. “I’m just tired,” you state, not turning your head to look at him, “I’ll be fine.”
A hand on your shoulder causes you to jolt. “Look, kid, we’ve all got our bad days, but I can tell when someone needs a break—”
You throw the offending hand off of you and stand up roughly, throwing your chair back into the wall in the process. You feel heated. “I told you, I’m fine!” Your words are laced with venom, scratchy and raw and bitter.
The commotion causes the lead to recoil, distaste written on his face. Other people in the office are starting to stare, and you meet each of their gazes individually. Maybe that was a bit too far.
You sigh, shoulders slumping and head falling forward. Everything aches. “You’re right,” you admit, offering an apologetic look to what’s-his-name, “I’m not feeling well.”
It takes no more than a few minutes to submit your request to leave early. As soon as it’s approved, you rush out of the building. The torrent building inside of you has nothing on the rain around, and you high-tail it out of the parking lot.
Truly, you didn’t mean to end up back here today. The ocean is too rough, the cliff perilous, the beach an utter mess. The thought of just how stupid your actions are does nothing to stop you, though.
You run down the embankment to the dock, shoes getting soaked from the crashing waves as you search the water.
Nothing.
You scramble to the den, slipping and falling down the rocky slope and barely catching yourself before you hit your head.
Nothing.
You claw your way through the sands— up soggy hills and over rocky ledges, around complex twists and turns in the sandstone, under and over jutting stones, looking anywhere for alabaster white.
Nothing.
You’re back at the dock, watching the serpent of metal squirm and thrash in the storm. With unstable footing, you sloppily traverse the writhing mass of steel, barely able to hold yourself upright as you reach the end of it. The storm forces you to your knees, and you place your hands on the lip. Despondency grips you, tearing at your throat.
“I’m sorry!” you cry, voice drowned out by the thundering of rain. “I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry!” A black wave pummels into your small body, the force of an ocean threatening to knock you off of the dock. Still, you cling. You duck your head against the chilled metal, letting out a hissed breath before inhaling a mouthful of seawater. Blubbering, coughing, you rise back up and look out over the waves. They are cold and unflinching.
When the fury of the storm lulls, you force yourself to continue, hoarse. “I messed up and I just want to know how, okay? I don’t know what I did, I—” you choke off a sob, shaking your head, “I-I…” Muscles cry at you to stop, body begging you to return to the car for warmth. You persevere. You have for the last month.
“I miss you, okay!” The wail carries across the ocean, echoing across the tides back at you like a taunt. Even in the calm of the storm, rain batters against you. The dock stops squirming so intensely, and you take the moment to catch your breath.
Even in your honesty, even in your raw vulnerability, screaming to the heavens for an answer, you receive nothing.
You turn away from the ocean and sink down onto yourself, defeated. The sobs you had been holding at bay spill out, and you hug your knees as you bawl into them. Your clothes are soaked, the wind is cold, and your chest feels miserable.
Even with the storm beginning to pass by, you feel no better. You will away the tears eventually, wiping wet tears with a wet sleeve that feels like sandpaper, and ready yourself to leave.
The utterly shattered face of Corvus Corax looks at you, a few feet from the edge of the dock, just barely above the water. Eyes of onyx lay wide with guilt, grimacing.
You do not hesitate to throw yourself into the choppy water at him.
Corvus has no time to react to your actions before you wrap your arms around his neck clinging onto him as you gasp like a fish, clutching the coal-and-bone giant close to you like a lifeline. Right now, in the swell, he was.
Tentative arms snake around your midsection, slowly but surely pulling you closer to him. You feel the merman press his face into your soaked hair, taking in a deep breath of your scent before a rumble leaves him. “This is no place for you,” he whispers, and you can only feel him fly through the water like a bolt of lightning, unable to look up from his neck with how firmly he holds you. When you can finally move your head, Corvus already has the both of you on land, beelining it for the den with a look of conviction on his face.
You didn’t even know you were trembling before you got inside, the surprising warmth of the cavern thawing the numbness in your arms and legs. The frantic betta strides right past the chair in the main room with you in his arms, heading straight for the bed space. It’s only when he gets to the ‘bed’ that he abruptly stops, looking down at you.
“You’ve rested here before.” It’s another half-question, half-statement, and once again it’s correct.
“I fell asleep after taking care of the algae, I’m sorry—”
Corvus cuts you off by hastily lying the both of you on the furs and feathers, the action causing you to let out an ‘oof’ as the air is forced from your lungs. The way he curls and desperately clings to you like a lost child has you feeling all sorts of complex emotions, but you do not fight it. When you open your mouth to speak, he gently shushes you with a shake of his head. You rest beneath his chin in silence.
For the first time in over a month, everything feels okay.
“I hurt you,” Corvus’s gentle voice breaks the silence, barely audible. It’s laced with sorrow so deep that it cuts into your heart. With a shaky hand, the giant mer peels you away from him, looking your entire form over.
You show him your scabbed and scarring palm, the area pink but almost fully healed by now. You jump to reassure him, “The doctor said it was a clean cut. Easy to heal. I’m okay.”
Corvus shakes his head again, gently taking your injured hand in his. He holds it to his chest, over his beating hearts as he looks deep into your eyes. The downpour inside of him has yet to quell.
“I hurt you, and I could not bear it,” he restarts, twin hearts pounding in his ribcage. A heavy pause follows as Corvus thinks, wanting to explain himself properly yet lacking the experience to do so. His ear fins twitch up and down as he debates how to continue. Eventually, he sighs, looking around the walls of the bed space. "In fleeing like a coward,” he laments, “I have only hurt you more.”
The sentence causes the tension to snap inside of you like a wire. “I came back here every day looking for you. Every. Single. Day,” you admonish, tears welling in your eyes, “I took care of the plants. I swept out the sand. I even polished everything so I could keep myself busy!” You go on a total tirade about your activities, Corvus’s gaze not once leaving you as he takes the brunt of it all. Falter, your words catch in your throat as tears spill. “...because I was so afraid to lose you that I couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.”
Corvus’s eyes soften with guilt, expression falling. He makes to respond, but you beat him to it.
“But I’m so glad you came back, because I don’t know what I would do if you didn’t.”
The merman’s mouth shuts, and his gaze returns to you. He does not hesitate to pull you close once more, gorgeous charcoal fins blanketing you. You run a hand over the appendage, unable to stop yourself, and Corvus lets out a blissful sigh. “I was afraid, so I fled without thinking of the consequences,” he explains. You do your best to sit back to watch him talk, but Corvus doesn’t allow you much room to move. He continues, “I am already… an anomaly amongst my kind. I was not created to have these sorts of simple domesticities, and I feared what would occur if I overstepped my bounds.” His words leave you with more questions than answers, but you know better than to prod the mer. Anomaly amongst his kind? He had mentioned brothers before his disappearance. You wonder what the others may be like.
Seeking to comfort the giant as he speaks (and partially out of scientific curiosity), you run a hand over his gill covers again. A soft gasp leaves the merman before he catches your hand in his, withdrawing just enough to look down at you. You give him a shy, cheeky smile.
“...as you are now,” he jests, raising a playful eyebrow.
“Sorry,” you say, not even remotely apologetic.
Corvus lets out a soft huff in response, when his eyes focus on the silver chain around your neck. He uses a talented claw to fish the raven pendant from underneath the neckline of your shirt, gazing upon it with the same fondness you had seen just before he fled. Before you can question the look, you’re shocked by the smile he gives you: a genuine grin, eyes crinkled at the outer corners and sharp teeth visible. For the first time, you see that he has fangs, the tips of canines poking into his lower lip.
His eyes flick back up to yours, and his smile softens. Corvus croons, “I must apologize again for what I have taken from you.”
You’re confused by his statement, tilting your head at him. “What do you mean?”
The merman gently tips up your chin with a knuckle, keeping his claws away from the skin of your delicate neck as he leans forward to place a chaste kiss to your lips. It’s unpracticed and clumsy, Corvus being so much larger than you, but the cold taste of the sea and ocean minerals has you addicted. A delicate hand cradles your face when you lean into him, and the moment ends all too soon.
“I am here, and I will not be pulling such an imprudent stunt ever again,” Corvus promises as he pulls away.
“Thank you,” you whisper breathlessly, before nestling yourself into the crux of his neck and shoulder.
The tender moment warms you, the shaking in your body finally coming to a stop. Your clothes may be soaked and salty, but the soft bed beneath and gentle embrace of the mer ease you. You let out a soft giggle that catches Corvus’s attention, and when the merman lets out a questioning hum, you remark, “If you ever do that again, I’m getting my boating license and hunting you down myself.”
Corvus hums from above you, knuckles tracing up and down your back. “From what I have learned, I should expect no less.”
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HI PLEASE DON'T BE MAD AT ME FOR THE ENDING OF THE LAST FIC I PROMISED I WOULD FIX THINGS
This took far longer than expected I am so sorry but I hope everyone likes it!!
#I love hiding references to songs and media within my fics#So many of my ideas stem from songs that illicit emotion in me and I have been loving writing this#if you caught the references I love you#if you didn't i still love you because you got this far#primarch x reader#warhammer fanfic#warhammer 40k#warhammer 40000#warhammer 30k#horus heresy#warhammer 40k x reader#wh 40k#corvus corax x reader#corvus corax#mermay#primarch#raven lady writings
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*Paul blinked himself awake, the white and red of the HR community office a bland sight at eight in the morning. The lady standing up front continued talking.*
HR Lady: We are aware that a lot of you from floor seven, section five are likely feeling very shocked and hurt about the incident that transpired yesterday at 11am. Right now we're working very closely with the authorities to make sure that your office time isn't interrupted while they do their job to find out what happened. If there is anyone who feels they need to take a couple days off to process we encourage it, we want you working at your best and if that requires a few mental health days we are ready to provide it.
*Her voice was sickeningly sweet in Paul's ears, but it felt so manufactured and fake, like artificial coffee sweeteners. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as murmurs spread around the room.*
Coworker 1: Authorities? Does that mean they think it was a murder?
Coworker 2: I bet it was Stephen from cubicle 4A. That guy's a total freak.
*Paul could see Stephen frown beside him, he almost felt bad, poor guy. But who could blame his coworkers when the all the guy talked about was how easy murders would be. Paul stared down at his hands, not wanting to look around the room and risk accidentally catching Ted's stare. He knew Ted had been looking over at him, glancing every few seconds with those exhausted eyes. He looked back up at the HR speaker as she continued talking.*
HR Lady: Now, moving on, before we conclude this meeting we had another matter to speak upon before the unfortunate casualty of yesterday. We'd like to remind all CCRP workers to keep your personal and work lives separate from each other at all times.
*He didn't miss how her eyes flicked over him and Ted for a split second and he frowned, right. That.*
HR Lady: Thank you for your time everyone, please try to have a good day. There are donuts in the hall for everyone on your way out.
*Paul stood up quickly, tie flopping a bit as he left the room without grabbing the free donut. He wanted to avoid as much interaction with Ted as possible for the time being. Sure, he had calmed down a bit since last night, but it still hurt to look at him. He was really trying to forgive him, he was, but he had never been very good at forgiveness until the person was already dead. He stepped back into his cubicle, Charlotte's crossed off with caution behind him as a few Police buzzed around it. He sat down, work on his mind as he began typing into his files again as if nothing had happened yesterday.*
@paul-j-matthews
[Ted forced himself to sit through that meeting, stone faced and completely not put together whatsoever. His hair was a mess and it was clear he hadn't slept very well the night before. After watching a few movies with Pete, finishing off that whole pizza and an entire box of hot Cocoa mix, he sent the kid off the bed. After all, Peter still had school in the morning, and Ted had work. But Ted didn't go to sleep. No. He just is laid there in his bed for 3 hours, staring at his phone screen waiting and praying a text from Paul would appear on it. One never did.
So yeah, he was kind of staring at him through the whole meeting. And yeah, he was kind of hoping to get at least a slight glance in return. He didn't get one of those either.
As soon as the meeting ended he went straight to Mr.Davidson, heeding the HR woman's advice to take some time off. Davidson really couldn't tell Ted no in front of the HR crew, so he nodded his head yes and Ted thanked him before quickly rushing off to the door.
And maybe, just maybe, he brushed by Paul's cubicle on his way out. Just hoping, wishing, praying for some acknowledgement of his own existence. He didn't get one.
The way all that felt was just...awful. He glanced at what was once Charlotte's cubicle, the cops searching for evidence there. That implied it was a murder. Paul seemed to be too laser focused on his work while the cops were right beside him, and he didn't seem very bothered by the meeting either.
The theory in his mind was only being further confirmed moment by moment. But he couldn't say anything. Not yet, not here.]
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Day 3: Invisible
The Fentons never were the most attentive parents in the world. They were obsessive niche scientists, so some would suppose it came with the territory. In the early years when their children were younger though, they were better. One could find family portraits of the young family lining the walls of their homes, birthday parties would be held, and family outings were infrequent but still occurred with at least some regularity.
The same couldn’t be said once their youngest, Danny, turned 12. It started out slowly, occasionally his Mom would forget to pack his lunch for school, their trips to go camping or to the planetarium waning in frequency. Over time though, the Fenton children learned that they had to rely on each other for day to day needs rather than their parents. Their Mom would still occasionally cook a meal or two (though it usually wasn’t the most edible), but school lunches, breakfasts, and even some dinners would be on the kids to figure out for themselves. The Doctors Fenton became reclusive, always working in their lab and hardly ever being seen in anything other than their HAZMAT suits.
For Danny, this came to a peak only a few months after his fourteenth birthday. There had been no lectures on lab safety, no locked doors in his and his friends' way as they decided to explore the empty lab and check out the non-functioning ghost portal. The Accident happened, Danny became half-ghost, and the only thing his parents noticed was that the portal now worked. Neither of them had questioned their children about it, neither of them had noticed the Lichtenberg figures now scarring their youngest’s arm, the two of them had just jumped straight back into their work, their obsession.
Deep down, Danny hoped they would notice. He so desperately hoped that his parents would say something about his new scars, how he was now so frequently absent from his classes, or just notice his clear struggles with getting his schoolwork done. While he was afraid of his parents finding out his secret, he still craved some sort of parental interaction.
Jazz had noticed all of it. She always saw him for who he was, and she tried to help in any way she could. Whether that was tutoring him with his homework, or making excuses for a sudden absence to fight a ghost, she was on his side.
But she shouldn’t have to be. She was only 16, and they should be hanging out, fighting, and annoying each other like any other kids their age. He shouldn’t have to rely on her to help him sign up for his classes next year, but here he was.
The Fentons were scientists obsessed with their work. They sometimes spent days in their lab without seeing the sun and without sleep. Many would call them eccentric, and assume their children were the same. The Fentons had two children, but for all these kids tried, they were practically invisible to their parents.
#dannymay2024#dannymay#danny phantom#danny fenton#jazz fenton#maddie fenton#jack fenton#the fentons are neglectful
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Louis Tomlinson's 35-hour marathons in Chile: the singer who revived pop fanaticism
Fans crowded at the airport, the hotel, the radio and the stadium; the four stops that the British artist had on his fleeting return to the country last April. On May 24, he returns to perform his fourth solo show after filling the Movistar Arena three times in 2022, and expectations are high. What does the artist have who came to think that he would be nothing without One Direction and today he moves masses? Those who witnessed his last visit decipher it.
By Dove Couple, 16 May 2024
If it weren't for the teenagers of the 60s, -in part- The Beatles would not be the legend they are today. That so-called "uncontrolled fanaticism" resulted in a single word: Beatlemania. The girls were called hysterical, however they were the first people to see the potential of John, Paul, George and Ringo.
FIRST STOP: SANTIAGO AIRPORT
On the night of April 3, the performer stepped on Chile for the third time, the first approach with his fans was at Santiago Airport, who waited anxiously for him after his flash visit was surprisingly confirmed to promote his May 24 show at the La Florida Bicentennial Stadium.
At 32 years old, the Briton already had experience in our territory, he had tried success in 2014, when he came as a member of One Direction with some very young Zayn, Liam, Harry and Niall. The group filled the National Stadium twice.
"Since their last three shows at Movistar Arena in 2022, the girls have been asking when the new tour begins, and the expectation is to see Louis' growth on stage," Rodrigo Ostolaza, Representative in Chile of the BMG label, and in charge of marketing and promotion, told La Cuarta.
Tomlinson greeted kindly those who were waiting for him, but visibly tired, he went straight to the Mandarin Hotel - where there was another group of young people shouting his name - that was his "home" for the about 35 hours he stayed in the country.
SECOND STOP: RADIO LOS40
The next day, he had scheduled a visit to Los40 radio, where he spoke live with the host Martina Orrego and answered the questions asked by the followers who won a contest to meet him. While others crowded on the outskirts of the Iberoamericana building.
"It was something that didn't happen a long time ago, but in a way I expected it, he is an artist who has an important fan, his audience has accompanied him in the development of his career, so I found it very exciting," Orrego confided to us.
The co-director of Los40 and creator of the program Mujeres Que Suenan, said that one of the most entertaining things "was to have the fans on the radio and that they could share more closely with him. It's something that happens so rarely and they were wonderful, they behaved super well."
THIRD STOP: HOTEL MANDARÍN
Back at the hotel, Louis had a press round with various media, including La Cuarta.
"What he provokes is something super unique and special, he is an artist very close to his fans and concerned about his environment, that the person who interviews him or talks to him is comfortable or comfortable," Rafaella Fornazzari, Media Manager of DG Media, in charge of the concert, told us.
The return of the star had the production company until the wee hours of the morning enlisting details. "Louis' visit was a nice challenge, it's been a long time since an international artist in this category came to promote a tour, we had to work together with the entire region where he will be performing with his 'Faith in the Future World Tour'," Rafaella added.
FOURTH STOP: BICENTENARY STADIUM
Indeed, his fleeting passage through South America included Brazil, Chile and Argentina; and in all these countries he visited the venues where he would appear. In which he took advantage of playing football for a while, recalling his past as a Doncaster Rovers footballer. And yes, he took the luxury of scoring a goal.
There he also had a meet and greet with followers, but the fans who were waiting outside the venue did not run with the same luck, they only saw him for a couple of seconds through the van that took him out of the place. Even so, they were happy.
THE SECRET OF SUCCESS
The expectations of the May 24 show are very high. "It comes with a new album and that immediately translates into a different show than those of 2022. In addition, it has the challenge of a larger capacity enclosure," Fornazzari revealed. "He is a very committed artist and involved with his career, he likes to deliver the best," he added.
For his part, Rodrigo Ostolaza hopes: "To see the Bicentennial Stadium full, he brought as a drag what was the One Direction phenomenon and those concerts they did at the National Stadium. It always moved a lot of people, and that lasted over time."
For Ostolaza, what happened in April reminded him of the visit to Chile of the RBD Mexicans, at the peak of his career: "We took them to Mekano and it was also crazy, a little what happened to Louis." Martina Orrego says that the effervescence that was lived can be assimilated to contemporary phenomena such as K-pop.
And the performer, who at some point thought he could not continue without One Direction, today has two successful albums - "Walls" and "Faith in the Future" - countless triumphs and a loyal community that he loves, protects and defends.
Unlike other singers, he does not charge for meet and greet, the events are always competitive, his lyrics go deep but he does not release so many commercial songs - as in his boyband time - that they can easily enter the radios, that's why the challenge of moving the masses is greater; on the other hand, fashion or social networks are not his strength, his thing is the live shows and the charts, where he goes up with his pop rock sound.
So, what is his secret? Beyond talent and charisma, he is a recognized worker, he finished a tour and immediately started another; and above all, he is close, simple and connected with people. Records sharing distly with your followers abound on the Internet.
"The successful boybands after a break have had their members as soloists. The 1Ds were the new generation of the good and beautiful that pop delivered, now Louis is the soloist who remains in contact with his fans," Fornazzari concluded.
Louis Tomlinson will perform at the La Florida Bicentennial Stadium on May 24. The latest tickets are still available through Ticketmaster.cl
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okay so I have an idea for an angsty Hongjoong fic. I don’t feel like writing it but feel free to use this and if u do, tag me!! So I can support and reblog and give u a lil kiss on the forehead<3 add smut to it or not idc as long as he’s on his knees and begging for forgiveness,,, here’s my idea it might be kinda long i was half asleep when I wrote this
Hear me out. For the past month, Hongjoong has been drowning himself in work. Work seems to be the only thing he cares about, he’s rarely ever home. And he definitely hasn’t made any time for you:(. It doesn’t help that you’ve maybe had the worst month of your life and no one to talk to about it. Your mental health has been spiraling and it’s only gotten worse since Hongjoong’s lack of attention in the relationship.
I guess one day you’ve finally had enough and blow up on him or decide to give him the silent treatment all day. I mean, it works, Hongjoong FINALLY notices something might be wrong after 3 whole weeks.
When you guys get home after dinner with the group, he asks, “what’s wrong?” You don’t reply, completely ignoring him and heading straight to the bathroom to shower. He follows you, a little frustrated and confused, and he watches as you undress and step into the shower acting as if he wasn’t there.
Hongjoong watches in silence, dread and anxiety growing in him. While scrubbing your body, you don’t realize Hongjoong undressed, preparing to get into the shower with you. He was determined to get you to talk.
The sound of the shower door sliding open startles you a bit but you roll your eyes when you see Hongjoong step in. You’re tired. You’ve been tired for weeks so your voice comes out monotonous and low, “Please get out, Hongjoong. I don’t want to yell at you.” Your back facing him.
You take a few more deep breaths, his hands still on your shoulders. He tilts his head to get a better look at your face. Your eyes are closed, squeezed shut actually. He tilts your head up with his fingers, this is the most intimate you guys have been in a while, you realize. The realization only makes your stomach hurt. “Please, please talk to me.”
You’re defiant, you don’t look in his eyes. If this wasn’t as serious as it was, he’d say you were acting like a brat and fix your brattish ways.
You slowly open your eyes, looking at his face but not exactly making eye contact. “You haven’t done anything, Hongjoong. That’s the problem.” He really is an idiot because his brows furrow like he has no clue what you’re talking about. You let out a frustrated sigh and continue. “When was the last time we were this close, hm? Or had an actual conversation? You’re never home and I never know what you’re doing.”
“I-“
“Do you know how embarrassing it is to pretend I know about whatever is going on with you when Seonghwa or San talk about it? To find out about your upcoming projects from your friends, but not you? How is it that I hear more from them than the actual person I live with? Hm? Do you even know what’s been going on in my life? No, you haven’t even cared to ask, Hongjoong.”
Hongjoong stood with his lips parted, processing everything. Guilt clawed at him because he knew you were right. He’d been ignoring the love of his life because he prioritized his career over you. Something he never thought he’d do. He’d been ignoring his own health as well, meals left unfinished and surviving on just a few hours of sleep a night. He had lost weight, the bags under his eyes were darker than ever, not that he noticed.
Of course you worried about him, that’s all you ever do, but he never stuck around long enough to address your concerns.
He blinked, putting a hand on your cheek. “I-baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize-“
“No, I’m not accepting your apology until you actually show me. I don’t just want words.” He nods and opens his mouth to speak, but you interrupt him, wanting to get everything out in the open in fear of not getting the chance to do so in the future. You sigh. “I-I feel like I haven’t been myself lately and I wish I had you here to talk to. You always make me feel better but I don’t know…I don’t know if something’s changed or if it’s me…if you want something or someone else-“
“No, no y/n. I’m sorry- about everything. I’ve been so wrapped up in work that I haven’t been taking care of you the way I should. I’m sorry that I made you feel as if I didn’t want you. I promise, I love you with everything that I am and everything that I have. I know it’s my fault and I hate that I made you feel anything less than loved. Things will change- I will be better and I swear on it, okay?”
You nod. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself either, Joong.”
And um I guess you wash each other up, taking your time, then head back to the bedroom. You lay down and stare at each other, caressing each other. You guys catch up. Hongjoong tells you every little detail about stuff he’s been working on and you tell him about all the stress from work you’ve been through and your deteriorating mental health :). Of course he shows you with his actions just how sorry he is- in more ways than one. Maybe this is where one would insert smut.
But yeah, this post is rough, if anyone would like to use this as inspo or expand on it and make it better, feel free to and tag me ;)!!
#okay maybe I yapped too much and got a lil carried away#ateez x y/n#hongjoong x reader#ateez x reader#hongjoong x y/n#ateez fanfic#angst#ateez angst#hongjoong fanfic#hongjoong angst#fanfiction#fanfic
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New oc stuff tomorrow…
#work in progress#wip#reference sheet IMMINENT!!#been working on this one for 3 days straight#excited to finally post it#I say new oc but this guy has been in limbo for so long in my toyhouse#erm
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my uty shrine that is mainly starlo (i am going absolutely insane)
#undertale yellow#starlo#i have been at this for Hours.#i watched 3 movies while working on it lol#and my printer literally ran out of ink#tysm to bestie for drawing 2 of the stars for my bday :3#this is my desk in my room. so i get to see it every day.#its magnetic so its stuck with magnets and blu tack#and yeah i did stick on marbles.#and also yes those are crocheted stars.#im more of a corn yaoi er but i like staroba too ig#SHE WAS WALKIN AROUND WITH A LOADED SHOTGUN READY TO FIRE ME A HOT ONE#IT WENT BANG BANG BANG STRAIGHT THROUGH MY HEART#uty#starlo uty#uty north star#uty starlo#??#btw funny story abt that star on a toothpick in the bottom left corner#his face is half burned off bc he was on my birthday cake. next to the candle. yeah.
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hello shadowgale nation
#i feel sick i love them so much#been working on this for like five hours straight. okay time for one million tags#baldur's gate 3#bg3#shadowheart#gale of waterdeep#gale dekarios#galeheart#shadowgale#gale x shadowheart#i dont remember what the most popular ship name is so youre getting them all#no one fucking understands them like i do. one day ill post my thesis. one day#had to replace the models for all of these except the epilogue clips because im an idiot and didn't save her romance scenes from my gale ru#🫀
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that was my 3rd time making a full pixel art drawing and also my first time animating it!!! im so happy how it came out, tho now that i posted it im noticing some small mistakes in typical artist fashion hjsajkdshjk BUT ITS OKAY!! im still so happy with it aaaa
#pawu talks#first aseprite work lesgooo💪💪#also ngl i screamed out of happinnes when the “rendering” box popped up JHDSAJHFS#ive been drawing that thing for like 3 days straight and im not one to do that 😭 i usually like to finish everything in one sitting
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hiii :333 i think i am alive !! ( small update in da tags )
#⋯ ꒰ა starry thoughts ໒꒱ *·˚#WOOOAGHHHHH HAVENT BEEN HERE IN AGES. WOW>#sorry guys im a straight a student in their senior year of hs... i have been enjoying real life ^_^ i miss it here tho. :(#will be active soon bcs school is gna end. fucking sobbing but we don't talk abt that#i am here instead of working on the uh. 2 group presentations i need to work on. and the 1 Solo presentation.............#which is crazy btw bcs it's a whole research event thing bcs im in stem ^_^ closing remarks heehaw. Just Me.#so i'm proud of myself & for better understanding myself lately but there is still sm i want to do!!! like On here <3#in a much better headspace and life and etc. its good yay.#anyway hashtag wanna be an astrophysicist (a+ physics? ez. but also ive always loved math & astronomy) astronomer musician#author video game dev (future compsci student! or physics. still deciding.) uhhh psychologist philosopher blablabla phd one day#yay ^__________^ I MISS WRITING ON HERE THO and interacting w moots :P altho idrk how to get back into that shit#anywhere really but it's ok we find ways. man. i miss it here. before i get active again tho i should rlly makes lists to do and Fix stuff.#bye for now yay just a lil update from me !!! ^_^ it's been at least... 4 months? bcs i rmbr not properly saying happy new year on here HEL#raaaaaaaaaaaaa apollo is so back babaey the world is so beautiful & so am I. anyway. u all take care mwamwamwa
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