#[ tommy i'm sick at heart ]

[fromkenari]

I know some of y'all are devastated about Buck and Tommy breaking up. Still, Tim, Oliver, and Lou have all been harping on it being "fresh and new" since they started talking about the season, which is why I have been holding off on throwing it all down for the ship because, yes, I DID want a place to talk about whatever was going on between them without getting bashed for it. It took me a WHILE to find that, and I don't plan to just leave those spaces because it ended.

Still, this relationship only existed for 13 episodes and was shown in less than half of those episodes. I didn't even understand why and how they were in a relationship until 8x05. I was prepared for that dinner to be their one- or two-month anniversary, not SIX, with the way Tim, Oliver, and Lou have played it in interviews, insisting they're still in the "honeymoon phase."

Six months is a long fucking time for a "honeymoon phase," which is why that reveal threw me so hard at the beginning of the episode. And for how long have we been saying Abby's ex was named Tommy since he showed up and kissed Buck? And then that's not even the reason they broke up. They had Josh give Buck a pep talk before they broke up. This episode was a shitshow, yes, but are you honestly really that surprised they had another Buck love interest do him dirty? And come to find out that Oliver wants Buck to get dirty?

I'm kind of pissed about how all of this went, yeah. Still, I can't imagine what it's like going through the character you've played for seven seasons being the goddamn scapegoat for the relationship-ending trauma nearly every single season, which makes the fans put your character on a pedestal and the one time you finally get to have your character screw up and cheat SINCE his life-changing relationship in season one, your character not only does not get to fall off the pedestal, it gets higher because he doesn't get a single bit of the blame from the fans. No, they're too busy trashing your character's love interests for what your character did to them, mainly because they're women.

Y'all can say, "Wow, that must be a breath of fresh air for Tracie to have Karen not be the unmoved, understanding wife and be petty for once," but say you're "betrayed" by Oliver wanting a piece of that same nuance for his character? I mean, unfollow and block him if you must, but fucking christ y'all, the man has to be tired of being the golden retriever. No wonder he fully leaped into this arc. Let him have some fun, and Buck get a little tarnished. He's made of solid gold. He's gonna still shine in the end.

No, I am not in any way condoning the biphobic implications of the shit Tommy said to him at the end. I can see why Lou didn't want it to end that way. It's an incredible disservice to the bisexual community, and I do take offense to that. But they can't erase that now. So fine. Let this new Buck break some hearts. There's nobody (except maybe Eddie) that can doom spiral like Buck can. He's going to be impulsive. and (for once) he's not looking for a relationship. And he even said in this episode, he kind of worshiped Tommy so as shitty as what Tommy said was, it's going to go to Buck's head and heart for sure.

The Daddy said "you're just gonna break my heart" to guy with Daddy Issues. Y'all keep calling Buck a brat. Maybe he is. And maybe we're about to see it on blast. That affection-starved man has never done anything half-measured in his life.

[gonnabeokaykid]

thoughts in the tags. genuine reflection of the season so far. not with any malice. more slightly sad resignation and a reminder to feel joy.

this is just a tv show after all <3

[ennn]

Things I Liked About the Agatha All Along Finale - Initial Thoughts

Wooooo boy. Hey look I'm a bleeding heart shipper but I'm old and have been in enough fandoms. Let's process shall we?

Alice! Alice echo-ing what so many fans are saying about her lost potential. Rio actually being kind in reminding Alice her death did have purpose. "You're a protection witch, you protected someone."

The development of Billy's extremely complicated relationship with Agatha. Kid's not loyal to Agatha, he's understanding her, or starting to at least. He sees her being a relationship with Death and he's curious about the story there. He cares enough to connect the dots and see Agatha as a full person. And we see that developed as the finale goes.

"That's it? That's all the time that I get?" The show reminds us that death sometimes just happens – "Sometimes boys die" – I wonder if one of these writers is a Sandman fan because I immediately clocked a parallel to Death of the Endless taking a baby's life in her first comic appearance.

Death of the Endless is of course much kinder than Rio is with her (iconic) reply to that eternal question. "You lived what anyone gets... A lifetime."

That whole convo we got in the preview clip. And then them just sitting down and talking more? Albeit with layers of manipulation but y'know that's them.

Agatha telling Rio that she'll hand over Billy if Rio leaves her alone: essentially making Rio once again choose between her duty and her feelings towards Agatha. The deepest cut Agatha could make – which we see echoed with "If you do this I'll hate you forever." They know each other and the best ways to hurt each other.

I laughed waaaay too much at Agatha ragging on Jen's last vegetable name.

Jen's unbinding ritual was powerful and a fantastic moment for the character. She recognised and embraced her power. Agatha's mask slipping a little at the end as well. Amazing. Sasheer killed it.

The whole scene with Agatha working with Billy to bring Tommy back was beautiful and emotional and well put together and showed the side to Agatha that cements her as a great mentor (when she's not being the biggest murderous asshole).

Agatha using what she learnt from her Alice and Jen – and what Lilia told her – to hold her ground with Rio... okay it lasted like 10 seconds but it was a nice callback! Agatha's such a shameless survivor.

Incredible kissing. We knew Hahn and Plaza would deliver and they did. When it comes to kissing women, these two absolutely go for it.

Rio looking absolutely gutted with having to take Nicky away. Plaza really delivered with Rio's pain in these eps. Agatha calling her "my love", cursing and then begging.

Rio being soft about Nicky despite her job. Nicky willingly going with her with no fear, no hesitation – suggesting that they did bond somehow? Nicky knew she was a friendly face and trusted her. It was really a good death, all things considered. He wasn't sick, he wasn't in pain, he wasn't scared he simply fell asleep and just went.

Rio reminding Nicky to kiss his mom goodbye. She cares so much, as much as a personification of death can. It's funny how some people thought Rio was going to be this manipulative big bad but no, Agatha's the more toxic one in this relationship.

Okay like imagine Agatha finally dying and just straight up BOOKING it before Rio pops up. Rio hates ghosts. The number of times Agatha deliberately pissed her off this finale was amazing.

"I'm sure he'll forgive you for... whatever you did." Aw Billy is a good kid. Just like Nicky was. Agatha needs that reminder, that anchor to not be the Worst.

Chemistry aside, Agatha and Billy being mentor-pupil makes a ton of sense because these Maximoffs do the most fucked up shit (unintentionally) with their magic and Agatha's got the knowledge, charisma, cynicism, and the morals of a spinning compass to support him.

Alright when are they announcing the sequel / spin-off? I know there's a rumour of it happening. Rio's got 2 abominations and one endlessly aggravating ghost of an ex to deal with now.

[cjlouwho]

Can you please do a hurt/comfort Eddie + Tommy friendship with Bucktommy - Tommy gets hurt in some way (mentally/physically/sick/etc) and Eddie helps him until Buck can get there

you gave me a reason to finish the fic I started earlier today! thank you!

His teeth were chattering. Had been since he woke up after hitting the ground.

He didn't hurt anywhere, which was never a good sign.

He laid there, surrounded by trees. Cold, wet leaves underneath his body. He could hear crickets and frogs all around him. Could smell smoke somewhere nearby.

There were distinct sounds of metal creaking mixed in with nature.

Slowly, he moved his head to the right, then to the left.

Fire.

It was about fifty yards away. Thankfully, due to the recent rain, the fire was contained to the helicopter that had so gracefully fallen out of the sky.

He wasn't sure how he ended up so far from it. Had no memory of being ejected or jumping or whatever happened that made it so he wasn't inside those flames.

He lifted his hands to his face, could barely see them as the sun set below the trees. He was sure there was blood. Dirt, mud, leaves, and blood.

They shook so fiercely he wasn't sure how he had any control over them at all.

His breathing was labored, heart beating rapidly. No matter what he tried, he couldn't seem to calm himself down.

Suddenly, in the distance, he heard something.

People talking.

Not just people, familiar people.

Family.

“H- Here,” he barely managed to get out, figuring they'd be running toward the fire instead of him. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Here! I'm here!”

The talking stopped, then there was running.

He could feel the pounding of the footsteps as they approached.

“Hey, we gotcha, Buddy!”

“Howie?”

“Yeah, it's me. Saving your ass, once again.”

Hands were on him now. Lights shining in his eyes, causing him to squint. He could hear others talking. Hen, Eddie, Bobby. Couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

Chimney had him focus on him. “Can you tell me your name?” he asked.

“T- Tommy,” he answered. God, he wished he could stop shaking. He couldn't barely get out a word.

“Year?”

“2024.”

“Best paramedic you know?”

“Hen,” Tommy replied, choking out a laugh.

“Hey now!” Chimney exclaimed, mocking offense.

“I knew I liked you,” Hen said with a smile. She patted him on the shoulder before getting back to work.

Chimney chomped on his gum a couple times before asking his next question. “Can you wiggle your toes for me, Tommy?”

Tommy shook his head. He lifted his arm, tried to pull Chimney closer to him so he could whisper. “I c- can't feel anything,” he paused, sucked in a shaky breath, “b- below my waist.” He knew what this meant, and he also knew he was in shock. The adrenaline pumping through him was the only thing keeping him remotely alert.

Chimney nodded, sharing a glance with Hen. “Cervical collar for our dashing pilot here, please, Hen.”

“Already on it.”

“Ho- Howie?”

“Yeah, Buddy?”

“Ev- Evan?”

“Buck went home early today,” Eddie answered, moving into Chimney's place so he could do whatever work needed to be done. “Chief is cracking down on overtime, so he had to be sent home.”

“We've... We've been sa- saving f- for the wedding,” he explained, although he wasn't sure why. Everyone there already knew that.

Eddie took Tommy's hand and wrapped it up in his own. “You were probably already up in the air when Buck sent you the text complaining about being sent home.”

“He'd say... He'd say th- the chief didn't want us t- to have the good hors d'oeuvres.”

Eddie nodded, tried putting on a smile. “He did mention that on his way out.”

Tommy squeezed Eddie's hand. “We m- might have to re... reschedule.” His lip trembled at the thought, tears welling in his eyes. Evan was so excited for the wedding. Had been working diligently and meticulously on every detail since they got engaged in October. He wanted a winter wedding, and didn't want to wait another whole year, so February it would be. With it being December now, Tommy didn't see any way he'd be able to fully recover by then.

If he did at all.

“Let's not worry about that right now, alright, Man? I don't think Buck will care when the wedding is, as long as there is one. Let's focus on that, okay?”

Tommy nodded. Blinked a few times to rid himself of the tears.

A few fell anyway.

“Ed- Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Do I... Do I still have my legs?”

“You certainly do, Kinard,” Bobby interrupted. Tommy wasn't sure how long the captain had been on his other side. Bobby gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “You've got all your limbs right where they should be. You ready to move now, Kid?”

Tommy could've laughed at the nickname. He'd been called that by Bobby a couple of times, many years ago. It'd been a long while since then.

He nodded. “Ready.”

Eddie didn't let go of his hand as they lifted him and began carrying him to the ambulance. Tommy was a bit surprised. He didn't remember ever being moved onto the spine board. Hadn't felt a thing.

A part of him had wondered if they'd even been working on him during that time. That maybe Eddie was the chosen distraction until he drifted off and his breathing stopped.

He was glad to know he was wrong.

*****

Bobby drove them to the hospital, with Eddie staying in the back beside him. It was a bit cramped with him, Eddie, Chimney, and Hen all back there together, but the fact he was surrounded by these people made him feel a bit more comforted.

Tommy looked over to where his and Eddie's hands were still tightly gripped together. He wasn't sure if Eddie was refusing to let him go, or if he was refusing to let Eddie go. Didn't really matter either way. He needed something to keep him tethered to reality.

He shook his wrist back and forth a few times to get Eddie's attention. “Can you... Can you call Evan? Please?”

“Of course,” Eddie replied, grabbing his phone out of his pocket with his free hand.

“You've got some cuts on your arms, Tommy,” Hen explained as Eddie pressed Buck's name. “We're gonna work on those on the way to the hospital, so you might feel some stings, okay?”

“Yeah. That's okay.”

Eddie put the phone on speaker and Buck answered on the third ring. “What's wrong?”

“Buck-”

“Who is it, Eddie? I just left work an hour ago. Is it Bobby? Hen? Chim?”

Tommy took a deep breath. “B- Baby.”

Silence.

Then.

“Tommy? Is that you?”

“Had a... a little accident.”

“What hospital?”

“The usual,” Eddie replied.

“I'm heading there now.”

“Evan? Evan!” Tommy exclaimed, wanting to get his attention before he got in the car and started to drive.

“I'm here, Tommy,” he answered. “I'm gonna meet you at the hospital.”

“I don't wanna... wanna scare you,” Tommy said, and he could feel the tears burning his eyes again. “I can't. I can't feel my legs.”

“He's stabilized,” Chimney added quickly, before Buck could ask. “Likely a lower spinal cord injury.”

Another pause, followed by a quiet. “Okay. Okay.”

“He's doing well, Buck,” Eddie reassured him. “We're all right here with him. He won't shut up about you, like always.”

Tommy smiled. He hoped Evan did as well.

“Feeling's mutual,” Buck replied. His voice was softer now. Tommy knew the words were meant to keep him focused and thinking positively.

It worked.

“Need you t- to be safe.”

“I will, Baby. I'll drive safe and I'll be at the hospital as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay. L- Love you.”

“I love you, too. So damn much, T- Tommy.”

Tommy wasn't sure who hung up first, but he could tell by the way Evan's voice wavered at the end that he was probably close to falling apart.

“Thank you,” Tommy said as Eddie put his phone back into his pocket.

“Whatever you need, Bud, I'm here.”

“Just... Just keep ho- holding my hand.”

Eddie nodded, squeezed a little tighter. “I can do that.”

[mydear-corinthian]

Fainting || Shelby brothers x reader

Sypnosis: How they react when you faint. Pairings: Tommy Shelby x reader, John Shelby x reader, Arthur Shelby x reader (individual) Warnings: mentions of fainting (reader), pregnancy, skipping meals, may be out of characters, may contain a spoiler. Note: Not proofread. Click here to find the main masterlist. Click here to find the PEAKY BLINDERS masterlist.

THOMAS 'TOMMY' SHELBY

🥃 His face shows calmness but deep down he is already panicking. 

🥃Tommy just went back from his paperwork in his office when he saw your son on your arms, cradling him to sleep. "Why aren't you asleep yet, love?" he asked you, giving a kiss on your forehead before taking the little baby on your arms to his instead. You sighed in exhaustion, your lips were chapped, your face was pale as a ghost, your once neat hair bun turned into a madness; little strands of your hair was detached from your messy bun.  🥃 "I was just waiting for Charlie to sleep." you answered. His brow raised a little, showing a sign of confusion. "Then why are you so pale? You look like you've seen a ghost," his fingers found the strands of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. Charlie finally stopped crying, his eyes fell down as he snuggled on his father. "I'm just tired, that's all." reassuring your husband as you replied. Your husband gently placed your child on the white wooden crib, letting the baby sleep comfortably. He was starting to get worried, your breaths aren't steady, the way you denied that you aren't fine even though you look sick, his heart itched. 

🥃 Holding your shoulders with his rough palms, he asked again, "Are you sure, (y/n)?" Your vision was starting to get cloudy, you felt like the floor and the walls were shaking, Tommy's voice felt like it was speaking to you from afar. Your hands met his hands, gripping them tightly for security before you passed out. "(Y/n)? Are yo- (y/n)!" the sight of your body falling into his arms made his sentence cut off, he gasped your name, there was a tone of a rough yell at the same time. His body shows signs of calmness except for the eyes; the eyes never lies. Thoughts were racing on his mind, full of what ifs and worrying what will happen to you.

🥃 When you woke up, Tommy was beside your bed, sleeping uncomfortably on the wooden chair. His arms were crossed, his clothes were still the same indicating that he was 100% focused on you while you passed out. You called out his name softly, trying to reach his arms. The sound of your soft voice woke him from his uncomfortable slumber. He stood almost immediately, how are you doing. "How are you now?" his palms cupping your right cheek. "I'm fine, Tommy." you replied, holding his hand that was on your cheek, caressing it with your thumb. He sighed in relief, "The nurse said you were stressed and your stomach is empty," "I know, I'm sorry. I was so busy taking care of Charlie, I forgot to eat." you replied, your head dropped, you felt embarrassed. 

🥃 His head shook, both of his palms were now on your cheeks, his glowing blue eyes locked with yours. The way he's using his eyes as his language. "Shhh.., no need to apologize, thank you for taking care of our Charlie. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you." "Thank you for understanding, love. It's okay, I understand how busy you are in the betting shop." you said, giving him a kiss which thankfully he returned it. Tommy's personal nurse knock on the door before entering your shared room, her arms carrying a plastic tray with your favorite food and a warm tea. Your husband placed the tray on the small table near the bed, giving you a plate of your food. "Eat, you'll feel better."

JOHN SHELBY

🚬 You've been feeling unwell lately. Your head ached, your muscles were sore, you had strange food cravings, and you felt sick in the morning. You knew what this hinted at, but you can't be positive, and the last thing that should be checked is that your period is late.

🚬It was an awful day. You vomited in the morning, and your joints hurt. Washing off the vomit from the metallic sink, you checked the date on the small white calendar beside you.

🚬 You were definitely late. For over a week now.

🚬 Sighing in exhaustion, you accepted the outcome of what would happen to you. Your partner, John, had already gotten you pregnant before. This will be your fourth child. - You weren't precisely sorry about it, but you were worried about what would happen to your unborn child, and you felt stressed out because of your job as an accountant for Shelbys. There was a lot of paperwork to be done, but not as much as Tommy had, but it was still exhausting.

🚬 It was already ten in the morning., John was gone on business, and the rest of your children were in school. The house was now yours alone, and there was food on the circular dish on the dining table that John had left for you before leaving to start his day. You finished the meal. Your stomach was now satisfied, but your muscles remained sore.

🚬 Grunting in pain, you approached to the front door as you heard a knock. You opened it to see your husband standing there. His peaky hat adorned his hair, and a light wooden toothpick displayed his lips rather than his thick tobacco. "John? Your shift isn't going to end for hours," you questioned as John entered the room and removed his hat. "I know; I just want to see you," John said. You chuckled at his response and taunted, "I'm your wife, John. You literally see me every day." "It's just that you've been feeling ill lately, and I needed to take care of you, so I left the office early," he explained, his arms gently gripping your hips.

🚬 "Honestly love, it's fine. I can handle it, I just need to re-", fefore you could finish your sentence, your head felt like it had erupted. Your temples felt like they were twisting. Your vision was becoming increasingly fuzzy, and your husband's sight was beginning to fade away. He called your name worriedly, catching your attention. He tried again, but this time louder. All you could hear was your husband calling your name and a long bell sound. His hands tightened around your hips, stabilizing your body. His eyes were filled with concern. Suddenly, your legs and muscles gave out, and your frail body fell onto his broad arms. Your face was pale and your lips were dehydrated. Panicking, he quickly lays you down on the vintage couch. He contacted his aunt, Polly, for help.

🚬 "She's pregnant." Polly announced to his nephew, who was pacing back and forth and unintentionally messing with his hair while his aunt checked on his wife. "H-How so?" he asked. "Well, maybe it's because the both of you fucked?" Polly coldly responds. This gave John an unimpressed expression. "The morning nausea, unusual cravings, the sore muscles, all that you mentioned it," she said. "Oh for fuck sakes, John, give (y/n) a rest. Every year she's fucking pregnant, control that cock of yours." Polly's statement made him laugh. John was happy that they are again to bear a kid but he can't also help but get worried and scared at the same time since getting into labour's hard. "Thank you, aunt Polly," he thanked the older Shelby, helping her make way to the door. "Take good care of her, John,"

-🚬 "I will." 🚬 You woke up, your clothes has been changed and there was a glass of water on the table near the couch you were laying down on. You called your husband's name, hoping that he was still here. "How are you, love?" he asked, combing your hair with his fingertips. "I'm fine now. John, I-I think I'm.. pregn-" "Pregnant." he cut you off. Your head tilted to the side in confusion, looking at him, his face was plastered with a big smile. "Aunt Polly told me. I called her for help when you passed out. When did you knew that you were pregnant?" "Just today, I already accepted that my period was late and I'm bearing your child again." you answered, emphasizing. "Hey, I can't help it you know, you're just so pretty, I can't help but fuc-" "John!" embarrassed by his reply, you cut him off. Your cheeks heat up at his answer. "What, it's true! Let me take care of you, love."

🚬 "As you should, Mr. Shelby." 🚬 "I will, Mrs. Shelby."

ARTHUR SHELBY JR.

🥊 Marriage to a man like Arthur Shelby was dangerous. Risky in the sense that you are afraid your illness will worsen. 🥊 Arthur was a good partner to you. He is both a provider and a lover. However, he was a heavy smoker. You can see him smoking his thick tobacco every day; it's as if he can't function without it.

🥊 It was an ordinary morning; you were just staying at home, and he was smoking brown tobacco. The hazardous air entered his lungs, and he exhaled the surplus air very near you. This has been going on for several days. His smoking became worse as a result of his distress about what had happened to his father. His father abandoned them for years, and when he returned, he left them again. You choked as he exhaled the noxious air, but it was even worse. Your coughing episode lasted over five minutes, burning your throat and making your heart race. When your partner spotted the never-ending fit, he promptly discarded the unfinished cancer stick. "Hey, love, breathe," he patted your back hardly. Thankfully, your coughing fit ended, but you were beginning to notice little spots all over you. You blinked rapidly, attempting to get rid of the spots. "Hey - are you okay?" Arthur asked. "Arthur, I can't - can't see clearly." You worried and looked everywhere. Your heart pounded quickly, and your breathing became heavy. Your dizziness gradually overtook you as you fainted.

🥊 When you awoke, you expected to be in your room, but instead you saw grey walls and a strange mattress. You looked around the room before calling your husband's name. The wooden door opened, and the oldest Shelby brother entered the room. As he approached you, he removed his peaky hat. His face expresses worry and sorrow. He sadly smiled and reached out for a hug, which you accepted. You were panicking deep inside. You've been hiding your disease since you met your husband; you didn't want him to find out because it might make him upset or, worse, leave you.

🥊 There was an unpleasant silence in the room before Arthur chose to break it. "How are you managing now, (y/n)?" he asked with a heavily sigh. "I'm feeling better now, fortunately." There was more silence. "The doctor says you have arrhythmia .. it looks like you have it for quite some time now. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

🥊You always assumed that this day would come, but you didn't expect it to be today. Your mind is filled up with thousands of unpleasant thoughts. 'What if he leaves me?' 'My life would end without me' 'What do I-' "(Y/n?)" Shaking your head, you determined to give him the truth, even if the outcome wasn't pleasant for you. You took a long breath and eventually explained to him. "When I was a child, I had a very narrow arteries. It got worse when I grew up and the doctor diagnosed me about it. I'm sorry, I should've told you sooner, Arthur."

🥊 His hands found the side of your face and gently stroked your cheekbones. "It's okay, love. I understand. And I'm sorry for smoking all around you. I won't do it again." He kissed your forehead before massaging your back. "It's fine, Arthur; you didn't know." You smiled as you held his hands on your cheeks.

🥊 "We'll be fine, right?"

🥊 "We will." THE END

[mmso-notlikethat]

everyone kept saying I'm mean so I had to write a part 2, you all won :(

part1, both parts also on ao3

Buck woke up to a pounding headache and the bitter taste of regret on his tongue. He groaned, shifting against his pillows, only to realize he was practically undressed. His shirt was missing, his jeans were gone, and he was left in just his boxers.

“Ugh, what the—” he mumbled, forcing himself upright.

The room spun briefly, and he grabbed his bedside table for balance. That’s when he noticed the water bottle and pills sitting there, placed neatly like a quiet afterthought.

For a moment, he just stared at them, his foggy brain trying to piece together how they’d gotten there. He didn’t remember setting them out. Hell, he didn’t even remember getting to bed. The last thing he could recall clearly was...

He frowned, rubbing his temples as flashes of the night before began to surface: leaning heavily on someone, their arm steady around his waist; tripping on the stairs and being caught with ease. A voice—low, familiar, and maddeningly calm—had murmured something to him. What was it?

He glanced down at himself again, his bare chest and boxers making his face flush hot with embarrassment. His jeans. Someone had taken off his jeans.

“Jake,” he muttered, the name foreign and strange on his tongue.

He rubbed his face, squeezing his eyes shut, as more disjointed images floated to the surface. He could see himself sitting at the bar, laughing at his own stupid jokes, talking too much, sharing too much. There was something about pancakes—no, syrup. He had been slurring about syrup. And then there were hands, steady hands, pulling a blanket over him.

And then: "I don’t even look like a Jake, Evan."

The words came back to him in a sharp, gut-punching jolt, as clear as if someone had just whispered them into his ear.

Buck sat bolt upright, the headache momentarily forgotten. His heart thudded painfully as the weight of that one sentence crashed over him.

“No,” he said aloud, shaking his head as though it would physically dislodge the thought. “No way. That’s insane.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress as if the ground might give way. His gaze flicked back to the water bottle and pills on the bedside table, and a sick sort of certainty began to creep in.

The pieces were starting to fit now, sliding into place with an agonizing clarity.

He’d recognized the voice, hadn’t he? Not in the moment, but now that he was sober, it felt impossible to mistake. The calm demeanor, the way "Jake" had held him, carried him, the way he’d spoken with quiet humor and careful distance.

And then there was the way he’d said his name.

Not "Buck." Not "buddy" or "man" like a stranger might. He’d said Evan.

“No,” Buck whispered again, his voice trembling. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small room like it might burn off the sickening realization building in his chest. “No way. It can’t—he wouldn’t—”

But the more he tried to shove it down, the clearer it became. It wasn’t just the voice or the name. It was the water and the pills, the fact that someone had taken off his jeans and tucked him in. The way "Jake" had been there, steady and unshakable, even when Buck had been at his absolute worst.

Only one person would have done all that.

Only one person would have cared enough.

“That bastard,” Buck said, his voice breaking on a shaky laugh. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, like it might stop the sting that was creeping into them.

It had to be him. Tommy.

And if it was... if it really had been Tommy... then what the hell had he been doing there?

Buck shuffled to his kitchen, shirtless and still groggy, to make coffee. The loft was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made it impossible to ignore his own thoughts. Every creak of the floorboards and hum of the coffee pot seemed louder, sharper, pressing on him like the silence was mocking him.

He stared at the coffee pot as it brewed, drumming his fingers on the counter. “No way,” he muttered again, though this time it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

But the more he replayed the night in his mind, the harder it was to deny. It wasn’t just the familiarity of the voice—it was the details. The way "Jake" had carried him up the stairs, tucked him in, and left water and pills by the bed, all without a single complaint. Even the way he’d spoken, low and calm, with that quiet humor in his tone—it wasn’t the way a stranger would treat him. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t indifferent.

“That bastard,” Buck muttered again, his head throbbing and his chest tightening. He ran a hand through his hair, his pacing growing more erratic in the small space. “Why wouldn’t he just—” His voice caught, the question hanging in the air, unfinished.

And then it hit him, sharp and sudden, like a gut punch.

Because Tommy left.

Eddie had gone to Texas, chasing a fresh start for himself and Christopher. Maddie had her own family now, her own life to focus on. And Tommy... Tommy had looked him in the eyes and told him he wasn’t the last.

Buck let out a bitter laugh, his hand clutching the edge of the counter for balance. “Not the last, huh? Guess you were right.”

The words came out shakier than he wanted them to, his throat tightening with the weight of it all. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memories to stop, but they kept coming—Tommy’s steady hands catching him as he stumbled on the stairs, his calm voice murmuring reassurances Buck couldn’t quite make out, the way he’d tugged off his jeans with quiet care, like Buck was something fragile.

And then, the words that lingered in his mind like a bruise: “I don’t even look like a Jake, Evan.”

Buck opened his eyes, staring down at his empty hands like they might somehow hold the answers he couldn’t find.

Tommy had left to protect himself. That much was clear now. But why had he come back? Why show up, take care of him, and leave all over again? What kind of person did that?

Buck’s jaw clenched, anger flaring briefly before it was swallowed by something heavier, something that felt a lot like grief.

“Damn it, Tommy,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Why do you keep doing this?”

The coffee pot beeped, startling him out of his spiral. He grabbed the mug with trembling hands, taking a sip that burned his tongue but didn’t dull the ache in his chest.

The loft was still quiet, but now the silence felt unbearable.

---

"He’s the worst best person I’ve ever met.”

Tommy huffed out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, you’re not so easy yourself, Evan.” He said it aloud, as though Buck was standing right there, the sarcasm softening into something raw and defeated. “But you’re... God, you’re everything.”

He’d thought helping Buck home would be enough—a small act of care to make sure he was okay. But it hadn’t been enough. Not even close.

“Tell him... I miss him.”

Tommy sighed, wiping his hands on a rag. He wasn’t good at walking away—not really. It wasn’t something he’d practiced or perfected. In truth, Tommy had always been the one left behind. The one who’d watched people walk out of his life, one after another, leaving him to pick up the pieces of himself they’d shattered on their way out.

Maybe that was why he’d left Buck first.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care—God, he cared too much. That was the problem. He’d looked at Buck, at all the messy, beautiful hope in him, and thought: This is going to break me. He’d seen the writing on the wall and decided that this time, for once, he’d be the one to leave.

It hadn’t made it any easier. Leaving Buck had felt like cutting off a part of himself, like walking away from something he wasn’t sure he’d ever find again. But at the time, it had felt like survival.

But with Buck, it was different.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since the moment he walked away. Every memory of Buck—the way he laughed too loud, the way he threw himself into everything with reckless abandon, the way he looked at Tommy like he was worth something—kept creeping back in, no matter how hard Tommy tried to shut them out.

And then, last night.

Tommy hadn’t planned on seeing Buck again. He’d been out running an errand, a late-night excuse to get out of his empty house and clear his head, when he spotted him through the hazy glass of the bar. At first, he thought he’d imagined it—just another trick his mind was playing on him.

But then he saw Buck stumble, his head lolling forward as he waved a nearly empty glass around. Even from outside, Tommy could hear the slur in Buck’s voice, the faint, muffled sound of his laughter as he leaned too heavily against the bar.

Tommy’s instinct had been to walk away. To pretend he hadn’t seen him, to let someone else deal with it. It wasn’t his problem anymore.

Except that it was.

Because it wasn’t just someone in there; it was Evan. And no matter how much distance Tommy tried to put between them, that had never stopped mattering.

So he’d gone inside, telling himself he’d just make sure Buck got home safe and then leave again. No lingering, no conversations. No giving himself room to feel the pull he knew he’d never be able to resist.

But Buck had made that impossible.

Tommy could still hear him in his head, the drunken, rambling way he talked about him—not knowing who he was talking to, not knowing Tommy was right there. “He’s the worst best person I’ve ever met.” The words had been funny at the time, but now they just felt like a punch to the gut.

And then Buck had said it—those five small words that Tommy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since. “Tell him... I miss him.”

Tommy rubbed a hand over his face, staring blankly at the engine in front of him. He’d thought hearing Buck’s voice again would help. That it would give him some kind of closure, make him feel like he’d done the right thing by leaving.

Instead, it had unraveled him completely.

He stood there for a moment, the rag dangling uselessly in his hand, his mind spinning in circles.

Tommy had always thought he’d be good at leaving. But now, for the first time, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it again

---

It didn’t take Buck long to find Tommy. He wasn’t even sure why he’d gone looking—anger, maybe, or closure. Probably both.

The garage door was open, the faint sound of an old rock song playing. Tommy was leaning over the engine, his broad shoulders taut, his hands steady as they adjusted something Buck didn’t care to figure out.

“You don’t even look like a Jake.”

Tommy froze. His shoulders stiffened, his grip tightening on the wrench. Slowly, he set it down, straightening and turning to face Buck. His expression was calm—too calm—but his eyes betrayed him.

“Evan.”

Hearing his name made Buck’s chest ache. It wasn’t the anger he’d expected to feel—it was something messier. He crossed his arms, but it did nothing to steady him. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Tommy sighed, running a hand over his jaw. “What do you want me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Buck snapped, stepping closer. “Maybe why you couldn’t just tell me it was you? Why you came back at all? Why you think you get to show up, play the hero, and then disappear all over again?”

Tommy’s gaze dropped to the concrete floor for a moment before he looked back up. “You were drunk. You didn’t need me making it more complicated.”

“Complicated?” Buck’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “That’s what you’re calling this? You didn’t do it because I was drunk. You did it because you’re a goddamn coward.”

Tommy flinched, and for a second, Buck thought he might argue. But instead, he just nodded.

“You’re right,” Tommy said softly.

The admission threw Buck off balance, his anger faltering. He blinked at him, unsure what to do with the raw honesty in Tommy’s voice. “That’s it?” he demanded. “You’re just gonna admit it and think that makes it okay?”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. “No, Ev-Buck. I don’t think it’s okay. I know it’s not okay.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “But I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t think I could stay, and I didn’t know how to leave without breaking both of us.”

“Well, congrats, Tommy. You managed to do both,” Buck shot back, his voice cracking under the weight of his words. “You broke me when you left, and now you’re breaking me all over again.”

Tommy’s face twisted, his carefully constructed calm cracking under the force of Buck’s pain. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry I left, and I’m sorry I came back. I just—” He stopped, dragging a hand through his hair. “I thought I could handle seeing you again. I thought maybe... maybe I could fix something.”

“Fix what?” Buck demanded, stepping closer. “You can’t just patch this up like one of your damn engines, Tommy. You can’t just...” His voice broke, and he shook his head, looking away. “You can’t just leave and then show up like this. It’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not,” Tommy said quietly. “But I couldn’t stay away. Not after seeing you like that.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Buck muttered, wiping at his face.

“No, it’s not,” Tommy admitted. He hesitated, his voice softening. “But it’s the truth.”

Buck stared at him, his chest heaving with the effort of holding himself together. “You don’t get to do this to me, Tommy. You don’t get to show up and remind me that you cared—because you did care, right?”

“I never stopped,” Tommy said, his voice steady but full of regret.

“Then why wasn’t I enough?” Buck’s voice cracked, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

Tommy stepped back, the question hitting him like a blow. “You were,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “You are. But I didn’t think I could be enough for you. And I didn’t want to hurt myself—and you by staying and proving myself right.”

“You hurt me... us, anyway,” Buck said, his tone flat but laced with exhaustion.

They stood there in the heavy silence, neither of them knowing what to say. Buck’s chest felt hollow, like he’d poured out every piece of himself and there was nothing left. Finally, he let out a shaky breath and shook his head.

“I don’t know if this can be fixed,” Buck said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “But I think... I think I need you to figure out what you want before you come back again.”

Tommy’s shoulders slumped, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way,” he said quietly.

Buck hesitated, the ache in his chest screaming at him to leave before he broke down completely. He turned toward the door but stopped just before stepping out.

“If you ever figure yourself out...” His voice was steady this time, but there was something fragile underneath it. “Maybe call me. Maybe I’ll pick up.”

Tommy didn’t respond, but his eyes were on Buck as he left, filled with everything he couldn’t say.

---

Back in his loft, Buck stared at the bottle of water on his bedside table. He didn’t throw it out. Instead, he placed it back carefully, like it was something worth keeping.

Across town, Tommy sat with his phone in his hand, a message typed but unsent. It read simply: "Hey."

He didn’t send it. But he didn’t delete it either.

Part3

[salty-autistic-writer]

Tommy is sick. 

That doesn’t happen often. And especially not like this. This combination of bone-shattering exhaustion and lung-rattling coughing is new. His whole body is shaking, shivering, sweating into the sheets. His nose is dripping without a pause.

It’s disgusting. Tommy is fighting the urge to tell himself to stop being so pathetic and to get up from the bed before someone can discover how weak and useless he is. He knows where that’s coming from.

He can still hear the echo of his father’s voice. Man up. It’s just a sniffle. Real men don’t lay in bed, acting weak. They get up and out there every day.  For Tommy’s Dad, everything in life had been some kind of battle that had to be won. And it’s pretty ironic that the last battle he fought - and lost - was the one he brought to himself with his alcoholism: pancreatic cancer.

It was ugly. Tommy didn’t care. There have been enough days when he hoped it did hurt plenty. But now he’s trying to leave all that behind him. He’s also trying to overcome the life “lessons” his father pushed into his head, where they took root and grew like parasites. Because now he knows it’s not pathetic to be sick. And he doesn’t have to do everything alone. He has people who care about him and most importantly, he has a special person who loves him on good and bad days. No matter what. It’s not always been easy to accept that. To let down his guard and let himself be loved like that. Because in his experience, good things don’t stay and his heart’s been growing tired of all the disappointments. The losses. But this is different, Evan is different, and they deserve a chance because it’s foolish to let ghosts of the past haunt the unknown future. Tommy doesn’t want to be his own self-fulfilling prophecy anymore.

Tommy waits for another coughing fit to pass, then texts Evan.

Sorry, I’m sick. Can’t do the double date tonight. Tell Maddie I’m sorry. Can you by any chance get me some groceries? I can’t move. 

He doesn’t have to wait long for Evan to answer. With a shocked-face-emoji.

Oh no, I'm so sorry to hear that you're sick, how are you feeling? I’m coming over! And yeah, totally, send me that list. I’m also going to cook some soup for you!

Tommy feels warmer reading the words. But he still texts back:

I feel like a load of bricks fell on me and now I can’t get up, but I don’t want you to get sick too, Evan :/  

Of course, Evan doesn’t want to hear it.

Hey, don’t worry about me, I have the immune system of a horse, and even if your pesty bacteria manage to throw bricks at me too, that only means, we can be sick together! :)  

Tommy’s chuckle turns into another cough. Evan seems to be so good at finding something positive in every kind of situation. It’s an important part of why Tommy loves him so much.

Okay, he texts and then sends a list of things he needs. After that he feels exhausted and breathless again, so he closes his eyes, trying to take a nap until Evan arrives. The thought makes him smile. It’s nice to not be alone. *

Evan’s eyes widen when Tommy opens.

It took all of Tommy’s strength to put a robe on and drag himself to the door, so now he’s swaying, heaving, trying to pull air through his stuffy red nose and feels so hot. Too hot. He’s glad when Evan puts a steadying hand on his back. “Come on, let’s get you back to horizontal. Jesus. You’re so hot,” Evan says, concern making his voice softer. “Thank you,” Tommy croaks and Evan laughs, shaking his head.

Tommy slumps on the couch and watches through heavy-lidded eyes, as Evan empties the grocery bag on the kitchen counter. He pulls out what Tommy asked for, but also … a whole lot of other stuff. Several bags of flour, salt, sugar, butter, eggs, vanilla.

“I’m going to make you some tea and soup, then bake cookies. I found a recipe that claims to be the best and I want to find out if they’re right,” Evan announces, moving around Tommy’s kitchen with a kind of familiarity that somehow makes Tommy really emotional. There are tears in his eyes and they are not only from all the coughing. 

“Thank you,” he breathes, blinking the tears away. Evan looks at him with a surprised smile. “For what?”

“For being here,” Tommy says seriously. 

“Of course,” Evan says after a little pause, smiling at him. “Now relax, okay? Maybe take a nap. This will take a little while. And your body needs all the rest it can get.”

“Yeah.” A nap sounds nice. Tommy can already feel his swollen eyes falling shut. He listens to the sounds coming from the kitchen and allows himself to drift off.

A little while later, they are snuggled together on the couch, sharing a blanket. Steaming mugs of tea, bowls with equally steaming chicken soup and a plate of cookies on the table in front of them. A Netflix movie is running, but Tommy doesn’t really know what it’s about. After eating the soup - the hot liquid feeling like a balm for his scratchy throat - and sipping his tea, he keeps dozing off, his head resting on Evan’s shoulder.

He’s sick and everything hurts, but he feels comfortable and loved. So it’s not as bad as it could be. 

“How are they?” Evan asks, when Tommy tries a cookie, tilting his head and eagerly waiting for feedback.

Tommy chews, swallows, and then looks at Evan with a sad smile. “Well, the combination of crunch and chewiness is definitely 10/10, but unfortunately, I can’t tell you more than that. Because I can’t taste much right now. Not being able to taste chocolate chip cookies. I think that’s the saddest thing that happened to me today.”

Evan makes a sympathetic noise and cuddles Tommy closer to him, giving him a kiss on his head. “It’s okay. As soon as you feel better, I am going to make them again.”

(A03 Link, Written for @tevanadvent2024, Day 18: Cookies)

[joelscruff]

one day i'll feel alright (joel miller x reader) 18+

here it is... the Big One. i've been hyping up this part of my soft!dom joel series for a while now (probably too much, i'm sorry) but i'm so excited to finally share it with you guys. i just wanna note that this is not the end of soft!dom joel by any means. i wanna keep writing for these two as long as i can, just probably nothing else as long as this lmao 💖 enjoy! | masterlist summary: joel must finally face his demons when you don't return from patrol. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: fem!reader, age difference (reader is mid 20s, joel mid 50s), dom/sub dynamics (joel is dominant but not degrading or aggressive), hurt/comfort, angst, praise kink, dirty talk, bathing together, oral (both f and m receiving), unprotected p in v sex, size kink, orgasm denial, comeplay, come eating, yall this one is SO filthy be warned word count: 15k | ao3 spoilers: this contains vague spoilers for part two of the video game (and most likely for season two of the show). nothing too major (joel does NOT go golfing in this fic).

The patrol schedule is posted on Monday morning outside the community center and you're one of the first people to look at it, eyes frantically scanning for your name as your heart pounds in your chest. There's no way, you think to yourself, still searching, He wouldn't actually talk to Tommy about a schedule change.

You finally find your name and feel those annoyingly familiar angry tears begin to burn in your eyes.

"Fuck you," you mutter under your breath, shaking your head, "Fuck you, Joel."

You're no longer his patrol partner.

You briefly consider going to his house, pounding on his door until he answers and screaming in his face about how ridiculous and immature he's being, but you realize that doing so would make you just as immature. Instead, you just decide to pretend it never happened, like you never patrolled with him to begin with.

"Steve is nice," one of your friends says to you later, "I like him, you'll get along."

Who the fuck is Steve? you want to ask, but then remember that it's his name that has replaced Joel's on the schedule. To make matters even worse, you're no longer going up to the ski lodge and are instead going out past the perimeter, a patrol location known to encounter raiders pretty often. Fantastic.

--

The next time you see him is that night in the dining hall, sitting in his usual corner by himself and gulping down bites of chili like he hasn't eaten in weeks. It used to be endearing, those big bites, now it just pisses you off.

He doesn't look at you. Over the past few weeks you'd grown accustomed to him peering over at you every so often, giving you small smiles to acknowledge that he saw you and remembered what the two of you shared every weekend. Neither of you would talk about it; it was private and belonged on the mountain, which you were fine with. At least he'd give you those looks, those smiles, and remind you that you were his pretty girl, his little secret.

Now his lack of acknowledgement, his purposeful ignorance of your presence, it makes you feel sick. You end up having to excuse yourself before you do something you'll regret. Like punch someone.

--

Steve is nice, but that's your first immediate problem with him. He's too nice. He talks too much, constantly trying to fill a silence that doesn't need it, asks you way too many questions and doesn't seem even vaguely put-out when you give him the most basic possible answers. He's young, probably in his mid-thirties, and you find yourself desperately missing the long and comfortable silences you shared with Joel, his gruff sighs, his breathy chuckles, his music, his books, his age. You realize pretty quickly that you view Steve as a boy and not a man, despite him being older than you. Internally, you tell yourself you need to get a grip.

Your new patrol location isn't as bad as you'd first thought; you're stationed in an abandoned cabin in a wooded area past the perimeter. It's cozy and inviting, kind of reminds you of the ski lodge, which quickly makes you feel depressed. You both take turns circling the area - although at first Steve had suggested you do it together; you'd vetoed that immediately. Your main responsibilities are checking traps and watching out for infected. It's actually a bit more engaging than your previous patrol which you feel slightly grateful for; it's nice to feel busy. And to shut your thoughts up.

At the end of your first patrol with Steve you both walk back to Jackson together in the early morning, him still continuing to chat and tell you things about himself regardless of whether you respond. You're almost back to town when you notice that you're suddenly on the same path you and Joel used to take, the one that leads up to the mountain. You stop in your tracks.

"What time is it?" you ask, interrupting whatever Steve had been prattling on about.

He looks down at his watch, "Almost six," he smiles at you, "We'll be back just in time for breakfast."

Almost six; around the time you and Joel would usually be reaching the bottom of the mountain. Your eyes scan the tree line, brow furrowing as you search for any sign of him making his way down the path. Steve stands there awkwardly, waiting for you to say something.

"Should we...?" he gestures toward the path you're both on, toward town, and you bite your lip in thought.

"Just gimme a sec," you say quickly, still searching, "I wanna say hi to my old patrol partner."

"Aw, that's sweet," he says with a smile, and it's so earnest and endearing that you can't necessarily be annoyed, "My old patrol partner, we-" he starts chatting again, buying you some more time.

Not more than a moment later, two figures suddenly emerge from the trees: Joel and Tommy. You feel your heart start to pound as they walk down the path, neither seeing you and Steve standing there until they're almost directly in front of you. They're caught up in some kind of deep conversation, you might even call it an argument judging by Tommy's stiffness and Joel's flared nostrils.

Tommy sees you first, giving you a wave and a smile, then nudging Joel. Joel follows Tommy's eyeline and suddenly freezes in his tracks, standing still on the path while Tommy continues to approach you.

"Good patrol?" he asks, nodding to Steve, "No trouble?"

"No, sir," Steve says, eager and polite, kind of like a golden retriever puppy, "No problems whatsoever."

"Glad to hear it," he looks at you again, "Hey, mind if we meet later for a chat?"

You wonder if he wants to chat about whatever he'd just been arguing about with Joel. Intrigued, you nod, "Sure."

Joel reaches you then, pace slow and hesitant. You turn to look at him, trying not to let the anger you feel toward him completely overtake you; the last thing you need right now is to either start crying or yelling.

"Hey," you say with a stiff nod.

"Hi!" Steve says beside you, and you try not to wince as he puts his hand out, waiting for Joel to take it, "I'm Steve."

Joel simply stares at him, then his hand, and then looks at you, eyes dark and cold. His gaze slips between the two of you back and forth for a few seconds, expression unreadable, then continues down the path without speaking.

"Meet me by the stream 'round noon, alright?" Tommy says, backing away to follow Joel, "I'll bring you lunch."

You watch as he catches up to Joel, says something to him, but Joel doesn't respond and just keeps on walking ahead, pace quicker and quicker. You're still just standing there watching their forms get smaller when Steve finally speaks again:

"He's...uh...friendly."

You laugh without humor, hitching your pack up your shoulder and starting to walk, "Oh, you have no idea."

--

You meet Tommy around noon by the stream like he'd asked, crossing the bridge and giving him a small wave of acknowledgement as you approach. He's got a paper bag with him; lunch, just like he'd promised.

"Tuna fish," he says with a kind smile, chuckling at the face you make as he hands the bag to you, "It was either that or egg salad."

"The dining hall must stink today," you reply with a scrunch of your nose, but you take the bag gratefully, "Thanks, Tommy."

"No problem," he gestures toward the bench he's sitting on, inviting you to join him, "Let's talk."

He talks and you mainly listen, nodding along every so often and chewing your tuna sandwich thoughtfully. He starts by thanking you for "everything" you did for him and Maria, which you quickly dodge because all you'd done is take a patrol off his hands - a patrol that's gone back to being his again, but he doesn't mention that part. He talks about how big a help you've been, how he's glad you're here, all the basic stuff he's already told you before. You're almost done your sandwich when you realize he's talking complete bullshit.

"Tommy," you say, balling the paper bag up and shoving it into your pocket, "If you wanna talk about Joel, just do it."

He freezes, recognition dawning in his eyes as he sighs and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose. It's a habit he and Joel share, and you can't help but feel an ache in your heart when the image of Joel doing the same thing crosses your mind.

"I'm sorry about the switch," he finally says with a deep sigh, "Joel told me to do it. Not asked, told. He was pretty obstinate, told me it wasn't workin' between you two anymore and he wasn't gonna stay on ski lodge if you were there."

The words sting, even coming from Tommy. You swallow the last of your sandwich and cast your eyes down to the stream, watching the water ebb and flow as Tommy continues to speak.

"I just want you know that if I had it my way, you'd still be up there with him," he says it earnestly, and you understand now why he'd led with all the compliments and reassurances; he'd thought you didn't know why you'd been switched.

"I know," you say quietly, "Tommy, I know it was Joel's idea. He told me last patrol that he was gonna ask you to take me off ski lodge."

"But why?" he sounds genuinely confused, "It was working so well, Maria and I thought you had a great thing goin'."

You nod slowly, refusing to look at him, "We did. But I guess he never told you any details?"

You sense him shake his head beside you, "No, I spent almost the whole patrol trying to get him to talk about it and he wouldn't. Just kept saying it wouldn't work anymore and that he wasn't gonna say anythin' else about it. Stubborn, my brother. Always has been."

I know, you want to say, believe me, I know.

"So I figured I'd ask you."

You finally look over at him then, "There's not much to say, Tommy."

"But there's somethin'," he leans forward, looking concerned, "I know my brother, I know when he's hidin' somethin'. There's somethin' he's not telling me and I want you to tell me 'cause otherwise I'm just gonna assume the worst."

"Which is...?"

He sighs, leaning back against the bench again, "I don't even know."

You touch the back of your neck awkwardly, trying to decide how to word it. There's absolutely no way you're giving him all the details - or any details for that matter - but you do owe him some kind of explanation considering he's now losing his free time again over this.

"Me and Joel, we..." you bite your lip, "We had...." you sigh and shake your head, "Okay, what I'm about to say does not leave this bench, Tommy. You can tell Maria but that's it."

"Oh shit," he says, eyes going wide, "Were y'all fuckin' up there?"

You groan, leaning forward as your arms fall to your knees and you cover your face with your hands. He's not necessarily correct, but somehow the reality is much more embarrassing to admit. You don't say anything in response, confirming his suspicions.

"Jesus Christ," he says, voice full of genuine surprise, "I was...holy shit, I was not expectin' that."

"Anyway," you say into your hands, skin turning bright red beneath your fingertips, "It's over now and he doesn't want me up there with him anymore, that's all you need to know, okay?"

"Yeah," Tommy says immediately, "Yeah, sure, of course. I wouldn't dream of -" he makes a weird noise, "God, I did not think that's what was goin' on."

"Sorry," you wince, pulling your hands away and sitting up again to look at him. He looks genuinely uncomfortable, arms crossed as he shifts next to you on the bench, cogs turning in his mind. He's probably thinking about what exactly the two of you have been doing up there when you're supposed to be patrolling and the very thought makes both of you cringe simultaneously.

"No, don't apologize, I asked," he shakes his head again, eyes still wide, "I, uh, I won't tell anybody, no worries."

"You can tell Maria," you reiterate, "I don't want you keeping anything from your wife."

"I'll tell her but I doubt she'll believe me," he's staring ahead, still in shock, "You? With Joel? I'm sorry but..." he laughs loudly, still shaking his head, "I didn't think my brother had it in him."

You make a face and stand up, "Okay, that's my cue to leave."

"No, sorry, I'll leave," he stands up as well and digs his hands down into his pockets awkwardly, "I'll uh... be at the bar, if you need me."

He goes to cross the bridge but stops halfway, turning slowly and giving you one last kind and gentle look, apologetic.

"Hey, I'm sorry it didn't work out," he says, and you can tell he means it, "You're real sweet, my brother's just an ass."

"I know," you say with a small nod, "You did warn me."

"I did," he says it sadly, looking down at the stream, "He has his reasons, though. Maybe he'll tell you one day."

"Maybe."

He turns back around and walks away, leaving you standing there alone by the stream with an ache in your heart that won't go away.

He was pretty obstinate, Tommy's words echo in your head, told me it wasn't workin' between you two anymore and he wasn't gonna stay on ski lodge if you were there.

You stare at the steady flowing water and try not to think about how much it hurts to know he really said that to Tommy. Is that how little you mean to him? How little what the two of you shared meant? You've known the whole time that it wasn't a "real" relationship, you haven't even kissed him for god's sake, but it was a relationship nonetheless. A little weird, a little timid, but soft and new and safe and warm. And all along you'd just been a distraction for him.

In the deepest parts of yourself you've known this all along, remembered how many times in the past few weeks he said that it would be the last time, that he couldn't do it anymore, and you'd just continued to persist and persist until he'd finally had enough. You hadn't really thought he'd end it, didn't think he really meant it.

The tears start flowing before you can stop them. You continue to just stand there dejectedly, staring at the water and trying to figure out what exactly it is about you that made him simply stop caring - if he even cared to begin with.

A rustle of branches makes you jump and your head snaps up, looking toward the sound. A short distance away you catch a bush moving in an unnatural sort of way, shaking back and forth like someone had been watching from behind it. Quickly, you dash forward and pull the leaves apart to find the culprit.

No one's there.

Hurriedly you wipe your face and walk across the bridge, shoving your hands back in your pockets and hoping someone hasn't just witnessed your moment of weakness. And if they have, they'd better keep it to themselves.

--

Another week passes without any acknowledgement from Joel. You decide to stop eating in the dining hall because it hurts too much, instead grabbing your meals to-go and eating them either in your house or by the stream. On one occasion you'd arrived at the stream at the same time Ellie had decided to sit and practice guitar, freezing in place when you saw her. You hadn't spoken since that one very brief conversation months ago when she'd asked about your scars. You hadn't known then what you know now.

"Hey," she'd said with a nod, then went back to strumming aimlessly on her guitar, "You can eat your lunch here, I don't mind."

You'd shaken your head and taken a step back, "No, that's okay, sorry," then you'd turned and practically run away from her, not entirely sure why.

She reminds you of Joel, you dummy, you'd thought to yourself on the walk back home, biting down on your lip and trying to keep the tears at bay this time. Everything reminds you of Joel.

--

On Saturday morning you hear a knock at your door. You're still in bed, confused and bleary eyed as you sit up and wait to hear it again, just to be sure you're not still dreaming. When you hear a second series of knocks you practically tumble out of the bed and run downstairs, blanket trailing behind you as you dart to the front door.

It's Joel, it has to be Joel, he's here to apologize, he's gonna kiss you and tell you he's sorry.

You yank open the door and feel your face fall immediately when you see none other than Steve standing there, hands on his hips. He grins at you but it falters slightly when he looks down and sees that you're still in your pajamas.

"Morning, sleepy head," he greets you, reaching forward to playfully bump your arm with his fist, "Looks like someone missed their alarm."

You stare at him, vision still slightly blurred from sleep. You reach up to rub your eyes so you can see him clearer, make sure he's actually standing there in front of you. Yup, he is.

You force yourself to smile back - something which takes a lot of effort but he seems to find genuine - and reply, "My bad, I guess I did."

"No worries," he says with another wide grin, "We got some time before we need to leave, no rush!"

You force one last smile and shut the door in his face, trying not to slam it - even though you really want to. You look at the clock on the wall over your fireplace and make a face: 4:30. He woke you up at 4:30, half an hour before your alarm.

"Steve, I swear to god," you grumble to yourself, heading for the bathroom as you drop your blanket to the floor and clamor back up the stairs; there's no point in going back to sleep, you're wide awake now and pissed.

You know who'd never do this? Joel.

After a shower and a quick bowl of cereal you head back out to meet Steve, prepared to put on your best everything is great impression again. You stop dead in your tracks as soon as you open your door.

"Listen, sir, I think you should leave," Steve is saying, voice cracking slightly as he talks to the figure in front of him.

It's still dark outside; the sun hasn't come up yet and everything is muted and hard to make out. It takes you a few seconds to figure out who Steve is talking to, the figure shrouded in shadow and half hidden behind Steve's tall form. You feel your face go pale when you hear him reply.

"You didn't answer my question," the growl is unmistakably Joel's and you grip the edge of the door in your hands tightly, not opening it all the way as you eavesdrop. What the fuck is he doing here? What question?

"I don't think I owe you a reply," Steve replies, attempting to stand his ground but sounding pretty pathetic, voice shaky and high, "I think you should move along, sir."

"What the fuck are you doing at this girl's house at four in the fucking morning?" Joel practically spits, taking a step toward Steve. In response, Steve takes a step backward. He's not a confrontational guy, you know that from the one patrol you've spent with him, "Answer me."

"I'm her patrol partner," Steve finally says, putting his hands up in defeat, "I'm waiting for her to get ready."

"Patrols don't start 'til five thirty."

"It's true, I swear, you literally met me last week!"

That seems to stump Joel, and he must be trying to figure out what to say next when you shove the door open and walk out onto your porch.

"Joel, what the fuck are you doing?" you ask, voice steady and firm. He looks over at you in surprise, backing away from Steve. Is it just your imagination or did his expression soften when he saw you? But that doesn't matter now.

You walk down the steps of your patio and stand in front of Steve, shoving him behind you lightly, "Steve, I'll meet you at the gate," you say firmly.

"But-"

"Steve. Please leave. I'll meet you in a few minutes."

"...Okay," you can't see him but you hear him walk away from you, trudging down the gravel path in the opposite direction. Once his footsteps are faint enough, you finally address Joel again.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you repeat, "Why are you berating Steve in front of my house?"

"Who the fuck is Steve?" Joel asks; the question of the hour.

"My patrol partner," you reply, shaking your head, "I mean, you should probably know that seeing as you're the one who switched with him."

"I don't know who I switched with, Tommy did that," he retorts, looking away from you, down at his boots, "Wasn't my decision."

"Right, 'cause nothing's ever your fault, right?"

He looks back up, a glint of emotion in his eyes that you've seen only once before, "You have no fucking idea," he says, voice heavy and gruff, "Don't even-"

"Don't even what, Joel? You're the one standing in front of my house at the ass crack of dawn yelling at some guy you've never even talked to before. Steve's actually great, by the way," you're laying it on thick but you don't care; you want him to think you've moved on, "Patrolling with him is much better than patrolling with you."

He raises an eyebrow, "Is that so?"

"Yeah," you lie, cheeks going red with anger, "He actually talks to me."

"And fucks you, I gather?" he says it with a hard edge that makes your blood run cold.

You stand there just staring at him, mouth agape as he lets what he just said wash over you. You inhale and exhale deeply, feeling those godforsaken tears sting in your eyes as you take a step away from him, genuinely fearful that you might end up slapping him or punching him or doing something you shouldn't.

"Fuck you," your voice is small and broken and the tears are already flowing, "Fuck you, Joel."

His expression changes then, and you know an apology is coming. You put your hand up before he can speak, shaking your head.

"Don't," you say, firm and solid, not bothering to wipe your tears as they flick off your face into the grass below, "We're done." You turn on your heel and stomp away from him, feeling a sob wrack through you as you cross your arms and speed walk to the main gate where you know Steve is waiting.

Joel doesn't follow you.

--

Steve knows better than to question you about what happened. As soon as you'd approached him at the gate he'd seen your tears and the shake of your head when he'd opened his mouth to say something. Ten minutes later you were on your way out to the cabin again without either of you saying a word.

Now you're back on patrol with an aching heart and a huge lump in your throat that won't go away no matter what you do, trailing the perimeter back and forth with your head hung and eyes downcast. Joel's words repeat over and over in your head like a curse, damning you into a feeling of guilt that you don't think you really deserve. You haven't done shit with Steve, the assumption that you'd just immediately moved on from your sexual relationship with Joel to another man makes your blood boil. Who the fuck does he think you are?

Do you really even know him? This whole time he's remained so secretive and aloof, mysterious and cryptic. You hadn't pushed him to reveal more about himself, hoping eventually he'd open up to you, but he never did. Just kept you on a short leash with good girl and pretty girl and the way he'd look at you in those moments where you bared yourself to him.

But you're not much better, you remind yourself with a grimace, and you know it's true. You never told him much about yourself or your past. Yes, you would've, but you didn't. And you're the one who kept asking to get off with him, kept expecting more and being disappointed when he wouldn't give it to you even though he was clear about his boundaries.

"But that doesn't give him the right," you mutter to yourself, still walking through the muddy grass, deep in thought, "It doesn't make what he said okay."

No, it doesn't. But maybe he's hurting more than he lets on. Maybe this isn't as cut and dry for him as you'd thought. Why the fuck had he been snooping around your house so early this morning? He only lives a few houses down from you; had he seen Steve and felt he had to protect you? Does he actually care about you, as much as he tries to put on a front that it's only been sexual between you two and nothing more? Is that why he's been so distant?

You suddenly realize that you've gone much further than the perimeter, continuing to walk ahead instead of turning back and circling the area. You freeze, eyes scanning around as you try to discern exactly how far you've gone.

"Fuck," you mutter, turning around and starting to walk directly back the way you came, hoping it'll lead you right back to where you're meant to be.

--

It doesn't.

You'd been so lost in thought that somehow you've managed to lose the original path, the tall grass hiding any sign of your own footsteps. This is only your second time out here so nothing looks familiar; it's all grass and mud and trees and rocks. How long have you even been walking? Joel had once admonished you for not having a watch, said one day it was gonna bite you in the ass; you hate that he was right.

"Steve?" you call out, unsure if he'll be able to hear you since you don't know how far you've trailed from the cabin, "You there?"

No reply. You stop again and do another quick glance around, looking for anything that seems familiar to you. But no, this isn't the ski lodge perimeter where you'd grown accustomed to each tree, each stump, each rock. Nothing here is even vaguely telling you exactly where to turn.

You feel the dull throb of panic beneath the surface of your emotions but you quickly shove it down; you're good in situations like this, you've certainly been through enough shit to not get frightened over being a little lost. You've been lost before, you'll figure it out.

All the same, you keep track of the sun's location in the sky as you continue your directionless trek, noting that it's directly above you; noon. You have plenty of time before dark to find your way back, no sweat.

--

It must be around three o'clock when you finally make it back. Relief floods your entire body as you walk into the clearing and see the small wooden cabin sitting there still and picturesque, exactly how you'd left it. You bend down, closing your eyes and pressing your hands to your knees to take a few deep breaths and ground yourself. The panic had started to really settle in about an hour ago, but luckily it hadn't gotten to a point where you'd been too afraid to keep going.

"Steve," you say loudly, still breathing deeply, "I'm back."

No reply. You open your eyes again, heart still thumping in your chest as you eye the cabin for any sign of him. You walk over hesitantly, feeling a knot forming in your stomach when you open the front door and are greeted to a dark and empty cabin.

"Steve?" you say again, voice shaky.

No reply.

Fuck. He must have gone looking for you when you didn't come back to switch. Either that or he went back to Jackson, but you can't see a guy like Steve doing that. The way he'd stood up to Joel this morning, as embarrassing as it was, it had been enough to show you exactly what kind of man Steve is. He'd definitely gone to look for you. It's only fair that you do the same for him.

You grab a roll of twine from the cabin and start your search, making sure to mark the trees every now and then so you can find your way back again. You'd been advised in your patrol orientation not to do this because of raiders, but you doubt Tommy or Maria will give you shit for making sure you and Steve actually make it back to Jackson alive.

The thought makes the panic start to rise again, but you keep going.

--

You keep hoping you'll find some sign of Steve, but it's been about two hours and nothing has caught your eye. The twine is starting to run out and you fear you'll have to go back to Jackson without him, which will undoubtedly start a panic and a huge search party, all because you got a little distracted. This shit with Joel doesn't even matter anymore - you can't believe you let it affect you how it did. And now Steve is paying the price.

Another hour passes and you're preparing to turn back when you see it out of the corner of your eye. You freeze, hair standing up at the back of your neck when you look down to see shiny droplets of blood painting the grass.

You lean down instinctively, eyes wide, reaching forward to touch one of the many large red drops. It shivers beneath your finger, not yet fully dry. It's fresh.

Without hesitation you stand back up and pull your pistol out of its holster, cocking it and holding it steadily in front of you as you start to walk again. You have absolutely no idea what you're expecting to pop out at you; raiders? Infected? Or maybe Steve just cut himself somehow and you've taken your gun out for nothing.

A loud scream suddenly pierces the silence of the forest.

"STEVE!" you scream back, face going pale as you begin to sprint through the woods, gun still in front of you, "STAY WHERE YOU ARE, I'M COMING."

It's the last thing you say before you suddenly feel something tight grip your ankle and send you flying into the air, gun falling out of your hand. You find yourself completely upside down, entangled in a net.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You sway back and forth in the thick netting, trying to find your gun somewhere below you, but you quickly become much too dizzy to discern absolutely anything. You hear Steve's scream again, further away this time, and your blood runs cold. The panic takes over and you can't speak.

Please, you think to yourself, shutting your eyes tight and trying to keep the dizziness at bay, please don't let me die before I see him again.

It's not Steve you're thinking about.

It doesn't take long for the blood to rush to your head, for your body to go completely numb as you hang there upside down, completely alone. You pass out within minutes.

--

It's pitch black when you wake up.

You're no longer hanging from a tree in the forest, no longer tangled up in a net. Instead, you're lying on what feels like a concrete floor. Your head is pounding, lips dry and parched. Your whole body feels heavy and achy, so much so that you can barely move.

"She's awake," you hear a voice say somewhere close by; it's female and sounds familiar, but not enough for you to place it.

You hear the squeaky hinges of a door opening, then a few hushed whispers that you can't make out. The door shuts again and you swear you hear the sound of a deadbolt being locked in place.

"Where am I?" you finally whisper, voice rough and broken, "Let me go."

"You're in Jackson," the female voice replies, kind and gentle, "You're safe now."

"Who are you?" you can't bring yourself to open your eyes, unsure if this person is really telling you the truth.

"It's Ellie," the voice replies, and recognition dawns on you immediately, "Remember me?"

You nod slowly, wincing at the pain as you continue to lie there on the floor, "Y-yes."

"When you didn't come back this morning they sent out a search party. Tommy found you hanging in a tree, brought you back right away."

This morning? So you must have been hanging there all night. Jesus, no wonder you feel the way you do.

You finally open your eyes then, and are beyond relieved when your vision isn't dizzy and blurry like it had been before you'd passed out. You spot Ellie a few feet away, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, peering down at you with a soft expression.

"Steve?" you whisper.

Her brow furrows, "They found him too. I don't know the details but he was hurt pretty bad," she shakes her head, "They're gonna do everything they can."

You nod again, swallowing and wincing at the dryness of your throat, "C-can I have some water?"

"Oh, fuck, of course," she reaches behind her and grabs a bottle, then walks over to you. Her movements are slow, hesitant, and when she hands you the bottle her arm darts out and back extremely quickly.

You stare at her in confusion, slowly bringing yourself to sit up. She backs away from you again, presses herself against the wall and crosses her arms again. It's like she's feigning nonchalance.

Reality dawns on you.

"Am I bit?" you manage to whisper, clutching the water bottle tightly.

She swallows, looks directly in your eyes, "We're hoping you can answer that for us."

You slowly bring the water to your lips, mind racing. You try to remember anything beyond getting caught up in the net but there's absolutely nothing. If you'd been bit afterward, wouldn't it have woken you up? Wouldn't you feel the pain somewhere on you now?

You drink the entire bottle of water and place it next to you on the floor, then you begin to feel your body, placing your hands back and forth all over yourself and trying to find a particular spot that feels like it might have been bit. You come up blank; all that you feel is a steady ache from being numb for so long.

"I don't think so," you finally say, crossing your legs and bringing your hands to rest in front of you, "I feel okay."

"We only found you about two hours ago," she says softly, "So we weren't sure. This is where they keep people for observation, people who might be infected."

You assess your surroundings. You must be in some kind of shed; it's small and there's no furniture, only a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. If you'd woken up alone you probably would've thought you'd been kidnapped. Your brow furrows and you look over at Ellie in confusion.

"If I might be bit, why are they keeping you in here with me?" you ask, bewildered, "It's not safe for you."

Ellie kicks her heel and shrugs, "I don't know, they just thought you shouldn't be alone when you woke up."

She's lying and you don't know why, but you don't have the energy to press her further. What's important is that you're not alone, and you appreciate that. You watch as she inhales deeply, lost in thought, then brings her fingers to the bridge of her nose and squeezes. Just like Joel.

Joel.

"Does he know?" you suddenly whisper.

You didn't say his name but she clearly knows who you're talking about. She sets her lips in a firm line, "Yeah."

You place your head in your hands and sigh loudly, shutting your eyes tight. You suddenly feel like you want to cry, just at the thought of that big, broad, grumpy man being told that you didn't come back from patrol. Had he been upset? Annoyed? Angry? Scared?

"He's freaking out," Ellie answers for you, voice quiet, "He punched Tommy in the face."

"What?" you stare at her, eyes wide, "Why'd he do that?"

She laughs softly to herself, shaking her head, "Tommy wouldn't let him go with the search party."

Your face scrunches in confusion, "Why not?"

She looks away from you then, eyeing the closed door, "Because Tommy thought his feelings would get in the way," her voice is slightly shaky, like she might cry, "He thought if they found you dead, Joel might not come back, might try to find the motherfuckers who did it and make them pay."

You're already shaking your head, "That's dumb, he wouldn't do that."

Ellie laughs again, turning back to look at you, "You really don't know anything about Joel, do you?"

You stare, waiting for her to speak again. She adjusts her position, slowly sliding down the wall and sitting across from you with her knees pulled up against her chest.

"Joel's killed a lot of people," she says quietly, looking over at you with tired eyes, "I mean, a lot of us have, I'm sure you have too. We've all done shit we're not proud of," she thumbs a tear on her jeans, biting down on her lip, "But when it comes to the people he cares about... Joel doesn't do things halfway, never."

You swallow, "Ellie, I don't think Joel cares about me in the way you're thinking."

She smiles then, small and hesitant, but still a smile, "As I said, you don't really know much about him. Not like I do."

"But-"

She puts a hand up, "I know about the two of you. I overheard you and Tommy talking last week."

You remember that afternoon by the stream, the rustle of the bushes, when you'd pulled the branches back expecting to see someone but found nobody there.

"That was you?" you ask, eyebrows raised, "By the stream?"

She nods, "I showed up to play my guitar and you guys were already there talking. I wasn't gonna listen but then I heard Joel's name and..." she sighs, looking down at her knees, "I might not be talking to Joel right now but I like to know what he's up to."

You nod slowly, "So...you heard about..."

"The mountain, yeah," she makes a face, "Listen, I don't want the details, trust me, but I wasn't surprised when you said that, not the way Tommy was anyway," she giggles, "I love seeing him get all uncomfortable, it's so funny."

You snort, shaking your head, "Please, it was so awkward."

"He really had no idea, but I think I did, somehow," she smiles again, wistful, "As I said, I might not be talking to Joel but that doesn't mean I don't look out for him, watch him, make sure he's doing alright," she looks down again, "I'm not heartless, okay?"

"I know," you say earnestly, "I know you're not."

"I knew something was different with him. He's been so quiet and sad, doesn't talk to people very much anymore, but these past few weeks it was like he had a pep in his step, like the old Joel was coming back," she smiles at the thought, "And then I saw the way he'd look at you in the dining hall, all those little smiles. And at first I was like...gross. But then..." she sighs, shaking her head, "I don't know, I think it's cute how much he likes you. How much you changed him."

Her words elicit a warmth in your chest, soft and safe, like the feeling of being in Joel's presence. You wrap your arms around yourself, huddling forward and continuing to listen.

"We were eating breakfast when Tommy announced the search party this morning. As soon as he said what had happened I looked over at Joel. He looked like he'd just received the worst news of his life," her voice shakes again, like she's on the verge of tears, "He ran up to Tommy, started asking questions about the search, when they were starting, what way they were going, all that. Tommy told him that he couldn't come, they argued, Joel punched Tommy and then I had to practically pull them apart."

"You?" your mouth is agape, "You stopped the fight?"

She nods with another small smile, "As soon as Joel realized it was me pulling on him, he stopped. I told him I knew about what was going on, I said I'd stay with him until you came back safe and sound."

You feel tears prick in your eyes at the words, "That must have meant a lot to him."

"It meant the world to him, I know that," she says quietly, "I haven't talked to him for a long time, I'm sure you know that."

You nod, "I do."

She's silent then for a few moments, staring at the closed door again. When she finally speaks, her voice is shakier than ever, "I sat with him in his living room until they got back with you and Steve. He wanted to see you but they wouldn't let him, so I volunteered to stay with you. That's why I'm here."

She leans back against the wall with a sigh, biting down on her lip. You see tears beginning to brim in her eyes and you look away, knowing you wouldn't want someone staring at you if it was you getting emotional.

"He's lost a lot, you know," she says softly, sniffling a little bit, "He lost his daughter a long time ago, and a woman named Tess he really cared about," she takes a breath, shaky and full of emotion, "He almost lost me, too. That's part of the reason we're not talking."

You stare at the concrete floor, letting her words sink in. A daughter? Joel had been a father? And Tess, who was she? A girlfriend? A wife? Clearly someone important, and he'd lost both of them.

You've been through your share of trauma, experienced your own losses, but never to that degree. You'd never gotten close enough to someone to really feel a loss like that, can't even imagine what it would feel like. Your heart aches for him; that stoic, quiet, and mysterious man who'd let you in but kept you at arm's length... for reasons you're beginning to understand.

You stand up slowly, wincing at the aches you feel, your skin feeling prickly and uncomfortable as your circulation continues to regulate. Ellie's words cycle through your mind as you stretch, ringing quiet and tender in your ears; I think it's cute how much he likes you. How much you changed him.

"When can I see him?" you ask softly, still avoiding looking at her as you pull at parts of your clothes, searching again for a bite you're pretty sure doesn't exist.

"I'll ask Maria," Ellie replies just as quiet, standing up as well and walking over to the door, "If you were bit you'd be showing signs by now, I think you're okay."

"Ask her about Steve too, please," you add, "I need to know if he's alive."

She nods and opens the door, then goes outside and shuts it behind her. You hear the deadbolt slide back into place.

You burst into tears.

--

Ellie returns with Maria about ten minutes later, both of them looking at you with kind and sympathetic expressions when they find you standing in the middle of the room sobbing your heart out. Without hesitation, Maria walks forward and wraps her arms around you tightly.

"It's okay, sweetie," she says softly in your ear, rubbing your back gently, "Steve's okay, he's gonna make it."

Ellie looks down when she says this, and part of you knows that she knows you're not crying about Steve.

--

They walk you home slowly, Maria on one side and Ellie on your other. You complain a bit, telling them you're okay to walk on your own, but neither pay your stubbornness any mind, just keep their arms linked through yours as they walk you to your house.

You're on your street when you see two figures up ahead, and your heart starts to pound harder and harder in your chest the closer you get. Because you know who it is.

Joel and Tommy are leaning against the banister of Joel's front patio, talking quietly to themselves. You grimace at the sight of Tommy's black eye but feel relief flood through you when you see that he's smiling at Joel, clearly no animosity present.

"Look who's up!" Ellie says loudly, and they both turn to look in your direction.

Joel freezes, staring at you for a few brief seconds of recognition before he's suddenly throwing himself from the patio and sprinting toward you. You feel both Ellie and Maria release you from their grips, right before you're suddenly enveloped in the warmest, sweetest, most sincere hug you've ever received in your life.

Throughout all these months of knowing Joel, he's never truly touched you. Sure, he's touched your hand, shook it during your official introduction, helped you stand up here and there. He's touched your face once, your lips twice. And he's touched you where you longed for him to, begged him to, but only for a moment, just one touch. Gentle, tender, but never long enough for you to really feel him the way you've wanted to.

Now he pulls you close without any hesitation, no rules, no consequences. He presses his lips to the top of your head and whispers your name over and over until it sounds like a mantra, a prayer.

"Joel," you breathe, and you feel the tears start up again as you shut your eyes tight and just feel, listen to him say your name and hold you like you'll fall apart if he lets go.

"I thought I lost you," he says, voice rough and emotional, "Before I could even tell you how sorry I am."

"Shh," you squeeze him tighter, burying your face in his strong chest, "Don't worry about that, I'm here. I'm okay."

He holds you impossibly tighter and you hear the unmistakable sound of a sob rip through his teeth, tears dripping from his face into your hair. You pull back just enough to look up at him, see him peer down at you with an expression on his face that you've never seen before, impossibly soft and fond, eyes bright and yearning. Love.

"I'm sorry," he repeats, inhaling shakily, "For everything."

You shake your head furiously, "Joel, it's oka-"

"It's not okay," he interrupts, voice breaking again, "I'm so sorry. Not just for what I said yesterday, but for everything else. For pushing you away, making you feel like it was your fault, I'm so fucking sorry," he pulls you in again, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head, "God, you have no idea how bad I've wanted to just hold you like this. I was such a fucking coward."

"You were afraid," you whisper, shaking your head, "I understand, Joel, I get it."

He lets out another sob, squeezes you tighter, "Don't let me go," he breathes, "Please don't let go."

For the entire hug you'd thought he was the one holding you, but you now realize that for him it's the other way around. You feel yourself start to cry harder as you pull him in tighter and just stand there, arms wrapped around his middle, face pressed against his chest as the beat of his heart thrums steadily in your ear. You both inhale and exhale deeply, moving as one being, one solid force. He kisses your head again and you melt further into his touch.

"I'm gonna head back to town," you hear Maria say softly nearby, probably to Tommy and Ellie, "Tommy, can you go check on Steve, make sure he's still doing okay?"

Joel stiffens at the name, suddenly pulling back from you to look over at Maria, "He alright?"

Maria nods, "Yeah," she turns to look at you then, expression serious, "He told us that when you didn't come back to switch patrols, he got worried, went out looking for you. Ended up running into a group of raiders, the same ones who set that trap you fell into. They stabbed him a couple times but nothing critical, he managed to get a few hits in himself before he got away, led them in the opposite direction."

"Jesus," you mutter, feeling guilt rush through you, "Are they still out there?"

"No," Tommy replies, shaking his head, "We took care of it. Steve knocked 'em around pretty good but we made sure none of 'em were breathin' by the time we left."

You nod slowly, still in Joel's embrace, "Tell him I'm sorry," you say quietly, "It's my fault."

"Shhh," Joel pulls you close again, rubbing your back gently, "Don't worry about that, let's get you inside."

"Make sure she has a bath," Maria says quickly, "Keep her warm, give her some food."

"I'm not a hamster," you groan, and you're surprised to hear Ellie laugh behind you. You'd forgotten she was there.

Joel suddenly pulls out of your embrace, still holding you with one arm while he reaches toward Ellie, "Come here," he says softly, "Please."

She shakes her head, taking a step back, "I'm going with Maria," she bites her lip, looks down and then looks back at Joel who's still staring longingly at her, "But I'll meet up with you later, okay?"

"Okay," he says quietly, voice still shaky, "Promise?"

She nods, gives him a small smile, "Promise."

--

"Where do you wanna go?" Joel had asked you softly, "Mine or yours?"

"Yours," you'd whispered immediately, no hesitation, "Please."

You now find yourself in Joel Miller's house, somewhere you never really ever pictured yourself. It's pretty similar to yours but there are a few differences, namely the amount of books and art. You hadn't known that Ellie was an artist; there are drawings all over his house, some in frames, some just laid around, all signed by Ellie, all beautiful. There's a picture she drew of him that he has framed on his fireplace, and you find yourself picking it up with a smile.

"Bath's almost ready," Joel says quietly behind you, and you spin back around. He looks at the picture in your hand, smiling softly, "Ellie drew that."

"She's really talented," you reply with a smile, "Wonder where she gets all this artsy fartsy stuff from?"

He chuckles, still standing a few feet away from you, "It's a mystery."

You place the picture back down and turn to look at him, feeling a nervousness in the pit of your stomach that you haven't felt around him in a long time, not since that first night together. Things are different now, it's palpable, and both of you are aware of it.

"Will you take a bath with me?" you ask quietly, unsure.

He nods slowly, eyes trained on your face, "Of course I will."

--

The bath is warm and welcoming. Joel had told you to strip down, get in, and that he'd be back momentarily with some food for you. You can't help but feel a little disappointed that he hadn't stuck around to watch you undress, but maybe it would've been inappropriate considering the circumstances.

You ease yourself under the water, a satisfied moan escaping your lips as the bath completely envelops you. He's put something in the water to make it smell good, lavender or vanilla. It instantly relaxes you, the heat of the water and the delicious smell making you feel completely at ease.

You lay there for a few minutes in silence, eyes closed, focusing on your breathing and bringing things back into perspective. You're okay, you're safe. Steve is okay, he's safe. You're both back in Jackson. You're with Joel, you're in his bath tub, he's downstairs making you lunch. Everything is okay.

Ellie's words filter through your brain again, distant but present; He lost his daughter a long time ago, and a woman named Tess he really cared about.

A light knock on the bathroom door shakes you from your thoughts. You smile, "Come in."

Joel enters the bathroom, bowl of soup in one hand and a tall glass of water in the other. He places them on the chair next to the tub, eyes avoiding you as he focuses on the task at hand. He kneels by the tub and spoons some of the soup carefully, then finally looks at your face as he brings the spoon to your mouth. You open, letting him feed you, letting him take care of you.

"Good?" he asks softly, gaze still on your face, ever the gentleman.

"Good," you say with a smile.

He feeds you a few more spoonfuls, smiling fondly at you as you eat. After a few moments of this you put your hand up, shaking your head, "That's enough for now, why don't you get in with me?"

His gaze finally falls then, looks at your body beneath the water, sees your nipples poking through the surface. He sighs, leans back a bit on his knees and shakes his head.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he says quietly.

"Joel," you say quickly, voice steady, "Don't pull away from me. Not now. Not anymore."

He looks at your face again, expression sad and distant, "I'm afraid," he admits, "I'm afraid of being close to you."

"I know," you whisper, and you reach over to place your hand over his, stroking him gently with your thumb, "It's okay. It's okay to be afraid."

"I've lost a lot of people," he whispers, tears shining in his eyes, "I thought...I thought if I let myself get close to you, if I gave you what you wanted...I'd get attached. I'd fall for you," he says it earnestly, voice breaking slightly on the last few words, "But here I am, fallin' for you anyway."

You smile at him, soft and loving. You squeeze his hand and slowly sit up in the bath, putting yourself on display for him. His eyes don't leave yours, but he swallows and tenses his jaw at your movement.

"Bad things have happened to the people I care about," he says quietly, barely a whisper, "And you're young, you're beautiful, you have this whole life ahead of you and I'm-" his voice breaks and he looks down again, tears cascading down his cheeks, "I'm scared you'll end up like those people, dead and gone because of me."

"Joel-"

"And I'm scared I don't deserve it," he interrupts, looking up at you again, mouth trembling, "I don't think I deserve love. I don't deserve someone like you 'cause of everything I've done."

"What about Ellie?" you ask softly, squeezing his hand reassuringly, "She's alive and she loves you."

He scoffs, shaking his head, "She hates me."

"She doesn't hate you," you mean it, leaning forward to cradle his hand in both of yours, "I talked to that girl for the first time today, really talked to her, and I can see it plain as day. She loves you more than you could ever know, Joel."

"She stayed with me today," he whispers shakily, nodding slowly, "She sat with me 'til we knew you were safe."

"And you think that's hate?" you ask softly, "Joel, that's love."

He looks at you again, expression pained. You bring his hand to your lips, press a gentle and tender kiss to every knuckle, showing him how much he's worth, how much he means to you.

"I'm afraid," he repeats through his tears, watching you kiss him, "I'm afraid to want you the way I do."

You release his hand and lean back slightly in the tub, extending your arm for him to take, gazing at him with all the love and care you can muster, "Get in with me," you whisper, the splash of water the only sound in the room save for your heartbeats, both of which you swear you can hear, "Don't be afraid."

His eyes cast downward to your lips and he swallows again, then looks back up into your eyes, "Okay."

You watch as he stands up and starts to unbutton his shirt. You can tell that he's extremely nervous, his fingers trembling as he fights to get each button open.

"I'm gonna close my eyes," you say tenderly, "And when you're ready, tap my shoulder and I'll let you in behind me, okay?"

He nods slowly, fingers frozen on the third button, "Okay," he repeats.

You close your eyes and lean back, listening to the rustle of clothes beside you as he undresses. You're not used to this Joel, the one who seems powerless and submissive. You're not usually the one giving him orders, it's always been the other way around. You know he's just nervous, afraid of being close to you like this, and all you want is for him to feel relaxed again in your presence, feel like himself.

After a moment he taps your shoulder; you lean forward in the bath and feel him ease in behind you, his legs entrapping yours along the edges of the tub. He seats himself down, places his hands around your middle and pulls you in close. You feel his groin press against your lower back; you've never felt his cock before, and somehow the casual intimacy of his softness pressed against you makes you smile.

"You can open your eyes," he whispers, then presses a gentle kiss to the back of your neck.

You do as you're told, immediately seeing the way his legs are splayed out in front of you, long and strong beneath the water. You've never realized how small you are compared to him until this moment, completely enrobed in his body, heart thrumming against your back.

"This is heaven," you whisper, leaning back against him and closing your eyes again, "This is what I wanted, all along."

"I think you wanted a bit more than this," he replies with a chuckle, kissing your neck again, "And you'll get it, I promise. Let's just...let's just sit here for a little while first, alright?"

"As long as you need to," you murmur, and you swear you feel him smile against your skin.

--

You bathe together for a long time, just laying in each other's embrace and enjoying the company. Being this close to Joel truly is everything you could have ever hoped for, his strong arms wrapped around you as he noses your neck and breathes you in, holds you against his naked body like you're meant to fit there. He's so big and warm; you've never felt more safe.

At one point you scooch back a bit in this embrace, feel your ass unintentionally rub lightly against his cock beneath the water. Neither of you say anything, but you both slowly become aware of the way he hardens, begins to grow larger against you.

A few moments later the head of his cock is pulsing against your lower back. Your eyes are lidded, heavy, head bobbing backward to nestle at the base of his neck. His hands on your belly move upward to cup your breasts, holding you firmly and securely against him.

"Joel," you whisper, "Touch me."

The words bring both of you back to the ski lodge, the power he holds over you there, the way you're always at his mercy. You hope, despite the new situation, he'll be that person again for you. You crave it, need it.

"Not yet," he murmurs in your ear, "Be patient, pretty girl."

There he is.

You swallow, close your eyes and submit completely as he palms your breasts, tweaks your nipples between his fingers gently. You whimper pathetically, shuffle back against his cock again, feel the hard length of it along your back.

"You were a bad girl yesterday," he whispers in your ear, tongue darting out to taste your skin, making you shiver, "And today. Gettin' lost like that, makin' me worry..."

"M'sorry," you murmur, hands moving down to grip his thighs as he brings your earlobe into your mouth and sucks it, "Didn't m-mean to make you worry."

"I think," he whispers, breath hot against your skin, "I'm finally gonna have to punish you."

The words send tingles up and down your spine, eyes almost rolling back in your head when he sucks your earlobe again, eliciting sounds from you that only he knows how to generate. You squeeze his thighs tighter, feeling your pussy begin to pulse beneath the water.

"How?" you breathe, voice weak.

He releases your ear and noses your cheek, brings one of his hands from your breasts and rests a finger against your chin. He turns your face to the side, urging you to look at him. His eyes are dark, full of want and desire, and you know you're completely at his mercy.

"I'm gonna fuck you, baby," he whispers, "Gonna fill that pussy up with my cock."

The words send you into a tailspin, a guttural whine escaping your lips as your fingers press into his thighs, rubbing your own together to seek some purchase against your heat. He smiles, presses a gentle kiss to your temple, drops his hands and places them over yours, big and strong.

"I know that's what you want," he whispers, entangling his fingers with yours over his thighs, "But I'm gonna give it to you over and over again, gonna make you come as many times as I want, 'til you're begging me to stop, tellin' me it's too much, that you couldn't possibly come again," he squeezes your hands, licks a stripe up the side of your neck, "And then I'll give you another one."

"Please," you breathe, voice broken and full of desire, "Please, fuck me, Joel. I need it so bad."

"I know you do, baby," he whispers, "So be a good girl for me and do as I say, okay?"

"Okay," you whimper, leaning back in his embrace, feeling his cock prod your back.

"Say it."

"I'll be your good girl," you whine, trembling under his gaze, "I'm your good girl, Joel. Only yours."

He groans softly in your ear, "That's right, baby," he releases your hands from beneath his and cups your breasts again, squeezing gently, "Now, open yourself up for me."

With trembling fingers you reach beneath the water and pull your lips apart, using both hands to spread yourself for him. The water tickles you, makes you quiver in his grasp as you slowly push your middle finger inside.

"There you go," he whispers, "That feel good, pretty girl?"

"Y-yes," you whimper, throbbing around your finger.

"Add as many as you like," he tells you, "Need to be nice and open for my cock."

The very thought of finally having him inside you makes you whimper again as you add a second finger, feeling his familiar gaze on your cunt. It's so different this time, feeling how hard he is against you, being in his naked embrace while you obey his commands. This is nothing like being in his lap when he'd been fully clothed, holding you open for him. This is sex, pure sex that you know is going to last hours.

"Look at that," he murmurs when you've started to pump three fingers in and out of yourself at a steady pace, "So full for me, already ready to come, huh?"

You whimper, leaning back against his chest, feeling his wiry hair rub against your cheek. Without any hesitation he suddenly reaches down and presses his index finger to your clit, making you cry out in pleasure.

"Remember when I touched this clit for the first time?" he murmurs in your ear, circling it softly over and over, "Remember how you came just from a little touch? So sensitive, baby. Such a good girl."

His words send you over the edge, making you squirm and shake in his embrace as he gives you your first orgasm of the day, coaxes it out of you easily. You whimper when he touches your wrist, pulls your fingers out to replace them with his own.

"That's one," he whispers, sliding his index finger inside your heat, and you're not sure if he's talking about the orgasm or the digit. You're too blissed out to care, head bobbing against his neck again as he fingers you, adds a second and presses his lips to your ear, "Baby, she's so tight," he breathes, teasing a third at your entrance, "How's my cock gonna fit?"

"Mnnhnngg," you can't make words, looking down beneath the water at where he's fucking you relentlessly, fingers so big and thick compared to yours, his thumb toying with your clit.

"Can't even talk, huh?" he whispers, "Need to come again, I bet."

You don't think you'll be able to, not yet; you're so overstimulated but he just continues to fuck you with abandon, rubbing your clit with every thrust of his fingers. You arch back against him, his cock throbbing against your ass. Your fingers dig into his thighs again and he chuckles in your ear.

"Can't do that, baby," he whispers, "Play with your pretty little nipples for me, show me how hard they are."

You bring your trembling hands to your breasts, squeezing your tender nipples between your fingers and feeling another orgasm start building in your tummy. How? It's so soon since you had your last one, how the fuck can he give you another one so quickly?

He pumps his fingers steadily in and out of you, watching as you play with your nipples. He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the skin of your left breast, inches away from where your fingers are pinching.

"Put it in my mouth, pretty girl," he murmurs against the skin, nosing the little bumps and dropping his jaw. You whimper at his words, squeezing your breast and dropping it downward so he can wrap his lips around the sensitive bud. You groan, feeling his tongue dart out and begin to lick tiny circles around it.

Seconds later, you're coming again. You shake and shiver and then go completely still in his arms, eyes rolling back as he continues to suckle at your nipple. He removes his fingers, thumbs your clit one more time, then releases your breast with a light pop.

"Two," he says quietly, smiling at you, "Good girl."

--

Somehow you make it to his bedroom. Exactly how, you're not sure. You're so wrecked from having two orgasms in ten minutes that you feel like jelly, but you're vaguely aware of him picking you up from the bath and carrying you to his room, putting you in his bed. You lay there like a starfish, arms up and legs wide as you breathe heavily, chest heaving.

"So sleepy," he says tenderly, stroking your cheek, "You ready for bed, baby? Wanna stop?"

Your eyes snap open and you shake your head frantically, only to see him standing there with a wide smile on his face.

"I'm kidding," he says with a laugh, "Don't worry."

You roll your eyes and look up at his ceiling, "Ass."

"There she is," he replies warmly, "Missed my feisty girl."

"She never left," you say with a wink, turning to look at him; he's shuffled closer to the bed, standing over you with his cock in his left hand, slowly stroking up and down. Your lips part unconsciously, eyes going straight for the plump and wet head.

"Yeah, you wanna suck it, huh?" he says quietly, thumbing exactly where you want to place your tongue, "Tasted my come twice but never had me in your mouth, how naughty."

You look up at him from under your lashes, smiling playfully, "I'm a good girl, promise."

He smirks, "Are you? Then show me how a good girl sucks cock."

You don't need him to ask you twice. You sit up on the bed and slide forward, watching as he releases his cock and lets it bounce upward toward his stomach, big and thick. You've never been so close to it, never seen it in broad daylight like this; he's huge, so wide and girthy with a big vein trailing along the underside all the way to the head, fat and leaking. With a shiver you lean forward and suck the tip into your mouth, trying not to smile when you hear him release a deep sigh.

"'Atta girl," he groans above you, his hand immediately coming up to cradle the back of your head, "That's my good girl."

You swirl your tongue around the head of his cock, swallowing down everything he's leaking and then starting to bob your head along the shaft, reaching up to grasp the base firmly in your hand. He tastes like the bath; lavender and vanilla, mixed with a salty and masculine flavor that makes your mouth water.

"Oh, baby," he murmurs, watching as you take his entire length in your mouth with barely any hesitation, the head hitting the back of your throat without even making you gag, "That's it, take the whole fucking thing, just like that."

You're aware of the fact that you don't have a gag reflex; you'd thought about telling him a while ago, thought maybe it'd convince him to let you blow him, but you'd never been brave enough to say anything. Now, you're glad you never did. Hearing his absolute wonder as you take his entire length is more than enough.

"Oh, fuck," he groans, watching as you pull back almost all the way and then push yourself forward again to fully envelop him, the tip repeatedly prodding the inside of your throat, "Jesus fucking Christ."

You swallow around him and look up from underneath your lashes, eyes wide and burning. He looks down at you and immediately slips his cock out of your mouth, taking a step back and putting his hands up in surrender.

"Okay, okay," he says quickly, hissing through his teeth, "I'm gonna come if you keep goin'. Fuck."

You look at him with faux-innocence, eyes wide, "Did I do something wrong?"

He shakes his head, inhaling deeply and taking another step backward, "You're gonna kill me, baby," he curls his hands into fists, and you swear his cock bobs again completely on its own, like he's about to come without even being touched. The thought makes you shiver, "I know I say that all the time, but I mean it. You're gonna kill me."

You giggle, falling backwards on the bed again and stretching out your arms and legs, closing your eyes and listening as he does a quick pace around the room to distract himself from the orgasm his body is threatening to have. You just laugh and rotate your legs back and forth, feeling an immense amount of pride that you're not the only overly sensitive one in the room.

"You think that's funny, huh?" he asks you, and your eyes snap open to see him kneeling in front of you at the edge of the bed.

"N-no," you say, but your smile betrays you. He looks at you darkly and suddenly grabs your legs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed and pushing your thighs apart, "Oh," you whimper, looking down at yourself, seeing where he's looking, where you're wet and dripping all over the sheets.

"Messy," he whispers, "Such a messy little pussy."

"It's yours," you tell him, as if he doesn't already know, "It's your little pussy."

"I know, baby," he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your inner thigh, "I've wanted to taste her for so long."

You quiver at his words, brow furrowing as he presses another soft kiss to the opposite thigh. He licks a stripe along the inside, just outside your lips where you're puffy and swollen. He kisses your mound, drags his tongue down and down and down until it swipes lightly against your clit.

"Joel," you moan, throwing your head back and fisting the sheets. He pulls back and you look down again to see him smirking at you, eyes suddenly bright and playful again.

"Tastes like heaven, baby," he says softly, then ducks his head down and pushes his tongue inside you with no warning.

You let out the loudest moan of your life as he begins to eat you out, tongue alternating between twisting and licking your insides and then suckling on your clit like he'd done with your nipple, circling it inside his mouth relentlessly. You writhe beneath him, so much that he has to press his hands firmly against your belly to hold you down.

The noises you're making are practically inhuman, uttering almost a completely different language under your breath as he coaxes more ridiculous sounds out of you. You quickly realize that looking down at him is a mistake; the sight of his greying curls splayed across your pubic bone and the shape of his curved nose pressed into the hair on your mound, his eyes closed in pleasure as he sucks and licks and devours, just the image alone brings you close to the edge.

"I'm gonna come," you manage to squeak out, and he pushes his hands harder against your belly, the added pressure making you groan louder than ever.

He pulls his mouth away.

"No," you breathe, shaking your head wildly with wide eyes, "No, no, no, don't stop. Please don't stop!"

He smirks at you, removing his hands and leaning backward to release you completely from his grip. You stare at him, completely bewildered.

"Joel," you cry, real tears starting to form in your eyes, but not from sadness or anger - this time, you're just horny. "Joel, why?"

He still doesn't speak, just sits there and watches you groan in disbelief, your hands coming up to cover your face. You buck your hips into the air, seeking some kind of pressure, but nothing helps.

"Joel," you repeat, "This is mean."

"I told you I was gonna punish you, baby," he says it with faux-disappointment, like he's not the one who makes the rules, "I'm the one who decides when you come. And what I just did is exactly what you just did to me."

You pout, sitting up on your hands and giving him a dirty look, "That's not fair, you told me to stop, I would've kept going."

"But if you'd kept going, how would I have been able to do this?" he asks, and suddenly he's standing up and leaning over you on the bed, knees sinking into the mattress as he hovers above you.

"W-what?" you ask, but you know the answer as soon as you feel the wet head of his cock gently prod your entrance.

"This, baby," he murmurs, and pushes himself all the way inside.

You almost let out a scream, squeezing his sheets in your hands as his huge cock practically rearranges your guts, feeling him in your stomach as he reaches his hands up to entwine his fingers with yours, plying them away from the sheets.

"Oh, she wasn't ready, was she?" he asks quietly, nosing your neck and smiling at the incoherent noises coming from your throat, "Poor little pussy, never had something so big inside of her, huh?"

He stays still inside of you, letting you get used to his wide girth and thick length, so large within you that you feel like you're going to burst. You continue to make odd noises, twitching under his grasp, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that you're coming. You're coming, just from having his cock fully sheathed inside of you.

"Three," he whispers in your ear, pressing a soft kiss to the skin there, "That's three times now, baby. Such a good girl for me."

Your pussy pulses and throbs around him, aching and burning in the most perfect way. How does he know exactly what you need? How does he know exactly what'll get you there?

"You're okay, baby," he murmurs, stroking your hair gently as you convulse around him, "You're doing so well, takin' it all so good."

You've never felt so full in your life. You've only ever had sex a handful of times, only ever actually been with two other men. If you had to compare them to this, you'd laugh in their faces.

"Big," you finally find your words, barely a whisper, "So big."

"I know," Joel kisses your temple, pulls back to look down at you with a gentle smile, "I'll wait 'til you get used to it, don't worry."

It's only then, looking up into those big brown eyes, that you realize you still haven't kissed him. He's got his enormous cock inside of you, stretching every inch of you open, and you've never kissed him.

It's like he's suddenly thinking the exact same thing. You watch as his brow furrows, lips parting slightly as he leans down and presses a sweet and gentle kiss to your lips, your eyes closing as you kiss him back with a hunger you've never known. You slip your tongue inside his mouth and he grants you entrance immediately, breathing deeply against your face as he sucks you in, lets you taste him. You can taste your own wetness on his tongue and it makes you moan against his lips.

"You're so fucking perfect," he breathes against your mouth, closing his eyes and rubbing his nose against yours, "My perfect girl, always so good for me."

"I'm yours," you remind him, voice weak and shaky, "I'll do whatever you tell me to, Joel."

He inhales deeply, removing his hands from yours and trailing them down your body to hold you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your torso and trailing his fingers up and down your back.

"You can move now," you whisper, still pulsing around him, "I can take it."

"I know you can, baby," he murmurs, "Such a good girl."

It takes a few slow thrusts, your mouth still eliciting the most unhinged sounds as he fucks you at the slowest pace imaginable, but eventually you build up a rhythm. He's so big, it's hard to believe he's actually fitting inside of you. You'd only ever seen his cock from a distance, in darkness, never realized how fucking huge he was. You can't believe you'd even managed to fit all of him in your mouth.

"I'm close," you groan in his ear, your own hands coming up to grip his back tightly, loving the feeling of having him pressed so close to you as he fucks you, "Give me my fourth, Joel, fucking give it to me."

He laughs lightly in response, pulling back to look down at you, "Not much of a punishment anymore, is it?" he says with a smirk, shaking his head, "Now you're begging for it." He slows down his thrusts, eventually stilling inside of you and pulling almost all the way out, letting the head of his cock sit inside your pulsing hole.

"Look at that," he says softly and you sit up to follow his gaze, looking down at your already fucked-out hole, his cock only connected to it via the fat head that sits nestled at your entrance, "Look at all your come on my cock, pretty girl."

You notice the white and glistening spots along his cock, feeling your cheeks go red at the recognition that it's all from you. You bite your lip, chest heaving breathlessly as he carefully pulls the tip from your hole and places it against your clit.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper, watching as he gently rubs the head in circles on your clit, his tip continuing to leak and making you even more slippery than you already are.

"Here's number four for you, baby," he murmurs, and pulls back his cock to lightly slap the head against you, the pressure immediately making you moan. He slaps it again, a little harder, and you have to bite down on your lip again to stop the onslaught of little whines you're threatening to make.

"Come," he says firmly, deliberately an order, and slaps the head of his cock against your clit one last time, delivering the final push.

Your eyes roll back again and you fall back on the bed, body twitching as you come for the fourth time, feeling his eyes on your pussy as your hole pulses and throbs around nothing.

"Good girl," he whispers, and seconds later you feel his cock slide back inside of you, exactly where it belongs, "There you go."

You lay there completely limp for a few seconds, body only moving with the thrusts of Joel's steady pace. You finally open your eyes again, see him kneeling on the bed above you. He's holding your lower half upwards, hands digging into your hips and thumbs splayed across your tummy.

"Use me," you breathe, eyes closing again, "Just use me for a few minutes."

He groans, a guttural and fierce noise that rips through the silence of his bedroom. You relax completely, melting into the sheets and letting him take what he needs, take and take and take, using you like his personal fuck toy, something you'd only dreamed about and never thought would ever actually come to fruition. Your arms hang limp and loose off the edge of his bed as you inhale and exhale, trying to get your energy back as fast as possible so you can come again.

Because you know he's not gonna let you off at number four.

After a few more steady thrusts you slowly sit back up on your elbows, looking at him through hooded and tired eyes. He can see that you're close to being completely done, smiles gently at you and slows his rhythm.

"Welcome back," he says softly, leaning down to pull you up so you're level with him. He repositions the both of you so his legs are circling you, yours coming up to wrap around his lower back as you sit on his cock. He pulls you closer, cradling the back of your head and pressing kisses along the side of your face, "I know you're tired but I'm gonna give you one more, baby, just like I promised."

"I know," you whisper, voice shaky.

He holds you in his wide arms, completely envelops you as he fucks up into you steadily, nose and lips pressed against the side of your face as he brings himself closer and closer to release, continuously whispering a thread of dirty things to you, building you up.

"Such a tight fuckin' pussy, all for me," he murmurs, "So wet and pink and perfect, takin' me so good, so fuckin' full of cock."

"Joel," you whimper, leaning further against him and letting him fuck you mercilessly, letting him push you closer and closer to your fifth orgasm, "Keep talking."

"Okay, baby," he whispers, brow furrowed, "Okay, pretty girl. So fuckin' good to me, so fuckin' pure and perfect, lettin' me fill this little cunt, lettin' me fuck it so deep," you scratch at his arm, tension building in your belly, "Waited so long for me to give it to you, begged for it for months, and now you have it. It's all yours, baby. You get this cock whenever you want now, just say the word."

He reaches down and rubs your clit with his thumb, feeling you tense against him as your orgasm overtakes you. You shake in his embrace, moaning out his name one final time before you start to come, heart pounding and chest heaving as he releases your clit and hugs you close to him. You tremble beneath him, feeling completely spent, almost boneless in his lap as he keeps fucking you.

"Where do you want my come, pretty girl?" he asks you through clenched teeth, "You still want it in your mouth?"

"Yes," you say immediately, eyes widening, "In my mouth, please."

Without another word he pulls you from his lap, watching as you fall backwards on the bed weightlessly.

"Christ, I fucked the shit outta you, baby," he says, genuinely shocked at how blissed out you are.

"You did," you reply softly, feeling a smile cross your face, "Can't move anymore."

He gives you a gentle smile, walks around the bed and aims his cock toward your face, "Here's your reward, baby, open up, nice and wide."

You do as you're told, feeling an immense amount of pride and satisfaction as you finally get what you've been craving for months. He strokes his cock once, only once, and suddenly ropes of thick white come are painting your tongue and lips, your cheeks, your chin. He groans, long and low, watching as you close your eyes and take every drop he gives you, watching it all pool on your tongue, dribble down your chin.

"Fuck," he breathes, and you open your eyes again to see him staring at you, eyes still dark and pupils blown wide, "Swallow it, pretty girl."

You close your mouth and swallow all of it, reveling in the salty taste on your tongue and in the back of your throat. You bring a trembling hand to your mouth, push the leftovers from your cheeks and chin past your lips, swallowing a second time.

"Good girl," he whispers, leaning down to push your hair out of your eyes, "That's my good girl, did so fucking well for me. Did everything I said."

"I'm yours, Joel," you whisper, voice completely wrecked, "I'm your good girl."

--

He cleans you up tenderly, pressing kisses to your skin every now and then as he takes a warm washcloth and wipes you down, pays extra attention to your sensitive spots and lets you lay there in peace. He's so sweet, so gentle, you'd hardly know it was the same Joel who walked out on you back at the ski lodge.

But it is the same Joel. He's just finally let himself have what he wants, finally let himself give you what you want. When he climbs in bed beside you and wraps his arms tightly around you, you've never felt so desired in your entire life. He kisses your face all over, whispers praises, tells you how beautiful you are, makes you feel wanted.

"You asleep?" he asks you softly, hands running up and down your arms soothingly.

"In and out," you murmur back, "You really did a number on me."

He chuckles quietly, kisses your cheek and holds you tighter, "I know. It was okay, right? I didn't go too far?"

"It was perfect," you reply sincerely, leaning back into his touch, "It was everything I ever wanted, better than anything I imagined."

He smiles against your skin, "Good, I'm glad."

You both lay there in the silence of his bedroom for a few more moments, listening to each other's breathing. He kisses the back of your neck, noses your skin and inhales your scent.

"Are you still afraid?" you ask quietly, "You can tell me, I want you to be honest."

He takes a few moments to reply, sighing deeply and bringing one of his hands down to hold tightly to yours. You squeeze his back, quietly reminding him that you're here, that you're not going anywhere.

"I am," he says softly, voice barely a whisper, "But not so much anymore. I think it'll be easier now."

"It will be," you reassure him quietly, tightening your grip on his hand, "I'm here for you, okay? Every step of the way."

He nuzzles into your hair, presses himself against you and sighs contentedly, "Okay."

You close your eyes, focusing on the perfection of this moment, the feeling of his body so close to yours, warming you up and keeping you safe. You can't help but notice how perfectly your bodies fit together, how right it feels to be lying together like this.

"By the way," he whispers suddenly, "You'll be my patrol partner again, right?"

You grin, tilting your head back slightly so his cheek brushes against your temple, relishing in the feeling of his stubble against your skin, so natural, so easy.

"I thought you'd never ask."

i can't believe how long this took me to write but i'm so glad i finally finished it. this isn't the end of soft!dom joel, but i would consider it the end of their story, most likely. i'll probably write some more smutty one-shots for them, but i doubt i'll write anything for them again with this much detail. i feel pretty satisfied with this.

let me know what you think!!! i love hearing yalls feedback, it makes me so happy. i also have a kofi if you'd like to leave me a tip. thank you so much for reading 💖

[userautumn]

He knows he shouldn't, but Buck texts Tommy anyway. Once Jee is covered in chocolate and cookie crumbs, once she's drifting off to sleep against his arm with Moana playing softly in the background, he pulls up their text thread with his unoccupied hand and clicks on the message bar. He ignores the grey and blue messages that sit above, messages—warm, kind, and loving—that speak to a happier time and instead chooses to type out a quick message.

Jee misses you.

He sends off the text and then pockets his phone. Slips out of Jee's sticky grasp so he can start cleaning the kitchen before it's time to put her to bed. He's so deep in thought that he almost misses the way his phone vibrates in his pocket.

What did she say?

"Uncle Tommy come play?"

Tommy doesn't respond for a while, long enough that Buck gets to imagine his face, pinched and in pain, with tears in his eyes. Or maybe Tommy's just fine. Maybe Buck is the one pinched and in pain, emotional and so damn sick of crying all the time.

I'm sorry.

Sorry to her or sorry to me?

It's not fair. Buck knows it's not as soon as he sends it, but Tommy replies seconds later anyway.

Sorry to both of you.

Buck stares at the text until his screen goes blank, trying to decide which of the emotions he's currently drowning in that he wants to feel. He settles on anger.

If you were that sorry, you wouldn't have dumped me three days after our six month anniversary.

Never mind.

This was dumb.

I shouldn't have bothered.

Sorry to have bothered you.

Bye.

Goodbye, Evan.

Buck's heart lurches into his throat at the sight of his name on screen, his eyes widening and his breath quickening. An embarrassing rush of hope stirs deep in his chest before he can clamp down on it and it feels like breathing for the first time in weeks. Another text comes through immediately after.

Sorry. It's a habit. I'm so sorry. Goodnight, Buck. Please tell Jee-Yun that I hope to see her soon.

Buck stares for a long moment, then lets out a laugh, thin and mirthless, as humiliation—so much fucking humiliation—crawls up his gut, filling his mouth with bile and shame. Right. He should have known. Did know, probably, somewhere deep down in his gut. But Evan Buckley has always been a dreamer, a believer in the impossible. Even and especially when it costs him.

I'm not going to lie to her.

Tommy doesn't answer, and this time, Buck knows he won't. He slides his phone back into his pocket and stares down at the countertop. His hands are braced on the flat, smooth surface, the fingers of one hand slick with soapy water. He doesn't cry, but it's a damn near close thing. Hell, with the pain currently slicing and carving its way through his chest, he could probably scream with it, but he won't. He won't scare Jee and he won't wake the neighbors, he'll just... deal with it. Like he has been dealing with it, like he always deals with it.

Buck takes a deep breath. Then he grabs the dishcloth he'd thrown aside and walks back over to the sink. Dips the rag in hot, soapy water and wrings it out before returning to wipe down the counters once more. Whatever. All of this is just... whatever. Tommy breaks his heart—he lets Tommy break his heart—for the second time in a row and it's just fucking whatever. Right now, the kitchen needs to be cleaned and Jee-Yun needs to be woken up so she can brush her teeth before he tucks her in, and life does what it does best: it goes on.

He can cry about Tommy Kinard later. It's not like he gets much sleep these nights anyway.

[claramelooo]

CRIMSON REVERIE

Hey guys! It's all crazy and to top it off I'm still sick, I'm getting better thanks to teas and Advil. But here I am...

Enjoy it! <3

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Pairing: Dark!Witch Wanda x Fem Reader

Warning: +18, smut, anal play, impregnation fetish, degradation, jealousy Wanda

Summary: You find out what happens when you're pushed to the limit

Hey. Now I've a masterlist

SHINE

Morning arrived gently, like a whisper only the skin could hear. Light filtered through the curtains, painting shadows and shapes in golden tones across the rumpled sheets. The room smelled of warmth, a faint floral perfume, and something unmistakably Wanda.

Your body was still wrapped in the haze of sleep, but awareness began to surface in waves, carrying with it the presence of the woman beside you. A barefoot touch grazed yours, warm and subtle, as if seeking something more profound than a simple connection: a silent promise of closeness.

Wanda’s nose brushed the curve of your neck, a simple yet devastating gesture. You could feel her rhythmic, tranquil breath, spreading like a caress across your skin. The soft texture of the sheets contrasted with the comforting weight of her arm draped over your waist, holding you as if fearing the dawn might steal the privilege of having you there.

It was in these quiet moments that everything felt different. The lightness that love brought wasn’t an escape but a new weight—one you carried gladly. The fine line between what was her and what was you seemed to blur, like the light filtering through the curtains, merging day and night.

Wanda shifted slightly, pressing her lips to the space between your neck and shoulder—a kiss that felt like a signature on your skin, a reminder that you belonged to her.

You opened your eyes slowly, feeling the warmth of your breath against the pillow. “Are you awake?” you murmured, your voice rough from sleep.

“Maybe,” came the whispered, humor-laden response, her tone magnetic as ever.

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat. “Staring at me again?”

“As if it’s a crime,” Wanda replied, her fingers trailing lightly along your waist—delicate but firm.

“Flirting with me before eight in the morning,” you teased, turning in bed to face her. Your eyes met hers—green like a sunlit meadow.

“I’m entitled,” she said, leaning closer. The gentle touch of your noses was followed by the soft pressure of her lips against yours, a kiss that held everything: the tenderness of the night, the warmth of the day, and the promise of everything to come.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet aroma of bread toasting in the kitchen as you assembled the twins’ lunches at the counter. Tommy and Billy sat at the table, eyes still half-closed, already bickering over who could finish the orange juice first.

Wanda entered the kitchen, her hair slightly tousled, with an expression of pure morning laziness that only made her more irresistible. You felt her presence before you saw her—a warmth that seemed to fill the room.

“What’s your plan for the day, professor?” you asked, a playful smile on your lips as you spread butter on Billy’s toast.

She leaned against the counter, arms crossed, her eyes sparkling with a kind of intimacy that made the world feel closer. “The usual,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “It’s so dull going to work and not seeing your face. Did you know I only took that job to see you?”

You laughed, stepping closer with an intentionally loaded look. “Miss intimidating me in your office?”

Her voice turned naturally seductive as she leaned just slightly toward you. “You have no idea how much.”

Her hand rose to gently brush a loose strand of hair from your forehead, her fingers moving with calculated tenderness. There was an electric charge in the exchange, a tension that seemed to absorb even the muffled laughter of the twins in the background.

“Eww! No kissing!” Tommy interrupted with exaggerated indignation, making Billy burst into laughter.

You and Wanda pulled back with knowing smiles, though the playful glint in her eyes was impossible to ignore.

“Ah, puberty...” Wanda sighed, feigning resignation as she turned to the boys.

“Mom, don’t tell me you never thought it was gross when your parents kissed,” Tommy shot back with a grimace.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, already prepared with a sharp retort. “Of course, I did. But look at me—I survived. Love doesn’t kill, Tommy. Neither does a little romance.”

“Maybe boredom does,” Billy added, laughing and earning a high-five from his brother.

You watched the scene with a serene smile, handing the finished lunches to the boys. “Come on, eat quickly. You’re almost late,” you said, though your voice carried the lightness of someone who was home.

As the boys dashed off to grab their backpacks, Wanda turned her gaze to you, the earlier intensity returning.

“One day, they’ll understand,” she said softly, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

“If they don’t, oh well,” you teased, smiling as you returned the affection. “They’ll have to deal with it, because, sorry, I’m addicted to you.”

Wanda laughed, the sound light and filled with a love that made the day begin just right. “And I’m addicted to you,” she whispered as the boys’ hurried footsteps echoed through the house.

The clock read 10:37 AM when you finally found a moment to pause at work. The teacher’s lounge was quiet, except for the soft clicking of keys in the background. The air smelled of stale coffee, and you took the opportunity to pour yourself a cup. The morning had been intense but rewarding—your students were finally beginning to grasp Whitman’s poetry.

You were about to sit down when Maria Hill walked in. Her deliberate, measured steps immediately drew your attention. The last time you crossed paths had been during a board meeting, and even then, you exchanged little more than a formal nod. Today, however, she seemed determined to speak with you.

"Professor," she began, her voice carrying a casual tone that felt too practiced to be genuine. "It seems your class is one of the most talked about this semester."

You looked up, studying her face. There was something difficult to decipher there—a contrast between professional composure and something far more personal.

"I'm just trying to keep things interesting," you replied with a polite smile, doing your best to ignore the faint unease her presence stirred within you.

Maria leaned against the counter, arms crossed in a posture that appeared relaxed, though her gaze remained fixed on you, observing every detail. "Interesting is an understatement. Some teachers spend years trying to make that kind of impact."

You knew it was a compliment, but the way she said it sounded... odd. As if there were layers beneath her words that remained unspoken.

"It's part of the job," you said, keeping your tone neutral.

Maria smiled—a small, enigmatic expression that hinted at something veiled beneath the surface. "Have you always been like this? Passionate about what you do?"

The question caught you off guard. Before you could answer, her eyes narrowed slightly, as though analyzing more than just your words.

"Are you asking if I’ve always wanted to teach?" you asked, attempting to diffuse the tension.

"Not exactly," Maria said, her tone lowering, becoming softer. "I mean... have you always been like this? Strong? Resilient?"

You paused, feeling the weight of her question. The way she spoke stirred old memories—ones you preferred to keep buried. Times when you had no choice but to be strong, to endure, to survive.

Before you could respond, Maria pressed on, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, but carrying an emotional weight that felt more personal than professional. "Not everyone can turn the scars of their past into something... powerful."

"Do you have kids?" you asked abruptly, steering the conversation away from uncomfortable territory.

"Two," you answered, a softer expression crossing your face as you thought of Billy and Tommy. Just the thought of them brought a brief, calming reprieve.

"They’re lucky," Maria murmured, her voice gentle but with an undercurrent of something more complex. "Lucky to have someone like you looking out for them."

“Your husband must be proud,” she added, the statement sounding casual, though her eyes watched you intently, studying your reaction with what could only be described as calculated curiosity.

"I'm not… married to a man," you replied evenly, though you felt a warmth creeping up your neck at the subtle shift in the conversation.

Maria tilted her head slightly, absorbing your words with a careful consideration. A faint smile touched her lips—not one of surprise, but of quiet understanding, as if you’d just confirmed something she’d long suspected.

"Not married to a man," she repeated slowly, each word deliberate, precise. "Interesting."

The weight of her gaze was palpable, almost tangible, like an invisible pressure pressing against you. Her eyes never wavered, and the intensity of her scrutiny made it hard to breathe.

"And your wife… or partner?" Maria continued, her voice dropping to a lower register, each word laden with significance. "Does she understand who you are? Everything you’ve been through?"

You took a step back, feeling an all-too-familiar tightness in your chest. Maria had a way of asking questions that cut deeper than they should, as though she could peel back layers of your soul with little more than a glance. Whether she intended to or not, it left you feeling exposed.

"She understands what matters," you said firmly, striving to maintain your composure. "And that’s enough."

Maria took a step closer, and the air around you seemed to shift. There was nothing overtly threatening about the movement, yet her proximity felt overwhelming, as though each step carried an unspoken intent. Her presence was suffocating, each motion precise, calculated to unsettle you.

"Does she?" Maria murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Because I remember a version of you who didn’t have anyone. Who was alone. Vulnerable. And I wonder…"

Her words trailed off, but the impact lingered, each syllable like a key turning in a lock you desperately wanted to keep shut.

"I wonder if that part of you still exists," she continued softly, her tone almost gentle, yet with an undercurrent of sharpness, like a blade hidden beneath velvet. "If there’s still something inside you that misses it—being pushed. Being tested. Being forced to the edge."

Her proximity was unbearable, her warmth pressing against you like a physical force. Her voice, low and steady, seemed to sink into your bones, coaxing out thoughts you’d buried long ago. You tried to take a steadying breath, but it felt as though the very air had been siphoned from the room.

Your nose prickled—a familiar, unwelcome sensation—and you felt the warmth of blood trickling down. Instinctively, you brought your hand to your face, recoiling slightly as you pulled back to see the crimson smear on your fingertips.

Maria’s gaze followed your movements, her eyes darkening as she took in the sight of blood. For a fleeting moment, her expression shifted—something crossed her features that you couldn’t quite place. Fascination? Concern? It was gone too quickly to tell. But there was a gleam in her eyes, a flicker of something primal, like she understood more about what was happening to you than you did.

"Are you alright?" Maria asked, her voice carefully controlled, yet carrying a weight that felt almost predatory.

"I'm fine," you said quickly, though your voice trembled slightly. The pounding in your head intensified, each beat reverberating like a drum. Waves of pain radiated outward, distorting your vision and making it hard to focus.

"Are you?" Maria pressed, taking another step toward you. "You don’t look fine. In fact… you look like you’re about to break."

Her words carried a strange satisfaction, as though she’d been waiting for this—for you to unravel, for your control to slip.

You are our sun.

Shine.

Shine for the world.

The voice returned, insidious and relentless. Your parents’ mantra echoed in your mind, weaving itself into your consciousness like a thread you couldn’t untangle.

"Y/N?" Maria’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding. It snapped you back to the present, anchoring you to reality for a fleeting moment.

You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your vision. Maria stood closer now, her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that bordered on invasive. There was something predatory in her gaze—something that made you feel like prey trapped in a hunter’s sights.

"I said I’m fine," you repeated, taking another step back. But your body betrayed you, trembling under the strain. It was as if an electric current pulsed beneath your skin, wild and untamed, begging for release.

Maria tilted her head, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "No, you’re not. You’re burning from the inside out. I can see it."

Her voice was soft, almost soothing, but it carried an undercurrent of satisfaction, as though she’d been waiting for you to reach this breaking point. Waiting for the cracks in your façade to show.

You are our sun.

Shine for the world.

The pounding in your head grew louder, the mantra intertwining with the pain, with the memories you’d fought so hard to bury. Your vision blurred again, and the room spun, but the voice remained crystal clear.

Maria tilted her head, observing you intently. “You don’t look well. In fact, you look… ready to explode.”

There was something in her voice—a touch of barely concealed satisfaction. As if she had been waiting for this, waiting to see how far you’d go before breaking.

You are our sun.

Shine.

Shine for the world.

The dizziness worsened, the ground seemed to shift beneath your feet. Then, for an instant, you saw something—a flickering image in your mind like a broken reflection. Light. A golden glow radiating from you, warm and relentless.

You stumbled, leaning against the nearest wall. “I just… need to get out of here.”

You left the room, holding your nose—blood dripping hot between your fingers, unstoppable. Your vision wavered with every step, the world around you distorting as if it were unsteady. The sound of your own shoes against the floor felt muffled, distant, while the pain in your head throbbed relentlessly, a pounding drum deep in your mind.

Every step toward the car felt monumental. The pain spread, no longer confined to your head, but racing down your spine, burning like a line of fire. Sharp stabs concentrated behind your eyes, stealing your breath. Your knees threatened to give out, and you clung to anything nearby, seeking balance.

Shine.

Shine for the world.

The voice was incessant now, growing louder, as if merging with the pain itself. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block it out, trying to make sense of it. But it was impossible. Everything was too much—the blood, the pain, the suffocating echo of the words.

When you finally reached your car, your hands trembled so much that you couldn’t find the keys. The dizziness worsened, and the world began to spin. You leaned against the car door, breathing deeply, but the oxygen refused to reach your lungs.

In that moment, that second of pure desperation, you heard something. A different voice. More real.

“Y/N?”

Lifting your eyes with difficulty, you saw Wanda. She was standing at the doorway to the house, her face a mask of worry. You tried to say something, but your voice failed. The pain was unbearable now, a knife buried deep in your mind.

In an instant, Wanda was by your side. Her red magic shimmered around you, and before you could protest, she lifted you effortlessly into her arms.

“Wanda, I…” You tried to speak, but the world was spinning so fast it felt like it was collapsing.

“Shh,” she murmured, her voice low and urgent. “Don’t talk. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

As Wanda carried you inside, her touch resonated within you. But there was something more. You realized she was feeling the pain too, sharing it in some way. Her face was tense, as though every step was a struggle.

“It’s burning me,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe and pain. “What’s happening to you?”

You wanted to respond, to explain, but you had no answers. All that remained was the pain, the blood, and the voice that continued to whisper.

Shine.

Shine for the world.

When you reached the living room, Wanda set you down gently on the couch, her gaze drifting over the blood still dripping from your nose. Her eyes were filled with tears she was holding back through sheer willpower.

“I’ll take care of you,” she said firmly, but you saw the fear behind her words. “I promise.”

As she placed her hand on your forehead, trying to channel her magic to ease your pain, all you could feel was the unbearable weight of that voice. And for the first time, you feared it might be right. That you needed to shine—but at what cost?

The weight was crushing when you opened your eyes. The room was cloaked in shadows, with only the moonlight filtering through the curtains, painting soft lines on the floor. Your entire body ached as if it had been crushed by something invisible, but you knew you had to get up.

With effort, you swung your feet onto the floor, trying to find your balance, but the world spun. The dizziness was overwhelming, and your shaky steps betrayed your weakness.

Before you could take more than two steps, the door abruptly opened. Wanda entered, carrying a tray of food, her eyes immediately locking onto you, filled with worry and irritation.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Her voice was firm, a command that cut through the air. “Lie down.”

You tried to protest, but she was already by your side, guiding you back to the bed with a gentleness that contrasted with her authoritative tone. She adjusted the pillows behind you and placed the tray on your lap, filled with hot soup, bread, and a glass of water.

“You’re going to eat this, and then rest. I don’t want to hear another word about getting up.”

Her manner was almost maternal, but the intensity in her eyes revealed something deeper: concern, love, and an almost desperate need to protect you.

When you finished eating, Wanda took the tray and pulled a chair close to your bedside. She held your hand, her fingers stroking yours. Her voice was softer when she finally asked:

“Now tell me… What happened?”

You hesitated, but her gaze didn’t allow for evasion. Sighing, you began to speak.

“It was Maria. The school principal. Today, at work. She… approached me.”

Wanda’s face immediately hardened, but she remained silent, waiting for you to continue.

“She started talking about the past. About who I used to be under her authority. I… I don’t know how to explain it, Wanda. Something she said threw me off, and my head started pounding.”

You felt Wanda’s gaze intensify, but the words kept flowing, like a painful confession.

“She humiliated me back in high school, pushed me in ways I didn’t understand. I hated it, but at the same time… I liked it. Liked the way she was cruel to me. Like there was power in it, something that made me feel alive in a strange, twisted way.”

The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the sound of your uneven breathing. Wanda remained still, but the magic around her began to pulse in soft red hues, like a racing heartbeat.

“Today, she did it again,” you continued, your voice trembling. “She got close, so close I could smell her. She asked about my life, pressed me with that tone that made me want to disappear. And I… I felt like I did back then. Small and insecure. I couldn’t react. My body just… gave in.”

Wanda’s green eyes were locked on yours now, and you saw something in them that made you shiver: anger, jealousy, and an intensity that seemed capable of setting the world ablaze.

“You’re telling me,” Wanda began, her voice low and controlled but electric with tension, “that this woman… thinks she has any claim over you?”

You tried to speak, but she didn’t give you the chance.

“Thinks she can pressure you, humiliate you, and get away with it?” The veins at her temples were visible now, her magic flickering around her fingers like flames.

“Wanda, I—”

“No.” She stood, her power surging around her, almost tangible in the air. “You are mine. And no one, absolutely no one, has the right to do this to you. Not Maria. Not anyone.”

The weight of her declaration hung between you, and for a moment, you didn’t know whether to feel fear, relief, or both. All you knew was that despite her intensity, Wanda’s presence was the only thing keeping you anchored to reality in that moment.

With a rough gesture, Wanda grabbed your chin to make you look at her.

The air seemed to vibrate with Wanda’s energy, charged with emotions you could barely process. Her power was there, pulsing beneath the surface, illuminating the room in crimson hues like a storm about to erupt. The question hung between you, heavy, impossible to ignore.

“Did you enjoy it?”

Her voice was low, but there was something dangerous in it, something that made your heart race. Her grip on your chin wasn’t gentle; it was possessive. Wanda held you as if the mere act of looking away would be an unforgivable offense.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. All you could do was feel—her overwhelming presence, the heat radiating from her, the knot forming in your throat as you struggled to process everything.

“Answer me.”

Her fingers tightened slightly, her green eyes blazing like fire. “Did you like what Maria did to you?”

Did you know the answer wasn’t simple? Nothing about this was simple. Part of you wanted to deny it, to walk away from this conversation, but another part... the part Wanda seemed to see so clearly... knew there was no escape.

“I…” Your voice faltered, and you swallowed hard, feeling the tightness in your throat. “I hated it. And... at the same time…”

Wanda tilted her head, her eyes narrowing, focused on every nuance of your words.

“Go on. Keep talking.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to summon strength. But all you could see was red — the red of her magic, the red of her anger, the red that seemed to color every thought in your mind.

“Part of me liked it because... because it reminded me,” you finally admitted, each word an effort. “Reminded me of how I used to feel. Of who I used to be.”

Wanda’s expression hardened, and you saw the pain your words caused. But she didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she stepped even closer, until your faces were nearly touching, her breath warm against your skin.

“And do you miss that?” The question came low, almost a growl.

You shook your head quickly. “No. I don’t want to be that person again.”

“Then why did you let it happen?” Her tone was merciless, but there was a vulnerability buried in it, a fear she couldn’t quite hide.

“Because I’m broken,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Because part of me still believes I deserve it.”

Wanda exhaled slowly, as though trying to contain her fury. Her fingers slid to your neck, pressing lightly, as if she wanted to feel your racing pulse beneath your skin.

“You don’t deserve that,” she said at last, her voice softer, yet still full of intensity. “You never did. You were young, weak… Maybe you still are, aren’t you? Of course, you’d let her have some kind of control over you.”

Wanda tilted her head, her fingers still firm around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you feel the rapid beating of your heart. Her eyes never left yours, piercing, as if she wanted to strip away every secret you still hid.

“You see yourself as a victim,” Wanda murmured, almost with disgust. “A puppet anyone can manipulate. But do you know what I see?”

You swallowed hard, your entire body on alert, every cell vibrating under her touch. “What?”

“I see a woman who needs to be broken in a different way.”

The tension in the room became almost unbearable. The heat, the silence interrupted only by the sound of your ragged breaths, and Wanda’s overpowering presence made the air feel heavy. Every word she spoke was an electric current running down your spine, igniting every nerve, every hidden desire.

Wanda’s fingers slid along your collarbone, the touch as light as a whisper. But there was a promise in the slow, deliberate movement, one that made your skin burn. You knew she was testing your limits — but you also knew Wanda wasn’t the kind to tolerate resistance for long.

“Broken… in a way that you’ll beg never to be fixed,” Wanda continued, her voice low and husky, as her fingers trailed up your neck, closing around your throat. “I can feel your heart beating here.” She pressed lightly, her thumb against your racing pulse. “I wonder who it’s beating for.”

You tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. All you managed was a strangled sound, a mix of surprise and pleasure.

“What’s the matter?” Wanda smirked slowly, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Cat got your tongue, little doll? Still thinking about her?” She spat the words.

You opened your mouth to deny it, but the firm grip on your throat turned any attempt at a response into a shaky moan. Your eyes met hers, and the intensity in Wanda’s gaze made your entire body tremble.

Wanda’s face was a mask of control on the verge of breaking. Fury and jealousy burned in her eyes like a storm threatening to consume you entirely. Her grip on your throat was firm but didn’t hurt — at least not in the way you expected. Instead, every touch of hers made something inside you melt, every word laden with a dark desire that made your whole body hum.

“You should know,” she murmured, her tone low and rough, almost a warning. “You should know that no one else can have you. No one else can make you feel what I do.”

Her fingers tightened slightly, and you felt the pressure increase, the air growing scarce but still enough to keep you conscious. Wanda controlled every breath, every sensation — and you didn’t want her to stop.

“And yet, you let someone else get close,” she continued, her voice dripping with disdain and possessiveness. “You let another woman believe she had any right to you.”

“I—” you tried to speak, but Wanda increased the pressure, silencing you again.

“No,” she growled. “I don’t want excuses. I want you to understand one thing.”

She leaned in until her lips brushed yours, never easing her grip. Her breath, when it finally reached you, was hot and heavy with restrained anger.

“You’re mine,” she declared, every word a command that seared into your skin. “You’ve always been mine. And now… now you’ll pay for letting yourself believe, even for a second, that anyone else could possess you.”

Your eyes closed as a shiver ran through your body. Her tone, the firm touch on your throat, the promise of punishment — it all made the heat inside you rise to an unbearable level. You felt your body respond to her authority as if it were made to fit perfectly under Wanda’s control.

“Look at me,” she ordered.

Your eyes opened slowly, meeting hers. There was something primal there, a raw need mingled with her anger. You didn’t just see jealousy — you saw obsession. You saw love in its most dangerous, possessive form.

“Who’s your heart beating for, Y/n?” Wanda repeated, her eyes narrowing as her thumb pressed against your pulse. “For me… or for her?”

You knew what the right answer was. You knew exactly what Wanda wanted to hear. But at the same time, something pulled you toward the abyss—a desire to provoke her, to test the limits of her control, to see how far she would go to reclaim the authority she never should have lost.

So, instead of answering, you remained silent.

Wanda’s smile faded. For a moment, there was only silence, save for the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint, ominous hum of her magic lingering in the air.

“Silence?” Wanda arched an eyebrow, her tone almost mocking, laced with dangerous amusement. “Still thinking about her, perhaps? Thinking about what she did to you?”

“No!” you cried out, the sound hoarse, choked by the invisible grip around your throat. “I only think of you. Only you, Mommy.”

For a fleeting moment, her gaze softened, a flicker of warmth crossing her features—but it disappeared just as quickly. Her anger returned, simmering beneath the surface, more intense than before.

“Am I supposed to believe that?” Wanda asked, tilting her head slightly, studying you as if dissecting your very soul. “After what you did? After you allowed someone else to touch what is mine?”

She lowered her head until her lips brushed your ear, her voice low, intimate, dripping with both threat and promise.

“I’ll break you, my little doll,” she whispered, her breath hot against your skin. “I’ll make you remember who you belong to.”

The constriction around your throat loosened just enough for you to take a shuddering breath, but Wanda gave you no time to recover. In one swift, calculated move, she claimed your mouth in a fierce, almost brutal kiss, her teeth scraping your bottom lip, drawing blood.

You whimpered against her mouth, your body surrendering entirely to the control she demanded. Tears streamed down your face, the salty droplets mingling with the metallic taste of blood on your lips.

“That’s it,” Wanda murmured, her voice softening as she pulled back slightly, her fingers caressing your cheek to wipe away your tears. “Cry for me. Show me you understand.”

Her gaze locked onto yours, intense and unrelenting. Her fingertips traced the contours of your face, the touch deceptively gentle.

“I want all of you,” Wanda said, her tone a mix of tenderness and authority. “Your body, your mind, your heart. Everything.”

You nodded, your eyes never leaving hers. “I’m already yours.”

“Then prove it,” she whispered, the words carrying weight, dripping with expectation. “Prove to me that you are mine. And only mine.”

The air around you both vibrated with her magic, the energy suffocating and comforting all at once. You knew she was about to push you to your limits—and deep down, you craved it more than anything.

Your tears streamed freely, thick droplets tracing down your cheeks as you whispered, “Do whatever you want with me, Mommy. Punish me. I deserve it.”

Wanda wasn’t finished punishing you. Her rage was palpable—it hung in the air like a storm ready to break, crackling in every word, every movement. She stepped back for a moment, pacing slowly across the room, her footsteps echoing in the tense silence. The suspense only heightened your anticipation.

“What’s your safe word?” she asked, her voice steady, controlled. She wasn’t testing your limits—she was daring you to withstand more.

“Crimson,” you answered, your voice raspy, barely above a whisper.

Wanda stopped pacing, her darkened eyes locking onto yours. Slowly, with deliberate precision, she walked to a nearby wardrobe and opened it. Your heart raced as you watched her pull out a black leather belt, worn and heavy—a symbol of unyielding authority, of her dominion over you.

The sound of the belt sliding through her fingers echoed in the quiet room, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Do you know why you’re being punished?” Wanda asked, taking a step toward you, folding the belt carefully in her hands.

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation. Your voice was steady, but inside, you trembled—with anticipation, with desire, with a desperate need to be hers.

“Then say it.” She stopped in front of you, her gaze smoldering, intense. “Tell me why you deserve this.”

“Because I… I let another woman dominate me,” you whispered, your eyes dropping to the floor in shame. “I let her believe she had power over me.”

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of your confession hanging in the air. Wanda remained still for several long moments, simply watching you, analyzing every breath, every tremor.

“On your knees,” she commanded, her voice low but absolute.

You dropped to your knees without a second thought, your palms resting on your thighs, your gaze still lowered. Wanda circled you slowly, the sound of her footsteps reverberating through the room, each step increasing the tension, the fire burning beneath your skin.

“Look at me,” she ordered.

You lifted your head, meeting her gaze, and what you saw in her eyes made your entire body shudder. There was anger, yes—but there was something deeper, more profound. Reverence. As if you were a sacrifice offered to her, a precious possession that she would never let go.

“What are you?” Wanda asked, leaning closer, her face mere inches from yours.

“I’m yours,” you replied without hesitation, your voice steady, resolute.

“Whose?” Her grip on the belt tightened, the leather creaking under the pressure of her fingers.

“Yours, Wanda. Only yours.”

A predatory smile spread across her lips, dangerous and alluring. Wanda stepped back, raising the belt, running it slowly through her fingers as if savoring the anticipation.

“Lie down,” she commanded.

You obeyed instantly, lying on the bed, your body tense yet aching for her touch. Wanda climbed onto the bed beside you, kneeling next to you, the belt gliding over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“You deserve to be punished,” she murmured, her fingers tracing your jawline with deceptive tenderness. “And I will teach you what happens when you forget who you belong to.”

The first strike was sudden, unexpected. The sharp crack of the belt against your skin echoed in the room, and your back arched instinctively, a strangled moan escaping your lips. The sting burned, yet awakened something primal inside you—a deep, insatiable need to surrender completely.

“Count,” Wanda demanded, her voice unyielding.

“One,” you gasped, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

Another strike, this one harder. The heat radiated from the point of impact, and you whimpered, your body trembling with the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure.

“Two.”

Wanda maintained a steady rhythm, each strike precise, calculated. Each lash of the belt was a reminder—a mark of her ownership over you, etched not just into your skin but into your very soul.

As you counted each number, the tension between you grew, thickening the air around you. The magic surrounding Wanda crackled, her power tangible, suffocating yet intoxicating.

When you reached the tenth strike, your voice broke, tears streaming down your face. But they weren’t tears of pain—they were tears of release, of surrender. Of absolute devotion.

Wanda stopped, the belt falling to her side. She leaned over you, her fingers once again brushing your tears away with an almost reverent gentleness.

“My little doll,” she whispered, her voice soft, affectionate. “Look at you. So beautiful like this. So completely mine.”

You sobbed quietly, your body trembling under her touch, every part of you laid bare before her.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice cracking with emotion. “Thank you, Mommy.”

Wanda’s smile softened, though the possessiveness in her gaze remained. She leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and consuming. The taste of her was everything you needed—a reminder that you were exactly where you were meant to be

“This,” she murmured against your lips. “Now you understand.”

And you did. Every mark on your skin, every tear shed, every whispered word—it was all an oath. A silent promise that you belonged to Wanda. That you always had.

“My good girl,” Wanda whispered, her lips now brushing against your ear. “And no one… no one… will take you from me.”

The intensity of her words made your heart race even faster. Wanda’s hand ran down your neck to your chest, pressing you into the mattress, as if she were holding you both physically and emotionally.

Her eyes burned with something that went beyond anger. It was adoration, obsession, a love so deep and fierce that it seemed capable of consuming the entire world if it had to.

Wanda’s hands caressed the red skin of your ass. The contrast of the cold of her hands against your hot, abused skin. Her long fingers caressed your outer lips, feeling how wet you were. She uses your lubrication and takes it to your asshole, making your eyes widen in surprise.

“Oh… Look at that,” Wanda murmured with a cruel smile, her fingers still caressing your wet folds, slipping easily between the heat and desire that dripped from you. “So wet just from being spanked? From being put in your place?”

You moaned, trying to hide in the bed, but there was no escaping her. Wanda knew every part of you — body and mind. She knew exactly how to press until you had no choice but to surrender.

She laughed softly, and her laugh was both a comfort and a torture. “You’re such a desperate slut, aren’t you? How does it feel to have my finger in your asshole?”

The humiliation burned your skin, but it was a fire that only increased your desire. You tried to open your mouth to protest, but Wanda was already lowering her hand again. Not to hit you this time, but to slide her wet finger into your other hole, circling it slowly, threatening to enter.

“Surprise?” Her voice was a whisper of pure sin. “Do you think I’ll spare you after what you did? Do you think I won’t claim what’s mine?”

You felt her finger press into your ass, teasing the entrance to your anus, a slight push that made you arch your back and let out a loud moan. Your entire body trembled, torn between discomfort and the overwhelming pleasure that was about to explode.

“Oh. Look at that… A little slut who loves having all her holes used, isn’t she?” She pressed even harder, making your eyes roll back with the mind-blowing pleasure. The massage her fingers did in the spot was skillful, making you want more and push your ass against Wanda.

“Beg.” She said through her teeth, making circular movements in your ass. “Beg mommy to fuck your virgin ass.”

Saliva slowly dripped from the corners of your mouth, forming a shiny thread that fell onto the sheets beneath you. Your mind was in a dense fog, as if reality itself had dissolved around the intensity of the moment.

“Mommy, please…” Your tongue curled as you spoke due to the amount of saliva accumulated in your mouth.

“Try again.” Her rigid voice left no room for questioning.

“Mommy, please— Fuck, fuck me. Use all my holes however you want. Use me.” You cried out, whimpering. You begged for her. You had been a bad girl, but here you were seeking redemption.

“It’s something like this…” Wanda murmured, her voice hoarse as if each word was impregnated with repressed desire and pure fury.

The air around you seemed to vibrate with her intensity—not just her magic, but the emotional storm that Wanda carried within her. Jealousy. Anger. And an obsession that burned so hot it could incinerate anything it touched.

“P- Please touch my pussy, please, please, please,” you cried out, but Wanda only hummed.

“No, you don’t deserve to be touched there.” Wanda said, pushing the tip of her third finger into you.

Removing her fingers from you, she grabbed the bottle of lube and lubed up your strap-on. She pulled the toy out, needing to spread the lube around and what was the perfect way to do that? “You let me know if you need me to add lube, got it?”

“Yes- Yes, just fuck me already.” You trembled beneath the older woman.

You felt your hair being pulled at the roots, making you arch your back towards Wanda and stick your ass up against her strap-on. “You think you can give me orders now? Huh?!” She tugged hard on the strands, making you scream.

The scent of sandalwood filled the air around you, intoxicating your senses, making it impossible to even form a coherent thought. Each breath seemed to pull Wanda deeper into you, until all that was left was her overwhelming presence—burning like a secret you never wanted to confess.

Her fingers slid across your scarred skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“You should be so grateful,” Wanda murmured, her tone thick with contempt and adoration mixed into one sentence. “Even with that foolish mind of yours, that dared to stop thinking about me… I’m still here.” She leaned her face down until her lips brushed your ear, her voice so low it sounded like an inverted prayer. “Mommy is here… giving you exactly what you need.”

The weight of her words made your breath hitch, your entire body shaking under Wanda’s relentless control. Your eyes closed for a moment, letting the warmth of her presence consume you completely.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice weak and broken. But it wasn’t enough. “Thank you, Mommy,” you repeated, more firmly this time, as if each word was an offering.

“You should be grateful. Do you think Maria can give you that?” This sense of belonging, this love?” She growls as she pushes an inch inside you.

“Wands…” You moan needily, and receive a thrust so hard that it makes you gasp in pain.

“That name. You are not to use it now, understand? Not while you are nothing to me, nothing but a hole for me to use.” She snapped, tears welling in your eyes. You turned your head so she couldn’t see.

“Good, now that it’s all in, you will tell me when I can start fucking you. And I won’t start until you give me the green light, Dekta.” She soothed.

You nodded, shuddering as she pushed the rest of the toy inside you. As she promised, Wanda stood still, rubbing your lower back as she waited for you to adjust. You waited ten minutes, wanting to get used to the feeling. The strapon she was using was a size you weren’t used to, especially in your ass. But it wasn’t unbearable, and when you looked at Wanda and nodded, you gave her the go-ahead.

The witch began to fuck you at a slow pace, wanting to make sure she wasn’t actually hurting you. As much of a bad girl as you had been, you were still her girl. And nothing in the world would change that.

“God, the mess you’re making of me just because I have my dick in your ass. You’re so fucking pathetic.” She laughed, picking up the pace.

Wanda leaned over you, her weight crushing both your skin and your soul, making it clear who was in control. Her fingers slid around your waist, squeezing with an inhuman strength, while her eyes burned with that corrosive jealousy that hadn’t yet dissipated.

Her voice came low, slurred, each word laced with venom and possession. "Do you think Maria saw you the way I do? Do you think she felt what I feel for you? No. She only saw something to use. An easy toy to break. And you let her."

You tried to shake your head, but Wanda wouldn't let you. The tightness in your throat tightened a little, not enough to hurt, but enough to silence you.

"You're mine. But do you want to know the truth?" She leaned in even closer, her lips almost touching yours. "Without me, you're nothing."

The words cut deep, a direct blow to your pride, but strangely, you felt heat spread throughout your body. Each insult was a testament to how much Wanda cared—her love was fierce, sickening, but it was also undeniable.

"Repeat it," she demanded, her fingers now slowly sliding to your jaw, keeping your face up so you couldn't look away. "Tell me who you are without me."

Your bottom lip trembled, shame and desire fighting inside you.

"I… I am nothing."

"Louder."

"I am nothing!" You screamed, your voice shaky and desperate, feeling the tears burn your eyes. "I am only something because you made me be!"

Wanda's fury was a weight in the air. Every beat of her heart seemed to set the environment around her on fire, her magic pulsing like a living creature, thirsting for more. Her fingers trembled as they slid through the leather belt she still held, but not from insecurity — it was the anger that bubbled inside her, a storm of emotions she could barely contain.

Maria's name echoed in Wanda's mind like a curse.

Maria.

This woman who dared to touch what didn't belong to her. Who dared to think, for a single second, that she could have you. Who could break you as if Wanda hadn't molded every piece of your soul with her presence, her touch, her burning love.

The jealousy burning inside Wanda was a wildfire, and her magic danced around her in response—deep red, dark crimson, like freshly spilled blood. The energy crackled at her fingertips, leaving a trail of sparks across the room as she paced in slow circles, like a predator stalking its prey.

“Did she have you?” The question reverberated in her mind, and the answer hurt like a raw blade. It didn’t matter that you were here, at her feet, begging for forgiveness. It didn’t matter that your every word was a promise of submission. All Wanda could see was another woman daring to believe she had any control over you.

Wanda knew what it was like to be marked by the past. She knew what it was like to carry the scars of pain, of abandonment, of loss. But to see you—the one thing in the world that made your darkness seem bearable—touched by another? That was unforgivable.

“Did she make you moan?”

“Did she see that look in your eyes?”

“Did she know how to make you beg?”

Each question fueled Wanda’s anger, and the magic around her responded with a perfect reflection of her emotions. The crimson sparks turned into strands of energy that snaked through the air, dancing like serpents around Wanda. The intensity of the magic increased with each dark thought that passed through her mind.

But what really made Wanda burn with jealousy—what made her want to rip out her own heart so she wouldn’t feel so much—was the fact that you let this happen.

You, who were hers.

You, who belonged to her from the moment your eyes met.

You, who were now marked not only by Wanda, but by another woman.

“No, Mommy. She never took me for her own. I’m only yours.” You murmured with difficulty, but firmly.

Wanda’s smile was cruel and satisfied. And it surprised you when you felt your clit being massaged by her fingers. “Mommy was very happy now.” She says and plants a kiss behind your ear, and now, the thrusts become hard and rough.

“Mommy’s little girl’s ass is so tight…” She murmurs without eloquence, just feeling, just corrupting your untouched body.

Wanda’s fingers tightened around your waist, her knuckles turning white. She knew she needed to release this energy before she lost control. But first, she needed something more—she needed to hear it from you. She needed to be sure that every inch of you still belonged to her.

She stepped closer slowly, her green eyes shining like emeralds beneath the crimson glow of the magic that still floated through the room. Jealousy brimmed in her voice as she whispered,

“Say it again. Who do you belong to?”

“You,” you murmured, your eyes brimming with tears.

“It’s not enough.” Her voice grew lower, more menacing. “Say her name.”

You hesitated for a moment, fear and shame mingling in your gaze.

“Maria…” The name fell from her lips in an embarrassed whisper.

Wanda shivered. The magic around her flared brighter, and for a moment, the entire room seemed to fill with that dark red.

“She thought she could have you.” Wanda smiled, but it was a cruel smile, sharp as a blade. “She thought it could be me.”

Her eyes flared, and the anger that had once seemed ready to explode was replaced by something even more dangerous: a calculated calm.

“She won’t think that anymore.” Wanda’s voice was low, a warning. “I’ll make sure Maria understands exactly who you belong to.”

Wanda’s magic fed on jealousy, on the desire to possess. And the more she thought about Maria—this intruder, this threat—the more powerful it became. The crimson sparks began to solidify, forming currents of energy that fluttered around Wanda, as if waiting for an order.

But for now, Wanda turned her attention to you. Because before she could deal with Maria, she needed to make sure you understood.

That you would never make the mistake of giving yourself to anyone other than her again. She gripped your chin firmly, forcing you to look at her.

“You’ll thank me for this,” Wanda whispered. “You’ll thank me for reminding you of who you are. Who you belong to.” Her touch burned, but it was a fire you craved. Because despite everything, despite the anger, the jealousy, the pain—you knew this was where you wanted to be.

“Thank you, Mommy,” you whispered, your entire body shaking under her intense gaze.

“Good girl.” Wanda smiled slowly, satisfied. But deep in her eyes there was still an unspoken promise—a promise that Maria would pay. Because Wanda was not someone who forgave easily.

Your orgasm was building with each thrust, you didn’t even know it could feel this good. But she found you begging for her: “Mommy, please! Forgive me, please, please! I need to be forgiven so much.” You cried, tears streaming from your eyes as you slobbered all over her mattress with your saliva and juices.

The sound of your sobs, the way you begged, made Wanda tremble all over. She tried to hold her breath, but her body betrayed any attempt at control. Her hands were steady, but her fingers trembled slightly as they caressed your tear-stained face. The weight of your words—“Mommy, please! Forgive me, please, please!”—echoed in her head like a song that fed her ego and her obsession.

You were so small, so surrendered, so broken. All that was left was a fragile, submissive creature, molded by Wanda’s hands, desperate for approval. She knew Maria could never have seen you like this. She would never have understood the absolute power that came from reducing you to this—to something pure, vulnerable, wanting to be molded, guided, belonging entirely to her.

The sight of you lying there, sweating, crying, your lips wet and your face pressed into the mattress as your saliva dripped like a glistening stream, was intoxicating. The absolute control Wanda had over you made her own pulse race. The corrosive jealousy of before gave way to something even darker and more pleasurable: the knowledge that you were hers alone.

“Look at you,” Wanda whispered, her voice shaking slightly. She couldn’t help it—a low, incredulous laugh escaped her lips. “So beautiful, so… pathetic. Begging as if your life depended on it.”

She gripped your chin, lifting your face. Your eyes were glassy, ​​lost in submission, and Wanda almost groaned at how broken you were—and how perfect it was.

She began to ease her thrusts into your ass and leaned down to place hot kisses on your back, an affectionate and reverent act. You were so precious, the most beautiful thing Wanda had ever had the pleasure of holding in her hands.

Wanda pulls out of you, missing the feeling of having you squeezing her. You huff, whimper, growl at not getting what you want and Wanda finds it adorable.

“What do you want?” She teased, already massaging the needy entrance to your pussy.

At that moment, there was nothing more urgent than this. You needed this, like you needed air to breathe.

“Mommy! Please touch my pussy. I can’t take it anymore.” You say in a shaky breath, your whole body trembling. “I need to be filled.” You begged, and heard a needy moan coming from her. It was clear, now this was torture for both of you.

“Fuck, turn around. I need to fuck you now.” She growled, pulling you into a claiming kiss.

The world seemed to stop the instant Wanda pulled you in, her strength and urgency drawing a gasp of surprise from your lips. There was nothing soft about the way she kissed you—it was a growl turned into action, raw and hungry, as if she were trying to engrave her possession into every cell of your being.

Her fingers sank into your hair, tugging at it with a firmness that made your scalp tingle, while her other hand anchored itself around your waist, squeezing hard enough to leave marks. The kiss was a fierce collision of lips, teeth, and desire, as if she wanted to devour you whole.

You could barely breathe, lost in her overwhelming heat, in the magic that seemed to vibrate in every inch of your skin. Her taste was a mix of anger and something deeper—something primal and possessive, that made your heart hammer and your legs threaten to give way.

And when she entered you, her eyes turned completely red and frightening. The pleasure she felt was not one of those safe types, it was corrosive, it made you burn inside.

“Fuck, that feels so much better now…” Wanda’s tone seemed lost in you, in your surrender and confidence. “Mommy wants her little girl to cum like this.” She murmurs in a slow rhythm, while biting the curve of your neck and inhaling the scent there.

“Oh, fuck, mommy—” You moaned loudly when you felt her cock hit the spongy spot inside you. “Tell me that you love me. That even after I messed up, you’re still obsessed with me.” You said in a dangerous impulse inside you.

Wanda’s body tensed at your words, her eyes shining with a mix of desire and something deeper—an abyss that she herself seemed unable to control. She didn’t respond immediately, and the silence between you was heavy, heavy, like the pause before a storm.

“Tell me,” you repeated, your voice a little lower, but no less provocative. It was a dangerous impulse, yes, but also a raw need to hear the words come out of her lips.

“I…” Wanda’s breathing was ragged, lust burning like liquid fire in her veins. Her hand came up to cup your face, her fingers trembling with an emotion she couldn’t name as she thrust inside you. “I love you. More than I should. More than is safe.”

The words came out almost like a forced confession, and yet there was an undeniable firmness to them. Wanda seemed lost, as if the intensity of her own feelings were drowning her, but she couldn’t stop.

“Do you think it’s obsession?” She continued, her voice hoarse, almost a whisper. “Maybe it is. Because when I look at you, I can’t think of anything else. I can’t breathe without wanting you closer. Without wanting you all to myself.”

You felt her body tremble against yours, a mix of desire and vulnerability that seemed to swallow the air between you. It was as if Wanda was completely intoxicated by what she felt, unable to contain herself. With you squeezing around her, sucking her cock—extracting all of her milk, making her spill inside you.

“I love you so much…!” Your back arched on the king-size bed, making Wanda bury herself deeper inside you. “So much, mommy…” You curl your fingers between her red strands, feeling the softness.

“Fuck. I’m going to fuck you so fucking hard.” She growled, increasing her movements—frantic and desperate. Wanda was going to cum, and she would cum hard.

Your breasts rubbed together, your nipples hard as rocks with excitement. And it was when she fingered your clit that you lost it. Your hips and legs trembled around her.

“Cum. Cum for mommy, little slut.” Wanda moaned in a slurred, needy tone, thrusting so deep that her hips were uncontrollably slamming into yours. “Shit. You’re so beautiful…”

“Mommy!”

You came, repeating her title like a sacred mantra, your legs shaking and swaying around the woman who kept thrusting—also already giving in to her own orgasm.

Wanda’s orgasm came like a volcanic eruption, a release so overwhelming that it seemed to tear the very fabric of reality around her. It was more than physical pleasure—it was power, pure, intoxicating magic, poured directly into you, as if each thrust was an offering, each moan an ancient chant that awakened something dormant deep within the sorceress.

She had never felt anything like it.

Sweat dripped from her forehead, dripping onto her hot skin, mixing with the tears and saliva you had already shed. But the trembling in your legs and the fire burning in your belly were clear signs that this wasn’t just a climax—it was a fusion. A part of her, an essence, a fragment of her very being, was being deposited within you like a mystical seed that would soon blossom.

“Fuck, this is…” Wanda gasped, unable to find words, her knees sinking into the mattress as her body convulsed with pleasure. The intensity left her staggering, barely able to maintain her balance, as if the weight of the moment were too great to bear. With each tremor, with each contraction of your inner muscles around her, Wanda felt her magic react—sparking, pulsing, flowing into you like a river that overflowed beyond any control.

She gasped, her fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks. “You… fuck, you’re mine.” Her voice came out hoarse, almost like an animalistic growl. “All of this… everything you feel… belongs to me now.”

You repeated her title like a sacred mantra, your voice shaky and punctuated by moans. “Mommy… Mommy…” With each time you said it, Wanda felt her pleasure amplify, reverberating within her own body, until the peak was so overwhelming that she thought she might shatter completely.

When she finally collapsed on top of you, her face pressed against your neck, Wanda could still feel her heart pounding furiously against her ribs. But what truly left her breathless was the absolute certainty that coursed through her body like an electric current: you were marked by her. Indelible. Irrevocable.

“Do you feel it?” Wanda whispered, her lips brushing lightly against your ear. Her voice was low but carried a weight of power. “This is a part of me now, inside you. Growing. Taking root. You’ll never get rid of it.”

The thought made Wanda shiver again. Maria would never have this. She could never touch your soul the way Wanda did. You weren’t just her lover or her submissive anymore — you were an extension of her, the reflection of her magic and her obsession.

It was as if something vibrated beneath your skin, an invisible seed that Wanda had planted within you — something deeper than any physical touch, more penetrating than any word. Her presence was there, latent, like a magical current pulsing inside you, radiating through every cell, every nerve.

It was power.

And at the same time, it was devastation.

You felt your heart hammering in your chest, as if it might burst at any moment, your legs still trembling around her thighs. Your breathing was ragged, but the air seemed insufficient, as though the world around you had changed — as though you had changed.

Wanda had left something inside you.

Something that was growing. Blooming.

Every mark on your skin burned like a silent vow. You belonged to her, and now her magic itself was woven into you — alive, pulsing, demanding to be acknowledged. Your fingers clenched into fists beside the mattress as a tremor ran through your entire body, residual pleasure mixed with a fear you couldn’t trace back to its origin.

Then everything shifted.

The lights in the room flickered.

Once.

Twice.

And then… darkness.

Your head began to spin. You felt a mounting pressure in your ears, a buzzing that seemed to come from within you, as if something were trying to emerge, to break through the surface. Your vision blurred, and the familiar scent of iron filled your nostrils.

Your nose was bleeding.

You brought a trembling hand to your face, touching the blood that slowly dripped down toward your mouth. The metallic taste mixed with the saliva still glistening at the corners of your lips, and you tried to speak, but no sound came out. Everything around you felt distorted, as if the world were spinning on an axis you couldn’t follow.

And then, the voice came.

Shine.

It was like a whisper, but it also echoed like thunder inside your mind.

Shine for the world.

Your body stiffened. The words reverberated within you, pulsing in time with the magic Wanda had left behind. The pain in your temples intensified, as though something was about to explode inside your skull. Each heartbeat sent a wave of agony through your body.

“No… no…” you tried to say, but the voice ignored your resistance.

You are mine.

It was no longer Wanda’s voice.

It was something older. Deeper.

Something that had always been inside you — waiting to awaken.

You rolled onto the floor, pressing your palms against the carpet, trying to anchor yourself to something real, something solid. But everything around you seemed to be crumbling. Your body shook, as if it might shatter under the weight of the magic coursing through your veins.

“I can’t…” you murmured, your voice broken. “I can’t—”

You will shine.

The voice laughed.

Because that’s what you were born for. That’s what you were made to do.

And you knew there was no escape. Wanda’s seed had been planted within you — and now it was beginning to bloom.

But it wasn’t just power growing inside you.

It was destruction.

And, at the same time, a promise that you would never be the same again.

“Please…” you whimpered, not knowing if you were speaking to the voice or to Wanda. “Please, mommy… don’t leave me alone.”

The lights continued to flicker, and the metallic scent of blood in the air made Wanda frown, her gaze darkening with confusion and concern.

“Sweetheart?” Her voice was low, husky, still carrying the remnants of the possessive authority from before, but now there was something more. Something deeply maternal. Protective.

She saw you on your knees, trembling, and the sight hit her like a blow to the chest. The blood dripping from your nose made her heart stop for a moment. This wasn’t the kind of submission she wanted. This was pain. Real. Cruel. And, worse still, it was something she didn’t understand.

“Hey…” Wanda knelt beside you, her fingers trembling as she cupped your face. “Please, look at me. I’m here.”

You couldn’t. Your head was still spinning, the sound of that voice echoing like distant bells inside your mind. Shine. Shine for the world. The words kept hammering at you, as though they were being etched into your skin with fire.

“I can’t…” you whispered, sobbing. “It’s here. Inside me. Something… something is wrong…”

Wanda’s eyes widened, and her concern turned to panic. “Who? Who’s inside you? Maria?” Her voice was a low growl.

You shook your head frantically, your fingers clutching at the fabric of Wanda’s shirt like an anchor. “No… it’s not her. It’s something… A voice. Something that’s trying to use me.”

“No.” Wanda’s voice hardened, and the magic around her began to crackle in the air, sparks escaping from her fingertips. “No one will use you. No one!”

She pulled you into her lap, wrapping her strong arms around your trembling body. Her touch was firm, but there was no anger left. There was a fierce tenderness now, a possessive care that seemed to say: If the world dares to touch you, it will have to go through me first.

“I won’t let anything hurt you,” Wanda promised, her voice a fierce whisper against your ear. “Do you hear me? No matter what it is, no matter who it is. I’m your mother. I will protect you.”

You sobbed against her chest, feeling the security that only Wanda could offer. Even when everything inside you was falling apart, she was there—solid, unchanging.

"I'm so confused," you murmured against her skin. "My head... my head hurts so much..."

Wanda stroked your hair, her fingers gently gliding through the damp strands. "Shh... I know. I know, my love. Mommy's here. You don't have to do anything alone."

Her magic began to envelop you both, a comforting warmth that pushed the darkness away for a moment. Yet, even so, Wanda felt something strange—something coming from within you. A magic that wasn’t hers.

Shine. Shine for the world.

Wanda frowned. Those words weren’t hers, but they lingered in the air like a curse.

"You won't shine for anyone but me," Wanda growled softly, almost as if talking to herself. "You are my light. And no one will extinguish you."

She pulled your face to look into your eyes—her fingers firm yet gentle as she wiped the blood from your nose with her thumb. Your face was streaked with tears and saliva, lips slightly parted in a state of absolute vulnerability. It was the most devastating thing Wanda had ever seen.

"I will take care of you."

Her voice was a whisper, but it carried the weight of an unbreakable promise. "Whatever it is... we'll face it together."

You tried to smile, but the fear still lingered in your eyes. Wanda saw it, and something inside her roared like an enraged bear.

"Whoever did this to you..." Wanda held your face more firmly, her eyes burning with restrained fury. "I will destroy them. I’ll tear apart every single piece of whoever dared to hurt my girl."

You shook your head frantically, panic rising. "No, Wanda... this is inside me."

"Then I'll go inside you too," she said with fierce conviction. "I'll rip it out. I'll cleanse you. I'll keep you safe. And you'll never feel this again."

But as Wanda spoke, you heard that voice in your mind again.

Shine.

It laughed.

Shine… until there's nothing left.

And then, everything went dark.

[...]

While you lay unconscious on the couch, Wanda was restless. She paced the room like a caged animal, her fingers trembling with the magic she was desperately trying to contain. After what had happened—your collapse, the blood, the pain—she felt it. She knew she couldn’t wait any longer. There was something greater, something darker, tied to your necklace, tied to you, and she needed to figure out what it was.

But she didn’t know how.

In a desperate move, she did what she had avoided for months: she reached out to Carol, suspended on the brink between life and death. Wanda had placed Captain Marvel in that state, confining her to a space where her consciousness was held in suspension. But now, the weight of guilt and the need for answers outweighed her hesitations.

Wanda took a deep breath, and with a flick of her fingers, her red magic enveloped Carol. Slowly, she brought her back. Carol's body convulsed, a scream caught in her throat as she opened her eyes.

"You..." Carol whispered, her voice hoarse from so much time in silence, her eyes wide in shock and disbelief that she had allowed herself to be overtaken by Wanda, that she had underestimated her.

"I need you conscious," Wanda said, her tone firm but with an underlying fragility. "This isn’t about you. Not now."

Carol coughed, trying to catch her breath as her senses slowly returned. Her body felt heavy, almost broken, but her mind, always sharp, quickly pieced together what had happened.

"You... kept me like this," she said through gritted teeth, her voice filled with rage. Her eyes glowed, the cosmic energy within her trying to manifest but failing under Wanda's restraints. "How long, Maximoff?"

"It doesn’t matter," Wanda replied firmly. But there was something in her posture—a mix of guilt and desperation—that betrayed more than her words.

"It doesn’t matter?" Carol stood, though unsteady, facing Wanda. "You imprisoned me. You erased me. And now you decide you need me? What gives you the right?"

Wanda stepped closer, her eyes narrowing, her magic still pulsing in her fingers. "I did what was necessary. You wouldn’t understand."

"Wouldn’t understand?" Carol let out a bitter laugh, the sound echoing through the room. "You’re so arrogant, Wanda. You think that just because you have power, you can manipulate people as you please? How wouldn’t I understand? Do you forget who I am?"

"You’re someone who tried to stop me," Wanda retorted, her anger beginning to seep into her voice. "You tried to take her from me. And I couldn’t let that happen. I won’t lose anyone else!"

The two faced each other like two forces of nature on the verge of collision, the tension growing with every second. Carol clenched her fists, the energy within her struggling against Wanda's constraints.

Wanda took a deep breath, her shoulders falling slightly as the intensity in her eyes remained unwavering. The glow of magic in her hands flickered but didn’t fade entirely. She looked fragile, like a branch about to snap, but at the same time terrifyingly formidable, like a storm ready to consume everything around her.

Carol crossed her arms, her expression stern, but there was something different in her stance now. She wasn’t just angry; she was trying to understand, trying to make sense of Wanda’s fierce obsession.

"And what are we going to do then?" Carol asked, her voice a little lower but still filled with skepticism.

Wanda raised her gaze, the red glow reflecting in the dim room. "Take me to Strange."

"Strange?" Carol arched an eyebrow, almost laughing at the idea. "You know he sent me to capture you, don’t you? He gave me clear orders to stop you, Wanda. What makes you think he’ll help?"

There was a heavy silence. Wanda looked at you for a long moment, still unconscious on the couch, your expression soft in contrast to the relentless strength she had shown moments earlier. When she finally spoke, her voice was low, almost reverent.

"Because she’s different," Wanda murmured, as if the words were a secret she didn’t fully understand herself. "So different that even forces like us can’t comprehend her. There’s something in her, something that doesn’t belong to this world… or any other we know."

Carol followed Wanda's gaze to you, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and frustration. "This is about her, isn’t it?" Carol repeated, pointing in your direction. "You think you’re protecting her, but you don’t see that you’re putting everyone in danger! Wanda, what if you’re wrong?"

The question hung in the air, heavy, as if the entire universe was waiting for the answer.

Wanda straightened her shoulders, the brief softness in her expression disappearing, replaced by a cold, unyielding determination. She walked slowly toward Carol, stopping so close that Captain Marvel could feel the heat of the magic pulsing around her.

"If I’m wrong," Wanda said, her voice as sharp as a blade, "then I’ll make it right. Because I won’t lose her. Not now, not ever."

For a moment, Carol remained silent, assessing Wanda as if trying to decide whether to keep fighting or simply accept the inevitable. Finally, she sighed, throwing her hands up in a gesture of resignation.

"Fine," Carol said, defeated but still irritated. "I'll take you to Strange. But know this: if he decides you're a bigger threat than anything else, I won't intervene. You're on your own, Maximoff."

Wanda didn’t respond immediately, but a small smile curved the corners of her lips—not one of satisfaction, but of somber relief.

"I'm not alone," she murmured, her eyes drifting back to you.

Carol shook her head, exasperated. "You're insane. Literally insane."

Wanda lifted her chin, an aura of power mixed with her trademark stubborn arrogance. She faced Carol with the confidence of someone who had confronted the impossible and emerged victorious.

"I'm not crazy, Carol," Wanda said, her voice sharp as a blade and as steady as the magic still pulsating in her hands. "I’m just a simple woman... who loves. And when you truly love someone, there’s no sacrifice too great."

Carol narrowed her eyes, still trying to decide whether that response was genuine or just another of Wanda's manipulations. But the Scarlet Witch offered no further explanation. She turned away, walking toward you with determined steps, her crimson cape billowing like fire as she knelt by your side, her fingers gently brushing your forehead.

"She’s ready," Wanda said, her voice softening as she spoke to you, even with Carol standing just behind her.

The last portal closed behind you, swallowing the dazzling glow of stars and worlds dancing on the edge of the possible and the unknown. In the silence of the new space, Wanda held you firmly in her arms, as if carrying not just your fragile body but all the hope that still lived within her.

She wasn’t foolish. She knew the paths she had chosen would lead to dangers that challenged even the strength of the Scarlet Witch. But she also knew that the light she had found in you—the only one bold enough to pierce the darkness that once threatened to consume her—was something she wasn’t willing to lose.

You were her sun, even now, unconscious and vulnerable. You were the center around which she orbited, the warmth she sought even in moments when the shadows of her mistakes seemed endless. No matter how many worlds they had to cross, how many battles they had to fight. Nothing would be big enough, nothing frightening enough to extinguish the radiance you had brought to her existence.

There was something sacred in the silence between you, something no spell could explain. Every step Wanda took, every surge of cosmic energy you crossed, seemed to strengthen her resolve. No matter the cost, no matter the enemy. She would do anything to protect you—and whatever it was you were about to discover.

In that moment, as the Sanctum loomed ahead like a monolith of mystery, Wanda knew she stood on the brink of something monumental. Something that would change not just her story but the course of the multiverse itself. The pendant around her neck pulsed faintly, as if responding to the presence of the place.

She took a deep breath.

Her destiny lay in the shadows of a mystery she couldn’t unravel, but the light? That was with her, in her arms, ready to be defended against all odds.

As she took the next step, there was no doubt in her mind. Whatever lay ahead, she would face it with the ferocity of someone who had seen the brilliance of something real—and would not allow it to be extinguished.

"Shine." That word echoed in her mind, a silent command and a promise. Because even in the deepest darkness, a sun never surrenders.

~*~

So?

Tag list <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @htinha157 @syssmin @wandasslut3000 @fuzzygiantlamphorse @imaginaryblogger01

[loucifersbitch]

i was tagged by @bidisasterevankinard <3 this is a little something i started this morning (coping with the breakup by using eddie as a conduit to tell tommy off slkjfksjdf)

"So, let me get this straight," Eddie starts. He can't fucking believe this. "You broke things off with Buck because you - and I quote - 'were so in love with him,' and the only way it would end otherwise is with him breaking your heart. Is that what I'm hearing right now?"

"Eddie -" Tommy sighs. He can't do this.

"No, no, I need to understand," Eddie presses on. "Help me out here, man. Why is my best friend currently passed out on my couch after drinking himself sick because the man he loves broke his heart to - apparently - save his own?"

"It's not - he doesn't -" Tommy stammers. Evan doesn't love him. That's not something that happens to Tommy. The people he dates don't fall in love with him.

"Tommy, man, you are not this dense."

no pressure tagging

@powersuitup @tommycake @louisferrignojr @talktonytome @swiftiefirefighters

@comfortingevanbuckley @half-oz-eddie @misterapril @reyesranch @mmso-notlikethat

@rdng1230 @buckhastwohands @louscurls @lavenderleahy @theotherbuckley

@carrythatwayt @monsterrae1 @firehose118 @ohithankyou @loufuckers

@bucksbignaturals @loulovingho @wolffnichols @beefcakekinard @theweewooshow

[dadvans]

i am just so sad right now. like going into s8 i didn’t think bucktommy would be endgame, but the way s8 started changed my mind, so to have them be literally so in love for 5 episodes straight just to have them break up in the most abrupt way?? it just feels so last minute which is shocking because in the interviews this was apparently a planned thing but it doesn’t feel like it at all. Like if this was a concern Tommy had why didn’t it come up at all? like little throwaway lines of Tommy making jokes of Buck getting sick of him or wanted to explore other options or whatever. I hope the backlash makes them rethink, and Tommy comes back but for now it doesn’t seem like it. I guess my only hope is that Buddie goes canon, but even then i won’t be able to really enjoy it. I seriously don’t know if i’ll be able to keep watching the show, not solely because they broke up, but because of how they broke up. (srry for the long ask, just needed to vent)

no apologies needed!

at the end of the day, so many of us found joy in their story, their chemistry, the way even up until the final second tommy admitted that what he wanted with buck was something that would inevitably break his heart.

they were good together. tommy fit into so many intimidating parts of buck's life with ease. tommy is (as far as we know) still good friends with buck's best friend! tommy loved him anyway, loved him warts and all, road shotgun to buck's worst fears and weirdest conspiracies.

at the end of the day, we have a few things:

we GOT them. we got to see them together, we got the soft looks, we got the kisses, the foundation of them that is real and canon in a way we could strike like a match against the edge of a box to light them up for real all over again. i don't think "being canon" gives any credence or superiority to a ship, and have shipped people or characters that have never interacted/existed together in a tangible way, simply because it's FUN. that's how i'll always have fun with ships and fandom, BUT! what a wonderful thing to celebrate that we DID have them, that we have this as a foundation for whatever comes next, that there is never a door permanently closed to them finding each other again when it was already real from the start

for a lot of us, this isn't how their story ends. it's insane that so much fic and content was produced for a canon ship like this. so often fandom is chasing down the what-ifs and never-hads. a lot of us invested in bucktommy because they had the compatibility, the fit, the chemistry, the potential. that's novel shit! that doesn't just evaporate because they broke up in canon. it certainly hurts. the kind of hype we were surfing will crash and sink back in the oncoming months, but i know talking to a lot of people tonight that we aren't done with this ship. we aren't ready to say goodbye.

i'm sad. i'm angry. i felt a real sense of queer euphoria whenever i saw them together, even for 30 seconds, teetering on the edge of this new couple joy learning each other into something new and weird and fun that always lingered as a promise on the edge of their interactions. i was so excited for who buck could become with tommy as his home base. shifting that has rocked me in a bad way.

i expect people to inevitably step away from this ship and this fandom, but i'll mention that non-canon ships like arthur/eames or mcshep or social network rpf or short-lived shows from 1996 (hi sentinel) have had long-lived fandoms and left long-lasting impressions in other fandoms that have lasted for over a decade of zero additional content. this is a playground that, just because they've parted ways for now, we don't have to stop playing in.

and i'll be honest: i have several WIPs i'm like, well trash that! after watching the most recent episode. but i also have a dozen new ideas. new ways they could fall in love now or again, new ways they could meet, new ways they could be for each other.

i'll keep creating. i'll keep dreaming. they won't ever not have the spark that they had. the show could end tomorrow but we'll always have an open door to believing and shaping the thousands of ways they can and will find each other again.

[copinghex]

Behind the curtains | T.S

Summary: You, who once dreamed of being an actress, find out Tommy wasn't supportive as you thought he was | dark!AU

A/N: In dark!Tommy we (should not) trust.

The street was bustling far too much for a Thursday evening. With the sunset near, the cold breeze brought a shiver under your delicate shawl, a gift from Tommy, the pattern gave you a soft yet elegant look, just like every clothing he provided.

Inside Small Heath's church, everything could be heard, a tiny ginger woman thanked the priest in the confessional and walked away, her heels against the wood floors echoed in the whole building. Outside, cars drove by the street and groups marched on the sidewalk.

The few remaining sun rays shone through the stained glasses, painting colored shapes on the walls. At the altar, the candles burned warm orangish on the hem of Mother Mary's veil.

Your heart stung, tears threatening to run down your face, not even the sacred place served some relief, perhaps only going back in time would, back before you ever rented a room on Watery Lane.

“Alone for once, Mrs. Shelby?” the priest asked.

“I'm never alone, father, not for long,”

“Well,” the old man smiled in pity, “would you like to confess?”

“No, I just-” few tears ran down which you quickly brushed off, “I thought I was marrying a sinner, but I guess I married the devil himself,”

“These are strong words, some sins might be worse than others, nonetheless are all sins, worthy of forgiveness for those who regret,” he reprimanded, “is it alright if I leave you alone? I promised to visit a sick child,”

You nodded and he left, it was the first time you were alone in a long while. Tapping your feet on the floor, there was nothing more to do than wait, peeking at the watch on your wrist, it wouldn't take long for you to be found.

The devil walked through the door exact twelve minutes later, you didn't even have to look, only recognize his walking pattern.

“Know the truth and the truth shall set you free,” you said.

“John, eight thirty-two,” he stood beside your bench, “this doesn't seem like a theater to me,”

Earlier that day, you told Tommy you'd watch a play for the evening, the sudden change of events led you to the local church, “I couldn't stand watching it knowing I could be on the stage,”

“It's really a shame, isn't it?”

“Oh, stop it!” you snapped, “The director told me everything! He showed me a resigning document I never signed!”

Tommy's face closed off, taking a cigarette from his pack, he sat near you, “Mr. Thompson talks too much,”

“He showed me proof, my signature in a paper I never saw! How could you do this to me?!”

“How could you do that to me?” he challenged, “I let a woman go to New York with my baby in her womb, I let her sail away for a promising life with you,”

“Oh,” you scoffed, “the woman who betrayed you?”

“She was more willing to marry me than you ever was,” the comparison and disdain in his words hurt you, “I had proposed to you, you said you needed to think, but you know what hurts the most? I knew if Thompson casted you for another play, you'd had left me without question,”

Your chest weighed in tension, Tommy never talked to you so frankly and the impact your previous insecurity had on him seemed to turn at you with full force. To you, it was simply being divided between a career and marriage. To him, it was an ultimate act of betrayal, a spurn of his love.

“Why didn't you take her then? Why not sail to New York? To a more certain future?” you hesitated.

The humiliation of the first answer to cross Tommy's mind would never leave his lips. Because he loved you. He gulped, looking at you with squinted eyes.

“You don't know what you're saying,” he drawled, “you'd be nothing without me,”

“You took away my choice! I spent months waiting to be casted, waiting for a call I'd never get and you knew it,”

“I did, I spared you from a life of supporting roles,”

“Is that what you tell yourself? To feel less guilty?”

“What about this,” Tommy offered, “this item is done, I lied and you found out, now you go to the car, we go home and I treat you right for the night,”

“You can't possibly think sex will fix this,” standing up, you walked past him heading to the door.

Pragmatic as you were, the next logical decision would be leaving him. Tommy ruined your dream, sabotaging and betraying you, he also rooted himself deep inside your heart.

As pragmatic you were, the possibility of leaving him never existed and as tears ran down your face, you walked straight to his car.

[leashybebes]

(belated) tease tidbit tuesday

tagged by the always delightful @bidisasterevankinard. apologies for the delay, i have been sooooo sick 😫

"Ask," Tommy says.

"Huh?"

"Come on. Clearly you're full of thoughts."

"Nope," Buck says, not really knowing why. "No thoughts."

"Evan. You've been in a mood all night."

It feels patronizing in a way Tommy never is with him and Buck can feel his hackles rising. "I'm not in a mood."

He can hear the snap in his own voice and he wonders if Tommy knows he can see his reflection in the window, can see his eyebrows going up, can see him mouthing oookay in a way that makes Buck feel a little bit crazed.

"But if I was - "

"If you were, sure."

"If I was, could you blame me? I wasn't exactly expecting to get blindsided by your ex tonight."

"And I was? Evan, you're acting like I invited him."

Buck doesn't know what to say to that, because it's true, but that doesn't make it any less fucking annoying.

"I don't think we should talk about this tonight," Tommy says after a beat.

"Why not?" Buck demands.

"Because we're both tired and a little drunk and we're going to say things we regret."

"And you just get to decide that, huh?"

"I'm trying to - "

"You're trying to avoid a conversation, how novel," Buck says, and he hates the snarky tone in his own voice, but it's out there now.

"Fine," Tommy says around a huff. "Sure. You seem like you're really in a position to hear that I wanted to marry him and he broke my heart, but that he's the first person I loved out loud and that's always going to mean a lot to me."

And they're not barbs, some part of Buck knows that, but god, they feel like it. Digging under his skin with loved out loud and I wanted to marry him and he broke my heart and always going to mean a lot to me. That guy, that handsome guy, broke Tommy's heart which means Tommy didn't want it to end which means - which means - which means nothing he tells himself desperately.

[nehi-soda]

Once More to See You - DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader No Outbreak AU

Explicit; Minors DNI 18+ only.

Summary: Joel knew exactly how to drive you wild, make you forget everything but the sensation of him; make you forget he was breaking your heart.

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: POSSIBLY DUBCON as reader has been drinking (also tagged), P in V sex, ANGST, smut, secret relationship, praise kink, dirty talk, cream pie, heartbreak, Joel is kind of a dick, dbf!joel, au!joel, no outbreak!joel. Legal age gap (reader is early 20s, and Joel is 56). No use of Y/N. Mood board for aesthetics only; reader's features aren't specified other than Joel can pick them up.

A/N: Posting this a day late as I literally only started writing it yesterday out of nowhere. Enjoy!

Joel's annual fourth of July party was in full swing. Children were running around with sparklers, families were gathered around picnic tables laden with food, and the air was filled with music. Tommy was in control of the music, so of course, AC/DC and Lynard Skynrd had been playing all day. The smell of grilling burgers and hot dogs wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of freshly mowed grass and the tang of chlorine from the pool.

You spotted Joel near the grill, expertly flipping burgers and chatting animatedly with your dad. You felt a flutter of excitement, eager to see him after your last…hangout. As you approached, he glanced your way but quickly looked away, focusing intently on the food.

"Hey, Joel," you called out, trying to sound casual despite the nervous anticipation in your voice.

"Hey," he replied, not meeting your eyes, his tone brisk. He immediately turned to your dad, asking about the game they were planning to watch tomorrow.

You hovered nearby, hoping for a chance to talk, but every time you tried to engage him, he found a way to sidestep your attempts. First, he asked another guest to grab more buns from the kitchen. Then, he excused himself to check on the drinks. Each time you approached, he either walked away or started a conversation with someone else.

Determined not to give up, you followed him to the drinks table, where he was refilling the coolers with ice and beverages. "Joel, can we talk for a minute?" you asked, keeping your voice low.

"I'm busy right now," he said curtly, not even glancing up. He continued to work, his movements tense and hurried.

Your frustration grew as the party continued. You watched him from across the yard, perched on a bench gripping your solo cup tightly as he laughed and chatted with everyone else while avoiding you like the plague. You noticed the way he stiffened whenever you were nearby, how he seemed to find any excuse to move away from you.

“Hey, loner,” your friend Kayleigh slid in next to you, nudging your side. You didn’t answer.

“Um… you…oka-.”

“Not right now, Kay,” you answer abruptly, standing up to get yourself another drink. You downed it in one to try and quell the unease sitting in your stomach. Although it just made you feel even more sick. Something was up.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow and someone had started setting up fireworks for later. Joel had just left the grill, heading toward the house with a tray of empty dishes. This was your chance. With a few more drinks in your system, you'd found the courage to quickly follow him, catching up as he reached the back door.

"Joel, we need to talk. Now," you said firmly, grabbing his arm to stop him.

He looked around, clearly uncomfortable, his eyes darting to make sure no one was watching. "Not here," he muttered.

You tailed him into the kitchen.

He began absent-mindedly washing up some dishes with his back to you.

"Alright, what’s going on? Why have you been ignoring me all day?" you demanded, crossing your arms over your chest trying to sound confident.

“How much have you had to drink?” He said, ignoring your question.

“Not a lot,” you retorted, heat rising up your body.

“That’s a fuckin’ lie,” he scoffed in his southern drawl.

“Oh, so I'm the bad person now, huh?” You replied a little too loudly. “I’m just some silly little girl who doesn’t know anything, running around after you, wondering when you might fuck me next!”

Joel threw a dish into the sink with a loud clatter, making you jump. He turned to face you, his eyes flashing. "You think this is easy for me?" he hissed, keeping his voice low but intense.

Before you could respond, the kitchen door swung open.

"Hey, you two!" Tommy greeted cheerfully, oblivious to the tension. "Just grabbing another drink. Everything okay in here?"

"Yeah, just fine," Joel replied dryly, turning away from you to look out at the yard.

Tommy lingered momentarily, grabbing a drink from the fridge and chatting casually about the party. “We’re settin’ the fireworks off soon,” he said smugly with a toothy grin.

“Oh, great.” You feigned excitement, trying to act normal, but your heart pounded.

The moment he was gone, Joel turned to you, his eyes fixed. "We can't do this here," he said through gritted teeth.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. "Then where? When? You can't just avoid me forever, Joel."

Joel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Fine. Upstairs. Now." Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed toward the stairs, tugging you along by your arm.

You struggled to keep up with him as his heavy boots marched up the stairs; the drink made coordinating your feet very difficult.

Joel turned to face you once you were in his all-to-familiar bedroom with the door closed behind you.

“This needs to stop,” he said sternly.

Your heart dropped at his words. "Stop what? Us?"

"Yes. Us. It’s wrong, and it’s only goin’ to end badly. For both of us." He placed his hands on his hips.

"But we make each other happy. Isn’t that enough?" You said franticly.

"It’s not that simple," his voice strained. "Your dad… if he ever found out… it would be such a mess.”

You shook your head, tears pricking at your eyes. "But he doesn’t have to find out. We’ve been so careful. Please, Joel…I love you,” you sobbed as he pulled you into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you tightly as your fingers twisted in his plaid shirt. The warmth radiating from his body seeped into your bones like a cruel comfort.

"Shhh, I know, baby, it’s okay." Joel hushed, stroking your hair. “It's just so complicated.”

“I don’t care” you pulled back, searching his eyes for any sign that he might change his mind. But all you saw was resignation.

"Please," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Don't do this."

He cupped your face in his hands. “You deserve better than this. Better than sneakin’ around and hidin’. You deserve someone who can give you everything.”

"But I don't want anyone else," you cried, tears streaming down your face. God, you probably looked like a blabbering mess. "I want you."

Joel closed his eyes, pain etched into his features. "And I want you, too. More than you know. But this... it ain't right, darlin’,” and there is was; his velvet drawl reeling you in again. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, and something inside you snapped. The finality of his touch felt like a betrayal. You shoved him back with all your strength, your hands shaking with anger and hurt.

"Don't you dare!" You shouted, your voice trembling with rage. "Don't you fucking dare tell me what's right for me. You don't get to decide that."

Joel just stood there and took it.

“I wish I never fucking met you,” you muttered.

You pushed him again, harder this time. "I wish I never fucking met you!” You repeated.

Joel's expression hardened, and in an instant, he grabbed your arms, backing you up against the wall with a force that knocked the breath out of you. Your eyes were wide as his burned into you, and for a moment, you were actually scared of him. But before you could protest, he was unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans. He roughly hiked up your sundress and lifted you up by the backs of your thighs.

"This is what you want?" Joel growled, his voice low and intense. "One last time, huh?"

"Joel, please...", you gasped.

Your heart raced as his lips sloppily crashed against yours. It was intoxicating; you could smell his cologne and the beer on his breath as you wrapped yourself around him, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, to lose yourself in him. One last time.

The room spun around you, the noise from the party outside fading into oblivion as he slipped your panties to the side and entered you all at once. You took a sharp breath at the sudden stretch you were unprepared for. His movements were driven by a desperate need, forcing himself into you with a mixture of pain and pleasure as you clung to him like your life depended on it. The boom of fireworks outside was the only momentary glitter of light as he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs and ass; you’d hoped to find bruises there in the morning. A flash of red, then white, then blue lit up the right side of his face."You drive me fuckin’ crazy," he leaned in to mutter against your neck, his breath hot and ragged. "I can't stop thinkin’ ‘bout you."

"Th-then… d-don't," you struggled to get your words out as he knocked the air out of you. “J-just b-be with me..."

“Aaah, fuck, who’s got good pussy baby?” Joel growled, his voice low and rough.

"I... I do," you gasped, barely able to breathe as he thrust brutally against your cervix, each movement sending shockwaves through your body.

"Say it again," he demanded, his pace relentless. "Say it again, baby. I need to hear it."

"I do! " You screamed, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths. "I-I’ve got good pussy, Joel. It’s all y-yours!”

"Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he spat. "Screwing your daddy's best friend." He whispered, raw and guttural, sending shivers through you. You could see the intensity in his eyes, his primal need for you. You started to be able to take him more easily as you became wet with arousal. You arched your back, meeting his thrusts with equal fervour, every part of you alight with pleasure. Joel’s hands gripped you tighter, holding you in place as he pounded into you."Ugh…yes, Joel,” you moaned, nails clawing at his salt-and-pepper locks to pull his lips to yours. “l love it w-when you f-fuck me.”

“Hmm, always feel so good, baby,” he pants, as his cock relentlessly slides in and out of your puffy lips. Each thrust hit that sweet spot deep within you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Joel knew exactly how to drive you wild, make you forget everything but the sensation of him; make you forget he was breaking your heart.

“That’s it, baby, it’s okay, just cum for me, cum all over this cock.”

Your body trembled as you cried out his name, your pleasure shattering through you in waves. You closed your eyes tight, feeling yourself gripping every inch of him as you dug your fingers into his shoulders. Joel held you through it, his strong arms keeping you secured against him and the wall as you came apart.

He followed soon after, his release a powerful, shuddering thing that left him collapsing onto you. He emptied every last bit of him into you with a growl.  You pushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead before he buried his face into the crook of your neck, panting for breath. He pulled out of you with a groan, releasing your legs and letting your feet find the ground again. You shuffled awkwardly, rearranging your underwear and smoothing out your dress. Joel looked away, avoiding your eyes as he did his jeans and belt back up. The silence between you was thick and heavy.

"Is this really it, then?" you asked quietly, your voice trembling as you struggled to keep your composure.

Joel sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping. "It has to be. We can't keep doin’ this."

You felt a surge of anger rise in your chest. "So that's it? You just use me one last time and then throw me away?"

He finally met your gaze. "It’s not like that. I never wanted it to end this way.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face.

"But we can’t keep playin’ childish fuckin’ games, and you’re too naive to see the damage this could cause.”

"Don’t you dare put this all on me," you snapped, your voice rising. "You’re the one who started this.”

Joel took a step back. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, but I can’t see you again,” he said coldly.

You turned away, your heart shattering with every word he said. You couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. "Fuck you, Joel,” you spat, storming toward the door. You yanked it open and stepped into the hallway.

Downstairs, the sounds of the party continued but it all sounded like you were underwater.

You moved quickly to the front door and stepped out into the night, the cool air hitting your tear-streaked face. You hugged your arms and walked quickly. The air smelt like sulphur as fireworks illuminated the sky. You didn’t stop until you reached home.

The house was eerily quiet. Too quiet.

Your heart felt like it was being crushed in a vise, each breath harder to draw than the last. You could barely see through the blur of tears as you climbed the stairs, having to use your hands to steady yourself.

You reached your room and slammed the door shut, leaning against it for support. Your legs trembled, and you slid down until you was sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to your chest. You clenched your fists, trying to push down the sobs, threatening to break free. You had known the risks, known how wrong it was, but you hadn't been able to help yourself.

Fucking your dad’s best friend, what did you expect; thought you’d live happily ever after with a white picket fence?

Maybe Joel was right. Maybe you were too naïve. You were fucking crazy to think this could have ended any other way.

But no one made you feel like Joel did. No one felt like Joel did. It was electric. The way he touched you, the way he made you feel alive, cherished, and understood, no one had ever come close. Joel was everything you had ever wanted and more. But now, it was all over.

A soft knock on your door. "Sweetie, can we talk?" Your dad’s voice was gentle, but you couldn't face him.

"Go away," you choked out, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Wondered where you were. You’re missing the fireworks, honey.”

"Please, just leave me alone."

“Hm, Joel did say you weren't feelin’ well, had too much to drink?”

How so desperately you wanted to tell your dad everything just to relieve some of the weight off of your shoulders, but how could you? How could you tell him, oh, by the way, I've been fucking your best friend behind your back for months, buts he’s just ended things and torn my heart into a million pieces? I know exactly just how many kisses fit between his eyes? I know the face he makes when he cums, and I think I can actually feel his cum leaking out of me right now?

divider credit to @kthice

*title inspired by "Once More to See You" by Mitski

[beanarie]

inspired by this post by @monstream theorizing that tommy will pop back up in a couple months and reveal he dipped out like his ass was on fire because he got a cancer diagnosis. (be advised: this is not about real cancer. this is tv cancer.) 1300 words.

a chance encounter

Bobby still has a blood donation appointment at First Presbyterian every two months, which he attends religiously, barring exemptions like the six months he had to skip after the heart attack. Years ago, when it started, Chimney arranged a rotation for rides, and as their team went through staffing changes, it settled to a more informal thing, whichever of them would be available verbally stepping up each time. Athena would have been the logical choice with one of the 118 as backup, but this is theirs. Buck likes it because usually he and Bobby stop for a meal and catch up, just the two of them.

On their way to the elevators, they hear applause in the next wing over, and Bobby gives Buck a little smile before they join the gathering at the back of the small crowd. He loves a bell ceremony.

A teen girl in a green hoodie that reaches her knees is blushing and stumbling over her words, flustered by the attention. "Anyway," she says, "I'm not gonna be sick at prom and I'm so effing excited." She rings the bell and pumps a fist in the air before hugging one of the nurses.

"All right," says a blonde woman holding a clipboard. "We have three more patients who completed treatment! I know, right? It's been a good week."

Buck looks down at the coffee he grabbed from the on-site cafe while Bobby was getting drained, which tastes different somehow but he can't put his finger on it. Soy milk, maybe? A sharp nudge forces him to look up into Bobby's suddenly tense expression.

"Well. So... yeah. These last few months have sucked."

Buck swings his head around and Bobby grabs the coffee out of his hand. There, acknowledging a round of polite laughter, is Tommy, dressed in a henley and flannel shirt, all in shades of blue. Buck always liked him in blue. He looks slimmer, more like the version of himself from Chim and Hen's old team photos. He's wearing a Raiders hat.

"I knew, as a firefighter who flew helicopters, that I probably didn't have the highest life expectancy. But this diagnosis still threw me for a loop."

Buck should not be here. He should not be here. But he can't convince his feet to move.

"I did some dumb things, isolated myself, assumed the worst. It was the staff here who kept--gently--smacking me upside the head, reminding me that there was still hope." Tommy ducks his head and when he looks up eyes are bright. "Thank God for them."

Buck feels like he is stuck in a column of rapidly curing cement. It started down at his feet and now his lungs won't inflate.

"Buck," Bobby hisses, tugging at his sleeve.

"Bug your city council rep to increase compensation for healthcare workers because there's no way they get paid enough to deal with my bullshit." A cluster of small children at the front of the group starts howling at the swear, and he grins, unrepentant. Buck might be drowning. "Thank you, everyone. Fuck cancer." He rings the bell and steps back quickly for the next patient, accepting good-natured pummeling from several members of the staff as everyone applauds.

The smile that settled on Tommy's face vanishes as their eyes meet. The column of cement also vanishes. Breathing hard, his pulse hammering in his ears, Buck follows Bobby down the hall to the elevators.

"Buck?"

It still sounds so wrong coming from him. Buck flinches and looks at the slowly progressing display of which floor the elevator is on. Stairs it is. "I'll meet you down there," he says to Bobby, and doesn't wait for a response.

Buck plows through the door to the stairwell, moving as quickly as possible.

"Wait! Please? I can follow for a little bit, but fourteen flights of stairs is beyond me at the moment."

Buck slows his progress down, stopping at the next landing.

"What-" Tommy takes the stairs slowly, one by one. "What are you doing here? How did you find out?"

Buck glances up. "I didn't. We just happened to be in the neighborhood. This place is our home away from home, you know?"

"Oh," Tommy says, then has the nerve to look concerned. "Is everyone okay?"

"I'm not fucking okay. Did you know you were sick?"

"When?" he temporizes. "I mean, they did tell me at one point."

"You know when," Buck says, seething, his vision growing redder when Tommy doesn't answer. "I asked you to move in with me." I was all in. You didn't have to do this alone.

Tommy finishes the last few steps and joins him on the landing. "You asked your gym rat firefighter boyfriend to move in with you. Not an unemployed puke machine with a thirty-nine percent chance of kicking it in the next five years."

"Oh my God." Buck laughs, wanting to scream at the wall. "So I'm not a newborn bisexual who couldn't possibly know what I want, I'm just a piece of shit who would drop a partner for getting sick. Or maybe I'm both."

"No, I-"

"If you say 'it wasn't you, it was me' I'm gonna start taking these steps three at a time."

"It was-" Up close, Tommy looks tired. There are lines in his face that weren't there before. "Significantly more about me and my trust issues than it was about you. Is that different enough for you to stick around?"

"You gave me trust issues, Tommy. Not just in you, or other people I might date, but in myself."

Tommy's expression is gutted. "I'm sorry. I was trying to avoid more pain in the future, for both of us."

Sparing a thought for Bobby, who hopefully settled in the lobby to wait, Buck sits on the landing, wedging himself against the wall to take up less space. "I loved you."

"I believe you." Tommy sat down next to him, almost touching because of the width of the staircase. "I shouldn't have dismissed your feelings. You're a grown man and all I can say in my defense is that I become the fucking unabomber when I get scared. Ask Howie and Hen about my years as a closet case working under a captain who got a medal for outstanding work in homophobia."

It would be so easy to pull Tommy into his arms. Just reach out.

"Buck?"

Buck swipes at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Please don't call me that."

"I'm sorry. I honestly felt I gave up the right to set myself apart in that way." Tommy swallows. "Evan."

Buck blinks away a fresh round of tears. "Are you okay, really?"

Tommy gestures at himself. "As you can see, I'm not going out tomorrow and running a marathon, but next week I get to start training to go back to work." He shrugs a little, smiling. "So I'm pretty damn peachy."

"What about the thirty-nine percent?"

Tommy whistles while pointing down. "It's pretty much back to whatever my prognosis was for running into fires and flying around in a tin can."

"That's- That's great." Buck's phone rings.

"Hey, I don't mean to interrupt anything," Bobby says. "I just didn't want to leave without saying something. I'll get an Uber, okay?"

"No. No, we're good. I'll see you in five." Buck meets Tommy's steady gaze. "Next week, huh? Do you wanna go for a run at that park near my place? I promise to take it easy on you. Or, not easy, whichever you need."

Tommy visibly stops himself from declining. "Okay. Text me." He rises from the steps and starts for the exit door as Buck begins his way down. "Evan?"

Buck turns. "Yeah?"

"I loved you, too."

Breathing out, Buck rolls his shoulders back. "I figured. See you next week."