𖤓 - Completed Series

Could you write Yandere Karl Heisenberg headcanons? 👉👈

Karl Heisenberg & GN!reader A/N: This is my interpretation of Yandere. Which in and of itself is already dark, toxic, and not healthy. So, prepare yourself for something that’s not going to make you feel warm and fluffy inside 👍 (Thanks for the ask, love) CW: This is DARK, proceed with caution. Body horror, possessive behaviors, mention of abuse, toxic “relationship” dynamic, suicide, death In no way am I romanticizing this type of behavior, or condoning it. I’m just being realistic on how someone like him would be with this twisted sort of mindset, personally, I would never take this level of disrespect, I recommend you don’t either. DDDNE

Proper characterization is important to me, let me know if you think I got anything wrong, I welcome criticism ♥️

Karl Heisenberg Yandere HC’s:

First of all, with normal Karl, you’re going to need a lot of patience and compassion to deal with his grungy ass

With Yandere Karl, may the father, son, and the Holy Spirit save you because you’re effed up the wazoo

You could meet him a few different ways, but the most likely is you’re a villager. You’d probably been on your way to pay homage to the Lady Dimitrescu, and he’d just so happened to be heading to the Duke at the same time. 

Talk about bad luck. 

You think he’s charming, in a gruff sort of way. 

He’s blunt with his words in a way you can appreciate. You tire of having to filter yourself because of the way you are demanded to act in the village. He provides an outlet where you can finally be unfiltered. Unfortunately, you don’t seem to notice how much he loves you talking shit with him. 

He’s so used to the people in the village running from him or being meek and timid around him. It pisses him off and does nothing to excite him. 

You, however, are very very intriguing to him.

You’ve got a fiery spirit, he’d love to known how far he can push you before you ignite or extinguish.

You grow to like him, maybe even a little infatuated, and you think the other villagers were being unnecessarily cruel. 

You don’t realize they had good reasons for hiding their young and locking their doors when he’d deign to come down from his factory. 

You catch subtle quirks in his behavior. 

Growing a little tense or being abruptly rude to someone if you were talking to them instead of him. 

Doesn’t matter if they were a child or an elder, they’ll walk away crying once he’s done. 

And you want to admonish him, really, you do. But he has this strange look in his eyes that makes your tongue feel like dead weight in your mouth. Your jaw snaps shut and he’ll give you a tight smile before grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you off somwhere. 

Maybe you start to distance yourself from him. Finally start to notice the way no one in the village will even look at you anymore. How everyone sends a prayer to the Mother when you pass by, like an omen of death. 

Too. Fucking. Late. 

He’s locked on you, you’ve peaked his interest. And he’s had such little entertainment, he’s been so bored for so long. 

He’s helping you, anyway. He’ll tell you as he straps a cuff around your ankle. No one in the village would ever want you. You’d be a pariah for the rest of your life. You need him. 

His main goal in life is to overthrow Miranda

Nothing, I mean nothing gets between that. If you were to try and intervene you’d be severely punished, possibly even killed. Doling out death like that isn’t foreign to him. Look at what he does to the villagers of the town when he’s making his soldats. 

The effects of your death would only sink after the choice was made:

“Hey, buttercup!” Karl glanced up from his newest invention and frowned. By now you’d figured out to come the first time he called. He should already hear your footsteps trailing across the metal. “Kid!” He glanced over his shoulder, irritation brewing in his gut. His fists clenched, the tools in his hand bending slightly as he slammed them against his desk. You had about five fucking seconds before he got the chair back out for you. He was sure you would hate being strapped to that, again. 

He felt more disappointment than anything. He really thought you guys had gotten to a better place. One where you understood where your place in the world was. At his feet, obedient and willing. 

He went ahead and dragged the chair out of the closet, dusting flakes of blood off the arms and undoing the leather straps. He was sure the sight of it would be enough to whip you back into shape, but he had a lot more fun being hands on. “Now!” He shouted, voice echoing throughout the factory, and, still, you didn’t come. He didn’t worry anymore about you trying to leave, lycans and chains stopped that from happening. He wondered where you found the audacity to try and be even a little bit rebellious. 

Maybe it was the bottle of whiskey he downed last night. Or the fact that he hadn’t gotten any sleep for the last four nights that made him forget what happened only a few days ago. How you’d argued with him against pursuing Miranda. Stupidly tried to convince him to just leave the village with you, leave it all behind and be happy somewhere else. 

He’d been blinded by rage. So goddamn furious that you wouldn’t just shut the fuck up and listen to what he was trying to tell you. That no matter what, without Miranda dead, he would never be free. He’d lashed out with his powers, he’d only meant to send the gears on his desk flying at you. Rattle you up a bit. He’d completely forgotten about the metal collar strapped around your neck. 

Heisenberg reached out, powers trailing up the stairs and latching onto the familiar shape and feel of your collar. There was a loud thud as your body slipped from the bed and he frowned at the noise. Were you still asleep? He glanced at the chair, maybe he should give you a break. But… He wanted to have some fun, needed a release. He wouldn’t be too harsh on you this time. 

Slowly, you thud, thud, thudded  your way down the stairs. Heisenberg pulled and heard something like cloth dragging on concrete as you rounded the corner. His eyes widened and he felt the cold grip of realization latch onto him. Your body lay motionless on the ground. Hands curled up in rigid claws, eyes flattened and grey. Your skin was a completely different shade, no color at all left in your lips. Your skull was still split from where you’d slammed into the wall when he’d accidentally sent you flying. 

He’d just forgotten about it.

Assumed it was a nightmare and moved on. 

He sank down in his chair and stared unseeing at your corpse. 

You’d be buried, a spot Karl would always be able to see from his workstation. Your death would somehow be blamed on Miranda and you’d just be more motivation for his suicide mission. I’d like to say he would be negatively affected by it. But he’s good at compartmentalizing, a few days of mourning, and then he’d be back to his mission. Your name a distant memory always tickling the back of his skull. 

I imagine there’s a lot of underlying issues revolving around bodily autonomy given how Miranda took it away from him when he was infected with the cadou. And given how, sadly, more often than not, the victim perpetuates the cycle, that would be projected on you. 

If he managed enough self control around you not to kill you while he’s throwing a temper tantrum, you can bet your ass he’s keeping you alive longer than you want to be. 

In his mind, he’s been screwed and fucked over so often, that he’s not letting you hurt him too. He takes it as a personal offense that you age and get sick, because he doesn’t. Cadou took care of that. He’s got a long miserable life ahead of him. 

Well, congratulations! So do you!

You’ll wake up one morning, a strange feeling in your arm and feel disoriented:

You try to say his name, but your tongue is fuzzy and you can’t seem to string together a coherent thought. 

You blink slowly, vision fuzzing in and out of focus. “Hey,” you vaguely recognize his voice as he walks towards you. His hands are gentle, suspiciously so, as he cradles you. Slowly, like he’s afraid to hurt you, he props you up. You’re distantly bothered by the fact that you can’t really feel your right arm very well. 

But Karl rarely ever treats you so gently, so you’ll soak it up as much as you can now. Your head lolls slightly to the left and you give him  a groggy smile. Whatever he dosed you with was slowly losing its grasp on your consciousness and you could start to feel yourself becoming more cognizant. 

“Hungry?”

You shook your head, stomach turning as you smacked your lips. Your mouth felt like he’d vacuumed the moisture out of it. He chuckled, the kind sound rushing over you like a warm blanket. He disappeared for a moment before reappearing with a cup in his hands. You tilted your head back as he dribbled the water between your parted lips. 

He leaned forward and pressed chapped lips against your forehead and it’s only then that you started to feel uncomfortable. Why was he being so nice? What the fuck did he do to you while you were passed out? 

You could feel the telltale signs of a panic attack, the drugs doing little to subdue it now. Karl picked up on your rapid breathing, the way your pulse jumped under the loose hand he had around your neck. It’s only then you noticed the lack of collar. You reached up, hands feeling foreign against that patch of skin.

His head dropped and he landed a kiss against your lips this time. “Had to take it off, was getting in the way. Don’t worry, buttercup. You’ll like the upgrade.”

Tears streaked down your cheeks as your hands slid across your clavicle, the cold feeling of metal greeting you where skin was meant to be. You couldn’t help but sob when you traced the spot your arm used to be. A metal replacement in its spot instead. 

“And, had to fix that knee of yours up too. Don’t worry, no more popping.” He laughed, like it was all one big joke, and ripped the blanket off of you. If you hadn’t already let your mind slip away from reality, from the situation, you would have screamed when he showed you the metal limbs where warm flesh and bone should have been. 

You nearly threw up when you saw the cruel line of cauterization and blood where he’d fused metal and skin.

He’s quick to get pissed off and touchy about anything he’s passionate about

I don’t recommend criticizing anything to do with his plans on Mother Miranda, regardless of how much he cares for you, he will lash out. He’s cunning and extremely intelligent, he knows how to strike where it hurts. 

Were this normal Karl, not one completely hyped up on the powers of the cadou, eventually he would find his own backwards way to apologize. A well timed compliment, a metal flower inspired by your favorite bloom, a trip to the Duke’s. 

Yandere Karl will never see the error of his ways. In his mind, everything he does for you, to you, is for your own good. No one else is going to take care of you like he can. He can’t ever risk you leaving him. He’s got it embedded in his brain that if he lets you out of the factory Miranda will find you and she will steal you from him. 

You’ve slowly become less of a human and more of a coveted toy the longer he has you. 

Imagine the little kid on the playground that takes his ball home so no one else can play anymore. 

That’s him (you’re the ball)

No one will remember you existed. 

If you were a tourist, your ID, your wallet, anything that can be used to identify you is found on a corpse that burned up in a “car wreck.” The body was burnt beyond recognition, it had to just be assumed it was you, it was your car after all. And no one had ever found you…

If you live in the village, your family, your friends, anyone who ever looked at you with a lick of interest is dead. He kills your family because he doesn’t think they properly took care of you. I mean, for fuck’s sake, he got his hands on you. What else did they let others get away with?

No. No one who disregarded his “love” like that gets to live. 

The others are self explanatory. He’s possessive beyond a fault. Even normal, he doesn’t do sharing. No one else gets to enjoy the bright light of your personality. 

It’s for him and him alone. 

And, no, he doesn’t notice when that light dims. He doesn’t notice the lights go out behind your eyes and the vacant look you carry half the time. He just thinks you finally got used to your life here. 

There’s no reasoning with him. No trying to explain how you’re drowning in despair and one more goddamn minute in these shackles is going to make you end it all. 

You love being with him. You need him. Without him you would be dead in a ditch somewhere. 

We all know, without him, you’d be living your best damn life. 

But he doesn’t. 

He thinks, despite the torture and the training, you are happy. You’re safe. He’s providing for you, and showing you just how the world can be so you know that he’s the only one who will ever love you. Who else is going to put up with you?

Everyone comes to a breaking point, when you get to yours, you need to either be fast or the next weeks of your life are going to be the worst you’ve ever head. 

You successfully get away with a quick slit of a razor, or a noose made of bed sheets, congratulations (not). 

You don’t…

At first he doesn’t even know what to do. 

No one, fucking no one gets to take you away from him. 

Not even you.

It takes a few days to plan something, and the anticipation alone is enough to break you. He’s clever, cunning, and worst of all, really fucking creative. Your mind can’t even conjure up whatever horror he’s got planned for you. 

To your surprise, it’s not anything physical. 

He’s your only source of human contact, despite everything at this point you do need him to remain marginally sane. He knows that, he uses that.

You’re locked in a room, food given to you without a schedule so you lose track of time.

No windows, a leaky drip coming intermittently from the ceiling. He doesn’t speak, you just hear the scrape of metal and dart forward to scarf down your meal. A tasteless gruel that doesn’t do anything but sustain you. 

If Heisenberg hadn’t “updated” you, the drafty air and mildew would probably have finished you off a week ago. 

As it is, you can’t get sick anymore, you just lay there in your own filth and the filth that was there before you. 

Your mind slips and you’re practically feral by the time he lets you out. 

He’ll remold your thoughts, your brain, how you think, around him. Protect you from yourself, he says. 

No one gets to hurt you, not even you. 

It’s ironic how he’ll never realize the only person whose ever hurt you has been him. 

He’s not the type to hurt those who hurt you and keep you safely locked away in an ivory tower all warm and cozy.

He’ll break you and keep going, long past your shattering point. He keeps bending, twisting, and breaking you down until you’re nothing but dust under his boot and a barely there echo of who you used to be. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Resident Evil Village, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Bad Day

part two

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader, Vincent Sinclair x fem!reader (not together, I don’t do that twincest shite) A/N: I don’t usually think about slashers until Halloween, but I’ve just had House of Wax brainrot for the past two weeks, so I wanted to get this out Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence (barely) Summary: Stranded on the side of the road with shitty friends, you’re forced to visit Ambrose, home of the infamous House Of Wax. Unfortunately for you, you manage to catch the attention of not one, but two of the Sinclair brothers.

“Hey, what’s that noise?”

Sarah looks over her shoulder at you and shrugs. “What’re you talking about?”

You roll your eyes and tap Dean on the shoulder, he grunts, the best answer you’ll get from him. “Pull over, I think something’s wrong with the car.” He gives you a questioning glance over his shoulder but shrugs and pulls onto the side of the desolate road. 

You could hear the rest of your friends pulling up behind you in their truck as you hopped out. You walk to the front of the car, popping open the hood and immediately regretting it as a cloud of smoke blasts you in the face. “Shit,” you hiss, backing up and fanning the air in front of your face. 

“Oh, fuck,” the angriest you’d ever heard your stoic friend Dean, and his voice was still barely above a whisper. Alison, Owen, Gwen, and Damien hopped out of their truck and came rushing over to the three of you. 

“What’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong with Y/N’s piece of shit car.” You rolled your eyes at Sarah’s bitchy attitude, you don’t know why you agreed to this trip. You barely like any of them, they were horrible people and worse friends. You’re pretty sure the only reason they invited you was because Owen’s truck couldn’t fit all of them and you were the only one they knew with a big enough car for the rest. 

“I saw a sign, some place called Ambrose, we could try there. Might have someone who could help.”

You all glanced at each other, each of you trying to come up with a solution, but nothing was better than Owen’s suggestion. What's the worst that could happen?

Your car had managed to make it long enough to get to some campground, you really hadn’t been willing to just abandon it on the side of the road to be stolen. Now, you all sat in the grass, debating who should head into town. 

“Y/N should go. It’s her car.”

“Thank you, Allison,” you glared at her, “but I’m not willing to go into some strange town all on my own.”

Owen let out a loud sigh before he reluctantly said, “I’ll go with you.” You were overwhelmed by his kindness. Not. 

There was a high pitched scoff and you glanced over to see Allison glaring at her boyfriend. “You volunteered real quick.”

“Ally-”

She held up a hand and walked off, struggling slightly over the damp ground with her heels. Owen trailed after her, offering you a barely there apology as he left you with everyone else. You were acutely aware of how none of them would meet your eye. 

Up ahead, Ally was laying into Owen, probably another fight because she always thought he was trying to sleep with someone else. It didn’t take you long to realize you were on your own. You really hated these people. 

You stood up, shooting dirty looks over your shoulder as you started towards the woods Owen had determined would take you to Ambrose. “Thanks babe!”

You flipped Gwen off and kept walking. You grumbled to yourself as you tripped down the steep hill and cussed each of them out every time your foot sank into mud. The further down the hill you got the worse it was starting to smell. 

At first it was just musky and you assumed the stifling atmosphere was from the humidity. Then it started to really stink, putrid, rotting flesh stink. You gagged slightly the closer you got to the source of the smell. Your stomach was twisting and turning and you thought the skin inside your nose was burning as you tried to breath through your mouth. That only seemed to make it worse. Now you could taste the rot, feel it spilling down your throat.

“Y/N, wait!”

You jumped, looking over your shoulder at Owen approaching you, the rest of your friends behind him. The distraction cost you, though, your foot got twisted in a root and you let out a loud yelp as you went flying headfirst down the hill.  

“Oh, shit!” You could hear them laughing behind you as you rolled down the hill, your ribs and elbows busting against random rocks and roots. You hissed in pain when you finally came to a stop, already feeling a dozen different scrapes all along your body. 

You went to sit up but your hand sank into something soft and gooey, and oh god you were going to lose your lunch. 

You actually did throw up in your mouth, swallowing it with a burn as you scrambled desperately to get out of whatever putrid pit you were stuck in. You glanced around, finally coming across the source of the smell, dozens of carcasses surrounded you. Some of them so rotted you couldn’t even tell what animal it was anymore. 

You screamed as your hand finally found purchase on something. You glanced down at the hand wrapped around your own and shot up, your feet slipping and sliding against the gore. Two hands wrapped around your biceps and helped you, finally. 

You grasped onto the arms of whoever had you and practically leapt onto them in your attempt to escape. They pulled you away from the pit and you let out a shuddering sigh. “Thank you.”

You glanced up, finally getting to see the face of your savior. He had yellowed teeth, a sweat stained tank top on, and a very adorable smile as he patted your shoulder and backed off. “You alright?”

You let out a strained, “mhm,” as you attempted to catch your breath and not vomit on his feet. “There-“ you covered your mouth as bile rose up. You pointed towards the pit, taking in a deep breath, “Hand. Human hand.”

The man titled his head in confusion before walking over to the pit and digging around where you just were. You winced at the sound of squelching before he managed to reveal the hand once more. You jumped as he grabbed onto it, he laughed as he tugged at it until there was a loud pop and the hand came loose. 

“Anyone need a hand?”

Your friends, who had been standing at the top of the pit watching you struggle, stared at him with varying expressions of disgust. You let out an awkward laugh, relieved it had only been a mannequin and nothing worse. 

He turned around at the sound of your laughter and gave you another goofy smile. “Thank god,” you breathed. 

He came back towards you, completely unbothered by the death around him. “Sorry ‘bout your clothes.”

You glanced down at your shirt and grimaced, it was completely covered in brown blood and old bits of roadkill. “Not your fault.” You glanced towards the back of his truck, seeing old blood in the bed of it and realizing this is where he dumped the animals people hit on the highway. 

“Hey!” You both jumped at the booming voice and looked over to see Owen hopping awkwardly down the hill, skirting the dead bodies, and coming to stand next to you. The others hovered further behind. “You know where Ambrose is?”

The man ignored him, glancing at you. “That where you were heading?” You nodded and he scoffed, “Woulda been walking a long way. ‘Bout fifteen miles up the road.”

You elbowed Owen in the side and glared at him, “You said it was close!”

He rubbed his side and shrugged, “I don’t know, guess the walk was longer than I thought.” He evaded making any eye contact and stared at his shoes. You rolled your eyes, what an asshole. 

“I could give you a ride.”

You blanched at the man's suggestion, he seemed nice enough, but you really weren’t eager to get into a stranger’s truck. “No need, we’ll just take Owen’s truck.”

He shrugged, “Alright. But good luck getting in, there’s only one way to town and it’s not on any map.”

You let out a deep sigh, this day is just getting better and better. “We won’t be bothering you?” He shook his head and walked towards his truck, opening up the passenger door for you. 

You gave him a tense smile before digging your fingers into Owen’s arm and dragging him behind you. “You’re coming with me, don’t bother arguing.”

“Owen?” Allison shouted after him. 

The man answered before Owen could, “I’ll come back for y’all. Don’t you worry!” Something about the smile he shot at them, it was different than the one he’d directed towards you, there was something swimming between his yellowed teeth and honeyed smile. His eyes glittered with malicious intent and you shivered when he looked back at you. 

You didn’t really have another choice, you’d have to follow him. He, apparently, was the only one who could get you into town. You forced a kind smile on your face and thanked him as he helped you up in the truck. “I hope I don’t stink up your seats too bad,” you added as he rounded the front. 

You’d realized you’d spoken too soon when you actually got a chance to smell the interior of his truck. You clutched the seat as your eyes bulged out. Somehow, the inside was worse than the pit outside. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said as he hopped in the truck. You heard Owen groan under his breath beside you as he slammed the truck door close. 

“Shit,” he hissed, clutching his stomach and trying not to make a big deal about how fucking awful the truck smelled and felt. 

“I’m Lester,” the man told you, offering a hand for you to shake. You paused on holding your breath to tell him your and Owen’s names. “You’ll want to find Bo when we get into town. He’s the mechanic, he’ll be able to fix you up.”

You clutched the edge of the seat for the rest of the ride, trying to remain polite as you made small talk with Lester, but you could only hold your breath for so long. He seemed to pick up on your discomfort and rolled the windows down, “AC don’t work no more.”

“Maybe Bo could fix it.”

He glanced up at you, eyes lighting up like he’d never thought of that before. “Yeah! Maybe he could!” He let out a goofy laugh, slapping his thigh and smiling at you. “I ain’t never thought of that before.”

You let out a weak chuckle, the reaction was pretty extreme for something as simple as suggesting you got to a mechanic for car problems. Owen shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “Fuckin’ Christ.” He muttered, glancing at Lester out of the corner of his eye and shaking his head. 

You elbowed him again, ignoring his noise of pain and silently threatening him to shut up. You understood that Lester might stink and have strange reactions, but Christ, he was giving you both a ride fifteen miles out of his way. He could be a little more appreciative. 

“Alright,” the truck slowly rumbled to a stop. “We’re here.”

You glanced at Lester and then the clear lack of town through the windshield. “Um, what?”

He chuckled slightly, “It’s around the bend. Truck can’t go over that, though.” You followed the direction of his gaze and lifted yourself from the seat to see a little creek and a broken bridge. “Go ahead and I’ll go back for your friends.”

Owen opened the door, practically flying out of the truck. He took in deep and dramatic inhales as the stifling Louisiana air hit him in the face. You rolled your eyes at him and turned back towards Lester, “Thank you so much for the help.”

He gave you a strange look, not quite mean but not very friendly, “Don’t thank me yet.” You had barely closed the door before he was peeling off. 

You turned towards Owen but he just shrugged, “I don’t know man, I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

You nodded, turning towards the creek, “Agreed.”

You were thankful you’d chosen a black tank top, the sun was beating directly down on you and you were pretty sure you had already sweat through every layer you had on. You were desperate for a hair clip or rubber band or literally anything to get your hair off your neck. Another minute sweating like this and you were just going to chop it all off. 

“Hey, up there.”

“Finally!” You and Owen both sped up, rushing towards the auto shop, eager to get somewhere with air conditioning. But when Owen tried the door it wouldn’t budge, he pulled and pushed, wiggled it way too many times and you snapped. “It’s locked, dipshit!”

“Think I don’t know that?” He snapped back. 

You crossed your arms and glared at him, “Then let it go and give up.” He let out a pissy sigh and whirled around, canvassing the rest of town. His eyes landed on the small chapel and he nudged you, pointing at it.

“Maybe there’s someone in there.”

You followed hesitantly after him as he walked towards it. The closer you got the louder the voices inside were. “Wait, Owen, I think there’s a service going on. We shouldn’t just barge in.”

He rolled his eyes and ignored you, throwing the door open without care and glaring inside. You shriveled up in embarrassment when you saw a man kneeling at the front of the chapel. You dared a step closer and winced, he was kneeling in front of a coffin. 

God, you guys looked like such assholes. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, grabbing Owen by the collar of his shirt and yanking him back outside. You shoved him down the steps and he stumbled, glaring at you. 

“Y/N, what the hell?”

“It was a funeral service you jackass!” You hissed back at him, unwilling to raise your voice and further disrupt those poor people’s mourning. You were halfway across the street when you heard the door behind you open. 

You tensed up, mentally preparing yourself to face whoever had decided to scold you both. “Can I help you folks?” You turned at the sound of a smooth southern accent and felt heat rise to your cheeks. Well, more heat, you were about as hot as you could get right now. 

But the man in front of you seemed perfectly comfortable in his all black suit, glaring down at you both from the top of the stairs. You were a little ashamed how attracted to him you were. He was mourning, attending the funeral of someone who was probably close to him and you were drooling over how good he looked in a suit. 

To be fair, he did look very nice in a suit. 

“I am so sorry, sir, I tried to stop him.”

Owen nudged you slightly, “Shut up, Y/N.” You glared at him but he just crossed his arms and looked down his nose at the man in front of you. “We’re looking for Bo. You seen him?”

The man’s voice was full of anger as he sneered at Owen, “You’re talkin’ to him.”

Owen glanced back at you, a mean look on his face. “Her car broke down, can you fix it?”

Bo scoffed, staring down at Owen with a disgusted expression. You knew what he was thinking, how demanding and dickish Owen was. Especially when he knew what Bo had been doing only moments before. You intervened before Owen could dig a deeper hole. 

“Don’t worry about it, sir. I’m really sorry we interrupted you.”

“Y/N-”

“Shut up before I make you,” you leveled Owen with a glare. You let the group get away with a lot, talking shit to you and about you constantly. You didn’t really care enough to stop them, but you weren’t about to let him continue to disrespect the only person who could actually help you out of this hellhole. 

Owen seemed to get the message and scoffed, walking off with an attitude. Though, he didn’t have anywhere to go considering pretty much every business was closed. So he stood in the street, kicking at gravel like a toddler. You rolled your eyes and turned back to Bo, a little surprised to find him already staring down at you. 

You couldn’t decipher the look he was giving you, but it didn’t make you feel very comfortable. Though, that could just be the anxiety from your rude companion. “Sorry, again.”

You turned around, ready to walk back to the others, when he stopped you. “I’ll help you!” 

You glanced back at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really?”

He nodded, “Give me a little while to finish up here and I’ll meet you at the shop.”

You nodded, a smile slowly rising on your lips. Maybe this day wasn’t completely lost. “Of course, take your time, thank you so much, seriously.”

He nodded, still looking unimpressed. “Uh-huh. Uh, you could check out the House of Wax, might make the time pass quicker.”

You nodded again but he didn’t bother waiting for a response, already heading back inside the church. He left just in time for the rest of the group to come walking up the street. Owen ran towards them, leaving you behind. You noticed a clear lack of Gwen or Damien and figured they’d stayed behind with the cars or something. 

You caught up with them just as Owen finished filling them in on what was going on. “So we have to wait?” Sarah whined, practically stomping her feet. 

“Yes, because he’s currently burying someone,” you deadpanned. You glanced towards the building towering over the town on top of a hill. “But we can always check out the House of Wax.”

”Yippee,” Allison mumbled sarcastically. 

You broke off quickly from the rest of the group, immediately embarrassed by how they behaved in the museum. Owen had started off strong, catcalling one of the wax women and groping her. You wandered towards the back of the building, a figure of a dog catching your attention. You hadn’t seen any other animals in here. 

Wow, its fur looked so realistic. 

You knelt down, getting closer, and shot back in fear as it barked at you. You let out a loud yelp as you landed on your ass, watching the very real dog growl at you. 

“Holy shit, did not think you were real.” You held up your hands in surrender, “Good girl, it’s okay.” After a minute she stopped growling and slowly moved towards you. You smiled as you pet her, running your fingers through her fur and laughing when she licked your hands. ”Aren’t you sweet?”

You heard a creak in the doorway behind her and your head shot up. A man loomed over you, a wax mask over his face and long black locks hanging over his shoulders. “Hi,” you whispered, completely thrown off by his appearance. 

“Do you work here?”

Nothing. 

He had to, if the mask was anything to go by, maybe it was like some outfit they made the employees wear. You glanced down at his hands, you could see wax covering them and sculpting tools in the belt slung around his hip. “Oh, are you an artist?” You asked, tone a little more excited. 

He tilted his head, and you felt your heart speed up when he stepped closer. The dog left you, walking over to him with her tail wagging and tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. He reached down, not breaking his stare with you, and pet her lightly. 

You got to your feet, trying not to show how uncomfortable he was making you. Finally, he nodded. 

“Well,” you stuttered slightly over your words, tongue tied with anxiety. “They’re all amazing. I accidentally bumped into one and apologized because I thought it was real,” your words trailed off with an awkward chuckle. “I even thought your dog was real, she scared me half to death when she moved.”

God, kill me now, this had to be the most awkward one sided interaction you’ve ever had with someone. “D-,” you cleared your throat, trying to get your voice to stop cracking. “Did you do this?” You pointed to the scene behind you, a family eating dinner at a dusty wooden table.

He shook his head, slowly lumbering past you and lifting the woman’s hair. You took a hesitant step forward and peered at the back of her neck where he was pointing. 

TS was carved into the wax. “TS?” Your eyes narrowed before it finally clicked in your head. “Trudy Sinclair?” He nodded and you smiled. “Oh, yeah, I saw an article about her up front. She’s the woman that runs the museum, right?” Another nod. Maybe he was mute. Maybe he wasn’t some freaky serial killer that was about to use that scalpel in his belt to slit your throat. 

Please just be extremely socially awkward. 

“Whole place is wax,” you dumbly pointed out, because clearly he knew that. “Pretty impressive.” He straightened up, moving the woman’s hair back in place and carefully brushing it out with his fingers. The care in which he treated the mannequin was a little off putting, he was acting like she was living and breathing, something to be coddled. “Um,” you stopped staring at his hands, focusing once again on his waxed face. “What’s your name?”

He took a step forward, then another and another until he was standing right in front of you, sharing the air you breathed. You couldn’t help but gulp, feet glued to the floor as the dark holes in his mask burned into you. In your peripheral you watched as his arm stretched out and winced slightly, prepared for a hit or stab or something. 

But it just hovered in the air, after a moment you realized he was pointing at something. You turned around and found a signature scrawled into another wax figure. 

Vincent

“Vincent,” you let out a sigh of relief and held out a hand, giving him your own name. After a moment he took your hand, grip tight to the point that it hurt. But he didn’t shake it like you’d expected, instead he moved his hand up your arm, digging his fingers into your forearm and dragging you back to the front door. You whimpered when he opened the door and threw you outside. 

You clutched your forearm to your chest, rubbing the forming bruises as the door slammed in your face. “Well, fuck you too then,” you muttered under your breath. You turned around glancing down the street and seeing Allison and Owen already walking towards the auto shop. You bound down the steps and run after them, panting when you finally catch up. 

“Where’s Sarah and Dean?”

Allison snorted, “Said they found a bed upstairs.” She glanced at you, “I think you can put two and two together.”

Your nose wrinkled and you groaned, “That’s disgusting. The guy that runs the place is literally in there.”

“Don’t be a prude,” Owen admonished. “They’re just screwing around.”

You glanced back at the House of Wax, seeing a figure moving in the window of the upper floor and shook your head. Jackasses. 

Bo was waiting for you all at the door of the auto shop. He was still in his black suit, except this time he had an easygoing grin on his face. A complete 180 from the man who looked ready to rip Owen’s dick off for interrupting a funeral. 

He gave you a particularly large smile as you approached, holding the door open for you as you entered the shop. You didn’t get the relief you were hoping for, the air in here almost as stifling as it was outside. It was maybe two degrees cooler. Whatever, you’d take what you could get on such a shitty day. 

“You know what the problem is with your car, sweetheart?” 

It took an awkward moment of silence to realize he was talking to you. When you looked up from the floor you saw his gaze drilling into yours, not missing the way his eyes flitted down to your low cut top and then back up. You couldn’t really blame him, you’d been eyeing him since he introduced himself. 

“Um,” you glanced towards Owen. “What did Dean say it was?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, an unsure look on his face. “Something about a hose.”

Bo nodded, sucking on his teeth before he went to the back of his shop. You rocked back and forth on your heels, ignoring the other two who were wandering around his shop and whispering to themselves. “Hey, honey, you mind comin’ back here a minute?”

You peered around the doorway and saw Bo bent over rummaging around in some boxes. “Me?”

He looked over his shoulder and chuckled, “Who else?”

You were about to step forward when you heard Allison hiss your name. You turned around and she pulled her top down mouthing ‘maybe he’ll give you a discount,’ pointing to your own shirt and laughing. You crossed your arms reflexively, covering your breasts from her view and tugging your shirt higher up to be petty. She rolled her eyes, clearly called you a prude, and turned back around. 

You really needed new friends. 

You walked into the back of Bo’s shop, taking in the different tools and boxes along the walls. “What’s up?”

“Any of these look right?”

You glanced down at the hoses he had laid out, the blood draining from your face when you realized you did not know anything about your car. You really hadn’t even known a hose was a thing until today. “Um, I’m not sure.”

“Well,” he started, losing some patience as his tone took a curt edge. Your stomach toiled with anxiety, not liking the idea of him getting pissed at you. “You know what size ya need?” 

You cleared your throat, “Owen!” You called out the door, you heard a grumbled what in response. “You know what size I need?”

“Two and a half!”

You missed Bo sliding a hose under his work table as you turned back around, scanning the tags and frowning when you saw he didn’t have the right size. “There’s a two, would that work?” You asked, picking the hose up and holding it out to him. 

His tongue poked into his cheek and he shook his head, “‘Fraid not, sweetheart.”

“Shit,” you placed the hose back down and rubbed your face, wincing as you remembered you were still covered in innards. “Ugh, gross,” you pulled your hands away from your face and could already feel streaks of blood on your cheeks. 

Bo chuckled and reached for a clean rag off his work table. He gave you a charming smile and wiped the blood off your face. You tried not to let yourself be too affected by how close he was, but it was hard, really, really, hard. So, as you always do in situations you don’t know how to handle, you blabber. 

“House of Wax was really cool,” you mumble.

“Hm,” he hums, not interested at all as his gaze darts down to your lips. 

“Yeah, the guy, Vincent, I don’t think he liked me very much,” you let out a barely audible laugh, remembering his harsh treatment as he tossed you out. 

Bo froze, his eyelids dropping slightly as the tender look on his face melted away, replaced by something you didn’t understand. Or didn’t want to understand. The hair on the back of your neck was standing up as goosebumps traveled along your arms. You weren’t cold, not in the slightest, this felt like something else. Like an instinctual response to a predator. 

You backed away a step, no longer feeling comfortable being so close to him. “What’d you say?” His voice was low, so low you could almost mistake it for a growl. 

“Um,” you swallowed harshly, throat parched and lips completely dried by the humidity. “Vincent,” you didn’t like how small your voice was. Didn’t like how quickly the atmosphere had shifted from something charged to something dangerous. “He- he showed me some wax sculptures and then he tossed me out.”

“You saw Vincent?” You nodded, backing a step further when he approached you. He noticed and let out a low laugh, the grin returning, but there were entirely too many teeth. “You say anything? ‘Bout his mask? How quiet he was?” He probed, his tone almost teasing like he wanted you to say Yeah, called him a freak and laughed at him. Like he wanted to use your response as an excuse for something. 

You shook your head quickly, “No. No, of course not,” you were quick to defend yourself, trying to sound as sincere as possible. You didn’t want him to think you were as rude as your traveling companions. “I thought maybe all the museum workers had to wear those. Like a theme or something. And,” you stumbled slightly over your words as he moved towards you again. You stepped back towards the doorway, trying to get back in the view of the others. “And I can be pretty quiet myself, I didn’t think it would be kind to pry.”

He finally stopped, but it wasn’t enough to calm you down. You still could feel your heart pounding against your chest, going so fast you felt a little dizzy. You weren’t an idiot, you knew how risky it was approaching so many strange men in one day. But you had been trapped, like a mouse dropped in a maze, constantly searching for a way out. 

You’d had no choice but to accept help from all the people you’d interacted with in this town, but you didn’t forget how much danger they could pose to you and your friends. You were all too aware of how stupid it was to be in a room with this stranger. 

This stranger who switched between masks so fast you got whiplash. Just as quickly as it had disappeared, his smile was back, still just as handsome, but no longer disarming. He shrugged, “Vincent doesn’t show himself to anyone, really. Just a little curious, that’s all. And that mask is all him, sweetheart.”

“Right,” you forced a smile, moving out of the way so he could walk back into the main part of the shop. 

He clapped his hands together, getting the attention of the others. “Sorry folks but I don’t got the parts you need here.”

Allison and Owen both let out loud groans, their voices blending together in anger as they harassed Bo for not having the one car part they needed. You winced as they yelled at him, demanding to know how he even called himself a mechanic if he didn’t have one simple part. You could see Bo’s patience leaving him again, jaw clenching and teeth grinding together. 

“Shut up!” You shouted, glaring at them from behind Bo. “Jesus, act your fucking ages,” you muttered, storming past Bo and going to stand near them. You didn’t bother looking at any of them, despite the stares you could feel boring into you. 

“Thank you,” Bo mumbled before his voice rose again. “As I was sayin’ I got some parts up at my house. Only about a ten minute walk, you could use the bathroom, clean up, I’ll see if I have what you need.”

Allison and Owen shared a look before turning towards you, the both of them huddling around you. “I don’t want to go anywhere near that freak’s house. He’s probably got some redneck sex dungeon.”

“Allison,” you admonished, looking over her shoulder to make sure Bo hadn’t heard. He seemed preoccupied with something under his desk. “Shut up, he’s being nice and putting up with our shit. I mean, he just buried someone guys, and he’s still trying to help. Least you could do is be respectful.”

Allison huffed and sighed and rolled her eyes before finally nodding, “Fine. But I’m using you as a human shield if shit goes south.”

“Fine by me,” you muttered, pushing away from them both and smiling at Bo. “If you don’t mind, we’d love to go.”

He nodded, smiling at you before walking to the door. He opened it but he didn’t leave until he threw over his shoulder, “Don’t worry, if I was taking anyone to my dungeon it’d be this one.” You squeaked as he pinched your waist and walked out. 

Allison scoffed, like she was offended, and followed after him. 

“So,” Bo started, slowing down so you could catch up to him. You sped up slightly, matching his stride and giving him a small smile as he stared at you. “What’re you doin’ with these jackasses?”

You couldn’t stop a snort from slipping out at his blunt language. You glanced behind you, watching Allison and Owen bicker about something and turned back towards him, shrugging. “I don’t know, they needed my car and I wanted to get out of the house, I guess.”

“Well, how long you been friends?”

“Not long, I met Allison a year ago and I guess I just started hanging around them.”

“You don’t seem to get along real well.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, a fact in his eyes that you didn’t belong with them. And he was probably right, you hated them, they hated you. 

“Only reason I’ve stuck around this long is ‘cause I don’t have anyone else.”

You didn’t notice how he perked up, how quickly he tuned into the loneliness in your words and pounced. You should have, for someone so perceptive and paranoid, but you were too busy grimacing at a chunk of dead something in your shorts pocket. 

“No one? No family? No other friends? No one to notice-” He cut himself off, once again sending you a smile, though this one seemed more sympathetic than anything. Like he knew your pain and could relate to it. 

“Yeah, no one.”

“Hm,” he offered nothing else. Just another hum and a nod as you approached the house at the top of the incline. He walked up to the front door, unlocking it, and turning around to survey you all. “Anyone need the can?”

Owen stepped forward, Allison clinging to his arm with a paranoid look on her face, eyes darting all around the perimeter of the house. Bo glanced behind them at you, “Sweetheart?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.” He might be charming but there was no way in hell you were just gonna wander in blind to his house. 

“You sure? I could give you a change of clothes.”

Before you could figure out a polite way to decline again, Allison had grabbed onto the strap of your tank top and was dragging you up the porch. “Please, fuck, I can’t stand the smell anymore.”

You ripped your arm out of her grasp, jumping as the door slammed closed behind you. For a moment the house stayed dark, no light and no noise other than the sound of your breathing. Then you heard a click and light shone down on a cluttered living room and outdated kitchen. 

“Sorry, haven’t had time for the maid,” Bo muttered sarcastically. He turned towards you, motioning you forward and, reluctantly, you followed. “Bathroom’s down the hall to the left.” Owen nodded, heading down the hallway while Allison stayed planted by the door. 

“I’ll show you my room and you can get changed.”

”Thanks,” you followed him wearily up the stairs, jumping every time the old wood creaked. “I really appreciate this, I know we’ve bugged you a lot today.”

”Yeah, you have.” You frowned, taken aback by how honest he sounded. In your defense, he had offered up his house to you guys. He turned around and must’ve seen the disgruntled look on your face because another grin broke out and he laughed, “I’m messin’ with ya. Relax, it’s no trouble at all for such a pretty lady.”

He opened up the door at the top of the stairs and stepped inside. You heard him moving around, drawers opening and slamming shut before he emerged again a pile of unfolded clothes in his hand. “Here, you can use the room to change.”

You nodded and stepped inside, quick to lock the door behind you. You waited until you heard his footsteps going back down the stairs to strip out of your clothes and change. You moved as quickly as you possibly could, a little paranoid that he had cameras in his room or something, watching you. 

You weren’t sure what had changed. Maybe it was Allison’s insistence that he actually had a sex dungeon, or that you were in a stranger’s room, but you felt scared. You felt watched and uncomfortable and like you wanted to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible, put Ambrose in your rear view and never look back. 

You held up the shirt Bo had left you and frowned. It was big, much bigger than he was. This didn’t seem like something he would own, the fitting all wrong, this seemed like something that belonged somewhere else. To someone else. 

You stared at it a moment longer before shaking the thought away and pulling the button up over your arms. As you worked on the last button you realized he hadn’t left you with any pants. Hopefully just a simple oversight on his part. It went down to your thighs, so it’s not like you were completely exposed. You’d just pretend you were wearing a dress. 

Your eyes scanned the room, you would go through his drawers and look for some pants but it didn’t feel right to dig around in his stuff. The room itself was a clusterfuck of boxes of clothes and sprawled sheets. You jumped around a box full of men’s clothing and frowned at the labels on the box. Each box had different sizes and different dates. 

Your heart beat just a little bit faster when you spotted women’s clothes shoved under his bed.

There could be plenty of explanations. 

He swung every which way and this was all clothing from his conquests. 

He liked to dabble in drag. 

He was collecting clothes for the homeless. 

You went with the last one, despite the fact that it didn’t make you feel any better. You walked into his bathroom, smiling when you saw a hair clip on the sink. You picked it up, hoping it wasn’t someone’s favorite and that they wouldn’t mind you borrowing it for a bit. 

Just as you were about to clip up your hair you noticed a smudge of red on the corner. The claw itself was completely white, the red was pretty hard to miss. You frowned, bringing it closer to your face and running your fingers over the color. 

It flaked off under your thumb, the copper falling into the sink. 

There were only so many things you could ignore. 

A blood covered claw was not one of them. 

You rinsed it off in the sink, shoving your hair up and running towards the bedroom door. You didn’t bother collecting your clothes, there was no saving them and you had bigger things to fuss about. Mainly the fact that Allison was right. 

This dude definitely had a fucking sex dungeon. 

You forced yourself to slow down when you reached the top of the stairs. You peered over the railing, listening for any noises or creeping shadows. It was almost worse when you didn’t hear anything. Allison should be at the door, bitching about how long it takes Owen to pee. Bo should be walking around somewhere. 

Instead, the house was still, you barely even heard your own breath over your racing heart. You were careful as you made your way down the stairs, avoiding the boards you know creaked and lightly making your way towards the front door. 

“Allison?” You whispered, looking around the den or kitchen for her. 

Nothing.

You hesitated, wondering if you should look for her or make a run for it. You heard footsteps getting closer to the door and made your choice, grabbing the keys off the tray nearby and racing through the doorway. 

“Y/N?”

You turned around as you reached Bo’s red truck, looking just in time to see a knife split through Allison’s jaw. You couldn’t even scream, the noise locked away in the deepest part of yourself as you struggled to process what was happening. 

The blade stuck out grotesquely between her teeth, her eyes remained blinking, that was the worst part. They blinked, tears pouring down her cheek before the man behind her was shoving her forward and her body was toppling to the ground limply. You jumped at the thud, eyes wide and burning with your own tears as you looked into the dark holes of Vincent’s mask. 

“Vincent?” You whispered, the only thing you could actually manage to get out. His head tilted and he stepped over Allison’s body like she wasn’t even there. Your hands shook, the keys slipping out and landing in the dirt under your shoes. He was about ten feet away before your flight instincts finally kicked in 

“Fuck,” you whispered, abandoning the truck and taking off just as the knife he’d thrown landed in the dirt where you’d been standing only a second earlier. 

You used to run, it had been an easy form of therapy. A way to get out unresolved and pent up emotions that left you feeling stunted. You’d loved it, reveled in the burn in your thighs, the buzz that thrummed through your blood as you pushed yourself to your limits and then further. 

But you’d stopped, got caught up in a group of shitty friends and stopped taking care of yourself. Now, the once thrilling buzz was slowing you down. The muscles in your thighs unprepared and unused as you forced them to go faster. You felt like you were trying to run in a dream, your muscles working as hard as possible but you were stuck in a limbo, never moving fast enough. 

You could hear heavy boots pounding behind you and you tried to push through that limit that you felt locked around your legs. But you couldn’t, you couldn’t move faster and you already felt yourself slowing down. Your lungs heaving as your throat burned, struggling to take in any air. 

“AH!” You let out a strange sounding scream as something heavy and hard rammed into your back. It sent you flying, knees scraping against pavement as you were pancaked to the road. 

“There ya are, darlin’! You don’t know how bad my feelings were hurt when I saw you’d run off.” You whimpered as Bo pinned your arms behind your back, his knees digging into your spine until you both heard it crack and you cried out in pain. 

“Bo, please,” you begged. “Please.”

He chuckled, leaning down until his mouth was next to your ear. “Please, what, darlin?”

”Please fuck off,” you growled throwing your head back and listening to Bo’s nose snap. You used the distraction to wrestle your way out from under him, rolling onto him, legs straddling his waist as you grabbed a nearby rock and brought it down.

His hand shot up and gripped your wrist, squeezing until you couldn’t feel your fingers and were forced to let go of the rock. “Fuckin’ bitch.”

You slapped at him as he tried to sit up and pin you down. You didn’t care how rabid or unorganized you were. You clawed, screamed and kicked until you’d gained the upper hand and were jumping away from him. “Fuck you,” you hissed, glaring at him as you clutched at your hurt wrist. 

His nose was no longer pouring blood, instead it was a slow steady drip as he glared at you with what could only be described as an animalistic snarl. “Bitch,” he spat back. 

“That the best you got?” You taunted, “You’re the backwoods freak who's killing off college kids. Lemme guess, Vincent’s your brother, he wears that mask because mommy and daddy were actually Uncle-Dad and Aunt-mom? Your weird little incest freak didn’t want to let mommy’s dream die? I bet one of you fuckin’ killed her, too.”

”Shut the fuck up!” He shouted, lunging for you. You darted off to the side, leaping over a wooden picket fence and through the yards of the silent neighborhood. The sky was turning pink, your favorite time of day, right before night finally fell. 

But you didn’t have time to enjoy it, crying as you ran away from the feral man behind you. You could hear him breathing, stomping his way behind you, it was like being chased by a wild animal, not a man. Maybe that’s what was terrifying you so bad, humans were predictable. You knew what type of torture to expect from them, the cruelties they were capable of. But a man like this, a beast like this, you had no idea what he would do to you. 

Tear you apart right here in the street?

Take you back to his home and keep you until better prey came along?

You didn’t want to find out. And you didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of your death. 

You had been screaming as he attacked you, shouting as you ran from him. Not once did a light click on or off as you ran through the neighborhood. No curtains drew back or faces pressed against the window pane in curiosity. 

You knew you were alone, the rest of your friends were most likely dead. 

You gasped, losing your breath, as you slammed into something hard. “Y/N? What the fuck?” You whined in pain, looking up to see Owen standing over you. He kneeled down, like he was going to help you up, until you heard the sound of laughter behind you. 

“Got you,” Bo taunted. And you knew he was talking about you, he didn’t give a shit about Owen, he just wanted you. 

“Owen, please,” you whispered, begging him to, just this once, help you. Be a decent guy, make the right choice. You should have known better. Just as you’d gotten to your feet, two strong hands had gripped your shoulders and sent you flying. 

A different set of hands found their way around your waist, coiling around you like a python until their grip was so tight your face was turning purple from loss of air. “Told you, jackasses,” Bo whispered, the last thing you heard before you were blacking out. 

Nine Inch Nails. 

That’s what you could process when you woke up.

The next thing you felt as your eyelids slowly peeled open, a near painful process, was the jostling around your legs. You whined, your throat completely raw and glanced down. Bo was standing at the end of some sort of chair, similar to a gurney, and duct taping your legs down. He glanced up, hair plastered with sweat and grinned at you. He had changed, you hadn’t noticed before but he’d ditched the suit for his coveralls. 

You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes and glancing towards the ceiling as you blinked back tears. 

You were going to die and the last thing you were going to hear was the blasting of Closer by Nine Inch Nails. 

Fuck my life

Bo moved up, holding your wrists down on the metal armrests and duct taping those too. You looked to the side, and saw strange circular markings on his wrist. You assumed, whenever they disposed of your body and took the tape off, you would have matching scars. 

You heard footsteps clomping above you and the sound of Damien and Gwen’s voices. “Where did they all go?”

“I don’t know, maybe they’re in the auto shop.”

Gwen sounded unsure, “Maybe, it is the only place that’s open.”

Bo ran behind you, his warm hand clamping over your mouth and keeping it shut as they passed the grate above you. You hadn’t even tried to open your mouth to scream for help, you knew you couldn’t, your throat was destroyed already. 

“I’m gonna take my hand off and you’re gonna be quiet. Yeah?” You nodded your head, feeling the salty warmth of your tears trailing down his hand and building up on your cheeks. “Yeah,” he whispered, the tone too intimate as he slowly released you. 

He remained beside you, poised and ready to strike but you didn’t make a move to call out. “Good girl,” he chuckled and placed a hand over yours. “I’m gonna go up, deal with those assholes, and you’re gonna behave. Right?”

You nodded again and he dug blunt fingernails into tender skin. You whimpered out, “Yes, Bo.”

He laughed again and walked towards the door, keys clinking as he locked it behind himself. “Fucking sicko,” you spat the second the door was closed. You moved your legs, wincing as the tape picked at your bare skin. 

“Oh, fuck it,” you were sweaty enough, the moisture on your skin providing enough glide for you to wiggle one leg out of the tape. Arrogant bastard had given you too much freedom, he probably didn’t even think you were going to run. 

Now, your wrists. 

Your arms were sweaty, sure, but these were tight. You tried to use a jerking motion you’d once seen in a stupid action movie, bringing your wrists to your chest. But your muscles were fatigued and you didn’t have enough strength to rip the tape off. 

You flopped against the flattened cushion of the chair, trying not to sob incoherently as Bo’s rock music blared in the garage above. You could hear voices speaking. You didn't know how much time you had left until Bo just got rid of them and came back down for you. 

You’d been pointedly ignoring the wall of Polaroids since you’d woken up, not wanting to see what they were. Afraid you already knew. 

You ignored the unnatural bend of your shoulder, how much it screamed out in pain as you contorted your body over your right wrist, teeth picking at the duct tape until you felt like they were coming loose. But you didn’t stop, you kept going until you felt the slightest tear under your lips. 

You had to stop yourself from crying out in victory as you used whatever remained of your strength to jerk at the tape again and again, your muscles crying as you finally ripped yourself free. You stuffed down your cries, using your free hand to unwrap the other. 

You allowed yourself a moment to roll out your wrists and shake off your legs before you were shooting off the gurney and stumbling towards a corner of the room. Your legs felt like jelly, and you knew that wasn’t good, but you pushed past the fear as footsteps stomped down the stairs. 

Your heart rate picked up and your throat clenched as you pushed sweat-matted hair out of your face. You took in a deep breath and then held it as the door slammed open. You winced, grateful you hadn’t chosen to hide behind that. Bo stepped into the room, there was a blind spot of about five seconds before he would see you were out of your chair. 

You needed to use that to slip behind him and out the door. 

You heard one boot enter. Then the next. 

You could hear your blood rushing in your ears, adrenaline making your muscles tingle back to life. 

Another step, you inched forward, another, you slid against the wall. Bo finally made it all the way in. “What the fuck!”

You shot behind him, racing up the steps and bursting through the door of the garage. You didn’t give yourself time to celebrate or look to see if he was following you. You darted down the street, suddenly grateful Bo had only given you a shirt to wear. 

You were sure it was for his own pleasure, but right now all it meant was that your legs weren’t constricted by tight denim and you could run as fast as your body would allow. You turned to the right, bursting through the doors of the chapel. 

You froze at the entrance, taking in a deep heaving breath as you tried to find a hiding spot. The pews were too noticeable, the casket probably wouldn’t fit you. You nearly cried as you tried to figure it out. 

Outside you heard Bo stomping, his voice calling out your name. Fuck it, you dove for the priest, using his large robes and throwing yourself under them. You had just managed to clamp a sweaty palm over your mouth as the doors of the church opened, deceptively quiet. 

Bo’s footsteps were soft as he walked through. You feel dizzy sitting under this preserved priest, the air stifling and you felt like you were running out of oxygen. Sweat beaded at your hairline, dripping down into your eyes as you tried to blink it away. 

You jumped, nails digging into your palm, at the sound of wood crashing against the wall. “Get out here!” He roared, and you knew he was slowly making his way through the pews. He tossed each of them around, checking under and around them for you. 

You ducked down, lifting the robe a centimeter off the floor. If you closed your eyes, put your hand over your ears, you were a little girl again, hiding under the table as your mother counted down. She’d find you soon, you’d giggle and she’d pretend she didn’t hear it before popping under the table cloth and catching you. 

Her fingers digging into your sides, searching for that ticklish spot. No, she’s poking too hard, that hurts. 

Shit, that hurts. 

You kick out, your shoe catching Bo’s jaw as you make a run for it, darting out from the priest and back through the chapel doors. The only thing you can focus on are the bright lights, blinding against the night sky- when did it get dark?

You stumbled over your feet, legs not moving the way you wanted them to. Shit, you don’t feel good. Did he drug you? Is it the heat? You haven’t eaten all day, or drank anything. Maybe it was finally catching up to you. 

Through blurry eyes you ran towards the movie theater, the brightest beacon you can actually make out. You trip through the doors, slamming them closed behind you. You spot one of those metal poles, the old one with red cloth they used to keep people in line. With limp arms and struggling steps you lift it up and slam it through the handles, just as Bo starts to shake them on the other side. 

You back away from them slowly, eyes scanning the lobby for anything you could use. Behind the concession desk you manage to spot something. 

BREAK IN CASE OF EMERGENCY

You’d say this constituted an emergency. You kicked through the glass, ignoring how it dragged along your legs, and pulled the ax out of its case. There had to be a back door out of here. 

Your eyes widened and you cursed, there had to be a back way out of here, and Bo would know it. You threw the ax on the ground, ripping the pole out of the handles before scooping the ax back up and running back into the dark.

Apparently you’d made the right choice because Bo was no longer where you left him. He was probably sneaking through some secret exit waiting to grab you. You looked towards the end of the street, up the hill, and back at Bo’s front door.

There was still light shining through, but you were sure Allison’s body was long gone. You glanced behind you before taking in a deep centering breath and shooting off again. 

You held your breath, hiding underneath the table as Bo came stumbling into his home. You could see him clutching a wound on his arm and Vincent materialized behind him. He reached for his brother but Bo jerked back, “Get, get, back!” He spoke like he was talking to some dog, “Fuckin’ freak.”

You winced as you watched them interact, Bo tossing shit at his brother and his brother ducking like he was used to it. Vincent walked over to a candle, heating a spoon over the flame and picking up a toaster. He used the metallic reflection to smooth over a dent in his mask and Bo came up, appearing on his shoulder like the worst kind of devil. 

“Momma would be proud of you.” Vincent’s movements paused at his suddenly tender brother’s voice. “I told you this would look better. The last two are gonna look great,” he assured, kindly, and you grimace in disgust. Should’ve known this was his idea. Your knuckles creaked around the handle of the ax and you debated just ending this now. 

Vincent turns towards his brother, spoon discarded, and signs something. You know enough about the language to recognize the hand movements when you see it, but you can’t understand it from your angle. 

“What girl?” Bo snarled, Vincent winced and signed something else. Bo snorted, “Her? What you gotta crush or somethin’?” Vincent shook his head quickly and Bo rolled his eyes, voice cruel. “What, one girl’s nice to you and you wanna break our rules? She’s dead when I’m done with her. That’s it.” Bo buried his finger in Vincent’s shoulder, shoving harshly. “Understood?” Vincent didn’t respond immediately and Bo shoved again. “Understood!” He shouted and Vincent finally nodded. 

You watched them move out of sight, followed their shoes out of the house and finally slinked out of your hiding spot. You’d seen where Vincent had emerged from earlier and retraced the steps, finding a hidden basement in their father’s office. You glanced behind you once before jumping down into the hole.

“Damien? Gwen? Fucking anybody?” You kept glancing behind you, ax ready as you creeped your way through Vincent’s tunnels. Finally, you started to see the warm glow of candles at the very end of the section you were in. 

Caution thrown to the wind, you made a run for it and burst into what looked like Vincent’s workshop. You looked around, not seeing anything of interest besides one torture chair. You’d slit your throat before they got you in that. 

You found his desk, sketches scattered around the edges. You took a peek and were surprised to find a partially done profile of your face. You glanced around, making sure you were safe, before picking the sketch up. 

You looked pretty, even half done, he might have been a little to generous with you. Made you too elegant, noble, untouchable. Flattering if he wasn’t going to try and kill you. You saw something scrawled at the very bottom and your heart clenched, She was nice.

Perhaps you were too tender-hearted, to feel any pity for these monsters. But you’d seen the news articles in their father’s office, what had happened to their family, the chair Bo was once strapped in. What they were was their mother’s final project, the legacy she left behind, one of pain and hatred. Each of them hating themselves for different reasons because of her. 

But you weren’t an idiot, you saw the was in the title of your drawing. You might have been kind, but he wasn’t planning on letting you live. Something rattled in the room to your right and you threw the drawing down, turning towards the door and carefully opening it. 

“Y/N!” Owen cried out, relief making itself clear on his face as he saw you. “Get me out of here.” You rushed forward, kneeling down and trying to undo the straps around his ankles. But your fingers weren’t working properly, they felt like they were swelling and burning and useless. You whined in frustration as you tried to get the metal through the hole. 

“Fuck!” Owen kicked out as much as he could and you jumped back. “Can you do anything right? Just get me out of here!” He screeched. 

You went momentarily blind with rage, anger boiling in your gut so quickly you nearly keeled over. “I’m trying to help you, you fucking dick! You left me behind to that psycho earlier and I’m still trying to help you!” You screamed at him, not paying attention to the raw feeling of your throat or the footsteps behind you. “Why don’t you ever just shut up!”

You weren’t aware the ax was still in your hands, or maybe you were, as you brought your arms down in frustration. It landed in his thigh, barely missing the femoral artery, and he screamed. That type of scream you only hear from squealing pigs right before their butchered. 

You didn’t think you enjoyed it.

Didn't want to enjoy it. 

But you dug the blade in. 

He’d made your life a living hell, he’d tried to get you killed earlier, and even when you’d ignored it and tried to save him he still yelled at you. Granted, it wasn’t the worst thing he’s ever said to you, but it was the worst thing he could say at that moment. You pressed on the handle, not realizing you were smiling as he squealed some more. 

You got a headache after a second, struggling to rip the blade back out before you were lifting it once more and bringing it down over his neck, the blood splattering your face, bleeding into your open eyes as you watch his head topple to the ground. 

“Holy shit,” you turned around and looked at Bo, the fight draining from your body. “Didn’t think you had it in you.” He glanced at the ax in your hands and smiled, this one looked real, the realest he could manage. “Gonna kill me too?”

You shrugged, tossing the ax at his feet. “You gonna kill me?”

He looked at you, really looked at you, standing there covered in your ‘friend’s’ blood and unknowingly smiling at the carnage. “I don’t know,” he finally muttered. 

Part two

end. — I do not own the characters or the movie House of Wax (2005), but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

PART 5 WAS SOOOOO GOOD SUCH WHIPLASH GOING FROM LONGING SMITTEN COOP TO MEAN (BUT STILL JUST A LITTLE SMITTEN) COOP HURT BUT IN A GOOD WAYYYY!!!! CANT WAIT FOR THE NEXT PART ✨

You have NO idea how much fun I have writing Hollywood Coop. Walton goggins was made to be in old black and white movies

Halfway through the next part now!!

this. this is what happened in that scene right

𝚂𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: Jack's gone missing and there's only one place that's going to have the answers you need. St. Denis may just be one of the dirtiest places you've set foot in. Still, if stomaching a mobster chatting you up, means getting the boy back, then you'll just have to deal.

A few weeks later

Arthur’s shoulder is still sore where he’d been shot. You lay under his left arm rather than his right so you don’t irritate it any further. After he’d started moving around on his own again, you’d gone back to sleeping in the women’s tent. 

He knows how uncomfortable the cramped tent is now that they have to make room for you and Sadie, so he let you sleep in his tent on days he wasn’t in camp. One night, he’d come back earlier than expected after a hunting trip and you’d been asleep on his cot. When you’d woken up, his good arm was wrapped around you and you had been tucked into his chest. Neither of you said anything about it, you just continued sleeping there, even on the nights that he was around. It’s comforting, having him watch over you again just like when he had first saved you in the mountains. There’s a familiarity to it that you’d been missing. 

Still, as comfortable as you are sleeping beside him, your nights are restless. You’re plagued with guilt for what you’d said while he was sick. It almost feels like taking advantage of him while he was at his most vulnerable just so you could whisper what Dutch might call ‘your poison’ into his ear. You had a personal agenda, even if it was for his benefit too. You wanted Arthur for yourself, together and away from this life. Mostly, you wanted him out from under the control of Dutch, and safe. Still, you had no right to preach about Dutch being such a conman when you’re doing the same thing. 

Tonight, you’re awoken by the same nagging thoughts. Your eyes flutter open as your stomach twists with a painfully familiar guilt. Huffing, you adjust yourself higher up Arthur’s chest, trying to force yourself to get comfortable again. His arm flexes around you as he shifts onto his side. 

You tuck the rough wool of Arthur’s blanket under your chin but it doesn’t do anything except irritate you further. Trying to make sure you haven’t disturbed him too much, you risk a glance up at Arthur’s face. He’s the most at ease when he’s sleeping. It’s the one time you’ve seen him look his age, as the stress and tension melt away from him. 

He’s healthier now and beginning to look alive once more. His cheeks are filling out, no longer so gaunt and hollow that the bone nearly pokes through. When he greets you in the morning his eyes are warm and bright. They don’t carry the flatness of fever and the threat of death. He’s slowly started to regain his appetite, clothes no longer hanging so loosely off his frame. And he finally shaved that horrendous beard he’d grown while he’d been sleeping. It’s a relief now that the reason for staying up all night isn’t because you're making sure he doesn’t stop breathing in his sleep. 

Sighing, you carefully maneuver your way out from under his arm, sitting up in the cot. His hand drops from your shoulder to your lap as he readjusts himself to your absence. You look back at him and grimace. Just another secret to keep. 

You killed your husband and no one except Charles and a whore will ever know about that. But that had felt right like you’d done the world a service getting rid of him. And you know, that getting Arthur to see past blind loyalty to the gang and to Dutch is better in the long run. But taking advantage of the fact that he was bed-ridden and couldn’t run away from having that conversation was wrong. You’re feeling like the scum you make Dutch out to be. 

You brush your hair back and get to your feet, deciding to go sit with Charles while he’s on watch. It’s usually what you end up doing when you can’t sleep. Neither of you will talk but it's comforting just to have his calming presence near you. Your fingers are on the knots of the tent flap when a scream rips through the cold night air. 

Eyes wide with fear, you stumble back a step. Arthur shoots up in bed and you whip around just in time to see him drag his revolver out from under the pillow. “What’s wrong?” He barks out the question as he leaps to his feet, coming to stand in front of you. 

Your eyes dart between him and the gun. He’s wide awake like he hadn’t been deep asleep only a minute ago. And you didn’t even know that gun was there. You forget, sometimes, just how on edge these people have to be to survive. Thinking it’s you who screamed, Arthur snaps your name out when you don’t respond.

A shout rings out now, coming from just outside the tent. It’s a woman’s voice but you don’t know which one. Arthur guides you behind him and goes towards the tent flaps. When you try to follow him he barks out a brisk, “Stay” and runs out of the tent, half-dressed, gun in the air, looking crazed. 

Ignoring Arthur, you push open the canvas just enough to poke your head out. Most everybody’s been woken up by the commotion. They’ve all got their guns out, looking for whatever threat has someone hollering like a dying animal. You look past them and towards the fire where Abigail is beating on John with every ounce of strength she has. 

The fire casts a shadow against her wild eyes, making her seem larger than life, near inhuman. “You bastard!” She screams, slapping John so hard across the face you can hear it connect from where you are. “How can you just stand there!” 

Arthur gets to them first. He tucks his gun away and grabs Abigail’s wrists, ripping her away from John so she’s forced to stop hitting him. He’s muttering something to her and you can’t hear it but you imagine he’s trying to calm her down and get her to explain herself. 

John and Abigail don’t get along on the best of days, but this is odd even for them. You’d thought you’d seen her at her angriest when she’d found out what Karen and Sean had done in her bed, but this was an entirely different beast. 

“They took him!” Choking back tears, she shouts, “They stole my son!”

 Despite the urgency of Abigail’s situation, the priority remains to keep those still in camp safe.  Jack’s kidnapping was a wake-up call. The gang will never have a moment to feel safe again. No matter where you run to or who you partner with, there will always be a threat hanging over your heads. Dutch has Arthur and Charles out looking for a new place to set up while the rest of you remain behind and pack. 

Before, you would have helped the women pack up their tent and any other miscellaneous items. But your duties have shifted from working with them to what feels like Arthur duties. You take care of his things now, pack up his wagon while he’s gone, and throw your meager belongings in beside his. You feel remarkably wifely as you fold up his clothes and it sends a cold chill through your stomach. This is not a pleasant familiarity. 

It’s not like you haven’t seen the transition from helping around camp to solely taking care of Arthur. At first, you had assumed it was simply because he was so ill that he needed the aid. But now it seems as though they changed your handler from Mrs. Grimshaw to Arthur. She no longer demanded anything of you or tried to take charge of how you act. 

You wouldn’t say that Arthur has taken advantage of the situation. He never asks anything of you, what you do for him you do of your own free will. But it doesn’t ease the sense of dread you feel. You take care of him, his clothes, and his belongings because you don’t know what else to do. Never have you had the opportunity to choose another way of life. You had been born as an object to be bought and traded, sent to a finishing school that disciplined you in the arts of being a wife. You don’t know any other way and that terrifies you. 

There’s a deep-seated worry that this infatuation with Arthur is only a way for you to survive. By latching onto him, you’ve given yourself someone to take care of and someone who will protect you. There’s no chance of abandonment now that the two of you are so connected. 

It’s shameful, this fear of yours. Still, though, it lingers even when it’s unwanted. 

Lady grazes lazily in the grass beside you. Her tail flicks with boredom, her head always perking up when she hears another horse huff and thinks Diablo might be coming back. They’ve grown remarkably attached and you can’t say that you haven’t noticed she’s been a lot calmer lately. You think being around him so much helped ease her into her new environment. You wonder if that’s what happened between you and Arthur, but you just never managed to fully assimilate. 

Taking Lady’s reigns you hitch her up to the wagon and jump onto the driver’s seat. Without Arthur, you won’t have anyone else to ride with.  Leaning back against the wood, you watch as Molly struggles with some crates. She stumbles, nearly tripping into the mud as she tosses them on the back of the wagon. Dutch doesn’t offer her help, he’s too absorbed in his hushed conversation with Hosea. 

The way Dutch treats her, the dismissive coolness, and then the sudden surge of love every few weeks, frays at her mind. Her patience and sanity have slowly been dwindling and you can see it plainly on her face. She’s gone mad and temperamental and is never happy anymore. Is that the fate of any woman who loves an outlaw? 

Trelawney has a family in the city somewhere. How often does he see his wife or his children? 

Abigail and John are no great love story. She’d been the gang’s favorite whore before John got her pregnant. Then, he’d had no other choice but to take care of her and their child. Their relationship was born out of resentment and necessity. The most affection you’ve ever seen between them was her yelling at him for getting clawed up by a wolf. 

Mrs. Grimshaw watches Molly struggle for a minute or two before coming over and silently offering her aid. They don’t speak and the tension is clear between them. Mrs. Grimshaw, Dutch's former lover, and his current jaded woman. Susan had the intelligence to get out before Dutch broke her completely, now she was nothing more than an associate to him. How quickly do the affections of outlaws fade?

But Arthur isn’t John and he certainly isn’t Dutch. You can’t compare him to anyone because you’ve never met another man like him. He’s not your husband. There’s no ties keeping you together. No oaths to break or rings to bury. You can leave anytime you want, the only reason you’ve stayed so long was because it was your choice. 

If you keep looking for your old life in every aspect of your new one, you’ll never move on. If you keep looking backward, you’ll be terrified of everything. You can’t allow yourself to live like that again. 

Grabbing the reins you take a deep breath and close your eyes. You picture your old house, the cracks in the foundation, and the holes in the walls. Still, you hear your husband’s voice carrying through the halls as he shouts at you. There’s nothing like that here, nothing to fear. The memory doesn’t carry any of the pain it used to. It’s like a ghost of a past you’ve nearly forgotten. You just have to finish letting it go. 

Shady Belle’s name carries a certain elegance with it. It sounds like a dignified estate, one you might not find in the city but would certainly find near plantations. In your mind, the name brings about images of your childhood home. The same one that had been taken care of by your family for generations. 

However, the rotting monstrosity of termite-infested wood and stinking mud is certainly no great estate. When Arthur proudly shows you the new camp he and Charles have found, it is an exercise in control not to grimace in disgust. You know you’re spoiled by the way you grew up. To these people, simply having a roof is a luxury. 

Arthur looks at you expectantly as he gives you a hand off the wagon. You bite your lip, brows furrowed as you try and think of anything complimentary to say about the house. It’s difficult to think with the stink of the marsh flooding your senses. “It is certainly something,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes at the door that’s not screwed on right. 

You suppose, in a way, it reminds you of your husband’s estate. When the coffers were run dry and your husband had scared away the rest of the cleaning staff. Arthur chuckles and helps you around the puddles of mud blocking the entrance to the home. 

“I know, I know,” he relents, sounding slightly amused by your clear disdain. “It is pretty ugly. But,” he grabs the door’s handle and shimmies it roughly a few times before the rusted hinges let out a loud groan and it goes swinging open. “We do get our own room.”

He motions you towards the stairs and your brows perk with interest. “And,” you glance over your shoulder at him and grin, “what, pray tell, would we need the privacy of our own room for?”

He rolls his eyes at your question and gives you a not-so-gentle nudge up the stairs. “I’m sorry, when did I start speakin’ to the Lady Rowe?” You turn around intending to playfully swat at his shoulder when he unexpectedly grabs your wrist and pulls you to him giving you a rough kiss.  

Pulling back breathlessly, your surprised eyes dart toward his lips, “Well, you’re a real charmer, aren’t you?” You tease. Taking the lead, he guides you through the winding hallway until you reach the very last door in the house. He seems eager to show you and it almost has you excited. 

However, from the way the wood floor creaks under your feet and you can feel the house swaying in the wind, you don’t have high hopes for the state of the room. Besides, when was the last time Arthur or anyone else in the gang had actually slept in a real house? You’re sure he’d get excited by anything at this point. 

He gives you a small smile and throws the door open. You relax your expression, trying to make sure no unkind thoughts show on your face as you step through the door. Your eye twitches slightly and you bite your tongue. This was deplorable. 

The “window” is a hole in the wall that looks like someone had been thrown through. When you look up you can see the sky through the roof. It’s about as small as your old closet and the moist smell is nearly unbearable. The humidity out in these parts is going to be the death of you. You go one step further and swear your heel nearly goes through the floor. 

However, despite all of these issues, there is one very wonderful thing about this room. The bed pushed up against the wall actually looked half-clean and was far larger than Arthur’s tiny cot. “Well, Mr. Morgan, this is something indeed.” He lets out a proud huff and your gaze drifts through the “window.” You grimace as you spot a gator clamping down on a deer in the marsh outside. 

Outlaw life you could handle, but living in the moors was certainly asking a lot. 

If there were any trails left leading to Jack, they would be found in St. Denis. It was suggested that you use your former connections to try and find information on the boy’s whereabouts. The gang didn’t seem to understand that you had no connections of your own. They were either your husband’s or your father’s. And you certainly didn’t want to call upon any of your father’s old partners, that would lead to nothing but trouble. Though, you wouldn’t be surprised if you ran into them. As disgusting and poverty-ridden as the city is, it’s exactly where men like that love to linger.

“I’m still not sure bringin’ you along was a good idea,” Arthur frowns at how you have to ride side-saddle in the skirts you’d donned for this. As much as you’ve grown to love pants, that kind of modern-day fashion isn’t going to work for what you need to do. 

After what happened in Valentine, you know Arthur doesn’t like dragging you into the gang’s business. But you’re reluctant to let him out of your sight now. You can’t trust Dutch to take any care or precautions for Arthur’s safety. Besides, Cornwall and the Pinkertons wouldn’t be so desperate as to start shooting at you in the middle of the street. There’s too much risk they might hit the wrong congressman and lose themselves their funding. 

“Arthur, might I remind you that I’m more at home here than I am in camp.” A mangy mutt barks at the horses as you pass by. You can just imagine the fleas crawling through his coat, mud matted into what little fur he has left. A boy not much younger than Jack runs up to him and tosses him a stick. You can see the ribs poking through both of them. 

Arthur lets out a heavy sigh and sets you with a firm look, “Really? This is home to you?”

Slowly, the run-down huts around you give way to smoking factories and haggling merchants. Smog and filth pollute the air, the fog parts just enough for you to see the high-end estates in the distance. The rich, watching their fortunes grow as their factory workers and servants die a slow death. 

“Poor choice of words,” you acquiesce. “No, I’m much happier out in the wilderness. I only mean this is where I was raised to be born, bred, and die. There’s a culture to the sniveling men who live here, and I happen to be quite familiar with it.”

“Well,” Arthur sniffs and you watch him toss a coin into a beggar’s outstretched bowl. “I don’t feel like gettin’ comfortable here. Why don’t we make this quick?” You want to laugh at his impatience, but you can’t deny how your stomach is twisting at all of the decay bordering the city. 

You nod your head, nudging Lady on a little faster. It doesn’t take long for the poverty to fade and make way for the “grandeur” of St. Denis. You still see filth, crime, and unseemly business tucked away into the corners of the city. No matter how hard the wealthy try, they can’t keep the dirt off their hands. It’s impossible to turn a blind eye to the murkiness of what you once thought was a black-and-white world. 

“Where do we even start?” Arthur asks, nose turned up in disgust at the city. You don’t want to make him stay here any longer than you need to. If this is what the future of your country is to look like then you have no qualms becoming a feral mountain woman. 

“If there’s anything rich men love more than making money, it’s losing it.” You nod toward the saloon up ahead and smile. “If anyone has information they’ll be there. Either at the poker table or watching it.”

Arthur nods and you see him nudging Diablo to go faster but you hold out your hand, stopping him. “Wait a moment, Arthur. We’ll need to get our story straight if we’re going to get anything useful out of this.” 

“Oh, come on,” he huffs impatiently just wanting this to be over and done with. “We don’t need a story for this.”

“We most certainly do,” you admonish. You click your tongue disapprovingly at him and shake your head. “They’re not just going to talk to any hick off the street.”

“Hey-“

“You’re to be the help,” you continue, ignoring his protests. “Or, my escort,” you amend when you see the disgruntled look on his face. “They don’t let women at the betting tables so I’ll leave you to the men there.”

“And you?”

“I’ll work those at the bar. They’ll be the most loose-lipped anyway.” You lead the horses to the hitch posts by the side of the saloon. Arthur gets off Diablo and comes to stand by your saddle. He holds a hand up towards you and you swat it away with a rude huff. “Mind your place, sir. The help does not touch,” you inform him, nose turned to the air. It takes a herculean effort not to laugh at how easily his face screws up in irritation. You are enjoying this far too much. 

The annoyed look drops when he sees you struggle to shift your legs to the other side of the saddle. He backs away, hands in the air and a smug look on his face. You peer over the edge of Lady and grimace. You seem to have forgotten just how tall your mare is without Arthur’s usual assistance. “Sure you don’t need help?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the post of the saloon. 

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Arthur.” You drop from the saddle with a jolt and wince a little at the impact on your ankles. He rolls his eyes as you pass by him. 

“Come on, this is ridiculous,” his voice is pleading with you to not go in there. You don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t want you involved or just because he doesn’t want to talk to the men waiting for you inside. 

“This will work,” you insist. “As long as you’re not too familiar with me.”

His face drops and his eyes narrow into slits. “Familiar?” He grumbles. You give him a dainty nod, dodging away from the hand that tries to snatch up your wrist. “Fine,” he snaps, spirit finally broken by your own stubbornness. 

“But if this don’t work,” his hand drifts down to the revolver holstered on his hip. “I got somethin’ that will.” When will men learn there are better ways of getting what they want than whipping out their pistols?

“What?” You deadpan, “You’re gonna shoot every man you see until you get your answers?”

He shrugs his shoulders, stalking past you and towards the entrance. “Maybe.”

“Oh,” you scoff and pick up your skirts, rushing to keep up with his easy stride. “Come on you stubborn fool,” you grouse. 

Right before you both reach the entrance, you clear your throat. He pauses, turning around with a glare. “I do believe it’s ladies first,” you remind him. His lips purse and he takes one reluctant step back. “Thank you,” you use your prissiest voice just to rub some salt in the wound.

“I hate this already,” he grumbles, glaring daggers at your back. 

“Hush,”  you bite your lip to stifle the laughter threatening to surface. You must admit, you’re getting a bit of a power rush being able to command him around like this. You’re so used to taking orders that you’ve forgotten what it feels like to give them out. You had once run your house until your husband took over. It’s been a long while since you fell into this role. 

Taking in a deep breath, you straighten up your shoulders and close your eyes. Remembering the vanity that comes along with a role like this, you smooth out your skirts and open the door to the saloon. The chatter and cigar smoke bring you back to memories of sitting in your father’s office while he filled out his reports. He was so cruel if you’d made too much noise while he was working. His favorite thing to tell you was always, “The proper way of the lady is to be seen and not heard. Women are something to be admired, not understood.”

Looking around at the men in this room, you know they’d tell you the same thing. Women aren’t wanted here unless the men have a hand up their skirts or a business deal with their husbands. Even after all your time with the gang, you still find yourself being cowed. You almost want to turn back around and leave. But it’s Jack’s life on the line and you can’t let his mother down simply because you got scared. 

You pull a wad of cash out of the beaded purse on your arm and lead Arthur toward the poker table. After haggling with Dutch for an hour, you’d manage to convince him to hand over some of the camp's funds. He didn’t need to know how much of it you were planning on pocketing for yourself. 

The men around the table glance at you suspiciously out of the sides of their eyes. But they don’t say anything to you until you start to pull a seat out. “Woah, little lady,” one of the men raises his hand and quickly grabs the arm of the chair, jerking it from your grip. He chuckles patronizingly and shakes his head, “I’m afraid there’s no women allowed at this table.”

“Well,” you give him a sickly sweet smile. “It’s a good thing I’m not playing.” Arthur comes to stand beside you and the man’s face pales. With the brim of his hat just barely blocking his eyes, the only thing they can see of him is the revolver on his hip and the nasty looks he’s sending them. He grabs the back of the chair and jerks it out of the man’s grip, nearly sending him flying. 

“My escort, here, will be playing for me.” Arthur takes his seat without another word and you slide the bills into his hand. Leaning over the edge of his chair, you whisper in his ear, “Try not to lose all my money, sweetheart.”

He tugs a cigar out of his vest and lights it up. He puffs silently on it and you spot the way his lips curl slightly at the edges. You can tell he’s doing his damnedest not to laugh at the little show you’re putting on for him.

“How are we doin’ today, gentlemen?” Arthur addresses the men at the table, voice rough and you can already see them getting antsy just being near him. He should have no trouble getting what he wants from them. He doesn’t even have to wave his gun around, he just needs to sit there and look terrifying. 

You leave him to play his part and move towards the bar at the back of the saloon. There are a few men sitting around, but you have to be careful about who you choose. Someone too drunk won’t be of any use to you. And someone stone-cold sober is going to get very suspicious of a friendly woman who isn’t a whore asking them too many questions. 

Rounding the tightly packed poker tables, you stand by the edge of the counter. There’s no point trying to order, they won’t serve a woman. Unless you’re one of the ladies employed by the establishment, you won’t be getting much service. You hop onto one of the stools, taking in the men slumped against the bar. 

One of them is clearly a laborer who wandered into the wrong bar and was too embarrassed to leave. A few others aren’t too drunk, but they’re talking amongst themselves. You’d nearly left when you saw how crowded the place was, you won’t be able to handle a whole group on your own. The rest, except for one at the end of the bar, look like they’re about to tip right off their stools. 

The man at the end is well dressed, his suit finer and clearly more expensive than any of the others in here. He’s nursing his glass of whisky, the bottle by his elbow and only a quarter-empty. He holds a cigar between his fingers, the smoke curling up into the air around his head. The expression on his face isn’t particularly inviting, but he seems like the best shot you have at finding something that makes this whole trip worth it. 

Slipping from your spot, you drift towards his side, keeping only a stool between the both of you. The goal is to not draw too much attention to yourself. You only need something small for him to notice you, it can’t be obvious that you’re trying. Experience has taught patience in letting them come to you, not the other way around. Reel them in too early and everything falls apart. 

“Excuse me,” you call out to the bartender, a small tilt to your lips as you give him a dainty wave. The man beside you only gives you a brief look before turning back to his drink. But you notice the way he’s turned slightly towards you, most likely intrigued by what a lady like yourself is doing in a place like this. 

The bartender glances towards you with a nearly affronted expression. “Could I get a drink?” You force the pitch of your voice higher yet softer than it normally would be. You know the appeal of innocence and virtue to men like this, as disgusting as it is, it works. 

The bartender shakes his head, voice gruff, “Don’t serve women here. You’ll have better luck somewhere else.” 

“Well,” your shoulders slump and your face falls as you feign disappointment, “That’s a shame.” You feel the stranger watching you and turn like you’ve just noticed him. “I can’t exactly leave,” you explain to him. His brows perk, an invitation to continue even as he remains silent. 

Waving behind yourself, you point out Arthur. “I’ve stolen my daddy’s favorite toy. I can’t leave until he’s won me enough money for this pretty necklace I saw the other day.” There was a time when you actually spoke like this, even thought like this. It almost feels simpler, those days when the most important thing was having the prettiest dress in the room. Given the option, though, you would never go back. Not now that you can see the world so much more clearly. 

You’re entertaining him if nothing else. There’s a quirk to his lips as he listens to you talk. He doesn’t truly care what you have to say, but he likes the company. Turning towards the bartender he snaps and grabs his attention once more. “A drink for the signora,” your brows furrow together at the thick Italian accent. 

You’d heard once, through your husband, that more Italian immigrants seemed to be moving to bigger cities like St. Denis. Italian mobsters seemed to flourish here. You just hadn’t expected to find one in this bar. 

The bartender’s shoulders stiffen, his hands freezing in their idle movements of drying out a glass. You drop the ditzy look from your face for a moment, eyes narrowing in on the odd interaction. The bartender puts a glass before you, his hand trembling as he does. The Italian man watches it all with an eagle-eyed smirk. You can’t help but feel like you’re witnessing some show of dominance. 

The Italian man waves him away and he pours some of his whisky into your glass. “It’s bold of you,” he tells you, not offering further explanation. 

“What is?”

He smirks and takes a deep drag of his cigar. The smoke billows from his mouth like a cloud, wafting over your face and smothering the air around you. Your teeth dig into your lips hard enough to hurt as you struggle not to cough. 

His eyes rove over you and you feel like a diamond under the scrutinizing eye of a jeweler, being checked for flaws and value. “Coming in here unmarried and without your father knowing.”

“Oh,” you wave him off and giggle, your hand drifting towards the back of his arm. He looks smug at the touch like he’s won something. The hair on the back of your neck stands up and you feel as though you’re being watched. Risking a glance over your shoulder you see Arthur already staring back at you. His eyes are practically slits when he sees the hand you have on the Italian’s arm.

You clear your throat and quickly take your eyes off of him. “Do you see how big my escort is?” You ask, practically talking down to him. “I don’t have to worry much when I’ve got him standing beside me. It’s just too bad,” you trail off as you reach for the glass beside you.  

“What?” He prods, straightening up as you take your hand off him. You take your time answering, pressing your lips to the rim slowly and taking a long drink. It tastes of bog and burns the whole way down, and you have to turn away to hide your pinched as you struggle to swallow it. Still, when you turn back to him you manage to look pleased. 

“To be quite honest, he’s touched. Got kicked in the head by a mule a few years back and isn’t good for much more than fighting and labor.” God, Arthur’s going to kill you if he hears any of this. You can’t risk looking back at him again, though. Right now, he’s nothing more than a prop. 

“Still, an unclaimed, beautiful,” he adds as though that makes you sound any less like a piece of land, “woman out and about like this. I can’t imagine your father’s pleased.” 

You titter, batting your lashes and shrugging. “What daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Besides, I’ve got serious business to deal with in the city.”

“Right, your pretty necklace?” His tone is familiar, you’ve been hearing it all your life. He’s not listening to you, he doesn’t care what you have to say, he’s just imagining what you’d look like on his arm. Or under him. It makes your skin crawl but you’re not so stupid that you don’t use his attraction to your advantage. 

An Italian man who can terrify a bartender with a single word, lurking in the dark corners of St. Denis. He seems like just the man you’re looking for. You play into what he wants, making your voice lighter, younger than it is, and leaning so he can see the way your corset perks up your cleavage. 

“Well, beyond the necklace. Though, that is just as important. I have this friend, Abby. Poor thing got born on the wrong side of life and had to do awful things for a living. Then, some no-good outlaw gets her pregnant. So, she’s stuck traveling with him now. And if that’s not bad enough, her poor little boy got stolen from her a few days back. I was hoping I might help her out somehow. Maybe send her a pretty dress.”

You shrug noncommittally as though it truly means nothing to you. He hums under his breath, putting his cigar out on the tray beside him. “I think I can help you out, signora. I’m having a party at my home tonight. I know a lot of,” he trails off, tongue licking across his lips like a hyena lapping at its maw. “Influential people,” he finishes. “If you’re willing, you can attend,” you’re about to agree when he adds one little stipulation. “As my date.”

“Oh, well,” you glance over your shoulder at Arthur now. He’s talking to some of the men around him but he’s still got one eye trained on you. When he sees you looking he frowns, turning to face you fully. 

You want to say no so badly. You don’t want to deal with another man like this for the rest of your life. In fact, you’d be much happier going back to camp and pretending none of this ever happened. But he might have the connections you need, not just for helping Jack, but possibly to help the whole gang. You swallow down your discomfort and force your most flattered smile. 

“I’d love to.” You answer, feigning a dreamy lilt in your voice. He pulls a fountain pen out of his jacket pocket and writes something down on a napkin. He slides it over to you and stands, taking your hand in his own he bends to press a kiss to your gloved knuckles. 

“My estate, signora, eight o’clock.” You watch as three men in different parts of the saloon all get to their feet and surround him. He nods forward and they march like proper soldiers, your eyes drift toward the guns on their hips and you let out a rough sigh. 

You take a glance at the napkin and see that he’s written an address on it. Wonderful, you’ve just gotten yourself a date with the mafia. You see Arthur out of the corner of your eye as he cashes out and gets to his feet. You bite your lip and frown, how in the hell are you going to explain this to him?

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” Arthur snaps as you both walk into The St. Denis Tailor. 

“Arthur,” you bite your tongue, holding back the insult dancing just on the tip of it. “I’ve already told you that this is necessary.” He tilts his head with a disbelieving look and you throw your hands up in the air in defeat. “He might know how to get Jack back.”

“Yeah, but did you have to tell him I was your ‘daddy’s simple servant’?” He demands, taunting you with the rude words you’d used earlier. 

You take in a deep breath, preparing yourself for a real and true argument, just as someone clears their throat behind you. Turning, you find a sheepish tailor standing behind the register. He waves slightly at the both of you, face flushed from hearing you bicker on your way into the store. 

“Could I help you find something today?” You shoot Arthur a glare over your shoulder and approach the man with a tense smile. 

“I need a suit and a gown for an event tonight.” You start pulling out the money from your bag as Arthur scoffs loudly behind you. 

“A suit,” Arthur begins to protest. 

“Yes, a suit!” You snap, turning around and giving him a sharp look. “You want me to go to this alone?”

He crosses his arms and sets you with an aggrieved look. “Obviously I don’t, woman. But if I’m just your fool of an escort, why do I need to dress up?” He looks smug, as though he’s caught you in a trap of your own design. 

“Oh,” you’re close to stomping your foot like a child as you screw your face up at him. “You are impossible, Arthur. Do you want to find Jack or not?” He doesn’t answer you. Instead, he huffs and throws himself down on a seat by the door, refusing to meet your eye. 

You turn back to the tailor with a strained smile and slam the bills down on the counter. “A suit and a gown,” you reiterate, already knowing this is gonna be hell to get through with Arthur. 

The man takes the money, glancing between the both of you with trepidation. You pass him another ten and his face lights up. “Of course, madam, right this way.” He pulls back a curtain behind the counter and motions you both towards the fitting rooms. 

The tailor won’t have time to make a custom dress for you tonight. You’ll just have to hope he has something close to your size. Still, you find yourself browsing through the fabrics and laces he has laid out in the front. Your fingers drift over the more expensive silks and it drags you back to the parties you used to attend with your family. 

They were always filled with mindless drivel that was simply a cover for their true purpose. Conversations that always bored you were meant to probe your family for weaknesses. Being back here feels like throwing yourself back to the coyotes. Every face you pass, every conversation you hold, is carefully curated to present the image that person wants you to see. There’s nothing genuine about high society. 

“I don’t want that damn bow tie,” Arthur snaps at the tailor behind the curtain. You roll your eyes and take a seat near the fitting room. You should have just gotten Arthur’s size and picked the suit out yourself. You hadn’t realized how difficult he would be about this. 

You’re certain he’s only mad about you going behind his back and getting an invite to the party. Not only have you involved yourself in the gang’s business, you’ve placed yourself directly in the middle of it. It’s not as though you’re eager to be getting involved like this. 

It’s just after what happened to Arthur, every time he leaves camp you’re starkly aware that there’s no promise of his return. Perhaps it’s given you this itch to be closer to him than normal, but you feel as though it’s a perfectly natural reaction after painstakingly caring for him for weeks. You and the other women had been the only thing to stand between him and death, you’re not willing to let Dutch throw him back into danger without a care. 

The curtain slides back and you straighten up, waiting for Arthur to come out. One shiny black shoe slinks out, slowly followed by his leg. “Honestly, Arthur, you act like this is a punishment,” you complain as he takes his sweet time coming out. 

“With the way this collar is choking me, it might as well be,” he snaps, finally stepping all the way through. Despite the way he roughly tugs at his bow tie, the suit fits him quite well. He could almost look like a gentleman if it weren’t for the sour expression on his face. 

Letting out a soft sigh you stand up and walk towards him, “You look handsome, Arthur, really.” He shoots you a doubtful look and you send him a teasing smile, swatting his hands away from the collar. You loosen the bowtie for him and he gives you a grateful look. 

A little bit of the tension ebbs away from you both, a bridge slowly rebuilding. “I feel ridiculous,” his tone contains just a tad less of the irritation from earlier. 

The problem between you is that each of you desires to protect one another. Arthur wants you as far as he can get you from the gang. You don’t want to let him out of your sight. Neither of you are ever going to give in, it’s always going to be a constant push and pull of stubborn desires. Pockets of peace can be found in a simple moment like this, but you worry that there’s always going to be a divide. 

“You certainly don’t look ridiculous sir!” The tailor calls out cheerfully, eyeing his suit on Arthur with pride. 

Arthur huffs out a small laugh, “Alright,” he relents, “guess I’ll take this one.” You pick a piece of lint off his shoulder and take a slow step back. 

“Your turn, madam,” the tailor parts the curtain for you and you give Arthur one last brief smile before stepping behind it.

It doesn’t take you long to find the dress you want. You don’t have many options so you choose the one that will fit, and the one that will hurt Dutch’s pockets the most- a rather exuberantly-priced ruby red evening gown. 

Red gossamer wraps around your shoulders and one of the more comfortable corsets you’ve ever worn cinches your waist. Red silk ruches around your hips and back to give you more curves than necessary. It broaches the line of scandalous but it’s one of the only options the tailor has for you. Admittedly, it would better fit a lady of the night, but your goal isn’t to make a good impression. You only need information tonight, what the people you speak to think of you means nothing. 

You pull the heavy fabric of the curtain back as the tailor stares with pride at his creation. Pulling the white gloves up your elbows you walk towards Arthur. “Well?” You hold your arms out, excitedly spinning to show off the back of the gown. You tip your head over your shoulder, anticipating a look of awe, a compliment, maybe even a kiss that will leave the poor tailor scandalized.  

Instead, Arthur looks you up and down, giving away nothing. You smile broadly at him, heart picking up the longer he’s quiet. The tailor peers around the curtain, brows furrowed as he glares at your companion. “Sir?” He prods. 

Arthur shrugs, “It’s a dress. Whaddya want me to say?” You hear the tailor gasp quietly in offense. 

“Well,” your lips thin as you laugh, it doesn’t quite mask the sting of rejection, but you try. 

You turn and look at yourself in the mirror. The woman staring back at you in the mirror isn’t someone you recognize. Circles under your eyes, wrinkles from squinting against the harsh sun, and skin that’s been wind beaten. It’s all so glaringly different to the woman you used to see. Months of muddy pants and cotton shirts have worn away the softer edges of your reflection, and this is the closest you’ve been to feeling feminine since the mountains. You’d been hoping for something less dismissive. 

“You sure know how to make a girl feel pretty, Mr. Morgan.” Your voice is sharpened by hurt and anger. His face slacks and he winces like he’s finally realized just how callous he sounded. You shake your head, whip the curtain closed, and step back. The heat of disappointment strikes hot in your chest. What did you expect? Outlaws don’t know the first thing about courting ladies.

“You look gorgeous, madam,” the tailor tells you as he hands you your other clothes. You force a weak smile in return. Compliments like his are weightless. What would they mean from someone like Arthur?

It would’ve taken so little to spare you a kind word or even an appreciative glance. It makes you think of your husband, how kind he used to be before he grew tired of you. He’d been a “proper gentleman” raised in the knowledge of how to court and care for ladies. That ended with him in the belly of animals. 

A lady and an outlaw, worlds apart in what they need and understand. How could a story like that end? 

You feel your throat tighten, stomach-churning, as too many fears hit you all at once. You’re lightheaded and unsteady on your feet as you wonder if the divide between you both is too wide to cross.

Next Part

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2025. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea @pokiona @fleouris

literally a puppy

Broken Machinery

Pt. 1 (completed series)

Series Masterlist

Connor RK800 x fem!reader

A/N: If I tagged you it’s because you responded to a post where I asked if anyone was interested in Connor RK800 fan fiction (thanks for the support btw) As this is my first time actually “publishing” my writing, constructive criticism would be amazing. I just would love some honest feedback. I’m still working on figuring out navigation and master lists, so if you want to see all the parts for this series just click the tag Broken Machinery. The borders are the work of @saradika as is my navigation and masterlist images.

(I can’t be the only one that finds that gif ridiculously attractive)

Content Warnings: Cussing, Hank, Mentions of domestic abuse and brief mentions of crimes like rape (so brief, blink and you miss it), Carlos Ortiz’s house is a warning in itself that shit was nasty

Word Count: 3.6k

Series Summary: You and your grumpy partner Anderson gain a new addition to the team. He’s supposed to be CyberLife’s best, but there’s something not quite right with his programming, and the problems seem to revolve around you.

“Hi, I’m Connor, the android sent by CyberLife.”

Your head shoots up from where you had been filing a report. To your right an android was staring down at you, his hand outstretched and his head tilted to the side. He looked exactly like a puppy. Big brown eyes staring down at you in earnest sincerity, an eager tilt to his lips. Your eyes narrowed, CyberLife was getting a little too good at how life like these new models were getting. You shove the Manila folder into the filing cabinet under your desk and shake his outstretched hand. “Detective Y/N Y/L/N, why is CyberLife sending an android to me?”

Your feelings on androids weren’t as callous or as hate-filled as your partner’s Hank were, but the idea of them made you uncomfortable. They were so similar to humans, it was hard for you to believe that with all the intelligence and AI that went into them they were nothing more than a plastic doll. You had no android due to the discomfort of owning something so human.

So, why was CyberLife trying to recruit you into their trillion dollar cult?

“I’m an RK800 prototype designed to assist the police.” He pulled his hand back and fixed his head, his hands going behind his back. That ramrod straight posture he held himself with made your own back ache. “I’ve already assisted in hostage situations and have now been sent by CyberLife to investigate the increasing number of deviant cases.”

You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself, “Oh god, Anderson’s gonna love this.” Rubbing your hands across your face you leaned back in your chair, already dreading the pissy fit that’s gonna come from the drunk when he figures out he’s gonna have to work with an android.

“Are you referring to Lieutenant Hank Anderson? He’s the officer CyberLife sent me to.” Connor watched as you grabbed your jacket off the back of your chair and made your way to the front of the station. His footsteps immediately echoing yours. “I was told you were the best person to ask about his whereabouts.”

You grimaced, already knowing you were about to embark on a bar crawl, entirely too sober. “I’ve got a few good guesses, but if he doesn’t want to be found the bastard’s not gonna be found.” Connor’s long strides easily caught up with your own, he was fiddling with his cuff links as he turned his head to face you. Why the hell are they programming androids to fidget?

“I detect some hostility in your town. Is your relationship with the Lieutenant not agreeable?” You scoffed as you got in your car, Connor quickly getting into the seat next to you.

“Yeah, sure, that’s one way of putting it.” You ignored the head tilt and started driving.

Four bars later and you were struggling not to laugh your ass off at the sight of Hank face to face with an android. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but you knew whatever it was, Hank wasn’t playing nice. It wasn’t until Connor bought him another shot that Hank finally got up and made his way to the door. He didn’t look very pleased to see you.

“You know about this?” You didn’t need to look to know what he was talking about as he pointed behind himself.

You shook your head, “He just popped up next to my desk like a stray puppy.” Hank rolled his eyes.

“There’s nothing cute about a plastic prick.” You chose to ignore him as you walked towards the exit.

Hank was already standing by his car when you realized he wasn’t following you. “Hey! What the hell are you doing?” Hank turned away from his car door and gave you a look that made you feel like shit on his shoe.

“Driving, the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” His words were slurred and he was leaning heavily on his car door handle. You stormed over to him and snatched his keys from his hand.

“You look drunk. I’m not gonna let you get yourself killed.” Before Hank could start another tantrum Connor interjected. You winced at the sound of his voice right next to you and Anderson. “Detective Y/L/N is right, your BAC is high above the legal limit. There’s a 75.76% chance that you would be involved in a car crash if you were behind a wheel.”

Dangling the keys in front of Hank you smirked, “See, even Connor agrees you’re a jackass.”

Connor’s head tilted and a little groove appeared between his brows as he frowned. “That is not what I said, Detective.”

“In the car, both of you.” You allowed no arguing from Hank, though he was still too angry at the android to actually focus any attention on you. Connor got in the back of the car as Hank took the passenger seat. You’d have to see if anyone coming off the patrol shift around here could come pick up your car. Jimmy’s bar wasn’t exactly the safest place to leave it, as beat up as the old Dodge was.

There was a flash of yellow in the rearview mirror as Connor’s LED worked before he was leaning into the front seat. “There’s been a body discovered, android involvement suspected, I’ve sent the address to your phone’s GPS.” You didn’t bother asking how he got your number or how he worked so fast, you just started driving as Hank cussed out androids under his breath.

“No comment.” You ignored the reporter's choice words on the DPD and made your way inside the house. You smiled to yourself at Connors voice ignoring Anderson’s order to stay in the car. “Your order contradicted my mission.” The smile quickly dropped as the rancid smell inside the house assaulted you. You’d seen a lot, and honestly the sight of a dead body bloated with gas wasn’t even that bad. But the smell was about to take you out.

“-dead about three weeks-” well that explained it. You tuned in and out of the briefing and made your way over to the body. Chris handed you a pair of gloves as you kneeled down and examined the stab wounds. “Talk about overkill.”

“Yes, he was stabbed twenty-eight times, which indicates a heightened level of aggression and emotion. If the android is involved it’s definitely deviant.” You jumped at the sound of Connor’s voice and slapped his arm.

“Jeez, give a girl some warning. I didn’t even hear you walk up.” Connor didn’t even flinch at the slap, if anything it might have hurt you more.

His head was tilted again and you actively had to shred up the thought that it was a cute habit. In reality, you were aware he was probably just recalibrating or scanning his environment. “Apologies Detective, I’ll make my presence known next time.” Then without warning he walked up to the murder weapon, dipped his fingers in the blood and-

Yeah, you were going to throw up.

“The fuck are you doing?” For once you weren’t opposed to Hank’s vulgarity. That was disgusting, you can’t believe Connor just licked the blood. Like it was fucking ice cream!

His LED stuttered from a calm blue to an alarmed yellow for a moment before settling back on blue. “I was designed to sample evidence detectives, my tongue has all the capabilities of a crime lab but with instantaneous results. Apologies for the alarm, I’ll make sure to give you a warning next time.”

Hank nodded, “Whatever, just… no more sticking evidence in your mouth.” Connor nodded and you asked if anything useful came out of that disgusting display.

“The blood belongs to Carlos Ortiz and is approximately nineteen days old.” You shook your head, “so nothing useful then?”

Connor frowned as you and Hank turned towards each other and effectively dismissed him. “There’s no fingerprints.” That gets your attention. “They could have worn gloves,” you and Hank both say it practically at the same time.

Connor shakes his head. “There’s no fibers or any traces of gloves used to cover fingerprints. I’m also seeing traces of thirium around the body.” You gave him a disbelieving look as you gazed at the ground. Blood, porno mags, old beer cans. No bright blue android blood in sight.

“Uh, Con, I’m not seeing anything. Hank?” He just shook his head and kept glaring at the android.

“You wouldn’t be able to see it detectives. After a few hours, thirium, what you call blue blood, becomes invisible to the naked eye.”

Hank nods, “You seeing anything else?” Connor nods his head and begins moving towards the kitchen. Hank goes back to the body to talk to Chris. Your curiosity gets the best of you and you follow Connor. He stops to look through the house before coming to a dead stop in the middle of the kitchen and just staring.

“Connor?” You wave your hand in front of his unseeing eyes. “Con-con? C-man? Connorific? Okay.” You had about a million more god awful nicknames up your sleeve but he was obviously up to something. You left him alone in the kitchen and turned down the hallway. It looked like Carlos’s bed was in a corner adjacent to the living room, you could only assume that this would be a bathroom.

Instinct stopped you in front of the curtains at the end of the hallway. To your left there was clear marking where a ladder should be. You slowly popped open your holster and reached towards the curtains. Your hands grasped the edges gently and you pulled-

“Jesus!” At the end of the hall you could hear some rookies laughing at you. You’d just gotten a heart attack from a bunch of brooms. Real professional Y/N, yeah you’re a real badass. You flipped off the uniformed cops and shoved your way through the bathroom door. “That was so embarrassing!” You screwed your eyes shut as your head thumped against the door frame. After a few deep breaths you finally looked around.

“What the fuck?” The words were whispered as you took in the decrepit bathroom. rA9 was carved into the walls and there was human blood surrounding a crudely carved deity. It looked almost like a sacrificial shrine. What could an android pray to? You kneeled down in front of the statuette to try and get a better look at it.

You didn’t realize you’d asked the question out loud until Connor answered and effectively destroyed your blood pressure. “Androids can’t pray or feel emotions. They deviate and experience glitches in their software that make them think they’re feelings.” You jumped at the unexpected sound of his voice. You would have fallen from your squatted position were it not for the gentle hand steadying your shoulder. Connor offered you a diplomatic hand up and you took it. Ignoring how nice his hand felt in your own. If an android is making me feel weak in the knees I really need to stop turning Reed’s offer down. The idea of actually going on a date with Gavin made your knees shake for other more insidious reasons.

“I believe that I have figured out how the murder took place, detective.” Connor was staring at you and you nearly mushed his face away so you didn’t have to look into his stupid puppy dog eyes.

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.” He led the way out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. “Hank!” Hank dismissed Chris and made his way over to the two of you. “Connor thinks he’s got it figured out.” A smug, almost amused expression came over Andersons face as he told Connor to give it his best shot.

“The struggle started here,” he moves towards the counter. “The victim attacked and damaged the android with a baseball bat. The android grabbed a knife and stabbed the victim. The victim struggled and tripped his way into the living room.” You’d made your way to the body and he kneeled in front of it. His head was tilted again as he examined Carlos and then he stood. “The android finished him off here and then used his blood to write this message ‘I Am Alive.’”

Hank seemed begrudgingly impressed. “Not bad, for a plastic doll.” You would have been shocked at his semi praise if you weren’t constructing your own mental image of what took place. Connor had said there were no prints going out the backyard, your mind went back to the missing ladder in the hallway.

Going to the kitchen you ignored Hank's questions as you set the chair up underneath the attic door. You’d seen the ads for the Eden Club, the disturbing pictures of nude women all over the victims fridge, his strange fascination with pleasure androids. You could only imagine the disturbing torture this poor android went through being under Carlos Ortiz’s care. It was hard not to have sympathy for it. If this was a normal case it’d be labeled as self-defense. Self defense after years of domestic and emotional abuse. A human would have an indisputable defense, an android gets deactivated and dissected. It didn’t sit right with you.

In fact, it really pissed you off.

“Detective, if I may?” Connor stopped you before you could climb the chair and instead got up and opened the attic.

“What are you two doing?”

Both you and Connor whipped around towards Hank like toddlers with their hands caught in the cookie jar. “Checking a hunch.”

“Uh-huh, just- just be careful.” Hank gave the both of you a disbelieving look and walked away. Connor made his way up to the attic and pulled himself up gracefully. He surprised you as you stepped up on the chair and offered you his hand. You grasped onto the edge of the attic entrance and prepared to pull yourself up, only to be cut off by your own yelp as Connor practically threw you inside. Android strength never failed to surprise you.

His hands were on your arms as he stabilized you before telling you in a hushed whisper to be quiet. “If you didn’t fucking throw me in here like I’m a flying squirrel I would be quiet,” you whisper shouted back at him. He ignored you as he moved through the attic.

You saw a shadow play across the curtain and on instinct alone your gun was in your hand. Your heart went out to the android but you weren’t risking anything with a deviant.

Connor motioned you behind him, you complied only because you thought a deviant would respond better to another android. A good call when out of nowhere an HK400 jumped out from a pile of boxes covered in blood. “Please,” he sounded so sad. So disparaged, your heart aches for him knowing what his fate would inevitably be. “Don’t tell them.”

“Connor, wait-“

“It’s in here!”

“Well I’ll be damned. Chris, get your ass over here!” You shook your head in disappointment, reaching for the android, ignoring the look of utter betrayal he was shooting at Connor, and you cuffed him. Connor grabbed him from you to direct him out of the attic. You ignored Connor and the strained praise Hank directed towards him as you directed the android to a patrol car.

“I’ll go in first, see how he responds.” Hank nodded as you made your way into the interrogation room.

“Hello, I don’t see a name in this file. Were you registered one?” Nothing, he just kept rocking back and forth. You’d seen this before in victims of domestic violence, rape, assault, other crimes of that ilk. It was jarring seeing something meant to be emotionless and empty showing such clear signs of PTSD. “Would you like to tell me what happened three weeks ago?”

He flinched at the mention of that night. “Or,” a brief look in your direction, “we could talk about something else.” That gained his attention.

“What is Detecive Y/L/N doing?” Connor was analyzing the androids stress levels and frowned at your method of interrogation. You were human, of course you wouldn’t be aware that you needed to stress the android out, not comfort it. Still, this wasn’t an efficient use of time or effort and Connor would prefer to deal with the deviant himself.

“She’s doing her job,” it was clear the Lieutenant was still not happy with Connors presence, briefly on the side of his vision he could see a new objective appear.

IMPROVE RELATIONSHIP WITH LIEUTENANT

He’d deal with that after the deviant. His attention moved back to you. “You were pre-owned. Were you a gift or purchased by Carlos? Do you have any memories of who you belonged to before?” Analyzing you he could see an elevated heart rate and a spike in your cortisol levels. You were quickly becoming frustrated with the one-way conversation. “Look, I’m trying to help you. They’re going to deactivate you and disassemble you. I’m trying to understand your side of things so maybe, just maybe, I can help you out. Get you out of this mess.”

The lack of response once again frustrated you. “I don’t even know why she’s bothering. Just shut the damn thing down and move on.” Connor hadn’t had time to deduce the reason Detective Reed had joined in the interrogation room, but judging on his elevated heart rate and testosterone spike when you spoke to him, Gavin was attracted to you physically.

“CyberLife sent me to catch deviants so they can better understand where the problem in their programming is coming from. I need all the information we can get from this HK400 to better understand the causes of deviancy and prevent them from occurring again.”

Before Gavin could respond you walked into the room. He’d been too distracted to notice that you had stopped interrogating the deviant. “Send Connor in.”

“Y/N?” You dismissed Hank with a wave of you hand and motioned for Connor to head to the other room.

“What’s the point? Why don’t you just rough it up a bit, it’s not human.” You rolled your eyes and tensed up at Gavin’s voice. Connor didn’t need an analysis to understand that you were uncomfortable around him.

“There’s no point, androids don’t feel pain. You would only damage it, and that wouldn’t make it talk. I could try questioning it, it might respond better to an android rather than a human.”

Hank and Y/N shared a look that Connor couldn’t analyze before Hank shrugged and waved his hand. “What have we got to lose?”

“They will deactivate you!” Connors' voice wasn't exactly made for threatening someone. It was kind of like a toddler threatening to tell their mom what you did. You could tell from Hank's face he was thinking the same thing and you were about five seconds away from caving Gavin’s face in if he kept making fun of Connor. You couldn’t help but want to defend him, he just had one of those faces you wanted to protect. Probably a purposeful move on CyberLife’s part.

“Do you understand that?” Oh, damn. You rescind all previous statements. Connor seemed to realize his method wasn’t working out, somehow his voice had gotten deeper, more husky. There was a small, eensy part of you that wouldn’t hate being in those handcuffs right now.

Android. He’s an android that’s probably built like a Ken doll. Get yourself under control.

You’d been a bit preoccupied being a pent-up horn dog to realize the deviant had started speaking. “I was scared… so I hid.”

“I’m done.”

“Well I’ll be damned, the bastard actually did it.”

Shit, you’d missed the whole thing. You’d have to go back and watch the tape later, and probably take a cold shower, because what the hell is wrong with you.

You made your way to the interrogation room, Chris took his cuffs out to take the android back to lock up. “Leave me alone!” He shoved away from Chris and curled up into himself.

“The fucks wrong with it?” Everything Gavin said made you want to run his face over a cheese grater.

Connor moved forward, “You shouldn’t touch it. It will self-destruct if it feels damaged.”

“Stay out of this, got it? No fuckin android is gonna tell me what to do.” You pushed forward and pulled Gavin back by the shoulder.

“Maybe listen to the fucking android dipshit, I think he’d have a lot more experience then you on the subject.”

Gavin shoved you off, “Get a fucking move on Chris!” Your hip slammed into the corner of the table and you were momentarily crippled by the pain. That’s gonna hurt like a bitch later!

You gently grabbed Chris’s arm and pulled him away from the android. “I can’t let you do that! If it self-destructs we’ll never get anything out of it!” Connor had positioned himself between the android and Gavin.

And then Gavin, supreme douchebag he is, pulls his gun, ignoring Hank's warning and completely violating protocol. You don’t even think before moving Connor behind you and drawing your own firearm.

“I said that’s enough!” Gavin looked towards Hank, both you and your partner had your guns pointed at him. Gavin pitched a fit before storming out of the interrogation room. Connor moved to comfort the android before giving Chris instructions on how to deal with him.

There was a heavy feeling of shame weighing upon your shoulders as you watched him walk towards the door. He paused and looked at Connor, “The truth is inside.”

Tag list:

@deviantsugaloaf @mechavee @cixteenyne @detroitbecomeonline @angellwingsss @fableworld @wannex @jokersscarrd @heart-full-of-gears @transparentwatertumbler @chickensandwich69 @blackholegladiator @sweeteatercat @androidposting @heiko-goes-detroit @leelany-world @lasisgood @harperhug @tictacno-stuff @bababoeey72

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Detroit: Become Human, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

Alone and Forsaken

one-shot

Joel Miller x fem!reader

A/N: I got COVID and haven't had a coherent thought in five days, so if this doesn't make sense it's not my fault, it's the virus. (Thank you @benkeibear for the dividers)

Summary: You're aren't anything to Joel Miller. You're a comfort, habit, and necessity. But you've never been anything more. It gets to you and you do what you always do, you run. When you make the permanent move to Jackson you've got no choice but to face the truth of what you are to each other.

WC: 9.4K

Part two here

You glanced down at Ellie, sweat was beading on her forehead and she was shivering in her sleeping bag. You glanced towards Joel, he was staring down at his gun, he’d been cleaning it for the past ten minutes. 

“We’re right near Jack-”

“No,” his voice was rough, a command rather than an interruption. You sighed and went back to crafting some arrows for Ellie. “We’ll find some medicine tomorrow.”

You gave a noncommittal hum, you could hear him sigh from across the fire. You’d managed to clean out an old office today, you were camping out on the roof. Joel had determined the fog provided enough cover to not have to worry about others seeing the smoke. 

He placed his gun down and leaned his elbows on his knees, you could feel his stare boring into you but you refused to give in. He wasn’t the only one who could be a stubborn bastard. “Y/N-”

“You’re acting like an old fool.”

He scoffed, “I’m not that old.”

“Joel,” you finally glanced up. “Ellie needs medicine, we’re right near your brother’s we might as well see if he’s got anything.” He stared at you for a long moment, not saying anything, until his shoulders slumped and he shrugged. He went back to cleaning his gun and you could tell he had conceded. 

You’d made it to Jackson a year ago after the Firefly incident at the hospital. But it had been too much for all three of you. Years of killing, fighting to keep yourself alive, all on your own, it was too jarring to be in such a quaint little place. 

You couldn’t wake up every morning to a “Howdy, neighbor!” like nothing had changed. There were too many people and it was too forceful a transition from fighting for every last resource to suddenly having everything willingly handed to you. 

Eventually, when it became too tiring to keep fighting, you were sure you would move back to Jackson. For now, each of you enjoyed the freedom of not having to fight for anyone but yourselves. It was an occasional pit stop for supplies and a dose of normalcy. 

You’d been on the road for about six months now, it was time to cycle back onto the path towards Tommy. 

Good timing too, about two days ago Ellie had a sore throat and now she’s pretty much deadweight behind you both. “We’ll head out at dawn.” Joel stood up, nothing more to say, and took first watch. You tucked your arrows away and laid down, hoping to get some sleep before you were on the move again. 

“How much further?”

“Another few miles,” Joel glanced over his shoulder at you. “How’s she doing?”

“I’m doing fine,” Ellie interrupted. But it was hard to believe her when her voice was a barely audible croak and she was leaning against you for support. 

Joel sighed and glanced towards his right, there was a creek and a sunny patch of grass. He started towards it, dropping his pack on a rock and coming to a stop. “We’ll stop here for a break.”

“I said I’m fin-” 

She interrupted herself with a cough that was so jarring you winced. It sounded like her throat was being ripped apart. When she finally caught her breath she reluctantly followed you towards the creek next to Joel. “I’ll check out the area, we shouldn’t be out here long.”

Joel nodded, standing guard next to Ellie while she wheezed trying to catch her breath. You moved away from them, going to check the surrounding area. Just when you deemed too much time had passed and were about to turn around you could feel something cold pressing into the back of your head. 

“Don’t move.”

You slowly dropped your rifle to the forest floor, raising your hands in surrender as the person behind you pulled back the hammer of their gun. “Okay, it’s okay, we can talk about this.” The gun pulled back abruptly and then they were in front of you. 

“Y/N! Damn girl, almost killed you.” Tommy tucked his gun into his holster and pulled you into a brief hug. You sighed and picked your gun back up. 

“The hell are you doing this far out?”

“Been seeing a lot of infected, had to start patrolling out further.” Tommy peered around you, looking for something. “Joel with you?”

You nodded, leading him back to Joel. There was a brief reunion, nothing much considering they’ve been seeing each other a lot more than they used to. Tommy took Ellie on his horse back to Jackson, said it would be faster that way. 

You and Joel still had a few more miles left, walking in silence side by side. 

The silence, as always, had you contemplating your something with Joel. Because you wouldn’t say you and Joel were in a relationship. You’d both loved and lost too much in your life to ever truly be open to something like that again. 

But you granted each other a softness you didn’t offer anyone else. There was an unspoken connection between the two of you that never went acknowledged. You glanced over at him, nudging his arm with your elbow. “More excited about coffee or a shower?”

“More excited about you finally showering.”

You scoffed in faux offense and shoved him lightly. His eyes crinkled, the crow’s feet becoming more prominent as he smirked at you. “Jerk. I smell amazing,” that was a blatant lie. Neither of you smelled great. It’d been about a week since you’d had a chance to really freshen up. Still, it was always fun to mess with him a little bit. 

When you finally made it to Jackson you moved quickly through the inspection station, showing the medics your bite-free body and then headed towards Ellie. 

She was already knocked out, whatever flu medicine they’d managed to scrounge up had done its job quickly. Maria led you to a house at the far end of town, you watched as Joel entered the one across from you. 

You showered, enjoying the foreign feeling of fresh, hot, water running over your skin. You used the clothes Maria provided you, but after an hour of just wandering around the house you were starting to feel restless. 

You had sat on the couch, stared at the black screen of the TV, and gotten back up about three times. You huffed out an irritated breath and headed towards the door. You weren’t sure where you were going but the quiet was starting to feel suffocating. 

The pristine, cozy house, was overwhelming you with memories of a past best left forgotten. You opened the door-

“Why!”

“Shit,” Joel grimaced, offering you an awkward pat on the shoulder instead of an apology. You rubbed your forehead, pain radiating from where he’d hit you. “I was trying to knock, didn’t think you’d open the door.”

You sighed, glancing up at him and shrugging. “I can’t stand being in here. House is too…”

“Big,” he finished. You nodded, stepping outside and joining him on the porch. You both started walking, heading towards his house, the one that actually had chairs on the patio. Luckily the houses you were staying in this time around were farther away from everyone else. 

People walking with their families was a distant noise that was barely discernible. 

Families

The thought made you want to scoff. Families in the apocalypse, fucking ridiculous. “It’s peaceful here.”

“For them,” you glanced at Joel and he seemed to share the same thought as you. You’d changed too much, spilled too much blood to ever let yourself be fully comfortable in a place like this. 

“Do you think you could ever be happy here?” 

You glanced across the street at the large looming house you had just been in. “Not in there, it’s too big for one person.” He nodded, his fingers drumming a soundless tune against his jeans while he sat with you. 

“Went down and saw Ellie while you were cleaning up. She’s making friends.”

You looked at him in astonishment. Hard to believe she was bedridden and being pleasant. He laughed a little and shook his head. “Well, I suppose they were interrogating her more than anything.”

You smiled slightly, “That’s more like it.” 

He was looking off at the town, viewing the few distant people you could see. “She’s been asking to come back a lot more. I think she likes movie nights.” You sighed, knowing where this was going. You supposed the change was inevitable, you had just really hoped that you could push it off a little while longer. 

You just weren’t ready. 

“House is too big for me, too. Maybe it needs two people.” He was already looking at you when you turned to face him. His face didn’t betray anything but a type of tiredness that was set deep in someone’s bones. 

You could say no, go off on your own. You’d make it a little while longer but the loneliness would get to you and eventually you’d slip up. Be torn apart or turned. 

Besides, you weren’t ready to leave them, leave him. Not yet. 

“Yeah, maybe.”

One Year Later

“Morning.”

You groaned at the sound of Joel’s voice, rolling over and covering your head with a pillow. He laughed and you could feel it reverberate through your back where his chest was resting on you. 

“Come on, darling. It’s noon, you have to take care of the sheep today.” 

You weren’t exactly verbal when you’re woken up abruptly. So you just grumbled-most likely something incredibly rude-under your breath and curled up into a ball.

Joel chuckled again, his arms wrapped around your waist and rolled you over. He dragged you out of the warmth of the blankets and directly back into the sunlit room. “Joel,” you groaned. “Five more minutes.”

“Nope.” He stood up, you still slightly in his arms. He half carried and half dragged you out of bed. You held onto the blankets and kept your eyes closed as long as you could. But when your feet touched the cool wood you conceded that your day had started. Whether you wanted it to or not. “Ugh, you’re a real piece of work. You know that?”

Joel let out a surprised scoff as you walked past him into the bathroom. You could hear him muttering under his breath about who was really the piece of work in this home. But he didn’t say anything to you, just joined you at the sink to brush his teeth.

Sometimes the normalcy was nice. You’d wake up and most days Joel was there next to you. Or he was making you both breakfast, or occasionally a note left next to a plate of food telling you he was out on patrol. 

You spent most of your time together, sharing the big old house while Ellie slept in the converted shed out back. But days like today, where he tried to joke with you while he brushed his teeth but his voice was too thick with sleep and you couldn’t understand his accent, they made you ache. 

Your heart would pulse painfully and you’d have to look away from him. You shared the same bed, lived in the same house. But you didn’t mean anything to him. You were just an old friend there to keep him warm at night. 

You’re pretty sure you’d both been traveling together for so long that it was habit and necessity that kept you together more than anything. You wished, yearned for more from him, but you knew he could never give it to you. You knew it was an impossible ask. 

Which made staying with him start to feel more suffocating. You feel like another part of his routine. Something akin to brushing his teeth rather than genuinely wanting you around, a chore. And you couldn’t handle that feeling anymore. 

You were drowning in the comfort of Jackson. But you were too much of a coward to ever fully leave him. Too hopeful to let go of that one fleeting feeling that maybe one day you could be more to him.

Joel smiled at you as you made your way downstairs. “I got your lunch, you should probably head out now. You’re already late.”

You took the bag from him, thanking him and left for the sheep. And that night when your shift was over you’d look over at Joel’s house. You’d see him strumming lightly on his guitar as he waited for you and you’d slip out of Jackson’s walls. Unwilling to face another night of heartache that made you feel so ridiculous. 

2 Years Later

“Y/N in here? Jesse’s looking for her.”

Joel glanced up from his guitar, he had been tuning it when Ellie’s head popped over his porch rail. “No, haven’t seen her in a couple days.”

He’d known being in Jackson was too much for you. Sometimes when he was getting a drink at the bar he could feel his skin crawling with how many people were surrounding him. His instinct to always be on guard, always be alert, was not easily lost after so many years. 

There was the siren’s call of peace here in this town, but he still had to patrol. Still had you, Ellie, and himself to look out for. He could never afford to let himself fully settle into the calm reprieve of Jackson. It would end up screwing him over only when he was outside the safety of the walls. 

So he sat, always a curling, burning feeling in his stomach as he tried to untense his shoulders. Join his brother for a ‘family’ dinner. Plaster on as friendly a grimace as he could when his neighbors would wave in the morning. 

You were not the same. You didn’t bother with pretending to be happy for Ellie’s comfort. You patrolled near constantly, outside the walls more than you were in. Which set him even more on edge. You’d be gone for days at a time before mysteriously appearing in his bed one morning. 

You’d smile then, as genuine a smile you could manage. Every time he’d ask where you’d gone and you would tell him you needed some air. He never asked what you did on the outside, where the bruises came from or what you’d done to earn them. 

You would eat breakfast, listen to him strum on his guitar and in a few more days disappear again. He thinks one of these days, now that Ellie’s grown, he might just disappear alongside you. Ellie sighed, “What’s Jesse want with her?” Joel asked. 

“He was gonna have her patrol with him today,” she had a shit-eating grin on her face as she propped her head in her hand. “I think he’s got a crush on her.”

Joel barked out a laugh, imagining Jesse pining after someone as disinterested as you. He’s sure he just admires you like he admires Joel. He looks up to you, probably just presents differently. “I’d love to see him try something,” he said through laughter.

Ellie shook her head, walking up the stairs and sitting next to him. “I’m pretty sure he’s terrified of her.”

He shook his head, “Rough combo.” Poor kid probably didn’t realize you weren’t mean, you just had a real bad resting face. “Ya know, I gotta head out soon. I can see if I can find her.”

Ellie perked up, crossing her legs as she leaned back in the rocking chair. “Would you?”

“Sure,” Joel went to place his guitar down but Ellie stopped him. 

“What’re you working on?”

“Oh,” he glanced at the instrument and shrugged. He wasn’t sure, really. He’d had to step back from patrolling as much as he used to. The cold was fucking with his back and knees. Made it harder for him to be as fast as he should be. You liked to tease him about it, call him an old man, but he caught you rubbing your shoulder every time it was about to rain. 

But without the ability to go on rides or kill infected, he was beginning to feel restless again. An uncomfortable thrumming under his skin that screamed at him to move, do something. So he screwed around with the guitar, tried to sing something, but nothing came out. 

He passed it over to Ellie, she immediately propped it on her lap, strumming something soft. “Nothing really, just needed something to do.” He sat with her a little while longer, giving her pointers as she went over some songs she’d been writing. 

He groaned as he got off the old rocking chair, saying goodbye to Ellie and heading to the stables. He was sure you were nearby, somewhere in a three mile perimeter of town. You’d been gone about four days, usually you’d be coming back by now. 

Tommy was waiting for him as he got his horse. “Partnering up today.”

“Alright,” Joel rode up to the barred gate of Jackson, waiting for the doors to open. “Ellie wanted me to look for Y/N while we’re out here.”

Tommy’s brows furrowed as he glanced at him. “She still gone?”

Joel hummed an affirmative, brushing the hair out of his eyes in irritation. You’d have to cut it again, it had gotten too damn long. He felt like one of the stupid teenage boys in town, always blowing his damn hair out of his face. 

“Where’d ya wanna head first?”

“She likes lurking around that old ski resort. We’ll see if she’s there first. If not, I’m sure she’ll pop up soon.” 

They rode in silence for a little while before Tommy sighed. Clearly growing bored with the lack of conversation. Joel let his brother suffer, watching in amusement as he shifted back and forth in his saddle and tried to think of what to say. 

He finally broke, showing Tommy some mercy. “Jesus, boy, spit it out.”

“It’s just,” Tommy paused, slowing down his mare to match Joel’s slow pace. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

“Her being out her on her own all the time. I mean, if Maria left as often as Y/N does I’d be losing my mind.”

“Well,” Joel sighed, “I’m a lot tougher than you are.”

Tommy scoffed, glaring at him. “Whatever smartass, I wasn’t screwing around, I want to know.”

“Fine. Don’t know why you’re so damn interested.” Joel shrugged, thinking about it before finally answering. “Yeah, I guess it bothers me, a little. I mean, I’ve known her a long time. I know she can handle herself, I’m not really worried about her dying or nothing. I’m more worried about her just deciding she wants to be gone for good and leaving.”

Tommy was quiet for a bit, leaving Joel uncomfortable. The answer wasn’t very deep. It didn’t share a lot, but it left him feeling a particular shade of vulnerable that had him shifting around. He rolled his shoulders back, focusing on the feeling of snow nipping at his cheeks rather than his younger brother’s nosy stare. 

“I woudln’t worry about that.”

“Yeah,” Joel’s voice was curt, snappier than usual. “Why’s that?”

“Well, I don’t fucking know why, but she likes you. Likes Ellie, she might not love Jackson, but she wouldn’t just leave you guys.”

“Since when the hell are you an expert?”

Tommy smirked, “Since I got married.” Joel rolled his eyes, his brother had gotten entirely too smug when he married Maria. Suddenly, being married, made him an expert in anything and everything. He certaintly didn’t know a damn thing about Joel’s love life. 

Or lack thereof. 

Because you’d never talked about what you were, if you even were anything. That’s probably why it set him on edge so much when you left. You weren’t his to love or keep-honestly he wasn’t sure he was capable of that type of love anymore. 

You were friends. Allies more than anything, which was arguably more important in this world. There was nothing to tie you to him or encourage you to stay. 

He wasn’t deluded enough to believe you’d stay for Ellie. She was pretty much an adult now, and you’d never been a parent before. You didn’t know what the pain of losing a child was, she wasn’t as important to you as she was to him. 

He had no damn idea what had kept you here for so long. But he knew you were getting restless and he didn’t know how to help. 

They made it to the ski lodge and immediately leapt off their horses. There were screams coming from inside, screams that sounded a lot like yours. Joel ran for the doors, finger already on the trigger when the doors blew open. 

You looked up at him in surprise, “Joel! What’re you doing out here?” He drew back, stopping himself from slamming into you. 

His eyes scanned your form, you were covered head to toe in gore. The bandanna pushing your hair back had been a light blue, but now it was completely dyed red. Your jacket was in shreds. But you were still smiling up at him, then Tommy. 

“Jesus H Christ woman,” Tommy muttered behind him. 

You looked down at yourself, “Oh, yeah.” You sighed and once again were staring at Joel. “Fucking clickers, weren’t here before.”

“Are you alright? Were you bit?”

You waved off Joel’s concern like he was being dramatic. Like you weren’t standing before him covered head to toe in guts. “I’m fine.”

“Dammit,” you jumped slightly at the sound of his voice. He was getting a little louder, voice a little deeper as his frustration grew. He hated when you were this flippant about basic safety. “I told you to stop coming out so much, that we’d been-”

“Seeing more hordes. I know, sorry Joel, I didn’t mean to freak you out. I’ll,” you trailed off, your eyes darting around before reluctantly landing back on his. “I promise I’ll stop leaving.”

Joel glanced behind himself, but Tommy had wandered back over to the horses. He was the opposite of subtle as he whistled, clearly giving you as much privacy as he could. Joel turned back towards you and took a step closer. 

“I’m not telling you to stop coming out here completely. I don’t want to take that from you.”

You shook your head, stepping closer as you shivered. Joel figured your jacket was in tatters and you were probably freezing your ass off. He took off one of his own coats and draped it over you. “I’m being reckless, risking infecting you and Ellie by coming out so much. Besides, it’s starting to get a little lonely.”

“Well,” Joel gave you a brief smile, “maybe one of these days you should wake me up when you slip away. I’ll come out here with you.”

You grinned, “Think you’d be able to keep up, old man?”

He scoffed, slinging an arm over your shoulder and leading you back to his horse. “Could you?”

You laughed, “With you? Probably not.” He was just about to join you up on Sunny when all three of you heard a strange noise coming up towards the lifts. You had cleared out the resort. So, what could it be?

You hopped off Sunny quickly, pulling out one of your guns and following Tommy and Joel as they went back through the clicker infested hellhole you’d just cleared. The noises got louder, it sounded a lot like feet pounding up the mountain. 

You made it outside, near the resort's old supply sheds. You were checking out the area, double checking you didn’t miss any infected. You were about to turn back around when you heard a scream. 

You ran towards the source of the noise, watching as a woman was crushed under a swarming body of infested. The only thing separating her from them was a flimsy metal gate. Tommy rushed forward before either you or Joel could stop him. Grabbing her and dragging her out from the bodies. 

“Fuck!”

“Tommy!”

Both of you wanted to scream at him. That was such an unbelievably stupid thing to do. She’d had at least fifty infected on top of her, there’s no way she wasn’t bit. But beyond that she was a stranger, you had no idea if she was a piece of shit that would lead raiders right back to Jackson or not. 

You didn’t have time to scold him, though, the swarm was screaming, racing towards you all. You ran back into the resort, heart racing as you slammed the doors to the lift closed behind you. “Tommy!” Joel called out, “Help me move this!”

They worked on wheeling a broke down lift towards an open window. You turned towards the hulking woman, “Got a gun?”

She nodded and you tossed her some ammo, “Good. Don’t fucking miss.” You raced throughout the station, trying to keep infected off Tommy and Joel while they moved the lift. But there was only so much you could do. Your rifle had jammed and you had used most of your supplies taking the clickers out earlier. 

And these bastards were fast, they seemed faster than normal. Maybe the cold irritated them or something. 

You screamed, taken off your feet as a runner threw itself at you. You rolled over, shoving your gun in its mouth and pulling the trigger. Brains splattered onto your face and before you could even roll it off of you there was another one leaping at you. 

Before it could sink its teeth in your neck there was the warm feeling of blood trailing down your chest. Joel stood over you, machete buried in the infected’s back as he yanked you to your feet. He didn’t let you walk, grabbing you and practically sending you flying towards Tommy. 

You scrambled up the lift and through the window, running towards the horses and mounting Sunny. You grabbed Tommy’s mare and rode the horses back to the open window. You watched the others spill out, keeping an eye out for any more infected and letting Joel hop up in front of you. 

Tommy and the woman shared a horse as she screamed out instructions to head towards the old mansion at the top of the mountain. You were too busy keeping infected away from your group to fully realize where you were going until it was too late. 

You were already through the gates of the mansion, infected being set on fire behind you when you grasped the situation at hand. 

You’d just wandered into some stranger’s camp, nearly completely empty on ammo, battered and tired. You didn’t know who she was or who her people were. Joel and Tommy seemed to be realizing that too, each of them tensing up as they got off the horses. 

“Thanks for the help back there. I’m Abby.”

Joel offered you a hand down, you hopped off Sunny and glanced around the garage. You were definitely fucking outnumbered and they had way more ammo than you. 

You hid slightly behind Joel, taking in the amount of people and trying to gauge how many guns were in the garage. Your eye snagged on a lone shotgun on a workstation and the bullets surrounding it. 

“I’m Tommy, this is my brother Joel…” Tommy’s voice trailed off before he could introduce you. Instantly everyone in the room had turned to stare at Joel, and every single one of them looked hostile. Like he’d punched each of them in the face at one point. 

And honestly with the amount of people he’s screwed over you wouldn’t be surprised. Still, this was not promising. 

Joel tensed up in front of you, nudging you slightly behind Sunny. You ducked behind her, hoping to go unnoticed by the rest of them and praying that Sunny didn’t buck out at you. 

Abby sucked on her teeth. She stared at Joel for a long minute before nodding her head towards the door and heading up the stairs. “Joel,” you whispered.

He shook his head, subtly waving you back into place as he was forced to follow the others up the stairs. You watched them herd him and Tommy out, one of the men in the back checked his ammo was loaded and you felt your throat seize in panic. 

Shit shitshitshitshitshit

Okay, this turned into a clusterfuck so insanely fast. You waited until every set of footsteps was a distant echo to move out from behind the horses. You were nearly out the door when you double backed for the shotgun. 

You heard a shout from upstairs, your head whipping towards the open door. You raced up the stairs, “Tommy!” It was Joel shouting, panic lacing his voice. 

You can never say what happened next exactly. You made it up the stairs, heard the sound of a shotgun being cocked and you’d never run that fast in your life. 

The door to the room was open, all you could see was Abby with a gun in hand, pointing it towards Joel. Your finger was on the trigger before you could even aim properly. The shot missed, hitting the wall behind her, grazing her back slightly. 

But it caused enough of a distraction, Joel wrenched the gun from her grasp, using the butt of it to knock her out. You shot at one of the men pinning Tommy down, it caught him in the side and he dropped to the ground. Crimson pooling out around him. 

The room went quiet, each of them staring at their dead comrade. “You cunt,” the woman leapt at you, knife raised in the air. You didn’t notice her protruding stomach until you had pulled the trigger. Her legs flew out from under her, nearly completely blown off from the shotgun blast. 

There was a primal sound of pain. One you’d heard many times in your life. It came from two directions, the pregnant woman bleeding out on the ground and the man who was now  flying at you. 

He knocked you to the ground. You wrestled for control of the shotgun, his hips pinning your pelvis painfully to the floor. You groaned out in pain and panic, shoving all your weight into the gun, bringing it up to catch him in the jaw. His head knocked to the side and you shoved him off of you. 

Shots were firing all around you, different screams and insults flying past your head. You were tuning in and out, ears ringing as you wrapped your arms around the man’s neck. You pulled until it snapped. When you were done you swiped his pistol from his holster, stepping over the twitching woman below you. 

There were only three people left when you walked back into the room, Tommy and Joel disposed of them quickly while you grabbed some rope and tied up Abby. She was still knocked out, a bad bruise forming on her head. You can imagine her day was going to get a lot worse when she woke up and saw the carnage around her. 

It was a slaughter, each of her friend’s lay brutally destroyed at her feet. 

But, it was their own damn fault. They shouldn’t have tried and fucked with you all. 

“Are you okay?” It was your turn to fuss over Joel. He had clearly been their target. It had to have been someone you’d screwed over, Joel had screwed over. But the list was too long and you’d never seen this woman before. 

Joel nodded, but there was blood soaking through his jacket. You ignored his protests, ripping the jacket off and inspecting the wound. It wasn’t anything too bad, a bullet must have just skimmed his bicep. You wrapped it up pretty quickly, then you let your head fall to his chest. 

He chuckled slightly, his hand coming behind you to rest on your back. “You okay?”

“I was scared.”

Your voice was quiet, quiet enough that you almost hoped he had missed your small confession. “What?”

His hand had stilled before it moved up your back and lightly cupped your neck. He tilted your head back so you had to look at him, had to make eye contact. “I was scared.” You huffed out, nearly ashamed at presenting yourself like this to him. 

You didn’t get scared, the entire time you’ve known him you’ve each been fighting for your lives. This wasn’t anything new. But something about this really got to you. It felt more final this time. “They were after you, Joel. Had a gun pointed to your head.”

“I always have a gun pointed at my head, darling. Comes with the territory.” You rolled your eyes and stepped away from him, ignoring the way his hand lingered on your cheek for a moment before it dropped to his side. 

The door behind you all flew open and all three guns were pointed at the intruder. Ellie raised her hands and stumbled back in shock at the sight of the dead bodies around you all. “Holy shit. What the fuck happened?”

You sighed and lowered your gun, Tommy and Joel doing the same. “Ellie, head back to Dina,” you instructed. You were going to have to get some information from Abby, you were sure Joel didn’t want her to see the methods about to be used. 

Ellie opened her mouth to argue but Joel cut her off. “Do as she says, Ellie. Head back to the others and say everything’s fine and that we’ll be back soon.”

She seemed like she wanted to stay, desperately. Instead she conceded and closed the door behind her as she left. You, Joel, and Tommy each shared a look before you got to work. 

Abby was tied up in a chair, you’d wrapped her up more than you would have with anyone else, mainly because her biceps were the size of your head. 

When she finally woke up, she immediately started screaming. You’d moved the bodies of her friends, propping them up in front of her so they were the first thing she saw when she woke up. 

Tommy had left for Jackson, made sure no one would suspect why you and Joel were gone for so long. Now you were sitting on a table behind Abby while Joel started. “What are you doing here?”

“Fuck you,” she spat. 

Joel sighed and tried again, “Does anyone else know you’re here?”

Same response. It happened a few more times, she was unphased by anything Joel did to her. Just telling him to fuck off more times than you could count. You got sick of it after a while. 

You hadn’t had to torture anyone in a couple years, you were hoping to just get this over with as quickly as possible. You stood up and Joel let go of Abby’s chair, backing away from her. 

“My partner,” you started, “prefers brute force to get the answers he wants. Me,” you stood in front of Abby and pulled out your hunting knife. “I’m a little more creative.”

You dug the knife into her skin, peeling back a layer or two of epidermis and ignoring the way she screamed. Twenty years ago, you might have felt guilty for this. Now, she’d tried to hurt Joel, she’d brought this on herself. 

Five pulled nails and a lot of skin later she finally squealed. No one knew they were out here. They were stationed in Seattle and wouldn’t come looking. Joel had killed her father, the doctor from the hospital, and she wanted revenge. 

You rolled your eyes, pointing out the hypocrisy of her actions. How many fathers had she killed on her way here to get to Joel. How many lives had she taken to protect someone she loved. When she tried to argue you slit her throat and dragged the bodies to be put in the pile of burned infested. 

“Damn.” You sat behind Joel on Sunny, watching the bodies go up in flames. He turned her around, heading back towards Jackson. “What a way to start the day.”

The bed was empty when Joel woke up. He felt surprised, usually you gave him a few days before you left again. But before he could linger on the thought for too long the door to the bedroom was opening and you were walking in. Your back was to him, you were carrying something in your hands. 

When you turned around you frowned when you saw him already waiting for you. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“What are you doing?”

You swatted him away when he stood and tried to help you carry the tray in the room. You put it on the nightstand and shoved him back in bed. He could have resisted, pushed against you, but he let himself fall as he chuckled at the determined look on your face. 

You hummed and shrugged your shoulders, placing the tray in his lap. “Thought I’d bring you breakfast.” He glanced down, a plate with a stack of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Most importantly; coffee. 

“Where the hell’d you get all this?” You didn’t answer, just had a mischievous little smirk on your face while you tidied up the room. Joel caught your wrist as you passed him, he tugged you into bed next to him, careful not to spill the tray. “Come on, help me out with all this. Can’t eat it all on my own.”

He could, and would do so eagerly. But it had been a while since he’d eaten breakfast without you rushing out the door. And for once, he was feeling domestic without the crushing weight of guilt turning the taste of your pancakes bitter in his mouth. He wanted to enjoy this, however long it lasted. 

You didn’t bother arguing, picking off some of his food while you both sat in contented silence. Eventually you broke it, sitting at the end of the bed so you could face him while he sipped on his coffee. 

Lord, he had missed the taste of caffeine. 

“Where are you working today?”

“Promised Bob I’d help him out with shoeing the horses today. You?”

“Helping Maria with fixing up that new classroom in school.”

“You're not leaving? You've been hangin’ around here a lot.”

He knew instantly he shouldn’t have opened his mouth. 

What once had been easy silence instantly turned tense. The warm sun that had filtered through the blinds was right in his eyes and causing a headache. The sheets were scratchy and that blank look on your face was oppressive. 

Your easygoing smile, one he hadn’t seen in a long time, dropped from your face and you shifted uncomfortably on top of the comforter. “Yeah, guess you're right.”

“Didn’t mean it like-”

You stood up, patting his leg with an awkward stiltedness and moved to the closet. “I should head out, promised Maria we’d get it done by end of day.” 

He knew what he said had been wrong, but he wasn’t completely sure what about it was so wrong. He watched you leave without another word and sighed to himself, getting out of bed and forcing himself from the comfort of the house. 

He’d only had a moment, one singular moment, where he’d finally been able to relax for once. And he didn’t feel restless, or anxious, or guilty about it. He’d felt at ease, a feeling so foreign it was halfway through the day before he’d finally been able to identify it. 

He was in the middle of cleaning Sunny’s hoof and he’d nearly gotten kicked in the face with his distraction. 

But he didn’t have any sort of epiphany over what could have possibly upset you so much. 

A normal person, not you apparently, would be completely unbothered by Joel’s question. Because that’s all it was. A question, a simple, understandable, inquiry about why someone as flighty as you had been in one place for so long. 

Still it stung. He’d said with a tone like ‘Why the hell are you still in my house?’ And in a crazy, uber-paranoid-lady way, it was confirmation of what you were to him. You were a daily task, necessity, and required comfort, but you were not something permanent. And you’d deluded yourself into believing you were something more. Your own fault, not something to place on Joel’s shoulders. 

Still, the bitter taste of rejection was a hard one to get off the tongue. 

“God, I’m insane.”

“What was that?”

You glanced up at Maria, momentarily having forgotten you weren’t alone. “Um, nothing, sorry.” You let yourself get lost in the repetitive motion of painting the walls of the classroom. Using old stencils they’d found or created to do a row of ABC’s and numbers along the perimeter of the wall. 

How is this what you turned into? 

You’d gone from a deadbeat smuggler who’d kill without a second thought to someone painting an elementary classroom worrying about boys. 

Well, men, you supposed. Seemed unfair to put Joel in the same category as someone like Jesse. 

Even though you were sure that Jesse would never make you feel like a chore instead of a person. 

Annnnnd… new low reached, considering Jesse as a viable option for dating. Damn, you needed a hobby or something. 

Around noon Tommy stopped by, he had sandwiches from Seth and you didn’t want to think about the lengths he’d gone through to get them from the cantankerous old asshole. 

“So,” there was a certain tone of voice Tommy would get when he was about to meddle in someone’s business. You stopped midchew to stare at him in suspicion while he smirked. Maria eyed her husband and simply sighed, resigned to let him interrogate you. “You and Joel.”

You huffed, swallowing the rest of your food and throwing the sandwich down on the plate next to you. “This was a bribe wasn’t it?”

He laughed, “Yep.” 

It was interesting to you how different Joel and Tommy were. Joel’s accent was gruff, commanding, most times hard to understand. Especially when he was pissed off. Tommy had a lightness to him the both of you lacked. You assumed it came from Jackson, he’d been here a lot longer than either of you. And he’d also found Maria. 

He also didn’t know how to butt out. A skill Joel, thankfully, understood. “Just curious about you two. You know, Joel’s seemed a lot happier in Jackson now that you’ve been around longer than a week.”

“Well, I think he’s getting a little sick of me.”

Tommy frowned, “Why’s that?”

You shrugged, taking another bite before answering. “I don’t know, just something he said this morning.”

“What’d he say?”

“Damn, Tommy, I can’t remember. It was how he said it, I guess.” You huffed and glared at him, “Look we’re not your new version of the bachelor, alright. Butt out.”

Maria opened her mouth, probably to scold you for being a bitch. Tommy held up a hand and shook his head. “Alright, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“That’s it?” You asked, watching as he finished his sandwich and wiped his hands on his jeans.

“Yep,” he leaned over to kiss Maria on the cheek and gave you a strong pat on the back. “That’s it. Message received, I’ll just butt out now.”

Both you and Maria watched him go, a suspicious look on both of your faces as he went. Tommy never gave up that easy, ever. “You know he’s up to something, right?”

You glanced over at Maria, sighing as you picked up your paintbrush again. “I know.”

The answer to what exactly he’d been planning came three days later. 

Despite yourself and your feelings of rejection, you’d stayed in Jackson. You’d been paranoid since the run in with Abby and her people. It was dangerous for Joel to stay in one place, word would spread and old enemies would know where to find him. 

That thought plagued you every time you glanced at the door out of Jackson. If something happened while you were gone and pouting over something petty, you’d never forgive yourself. 

But you did put some distance between you and Joel. Staying in the guest room instead of his, not bringing him breakfast like some wife from the fifties. You’d put up boundaries where there weren’t any before, determined not to be used as some sort of daily comfort. 

And if Joel had anything against these new unsaid rules, he didn’t react. Which kind of pissed you off more. Trust, if there was a therapist you would see one. You’re aware your train of thinking isn’t what most would consider healthy. 

But there isn’t, so you just force yourself to push it down everyday and keep going. Like you always have. It wasn’t until you got here that rejections or emotions meant anything to you. This place was making you too damn soft. 

Tommy dropped by one night and invited both you and Joel over to his for dinner and Joel had accepted before you could say no. 

There wasn’t much you could bring over, you couldn’t cook and didn’t feel like burning down the kitchen trying. So you stole some flowers from the garden of the mean old lady that lived next to you while Joel kept watch. 

Maria and Tommy’s house wasn’t too far from you and Joel, but god, walking next to him you’d think they lived a mile away. 

“You know, foods gonna be gone by the time we get there.”

Joel huffed out a short laugh. “We got time. Feel like you’re always tryna rush off lately.” You didn’t have an answer for him, not one that wouldn’t reveal why you didn’t want to be alone with him. So you just shrugged. 

You could feel him staring at you, eyes drilling holes in the back of your head, but you refused to say anything. “How’s the guest room?”

The question caught you off guard, you stumbled over your own feet for a second before turning around to face him. “Uh, fine. Bed’s smaller, I guess. But I don’t have a giant hogging the sheets,” you attempted to smile at him. But he didn’t seem to find anything funny about your response. 

His brows were furrowed, lips set in a pissy sort of line. You finally caught on to the undertones of anger in his voice. The special sort of gruffness that only comes out when he’s pissed off. 

“Why?”

He shrugged, “Just wondering.” And that was it. He brushed past where you’d stopped walking to face him. His shoulder clipping you as he did and was walking off to Tommy’s, leaving you behind. 

You scoffed at the attitude. Not entirely sure what you’d done to deserve it and followed after him. The both of you finished the walk in angered silence, neither one of you aware why the other was so angry. You just were. 

When Tommy opened the door the smile on his face quickly turned into a smirk. “There you two are. Trouble in paradise?”

You shoved the flowers into his chest and stormed past him. “For Maria.”

You heard Joel mutter the same thing you’d told Tommy a few days ago. “Butt out.”

Maria was in the kitchen, finishing off whatever meat she’d decided to cook for you all tonight. You’d gotten so used to the QZ’s strange square ration bars, sometimes you struggled  actually identifying real food. 

You helped her set the table, ignoring the stares of both men on your back and were about to sit down… When Tommy literally dove under you to force you to sit next to Joel. 

You glared at him while you circled the table, throwing yourself down into the chair and sighing at the self-satisfied look on his face. “Your brother’s insufferable.”

Joel grumbled but didn’t say anything. So you were getting the silent treatment now. Really? 

Fucking child. 

“Alright, dinner is served.” Maria placed the roast on the table and took a seat beside Tommy, smiling at you all. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care how tense it was on your and Joel’s side. 

“Thank you, Maria.”

You forced a smile, not one to let Joel be the only one with manners. “Yes, thank you, Maria.” She hummed, carving into the roast and taking a slice for herself and Tommy. You reached for the knife and fork but Joel beat you to it. 

He cut off a portion and dropped it down on your plate, the mash potatoes spreading slightly at the impact. You sighed, muttering a belligerent thank you and took a bite. 

Couldn’t help himself could he? Always the Texan gentleman. 

It was infuriating. 

For a few minutes there was only the sound of metal scraping porcelain. And you felt bad, honestly, Maria and Tommy invited you both over for a nice dinner and you were pouting like toddlers. 

You weren’t even sure why you were upset with each other!

Obviously, you were still stinging from Joel’s use of your “relationship.” But you had no clue what had crawled up his ass and died. “Can you pass the bread?”

You looked up from your plate, staring at the side of Joel’s head. He continued to shovel food in his face. “Joel?” Nothing, not even a twitch. 

You reached across from him, purposefully shoving your arm in front of him so he couldn’t eat the bite on his fork and grabbed the bread basket. “Ain’t got manners, now?” He growled at you, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Says you,” you hissed back. This was devolving into childish anger so quickly. And you didn’t know why! 

God, what was his problem?

“So,” Tommy started and you were startled out of your glaring match with Joel. “Y/N, you know Bob?”

You slowly turned away from Joel and nodded. “Yeah, the horse guy.”

“Yeah, he’s been asking about you.” Tommy took another bite of food and shrugged, “Told him you were free this Saturday.”

You ignored Joel’s fork clanking loudly against his plate and shook your head. “No I’m not. I’m patrolling with Joel.”

Tommy waved you off, “Nah, don’t worry about it. You need to get out more anyway. Socialize some.”

“Tommy,” Joel started. His voice was low, an unspoken warning lacing it. “You need to stop meddling.”

“What? You’ve got a problem with a little date, Joel?”

You glanced between the two, hidden in their stares was a secret language only the brothers were privy to. There was a tense silence before Joel was picking his fork back up and eating, refusing to make eye contact with anyone at the table. 

“Not interested, Tommy. Thanks though.” It would feel wrong going on some blind date like you weren’t currently pining over the man you lived with. Besides, you were past the period of life where you wanted to ‘date.’ About one apocalypse past it. 

“Too bad, you’re going.” You opened your mouth to argue but both Tommy and Maria were leveling you with glares that allowed no room for negotiation. Since when did Maria join him in these ridiculous schemes?

“We’re having our harvest festival this weekend,” Maria stated. “Bob will accompany you.”

The rest of dinner was spent with Tommy and Maria blabbering away while you and Joel fumed in your seats. You didn’t know his reason but you were pretty pissed off you were being forced into a date. 

One, you were planning on skipping the stupid fucking harvest thing. It was a waste of resources and you didn’t understand why they clung to old traditions so desperately. 

Two, you didn’t want to go on a date. The only man you wanted to be with was sitting next to you and currently taking his anger out on a piece of bread. 

You let your mind fade into the background. Your eyes tracked the movements of Joel’s hands while he ate, no longer hearing Tommy and Maria. Until you blinked and dinner was over and Joel was waiting for you by the door. 

You nearly jumped at how loudly Joel slammed the door closed. You toed your boots off, watching him throw his jacket on the kitchen chair and reach for the bottle of whiskey on the counter. He ignored you, heading up the stairs and into his office. 

You took in a deep breath, trying to shake off the funk from the last couple of days. Slowly you made your way up the stairs, knocking on the doorframe to his office. 

He was just sitting in his chair, staring at the guitar on his desk. There was a glass of amber liquor in his hand, but he wasn’t making any moves to drink more. “Wanna talk?”

“‘Bout what?” He placed the glass on the table and picked up the new strings for his guitar. 

“I don’t know,” you walked in and sat down on the stool next to him. “You’ve seemed off since we left for Tommy’s.” 

His finger drummed across the denim of his jeans. He stared through the window, the lights of Jackson casting a warm glow over his face. 

If you tilted your head just right it softened him. The scars faded, the only wrinkles you could see were smile lines and you could see a shadow of the man he once was. The father, brother, contractor, someone long lost to the cruelties of time and the world outside these walls. 

“A date,” he scoffed. “My brother never knows when to stop, does he?” You didn’t bother answering. You know he wasn’t talking to you, just thinking out loud. 

You propped your elbow on his desk, resting your head while you waited for him to collect his thoughts. He let out a long sigh, his eyes on the guitar while he addressed you. 

“You drive me insane, you know that?”

“I’m aware.”

He cracked, his lips lifting slightly at the corners. Barely a smile, but it was better than nothing. “I think I’ve got you figured out. Think I finally understand how this,” he gestures between the two of you, “works. Then you disappear, or bring me breakfast, or you suddenly leave and start sleeping in another bed and I’m lost all over again.”

You shifted in your seat, fiddling with your nails, trying to figure out what he meant. If either of you were confused, it was you. “What’re you talking ‘bout, Joel?”

He sighed and finally looked at you, “Talkin’ about us. I’m talking about how infuriating you are.”

Your brows furrowed, scoffing slightly at the tone of his voice. He was still angry, for no damn reason. You stood up, ready to leave, when his hand wrapped around your wrist. “Didn’t say I was done, sweetheart.”

You gasped when he tugged you down. You landed in his lap, his legs spreading to accommodate you. “Joel what’re you doing?”

“Something I’ve been putting off for too damn long.”

Fireworks don’t go off somewhere in the distance and the world doesn’t stop. But your heart races and your body tingles when you taste the whiskey on his lips. You become hyper aware of each individual strand when his hand comes up to bury itself in your hair. 

And when your lips part to let him in you swear you’ve never felt like this before. Your body is working like you’re running from something, getting ready to fight something off, but it’s the first time in a while your mind is completely calm. 

You shift, your legs wrapping around his waist as a blanket of calm drapes itself over you. It rushes through you like a raging river, shutting everything unnecessary down. 

You don’t worry if you’re too out of practice, not having kissed anyone in a long while. You don’t think about if you're too stiff on his lap. You run your hands over his chest, squeezing the muscles of his arms and then letting them delve into his hair. 

At a certain point, you’ll have to breathe. You’ll have to talk about what this means for the two of you. But for right now you’re content, at ease, happy to just live the rest of your days in this moment. 

Kissing Joel Miller like there’s nothing outside these walls, no other purpose but to be with him.

part two

end. — I do not own the characters or the game The Last Of Us, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

TAGLIST: @chrysanthemum-00 @marimarvelfan

How did you make your dividers? At least for broken promises (also I loved that fic)

(glad you liked the fic 💗)

I've posted a tutorial on how I make my headers and it's essentially the same thing. I'll link that: here.

It's pretty much following those steps, except I use the X Header size for the image. I find the images I like on Pinterest. Like: chains, hands holding each other, and I type in aesthetic after each one because that usually cuts out the stock/ugly images.

Then, I use picsart's cut-out options on the images to get the shapes I want. I align it into one straight line and crop the image down.

It's a lot of experimenting to figure out what the right step is for you. but it's pretty much the same steps as my header tutorial.

Alright, yes, I am obsessed with your Logan's writings, I admit it, I AM GUILTY!

welcome to my fan club pookie <3