#Bandage Protector

[ahalliance]

vi arcane is making me see the naked but bandaged chest potential and i may be making adjustments to my post code death qetoiles design

[jeremiahthefroge]

hey hi hello just finished s1 e13 of mcd. This ones ends with Garroth and Zenix out on patrol and Zenix looking up and aiming his bow at Garroth with the Scary Piano playing. What I think is a fun detail is that Zenix actually had Aphmau make that bow and those arrows for him in the previous episode! And you know! Garroth obviously at least admires Aphmau and supports her and is like, already down to protect her at this point! He might not be like super devoted to her and he might not even love her yet but still there's a bond starting there! He was like JUST talking about how he needs Aphmau to stay safe bc the village will be in safe hands if he dies and that he wouldn't want her death to be on his hands, so OBVIOUSLY HE CARES! And her bow and arrows just put this man in critical condition in the hands of the knight he is TRAINING. What!! What the fuck!!!

[purpleturtle9000]

i know the bandage on raph's plastron is probably just an aesthetic choice but what if he has a hole there and the bandage is there to cover it up

[repetitive-mvsic-o-show]

"Hello there. I'm Search Button, the owner of the show. I've hosted this show to have fun and to amplify contestants' social skills."

"Repetitive MVsic O' Show is a show based off of learning. It is to practice verbal education, such as socializing, presenting, and the main purpose:"

"Singing."

Search Button:

Role: Host of RMO'S.

Personality: Formal, Confident, Rational, Coherent.

Sexuality: Aroace and Cisgender Male. He/Him.

Height: Average compared to the rest; 2'4ft.

Age: 21.

Character list:

Saturns Ring [He/They]

Search Button [He/Him]

Growth Mindset/Fixed Mindset [She/They (FOR BOTH)]

Tone Tag [Any Pronouns]

Backpack Pin [She/Her]

Screen Protector [He/Him]

Bandages [She/Her]

Therapy Sheet [They/Them]

A

Baking Paper Sheet [They/Them]

Disc Golf Basket [He/She]

Kitchen Grease [She/Her]

Suncatcher [He/She]

Alcohol Marker [They/Them]

Appearance here.

OOC: This blog is made for asking the RMO'S cast!! I may post drawings or animations so, yeah :]

Main blog[s]:

@hello-its-j10 and @hello-its-j10s-stuff

Avaliable during times:

Between 4pm-12am on weekdays

Between 12pm-12am on weekends

[yuujispinkhair]

Boxer!Sukuna headcanons

Inspired by this lovely ask. Thank you so much for sending me that and making me lose my mind over Boxer!Sukuna.

Pairing: Boxer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: fluff + smut Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: 18+, modern AU, smut, squirting. Mentions of boxing injuries, biting, blood. I know that boxers usually wear a groin protector, but I chose to ignore this for this AU because I wanted to write a sexy detail lol. Sukuna + Reader are in a relationship. Minors don't interact. Divider @/benkeibear

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who always wants you by his side backstage until it's time for him to enter the arena. You are his good luck charm and the only one who is allowed to wrap the bandages around his hands before he slips into his gloves. Not that he needs any luck with the skills he has, but he loves seeing you press your sweet kisses on his boxing gloves and smile at him before you hug him tightly and tell him to please be careful.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who gets a warm feeling in his heart when he sees how worried you always are. Much more nervous before his fights than he is. But he always reassures you, wrapping his muscular tattooed arms tightly around you and hugging you to his firm body while he tells you, "Don't worry, princess. You know I never lose."

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who smiles while you help him get dressed before a fight, helping him slip into the white silk kimono he wears for his ring entrance show. He can clear his mind the best when he feels your gentle hands caressing over his broad back.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who gives you his most charming smile before he grabs your chin and asks you for a good luck kiss, not just on his boxing gloves but also on his lips.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who always tells you he loves you before he leaves the backstage area. And hearing your "I love you, too" in return gives him another surge of motivation.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, whose ring-entrance show always makes the crowd go wild. The whole arena is bathed in blood-red light. A picture of an ancient shrine in a sea of blood gets projected onto the large screens. Dramatic classical music starts playing as a huge throne of skulls emerges from the fog, with Sukuna lounging casually on it, his head resting on the back of his hand. He's wearing the snow-white kimono and a crown on his pink hair, presenting himself as The King of Curses, which is his stage name.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, whose stage name fits him perfectly. One look at him and his powerful body and that dangerous and ambitious glint in his eyes, and everyone knows this guy is truly a King in the boxing ring.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who gracefully walks towards the ring with an arrogant look on his tattooed face, only accompanied by his assistant Uraume, who walks a few steps behind him as if they are a loyal shrine servant who follows their master obediently. They take off Sukuna's kimono for him and bow respectfully while the crowd cheers loudly.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who looks intimidating but beautiful as he stands there with a posture like a God while the white silk slips off his broad shoulders and reveals all the firm muscles and the sexy tattoos on his tall, athletic body.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who drops his serious act the moment he climbs into the ring and instead smirks his most charming smirk and lifts a hand to casually wave at his fans, letting them celebrate him as if he already won.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, whose last glance before every match belongs to you, though. As much as he enjoys the attention and worship from his fans, he always loves your gaze on him the most. You are the one who grounds him before a fight, the one who gives him the strength and the right mindset to lead him to victory.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, whose maroon eyes look directly into yours while he kisses his boxing gloves, at the same spot where your lips left their kisses a few minutes ago backstage. And right before he turns around to face the referee and his opponent, he winks at you and mouths, "I'll win this fight for you, baby".

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who already mocks his opponent before the fight even starts. Smiling tauntingly at him and asking him if he is scared. "You know, you can still run, little boy."

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who looks so sexy during his fights. All of his attacks are powerful and well-planned. He moves gracefully through the ring, like a big cat on the prowl, beautiful and deadly. Everyone can see that he isn't someone who just relies on his brute strength. Sukuna is intelligent, and he uses his mind to win his fights.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who is both hated and loved by the judges. They hate how cocky he is but admire his skills and respect him for how well-prepared he is for his matches.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who wins most of his fights with a knockout, laughing triumphantly when the referee counts down the seconds.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who only loses fights when he gets disqualified for committing a foul. Sometimes, he bites his opponents, drawing blood with his sharp teeth and laughing as he licks the blood off his lips. You know that this is also part of Sukuna's strategy. He is too controlled to let himself get carried away during a fight, but he loves the reputation those bloody attacks give him, basking in the fear he sees in his opponents' eyes when he whispers to them before a fight, "Did you see the guy I bit last month? Let's see how your blood tastes on my tongue."

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who is brilliant at blocking punches but also cannot be stopped if he gets hit. You used to be worried sick when you saw him receiving blows to the head until Sukuna reassured you that he is allowing it on purpose. It's all for the show. And sometimes, because he craves the pain since, it will spur him on even more.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who laughs after every punch his opponent lands, smirking cat-like as he licks the blood off his cracked lip, and his wild maroon eyes glitter amusedly at the other guy: "Aww, was that all you can do, brat? Gimme more, come on! Punch me! Make me bleed for real, you coward!"

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who looks so sexy with his tattooed skin all sweaty, every muscle in his tall, strong body taut. His veins standing out, and his broad chest rising and sinking as he breathes deeply. The outline of his long, thick cock visible through his dark red boxing shorts, making you want him so much.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who wears a sexy smirk on his beautiful tattooed face when he gets declared winner. He looks deeply into your eyes when the referee yanks his hand into the air to signal his win. This first moment is always for you alone, mesmerizing maroon eyes silently telling you that Sukuna dedicates this win to you.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who then punches his fist into the air and does a little round in the ring to let the crowd celebrate him like the King that he is. He is a professional, giving his fans what they crave, even while he craves something very different at that moment after a match.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who expects you to wait for him in his private locker room backstage, naked and wet, with your legs spread, ready to get taken by him.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who takes you rough and hard. He needs to fuck you to come down again after being so pumped up during his fight. His tall, muscular body is still dripping with sweat, smelling so sexy, a mix of sweat and musk and his expensive cologne. His breath is loud and harsh in your ear, turning into low, hoarse groans as he pounds your cunt with his cock and his heavy balls, just like he pounded his opponent with his fists.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who rubs your swollen clit firmly and whispers dirty things in your ear, making sure you give him your everything and squirt all over him when you cum on his fat cock.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who coos at you and calls you his good girl, his love, as he chases his own orgasm, finally allowing himself to let go, fucking you with hard erratic thrusts, his face buried in your neck, moaning loudly until he captures your lips in a heated kiss when he shoots his hot cum into your cunt.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who cuddles you afterward, pressing himself tightly against you while he is still buried balls-deep inside you, resting his forehead against yours and thanking you for being his lucky charm and the one who gives him strength. He stays like that, pressing you down with his heavy body, kissing you tenderly until his breathing finally calms down and the sweat on his body begins to dry.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who picks you up and murmurs to you, "Hold on to me, princess," before he carries you to the shower, not letting go of you even for a second, needing his princess on his cock and in his arms.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who showers with you and lets you wash him, sighing when you massage shower gel into his taut muscles, caressing him, and cleaning him, easing the tension in his body.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who returns the favor and lets his large, calloused hands wander gently over your naked and soaped-up body while he kisses you nonstop. Who caresses another orgasm out of you while you stroke his long thick cock slowly, making him spill his seed all over your hand.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who isn't the famous boxer, The King of Curses, anymore, when he is here under the shower with you. Here he is just Sukuna, your fiancé, who is joking around with you, all playful again, grinning that sexy grin and kissing you so sweetly, whispering against your skin how much you mean to him, and asking you where you want to have a late dinner tonight.

++ Boxer!Sukuna, who fucks you once more, this time against the shower wall with your legs wrapped tightly around his hips and your hands in his pink hair. But this time, it is slow, sensual lovemaking. Slow, deep thrusts and tender French kisses until you both find completion at the same time and moan into each other's mouth. The perfect finish for a successful match.

HE IS SO SEXY 😭😭 I didn't know I would write so much for Boxer!Sukuna, but I enjoyed it so much to think of his dramatic ring-entrance show and the way he boxes, etc. I hope you enjoyed it too!!

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet.

[stylesispunk]

"Did the love affair maim you too?" | Part ii

Joel Miller xf!reader

part one | next part

chapter summary: After getting back his memories, Joel and you slipped away again.

word count: 15,3k (yes, it's longer than the first chapter)

warnings: angst, perhaps fluff, mentions of death, mentions of blood, and more angst, you will find out why Joel is mean in this chapter. I know I'm a teacher, but I didn't proofread, so I apologize for any mistake. paragraphs in italics indicate flashbacks.

a/n: Hello! The awaited part 2 of this story is here! I want to say thank you for the amount of love the previous part received, it was so nice to see all your reactions to this one! It was also my first fic reaching 1k> in less than a week and was overwhelming (positively). THIS IS NOT THE LAST PART, so stay tuned for the next! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! happy reading and PLEASE tell me what you think. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

For a mere second of time, wanting was enough for you. In a harsh reality where a tender love couldn’t be part of the writing pages of a tragedy that had changed the plans destiny had for humanity, even a simple glimpse of a spark was enough to initiate the fire.

Finding a reason to wake up was enough. Joel was enough for you, even when it was a path with not a clear ending.

A lie.

A maim affair engulfed in fire burning your lungs.

A tragedy.

You looked up from your work as you sensed people entering at the place, your eyes meeting Joel’s for the first time. His expression was hard, his eyes narrowed as he sized you up. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you with a guarded look that made you feel like you were being evaluated.

“Can I help you?��� you asked, trying to keep your voice steady under his intense gaze.

“She needs that looked at,” he said, his tone brusque as he gestured to Ellie’s arm.

You nodded, motioning for Ellie to sit down. As you began to clean the wound, you could feel Joel’s eyes on you, watching your every move. It was as if he was waiting for you to make a mistake, to prove that you didn’t belong there.

“So, you’re infamous nurse” Joel said after a moment, his voice still cool and distant.

You looked up from your work, meeting Joel’s eyes briefly before returning your focus to Ellie’s wound. His words hung in the air, a subtle challenge beneath the surface.

“Infamous?” you repeated, trying to keep your tone neutral. “I didn’t know I had a reputation.”

Joel shrugged, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze never leaving you. “Small town. People talk.”

You nodded, understanding that this was as much about sizing you up as it was about Ellie’s injury. You’d heard about Joel—everyone in Jackson had. He was a protector, a survivor, and not someone who trusted easily.

“I’m just here to help,” you said, keeping your voice steady as you wrapped Ellie’s arm with a bandage. “That’s all.”

Ellie, sensing the tension, glanced between the two of you, her eyes wide. “She’s okay, Joel,” she said, trying to ease the atmosphere. “It’s just a scratch.”

Joel didn’t respond to Ellie; his focus remained on you. There was something in his eyes—a guardedness, a wariness that told you he was waiting for you to prove yourself, or perhaps waiting for you to slip up.

“I’ve been in Jackson for a few days” you continued, finishing up with Ellie’s bandage. “Just trying to do my part.”

“Everyone’s got a part to play,” Joel said, his tone still clipped. “Just make sure you know yours.”

You felt the sting of his words but didn’t let it show. Instead, you nodded, stepping back as Ellie hopped off the table.

“Thanks,” Ellie said, giving you a small smile.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, managing a smile in return.

Joel pushed off the wall, his eyes still on you as he motioned for Ellie to follow him. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice softening slightly when he spoke to her.

As they walked towards the door, Joel paused for a brief moment, his hand resting on the doorknob. He turned back, his eyes meeting yours once more. There was something in his gaze, something more than just suspicion. It was as if he was searching for something in you, trying to read who you really were beneath the surface.

For a second, the hardened lines of his face softened, but just as quickly, the guarded expression returned. Without another word, he turned away and led Ellie out of the infirmary, the door closing behind them with a quiet thud.

You felt like breathing again.

By the moment you had reached your house, the sun had barely risen, casting a pale light over the quiet settlement. A few people were starting their duties as you walked with dried tears on your face, just wanting not to be perceive and being able to take a shower and follow your routine as you always used to die it since your arrival, but the ache was bigger than your wiliness and you ended up lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, the horror on Joel’s face kept replaying in your mind. The heartbreak was raw and overwhelming, making it hard to breathe, let alone face the day.

You didn’t even notice you had fallen sleep until a knock came at your door, it took a moment for you to register the sound. You dragged yourself out of bed, wiping at your newly fresh tears from your eyes and trying to compose yourself as best as you could.

Opening the door, you found Maria standing there, her expression concerned.  “Hey,” she said softly, her eyes scanning your face. “Ramirez told me you didn’t show up at the infirmary this morning. Thought I’d check on you.”

You forced a weak smile, stepping aside to let her in. “Thanks, Maria. I just... fell asleep”

Maria nodded, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. She glanced around, taking in the disarray before turning back to you. “You don’t look like you’ve slept much.”

“I had a pretty good sleep” you said, voice breaking at how you so could still picturing Joel’s eyes looking at you with adoration last night “But morning came” you said, voice breaking “Joel got his memory back.”

Maria's eyes widened with concern and understanding. She moved closer, gently placing a hand on your arm. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes again. "He doesn't remember loving me, Maria. He thinks I took advantage of him. He hates me."

Maria's expression softened, and she pulled you into a comforting hug. "I can't imagine how painful that must be for you. But you didn't take advantage of him. You both shared something real, even if he doesn't remember it now."

You clung to her, "I don't know what to do. I feel so lost right now."

Maria pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "Take it one step at a time. Give yourself permission to feel what you're feeling. And remember, you have people here who care about you. You don't have to go through this alone."

You nodded, trying to find some comfort in her words. "Thanks, Maria. I just... I don't know how to face him now."

Maria squeezed your hand reassuringly. "You don't have to figure it all out today. Take some time for yourself. Maybe stay away from the infirmary for a today? give yourself a break."

You sighed, feeling lost. "Yeah, maybe that's a good idea."

Maria smiled softly. "We'll figure this out together, okay? You're stronger than you think, and you have a lot of people who care about you."

You managed a small smile. "Thanks.”

She nodded, giving you another comforting squeeze before standing up. "I'll check in on you later, alright? And if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

As she left, you felt a small sense of humiliation, as if what had just happened was just a small piece of gossip to feed a community.

You stare at the wall for a minute, getting your stuff together. If you could get over what happened before arriving to Jackson, you could follow your life. That’s what you were making yourself believe.

So, you changed into new clothes, placing Joel’s shirt under your bed to not having sight of it again. And with a deep breath you left your house, walking to de infirmary to get your job done.

A broken heart wasn’t really a big issue in an already broken world.  

As you walked to the infirmary, the weight of the morning's events lingered in your chest. The usual bustle of the settlement seemed distant, like a muted backdrop to your internal turmoil. Every step felt heavy, but you kept moving, determined to focus on your responsibilities and find some semblance of normalcy.

Upon arriving at the infirmary, you were greeted by the familiar soft hum of activity. People glanced at you with curiosity, but no one asked any questions. You were grateful for their unspoken understanding, and you quickly immersed yourself in your tasks, finding solace in the routine.

Hours passed in a blur of tending to some Jackson residents, organizing supplies, and ensuring everything was in order. The work kept your mind occupied, though it couldn't completely drown out the ache in your heart.

As the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you saw Maria standing there, her expression gentle yet firm.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft but steady. "How are you holding up?"

You managed a small, tired smile. "I'm getting by. Staying busy helps."

Maria nodded, understanding in her eyes. "I'm glad you're here. I just wanted to check in and see if you needed anything."

You shook your head. "I don’t want to talk. It’s over” you said, avoiding her gaze.

She placed a reassuring hand on your arm. "I know you said you don't want to talk, but I'm here if you change your mind," she said softly. "Sometimes it helps to just let it out."

You looked at her, the pain still fresh in your eyes. "Thanks, Maria. Maybe... maybe later. I just need some time now."

She nodded, respecting your need for space. "Take all the time you need. Just remember, we're here for you."

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, a bit of rage simmered.

“You all were the ones who told me to go for it. You told me Joel was in love for me and him recovering his memory wouldn’t break what was there, but this morning he treated me like a whore and broke my heart.”

Maria's eyes filled with sympathy and regret. "I know, and I'm so sorry for what you're going through. We all believed it would be different. Joel... he's complicated. The things he's been through have left deep scars. But that doesn't excuse how he treated you."

You took a shaky breath, the pain still fresh and raw. "I just don't understand how it could change so quickly. One moment, we were so happy, and the next... he hates me."

Maria reached out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. "Joel's been through a lot, and sometimes people lash out when they're scared or confused. But that doesn't make it any easier for you. You deserve better than that."

You nodded, tears welling up again. "I just wanted to be happy. I thought we could be happy together."

Maria's grip tightened slightly, a gesture of support. "You will be happy again. It might not feel like it now, but you will. You're strong, and you have people who care about you. We'll get through this together."

Maria gave your arm one last reassuring squeeze before stepping back. You watched her leave, feeling of sorrow. The pain was still there, but you knew it would take time, but you also knew you wouldn't have to face it alone.

Later that evening, the emotional turmoil still roiling within you, you decided to head to the bar. You hoped the familiar atmosphere and a drink might help numb the pain, even if just for a little while. As you pushed open the door, the hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses filled the air, a stark contrast to the quiet despair you felt inside.

You made your way to the bar, trying to avoid looking around too much, but it was impossible not to notice Joel sitting at a table in the corner. His arm was wrapped around Lori, and they were laughing together, looking every bit like a happy couple. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut, the wound from the morning’s confrontation ripping open all over again.

Taking a deep breath, you walked up to the bar and ordered a drink, trying to keep your hands from shaking as you waited, Rick, the bartender, sensing your mood offered a small smile.

“What’s wrong with your face, darling?” he asked, concerned on his eyes.

You graced him with a small, tired smile at the question. “Just a rough day,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded understandingly, setting your drink in front of you. “Well, here’s something to help take the edge off. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” you said, taking a sip of the drink. The warmth of the alcohol spread through you, momentarily dulling the pain.

As you sat there, trying to lose yourself in the comforting anonymity of the bar, you couldn’t help but glance back at Joel and Lori. Their laughter and closeness were a stark contrast to the emptiness you felt. You turned away quickly, not wanting to see any more.

“Is it Joel?” Rick asked gently, his voice cutting through your thoughts.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down.

He sighed sympathetically, shaking his head. “Love can be a real mess sometimes.”

You chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

The bartender gave you a knowing look. “It’ll get better, you know. It might not seem like it now, but time has a way of healing these things.”

You took another sip of your drink, hoping he was right. “I hope so.”

“If you need anything, just ask me, okay?” he said, smiling at you before going back to his task.

You took another sip of your drink, hoping he was right. “I hope so.”

You nodded, trying to muster a smile in return. As the Rick moved away, you felt the weight of the day pressing down on you again. Lost in thought, you barely noticed the person sitting next to you until you felt their presence.

Turning slightly, you saw Joel, his expression unreadable. Your heart skipped a beat, a mix of emotions surging through you, all the pain, anger, and a lingering trace of love.

Perhaps he was here to apologize.

Joel cleared his throat, looking almost as uncomfortable as you felt. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

You stared at him, trying to gauge his intentions. “Hey,” you replied, your voice strained.

Joel shifted in his seat, glancing at the drink in front of you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to say much more. The sight of him so close, the contrast memories of his tender touch last night and the harsh words from the morning still fresh, made it hard to breathe.

He took a deep breath, his eyes finally meeting yours. “Look, about this morning…I was asking myself if I should let my door open tonight for you to come in the lure or something?”

The laugh he made after that cracked your already broken heart. The sound was harsh, cruel, and it cut through you like a knife. Your eyes widened in disbelief, and you felt your entire body tense.

“You think this is funny?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with hurt and anger. “You think what happened between us is something to joke about?”

Joel’s laughter died on his lips as he saw the hurt and anger in your eyes. “I- “

“What did you mean? you interrupted, your voice rising despite your efforts to keep it steady. “Because it sure as hell feels like you’re entertaining yourself by making jokes right now.”

Joel's face twisted into a bitter expression. “What do you expect me to say? That I suddenly remember everything and I'm head over heels for you? Life doesn't work that way, princess”

Your heart sank further, the cruelty of his words stinging more than you wanted “You don’t have to be cruel to be funny, Joel. You could at least try to understand what I’m going through.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms defensively. “Understand what? That you’re upset because you tried to rewrite a history that doesn’t exist between us? I’m sorry, but I can’t change how I feel—or don’t feel.”

You shook your head, feeling an anger bubbling within you. “You don’t get it.” You said, simply. Taking a seat on the stool, again.

Joel’s expression hardened. “You’re too busy living in a fantasy to see that whatever you think happened between us is over. I don’t remember it, and I don’t care to. Move on.”

You looked at him, fighting the tears. “I will move on from you. You’re not that important.” You looked towards the direction he had come from, not breaking the façade. You immediately spotted Lori who seemed amused at Joels treating you badly. “Go back to your woman, Miller”

Joel’s jaw tightened at your words, and he leaned in closer, his voice low and laced with anger. “You know what? I will. At least she knows where we stand. Unlike you, clinging to some fantasy that never existed.”

Your vision blurred with anger and hurt as you stared at him. “You really think you’re better than me.”

He smirked, a cruel glint in his eyes. “I’m done with your drama.”

The words hit you like a slap, and before you could stop yourself, you balled your hand into a fist and swung at him. The punch landed squarely on his jaw, causing him to stagger back, a look of shock and pain flashing across his face.

The bar fell silent as everyone turned to witness the commotion. Joel touched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you, anger and something else—something more vulnerable—flickering in his gaze.

“Don’t you ever talk to me like that again” you spat, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. “You are the worst mistake I’ve done here.”

Joel's eyes blazed with a mix of anger and shock, but he didn’t say anything. You could see his jaw clenching, and the vulnerability in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, hardened look. The silence in the bar was deafening, every eye on you.

You didn’t wait for his response. You turned on your heel and marched towards the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of your emotions threatened to overwhelm you, but you refused to let Joel see you break down.

As you pushed the door open, the cool night air hit your face, offering a small respite from the intensity of the bar. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the tears you had been holding back finally spilled over. You wiped them away angrily, not wanting to show any more weakness.

As you stormed out into the night, the tears mingling with the cool air, you heard the door swing open behind you. Heavy footsteps quickly followed, and you knew who it was before you even turned around.

"Hey," Tommy called out, his voice filled with concern. "Wait up."

You spun around to face him, your anger and hurt bubbling over. "What do you want, Tommy?" you snapped, your voice trembling with emotion. "Did you come to see the fallout of your brother's words?"

Tommy stopped a few feet away, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I came to check on you," he said softly. "I saw what happened in there. Are you okay?"

You laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and broken. "Do I look okay to you, Tommy? Your brother just ripped my dignity there?”

Tommy's eyes were filled with sympathy. "I know Joel can be a real asshole sometimes. But he's just confused. This whole memory thing has messed with his head."

You shook your head, the tears streaming down your face. "No, Tommy. This isn't his memory. He doesn't care about me. He never did. He never will”

Tommy took a step closer, his expression pained. "That's not true. I know my brother, and I know he cared about you. He's just scared. He doesn't know how to handle this."

You scoffed, the anger boiling over. “Care about me?” you laughed. “He was just dumfounded. What you saw inside is the real him.”

Tommy's face twisted with concern, his eyes pleading for you to understand. “Look, I know it seems like that right now, but Joel’s been through a lot. This memory thing has him all messed up.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling. “No, Tommy. You didn’t hear the things he said. He thinks I took advantage of him. He doesn’t remember any of the good times, any of the moments we shared. He just sees me as some... some opportunist.”

Tommy sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what to say. Joel’s always been stubborn, and this whole situation is making it worse. But you’re not alone in this. We all care about you.”

“Caring about me doesn't fix what he did," you said, your voice breaking. "He treated me like I was nothing.”

“I get it. I really do,” Tommy replied, his voice softening. “Just... give it time. Maybe things will get clearer.”

“Time won’t change what he said. It won’t change how he made me feel,” you replied, the bitterness in your voice evident.

Tommy opened his mouth to speak but then closed it, realizing there were no words that could ease your pain. He took a step back, giving you space. “I’m here if you need me. Just remember that.”

“I don’t need the baby miller protecting me.” You spoke. “From now on, I’m just the nurse and if you need me patrolling, I don’t want Joel near me.”

Tommy's face fell slightly, but he nodded, understanding the gravity of your words. "Alright. I'll make sure to arrange things so you don't have to cross paths with him."

You could see the concern in his eyes, but you didn't have the energy to address it. "Thank you," you said, your voice hollow. "I need to be alone now."

Tommy hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Take care of yourself, alright?" He turned and walked back towards the bar, leaving you standing alone in the quiet night.

As you watched him go, you felt a mixture of relief and sadness. The night air was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to find some semblance of comfort.

Turning away from the bar, you started walking, not sure where you were heading but knowing you needed to move. Each step felt heavy, but you forced yourself to keep going. You would find a way to heal, even if it felt impossible right now.

One step at a time, you told yourself again. One step at a time.

Week one.

You had promised yourself to not having. And Joel had had started to have punctuating headaches.

When he arrived, he noticed another guy standing where you used to be. The unfamiliar face caught him off guard, and a sense of unease settled in his stomach.

"Where's the nurse?" Joel asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

The new guy, a young man with sandy hair and a nervous demeanor, looked up from his preparations. "She asked to be reassigned. Said she didn't want to do patrols anymore."

Joel's heart sank. "Did she say why?"

Before the guy could answer, Tommy walked over, overhearing the conversation. "I'll take it from here," Tommy said, looking at the new guy, who nodded and walked away.

Joel turned to Tommy, his expression a mix of confusion and worry. "What's going on, Tommy? Why'd she ask to be reassigned?"

Tommy sighed, crossing his arms. "She didn't want to be around you, Joel.”

Joel felt a pang of guilt and frustration. "I didn't mean for things to get this bad. I was just... I was trying to deal with everything, I think I handled it wrong."

Tommy nodded. "Yeah, you did. And now she’s moving on as you asked her to.”

Joel's chest tightened at Tommy's words. "I didn't think she'd actually was…I- I thought she’d... I don’t know, understand.”

"Understand what, Joel?" Tommy asked, his tone sharper than usual. "That you were scared and hurt, so you took it out on her? You made your bed, now you’ve gotta lie in it."

Joel ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his mistakes. “Okay what’s so wrong? Since when she is in love with me?”

“Did you know she was the one who brought you back here when you feel and hit your head so hard you forgot about her? Or about all this past year?” Tommy said exasperated, “She was there for you every single day and man, she was scared of letting you in because she knew all this was going to happen.”

Joel's mind reeled as Tommy's words sank in. "She brought me back?" he echoed, a wave of guilt washing over him.

"Yeah," Tommy said, his voice heavy with frustration. "She did everything for you. Every single day. And you just pushed her away like she meant nothing."

Joel felt his heart constrict. He had been so consumed by his own confusion and pain that he hadn’t stopped to consider what she had gone through. "I didn't know. I didn't remember."

"That’s the point, Joel. You didn't remember, and instead of trying to understand, you lashed out at her."

Joel nodded slowly, trying to absorb the pieces of new information.

"You can't just fix this with a few words, Joel.” Tommy added, as if he had just read his brother’s mine. “She had gone through much already.”

“What do you mean by that?” Joel asked, concern came from nowhere.

Tommy sighed deeply, looking away for a moment before meeting Joel's gaze again. "She went through hell before she even got here, Joel.”

Tommy’s words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken pain. Joel's brow furrowed as he tried to grasp what his brother was saying.

"What do you mean?" Joel asked, his voice low and hesitant, the concern now unmistakable.

Tommy looked at him for a long moment, as if debating whether to reveal something he wasn’t sure Joel was ready to hear. Finally, he sighed, his expression softening with a mix of empathy and frustration.

"She was on her own for a long time before she found Jackson," Tommy began, his tone measured. "Lost her family, everyone she ever cared about. Saw things that would break most people. But she survived. She made it here, and despite everything, she decided to stay and help us. She didn’t have to, but she did. And when you came back hurt and lost, she put everything into helping you, even though she knew it was a risk."

Joel felt a lump forming in his throat as Tommy spoke. He had been so wrapped up in his own struggles that he hadn’t seen the depth of what she had endured.

"And you," Tommy continued, his voice thick with emotion, "you were her last straw, Joel. She let her guard down for you, and you crushed her.

Joel’s heart ached at Tommy’s words. He felt the sting of regret deep in his chest, knowing that he had only added to her pain.

"Tommy, I..." Joel started, but the words failed him. What could he say that would make any of this right?

"You need to understand something, Joel," Tommy said, his voice firm but not unkind. "She’s not just some woman who’s here to patch us up and send us on our way. She’s a survivor, just like us. And she deserves a hell of a lot better than what you gave her."

Joel nodded, feeling the full weight of his actions pressing down on him. He realized now just how much he had taken for granted, how much he had failed to see.

That same afternoon, the weight of his guilt and determination pressing heavily on his chest, Joel made his way to the infirmary. He had rehearsed what he would say a hundred times in his head, but the closer he got, the more uncertain he felt. He needed to talk to you, to apologize, to start making things right.

When he arrived, he hesitated at the door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open. The familiar smell of antiseptic and the soft hum of activity greeted him as he stepped inside.

You were at the far end of the room, organizing supplies and preparing to leave for the day. Your back was turned to him, and for a moment, he just stood there, unsure of how to start. But then you sensed his presence and turned around, your eyes meeting his.

For a brief second, something flickered in your gaze—recognition, maybe even surprise—but it was quickly replaced by a cold, distant expression.

"Hey," Joel said, his voice sounding more tentative than he intended.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you continued with what you were doing, organizing a stack of medical supplies. It was clear you were trying to keep busy, to avoid engaging with him.

"Can we talk?" Joel asked, taking a cautious step closer.

You paused, your hands stilling for a moment before you turned to face him fully. Your expression was unreadable, your eyes guarded. "I'm busy, Joel," you said, your tone clipped and distant.

Joel felt a pang in his chest at your coldness, but he knew he deserved it. "I know. I just... I wanted to apologize. For everything. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry."

You looked at him for a long moment, your expression hard. "I don’t need your apologies," you replied, your voice steady but laced with an edge of bitterness. "What’s done is done."

Joel swallowed, feeling the sting of your words. "I understand that, but I still want to make things right. I want to try."

You shook your head, a small, bitter smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "You can’t just fix this with a few words, Joel. You made it clear how you felt. I was so pathetic for seeking tender love in a world like this, and I was so pathetic for accepting it from you."

Joel flinched at your words, the harsh truth of them cutting deep. He opened his mouth to respond, to say something—anything—that might reach you, but you were already moving past him, grabbing your coat and heading for the door.

"Wait," he said, reaching out to stop you, but you brushed past him without a second glance.

"I’m done with this conversation, Joel," you said over your shoulder, your voice cold and final. "If you have something to say, save it for someone who cares or maybe for when you fuck Lori.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move, his heart pounding in his chest as he replayed the conversation in his head. The way you looked at him—so detached, so unlike the sweet person you were—shattered any remaining hope he had of mending things between you. Joel clenched his fists frustration welling up inside him.

And with that, you were gone, leaving Joel standing in the infirmary, the empty room echoing with the silence of everything left unsaid.

Week two.

The distance between you and Joel grew even wider. You kept yourself busy with your duties at the infirmary, throwing yourself into work to avoid thinking about him. Jackson was large enough that it wasn’t hard to avoid each other, especially since you made a point to steer clear of any places where you might run into him.

Joel, on the other hand, wasn’t faring as well. The days felt like they were dragging on, each one heavier than the last. The guilt and the lingering regret of how things had ended between you, was starting to take a toll on him. He found it harder to concentrate on anything, his mind constantly wandering back to you, replaying your last conversation over and over again.

Things hadn’t started bad between the both of you. There was a time, not too long ago, when things between you and Joel had been different—better. When you first arrived in Jackson. He was wary, of course, just as everyone. People with big walls up for protecting the same from the dangers from the outside.

Initially, he had kept his distance, observing you with a cautious eye. But as days turned into weeks, something shifted. You’d taken on the role of a nurse with a quiet determination, and your compassion and dedication gradually began to break through the walls Joel had built around himself.

There was one particular evening when you both found yourselves at a small community gathering. It was one of those special moments for people to unwind and reconnect. Joel, usually reserved and gruff, had shown up with Ellie in tow, and you were surprised to find him engaging in casual conversation, a rare sight indeed.

You and Joel had ended up chatting while sitting around a makeshift bonfire. The conversation had started with practical matters—how best to handle a certain type of injury or a recommendation for new supplies—but soon it evolved into more personal topics. Joel had shared stories from his past life, and you found yourself opening up about your own one.

The old versions of two people trapped in the endless tragedy

The atmosphere was relaxed, and for the first time, you saw a different side of Joel.

Joel was seated across from you, a relaxed look on his face that you rarely saw. His eyes, usually so guarded, were softer tonight. Ellie was nearby, occupied with a makeshift game she’d crafted from scavenged materials.

“So, you actually went through all that trouble for a single, mediocre meal?” you asked, chuckling at Joel’s tale of a particularly botched cooking attempt.

Joel grinned, a rare and genuine smile that lit up his face. “You’d be surprised what we went through to get even a half-decent meal back then. We were pretty desperate.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t imagine. I’m just grateful for what we’ve got now, even if it’s not gourmet.”

Joel nodded in agreement. “Yeah, things are better here. A lot better than they were.”

There was a comfortable silence between you, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire. You glanced at Joel, noticing how his eyes softened as he spoke. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to have someone who understands what it’s like out there.”

Joel met your gaze, his expression sincere. “And I’m glad you’re here too. You’ve done a lot for everyone. For Ellie, especially.”

For Joel, dealing with all of this started to become unbearable the moment migraines hit. They had started as a dull ache, a constant pressure in his head that he could push through if he focused hard enough. But as the days went on, the pain intensified, becoming sharp and unrelenting. The pounding in his skull would come in waves, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. He tried to hide it at first, not wanting anyone to see him weak, but it wasn’t long before people began to notice.

He’d find himself gripping the edges of tables or leaning against walls to steady himself, his vision blurring as the pain surged through him. He hadn’t had migraines like this in years, not since the early days when the world had first gone to hell. But these were different, more intense, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were somehow connected to something else.

Maybe someone, his thoughts screamed.

Tommy noticed too, of course. He had been keeping a close eye on his brother ever since the confrontation in the infirmary, and it didn’t take long for him to realize that something was wrong.

Joel had just returned from patrol; his face pale and his movements unsteady. As he walked through the door of the house, he winced, his hand pressing against his temple. The migraine had hit him hard, and he was struggling to keep it together.

Tommy was already in the kitchen, grabbing a drink when he noticed Joel’s distress. He set the cup down, crossing the room quickly. “You okay, Joel?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Joel tried to force a casual shrug, but the pain in his head made it difficult. “Yeah, just—” He hesitated, trying to find a plausible excuse. “—just got a bit of a headache. My new patrol partner’s been causing me more stress than usual. You know how it is.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Your new partner? We’ve only had him for a few days. Doesn’t seem like he’d cause this much trouble.”

Joel rubbed his temples more vigorously, trying to stave off the waves of pain. “It’s been rougher than I expected, okay? Just one of those days.”

Tommy didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push the issue further. “Alright, if you say so. But if this keeps up, you should get it checked out. Don’t let it go too long.”

Joel nodded, grateful for Tommy’s concern but unwilling to admit the full extent of his struggle. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just need to rest.”

Joel couldn’t even convince himself. He just didn’t find strength to face you.

That evening, the bar was lively, filled with the hum of conversation and laughter. Joel sat at a corner table with Lori, Tommy, and Maria. He was trying to focus on the conversation, but the throbbing pain in his head made it difficult. Lori, noticing his discomfort, kept a concerned eye on him, occasionally reaching out to touch his arm reassuringly.

As you walked in, the bar’s ambient noise seemed to momentarily quieten, and Joel’s gaze instinctively shifted toward you. You moved with purpose, but your demeanor was cold and distant. Tommy and Maria spotted you first and greeted you warmly.

“Hey, it’s good to see you,” Tommy said, waving you over.

Maria offered a friendly smile. “Yeah, come join us.”

You returned their greetings with a nod, but when your eyes met Joel’s, you turned your attention elsewhere, ignoring him completely. Joel shifted in his seat, trying to hide his discomfort, but the strain was visible in the tense lines of his face.

Lori noticed the awkwardness and frowned. “You could at least hide you jealously and stop being a mean bitch” she said to you, loud enough for everyone around to shut.

The bar’s noise seemed to drop as Lori's words cut through the air. You felt every eye on you as the tension escalated.

You turned to Lori, your face hardening. “I’m not here to entertain you or play nice.”

Lori’s face flushed with anger. “Well, if you can’t be civil, then maybe you shouldn’t be here at all.”

Joel, trying to defuse the situation, interjected, “Lori, that’s enough.” His voice was strained, both from the growing migraine and the emotional weight of the confrontation. “We don’t need to make this any worse.”

“No! I’m tired of this bitch being a pain to us just because you don’t love her back” she continued, calling you out.

Joel’s face tightened with a mix of frustration and pain. “Lori, seriously, stop. This isn’t helping anyone.”

You stood tall, your voice icy as you spoke. “I don’t need a lecture from you or anyone else. I’ve been nothing but professional, and this—” you gestured between yourself and Joel, “—is a personal matter. I’m done being the target of everyone’s frustration.”

Joel’s gaze wavered, his eyes reflecting the hurt from your words. “You don’t have to be like this.”

“No,” you snapped, “I don’t have to be here at all. If you want to know why I’m acting this way, it’s because I don’t want to be around someone who can’t see my worth.” Your voice cracked with emotion. “You can keep Joel. I don’t want a man who can’t appreciate me.”

You sighed, taking a deep breath. “I’m so done with all your pity because the man I’m in love with doesn’t remember loving me. But life moves on, and so do I. I’m done being the center of anyone’s misplaced sympathy.” You sighed a little, embarrassment creeping up your body “I’m just- I want you all to stop talking about me as if I’m a broken little girl, please.”

With a final, resolute glance at the group and the rest of people inside, you turned and walked out of the bar. The door swung shut behind you, the muffled noise of the bar fading as you stepped into the night.

Joel froze there, the harsh sting of your words lingering.

The man I’m in love with.

Why did you even love him?

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest as he processed your words. The sting of your rejection mixed with the searing pain in his head, making it hard to think clearly. He stood frozen for a moment, watching you leave, his mind racing with regret and confusion.

After a few seconds, he shook himself out of his daze. He could feel Lori’s eyes on him, her frustration still palpable. Ignoring her, Joel pushed himself up from the barstool, his movements tense and hurried.

“Sorry, I need to go,” he muttered, his voice rough and distant. He didn’t wait for a response and headed for the door. As he stepped outside, the cool night air hit him, offering a brief reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere of the bar.

Joel saw you standing just outside the bar, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. The cool night air seemed to accentuate the solitude you radiated, and the flickering streetlight cast uneven shadows over your face. Joel’s heart ached as he approached, the intensity of his migraine fading into the background compared to the weight of his regret.

He stopped a few feet away, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "Hey," he said, his voice rough but gentle. "I didn't mean to... to make things worse tonight."

You looked up, your eyes meeting his. They were red-rimmed, a sign of the emotional toll the evening had taken. "What do you want, Joel?" Your voice was quiet but edged with defiance.

Joel shifted uncomfortably, the words coming out in a rush. "I know I screwed up. I know I can’t undo what’s been done. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. I was a damn fool, and I didn’t see how much you were hurting."

You shook your head, looking away. "It’s too late for apologies. You made your choices."

“I know,” Joel admitted, his voice heavy with sorrow.

“Go back inside to your woman” you said, voice steady yet the truth of the words cut your throat.

Joel looked at you, his eyes filled with an aching with regret and yearning. He could feel the pounding in his head lessen, as if your presence, though tense and fraught with pain, was soothing the storm within him.

He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "I don't want to go back inside. I came out here to talk to you. I need to explain—"

You cut him off, your voice colder now. "I don’t want explanations, Joel. I want you to be honest with yourself and with me."

Joel's expression faltered, his usual resolve wavering under the weight of his migraine and the emotional strain. "I don't know what to say," he admitted quietly. "Every time I try to make things right, I just seem to make it worse."

"Look," Joel said, taking a step closer, though he kept a respectful distance. "I know I can’t fix everything right now, and I know I’ve hurt you more than I ever intended. But if there's any chance at all to mend things, I want to try. I need to try."

You glanced at him, feeling the strange mix of emotions. His presence, his apology, even his struggle, created a confusing pull. You nodded, not trusting your voice.

"Just... take things slow," you said finally, your voice softening slightly. "Show me, don’t just tell me."

You gave him one last, lingering look before turning away, the night air feeling strangely lighter as you walked back toward your house. Joel watched you go, a fragile sense of relief mingled with the lingering weight of his migraine.

Joel nodded, his heart aching.

Week three

The situation between you and Joel remained tense and unresolved. Despite the brief moment outside the bar, there was still an emotional chasm between you two. Meanwhile, Joel's migraines continued to worsen, each one more debilitating than the last. The pain had become a constant companion, gnawing at him, making it difficult to focus on anything else.

Tommy had been watching his brother closely, his concern growing with each passing day. He had noticed how Joel winced at the slightest noise, how he gripped the edges of tables to steady himself, and how he often retreated to dark corners to try and alleviate the pain. Tommy knew something had to give, and he wasn't sure how much longer Joel could keep this up, especially with patrols still on the agenda.

During the morning, as the patrol assignments were being handed out, Tommy pulled Joel aside. “You sure you’re up for this?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “These migraines… they’re getting worse, Joel.”

Joel nodded, though the movement sent a sharp pain through his temples. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered, not wanting to admit how bad things had really gotten. “Just need to keep moving, keep my mind off it.”

Tommy sighed, not entirely convinced. “Alright, but I’m pairing you up with someone who won’t hesitate to call for backup if things go south.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, wondering who Tommy had in mind. His answer came when you walked into the room, your expression unreadable as you glanced at Tommy, then at Joel.

“You’re on patrol with Joel today,” Tommy said, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. “Consider it part of the consequences for that little outburst at the bar the other night.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but then closed it, seemingly deciding against saying anything. Instead, you simply nodded, surprising both Tommy and Joel.

Due to your situation with Joel, you would have argued, pushed back, but you didn’t. Whether it was out of a sense of duty, or because you had your own reasons for going along with the assignment, neither man could tell.

Joel looked at you, his expression hard to read. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew that this patrol was going to be anything but ordinary. The tension between you two was palpable, and the fact that you hadn’t fought the assignment left him uneasy.

As the two of you geared up and headed out, the silence between you was thick, neither of you willing to break it first. The path ahead was familiar, but the atmosphere was charged with unresolved emotions and the weight of things left unsaid.

As you and Joel prepared to head out for patrol, Tommy pulled you aside, his expression serious. “Listen, I know things are tense between you two, but if Joel starts feeling bad, you come back immediately. No heroics, no pushing through it. Understood?”

You nodded, not meeting Tommy’s eyes. “Understood,” you replied, your tone neutral. The truth was, you didn’t know how you felt about being on patrol with Joel, but you weren’t going to argue with Tommy’s orders.

Tommy looked at you for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but he held back. Instead, he just gave you a small nod before turning back to Joel, who was adjusting his gear a few feet away.

Joel caught Tommy’s eye, and there was a silent exchange between the brothers—Tommy’s concern evident, and Joel’s stubborn determination clear.

Once outside the gates, the silence stretched between you and Joel, heavy and uncomfortable. The forest around you was quiet, the only sound was the crunch of your boots on the dirt path. You kept your eyes ahead, focused on the task at hand, but you couldn’t help but be aware of Joel’s presence beside you.

As you walked, you noticed something strange. Joel, who had been rubbing his temples and wincing in pain earlier, seemed to be a bit more at ease. The tight lines of pain on his face had softened, and he wasn’t clutching his head like he usually did.

You didn’t want to think too much about it, but you couldn’t help but wonder if your presence had something to do with it.

Joel, too, was aware of the change. He had been bracing himself for another wave of pain, expecting the migraine to hit hard as it had been for days now. But instead, he felt… better. The pain was still there, lurking in the background, but it was muted, manageable. And the only thing that had changed was that you were with him.

As you continued walking, the strange shift in the atmosphere didn’t go unnoticed. Joel glanced at you every now and then, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he was trying to figure out what had changed. You kept your focus straight ahead, but the weight of the unspoken tension between you two was hard to ignore.

After a while, you slowed down and finally came to a stop, gesturing for Joel to halt as well. Without saying anything, you walked over to your horse and untied a small bouquet of flowers that had been carefully wrapped and secured to the saddle.

Joel watched, puzzled, as you held the bouquet tightly in your hand. "Just... just wait for me here for a bit," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. There was a softness to your tone that caught Joel off guard, and he nodded, sensing that whatever you were about to do was important.

You walked a short distance off the path, through the dense trees and underbrush, until you reached a small clearing. The air was still, and the only sound was the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Joel stayed where he was, leaning against his horse, but his eyes followed you, curiosity and concern mingling in his expression.

In the clearing, you knelt down beside a small, unmarked grave, the earth slightly raised from where you had buried your boyfriend two years ago.

You placed the bouquet gently on the grave, your fingers lingering for a moment on the petals. Your heart ached with the familiar pang of loss, the pain of carrying love for someone who was no longer here. It was a pain you had learned to carry with you, but it never really went away.

As you knelt there, a few silent tears slipped down your cheeks, and you quickly wiped them away. This was a private moment, one you hadn’t shared with anyone, not even Joel. He had no idea about the depth of your loss, about the man you had loved and lost before arriving in Jackson.

When you finally stood up and turned back toward the path, Joel was still waiting, his expression unreadable. You walked back to him in silence, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice soft as his eyes studied your expression.

You didn’t answer right away, your fingers brushing lightly against your jacket. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "This is where I buried him. My fiancé."

Joel’s heart sank as he remembered the voice of Tommy telling him some things he didn’t even remember about you. And now seeing you here, in this quiet, sacred place, made the weight of your grief all the more real.

"I didn’t know," Joel said, his voice laced with regret. He felt a pang of guilt for not being there for you when you had gone through this, for not understanding just how much you had carried with you all this time. "I’m sorry."

You nodded slowly, still staring at the grave. "It’s been a long time since I’ve come here. I didn’t think I’d be able to handle it, but… I guess I needed to say goodbye again. Properly."

Joel stepped closer, his presence a comforting warmth at your side. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew he needed to be there, to offer whatever solace he could.

"He was a good man," you continued, your voice stronger now. "He was kind, patient, everything I could have asked for. But this world… it takes everything good and leaves you with nothing but memories."

Joel clenched his jaw, feeling the familiar ache of loss that never truly went away. He knew all too well the pain of losing someone you loved, the emptiness that followed, the way it changed you forever.

"He deserved better," you said, your voice cracking slightly. "He deserved a future, a life. But instead… he got this."

Joel rested his hand gently on your shoulder. "I’m sorry," he repeated, the words feeling inadequate but all he could offer.

But instead of finding solace in his touch, you flinched, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. The grief, the anger, the overwhelming sense of loss—it all came flooding back, and you couldn’t handle it, not right now.

“Don’t touch me, okay?” you said, your voice trembling as you pulled away from him, putting a small but significant distance between you. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you needed space, needed to breathe without feeling like you were suffocating under the weight of your emotions.

Joel froze, his hand lingering in the air for a moment before he slowly lowered it, the rejection hitting him harder than he expected. He swallowed, trying to push down the rising tide of guilt and pain that your words had stirred up.

“Okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew better than to push, knew that you needed time to process everything on your own. But it didn’t stop the sting of your words from cutting deep, reminding him of all the ways he had failed before, all the ways he had let the people he cared about slip through his fingers.

“Peter was the only man who deserved my love,” you said, your voice laced with a mix of bitterness and sorrow. The truth of it stung, cutting through the air like a blade. You didn’t mean to be cruel, but the words slipped out before you could stop them, a reflection of the turmoil swirling inside you.

Joel swallowed hard, the hurt in his eyes evident as he processed what you had just said. He knew you were grieving, that you were speaking from a place of pain, but it didn’t make the words any easier to hear. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond, his mind reeling from the sudden shift between you.

“I get it,” he finally said, his voice tight with emotion. “You loved him. And he was… he was a good man. Better than me.”

He looked away, unable to meet your gaze, feeling the weight of his own inadequacies bearing down on him.

 “Yes, he was” you said without a doubt. “And that killed him.”

Joel’s heart clenched at your words, the blunt truth of them landing like a blow. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, the weight of your statement pressing down on him. The silence between you grew thicker, charged with the grief and anger that neither of you could fully express.

“He and I had a kid” you confessed, you heart clenched at the memory of that little boy you took care of for five years of your life.

Joel’s head snapped up at your confession, his eyes widening in shock. The weight of what you had just revealed hit him hard, leaving him momentarily speechless.

“He and I… we had a kid,” you repeated, your voice trembling as you forced the words out. Your heart ached at the memory of the little boy you had taken care of, loved, for five years of your life. The pain of losing him, of losing the family you had built, was still fresh, a wound that hadn’t even begun to heal.

Joel’s expression softened, the anger and frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface giving way to something deeper—compassion, understanding, and an overwhelming sense of sorrow for everything you had lost. He could see the pain etched into your features, the way your shoulders slumped under the weight of your grief, and it broke something inside him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He didn’t know what else to say.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you quickly wiped them away, not wanting to break down in front of him. “His name was Sam,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was just a baby when we found him, abandoned… we took him in, raised him as our own. And then, one day” you sobbed, “They killed him…Those fucking soldiers killed him.”

“Peter and I had planned on how leaving all behind, he had hear about Jackson from a friend, and then he trusted the wrong people.”

Joel’s breath caught in his throat as he listened to you, the horror and anguish in your voice cutting through him like a knife. He could see the pain etched deeply into your features, the way your body trembled with the force of your grief. The image of what you had endured—losing not just your partner but the child you had raised together, taken away in such a cruel and senseless way—was almost too much to bear.

“They killed him,” you repeated, your voice thick with emotion as tears streamed down your face. “They took everything from me… from us. We just wanted to be safe, to give him a life that meant something. But those soldiers… they didn’t care. They saw us as a threat, as nothing more than collateral damage.”

Joel’s fists clenched at his sides, anger surging through him at the thought of what had been done to you and your family. He knew the kind of world you were living in, where trust was a dangerous thing, and hope could be ripped away in an instant. But knowing it didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“I’m so sorry,” Joel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He wanted to say more, to find the right words to ease your pain, but everything felt inadequate in the face of such a profound loss.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as you continued. “Peter and I… we had it all planned out. We were going to leave everything behind, start over in Jackson. He had heard about it from a friend, and it seemed like the only chance we had. But… he trusted the wrong people.”

Your voice broke again, the sobs coming harder now as you relived the nightmare. “They promised us safe passage, said they’d get us out. But it was a trap. They turned us over to the soldiers, and Sam… he didn’t stand a chance. He was just a little boy. He didn’t even know what was happening…”

Joel felt a lump in his throat, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him as he watched you unravel before him.

Without thinking, Joel stepped closer, pulling you into his arms and holding you tightly against him. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to offer empty words of consolation. He just held you, letting you cry against his chest, his hand gently stroking your back in an attempt to soothe you.

The world had gone eerily quiet after the gunfire ceased, the only sounds left were your ragged breaths and the distant cries of crows circling overhead. You could still feel the heat from Peter’s body fading beneath your hands, his blood soaking into the earth beneath him. The image of his lifeless eyes, staring blankly up at the sky, was seared into your mind, a horrific reminder that he was gone, that the man you loved, the father of your child, was never coming back.

You had been too stunned to cry, too numb to feel anything beyond the cold realization that you were alone.

Hours seemed to pass in a blur before you finally forced yourself to move. You couldn’t stay there, not with Peter’s body cooling beside you, not with the knowledge that those men might come back to finish what they started. So, you rose on shaky legs, your heart pounding in your chest, and stumbled away from the scene of the massacre, your mind numb as you left him behind.

The sun had begun to set by the time you found the old cabin, hidden deep within the woods. It was small, decrepit, with broken windows and a door that hung askew on its hinges, but it was shelter, and that was all that mattered. You pushed open the door and stepped inside, the musty smell of decay filling your nostrils as you surveyed the dark, empty space.

It felt wrong to be alive, to still be breathing when Peter wasn’t, when Sam wasn’t. But survival was instinctual, and something inside you kept pushing you forward, kept you searching for a way to stay alive, even when all you wanted was to curl up and disappear.

You sank to the floor, your back pressed against the rough wooden wall as the tears finally began to fall. They came slowly at first, like a trickle, but soon they turned into gut-wrenching sobs that echoed through the empty cabin. You clutched your knees to your chest, rocking back and forth as the storm outside began to roll in.

The wind picked up, howling through the trees and rattling the cabin’s fragile walls. Rain began to pour in heavy sheets, drumming against the roof and leaking through the cracks, pooling on the floor around you. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark interior in brief, blinding bursts, and the thunder that followed was so loud it shook the very foundation of the cabin.

You were alone for the first time in years, truly, devastatingly alone. The weight of that realization crushed you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think of anything other than the emptiness that stretched out before you. The storm outside mirrored the chaos inside you, the violence of it a reflection of the torment that raged in your heart.

Maria and a group of people found you two days later

And you had become terrified of storms ever since.  

You stiffened in Joel’s arms, the overwhelming flood of emotions too much. You couldn’t let yourself be comforted, couldn’t let someone else get close, not after everything you’d lost. The fear of opening up, of allowing yourself to be vulnerable again, was suffocating.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you stepped back, pulling away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

Joel’s arms fell to his sides, the rejection clear in his eyes as he took a step back, giving you the space you needed. The hurt in his expression was evident, but he didn’t push, didn’t try to reach out for you again.

“You just feel pity because you see me as a broken doll” you said.

Joel’s expression tightened, his brow furrowing as your words cut through the air like a knife. He opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, clearly struggling with how to convey what he was feeling. The accusation hung between you, heavy and bitter, and the silence that followed felt suffocating.

“I don’t—” Joel started, his voice low and rough. He took a breath, trying to gather his thoughts, but the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable. “I don’t see you that way.”

“Then why are you here, Joel?” you demanded, your voice rising with the pent-up frustration and pain. “Why are you trying so hard to be… whatever this is? You didn’t care before, but now you do because I’m broken?”

“How were you so sweet to everyone after what happened?” he finally asked, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and a hint of disbelief. It was as if he couldn’t comprehend how you managed to keep going, how you could still find kindness within you after everything you’d endured.

You looked at him, your expression softened by the lingering sadness, but there was a strength behind your eyes, a resilience that had kept you moving forward. “Because I didn’t lose them because of you all,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the pain that laced your words. “I wasn’t going to become angry at the people who gave me another chance.”

The truth of your statement hung in the air, a stark contrast to the turmoil you felt inside. You had chosen to protect the small bit of humanity you had left, to hold onto the kindness that others had shown you when you needed it most. But that didn’t mean the anger, the grief, or the pain had disappeared—it was still there, buried deep, threatening to consume you if you let it.

Joel looked down, his shoulders sagging slightly as he absorbed what you said. He understood the weight of guilt, the way it could twist inside you, making you question everything. He had carried his own burden of guilt for years, but hearing you speak those words, seeing the strength it took for you to hold onto the good in the face of so much loss, it humbled him.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, the words barely above a whisper. “I wish I could take it all back, change what happened. What I did to you and how I treated you the morning you woke up in my bed” he sighed, “Sorry for not remember what happened between us”

You looked at him, your eyes filled with a quiet, resigned sadness. “It doesn’t change anything, Joel. It’s done. I can’t change the past either.”

Joel’s shoulders slumped, the weight of your words settling heavily on him. The finality in your voice, the distance between you, made him feel even more lost, and he turned away, the ache of regret and loss deepening with each step he took.

Joel walked away, his steps heavy and deliberate. The weight of your words hung over him, a constant reminder of the things he couldn’t change, the pain he had caused. Each step felt like a step further from any hope of repairing what had been broken.

You watched him go, the solitude of the moment pressing in around you. The quiet was suffocating, filled with the echoes of the past and the weight of unspoken words. You turned back toward the grave, the memories of what you had lost mingling with the present pain.

A simple affair, torturing you.

+

Grieving the death and grieving the living were taking a tool on you.

Week four

A week had passed since that tense confrontation. The days had been a blur of activity and emotional exhaustion, the storm within you a constant companion. The quiet conversations with others and the daily routines in Jackson offered little distraction from the lingering sadness, but they kept you moving forward, one step at a time.

Everyone could say than a simply affair would dissipate with the time, that each week would make you unlove Joel, but you couldn’t take a complete distance from your lingering feelings.

And Joel? Joel had kept his distance, following your request for space. His presence was felt in the background, a reminder of the unresolved tension and the feelings that had been left hanging in the air. You had seen him around, in passing, but there was an unspoken agreement that he would not intrude upon your space.

He couldn’t bear to face you.

One morning, as you prepared for another day at the infirmary due to Tommy’s request, you found yourself in the familiar surroundings of the clinic. The routine was a small comfort amidst the chaos of your emotions. The soft hum of medical equipment and the scent of antiseptic filled the air, offering a sense of order and control.

As you were organizing supplies and checking on your patients, a familiar voice broke through the calm. “Hey.”

You looked up from your tasks to see Joel standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of hesitation and resolve. He seemed slightly out of place in the clinical setting, but there was a determined look in his eyes.

“Joel,” you greeted, your voice steady but tinged with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Joel took a step inside, his gaze scanning the room before settling on you.

“I’ve been trying to find the right time to give this to you,” Joel said, his voice a bit rough, as if he was struggling to find the right words.

Curiosity mingled with the apprehension you felt. “What is it?”

Joel took a deep breath, stepping closer but still maintaining a respectful distance. “It’s a little something I thought might help. I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I wanted to offer it to you anyway.”

You hesitated for a moment before reaching out to take the package from him. It was small and wrapped simply, the gesture surprisingly thoughtful given the circumstances. You carefully unwrapped it, revealing a worn leather-bound journal. The cover was embossed with a delicate pattern, and as you opened it, you found pages filled with blank lines, waiting for your thoughts and feelings.

“You can write on it,” Joel said softly. “And I thought maybe, if you wanted to, this could be a place for you to put everything that’s been on your mind. It’s not much, but I thought it might help.”

The gesture was unexpected, and as you looked up at Joel, you could see the genuine care in his eyes. It was a small attempt to bridge the gap between you, to offer something meaningful despite the unresolved pain.

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice almost choked with emotion. “It’s… thoughtful.”

Joel nodded, a small, almost relieved smile touching his lips. “I hope it helps, even just a little.”

There was a moment of silence between you, the weight of the past week settling in the air. Joel’s eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of the connection that had once been there, while you felt the tug of conflicting emotions—appreciation for the gesture, but also the lingering pain of his actions.

“How are your migraines doing?” You asked.

Joel looked slightly taken aback by your question, the personal nature of it a stark contrast to the more distant conversation that had been unfolding. He studied your face for a moment, perhaps surprised by your concern.

“They’re getting worse every day,” he admitted, his voice carrying a weight of weariness. “But today, I’m feeling a bit better. It’s been rough, though. The migraines have been relentless.”

You felt a rush of blood to your cheeks, concern and embarrassment at the question. “Tommy mentioned it,” you said quickly, wanting to clarify your source of information. “I just—well, I wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Joel nodded, his eyes softening slightly. “Thanks for asking. It means a lot. It’s been tough, but I’m managing.”

The vulnerability in his admission made you feel a pang of empathy. It was hard to see him struggling, especially when you had your own unresolved feelings and painful memories.

“Well, I’m glad you’re having a better moment today,” you said, your voice steadying as you tried to offer some comfort.

Joel’s expression grew more thoughtful, and he gave a small, appreciative smile. “Yeah, I’m holding onto that. Thanks for checking in.”

The silence between you was charged with unspoken emotions. You both stood there, the weight of your recent conversations lingering in the air. Joel looked like he was about to say something else, but instead, he gave a nod and started to walk away.

“Take care,” you called after him, the words carrying a genuine warmth despite the emotional distance that remained between you.

You had settled onto a barstool, a glass of whiskey in hand. The amber liquid was smooth and comforting, its warmth spreading through you as you took a sip. The effects of the alcohol were starting to take hold, making everything feel just a little more relaxed, a little more bearable.

Joel was at the bar, nursing a drink of his own. He hadn’t been particularly social that night, just sitting in his usual spot, lost in his thoughts. As the evening wore on and you became tipsier, you found yourself drawn to him, the comfort of familiarity outweighing the shyness that normally kept you at a distance.

You slid off your stool and made your way over to Joel, the room spinning slightly as you approached him. “Hey,” you said, your voice a bit louder than intended, carrying the cheerful buzz of someone who’d had a few too many drinks. “Mind if I join you?”

Joel looked up from his glass, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Sure, have a seat,” he replied, gesturing to the empty stool next to him.

You plopped down beside him, the warmth of his presence surprisingly comforting. “You know,” you said, leaning in slightly and grinning, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here this early before. You’re usually so… serious.”

Joel chuckled softly, the sound of a low rumble that was both soothing and grounding. “Yeah, I guess I am. Just needed a drink tonight.”

In the afternoon, the usually calm atmosphere of the infirmary was disrupted by the sound of the door swinging open with a sense of urgency. Joel stumbled inside, his face pale and etched with pain. He moved slowly, his usual steady gait faltering under the weight of his unbearable migraines.

You looked up from your work, your heart sinking at the sight of him. He was clearly in distress, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to shut out the world. You quickly set aside what you were doing and hurried over to him.

“What do you want?” you asked, intending to sound too rude.

“I—” Joel started, but the words were interrupted by a sharp grimace of pain. “I can’t take it anymore. The migraines… they’re just too much.”

“From one to ten? How much is the pain?” you asked.

“What’s that bullshit?” He cried out.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your own frustration in check. Despite the roughness of Joel’s response, you could see that he was in genuine distress, and you needed to get a handle on his pain level to help him effectively.

“It’s just a way to measure how bad the pain is,” you explained, your voice firm but compassionate. “On a scale from one to ten, where one is no pain and ten is the worst pain, you’ve ever felt, where are you right now?”

Joel clenched his teeth, his face twisted with agony as he tried to focus. “It’s… it’s an eight,” he finally managed to say through gritted teeth.

He had saved that ten.

 The ten was the amount of pain he had when he lost Sarah.

A ten was the pain his heart felt when he looked at you from the distance.

You nodded, quickly assessing the situation. “Alright, I’m going to get you something stronger for the pain. Try to sit down and breathe slowly. I’ll be right back.”

As you hurried to prepare a stronger medication, you felt the weight of the past few weeks pressing heavily on you. The bitterness in your words and his pain seemed to intertwine, creating a tense atmosphere that was hard to ignore. But your focus remained on getting Joel the relief he needed.

You quickly gathered the necessary medication and made your way back to Joel, who had seated himself on one of the examination tables. As you approached, you noticed his breathing was uneven, and his eyes were squeezed shut as if he was trying to block out the pain and your presence.

"Let me check your head," you said softly, your voice gentle despite the tension that hung between you. "I need to make sure there's nothing else going on."

Joel nodded slightly, his face still contorted in discomfort. As you leaned in to examine his head, your proximity made his breath catch in his lungs. The closeness between you seemed to amplify the charged atmosphere, making the air around you feel heavy.

You carefully placed your hands on his temples, your touch light but firm as you assessed his condition. Joel's breath became shallow and uneven, a sign that he was acutely aware of your closeness. He tensed under your touch, the intensity of his pain mixed with the vulnerability of the moment.

"How's that feel?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady as you moved your fingers over his forehead and the sides of his head.

Joel swallowed hard, his eyes still closed as he tried to focus on your touch rather than the pain. "Feels… a bit better," he managed to say, though his voice was strained. "Just… don’t know if I can handle this much longer."

You gave a reassuring nod, trying to offer comfort despite the lingering tension. "You're doing great. The medication should help soon. Just hang in there a little longer."

You both could feel your breathing mingling together, the agony of the closeness taking everything from you.

Joel closed his eyes for a bit, feeling you scent and your fingertips on his temples. In the haze of his agony, there were fleeting glimpses of a night that felt both distant and achingly familiar. He remembered the warmth of your touch, the softness of your lips against his. The kiss you had shared the night before he got his memory back began to resurface, bringing with it a surge of emotions he had long tried to bury.

The kiss had been tender. Joel could almost feel the echo of that moment now, a soft, lingering taste of intimacy that was both comforting and heartbreaking.

He remembered the way you had looked at him, the way your eyes had softened with unspoken words. The image of your face, so close to his, the way you had smiled before the kiss, replayed in his mind with a clarity that cut through the pain. It was as if your closeness was pulling these memories to the surface, forcing him to confront them once more.

Joel’s breath caught as he recalled the warmth of your lips, the way it had felt to hold you close. It was a vivid contrast to the overwhelming pain he was experiencing now, and it made him realize just how much he had missed and lost. The memory of that kiss, the feeling of being connected to you, made his heart ache with a mix of longing and regret.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, trying to ground himself in the present while the memories swirled around him. As much as the past few weeks had been a struggle, this moment of closeness with you was stirring up feelings he had tried to keep buried. Joel’s eyes opened slightly, looking at you with a vulnerability that he hadn’t shown before.

“Sun…” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

The sound of "Sun" coming from his lips felt almost foreign, yet deeply familiar. It was a term of endearment he had used before his memory loss, one that had held a special place between you two.

“Sun…” he repeated, the word carrying tenderness and longing.

Your heart skipped a beat, the nickname a bittersweet reminder of the bond you had shared. It was a small yet significant piece of the past surfacing, offering a glimmer of connection despite everything that had happened.

You felt a rush of conflicting emotions, the glimmer of hope mingling with a deep-seated fear of revisiting old wounds. The nickname, the touch, the faint echo of past affection—it all stirred up feelings you weren't sure you were ready to confront.

Taking a steadying breath, you stepped back, your hand moving quickly to hand him the medication. “Here,” you said, your voice steady as you handed him the small packet of pills. “This should help with the pain. You should head home and rest.”

Joel looked up at you, a flicker of understanding and disappointment in his eyes. He could sense the shift in your demeanor, the way you were putting distance between you both. “You sure you don’t need any help?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You shook your head, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “No, I’m fine. Just… please, go home. A storm is coming, and you should get back before it hits.”

Joel hesitated for a moment longer, but the look in your eyes told him that you needed space, that pushing further would only cause more pain. With a reluctant nod, he took the medication and turned to leave, his steps heavy with the weight of what was left unsaid.

As he walked out of the infirmary, you watched him go, the storm outside a stark parallel to the storm brewing inside you. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady yourself against the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. The fleeting connection, the memories stirred up—it was all too much to handle right now.

You were a bit tipsy, the effects of the whiskey making your steps a little unsteady. Joel walked beside you, his presence a steady anchor amidst the haze of your inebriation. You were both quiet, the conversation from the bar having dwindled into comfortable silence.

As you approached your house, you turned to him, a small, tipsy smile playing on your lips. The intimacy of the evening and the warmth of his proximity were too comforting to ignore. Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his lips. The action was impulsive, driven by a mix of affection and the blurred boundaries of alcohol.

Joel's reaction was immediate. He responded to the kiss, his arms finding their way around you as he deepened the connection. There was a brief moment where the world seemed to hold its breath, the kiss a sweet and tender promise of something more.

When you finally pulled back, your faces were flushed, and you looked at him with a mixture of uncertainty and contentment. Joel’s eyes were filled with a mix of surprise and warmth, the kiss having ignited something within him that he hadn’t anticipated.

“Good night, Joel,” you murmured, your voice soft and slightly slurred as you turned to go inside.

Joel watched you enter your house, his thoughts swirling in the wake of the kiss. He felt a strange blend of hope and confusion, uncertain about what the kiss meant for both of you. But the feelings were there, undeniable and strong.

The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a soft glow in your bedroom. You woke up with a throbbing headache, the remnants of last night a blurry haze. As you shuffled through your routine, the details of the previous evening remained frustratingly out of reach. The bar, the tipsy laughter, Joel walking you home—these were fragments, but the kiss itself was a complete blank.

When you encountered Joel later that day, you greeted him cheerfully, assuming nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Hey, Joel. How’s it going?”

Joel’s response was curt, his eyes avoiding yours. “Hey. I’m alright.”

You noticed the shift in his demeanor, the coldness in his tone. It was as if he was keeping you at arm's length, his usual warmth replaced with a frigid distance. You tried to brush it off, attributing it to a possible bad mood or personal issue.

Joel had resolved never to bring up the kiss, his feelings of hurt and confusion simmering beneath the surface. He’d come to see the incident as a miscommunication, a misunderstanding that he’d decided to keep buried rather than confront. The bitterness of feeling forgotten and dismissed had solidified into a quiet, unspoken rift between you.

Joel found himself unable to shake the feeling of the day's events. The migraine had ebbed slightly during the patrol, but as soon as he was back in his house, the pain returned, gnawing at him with a persistent, dull ache.

The house was quiet, save for the steady patter of rain against the windows. The storm outside was fierce, the wind howling and the rain pouring down in relentless sheets. Joel’s mood matched the tempest outside—stormy, unsettled.

As he was trying to organize his gear and get ready for bed, his eyes fell upon something on a chair near the door. It was the blouse you had lost that morning when he pushed you away from him, a soft, familiar fabric that he recognized immediately. He picked it up, holding it gently, and his mind replayed that morning events.

Joel held the blouse up to his face, breathing in deeply. The scent was faint but unmistakable—a mix of the outdoors, a hint of your perfume, and something more personal, something that reminded him of you. As the scent reached his senses, it hit him with a wave of emotions he hadn’t fully processed until now. He felt a rush of regret and longing. The migraine that had been a constant presence in his head now seemed to fade slightly as he held the blouse. The emotional weight of his actions, the pain he had caused you, and the gulf that had grown between you all came rushing back

You sat in the dimly lit living room of your small house, wrapped in a blanket, trying to find some semblance of comfort amidst the chaos outside. The storm had intensified, the wind howling and the rain slashing against the windows with a ferocity that made the walls tremble. Every rumble of thunder and flash of lightning felt like a jolt to your already frayed nerves.

You tried to focus on something—anything—to distract yourself from the fear that had settled deep in your chest. The living room was sparsely decorated, the bare walls and simple furnishings reflecting the practical, no-frills life you had tried to build for yourself. But tonight, it all seemed cold and empty, unable to offer you the comfort you so desperately needed.

You glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight, and sleep was elusive. The noise of the storm outside seemed to drown out any thoughts of rest. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, trying to stave off the chill that had little to do with the temperature and everything to do with the lonely feeling that had enveloped you.

As you huddled on the couch, the flashes of lightning illuminated the room in brief, stark bursts. Each flash cast eerie shadows on the walls, making the storm outside feel even more menacing. You found yourself jumping at every crack of thunder, your heart racing with each one.

Part of you wanted to reach out to someone, but who? The distance between you and Joel felt insurmountable, and you had made it clear that you wanted to be left alone.

The living room was filled with the sound of the storm, punctuated only by your occasional sighs and the rustling of the blanket around you. You tried to focus on breathing deeply, calming yourself in the midst of the chaos. But as the storm raged on, so did the turmoil within you.

It was during a particularly intense flash of lightning that you heard a knock on the door. Your heart leaped into your throat, and you froze. Another knock, louder this time, followed by a faint call. “It’s Joel. Can I come in?”

The voice was muffled by the storm, but it was unmistakable. Your emotions were a whirlwind of confusion and surprise. You hesitated, wondering why he would come here, why he would seek you out now, but the desperation in his voice made you move towards the door.

You opened it cautiously, the cold wind rushing in and mingling with the warmth of the living room. Joel stood there, drenched from the rain, his face lined with worry and a mixture of other emotions that you couldn’t quite place.

“Joel,” you said, barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

He looked at you with an expression that was a mix of regret, concern, and something softer that you couldn’t quite define.

Words weren’t need for moments like these. Two hearts beating as the silence felt like freedom of the remised prisoner love victim of the passage of time, the destiny or perhaps the fate of cursing spells.

It was there for you to see it and it was there for him to see it, but blindness was his curse. Not remembering was his curse. Joel wasn’t incapable of loving someone, but he was terrified of the pieces of the old him coming to the present where losing people was a daily occurrence.

Joel was terrified of loving and losing the last flame of goodness left in this mad world that had tainted people, but you. There was a pure innocence in your eyes, in your actions and in your kindness and he had come to face his old him through you, the old him that had died with his daughter years ago.

Joel’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes reflecting the soft light from the flickering candles. His voice was a murmur, almost lost in the howling of the storm outside. “You’re afraid of storms.”, he said quietly, his voice low and gentle. It wasn’t a question. He was stating a fact, something you had confessed to him when the love affair between you was burning. 

You looked at him, the realization dawning on you like the slow break of dawn. “You remember.” You whispered.

And you could only hear the steady beat of your own heart and the sound of Joel’s breathing.

I tagged everyone interested in part 2 but I couldn't tag everyone because all got mixed () if you don't want to be tagged you can tell me, if you want to be tagged, you can also tell me

💌 tags: @dreamtofus @paperstarzzz @chewie-bars @hotleaf-juice

@riedswifts @dizzyforyou @prideandaesthetic @chateaujoon

@18dmlk @orcasoul @whirlwindrider29 @frogjumps-world @camy-nyancat @sarahhxx03 @jasminedragoon @cuteanimalmama @eleganthottubfun @skysmiller @nana90azevedo @astralqueenoc

@missladym1981

[tame-the-lion-writes]

dosg shifter 141 im in love queen <3, i cant wait to hear your thoughts on like if any of the guys are actually falling for reader??? like obviously if they were, you cant tell cause it just looks like your dog is showing it's usual affection towards ya yk....rightttt?

(This is probably a little more of a serious drabble than you expected wHOOps-- but 'twas needed anyhow)

For the first few days/weeks/however long, it’s very much a denial phase for the boys. They see reader as pack, but they can’t exactly explain why or how. To them, at the very least, you're a grounding technique that keeps their shifting from going haywire, or an easy cover that keeps them from being discovered. At most, those are both excuses for them sticking around--you're truly, undoubtedly, a loving protector, provider, and friend. And that's new. That's precious. Because they're so used to being the ones to protect and provide.

Being a soldier means a lot of conditioning, whether through training or trauma. And for them, it means believing in a cause while keeping yourself distant from that cause--because softness and close quarters make for poor decision-making, and there's no way to protect civilians while having the heart of one.

But this--whatever this is--is mutual.

They're forced to slow down, and for once, there's no running into the field, ready to die. There's no shower of bullets or swipe of the knife. They're no longer carrying assault rifles and camouflage; they're walking with you to the park, getting groceries, watching you sing to yourself in the kitchen. No--you're the one protecting them, albeit in less bloody ways. Often so kind and meek, yelling at a grumpy Karen who insults your dogs, or bandaging up cuts and scrapes whenever they get into trouble. Teary-eyed yet scolding. Out of true, genuine worry--and not the stress of a commander who's scared of losing his pawns.

Once that realization hits--that instead of a means to an end, you're truly and wholly a person to them, and that they mean the world to you--that you care so deeply and warmly and completely--it's impossible not to fall. Soon enough, they're nuzzling just a little closer into your embrace when night falls. They're paying extra attention to your likes and dislikes, and stopping themselves short of nosing into your favorite snacks. They're making the first move to hop onto the couch for movie night, instead of you calling beforehand.

In other words, at some point, it was no longer a transaction. It was no longer "I get" and "you receive." It was no longer them doing the bare minimum to guard you and keep you alive--but more. Because now, the reason your scent calls out to them is equally clear: you're not just safety.

You're home.

And now that they've found a home, they'll always come back to you, no matter what.

[gutsby]

Cabin Fever

Pairing: Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader

Summary: Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Warnings: 18+. DEAD DOVE: DNE. NONCONSENSUAL. I’m never ever beating the insane bitch allegations, I fear. Protector-turned-pervert-turned-unwilling-captor-kinda. Corruption kink. Daddy kink. Somnophilia. Misogyny. “It’s too big; it won’t fit” + Joel “I’ll make it fit” Miller. Captivity on both ends. Oral (f!receiving). Gunplay. Oversimplified first-time anal. Uno Reverse Drugging. Evil, inexperienced reader meets evil, feral, slutty Joel. Attempted murder x3. Russian Roulette…as foreplay?

Notes: Both characters SUCK. I condone nothing they do. Please do not take any of their behavior or language to reflect my own moral predilections. That is all 🚬😵‍💫

You were hardly shaking at all when he’d found you chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains.

He didn’t see that every day, that was for-fucking-sure.

Joel Miller barely got to see his share of happy, grinning girls on the cold and bitter frontier he inhabited. Ones that were tied to posts and clinging to life were even less common, so the sight of you there had almost frightened him at first. He’d approached you like one might advance upon a sleeping bear: with the utmost caution and a Winchester Model 70 levelled directly at your head.

He’d learned you were unarmed and defenseless in less than a second. He’d come to realize you were largely unconscious—and unclothed—even sooner than that.

He had been industrious in freeing your hands and feet from their restraints but never uttered a word as he did.

Even on the two-and-a-half mile trek back home, he hadn’t spoken once. You’d hung off his left shoulder like a pretty, frosted slab of meat, covered only with the sherpa blanket he’d secured around your neck, and dangled precariously down his back for the entire fifty minutes.

Your toes were two shades shy of onyx with frostbite.

Your limbs were hanging like lead over his chest.

A whisper of, ‘You’ll be fine, darlin’, I promise’ had just seemed ill-suited for the circumstances and his nature. In truth, Joel didn’t know if you’d be fine. You might die. The blood wouldn’t be on his hands one way or the other, but he never had liked burying bodies this time of year. He’d have to wait until April to break ground, at least.

Presently, he dropped your limp form to the floor of his cabin and hoped he wouldn’t be needing to bury anyone.

You sort of looked charming in the firelight.

He stomped off to the kitchen and began rifling for pans, preparing to defrost the icy stranger as best he could.

You didn’t die.

You didn’t wake for forty full hours, but you didn’t die.

When you stirred on the floor with warm sherpa around your shoulders and a rough calfskin rug under your ass, you thought you had died—maybe taken a pit stop in cowpoke purgatory while you were at it—but then you blinked. Breathed. Realized you were still very much inside your body and most likely still in Wyoming.

You sat up where you were and looked around.

“Da-a-d?”

You knew it was useless, calling for your father.

He had been dead almost eight months; you just wanted to double-check to make sure you were still on earth.

When dead dad didn’t answer, you tried someone else.

“Momma?”

Still no answer.

Figured, since she was among the ones that had left you chained outside in the first place. It’d been worth a shot.

You started to rise from your place, when a sharp pain in your side made you plop back down on the rug. You winced and lifted the blanket, then your old nightie.

A neat little taped-down bandage had your ribs encased in antiseptics and gauze. You frowned down at a stain in the centre, which looked to you an awful lot like blood. That circle of old fluids must’ve been twice the size of your fist and currently oozing tiny, fresh beads of blood from the strain you’d just exerted. You pursed your lips.

Least they could’ve done is kill me, not leave me here.

You’d take it up with your old would-be assassins another day, you were sure. Right now, you were parched, starving, in dire need of a piss, and reeling on the floor to grab hold of something sturdy to lift yourself. But you were as much a child then as you had ever been, swaying in place and clawing at air like someone who’d never kept their balance before. Or might’ve been drunk.

You rolled onto your good side and cast a sweeping look around the cabin. You smelled slow-cooked barbecue.

Thank fuck, you thought.

Now, if I were a juicy rack of ribs, where would I be?

The kitchen was dark and empty; the smell was coming from elsewhere. You craned your neck, tilted your chin, spotted a loft overhead but figured it wasn’t too likely to find someone grilling up there, so where the hell was it?

And who the hell was it, smoking meats and mending up strangers in the cold and lonely dead of winter like this?

You put a pin in that thought as you searched for a place to pee.

By the time you’d hobbled out of the bathroom, the smoky smell had grown even stronger. It was so pungent it bordered on vertiginous, invading every inch of the cabin with a force. Then it was leading you, teasing you by turns to venture outside. All you had on your feet were some oversized socks and two strips of medical tape.

Against your better judgment, you continued to hobble.

Out the door, down the steps, slowly, then following your nose and the first whiff of smoke you smelled to make it to the place you were almost certain you needed to be.

You trudged around a corner of the cabin’s exterior and stopped. Turned around. Cursed your own senses for being so stupid to miss the huge fucking shed spewing smoke out front—or was it the back?—and plodded on.

Your feet might have carried you a third of the way there before your powers of sight and sound eventually failed you again, and you missed another big something.

Big and beige and coated in snow—baring its teeth and snarling at the unfamiliar presence as soon as it saw you.

The next thing you knew, sixty-two pounds of Belgian Malinois had had you knocked to the ground in less than a second. You hardly understood what had hit you until it was barking and chomping away an inch from your face.

You fought hard and frantic to shove the ugly fucker off, but your bandaged hands were no match for its paws. The dog continued to tear at your blanket, nip at your ears, claw at your neck, and all around snuff out any sense of peace you might have acquired in the dozen-odd minutes since you’d first woken up. You screamed.

You yelled as loud as you could and felt yourself cower and sink lower into the snow as you fought.

Just when you tried to raise a knee—to kick the animal in the ribs or else protect your own—a sound broke out above the buzz.

A voice, clear as day:

“CUJO!”

The dog stalled on top of you a moment, just to be yanked off the next, and the closest thing afterward was a face—kinder than Cujo’s but not by very much.

It was a broad, bearded, pock-marked head with more soot to recommend itself than skin. Lips smeared with ash and grime and curved down in the single most decisive frown you’d seen in your life, the man looked to be beside himself seeing you tits up in the snow.

He gripped one arm of yours, then dropped it.

Picked a leg up, paused, then hauled you into a cradle carry as graceless as you’d ever felt it done before.

“Come!” he snapped, and it took you too long to realize that he was talking to the dog. You’d already wrapped your arms around his neck in abrupt complaisance.

He carried you back into the cabin and kicked the door open in front of you. He held you firm for a second, then, just as he had outside, changed course before you knew what to do and was shortly depositing you on the sofa.

You winced when your ass hit the cushion.

You started to sit, grab a pillow for your back or just bring your knees to your chest, when suddenly a palm was pressing flat on your front. Forcing you to lie down.

“Hey, hey!” you cried when the man started lifting the hem of your nightgown.

If he’d heard you at all, he didn’t show it. He just worked his thick, dirty fingers under the fabric and raised the white satin like he might the hood of a car. He frowned.

It was then that you noticed a blooming red splotch on your side, slowly overtaking the terra-cotta color of dried blood on the bandage and spreading out. Then a pain.

Instead of pushing the man’s hands away, you were holding them tight, wrestling that same touch which was trying to keep you from poking around the area now.

“Quit,” the man said, sedate as could be.

“Hurts,” was all you could think to tell him—and you guessed he’d already had that part down by the outpouring of blood. He shoved your hands off.

The brand new crimson hue had already soaked through the bandage. He pulled it off. You caught a glimpse of a wound that seemed to be weeping through its stitches—oozing pus and blood and a gore you could’ve gone your whole life without seeing. You would’ve liked to run a couple gentle, awed fingers over it, but as it was, your coarse and tight-lipped medic wouldn’t let you.

“Hold still,” he commanded.

“Heystopstopstop!” you implored him, feeling a streak of pain up your side as his calloused hands delved deeper.

At your latest flinch and plea, the man seemed to have had enough. Or just needed to angle your body in a different direction for easier access to the site. He gathered you back up in his arms and walked over to the kitchen, where he set you down again on the counter. Hands moved to your hips, briefly, to push you back on the surface and allow him to stand between your legs. Again, the man frowned as he peeled off your pyjamas.

Two warring fears of pain and overexposure fought like wild beasts in your brain for a second—you yelping and trying to cover your breasts in a hurry, then realizing how much it hurt to lift your arms that way when your ribs were dripping blood, then the man making the decision for you both as he pushed your hands behind your back and said a simple ‘Fuck’s sake’ to keep you pinned.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it, and you let him continue, because you knew that you didn’t know shit about doing this yourself.

Joel must’ve fixed your dressings fourteen times before turning you loose. He’d had you perched atop his counter like goddamned Prisoner-of-War Barbie, all riddled with bumps, bruises, and lesions galore, looked your body up and down just once, and nearly grew sick at the sight.

He’d disgusted himself by feeling as aroused as he was.

Shortly thereafter, he’d toted you off—before the blood could rush down to his dick and start to swell—shrugged your gown over your torso, and stepped away. Simple.

Then you’d had to go and throw a wrench in his plans.

“What if I need to pee?” you’d said as soon as Joel started up the stairs with you in his arms again.

He had meant to drop you off on the bed in the loft, out of sight, but it seemed you were more concerned about the prospect of traversing the steps up and down for potty breaks. Joel had audibly huffed above you.

“I can leave a bucket.”

“Yu-uck.” The latter word had been given two syllables to show the full extent of your disgust, like a child might do.

And that was how you’d ended up here: snug in his bed on the ground floor, curled up in more layers of flannel and wool than you could count and staring blankly up at the man who was standing cold and aloof off to the side.

Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep.

He figured they would be.

Joel picked up the glass that sat beside your empty one on the nightstand and drank, watching you all the while.

“D’you know my momma?” you asked, voice sounding extra small coming from the depths of your cocoon.

Joel finished his drink in four big gulps.

“Sure hope not,” he said once he’d set it back down.

By the sight of the scars he’d found littering your hands and back alone, Joel was able to surmise you’d come from a pretty rough, ragtag group. Maybe even Raiders. Knowing folks like that simply never struck one’s fancy, so he’d been honest. You might’ve argued, or laughed, if you hadn’t been nabbed so tightly in the grips of those first stages preceding sleep, so instead, you nodded.

“Figured,” you mumbled.

7:11, Joel read on the clock. You’d finished your drink at seven, or somewhere thereabouts. Judging by your size, it wouldn’t take long at all for the medicine to take effect.

‘Medicine,’ Joel thought, sounded a whole hell of a lot better than ‘drugs.’ One was meant to rehabilitate, rejuvenate, bring new life to your worn and weary bones. The other would just knock you cold and keep you there.

On second thought, those were definitely drugs Joel had just slipped in your water before giving it to you to drink.

As your eyes blinked from closed, to open, to closed, then open but slightly less open than the time before, and closed again, he felt a sick sense of accomplishment twist in his gut. If only his former-nurse friend could have seen what he was doing with those morphine sulfate tablets he’d traded for—he likely would’ve slapped Joel across the face. And Joel would’ve smiled all the same.

Yeah, okay, drugging the unsuspecting and defenseless female he’d just saved from death’s doorstep two days ago didn’t look great on paper, he would fully concede.

But this was all in good fun.

Great fun, even.

For him.

“Sick fuck,” Joel muttered as he started to undo his belt. The button and zip were taken apart just as fast, and with two steps, he was standing at your bedside—his bedside—and tugging his trousers down his legs. He took his cock in his hand and glanced over at the clock.

7:15.

He nudged your shoulder.

7:16.

Peeling layers of blanket away from your body.

7:17.

“Hey…honey?”

A lot more nothing from the girl sleeping in front of him. He shrugged his jeans to the floor, kicked them off at his feet, and moved onto the bed. You just looked so sweet.

Joel tried working around the fabric of his boxers but got impatient pretty quick. He hauled those off, too.

Soon, his beefy, bare, and surprisingly tan legs were bracketing your hips as he stroked himself above you. His eyes roamed the lax and tranquil features undeniably characteristic of sleep, and he pumped himself faster. Really, there was no need for theatrics or enhancements now—he was already hard as three tonnes of steel—but Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the build-up.

You were no longer in danger of dying, thanks to him. You were slowly but surely on the mend, no thanks to Cujo at all, but many thanks to him, Joel Miller, the man who had pried you off of that post, pulled you out of your chains, ushered warmth back into your limbs, and stitched up your side out of the goodness of his heart.

Any objective onlooker could see that you’d availed yourself of his medical attention and aid without ever asking, so why should he request access to you now? This was the way of the world these days, anyway. Sex was no longer so much a question as it was an answer in most scenarios—a mere transaction, wherein the physically weaker of two parties was forced to capitulate. Not within the four unsullied walls of Jackson and a few other pockets of homestead communities here and there, but on the whole, absolutely. Jackson was down the road a ways away and sufficiently far enough from Joel’s cabin for him to be disentangled from their rules. What mattered now was obtaining what he was owed.

Still, the man hesitated a half-second longer above you. He jerked his cock even faster and felt his stomach start to clench. Was that? No—nerves were fucking juvenile. Getting close to cumming from just the sight of you alone was for chumps. Joel Miller was no chump.

He lifted your nightie and lowered the head of his cock to rest between your folds. Then he shifted his knees so that he could rub himself gently against your warmth.

Joel Miller was a monster, but he was no brute. He also understood female anatomy well enough to know that, well…wetter was better. He started moving his hips.

You exhaled through your nose. Nothing major; you probably hadn’t even felt him long enough to whine.

Joel planted a hand beside your head—a preemptive warning.

“There…” He liked to talk as though you could hear him. Like you might be semi-conscious and dimly aware of what he was doing to you then, “Right there…ah, baby.”

He never did catch your name.

That was no matter. So long as you stayed put and made a nice, wet, pretty little hole for him to fuck, you would be fine. By the feel of your folds alone, he could tell you’d be a fun thing to use. Soft and snug and plied with drugs, you could do, and be, anything he damn well needed.

Or maybe nothing at all, he thought without humor.

Joel brushed your cheek with the knuckles of his free hand and watched you turn away, making a face. He snagged your chin and tilted it back to him, sharply, before gliding those fingers down your chest, then your tummy, then your hips, then dipping between your legs. He found your clit and pressed it with a deliberate touch.

“Hey,” Joel whispered, again, as though you might hear, “You’re gonna stay still and let me do this.”

Your nose scrunched in response, thighs clamping together. Joel pried them apart with one push and continued sliding his cock back and forth. He grunted.

“Gonna let me take what’s mine, hear?”

You didn’t hear much of anything, he suspected, but he asked the question all the same. At least now your legs were staying open and he could rut himself gently into that space without having to keep them spread. A first, gentle ‘mmph’ sounded from your lips, and he was glad. He kept thumbing that spot he knew you would like and rubbing along the seam of your cunt with his erection.

Then Joel felt a weight on his shoulders. Remorse? No. Anxiety? Perhaps. This felt more like a fog, though, seizing his muscles and seeping gently between the grooves of his brain. He gave his head a fierce shake.

“Hold still,” he said, more to himself; you hadn’t moved.

Joel fisted the base of his cock and angled the tip toward your entrance, caring much less whether you were ready or not now that his desires had grown stronger.

He was met with resistance on trying to push in. He dug his fingers in the pillow beneath your head and scowled.

“Quit…clenchin’…like that. Ain’t…fair to me,” he huffed.

He was one to talk.

Now, he’d been with a staggering number of women, experiences ranging all across the spectrum, but even the tightest, most untouched pieces of ass he’d ever tapped had given way more than this. Your walls were unyielding, refusing to give him entry. Joel cursed and rutted his hips in a rough, entirely unsuccessful, thrust.

You hummed in response, eyes still closed, one hand fumbling mindlessly for something to hold. Joel seized it.

“Not lettin’ you off that easy, darlin’, I—”

“Fuck,” you breathed, followed by a low whimper.

Joel froze. Had you heard him? Felt him just now?

Something about the uncertainty laden in those questions sent his mind into overdrive, heart beating a wild cadence in his chest. He realized then that his mouth had gone dry, his vision was skewed just slightly on the outskirts. And his cock was throbbing.

“Ya like that?” Joel seethed, not thinking, still rubbing, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

“Uh-huh.” Softly.

You little slut. He knew it all along.

Whatever it was that kept your body from being coupled with his was almost immaterial to him now. Joel’s mind was swimming with desire, cock dragging in desperate, fitful bursts between your legs, never penetrating but still wringing massive jolts of pleasure from that place.

With the way he was feeling now, Joel could cum from just fucking your thighs. And that was alright.

You were moaning underneath him. Even…smiling?

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty.”

Joel had never called a girl pretty before and meant it. But he hardly knew how else to describe you now with how good and sweet and fine you were making him feel. A strange warmth sank into his chest, making it harder to breathe, and then he was panting above you, as if he were really inside that dripping wet spot. He was close.

“Such a pretty…sweet…fuckin’ thing for me.”

That red, raging, leaky cock of his was almost a blur between your legs, he was thrusting against you so fast. Joel thought for one frightening second that it might be his skull that would explode instead, so high was that pressure between his ears, but his fears were promptly put to rest as the first rope of cum came stuttering out. Then another. Then another. Then another.

By the time he finished, he could’ve sworn he’d left a hundred spurts on your tummy. When Joel glanced down and saw a sea of opaque, sticky white, he groaned.

Then he fell. Fully collapsed at your side with his brain in a tizzy of wild, heady feelings and sank into himself.

He hadn’t even fucked you, and he felt like he had.

He lifted a hand to wipe away his spend, but he couldn’t.

He would get to it in the morning, before you stirred, he thought. He thought. He didn’t have the chance to think much longer at all, as darkness started hedging him in.

He slept.

It was 7:57 when he woke.

The man had no real way of knowing that, though, seeing as he was greeted with a nickel-plated revolver between his teeth the second he opened his eyes.

You were straddling his torso, gun pinched between two calm, bandaged hands. You frowned when he jumped.

“WH—” he started.

“Shut up.”

“ST—”

“I said shut,” you cocked the gun, holding it tighter, then shoving it even further inside his mouth, “the fuck. up.”

The man obeyed.

‘Joel M.’—you’d read the name etched on the butt of his pistol before picking it up some twenty minutes ago.

“Pretty fuckin’ thing,” you mocked the man’s Texan drawl as you wiggled the barrel even deeper along his tongue, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

The man’s eyes widened.

How dumb did he think you were?

Offering a semi-clear liquid that should’ve been water; he hadn’t even waited for the morphine tablet to fully dissolve before handing it over to you. Fucking idiot.

You were more disturbed by the fact he’d thought you stupid enough not to notice than him actually trying to drug you. The latter was almost to be expected from predatory, execrable men like him, but the insult to your intelligence? Unacceptable. You’d remedied that affront fairly quickly, though, swapping his glass with yours the second he hadn’t been looking, then nestling into his bed and playing pretend for what had felt like an eternity.

You’d been awake the whole time the man touched you, not knowing what the hell was going on but feeling like you had to stay still. Let him finish. Out of fear, at first, then curiosity, then some strange and unfamiliar sensation that you couldn’t quite describe as anything but a pleasurable itch between your legs. You let the man continue, hearing him grunt and groan and swear up a storm before he shot something hot all over your tummy. By the end of it all, you knew it was wrong, and you knew it was dirty—though you weren’t sure exactly what it was that he had done—but you wanted to learn more.

Which was probably why you hadn’t just shot the old pervert right between his eyes the second he’d stirred.

You shifted atop this ‘Joel M.’ and frowned once more.

“Why’d you stop?”

Gun still wedged in his mouth, Joel’s voice sounded garbled as he spoke, “Wha-agh-at?”

You retracted the metal just long enough to pose the question again. When you had, he still looked stunned.

“Answer me,” you barked, and feeling your patience lapse, got straight to pistol-whipping the motherfucker upside his half-grey head, “You DUMB, or somethin’?”

The man sputtered again.

“No, no— I don’t— dunno what you mean.”

He sounded dumb. You would need to spell this out.

“Why did you stop rubbing me like that?”

If anything, the clarification only seemed to baffle him further. He opened his taut, bearded mouth, then closed it, then eyed you up and down with a look that said he was considering something. Then he stared at one spot.

You glanced down at it too.

“And what is this, anyway?” you asked, swiping one finger at the mostly dried moisture on your stomach, “Why’d you spit this stuff up all over me, huh?!”

“I ain’t—”

You raised the gun as if to hit him again. He jolted back.

“I didn’t mean— shit. Shit, I just…came on you, ‘s’all.”

“Came?”

The word hung in the air like a grenade, waiting. Mr. M was already bracing himself for the impact, it seemed.

“Came?!”

That bracing served him well, because in the next second you were lifting the weapon even higher and eyeing him with the most pointed, putrid look of disdain. You’d never been one for letting grenades go untouched.

“Ejaculated!” Joel hissed, lifting a hand to shield himself, “Felt— felt so good I just couldn’t stop and I-I-I came.”

You paused.

Came. Felt good. Couldn’t stop.

You had felt good when he’d rubbed you. You had not wanted him to stop. But then he had. And you were mad. You’d never been touched that way in your life, and now you were feeling fifteen hundred emotions at once.

Were you supposed to ‘come,’ too? Why did he stop?

“Why didn’t you let me…ejaculate, too?” The words felt foreign and strange on your tongue.

For the first time, you saw one side of Joel’s lips twitch. Evidently fighting the urge to turn them into a smile.

“Girls don’t really…do that,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Why? Ain’t ever had your pussy rubbed on by a man?”

You shortly landed the blow you’d been holding over his head, splitting the skin along his brow with one hit from the butt of his gun. Joel jumped again, then moaned.

“Crazy bitch!”

“Creepy fuck.”

Your eyes narrowed with loathing, unable to comprehend how a man so vile had just made you feel so good. Your stomach was twisting in knots while Joel rubbed his forehead, pawing helplessly at the gash you’d just left.

“I saved your life,” he grumbled, low, “You owed me.”

“Did I?”

Abruptly, and without really thinking, you were sinking the muzzle of the gun into the spot you’d just cut, mouth kicking up in a smile at the sounds of pain it elicited.

“Did I, Joel?” you cooed.

“How the— the fuck do you know my name?”

Momentarily, you yanked the revolver from his face and tilted it to show him his name carved into the bottom.

“What’s the ‘M’ stand for? ‘Molester’?”

“Means ‘mind’ your fucking business,” he spat.

You probably would’ve hit him again had it not seemed as though he were trying to sit up just then. You slid swiftly from his frame—just to take a step off the bed, gun still pointed at his head. Then you backed away.

One by one, rapidly, you unloaded the bullets from the cylinder, maintaining a safe distance from the man all the while. You watched him blink and try to get some thing from his eyes, but he didn’t seem keen to move.

You left just one live round inside. You made a point to spin the cylinder and, again, aim it straight at his head.

The man was blinking even harder. Rubbing now, too.

“I feel…” Joel murmured.

“Drugged?” you returned, “Yeah, that must suck.”

A set of wide, irate, and horrified eyes met yours. His mouth hung open in a stupid look of shock. Trying to piece the last bits of this fucked up jigsaw puzzle together and growing angrier by the second.

“You fuckin’—”

Joel’s words were cut short by the weight of your body barreling back over his. Graceless, you imagined, but still nothing close to something you cared about now. You planted your knees on either side of his ribs and grazed the tip of the six-shooter down the length of his nose.

“Tell me,” you said, “How’d you make it feel so good?”

Your hips twisted for effect, jostling the man’s own parts beneath yours and clearly causing some effect in him. The muscles in his jaw jumped up as he gritted his teeth.

“You know damn well, slut,” Joel griped.

Without another thought, you squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The man’s whole body lurched underneath you. Trembling with the realization that you’d left just one lone bullet for him—and he didn’t know which chamber.

As far as foreplay went, Russian Roulette was probably a first, even for a man as wanton and depraved as Joel. You smiled sweetly and made another gyration with your lower half, which prompted him to grip you. Tight.

“What? Ya want me to fuck you, is that it?” he growled.

“I thought it wouldn’t fit.”

“I’ll make it fit.”

“How?”

Try as you might to conceal it, your gaze likely betrayed a hint of sincerity as you made that last inquiry. Joel’s eyes flickered between yours, searching for something there, and just when those glossy brown irises had found it, they stopped. Blinked. He shook his head, incredulous.

“My mind ain’t…right,” he said, slowly, “But I— I know you know what I mean by that, sweet pea.”

Something in your tummy fluttered at the sound. You gripped the pistol tighter to get rid of the feeling.

“I don’t,” you answered.

Again, Joel was stumped. For the first time, though, there appeared to be some sympathy behind his eyes. Or stupidity. Or just a shit ton of morphine coursing through his veins as he tried to make sense of this situation.

As if to confirm an idea in his drug-addled brain, he lowered a hand between your legs and hovered there a second. He watched you; you watched back but didn’t move.

Then slowly, almost clinically, Joel slipped two fingers underneath you and found a soft, pulsing warmth—far wetter than the last time he’d touched down there. When he pulled his hand away, both fingers and half of his palm were glistening with a fluid. You let out a startled cry at the sight of it and nearly dropped your gun.

“What is that?!”

Joel looked to you, equally awed—for different reasons.

“What do you mean?”

“Why’s it all…sticky?”

You couldn’t even try to hide your horror at the thought of that weird, syrupy stuff leaking out of you. It was strange enough feeling it come out of a freak like Joel, but from your own body? He had to be fucking joking.

“It’s normal.”

“Like hell it is— you— STOP!” The last fragment of your sentence was swallowed by a scream, leaping back when Joel moved his fingers toward your face.

“What? You’ve never seen this?” He sounded like he was teasing. You could shoot him for how smug he sounded.

In very small amounts, you’d seen stuff. Blood every month. Bits and pieces of bodily secretions that, to you, had always seemed gross. But never this. Never big, sticky globs of…whatever the fuck this was. You continued to back away on the bed, gun still tipped toward Joel but now trying to put some distance between your bodies. You didn’t know how else to act.

You did know you wanted to scream when Joel stuck his fingers in his mouth. Bile might’ve jumped in your throat.

He sucked the dew clean off the digits, then wriggled them to show what he’d done. You felt the urge to vomit.

“That came from— from— why are you eating it?!”

Joel grinned. Big.

You weren’t sure why, but he looked psyched to be alive in that moment, and not just because of the narcotics.

Before you knew what was happening, he’d pushed you flat on your back, hips pinned underneath his hands as he moved over your body. He didn’t even try for the gun.

“And here I was thinkin’ you were just fuckin’ with me,” he chuckled, palms sliding under your nightdress. When you felt the residuum of wetness from his spit and your slick stuck together on his fingers, you wanted to squeal.

But you didn’t. You tried propping yourself up on elbows until Joel was sliding your one and only article of clothing over your head, then beckoning you down on the bed in front of him. You watched his gaze flit down to your side.

“Still hurt?” he murmured, tracing over the bandage.

You shook your head no, though it did, a little. At the moment, it seemed the pain was the furthest thing from your mind as you saw Joel slide down your body and try to take up residence between your thighs—with his face planted right there. You kicked his shoulder in protest.

“Quit!” you cried, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“You quit,” Joel returned, yanking them back.

Then you felt you had no choice but to brandish the gun, taking the thing between two palms while you pointed it again—as if he needed the reminder.

“Fine. Why don’t you keep that thing aimed at my head while I give you some?” he muttered. The subsequent ‘See if I give a shit’ was silent.

“Give me some what?”

“Head.”

Head. You’d never heard something phrased that way. Joel’s head was down there, sure, practically grinning from ear to ear as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, but certainly he didn’t mean to do a thing as drastic and dirty as—

“JOEL!”

“Hm?” His voice was muffled by your thighs.

You tried to shy away, but he held you down.

“Joel, I— I pee out of there,” you hissed, “Why the fuck would you wanna put your mouth on that?”

As if your groans of disgust and vehement attempts to get away weren’t enough to deter him, you watched Joel’s tongue dart between his lips and down to yours. The sick fuck was actually licking your folds, tracing the tip across that warm, sticky place and moaning into your skin. Holding you tighter when you pleaded for him to stop. Then, with the hand that wasn’t prying your legs apart, he reached down and started stroking his cock.

Again, it felt dirty and wrong. Beyond the fact that this man was a perfect stranger and easily decades your senior, you were repulsed by the sight of his lips and his tongue and his spit mixing up in that messy, wet place you still didn’t quite understand yourself. You didn’t know much about your body, but it had never once occurred to you to be kissed down there. Joel was roaming every contour and crevice with his tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he liked it.

“I hate it,” you whined, feebly.

You knew you could’ve easily blown the man’s brains out, but some small part of you was still plagued by curiosity. ‘Hate’ was just the first word that came to mind when you were faced with something that made you scared.

“It’s weird,” you tried again. This time pressing the gun to the top of his bobbing head while you grit your teeth, “And wrong.”

At that, Joel stopped.

His eyes flickered to yours, all glass-like and hooded.

“Why? Practically lickin’ ya clean here,” he said, starting to grin to himself as his words came slightly slurred, “There’s nothin’ wrong about this, sweet pea.”

You felt something flutter between you. He felt it, too.

“Like when I call ya that? ‘Sweet pea’?” he said, pausing to flick his tongue over the spot that had just stirred at his words. He watched you fight back a whimper.

“No,” you choked. You pinched your eyes shut, unsure whether it was pleasure or pure revulsion overtaking you—or both.

Suddenly, you felt Joel’s hand smooth over your thigh, still warm from when he’d been stroking himself below. He placed an affectionate kiss to your belly and grinned.

“Is that what this is? Feel guilty about feelin’ this good?” he murmured, “Think it’s…dirty, what we’re doin’?”

At length, and just barely visible to him, you nodded.

“It is dirty,” you corrected him quietly.

Then you saw that stupid pseudo-sympathetic smirk tug at the corners of his lips, and just when you thought he might nudge his way back up your body—to do what, you weren’t sure—he sank between your legs. This time, he made sure to hold your gaze as he re-assumed the position. His palm continued to rub at your thigh, as if to distract you from the rough brush of his stubble or the fact that his mouth was hovering so dangerously close.

“Sweet pea,” he rasped, “Ain’t nothin’ dirty about this.”

As if to punctuate his words, Joel dragged his lips down your slit to press a kiss to your centre, eyes never leaving yours.

“Not here…”

He pointed with his tongue, moving it deftly between your folds. You gripped the sheets, trying to ignore the pleasure that the simple act wrought through your body.

“Not here.”

He kissed your clit. You squeezed even tighter.

“Not on my tongue, on my fingers, anywhere, y’hear?”

You were about to answer—maybe tell him he was supremely full of shit, then flash the gun in his face—when Joel shifted onto his knees on the bed. He moved slowly and as calm as he ever had, motions languid while his mind was likely steeped in the morphine by now. He snagged one of your ankles. He slid his hand up the back of your calf and tugged you down to the edge of the bed. Then he stood up, right between your legs. The warmth radiating from his bare lower half was immediate, almost suffocating from where you lay. You didn’t like it at all.

You refused to meet his gaze, grip tightening on the gun.

“Joel…”

When that warmth at your front shifted inward, though, you hardly had a say in what your reflexes did or didn’t do. You jumped when you felt the head of his dick slip past your pulsing core, closer to the other hole below it.

“Not here, either,” Joel continued, grin still evident from his tone.

Before you could even think to ask what he meant to do ‘here,’ Joel moved one of your legs up, tilting your hips, and pushed ahead with just the tip of his cock. Not breaching it fully, but nudging—prodding at that hole.

For the first time, you let out a moan.

You hastily clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle it.

“Aw, honey,” Joel murmured, “Did that feel good?”

His words reeked of condescension. You scowled at the ceiling.

“No.”

You felt him push a little further—this time making the head of his dick notch into that tight ring of muscles.

No, the word rang through your skull once more. Your curiosity was shortly supplanted by disgust—how the fuck could you let this creepy old man, this stranger, press into you like that? Talk to you like you were dumb? You seized hold of Joel’s pistol with both hands and aimed directly for his chest.

“Stop doing that,” you growled. When the man’s grip on your leg only tightened and you couldn’t writhe away, you lifted the other and tried kicking him in the gut. Of course, Joel caught your foot midair, and it never landed.

“Just givin’ ya options, darlin’,” he said, easy-going. Not seeming to care about the firearm pointed his way.

Fuck it.

You squeezed the trigger again.

Empty chamber.

If Joel flinched, you didn’t see it. He did, however, knock the gun right out of your hand the next second, sending it tumbling with an unceremonious thump on the bed behind you. You tried to leap back for it, but your arm was quickly pinned. Joel cocked one silver-flecked brow.

“You done?” he asked, almost bored.

Your last—and only—leverage taken away from you, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anger. And desperation.

“I don’t wanna do this,” you cried, trying to squirm away.

Joel didn’t move his cock, but he did hold you still. Blinking with indifference and a fair bit of drug-induced dissociation, it seemed, from the far-away look in his eyes. He pushed both of your legs so they were folded up to your chest, and ignored your whimpers when he did. At length, he pulled out just enough to smear some of your wetness down to the hole he was trying to fuck.

“You want this,” he countered gently.

“I DON’T!”

Joel continued as though he hadn’t heard you, and moments later, you sensed another slick something pooling against you. From your position beneath him, you could see a bead of spit slip from Joel’s mouth and stretch into a thin, glistening string all the way down to the space between your thighs. You watched him rub the saliva in with his fingers, almost meticulous as he did it.

Then he eased his hips forward an inch, wedging himself back in your ass. He groaned when he felt resistance—and a sharp clench of your muscles.

“I can teach ya…show ya everything…there is to know.”

His words somehow made it out through ragged breaths. That broad, tan chest was heaving with every labored pull of his lungs, and you could tell he was feeling good.

You might’ve been able to say the same for yourself, were your mind not singly occupied by the desire to escape. Still at war with yourself, wondering how it would feel or what you might see that first time, all the while despising the man who seemed hell-bent on forcing it.

He might’ve saved your life, but there was no fucking way he’d get to use you like that and stay breathing.

You were raised better than that.

You could do better than anything this man had to offer.

You resolved to kill him as soon as the drugs knocked him out—just like you’d had planned from the second you woke up on the floor of his cabin that afternoon.

Of course being chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains for some well-meaning stranger to find you had always been part of your mother’s—and the rest of the Raiders’—grand plan. Having this stupid, horny sap take you into his home with the hope of claiming you as his own was just the icing on top.

Now you had a reason to kill Joel and steal all his shit.

At present, he fed another inch of himself inside you and grinned when you let out a startled cry.

“Atta girl,” he said, smirking, “Feelin’ okay?”

“Fuck you.”

“Will do.”

Then, as if to prove a point, he bottomed out, sheathing his cock to the hilt in spite of your cries. Your hands fisted the sheets, and you tried to pull off. It didn’t work.

In fact, all it accomplished was giving Joel more room to thrust back into you. And pull out. And shove back in. The snap of his hips was like cruel and excruciating clockwork, completely unhindered by your words or your gestures or your pleas to stop fucking doing that Joel, it fucking hurts! If anything, the sounds of your censure only got him harder, and with it, made it that much easier to fuck you rougher. His eyes shone with pride.

“What’s’at, sweet pea?” he hummed, strokes coming into a steady pace.

“It’s too…big…doesn’t fit,” you whimpered.

In response, Joel glanced down to see the spot where your bodies were joined. He pushed even deeper.

“Yeah?” he said when you yelped, “I think it fits just fine.”

Motherfucker, you wanted to wail, but then your neck craned sideways—your mouth trying to find purchase in anything you might grit between your teeth—and the only thing that escaped your throat was a sob. You tried burying your face in the comforter, only for Joel to yank it back.

Cupping your chin and pinching both your cheeks in a single, punishing squeeze as he continued to fuck you, “What’s the matter, darlin’? Too much?”

You groaned and clenched your jaw, head jerking away.

Per usual, Joel was undeterred. Even smiled.

“My pretty girl need somethin’a bite, huh?” he hummed.

He probably knew you wouldn’t nod, so he went ahead and decided to oblige that one need he saw anyway. Snagging your nightie, Joel raised a hand to your face and proceeded to push the fabric inside your mouth.

Just as he started to lift his hips to deliver another thrust, he had to stop. A sudden, sharp ‘FUCK!’ left his mouth, then a groan, and his hand retreated fast.

You’d bitten him.

You were grinning just a little, and you’d bitten him.

Joel promptly slapped you across the face. If you weren’t so fucking amused by the sight of his bright red fingers, you just might’ve winced. Instead, the smile stayed on your lips, the slap barely registered, and, to your utmost disbelief, something else had just then started to form.

Pleasure, in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuckin’—” Joel snarled.

“Shit,” you finished, eyes rolling back.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was rutting into you relentlessly. That brief hand bite detour had only stoked the flames of his hatred—and arousal—and now he was practically splitting you in half with the force of his thrusts. He slapped you once more for good measure.

“Oh, that you fuckin’ like?” he seethed, cheeks flushed, “Can’t get off with my…tongue on your cunt, but a slap— and my cock buried deep in your ass gets the job done?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered softly. Mindlessly.

Really, there were no two people more fucked up than you in this moment, you thought. Joel growing harder with each desperate objection of yours, you going all soft and hot and bothered the second he slapped your face and fucked you rougher, and together, the two of you letting out grunts and moans of pleasure while the bed shook like an earthquake just shy of a 9.5 on the Richter scale. Were you not already planning to slit the man’s throat after all of this was over, you just might’ve wanted to marry this Joel M for how wonderfully he fucked you.

You let him know as much when you seized his forearms.

Bouncing into his thrusts, you bit your lip and finally met his gaze. Joel’s eyes were trained in somewhat of a daze, pupils all but swallowing his irises as he fucked you.

“Like being daddy’s little cocksleeve, huh?”

Only the sentence was slurred so bad you could scarcely make out half the words. You nodded just the same.

“Like it when he fucks you in the ass?” Joel panted.

You nodded again.

That pleasure in your belly had worked its way up to a full swell—and whatever it was, you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it now. You gripped Joel’s arms even harder as his chest swayed into you, then sank further and further until your fronts were pressed flush to each other and your ankles were hooked tight around his back.

It almost felt intimate. That coarse, weathered, sweat-coated face spattered with patches of grey seemed to you nearly handsome as his lips hung limply in an ‘o.’

Joel’s cock dragged back and forth between your walls at this new, snug angle, and moans fell out of you both.

“Baby.” His voice was hoarse. Strained.

You couldn’t quite make sense of the expression above you, but there was an unmistakable, muted desperation lurking somewhere beneath it. Joel rutted into you quicker, balls leaving rapid smacks against your ass with every thrust. His hair was disheveled, and his hands were making fists in the sheets on either side of your head.

“Joel—”

“Jus’ lemme use you.”

Words so low they were barely audible as he panted.

“But—”

“Daddy’s…almost done, sweet pea. Just take it.”

You were surprised he’d had it within himself to be so soft. A peculiar sort of haze hung over his face, the pace of his hips picked up even more, and suddenly those plush pink lips were hovering a mere hair’s breadth away from yours. Mumbling. Rambling on and on about how wet you were, how perfect you fit him, how nice and sweet and tight your body felt as he fucked you stupid.

That sensation in your own stomach grew even stronger.

Unsure of what to do, you pressed a palm to his chest.

“Joel, I…I feel funny,” you whispered.

Joel hummed. Didn’t slow.

“I know.”

He knew?

“What’s it—ah, fuck.” Your words broke off in a whimper.

Instead of proffering a verbal response, Joel just slipped a touch between your bodies—thumbing sloppily between your folds to earn a couple more high-pitched moans. Your legs tightened around his middle.

“Joel, s-stop!”

It felt so good it almost hurt. He didn’t stop.

“S’just an orgasm, baby,” Joel panted, “You’re okay.”

And, in spite of his own impending climax and the effect of the drugs likely reaching a fever pitch inside him, Joel managed to slide his other hand beneath the back of your head. Cradled you to him while he fucked you into the bed and made you come unraveled with his touch. You tried to writhe away, but he was used to the drill by now—he just fucked you harder and rubbed you faster.

Whatever he wanted would come soon. You doubted there was anything you could do to stop it, but you tried.

Without thinking, you grabbed hold of the damp locks of hair at the nape of his neck and yanked on them hard.

“Joel, I can’t— I can’t,” you keened.

The hand at the back of your head held you firm.

“You can,” Joel returned, tough but surprisingly calm, “Give it to daddy, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

What exactly ‘it’ was was still unclear. You just knew you felt good and warm and full—about ready to burst. When you felt tempted to give his hair another tug, Joel’s eyes met yours, and they were soft. Insistent, still, but soft.

Dilated as all hell and probably swimming in clouds of a delirious, bleary haze, but always soft. Almost tender.

“Be a good girl and give it to daddy,” Joel slurred, slow, “C’mon, sweet pea…cum for daddy, please.”

For the first time in that short, rough, utterly deranged time you had known this man, he was begging you. Pleading with you, now, as his body grew overwrought with pleasure and just needed release. You needed it, too, not even knowing how you would get it, but the force of his thrusts, the warmth of his body, the look in those warm, bare, powerless eyes—you fucking loved whatever it was that could make a man like that so weak.

You had to strike while the iron was hot. You slid back.

Joel didn’t notice, too focused on your face and the feel of your body to see when you’d reached for the gun.

Just as you took hold of it, a jolt of pleasure tore through you. Your heels dug into his back, and you nearly lost control of the pistol. Joel groaned in your mouth, begged you once again to cum all over this cock, make a fuckin’ mess of it, baby, please, and you could only whine, grip the metal tighter, and raise it slowly to the side of his head while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The peak of your pleasure had come into view. You felt it.

You nudged the muzzle through those soft, slick, salt-and-pepper shaded tufts of hair near the edge of his temple right when the first throes of euphoria seized you.

“FUCK!”

You squeezed the trigger.

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Love

Synopsis: Emotions run high after you and your knight were attacked, and though it was the most unfortunate of events, you would have to thank it for all that would transpire after. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond and Princess Secret Relationship, Fluff, Mentions of Violence PREVIOUS PART / NEXT PART A/N: I have decided and we shall all expect the addition of canon characters in the next coming chapters!

“I— I saw them on their way to the hill, her seated on a white stallion and her knight holding the reigns. She was wearing a… a pink dress, and there were flowers and ribbons in her hair, and she even bid me ‘good morrow,’ but that was all, I swear! I never told anyone that I saw the princess by the grove; please, you must believe me!” The prince looked upon the woodcutter, who was one of the last persons who had seen his sister and her knight. You and Ser Aemond had left early in the morning two days before for you wanted to have a picnic on the hill, they granted you permission, thinking the two of you would return by midday, but two days had passed, and naught a word nor sign appeared to tell them the whereabouts of the princess and Ser Aemond. 

The prince gritted his jaw and nodded, the testament of the woodcutter believable. He turned to his father, who was growing impatient and was consumed by his nerves. They had no idea what had happened to you. They had sent out search parties since the afternoon you had left, but none still had seen you. “Next!” A voice announced as another witness stepped towards the throne where your father sat and your brother stood next to. “Your Highness, your Majesty; I—I have not seen the princess, but I have found this,” The prince paled as the man raised the eye patch of your knight. “I have seen the princess’ sworn protector a couple of times in the city, and I believe it to be his— his initials are carved on the leather.” A squire brought the found eye patch to the king, and they witnessed the ‘A.T.’ engraved on the strap, signifying that it was truly your knight’s.

The prince gave a hesitant nod for the next witness to come and hoped it would give them the answers they were desperate for. However, it was just the same information given— you were seen near the grove with your knight. “This cannot be. Double—no, triple the search parties, and extend their territory. I want my daughter found!” The king almost yelled as he was with his son and the council in the privacy of his study. “Of course, my king,” A council member bowed and hurriedly left the council room to do the king’s order, and in exchange for him came a knight. 

“My king, the princess, and Ser Aemond had been spotted by the gate,” He said, almost out of breath. The prince immediately stood and went to the window and witnessed that it was truly you. The prince ran out of the room to meet his sister, pushing away all the members of the court who had flocked as they were worried out of their minds about the disappearance of their princess. The prince felt further dread pool in his stomach as he saw the state you two were in. Your dress was torn, your hair disheveled, and a speck of dried blood by your temple; the cloak of your knight draped over your shoulders to keep a part of your torn dress concealed. Ser Aemond, on the other hand, had dried blood trickling from his thigh and arm, pieces of his cloak to bandage his wounds— and what was most shocking was the lack of his constant eye cover which revealed more of his scar and a gemstone in his eye-socket. The prince looked away, fearing he would offend your knight if he continued to stare. 

“Oh gods, sister…” The prince’s voice was barely above a whisper as he could not believe the state you were in. “He needs a maester— Ser Aemond needs a Maester,” You fretted as your brother enveloped you in a hug, though you found comfort, you could not be calm as your knight still held his injuries. “I’m fine, princess,” Aemond interjected, more concerned about your well-being than his, but you parted from your brother and shook your head furiously. “His wounds, it might grow infected— a maester, please!” You pleaded, and before anyone could do your plea, your father came and immediately took you in your arms, your mother following behind him. “Oh my darling, you’re alive— you’re safe,” Your father finally breathed out a breath of relief, but you quickly parted from his arms as you turned to a squire and urged him to fetch a maester. 

“Why are you hurt? Where’s your injury?” The king began to fret once more, but you shook your head, unable to answer him until a maester came for Ser Aemond. “Princess, truly, I am fine,” Aemond said quietly, fearing your anxiousness would catch the attention of the court who still circled around you. He feared your understanding would be found out by the way you fretted over him. “Bu—“ You were cut off as your brother spoke, “Here’s the maester now— sister, come, we must get you inside, Ser Aemond will be fine,” Your brother said and gently pulled you to guide you inside. You gave one last look towards your knight, his eye imploring you that he would be fine before you reluctantly followed your family inside the castle. 

After the events of the two days were cleansed from your skin, you sat in the sitting room of your chambers with the whole of your family before you. All of them were cautious as to how to question you on what had happened, so all of you sat in silence. You stared at the fire, your mind still consumed by Aemond, fearing that his injuries would grow worse after days of being unable to treat them properly, but the faint yet distinct sound of his armor from the other side of the door made you quickly look up. “Is that Ser Aemond?” Your brother questioned as he noticed your attention was turned to the door. You did not know, so your brother went to confirm, and indeed, it was your knight standing by his post bathed, with clean bandages, and wearing his eye patch. You followed your brother and grew confused as your knight was in his post, your eyes silently imploring him that he must rest, but your father called upon both of you. 

You went back to your seat, and your knight stood behind it, stance straight and ready to answer any query. “What has happened?” Your father asked the simple question. “We were attacked.” You answered, surprising the king because he aimed the question at your knight. “We were ambushed on our way back to the castle. They placed a felled tree upon our path as a distraction— it was too heavy and wide to be moved or be lept by the horse, and in consequence, we had to take the road less traveled.” Aemond explained, and you rested your back on the cushion of your chair to see your knight better from your peripheral vision. “They… had shot arrows at the princess’s horse, making her fall, and before I could make my way to her, three men attacked me while the other two took hold of the princess…” Aemond paused as he felt the familiar dread he felt as he heard your desperate cries as two men took hold of your frame. 

“And then?” Your brother dared ask. “When I had killed the three, I found them in a distance. They tied the princess upon a tree and…” He trailed, having difficulty to utter the words before your kin. “And?!” Your father roared, his mind imagining the worst in the few seconds of Ser Aemond’s pause. The knight straightened his stance, his eye growing darker. “And they had torn her dress and attempted to sully her— but before they could lay another finger on the princess, I had cut their hands and taken their lives.” He said coldly, finding an odd sense of calm as he recalled their lifeless bodies falling upon the dirt ground, the fitting retribution for what they dared to do to you. The king let out an exasperated sigh, his hand running along his face as he felt rage consume him with just a retelling of what had happened. “Did they suffer?” The king gritted, surprising you and your brother with his question. “The three had rather swift deaths…. But I had made certain that the two would endure each minute of their death.” Aemond answered, the king giving a satisfied nod.

 You traced the embroidery of your dress as you glanced towards your knight. Aemond glanced towards your fingers, your nervous habit of tracing the delicate stitching of your gowns. He was itching to have somewhat a hold of you for fear you were still traumatized at the scenes you had witnessed. He remembered your scream; it still echoed in his mind, as well as the horror on your face as you begged him not to kill another bandit, but how could he not? When all of them threatened your life, and all had the goal to harm you and take you from them— from him? 

“Well, Ser Aemond, you have proven to us once again how well you take your duty— thank you. We… we are not certain what will befall our daughter if it was not you who was with her,” The king commended, and Aemond nodded. You sat still for a moment, waiting for your family to leave, for you wanted a moment alone with your knight, and when they did, you immediately went to Ser Aemond’s side, dissolving the damned gap that had to return each moment any other presence accompanied you two. 

“You must rest,” you said, inspecting the bandages of his wounds. “I am fine; you must not worry so much,” Aemond said softly, his heart warming at how concerned you were of him. “No, you are just saying that! Please, you must rest, at least for a few days— let your wounds settle,” You murmured, gently caressing his arm. “And leave you in the protection of another? No. Princess.” Aemond said, no longer trusting another to watch over you now that he had come to the full realization that there are more dangers that may come to you than he had previously thought. Aemond sighed and cupped your fretting face with his calloused, stained hands, but you found no care, you only leaned closer to his touch. “Thank you.” He whispered, confusing you. 

“Why are you thanking me? You are the one who saved my life; I should be thanking you,” You murmured, placing your hand atop his. Aemond smiled and shook his head. “Yes, but you are the one who nursed me back to health— the one who cleaned and bandaged my wounds; if you were not there, I might have bled to death.” Aemond smiled even though the subject was grim. You, however, frowned greatly, “Do not say such a thing,” You said, not even able to grasp the idea of such a proposition. Aemond smiled wider as he attested to how much you truly cared about him. He placed a kiss on your forehead and let his arms wrap around your frame. “I don’t think anyone has cared for me as much as you do,” Aemond murmured, confessing the truth. You felt a twinge in your heart as he said such a thing. How can someone not care for him when it came so easily for you? You sighed and only held him tighter as you had no words of reply. 

“I still think you need to rest,” you say after an intimate moment of silence, making Aemond laugh. “Stop fretting, I am fine.” He insisted as he tried to wipe away the furrow between your brows with his thumb, just as how you had done for him before. “Very well— but swear to me if you feel any discomfort, you will tell me, yes?” Aemond sighed and nodded as he knew that was the only way to calm your fretting self. “Promise?” You asked, not completely believing him as he does have a tendency to keep what he feels inside. Aemond did not answer but instead kissed your lips as he always believed that actions do speak louder than words. You sighed, finally feeling some relief after the few days that had passed. You felt more secure and safe now that it was just you and Aemond in the privacy of your chambers, and you could only hope and pray that it would always be like this. 

Days passed, and the whole of the kingdom had been privy to the fact of how you were ambushed and how your knight bravely and gallantly protected you from the five ambushers— proclaiming him as a hero for he was the reason why their beloved princess was saved from further harm. Aemond did not like the attention; he had noticed whispers regarding him were quick to grow, and usually, the eyes of the court were most pointed at you, but now it was as well directed on him; he did not like that. You, however, appreciated how the kingdom was starting to take notice of your knight’s effort and how much he had taken his duty incredibly.

“Stop scowling, you’re scaring them.” You say quietly as you walk through the gardens with Aemond and your two cats trailing behind you two, the passersby taking a double look at your heroic knight. “Good.” He answered, glancing behind to see the commotion your two cats were creating as they practically fought each other. “Sapphira, do not bite your brother,” Aemond then scolded, making you bite your lip as you wanted to laugh because you had never heard him refer to or speak to your cats, but it would seem his frustrations with the attention of the kingdom upon him was affecting his usual behavior. “They mean well, Aemond— they see you as a hero; nothing to be upset about,” You say quietly, but he only shakes his head. “I am no hero. I was simply doing my duty.” You sighed at his stubbornness. “Duty or not, if it were not you who was by my side, we would not know what would befall me— and for that, you are a hero.” Aemond restrained himself from answering as his frustrations were getting the better of him.

“Well, I hope your mood will improve, the Knights’ ball is fast approaching— you are aware that you have to be part of the reception, yes? You’ll have to be presented before the kingdom to receive the Medal of Valor.” You informed, and that only severed the frown on Aemond’s face. “Do not remind me,” he drawled, as he took the bouquet of flowers in your hands as it was getting quite hefty. “That reminds me, have you heard from your family? Are they to come so we can prepare their rooms,” You say, and Aemond stilled, as he had not sent out a letter to his family informing them that he was to receive a medal and that they were invited to the banquet but he had told you he had. 

You turned to your knight, but he was silent and was avoiding your gaze. “You did not send the invitation, didn’t you?” You sighed, in a way already expecting this. “No matter, I shall send the letter myself,” You say, making your way back to your chambers to draft a letter for Aemond’s family. “Princess, I— please, I—“ You shook your head. He followed you to your desk beside himself, not knowing how to hinder you. “I do not understand you— other knights have waited a lifetime to be presented with such recognition, yet you hold it with such animosity,” You were starting to grow frustrated with Aemond’s attitude, a deep furrow in your brows as you drafted an invitation to House Targaryen. 

Aemond sighed and crutched down to the side of your chair so you would meet him at eye level, his hand gently resting on your arm that furiously scribbled the words. “I am honored that you shall bestow upon me such recognition, but I do not think it is needed. I was doing my job— I was only fulfilling my oath to protect you,” Aemond said softly, his voice immediately making you forget your frustrations upon his actions. “I do not need all this pageantry and frills— I am not after recognition… I only wish for you to be safe.” You sighed and cupped his cheek as he said such words, not thinking you could fall for him further, but apparently, there were still uncharted dimensions where your affections for Aemond could still reach. 

You captured his lips in a quick kiss. “I know you do not like attention, but I’m afraid it is custom— you have naught a choice,” You say delicately, biting on your inner cheeks as a slight pout appeared on Aemond’s thin lips as he thought he had convinced you to hinder all these frills. “I’m beyond all of this, my love. I cannot make them cease with their curious gazes and wants to celebrate you,” You laughed as you found the small pout in his lips amusing. Aemond, however, froze as he realized the endearment you called him. “My love…?” He questioned with uncertainty if he had heard you correctly. 

Your eyes widened as you realized that the words had slipped your lips— instead of brushing it off and making some excuse, you breathed in a deep breath and smiled, taking another risk. “I… I love you,” you confessed, hoping your emotions would not be too much for him and scare him off. 

Aemond was rendered in shock. You love him—him! He was speechless, something that he had never experienced, but he realized he best get used to it because you often managed to dismantle and stun him. 

You sat in quiet fear as Aemond made no reaction, horror starting to settle in you as his silence was making you believe he felt no strong emotions towards you. That you perhaps said the words too quickly, or worse, he saw you as a passing fancy when you yourself believed him to be the one. You began to trace the embroidery of your dress again, removing your gaze from his lilac eye. Your hands were clammy, and you were starting to regret your confession as it would seem you would be scorned. But Aemond took hold of your cheek and guided your face to look upon his. “I—It’s fine if you do not feel the same,” You lied, trying to save face, hoping no more wounds be afflicted to your pride. 

Aemond shook his head, realizing he had taken too long to reply, and doubts quickly festered inside you. “You… love… me?” He said slowly, trying to confirm what he had heard because he doubted it might be a cruel joke. You licked your lips as your hands fisted the fabric of your gown. “I do.” You repeated. “But I am not forcing you to feel the same way— I understand if you don—“ Aemond kissed your lips shut, not wanting you to utter such words. 

“You love me,” He repeated again, voice holding thrill and disbelief. “You, love me.” He said for the third time, and you could not help but be amused. “Yes. I love you.” You repeated, letting go of the potential wound that would be inflicted on your pride if he did not feel the same. But as you stared into his eye, the amazed look on his face, you could not believe that you had let yourself doubt him— though no words were said, you had your answer. He loved you. And his actions were proof enough. 

[klttn]

human!alastor, the serial killer, having a pretty little wife to fix him up after he comes home. all bloody and bruised, busted lips and light stabs, occasional bullet wound that he’d scoff at. panicked little eyes staring at him as she stitches him up and dabs lukewarm water on his cuts.

she knows he’s fine, he knows he’s fine. but, the thought of losing her precious protector makes her want to kill a man, cold blooded and all. and she happily would to all the scum that inflicted these battered blows if alastor hadn’t already.

“sweetheart, i’m quite alright, the bullet merely grazed,” alastor would remark, loud and with a loving smile on his face, as usual. his unwounded arm coming up to cup your face, leather clad hand, cold and harsh on your skin.

“you are not leaving until i’ve checked everywhere, mister,” you countered, alastor sighing defeatedly as your eyebrows furrowed whilst you focused your hardest to patch up his flesh. soft and presice touches making alastor fall deeper into his love for you. the perfect little wife. and she was all his.

his hand would never leave your face as you worked, letting you focus until you’d done, watching intently as you worked him over and bandaged and attended to all his needs. his other hand occasionally coming up to tuck strands of your hair behind your ears. “is that it, my love? am i all good to go?”

a sleepy yawn would leave your plushy lips as he leant down to place a gentle kiss atop your forehead. “mhm, all fixed, good as new,” your head moving slightly to return a kiss on his palm.

only then would the gentle grip on your jaw force you to look up at him fully, same doe eyed look as always painted on your pretty features, just the picture of innocence. the soft pad of his thumb would shift, grazing your bottom lip as it quivered from his touch. “i’ll never tire of this sight, such a doting little thing, aren’t you?”

you nodded softly into his hand, eyes closing for a moment to bask in his touch. it was moments like this that had you keening. his large frame manspread and sat atop the table, his legs wide with your tiny frame trapped between. he’d guide your head to rest on his thigh and run his large hands through your hair. “thank you for taking care of me, sweetheart.”

“always.”

[ivyasproperty]

Knife to the heart

wandanat x fem!reader

summary — It was just a small stab... Okay maybe it wasn't, considering how they accurately aimed for your heart, and the amount of blood pouring out of the wound. But it's perfectly fine, since your two girlfriends will always be there to take care of you.

warning(s) : some mentions blood, i think that's it

word count : 600

A/N : it's so short im gonna cry

men / minors dni!

The rain drummed against the window of the quinjet, a steady rhythm that mirrored the chaos in your mind. You leaned against the wall of the quinjet, clutching your chest, trying to stem the flow of crimson that soaked through your shirt. It was just a small stab—at least, that’s what you told yourself in those frantic moments before it happened. But as the world around you began to fade, you couldn’t ignore the reality of the blade that had sliced through you, aiming for your heart with terrifying precision.

“Hang on, malyshka!” a familiar voice broke through the haze. It was Natasha, her voice both urgent and soothing. She appeared like a vision, her vibrant red hair plastered against her forehead from the rain, her eyes wide with concern.

“Why did you have to go after them alone?” Wanda, her scarlet curls bouncing as she rushed to your side, chided you gently, panic lacing her words. “We told you it was too dangerous!”

You winced, feeling the pain radiate through your body, but also feeling a warmth, a sense of safety. “I didn’t think they'd actually—”

“Shh.” Natasha knelt beside you, pressing her hands against the wound, her touch grounding you. “Focus on us. You’re going to be okay.”

“Why did you have to be so brave?” Wanda added, her voice trembling as she tore off a piece of her shirt to make a makeshift bandage. “You could have just walked away. We could have found another way.”

“But I couldn’t let them hurt you,” you whispered, forcing a smile despite the agony. The truth was, you’d always been a protector, a role that felt as natural to you as breathing. But now, lying on the cold pavement, youe wondered if you’d made a mistake.

“Malyshka, please,” Natasha pleaded, her voice breaking. “Don’t do this to us. Just stay with us, okay?”

The world swirled around you, and for a moment, you thought you might slip away. But the warmth of their presence anchored you. The memories of laughter and late-night talks flooded your mind—times when their love had made the darkness seem less daunting.

As Wanda finished tying the bandage, the quinjet had finally landed, and paramedics were on the way over. “Help is on the way,” she assured you, though you could see the worry etched on her face.

“Just… just promise you won’t be mad at me,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha leaned closer, her forehead resting against yours. “Mad? No. Just scared. Scared of losing you.”

“Me too,” you admitted, feeling tears sting your eyes. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

They both laughed, a shaky sound that broke the tension. “You always worry us,” Wanda said, her smile mingling with her tears. “That’s part of the deal.”

As the paramedics finally arrived on the quinjet, a wave of relief washed over you. You could see the worry etched in their faces, but also a fierce determination. They would get through this together. They always had.

“I love you both,” you whispered, the weight of your admission lifting a little of the burden off your chest.

Natasha smiled through her tears. “We love you too. Just hold on.”

In that moment, as the rain continued to pour and the lights of the ambulance flickered closer, you realized that even with the darkness looming, you was never truly alone. Love had a way of binding wounds deeper than any blade could cut, and with Natasha and Wanda by your side, you felt the strength to fight back against the shadows.

A/N : hope you enjoyed this one! it's still very short since i'm not exactly sure what to write ( oops )

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Protector pt. 2

Paring: Simon Ghost Riley x f!reader

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, protective Ghost, smut 18+ mdni (nothing hardcore. I’m not good at writing it)

Words: 16.5k

Synopsis: Ghost will always protect you...

Part 1

A/N: there are literally no words for me to describe how appreciative and happy it makes me that so many of you guys liked the first part. I wanted to reply to all of you but it would’ve been too much so I hope that this second part will be enough as thanks ❤️ this is for my 1000 followers.

Thank you guys for being so patient with how long this took. I’m so sorry for the wait.

A sob followed by fast breathing made Ghost's eyes snap open immediately.

His heart pounded against his chest as he searched frantically around the room for you. Memories, flashes of your beaten body in front of him begging for mercy, crying and screaming out for somebody to help you, for Ghost to help you and he couldn’t.

Ghost failed you. He let you get hurt again, he shouldn’t have fallen asleep even though it had felt so peaceful with you sleeping beside him. He should’ve been awake to make sure that you were okay, to make sure that the doctor and nurses had been on time to give you more medicine so you didn't have to relive those awful memories again.

It made him panic. He had to help you, he had to make sure you were safe.

He couldn’t think straight, the medicine had worn off and the pain clouded his mind while the sleep was wearing off, and he forgot where you were.

The medicine had worn off for both of you, but you didn’t know that it was safe. You were confused and the pain didn’t help especially when you couldn’t move, it only made panic set in, which made you feel even worse.

“Ghost…” You sobbed and he gripped the edge of his bed so tight the scabs on his knuckles reopened.

“I’m here.” He pushed off the bed to try to get to you and nearly fell when stepped down with his injured leg. He clenched his jaw so tight and forced himself to stand up by using the bed for support. “You’re okay.”

The machines tugged him back and he nearly yelled with anger before he ripped everything off him, the EKG screaming out a beep from being disconnected. He didn’t pay attention to it, his eyes locked onto you as he tried to move forward but collapsed against the wall in pain. Hot pain flushed from his leg and when he looked down he could see red staining the bandages that covered the bullet wound.

“I’m here-” He went dizzy from the sounds and the pain, unable to keep himself upright as he fought so hard to just get to your bed.

You were crying, there were tears running down your face as you writhed in pain and near hyperventilating. He wanted nothing more than to grab you and pull you into him, to wrap his arms around you and hope that it would be enough to make you feel safe again.

How could he let this happen? Was he really that cold hearted, that cruel to make you suffer like this? You didn’t deserve this, you were too good for pain like this.

Ghost didn’t even notice the rushing nurses and doctor until he felt someone grab his arm tightly, causing him to jump and look down to see a nurse looking panicked.

“Why are you out of bed?” She asked incredulously and he ripped his arm out of her hold, glaring at her.

“Help her.” He demanded harshly and she took a few steps back. “She’s in pain, do something!”

“They’re helping her now, you need to get back in bed.”

Ghost groaned, his fists tightened before he looked back at you to see the doctor and the other nurses quickly trying to administer medicine again.

His vision got worse and he stumbled forward. He felt the nurse grab him again and tried to pull him back to his bed but he fought against her, not wanting to go back until he knew for sure that you were going to be okay and that this wasn’t serious, that you had just woken up out of a panic and that you weren’t about to code.

The nurse barked something in his ear but he wasn’t paying attention. He watched your face contort into pain, your chest heave from heavy breaths and your tears roll down your cheeks.

He hated it. He hated to see you like this.

“Sedate him and I’ll fix his stitches.” He managed to hear the doctor order and before he had any time to react, he felt the nurse stick something into his arm.

It must’ve been a powerful sedative or he had exhausted himself out as his vision went dark almost immediately, the last thing he remembered was being put back onto his bed.

Ghost jolted awake a few hours later. He had been lucky that his induced sleep was dreamless though he was still exhausted.

He blinked the drowsiness from his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. The bed was a lot less comfortable now that the pain meds were wearing off again and he struggled to keep himself still as the hard mattress dug into his sore thigh. It made him huff and he rubbed his eyes with irritation as he tried his best to ignore it before he glanced towards you.

His eyes widened ever so slightly when they connected with your drowsy open ones. They were hazy, a sign that the pain meds given to you were working and that they had calmed you down from before.

You had been staring at him. There was a soft look on your face, one that couldn’t be achieved by the medicine, when he had turned to look at you. A look that should’ve been reserved for watching someone less rugged and violent than him especially after what he had done to get you here.

It locked him into his place on the bed. He couldn’t move as your eyes raked lazily over his face, taking in every detail that had once been a mystery to you.

You were looking at him as if there was something good to see. You were drinking up the scars, new and old, that peppered his skin like he was a beautiful piece of art made of soft paint rather than blood and gunpowder.

Why were you looking at him like that? It had to be the drugs, your mind was taken over by substances that made your thinking unreliable. You wouldn’t normally give him such a softness if it weren’t that.

Ghost had to tell himself that or else he would have to come to terms that he liked the way you were looking at him now. He wanted you to always look at him like that despite being undeserving of it especially after what he had put you through.

A smile, weak but warm, stretched across your face and he felt his heart skip a beat.

“Hey.” You barely spoke above a whisper but he heard you through your hoarse voice. “Never seen you sleep, kinda weird.”

“How do you feel?” He knew the answer to the question but it was difficult for him to think of anything else to say when you looked at him like that.

“Like I’m high off so many drugs.”

You let out a breathless chuckle and sluggishly rubbed your eyes, taking a moment to look away from him.

Ghost quickly pulled his mask on, finding the courage to do it when you were looking away from him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to see his face, quite the opposite if he was being honest, but right now it was too much for him. He felt safer with his feelings under the mask.

You let out a short sigh, your sides spasming as you found it difficult to take a deep breath. The pain was gone for the moment but your body still understood it was damaged and Ghost knew what the pain was going to feel like when they wore off.

When you looked back at him, your face fell with disappointment. He swallowed thickly and averted his eyes to look somewhere else on your body, opting to look at your bandaged fingers that mimicked his due to your similar injuries.

“I like your face.” You blurted out which caused his eyebrows to knit together as he looked back at you. “Should've guessed you were blond from your eyelashes.”

“Used to be blonder when I was younger.” He said and watched another smile pull at your lips when you thought of a young Ghost.

“Bet it was platinum.”

“Close to it.”

Ghost indulged in your normal conversation. He didn’t want to speak about what happened to you right now, not when you were the most conscious he had seen you since before you both had been captured. He wanted to give you a moment's reprieve, to understand that right now you were safe from harm both within your mind and outside of it.

Your body would hopefully heal without many complications but your mind would take time, a lot longer than what you would want and what he wished for you.

He would be there for you though. He always would and he hoped you knew that. Even if he wasn’t sure how he would help you, rarely even able to help himself in a way that made him feel better, but he would try for you.

He also selfishly enjoyed this, the normal conversation distracted him from all the horrible thoughts he could be thinking about. Having you talk to him this way was something he always enjoyed and he liked that even now you were still doing it.

“Are you okay?” You asked him so softly yet his eyes narrowed as if you had accused him of something.

“M’fine.”

He barely gave you a chance to continue when he sat up. Pain flushed over him, more than ever since he hadn’t moved his body for a few hours. The stiffness in his muscles turned to soreness which made his entire body ache as he swung his legs off the edge of the bed. His wounded leg screamed with pain and he was careful to not rip the stitches open this time as he pressed his foot on the cold ground, suppressing a shiver and any outward sign that he was in pain.

No one would’ve been able to tell he was injured if it weren't for the fact that he was getting out of a hospital bed. He stood tall and completely unbothered with the same tired eyes as always, hidden beneath his mask.

He was a beast afterall, as Soap put it. He could’ve had more injuries sustained from the capture and he still would’ve carried you out of there. The soreness he was feeling now was nothing compared to previous injuries he’s had in the past. They were an inconvenience now, one that he wished he could get rid of but unfortunately he was still human and that meant he would have to wait.

Even so, that wasn’t going to stop him from doing as he pleased and focusing on you.

He huffed when the machines connected to him made it difficult to move. Without a second thought he ripped the wires off him and unplugged the machine before it started to alert the nurses again, causing you to gasp.

“Ghost!” You scolded him but he just ignored you and grabbed the glass of water Soap left.

You watched him intently, noting the way he had a slight limp as he walked over to you. You tried to sit up on your elbows, but you were far too weak to even get your shoulders off the bed.

Ghost wrapped an arm around your shoulders and very carefully pulled into his side when he sat on the edge of your bed. He held onto you to keep you sitting up straight and let you lean on him for support, nearly sighing with relief when he finally felt your weight on him again.

You were like glass in his arms, fragile and handled with immense care as if you would break if even an ounce of pressure was placed on you. He raised the water up to your lips to let you drink it and you managed to tilt your head back as he tipped the glass forward.

He made sure to tip it slowly so as to not spill any of it on you. He watched your eyes flutter shut with relief when you began to drink the water and he subconsciously began to rub circles into your arm with his thumb.

When you finished he went to refill the glass but you managed to have enough strength to grab onto his shirt.

“Stay.” You were breathless, having exerted all of your energy to sit up on the bed. “Please?”

You needed him. A sense of safety had washed over you when had pulled you into his warmth and when he had moved to leave, your stomach dropped. You knew that he wasn’t going to leave you and that he would come back but you didn’t want him to leave at all, not right now.

Ghost stared down into your exhausted eyes that begged him to stay put for just a little longer and his chest tightened. He couldn’t say anything, the words lost to him again as he fought the urge to lean down and place a kiss anywhere that you would allow him to. An attempt to tell you all the comforting things he wished he could say, to take away the pain with a simple touch against your skin and let you rest as if the world outside of this moment didn’t exist.

Instead, he nodded and set the glass down. He kept his arm around you and when you rested your head on his chest he stiffened for only a moment. When he realized that he liked having you against him like that, he dared to pull you just a little closer.

He listened to you soft wheezing and was reminded of how much worse it had been before. It made him glare up at the ceiling and regret that he had killed the weapons dealers already.

If he hadn’t been trying to get you out of there and it had just been him, he would’ve left them so he could find them again. He would’ve spent little time finding them and would’ve made them suffer ten times worse than you had for even thinking about putting a hand on you.

Ghost wished he could take your pain and inflict on himself so you wouldn’t have to suffer so much. You didn’t deserve to be punished for him doing his job, for keeping his mouth shut, for being too tight-lipped about worthless information. He should’ve just told them what they wanted and broken out before they killed you both so you didn’t have to go through this now.

How were you not repulsed by seeing him? How were you resting your head on his chest like this, acting as if he wasn’t the reason you couldn’t breathe, the reason why you were going to lose sleep?

The guilt festered in his stomach and boiled into his throat. He wanted to push you off of him despite how desperate he was to have you against him.

He felt you weakly tug on his shirt. His eyes softened ever so slightly when he stared down at your heavy lidded eyes. He could tell you were getting drowsy which prompted him to hesitantly place a hand on your waist so he could move you back into bed.

You hummed, your eyes falling shut for a moment and pressed your face into his chest more. You took a deep breath and your muscles loosened, your arms hanging by your side unmoving.

“Thank you.” You whispered with the intent to show gratitude but all it did was make him feel worse.

He couldn’t accept it. He didn’t deserve it, not when you could barely stay awake for more than thirty minutes. Not when you couldn’t move on your own and certainly not when you had to be pumped full of meds to even speak without feeling like you were dying. There was no reason for you to thank him for anything that he did.

“You should sleep.” He kept a steady and soft voice as he wrapped his arms around you. “Doctor will be back soon. Probably run some tests.”

“‘Kay.”

Ghost moved you with ease. It was as if you weighed nothing to him, even when his muscles were sore, as he laid you down back in bed. He treated you so gently, like you were a porcelain doll being put away as he pulled the blanket up to your chest.

He stared down at you with narrowed eyes that concerned you yet you were too tired to say anything. He moved your arms over your stomach before he moved his hand to hold onto your wrist, his finger pressing into your pulse to feel it go steady, a much better feeling than when it had been weak.

Your eyes fluttered shut at the contact and you placed your smaller hand over his, your thumb sluggishly caressing his scarred knuckles.

“Sleep.” He repeated, causing you to hum.

He moved his hand away from your wrist and limped back to his bed. He kept every wince in, feeling that his pain was nothing compared to yours, that he had the audacity to even express that he was hurting around you.

He sat on the edge of his bed. He didn’t care to hook himself back up to the machine or to plug it back in as he stared at your now unconscious form. He gripped the bed tightly under him and clenched his jaw as he watched you sleep.

Ghost wasn’t sure how long he sat there for, staring at you completely enamored by you again yet his heart hurt a lot more than normal. He wondered if this would be the last time you would get actual sleep and doubted that a few days from now you’d be able to stay on the meds. He dreaded the moment he would have to hear your pained cries again, just the memory of it making him feel sick.

A sigh left his chest as he heard approaching footsteps that brought him out of his thoughts.

More tests, more pain, and nothing he could do to help you.

~

You weren’t sure how to react when you felt your lieutenant’s stare on your back as you walked into the training room.

On one hand, you didn’t mind having him watching you.

It was Ghost, you had worked with and known him for a few years now. You knew his mannerisms, his little ticks and what he was feeling when you watched him, finding out that he was actually very expressive for someone who hid their face as much as he did. You had managed to befriend him over the years and though he would never openly call you his friend, you both had some sort of connection between you.

That connection ran deep, into the way you both found solitude together in both quiet and loud moments. On missions you two talked to keep each other in check, to understand what mindset you both were in and if it was one you could work with.

Jokes, little things done for each other whether the other person asked for it or not, and on the rare occasion talking about what was really wrong with you both is what kept you both close.

It shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise to you as it had been when you found out you were in love with your lieutenant, it was obvious when you thought back on it. To the moments where you would practically confess your love to him through your eyes, the little touches you gave him so you could just have a tiny taste of the warmth that radiated off his body, the need to be there for him and to listen to him when he gave you the honor of opening up.

You wanted to believe that the moments you spent with Ghost were that of friends, of co-workers because that’s who you’re supposed to be. But to you it was much more than that now.

So you were happy to feel his eyes on you as you wrapped your hands in preparation for a sparring match. You liked when he watched over you because you knew that you were safe when he did.

On the other hand, this was a stare that wasn’t exactly kind.

In reality, Ghost was glaring at you. His eyes were narrowed, pointed on you as he watched every movement you took, every twitch in your muscles. He was almost like a predator waiting for its prey to drop its guard to attack.

He was pissed and you noticed it the moment your eyes met when you walked into the training room. He wasn’t trying to hide it either, especially when you offered a smile and a wave, he just stood there glaring at you.

You knew why.

It had been a month. A month since he had carried you to safety and a week or so since you had been discharged from the infirmary. You were still healing, your ribs hadn’t fully healed and you got frequent headaches from your concussion still. Most of the cuts had been stitched back, leaving scars across your skin, the most prominent one being a nasty gash that stretched from your left temple to eyelid.

You weren’t supposed to be super active, the doctor ordering you to take walks instead of train until you were back to full health, but you were going a little crazy. The walks weren’t enough to keep your stiffness or the restlessness away and you were desperate to get back into your old routine.

Today was a good day, with barely any bad thoughts and no panic attacks or crying spells. You were lucky to still have those good days and every day day you had made you more grateful for when you were okay.

You glanced back at Ghost.

He was still glaring at you. You wanted to tell him to stop and that you were fine but ever since you both got back, he seemed to believe that you were still in constant pain. More like soreness but he was insistent that you followed doctors orders and made sure you didn’t do anything at all, almost making it so you could even go on your doctor ordered walks.

However you would take the glare instead of the pitiful look he gave you most of the time.

“You could spar with me if you’re that worried.” You offered, which made his eyes narrow at you even more.

“I want you to leave.” He demanded and you had to suppress a laugh.

“You can’t force me to sit in my room all day.”

“I can.”

You gave him a look but he didn’t falter which made you shake your head.

Ghost was in a particularly bad mood today which meant he was more stubborn than usual. Usually his bad moods helped fuel him to get through missions with precision and efficiency since it was a good way to get it out of his system. He rarely ever let himself get into a bad mood and was able to control his emotions pretty well, but recently his patience had run thin.

You wondered if he was going through what happened too, it only made sense. He had been beaten to shit too.

“I know my limits. This is just going to be a warm up.” You explained to him but he shook his head.

“If you knew your limits you wouldn’t be here.” He argued. “You haven’t given your ribs enough time to heal.”

“Did you give your leg enough time to heal?”

You gave him an expectant look but he only stared back at you. While he was busy watching you all of the time it gave you the chance to watch him as well and you noticed that he still had a slight limp. You also noticed the way he would flex the hand he broke, most likely trying to get the stiffness to go away.

You could only assume the reason why they were still acting up was because he had walked out of the infirmary a week before you which had not nearly been enough time to heal his wounds.

It was a little hypocritical in your mind and made you just a little annoyed. You appreciated that he was looking out for you and honestly it made your chest warm a lot more than it should've, but you were starting to feel smothered.

You were still strong.

“I’m a big girl.” You said and you saw him fight an eye roll. “I’ll be fine.”

You didn’t give him the chance to argue further as you walked towards the sparring mats. You eyed a lot of the rookies who were training today under Soap’s supervision with curiosity, noting that many of them were being sloppy in their forms.

You almost wanted to point that out to Ghost since if they were being this bad at sparring, it would be a walk in the park. You’d be surprised if you broke a sweat.

“How the fuck did any of ya get here?” Soap yelled being the most annoyed you had seen him in a long time.

“Rough day.” You commented and he groaned, causing you to give him a small smile.

“Price must have it out for me, I’m losin’ my head here.”

You chuckled and found that your attention stayed on him rather than the rookies in front of you. You found that looking at your fellow sergeant was a lot more calm than watching the sparring matches in front of you. Now that you were up closer, you could see that even though the rookies were sloppy with their moves, they were still being rough as they normally would be.

Soap kept you calm despite the fact that often he was the one who had the most energy. Usually you would feed off of it, but lately you hadn’t felt well enough to keep up with him. Now anytime you were with him he seemed to be more on the lowkey side which made you wonder if he was doing that on purpose or not.

“L.t. know you’re here?” Soap wondered and you hummed.

“Yeah, he knows.” You muttered, not looking back because you knew he was still watching you judging by the fact you could still feel his eyes on you.

“And he let you stay?”

You sent him a look but he only looked worried at you. It made you shift uncomfortably in your spot and you wanted to look away from him but there was nowhere else for you to look.

You didn’t know how to react to everyone’s extreme worry for you. It wasn;t a surprise that they cared for you but with the amount that they expressed you wondered if maybe they believed you were never good enough for this job in the first place.

So what if you had been tortured? It’s a rare occurrence for everyone who works in this field but it did happen and it wasn’t like you were the first person to get beat to shit. It made you feel like maybe you would always be this way, that there was no way you were going to recover.

“He wants to kick me out.” You said and Soap let out an amused huff.

“You gonna let him?” He wondered and you gave him a small smile.

“No.”

A rookie slammed another rookie on the sparring mat and you flinched. Your heart rate picked up as they wrestled with each other and you crossed your arms to hide the slight shakiness in your hands, finding it hard to continue watching them. Instead, you tried to direct your attention to someone else, only to find that any sight of sparring was making you nauseous.

You felt exposed, like everyone was staring at you, like everyone could see adrenaline running through your veins and you wanted to hide.

An image of a dirty room, the smell of copper stuck in your nose, the sound of your struggling breaths and the body of the one you loved bound to a chair spitting out blood.

Approaching footsteps, terror, the scramble to try to escape but not getting anywhere, the pleas for it to stop.

The pain. The searing hot pain that made you want it all to end.

“Y/n.”

Ghost’s voice was right next to and pulled you out of the horrendous images, leaving you clammy and your heart nearly beating out of your chest.

You blinked a few times and when you moved to look at him, you could feel the tension in your muscles slowly dissipate as you remembered where you were.

There was a soft look in his eyes that made your heart slow down. He extended his hand hesitantly and brushed his knuckles against your arm so lightly that if it weren’t for the tingling sensation that was left behind from his warmth, you would’ve thought he hadn’t touched you at all.

It was the most comfort you assumed you could be given by him, whether that be because you both were in public or because he couldn’t give you anymore, but it was enough to make you realize that you were safe.

No matter what happened to you, you would be safe because of Ghost. He would do anything to keep you safe and you knew it, the fact that he had completely ignored his injuries to carry you said more about that than any words could.

You let out a deep breath and some of the panic went with it.

There went the good day.

Ghost had that pity look in his eyes and everything went sour. Even with the mask on you could see it, you could see the way his eyebrows tensed together as he wondered about the poor state you were in.

You were fine.

Your eyes narrowed and you looked back at the sparring mats, determined to find someone who was waiting for their next match. Not only could you prove to Ghost and anyone else who must’ve thought the same way that you were capable, this would be a good way to take your mind off of what just happened.

Your eyes landed on a rookie who was drinking some water.

He was much taller than you and a little bigger, but that didn’t mean he would be any better than you. In fact, judging by the way his shoulders slumped he seemed to have a shy demeanor.

“Rookie!” You called out to him and he looked up at you with surprise. “Want another round?”

“Sure.” He set down his water and made his way onto a free space in the mats.

You went to meet him before a firm hand grabbed your arm, causing you to clench your jaw when you looked back at Ghost.

“Sergeant.” His tone was as much of a warning as his hardened eyes were. You were one bad experience away from being thrown out of the training room and he made sure you understood that.

You didn’t falter and you knew you were playing a dangerous game by defying your lieutenant. It was almost a shock to you at how insubordinate you were but then again he hadn’t ordered you to get out yet, all he had done was give you warnings or concerns from a place of friendship rather than a place of work.

“You sure you want to fight ‘em?” Soap eyed you with concern causing you to groan. “I don’t think-“

“Will you two stop it?” You ripped your arm from Ghost. “I’m fine.”

You glared at them both and as much as you wanted to tell them off, to yell at them so they would get the point and to get your frustration out but you couldn’t. There was no point in that, it wouldn’t solve anything in fact you were sure it would make things worse by pushing them away for both you and them.

You had to tell yourself they were trying to help, even when they were being this overbearing.

Instead, you let out a huff and sent them a short glare to get them to back off before you made your way to the rookie.

“Go easy, yeah?” Soap called out to you both but you didn’t say anything.

You stood in front of the rookie with a smile in an attempt to shake the thoughts from your head and to ignore the stares you were getting from the sidelines. You took a deep breath when he returned the smile and shook out any of the nerves that you still had.

The rookie seemed friendly, especially when you directed him to take a stance in front of you and fixed his form for him.

“Let’s not do anything rough.” You told him because despite the fact that you wanted to prove yourself, you did know your limits.

“Yes ma’am.”

You snorted and shook your head, finding it almost sweet that the rookie would be that respectful to you, before you threw a punch towards him. You almost laughed at the expression on his face when it connected with his chest, the light punch being barely a tap, before you went to hit him again.

The rookie tried to dodge but wasn’t fast enough. Every punch you threw landed and with each movement you felt yourself slowly start to feel back to normal.

Each dodge from the rookie's fist made you feel alive again, you were breathing heavily but it felt good, there was barely any pain and the rush from being untouchable made you confident. It was almost as if nothing had happened and that made you feel so much better about yourself than a month's worth of recovery had.

The rookie got sloppy the longer you went. He seemed to be worn out with how quick you were, being unable to catch a break from your relentless punches. If this was a normal spar, one where you weren’t pulling your punches and going easier, he would’ve been out already and that fed your ego more than it should’ve.

His eyebrows were knitted in concentration and a flash of determined annoyance across his face. He seemed to change his entire demeanor as he got tired of you playing with him and he suddenly turned serious. His punches held weight to them that yours didn’t and he had managed to throw them at a faster speed that you were having trouble keeping up with.

You managed to hit him one more time without getting hit yourself and it must’ve set him off, causing him to throw out a punch far too quick for you to dodge.

His fist slammed into your side and your vision went white.

You couldn’t breathe and your abdomen spasmed from the hot, burning sensation prickled up from your lungs to your chest making it tighten. Your eyes watered as you tried to gasp for air and you clutched your side unable to hide the fact that you were in immense pain.

You collapsed onto your knees and your head connected with the mat as you keeled over in pain, rendered completely paralyzed with pain.

Panic rose in your chest the longer it took to breathe. The only thoughts that ran through your mind to keep you from falling into panic attack were you’re safe, Ghost is here, you’re safe.

The rookie knelt down in front of you and you flinched away from his touch when he rested a hand on your shoulder.

“Are you okay-”

“Get away from her!” Ghost demanded, his voice laced with anger only someone with fear could have.

You managed to lift your head off the mat to see him and Soap rushing towards you.

Ghost grabbed the rookie’s shirt and yanked him back with enough strength to throw him across the mat with ease. He sent a bone chilling glare towards the terrified man now as he created a protective barrier with his body as he stepped between you and the rookie.

His heart raced and he stood there as if to challenge the rookie to even think about trying to help you.

He clenched his fists tight, too tight as his newly healed hand ached painfully before he let Soap take care of the rookie. He kneeled in front of you and grabbed your shoulders to keep you steady.

You blinked the tears away and took a deep breath, letting lungs fill with air as you heaved from the sudden release of tightness in your abdomen. The air burned and felt warm in your throat and though you could finally breathe once more, the pain in your chest wouldn’t go away. The rookie had somehow managed to hit you in one of your more sores on your side and though he could’ve hit you a lot harder than he had, it was enough to make you feel like your ribs were stabbing into your lung every time you took a breath.

Ghost looked into your eyes with that pity look behind the anger. He was shaky, you could feel it in his hands and see him trying to control it as he narrowed his eyes. They bounced around your face and he quickly cupped your cheek with his large hand as your head dropped forward.

“I’m okay.” You rasped out to try to get him to stop worrying and to get rid of the look he had. “I’m fine.”

“Then get up.”

His voice sounded sharp and almost indifferent to how much pain you were in but you knew better. You could hear the worry deep within it especially with the way he was looking at you as you tried to gather strength to stand. He wanted you to get up, he wanted you to walk it off because if that were the case then you were okay.

You tried to. You tried to push yourself off the mat to walk it off like you used to do with any injury you may have gotten but you felt too heavy, like you couldn’t even support your own weight.

The strength you had wasn’t enough. You couldn’t push past the tightness or the stabbing in your lung that made it difficult to take long breaths. The pain spread everywhere and was too unbearable to even let you move on your own.

You were hurt. You were broken just like Ghost had thought.

You shut your eyes and your head hung with defeat.

“I can’t.”

~

You sat on the edge of a hospital bed in the infirmary with an ice pack pressed against the spot the rookie had punched. You were hunched over since it was the only comfortable position you could be in at the moment, even though there was still a dull ache left in your abdomen. The ice pack helped deter some of it along with some high dosage over the counter pain meds given to you by a nurse.

It had been hours since you had arrived in the infirmary. Ghost had to carry you to it and when you arrived they immediately began to check to see if your ribs had been broken again or had gotten worse. The tests took hours and spanned well into the early evening, making you miss out most of the day.

The tests had come back half an hour ago and you were lucky that your ribs weren’t broken again, only bruised just a little more. Unfortunately, that meant that more time was added to your leave which you had the luxury of being told when Price scolded you after he heard about what happened.

You were exhausted. Everything that happened today had taken it out of you and you were just ready to go to bed in the hopes that you could get some uninterrupted sleep after this. You doubted you would, you had come close to two panic attacks today and horrible flashbacks that you were sure you were going to be plagued by nightmares tonight.

You really had no one to blame but yourself for this. You could’ve listened to Ghost when he told you to get out, to go back to your room to rest but you were too stubborn to do that. Now you were dealing with the consequences of that.

He had been right that you hadn’t given yourself enough time, though that didn’t make him any less of a hypocrite in your book, but it definitely worsened your mood a lot more than what you wanted.

You didn’t really want to believe that you were that broken but you were. You couldn’t train without having a near panic attack or getting messed up by one punch. You could barely even do the mundane things in your life without feeling out of breath or sore in most places. There was nothing you could do without being reminded that you were practically below the average soldier in your job at the moment.

A huff left your mouth as you waited for the doctor to come back to release you from the infirmary. You were sure why it was taking so long but you hoped things would move along faster soon so you wouldn’t stew in your own thoughts anymore.

You heard footsteps approaching and you glanced up to see Ghost heading your way with a water bottle in his hand. You ignored the narrowed look in his eyes as they landed on you and instead you stared at the floor.

“Here.” He offered the bottle and you took it from him, taking a few sips of the cold liquid with a nod. “Still in pain?”

“Just sore.” You screwed the cap on and rubbed the spot on your ribs with your fingers.

“What’s the damage?”

You glanced up at him to see him still staring at you. You chewed on your inner lip when you made eye contact with him again and for a moment you saw his anger falter. His eyes turned soft and you watched as they bounced around your face.

You wondered what exactly his face looked like at the moment, whether his eyebrows were pulled together or if he had a scowl. His eyes were always expressive and you would never want that to change yet after you had seen his face, though it was hard to remember many details since you weren’t exactly sober, you wanted to always see it. Especially now when it was hard to tell if he wanted to chew you out for insubordination or to make sure you were okay.

Truthfully, all you wanted was for him to show his face. There was something about seeing him without the mask that made you feel infinitely better. Maybe it was the fact that you had looked at it while he carried you to safety or that he let you see it without a care, you weren’t sure, but you knew that right now you would feel a lot less tense if you saw him again.

“Bruised, not too bad but enough to extend my leave.” You explained and he nodded.

“Gives you more time to take care of yourself.” He said and though he wasn’t wrong it still made your eyes narrow.

“More like rubs it in my face that I’m fucking useless.”

You weren’t looking for pity, in fact you hadn’t meant to let that slip out but you were extremely frustrated with yourself. It made you cringe but that was taken away when Ghost’s eyes fell that pity look and all of the frustration built up inside of you burst out of you like a broken pipe.

“Can you stop looking at me like that?” You snapped and caught him off guard. “I don’t need your pity on top of everything else.”

“Pity?” He stared back at you offended and you rolled your eyes with a scoff.

“Yeah, you don’t hide it as well as you do with everything else.”

You glared at him and watched as he stared at you incredulously, the look setting off more anger in you. It was one thing for him to express it blatantly through the way he looked at you but it was another to lie to your face when you called him out on it.

He could at least own up to it. It still wouldn’t make things better in your mind, but he was usually an honest and direct person. This kind of behavior was unlike him and at the moment it bothered you more than it worried you, being too clouded by your own frustration to think anything different.

“You were hurt and you expect me not to care?” He snapped back, his voice raising ever so slightly as he loomed over you.

“I don’t want you to treat me like I’m dead weight!” You weren’t intimidated by him as you hopped onto the floor, completely disregarding any soreness you felt as you did so.

“After all that happened, you think I think of you as dead weight?”

Ghost scoffed and rolled his eyes, causing you to clench your jaw tightly. He glared down at you, the comforting dark void that were his eyes now turned to coldness as he tensed up. His body was rigid as if it pained him to even stand there and argue with you yet he looked as if he was angry enough to forget about that.

You were waiting for his emotions to take control of him, for him to yell at you to stop berating him but he still seemed to choose his words carefully.

It made you almost jealous how he rarely ever lost control when you were a mess of emotions bottled up that could explode with just a minor inconvenience. Even when he did lose control, it seemed he always put his anger towards something else rather than picking fights like you were doing right now.

What you didn’t know is that Ghost would hate himself more if he lost control of himself like he had in the base. He hated to argue with you, he hated to argue with anyone if he were being honest, but sometimes it couldn’t be avoided. What could be avoided was letting himself make the mistake of letting his anger speak for him.

That anger wasn’t him, he didn’t like it, not even when he killed the weapons dealers, and you didn’t deserve to have it directed towards you.

Ghost took a deep breath and though the anger didn’t leave his eyes some of the tension in his body did. He looked you straight in the eyes with his narrowed one and made sure that he was the only thing that had your attention.

“I don’t pity you.” He stated firmly as if that would end the argument once it was said.

As irritated as you were, you still had enough sense to see that he was telling the truth. You could see it in the way he never once looked away from you as he said it and when you let the words sink in, some of the anger slipped away. However, as you continued to stare at him it only left one question in your mind as you thought back to every moment he looked at you that way.

“Then what is it?” You huffed and still sent him a slight glare.

You wanted answers and frankly you deserved them. If he was going to say he wasn’t pitying you but he was going to act so protective over you then you had to know. You couldn’t keep letting this happen unless you figured out what exactly was making him act so strange.

He didn’t say anything, he only stared at you and to anyone else they wouldn’t have seen the nervousness that flashed in his eye for a split second but you caught it. You caught onto every little nervous tick he had; the way he would square his shoulders to make himself look bigger, stronger and intimidate whoever was making him feel that way to go away. His muscles would tense and his eyes would go alert as if he were waiting for something to attack him.

You were worried now. Why would it make him so nervous if he hadn’t been trying to hide it in the first place? He had told you the truth just now but when you wanted to know the real answer, he was suddenly back to keeping it from you.

If it wasn’t pity then what else could it be? He had only begun to look at you that way when you woke up in the hospital bed for the second time and despite the meds you could remember how his eyes went sad as he told you to go to sleep. You knew that he had been worried for you but at the time and even now you knew it was more than that.

You stared at him and looked deep into his eyes, noticing the way the nervousness grew worse when his eyes landed on the scar you had. That’s when it hit you.

It wasn't pity.

It was guilt.

Your chest tightened and you nearly felt tears begin to form as you looked at him with a kind of anguish you didn’t think you could feel. You scolded yourself for even thinking that he pitied you when really he was most likely putting himself through hell because of the guilt he had.

It made you want to cry because how could he ever blame himself for your pain when he never hurt you? He had saved you, you were alive standing in front of him. Never once did you ever think to place the blame on him for what happened and yet he was the one carrying that burden when it should be the weapons dealers who were rotting six feet under.

“You don’t…blame yourself for what happened, do you?” You hoped that maybe you were wrong and that it had been something else entirely.

Ghost’s eyes widened slightly and he shifted away from you. He finally broke eye contact from you and though he stayed silent his actions said a lot more than any words ever could.

Your face fell and you placed a hand on his arm to try to comfort him.

“Simon-”

“Alright, sergeant.” The doctor called out as she walked up to you while looking at the papers in her hands. “Sorry for the wait.”

Ghost took it as an opportunity to leave and pulled away from your touch. He didn’t say anything to you as he made his way out of the infirmary, his usual long stride making it easier for him to disappear from your view too quickly for you to say anything.

There were no words you could say that would help the situation at the moment. You could hardly pay attention to the doctor as you stared at the doors, foolishly hoping that he would come back just because you wanted him to when you knew he most likely was in his room by now, hidden from everyone including you.

When you were finally able to leave the infirmary, you went to your room instead of going to his. You knew better than to pressure him into talking about something he didn’t want to, especially when he was worked up. It would get you nowhere and make things worse for you both.

Instead, you took the time to take a long shower. It would give you enough time to gather your thoughts for when you went to go talk to him and to give him enough time to be by himself.

The hot water running off your skin pulled you deep in thought. It was clear that Ghost didn’t want to talk about this to anyone but most certainly not to you and that had to do with the fact that he rarely ever talked about his issues with anyone, but you wondered if maybe there was another reason too.

Was he afraid that you blamed him? Did he think that you resented him for what happened?

The mere thought of that made you feel sick. You couldn’t let him think that you hated him when that was far from the truth. You hoped that you hadn’t done anything to make him think that, but if he already believed it then that was the case. However, you were determined to at least clear the air with him. You weren’t going to let the pain inflicted on you ruin your life even more by pushing you both away from each other.

You got out of the shower and dried yourself off, making sure to put on comfier clothes since you knew you weren’t going anywhere else tonight, and made your way to his room.

Ghost’s room was far from everyone else’s. It was no surprise to anyone that this was the case since he was a private man but it did mean that it was out of the way when you wanted to visit him. That never really stopped you, but you had only been to his room a handful of times before this moment since both of you were often together that you rarely ever went there to see him.

You stopped in front of his door and hesitated to knock. There was still a chance that he wouldn’t want to talk about it and for a split second you wondered if it would be better to wait until tomorrow before you shook your head. You wanted to clear the air now.

You knocked softly but loud enough for him to hear. You held your hands close to you as you fidgeted with them, your eyes glued to the door as you waited for a response.

“Ghost.” You called out after a long period of silence.

There was no response but you heard him approach the door and you took a small step back. The door opened and you looked up at Ghost to see him wearing more comfortable clothes as well along with his black balaclava, an outfit you liked almost more than what he wore on missions.

His eyes softened when he looked at you, they bounced around your face and his shoulders relaxed as he gave you a small nod. He seemed to be in a better mood than he had been the entire day and you judged by the way he looked at you, he wanted you to be with him at the moment.

“What do you need, sergeant?” He wondered and you bit the inside of your lip.

“Can we talk?”

Ghost gave another short nod and he stepped out of the way to let you in, his eyes never leaving as you entered his room. He closed the door behind you and stood in front of you expectantly without saying anything.

You opened your mouth to say something before you closed it. You were still playing with your hands as you tried to come up with the right words to say. It seemed like everything you had thought of in the shower had disappeared the moment you had laid eyes on him.

The silence between you both made your stomach churn ever so slightly and that never happened. Clearly something was going on since you never had an issue with being in silence with him before.

“I’m sorry about snapping at you earlier.” You decided to try to ease into the conversation in hopes that it would make it easier for him.

“Get to the point.” Ghost disregarded the question and you sent him a look.

Now he wanted to be direct.

“Why do you blame yourself for what happened?”

Ghost’s shoulders tense up again but he stayed put. He took a deep breath and this time you couldn’t see nervousness when you looked into his eyes, instead you saw his professional, cold stare he used often on the battlefield.

“As your lieutant, it’s my job to keep my team safe and I fucked up.” He said and your eyebrows knitted together. “And now you’re paying the consequences for my mistake.”

“We both fucked up.” You reminded him.

“Doesn’t matter. It was my responsibility and I failed.”

You felt your heartache as you saw the guilt creep into the anger he had. You watched his hands ball up into fists and watched how he began to breathe just a little heavier than before. It hurt you to see him beat himself up so harshly for something that wasn’t his fault, especially when he had suffered through the same torture as you.

You carefully placed your hand on his wrist and watched for any sign of discomfort in his eyes when you did.

His eyes neither softened nor did they show that he hated the contact, instead he watched your every move, every microexpression across your face as you slid your hand down.

You managed to slip your fingers through the fist he made, your soft skin gliding over his palm in an attempt to open his hand without you asking him to do it. When he let go of the fist he had made, you held his hand and caressed his scarred knuckles with your thumb while you stared up at him.

There was something else he was hiding and he was using the mask to keep it secret. You knew that it was a security blanket for him, not only to keep himself safe and to keep the persona he created for himself but also to create a barrier for vulnerable moments like these. It made him feel safe but it also pushed him down, drowning him in his pain and causing him to bottle it up until it was released on the battlefield. Now it was being used to block you from trying to ease his mind from the pain that your near death caused.

You placed your hands on his shoulders and stepped just a little closer, making sure to check if he was okay with you getting in his space. You felt him place his hands on your hips, his fingers gripping them ever so slightly as he pulled you almost into his chest.

Your fingers found the edge of his mask and you ran them along the hem of the fabric without looking away from his eyes.

“Can I see you?” Your voice was soft as if he would be scared away if you spoke any louder.

Ghost hummed an approval and watched as you rolled the fabric up in your hands before you slowly pulled it off his face, giving him enough time to change his mind if he truly did not want you to look at him.

When the mask was finally off of his face, your chest tightened even more when you could fully see the sadness that was etched into the scowl he wore on his face. Every scar, old and new, that peppered his face weighed him down more as he stared at you with eyes that were determined to keep hold of the anger he felt.

But it quickly disappeared when you gently place your hands on his face. Stubble scratched your fingers and you watched as his eyes widened ever so slightly from the sudden contact before they softened so much you thought you saw a few tears well up in them. Your thumb traced a new scar on his cheekbone and you caressed his cheek as you moved your hand to the nape of his neck. You ran your fingers through his messy hair and watched as his eyes fluttered shut.

Simon let out a long breath and leaned into you, holding you by your hips. For a moment you didn’t want to break the silence as you also found peace within it. You liked the way his hair felt on your fingers and you liked being this close to him, especially when his thumbs were rubbing small circles into your hips. You liked that in this moment you both were able to enjoy touching each other in softer ways than what either of you were used to.

You had to break it however. You couldn’t let him stay in pain.

“I never blamed you.” Your voice was still soft and he opened his eyes to look at you. “I would never in my entire life blame you for this.”

Simon’s eyebrows knitted together and he shook his head. He nearly pulled away from you but didn’t let go of his face. When he tried to look away from you, hurt and anger flashing across his face, you made sure to keep his attention as you continued to play with his hair.

“It’s not your fault, Simon.”

He stared into your eyes, searching for a hint of something that would tell him that you were lying but you were being the most honest he had ever seen you before. You were so sure in believing that he wasn’t at fault for what happened to you that he nearly believed it himself.

This time you did notice how his eyes got misty and you were prepared to watch a few tears fall but they never came.

Instead, Simon pulled you into him and wrapped his arms around you, careful to not put pressure against your ribs as he did so. He leaned his head down and rested his forehead against yours, looking deep into your eyes as he waited for you to reject him.

When you locked your arms around his neck and kept him as close to you as possible, he sighed with relief. He didn’t hesitate to turn his head to the side and press his lips against yours.

They were rough just like he was but he kissed you with a gentleness you didn’t know he was capable of. Each time your lips moved against his, your breath was stolen from you as he pressed you against him as much as he could, almost like he wanted to absorb every part of you into his body.

You melted into him, your arms locking behind his neck as you pulled him against you to get more of him if it was even possible. You shuddered when his warm hands ran up your back, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine with the ghost of touch through your shirt. The feeling set a fire in your stomach and even when his hands moved back down to your hips you could still feel the remnants of his touch.

Simon broke the kiss and snaked his arm under your knees. He picked you up with ease and held you close to him as he quietly caught his breath, his face slightly flushed while his dazed eyes stared deep into yours.

There was a deep desire within them heated by the weight of you in his arms. He could hold you like this forever if he wanted to and if you would let him. It made him feel strong enough to take the brunt of anything physical that dared to try to reach you without even flinching. It fueled the fire in him, it made him want you in ways that he only let himself think about when he was alone in the confines of his room with the image of you behind his eyes.

You felt the same way having his strong arms hold you up steadily with confidence. You weren’t worried he’d drop you, even when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and leaned closer to place a kiss on his lips again. You hummed when he held onto you tighter and he let out a soft grunt as you took his lips into your.

He could carry you wherever he pleased and do whatever he pleased to you this way which made you dig your fingers into the nape of his neck.

He deepened the kiss. He held you almost the same way he had when he carried you to safety, protective and full of comfort that you would never be able to get from anyone else but that was okay but you didn’t want to get it from anyone else. You only wanted it from him, you only wanted him.

Simon moved towards his bed where he laid you down on top of it. He didn’t break the kiss as he climbed on top of you, pushing his leg between yours and slipping his tongue inside of your mouth. He tasted like tea with the faintest hint of cigarette smoke that made you hungry for more of him.

You let out a soft moan when his hand roamed down your side, his fingers leaving a tingling sensation across your skin when he moved it underneath your shirt. You arched your back into his warmth when he palmed your breast, his thumb rubbing across your nipple. You gripped his shirt tightly to keep him close to you and pressed your body into his, your mind already muddled from the minimal contact as he trailed kisses from your mouth to the underside of your jaw.

Your skin flushed with heat when he sucked the spot gently, earning another moan from your throat. You gasped when he bit your skin, a whine leaving your mouth when you felt a slight sting that was remedied by the swipe of his tongue over the spot.

You felt crushed underneath his weight in the best way possible, especially as he pinched your nipple between his fingers, his large hand squeezing and playing with the plump flesh as he pleased but it wasn’t enough. You could feel yourself ache for him to touch you in other places, you need more than just his hand on your breast, you needed both of them to hold you, to feel you in a place you only dreamed of before this moment.

You rolled your hips along his thigh to get some kind of friction, the snag from his pants against your aching cunt gave you enough to make you sigh with relief.

Simon grabbed the hem of your pants, stopping you from moving your hips as he gave them a tug. You didn’t hesitate to slip them off with his help and a moan escaped your mouth when he palmed you through your underwear which was already damp from your slick.

“Fuck.” He grunted in your ear before he began to leave more marks on your neck.

His fingers rubbed your clit through your underwear, making it more soaked as you moaned from the friction. Your hips moved up to meet his hand, small moans leaving your mouth as he put the right amount of pressure against you.

He grabbed your hips and pushed his leg on you more. He left kisses on your neck before he sat up to look down at you and you whined with a slight pout from the absence of his hot breath against your skin. However, that was quickly pushed away when he gently guided your hips along his thigh, the friction becoming more intense because of the removed layer. You rolled your hips along with his movements, the feeling of his pants against your clit through your underwear making you a noisy mess.

Simon watched you fuck yourself on his thigh with dark eyes full of desire. Each moan and gasp you made had him pushing you down on his thigh to add more pressure so you could get to your climax. His chest heaved up and down as an almost primal need to make you feel good overtook him.

You could see it in his eyes and it made you ride him harder, the familiar tug of pleasure building up. You chased it, your underwear now soaked and spreading to his pants as you gripped his arm for extra support. Your eyes were lidded as you stared up at Simon and you clenched around nothing as you saw just how much he liked seeing you come undone like this, how much he liked that you were using him for something good.

A tightening pain began to creep in your sides and you clenched your jaw. You were starting to get breathless but not in the way that you wanted to be. Your sides were spasming from the exertion and the spot where the rookie punched you stabbed into your lungs, making your chest heave. You were determined to keep going as you fought for the pleasure you felt against the pain in your lungs.

However, a particular bad stab against your lungs made you wince and stop. Heat flushed your face as you shut your eyes, placing a hand over them in an attempt to hide yourself as you huff with frustration.

“Fuck…I’m sorry.” You shook your head as your throat tightened.

“It’s alright.” Simon shushed you and pulled your hand away from your eyes, placing soft kisses against your lips. “You’re okay.”

He positioned himself overtop of you so he could keep kissing you as he began to move your hips on his thigh again. He went slow at first, giving you time to catch your breath as the pleasure began to build again. His grip was more gentle this time but he kept the same pressure against your cunt, nearly identical to the way you had been doing it before.

You were still tense, the soreness in your side still there as he moved your hips for you. You were struggling to hold onto the pleasure while trying to ignore the fact that you had given up, your body so tense you felt like a rock.

“Let go.” His voice was soft against your ear as he placed slow kisses on the marks he made on your neck. “I’ve got you.”

Those words, he had repeated to you over and over again when he had held you in his arms. They had been reassuring for him in the moment, to tell himself that he was strong enough to save you but now they had a different meaning. Those three words were to let you know that he was there for you, that he would always be there for you especially when you were damaged like you were. He could be strong for you, he could help you, he wanted to help you and he wanted you to accept it because he wanted to be there even when you were better.

They sunk into you and you slowly let go of the tension in your muscles, slowly stopped focusing on the pain and instead focused on the pleasure that he was giving to you.

You fell into his warmth and the friction against your clit began to cloud your mind again to the point you couldn’t control the sounds you were making. Your moans were like a song to Simon and he sighed deeply as he left another mark on your neck.

You were close and he could feel it. Your thighs began to twitch and your breaths were short as you grabbed his shirt tightly. You managed to get back enough strength to move your hips along with his hands again. Your eyes began to flutter shut and he kept a steady pace.

“That’s it, just like that.” He cooed in your ear when the band in your stomach finally snapped and your body tense as your orgasm washed over you.

The comforting praise from him made you feel more warm as you were out of breath again. You were still coming off of your high but you were still aching for him, you wanted more of him.

Dazed, you ran your fingers through his hair, giving him an impatient tug that made him leave a kiss on your shoulder, a way to tell you to wait for you to catch your breath.

“It’s okay, ‘m not going anywhere.” Simon assured you as he massaged his fingertips into your thighs.

You nodded, unable to say anything as you played with his hair, your fingers shaky from exertion and from your orgasm. It took a moment for you to start breathing normally and when you finally caught your breath he hovered over you.

Simon looked down at you with soft eyes still full of desire but there was something more within them. They bounced around your face as he brought his hand up to your cheek, brushing his knuckles across your heated skin so softly like you would fall apart from his touch.

He cupped your face, using his thumb to caress your soft skin with calloused hands that have committed violent acts yet he touched you as if he were someone completely different. He took you in, your hair slightly damp from sweat and your lips plush from being kissed, and thought that this is what heaven looked like. He looked at you as if you were the most important thing in his life, like you were something that needed to be worshiped beyond what he could provide, a divine figure worthy of everything good in life.

You leaned into his touch and reached out to caress his face as well. Before you had always wondered what his face looked like, making up random features to put a face to the rough man you worked with everyday, but you were happy that nothing of what you thought had been right.

He was beautiful beyond anything that could be thought of. You were sure he’d disagree, even if he joked that he was handsome, saying that the scars made him ugly but you could never agree with him on that.

Simon leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on your temple. He kissed your scar down to your eyelid and placed one on top of it. He moved to the rest of your face, peppering slow kisses all over it while he continued to caress your cheek with his thumb.

Your chest warmed and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close in a hug that warmed your chest. You ached even more for him, the affection making you roll your hips up into him causing you to gasp when you felt his erection through his pants.

“Needy.” He grunted and gently squeezed your cheeks with his hand.

“Please.” You begged barely above a whisper as you rolled your hips against him again.

His eyes darkened and he locked you into another passionate kiss where he let his hands roam down to your shirt. He grabbed the hem and caressed your skin with his fingers before he pulled your shirt off you, tossing it on the floor somewhere far from the bed. He ran his hands over your breasts tweaking your nipples as he placed kisses down your chest, biting and licking to mark you.

“Can’t say no to you.”

Simon kissed a few more times before he leaned back to get a good look at you but he froze.

You were covered in bruises. Most of them had faded and were almost gone from your skin, but there were a few that still held that unhealed darker shade to them. The spot where the rookie had hit you had already formed a fresh bruise that was the size of his fist. It was just the bruises either, it was the cut marks and the burns that were forever etched into your skin.

You had looked at them before this moment a few times, not dwelling on them for very long since you would like to keep your indifference to them in tact.

You looked up at Simon with concern as you noticed the guilt creep back into his eyes. It made your heart ache but you reached out and placed a hand on his cheek making him look back at you with those sad eyes of his.

A soft reassuring smile spread across your face as you caressed his face in an attempt to give him some sort of comfort.

“It looks worse than it is.” You said but he didn’t look convinced.

You took one of his hands and placed it over your new bruise, watching as he looked at you hesitantly, almost as if he were begging you to not make him touch it, but you didn’t listen. You gently pressed his hand on it, the pressure only making your eye twitch as most of the soreness seemed to only come when you were moving.

Simon spread his fingers across your skin, barely touching it with a ghost-like touch that nearly made you squirm. He stared at your bruise for a few more moments before he leaned down and tentatively placed a kiss on top of him. He moved to the others, giving them all a soft kiss as if it would make them disappear.

He rubbed his hands over your sides down to your thighs. The petting and the kissing warmed your skin again and you moved your hips up to meet his again, a satisfied hum leaving you when you felt that he was still hard even after he saw your marks.

He hummed deep in his chest before he held your hips down, continuing to leave kisses all over you. His stubble scratched a certain spot on your stomach and you couldn’t suppress the shudder that went through your body before a soft giggle left your mouth.

You felt him smile, a very small one, as he looked up at you and your face flushed hot.

“I’m ticklish…” You admitted and watched as a mischievous look flashed in his eyes that made your eyes widened.

“Noted.” He pressed more kisses as he trailed down to your underwear, taking the time to occasionally rub his chin in spots that made you squirm.

“Don’t you dare.”

“‘nother time, love.”

You blinked at the pet name and how easily he seemed to say it that you almost looked past the fact that he just threatened to tickle you. You were about to scold him for it when he dragged his hot tongue over your soaked underwear, taking away any words that you may have said.

A whimper left you as he licked you through the piece of clothing again, his eyes never leaving your face which contorted with pleasure the more he drenched them with his mouth.

Simon played with you like this as you let out soft mewls and whimpers, fueled by the way you squirmed underneath him until the taste of you through your underwear wasn’t enough. He pulled them off of you, not wanting to waste anymore time before he swiped his tongue slowly over your soaked cunt.

He groaned. It was loud and from his chest, as if it had been ripped out of him without a chance for him to even keep it in. He laid your legs over his shoulders and held onto your hips to keep you in place as he shut his eyes to taste you, letting out another groan as he did so. He started out slow but it didn’t last long because as soon as he got the taste of you in his mouth, on his tongue along with the beautiful sounds of your moans, he was lost in the primal need to have you.

He licked you as if he had been starved of this, as if this was the only time he’d ever get the chance to taste you again. His tongue worked on your clit, circling it until it was puffy from the overstimulation and made you whine. He sucked it while his tongue lapped of the juices and he opened his eyes to watch you fall apart so easily from his mouth.

The west sounds from his mouth and from your cunt were sinful, almost pornographic as he added a finger inside of you. Your heart was in your ears as you watched you eat you out with the determined ambition he had when he was on missions. The serious look in his eyes that was so full of desire it made you throw your head back onto his pillow and gripped his sheets so tight your fingers went sore. Your moans were loud no matter how hard you tried to restrain them and you wondered if maybe he was doing that on purpose.

You were already close to your second orgasm again by the time he added another finger. Your thigh squeezed his head as the pleasure tightened in your lower stomach but he didn’t move away, in fact it seemed to make him eat you out faster.

You came in his mouth as a loud moan ripped through your throat. Your back arched off the bed as your eyes rolled the back of your head, your muscles spasming from the intense orgasm and from the continued licks from Simon. He helped you ride it out and you expected him to let you catch your breath but you were wrong.

He didn’t stop once, not as you orgasmed or it left you, causing you to whimper and whine. His eyes were locked onto you as he pushed his nose against your clit while he fucked your hole with his tongue.

You were breathless. It felt like all of the air was being squeezed out of you as your moans became uncontrollable. You didn’t care if anyone else in the base heard you as the pleasure you felt was enough to make you feel like your entire body was floating. You were at his mercy as you writhed underneath him and he was relentless, only taking a millisecond to catch his breath before he was back to eating you out like a wild animal.

Your next orgasm hit you so quickly that your vision went out. Nothing left your mouth as your mouth was open in a silent scream as your body shook and lifted off the bed. You gripped the sheets for dear life, them being the only thing that was keeping you grounded as your mind went completely blank. You couldn’t even tell if you were breathing or not as he continued to lick your overstimulated cunt.

Simon didn’t stop until you were twitching and trying to move your hips away from him, your whimpers and whines sounding too pained for his liking. He sat back, panting heavily as he stared at your limp form, feeling a little too proud of himself as he placed kisses on your inner thighs.

He removed his clothes down to briefs, throwing them away as if they were something undesirable, before he climbed on top of you and trapped you underneath him.

You tasted yourself on his tongue when he locked you into a kiss. You moaned into his mouth as your hands ran down his back, tracing any scars you came across while he played with your raw nipples.

Despite the throbbing soreness you felt in your cunt, you still wanted more of him. You wanted to feel all of him and to have him buried deep inside of you until you couldn’t feel anything anymore. It made your stomach flip as you tugged on the band of his briefs, wondering what he could do with his cock if he could make you fall apart so easily with his mouth.

“After all that you still want my cock inside you?” He huffed a laugh in your ear as he went back to attacking your neck. “Dirty thing.”

You nodded, unable to say anything as he rolled his hips into you, his hard cock rubbing against your puffy clit which made you whimper. He held you by the chin and forced you to look at him, his eyes hooded and as he shook his head.

“Use your words.” His other hand pinched your nipple and you whined.

“Please.” You pleaded as you pulled his briefs down his hips. “I want your cock inside me, please.”

“Anything for you.”

Simon pushed your hands away before you pulled his underwear off, his cock finally springing free from its confines. It was red and puffy, the tips leaking beads of precum that you would’ve licked away if you weren’t so needy to have him inside of you. You weren’t surprised by his size. Someone who was as big as Simon Riley had to be packing something as big as his cock was and it only made you want him inside of you more. You were ready to feel all of him, to feel full even if you couldn’t take all of him.

He took his cock in his hand and pumped it a few times before he rubbed the tip on your clit, spreading precum all over you and getting your juices on him. You both hissed at the contact and you arched your back into him in order to feel more of him. You were breathing heavily with anticipation as he pressed the tip of his cock at your entrance.

You gasped and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. Your fingernails dug into his skin as he held you close to him before he slowly began to push himself inside of you. You moaned as his cock stretched you wider than you ever had been before and even with how wet you were it wasn’t enough to take away the pain. You blinked away any tears as you felt Simon rub comforting circles into your hips with his thumb while he kissed your shoulder.

He let you get used to him before he pushed more of him inside of you, letting out a few grunts of his own as your walls stretched to fit him. Every time he moved, he made sure to leave kisses on your skin and to rub his thumb into your hip to keep you relaxed as you adjusted to his size. Before long, he bottomed out leaving you both breathless as you held onto each other.

You hugged him close to you and he wrapped his arms around you protectively. You both stayed like that for a moment, the full and heavy feeling of his cock inside of you enough to have you flutter around him. You wrapped your legs around his hips and kissed his neck, leaving a few marks of your own which made him shudder.

It wasn’t until the pain had subsided to a dull ache that you rolled your hips into his at a slow pace. Soft whimpers left your mouth as you buried your face in his neck, the sensation almost too much for you to handle.

Simon whispered encouraging words in your ear, rubbing circles into your shoulder blades and back as you set the pace. He was breathing heavily in your ear, letting out soft grunts as he left hot kisses on your shoulder. He kept you in a secure hold with his arms wrapped around you, the warmth from his body being the only other thing you could feel.

Eventually your body betrayed you and you felt the all too familiar stabbing pain in your ribs, but where you left off, Simon picked up. He rolled his hips into you at a steady but gentle pace. He focused on the way you reacted, the small gasps and moans you let out as he moved against you, making sure to keep himself in the right angle so you could feel every good feeling he wanted you too.

The pace made you breathless and had you whimpering, slowly building the pleasure again but it wasn’t enough. You knew that he was capable of more than what he was doing but he was holding back. He didn’t want to hurt you and though you didn’t want him to be too rough, there was another time for that, you could handle more than what he was doing right now. As much as you liked how caring he was being, you wanted him to ruin you in the best way possible, to open you up like no one else has before and make you his.

“Simon,” You moaned and his breath hitched as he looked down at you. “Harder, please.”

“No…”

He kissed you and though he was being gentle with you, you could tell he wanted to go harder, faster than he was so he could chase both of your highs. It was sickeningly sweet how a man who seemed so cold could be this kind to you, even when you both wanted more. His control was impressive though he seemed to have too much of it at the moment.

“I can handle it.” You assured him and he pressed his lips together. “Please, I need you. I need to feel you.”

“Fucking hell.” He groaned and stopped moving, causing you to whine.

Simon ran his hands up your thighs and held you behind your knees. His fingers gripped your skin firmly and you looked up at him expectantly. He had a serious look in his eyes as he stared at you before he pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes going slightly soft as he sighed deeply.

“You have to tell me to stop if it gets too much.” He warned and you nodded as your stomach flipped.

“Promise.” You kissed him tenderly and rolled your hips into his, causing him to groan.

Simon kissed you back just as passionate before he moved against you. He started out slow again, letting you get used to it before he picked up the pace. His cock slid in and out of you with ease as he nearly pulled himself out all of the way only to slam back into you. He kept your legs in place as he watched your breasts bounce from the force, somehow getting harder at the sight.

You threw your head back and dug your nails into his shoulders as he set a brutal pace hitting the most sensitive spots inside of you. Every thrust knocked the wind out of you and you became a writhing mess underneath him as he didn’t relent for anything. The sounds of your moans mixed with the wet sounds of his cock slamming inside of you and your mind went completely blank. You couldn’t even think to move your hips along with his, so drunk off his cock already that all you could do was lay there and take it.

His cock hit the spot inside of your walls that made you open up for him to go deeper and you begged him to keep going. You lifted yourself up from the bed to feel more of him and nearly cried when the head of his cock kissed your cervix. It felt like he was inside of your stomach and you couldn’t breathe again as your walls clenched so tight around him he let out a moan.

He would’ve laughed at how close you were already but it only made him feel pride in himself that he was the one making you feel this good. He was the only one who got to see you come apart like this, he was the only one who could make you orgasm like this.

“C’mon.” He grunted as he moved to hold your hips, holding you down. “Give it to me.”

He hit that spot on your walls over and over again, even when your legs began to shake. Your vision went blurry from tears and you gripped his arms so tight you were sure you left marks on them as your moans went high pitched. The pleasure became so much that when the orgasm hit you saw stars as your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your body shook uncontrollably. You went completely limp as you moaned, whimpered and cried out with pleasure that a few tears rolled down your cheeks.

Simon didn’t stop and helped you ride out your orgasm before he smashed his lips against yours. He bit your lip as you cried, licking away your salty tears as he chased his own high that was now starting to build up inside of him as well. He was breathing heavily and you writhed underneath him from overstimulation but he wasn’t going to stop, not when he could feel another build up inside you.

You wondered how long he could go for before he hit that spot again, taking out any thoughts you had as you fell back onto the bed. You were reduced to nothing but cries of pleasure again as he pounded into you.

You were so vulnerable, so beautiful and crying the way you should be crying, out of pleasure, from something good and not from something out of fear. Not only was he keeping you safe he was making you feel better, he was making you feel good. So good that you had already cummed on him four times already.

“No one’s ever gonna touch you again.” He grunted under his breath before he latched his mouth on your neck, sucking your bruised flesh. “Never letting you get hurt again.”

“Simon.” You sobbed and he thrust into you harder.

“I’m here, love.”

His thrust began to turn erratic as he felt himself close to the edge. He was pushed further towards it when you clenched around him again and he found the spot that made you a mess, using it to chase his own high as well. His breath was ragged and he couldn’t help the groans that escaped him when he felt you shake underneath him.

“That’s it, one more. Just one more.” He slurred his words as you clung to him for dear life.

Another orgasm hit you and this one completely ripped through you. It was as if you had an out of body experience, you were floating in the sticky air, gone from Simon’s room as his voice sounded so far away from you as he repeated your name like a mantra.

He thrust into you a few more times before you felt him release hot, sticky liquid inside of you. He gripped the sheets beside your head as he pushed all of his cum into you before he went still, his chest pressing against yours as you both panted like you had run a marathon.

For a moment, you both laid there in each other's arms in silence. Your skin was hot and sticky from your sweat and from Simon’s, but you didn’t mind. You were content with burning your face into the crook of his neck and falling asleep this way as exhaustion caught up to you again. You managed to wrap your arms around him to pull him into a hug that he returned immediately.

Simon regained his breath a lot quicker than you. He pushed himself off you and looked down at you, his eyes going soft as he saw the exhaustion in your eyes. He worried that he went too hard before you gave him a smile. He placed his hand on your cheek and kissed you one last time before he slowly pulled out of you.

You whimpered from the movement and you were left feeling empty without him.

You watched him get up from the bed and walk towards the bathroom with heavy eyelids. You shut your eyes when you heard the sink run, finding that his bed was actually pretty comfortable compared to yours, though without him beside you, the chill from the air against your damp skin made you shiver. Time seemed to go by slowly as you waited for him to come back yet when you heard him return you didn’t have any energy to open your eyes until he placed a gentle hand on your thigh.

When you opened them, you saw him use a towel to wipe up the mess between your thighs, causing you to wince from the contact and him to rub his fingers into your skin.

He got up to leave again and you scooted over on his bed to make room for him. The bed was small and you weren’t sure how comfortable either of you would be if you slept together, but you didn’t want to go back to your room. When he came back he laid down on the bed beside you and pulled the blankets over you both before he pulled you into his chest, maneuvering you in a way that your head rested on his chest.

You placed a hand on his chest and he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“I’m going to be okay.” You said after a long period of silence. You looked up at him and he stared down at you with certainty. “Eventually.”

“Still doesn’t mean I won’t worry.” He sighed and you felt him flex his broken hand on your waist.

“You can worry, I just want you to know I’ll be okay.”

You took his hand in yours and pressed your fingers into his palm. You massaged the places between his knuckles, his fingers and anywhere else that might be stiff, working in firm circles to make sure that the job would get done while he watched you with tired eyes.

Simon placed a soft kiss on your forehead and pulled you closer.

“Okay.”

~

Long after you fell asleep, Simon laid there watching your chest rise and fall in the darkness. He held onto you to keep you close to him as studied how relaxed your face looked as you slept peacefully beside him. This wasn’t the first time he had committed the image to memory but after tonight, this would always be burned into his mind until the day he died.

He never expected to sleep with you but he didn’t regret it. Not when you looked at him like you loved him and not when he felt his heart pour so many emotions into the way he had made love to you. He hoped that when you woke up or in the future he could share more moments like this with you, moments where he could lay down beside you and be there for you whenever you had a nightmare. There was so much more he wanted to show you, so many feelings he still had to tell you without saying a word but you need to sleep.

Simon would always carry some guilt inside of him for what happened to you, but knowing that you never blamed him helped him move on from a lot of the self hatred he had towards himself. If you didn’t blame him, then maybe it was okay if he didn’t blame himself.

He dared to place a hand on your cheek, loving the way that your skin felt against his before he placed one last kiss to your forehead.

He let his eyes flutter shut as he listened to your soft breathing, something that he could always fall asleep to but never really had a chance to until now and maybe in the future if you kept him around.

It didn’t matter if you didn’t or not.

Simon would always be there to protect you.

~

Tag list: @lainphotography @littlezarp @simplybellasblog @gills-lounge @simonsdoll @d4z01 @madsothree @illyanam1011 @msecho19 @crazyfandomist @emrzennn @horror102 @maxi-ride @daniquehavinga @alilstressyandlotdepressy

[its-your-mind]

thinkin bout how orv starts with kim dokja actively working to ensure that kim namwoon dies during the first scenario

thinkin bout how kim namwoon was a teenager at the start of the scenarios, dealing with the apocalypse using the mental paths that came easiest, jumping into the new world with both feet

thinkin bout kim dokja as a teenager. tired. hurt. alone. his internal and external struggles ignored by the adults around him. choosing to throw himself off a rooftop because there wasn’t anything in his life worth living for

thinkin bout how kim dokja woke up again, even though he had planned not to

thinkin bout a teenage boy. lost, alone, broken, scared, angry, in need of someone to come and show him how to keep moving forward

thinkin bout a protagonist in a webnovel who is an example to you of how to survive against all odds. a mantra to repeat when living life as yourself is too hard

thinkin bout a hardened and powerful hero who knows exactly how this world works, who holds out a hand offers you a place with him

thinkin bout teenage kim namwoon, looking to yoo joonghyuk as captain, teacher, and protector

thinkin bout teenage kim dokja, looking to yoo joonghyuk as role-model, hero, and refuge

thinkin bout teenage kim dokja, who saw himself more as kim namwoon than any of yoo joonghyuk’s other companions

thinkin bout adult kim dokja, reclusive and unsocial, hiding his phone from his coworker so she doesn’t see what he’s reading. convinced that yoo joonghyuk would look down on him if he learns who he “really” is. ashamed of any details kimcom learns about his past

thinkin bout what happens to a life when the person living it has never seen in it any redeeming qualities or objects of value. how someone feels about life when they tried and failed to give up that life a decade ago, and every day since has felt almost accidental

thinkin bout the lesser fire dragon. the disaster of floods. the strongest in seoul dome. the devourer of dreams. the 73rd demon king. the industrial complex. the war between good and evil. the wager with secretive plotter.

thinkin bout the most ancient dream. an empty station. a cold and hard bench. bandages and a notebook and a too-loose uniform. smaller than he should be for his age and more broken than any child should ever become. alone.

thinkin bout an unbreakable faith, shattered. a family frantically throwing themselves at their heart to save him from himself. desperate hands prying a blade out of shaking ones, moments before the jagged edge pierced deep into vulnerable flesh

thinkin bout how the younger kim dokja, recently released from the hospital, does not watch. instead, he instinctively curls up to protect the parts of himself already hurting the most. he begins to repeat his mantra

thinkin bout how kim namwoon kicked and fought and screamed and stabbed. and then, when he realized there wasn’t anything he could do, he got down on his knees and begged kim dokja for his life

thinkin bout how kim dokja just stood over him, held him in place, and looked at him in silence as the clock ran out

thinkin bout kim dokja at the beginning of his story and at the end of his story. in a subway. looking down at a teenage boy.

making a choice. the same choice, both times.

the first time: an explosion, a blood splatter on his reflection, and a confused and wary protagonist who has lost one asset and gained another

the last time: arms holding him back, a family hugging him tight, and another protagonist who steps in front of him. holds the child close. forgives him everything. offers up anything more he could need. and kim dokja watches as the person with the strongest claim to vengeance upon this younger facsimile of himself instead gently gathers up the most ancient dream, tucks him close against his chest, and walks away with him safe and sound in his arms.

[littlesunshine1223]

Hey, I was wondering if you can do hcs on Stu Macher, Billy Loomis, and Tatum Riley? :)

Billy Loomis/Stu Macher Headcanons

[Sorry I’m not used to writing for Tatum]

Billy Loomis

SFW

- no matter how tough he acts all you have to do to drop that act is to kiss him and play with his hair

- some days most of the time he’s worried that you’re going to leave him for someone new

- he loves cuddles and watching horror movies with you while eating junk food

- if anyone hurts you or is making stupid hurtful side comments then their bodies will never be found

- will rarely do PDA in public unless he gets jealous from all the random people staring at you while you’re both just trying to buy snacks

- loves cuddles and another thing he’ll never admit till the day he dies is that he absolutely loves being the small spoon

- he always sneaks into your room through your window just so he can tell you in person that he loves you

- for Halloween you always try to talk him into wearing the couples costumes, he secretly enjoys them but will never admit it

- if you find out he’s Ghostface then his tough guy act will crumble and he’ll beg you to not tell anyone or leave him

- if you don’t know he’s Ghostface then he’ll just use the excuse of Stu needed something or he had to go see what his dad wanted back at home

NSFW

- sometimes if he’s really in the mood while watching a movie then he’ll recreate the classic horror movie sex scene with you

- wanna get noises from him? Praise him, ride him till he’s shooting blanks, and to put the cherry on top cover him in hickeys

- more than likely he loves having the sense of control but if you want to take the lead for a night then he might let you

- we all already know what some of his kinks are: Knife kink, blood kink, dirty talk, overstimulation, hair pulling, and edging

- he will try to act like a brat no matter what but all you have to do is go down on him and suck out all the brat in him

- he’s a messy eater ;)

- he’s gotten cum-drunk from you numerous times and has the prettiest blissed out eyes as he babbles about how good you taste

- if he got a little roughed up after killing someone then he will love you more than ever if you kiss his bandages wounds and bruises while slowly and gently riding him

- one thing that melts his mind is whenever he sees you wearing his Ghostface mask and jacking him off after he first wakes up in the mornings

- if it’s your first time then he’ll be careful with you and hold your hand the whole time

Stu Macher

SFW

- he’s a massive cuddle bug and PDA happens all the time just because he has a lot of love to give you

- Just like Billy he loves to cuddle with you and watch horror movies while eating as much junk food as possible

- he absolutely adores when you yelp and snuggle closer to him when you get scared during a movie

- he loves to sneak in through your window and snuggle up to you, whining about how you need to warm him up because it’s cold out

- one night he showed up later than usual after you had already locked the window and magically that next morning you woke up to him starfished on top of you in bed (he refuses to tell you how he got in)

- if someone’s causing you problems then they randomly disappear the next day, never to be seen or heard from again

- he’s the human version of a golden retriever, he’ll do what you tell him, he’s adores affection, and he follows you around as your protector in case something goes bad

- he “accidentally” leaves his sweaters at your house for you to wear

- if you know he’s Ghostface then he’ll wrap his long arms and legs around you and give you the puppy dog eyes while begging for you not to leave him

- if you don’t know he’s Ghostface then he’ll keep it like that for as long as possible because he doesn’t know how you’d react

NSFW

- he loves when you ride him, something about it just melts his brain

- he loves to cover you in hickeys and pin you to the bed just to tease you

- just like Billy, he’s a messy eater too ;)

- one of his favorite things is when you’re shivering in pleasure beneath him after he just railed you into his mattress

- depending on his mood he might act like a brat or he’ll submit to everything you say (there’s no in between)

- if he’s been teasing you too much then pin him to the bed and ride/rail him till he’s sobbing in pleasure and babbling for more

- he has invited Billy to have a three way (after making sure you’re comfortable with that)

- the more you overstim him the louder he gets

- a great way to get him to make noise is by dirty talking him, spanking him, praising him, and wearing his Ghostface mask while doing all of that

- if it’s your first time then he’ll make sure to stretch you all the way out and use extra lube in case you’re very sensitive

[vi-arcanes-left-biceps]

Spoilers for Arcane S2 Finale❗❗

So, i keep thinking about Arcane's last pieces of dialogue and though they sounded kinda funny when I watched the end at the first time (in a 'really? This took 27h to write?' way), the more I think about it, the more I like it.

I think it has a ton of layers to interpret and I'm still missing a few of them.

Please forgive my multiple tangents while I try to gather my thoughts.

First, how Caitlyn finds Vi: no bandages, a glass of alcohol in her hands.

No bandages means many things for Vi: she's vulnerable -both because of what she's going through and beacuse she can allow herself to be vulnerable for the first time in the show, with Caitlyn-, and her fight is over, she doesn't have to fight anymore (Re: Ep7 Powder saying Vi fights because she's scared of losing everyone, and she has lost everyone). (Everyone but Ekko and Caitlyn, who have repeatedly proven they can fend for themselves and are leaders on their own right, I'd love to say Vi is in a point where she's able not to feel responsible for them too, though this is something I'm not so sure about). Bandages were also an important part of her character design, of herself, so this gives a sensation that she's lost a part of her identity too. Who is she, if not the big sister, the protector, the brawler?

Alcohol is another small details that just says she's not okay. We've seen her drink herself senseless for, presumably, months, in Act II, to cope with all that happened in S1 and particularly S2 Act I: accepting the loss of her sister after the attack on the council, becoming an enforcer even though she was completely against it because she still feels responsible for ending Jinx, recognising her sister again for just a glimpse and gaining faith that Powder is still there (with the realisation that she almost killed her sister -not the monster she convinced herself jinx was, her sister) falling in love with Cait and seeing her become a completely different person out of grief.... So after everything that just happened in Act III, where she saw that many people die, either strangers or friends, and where she lost her sister and father AGAIN, of course she's considering getting back to drinking. So much happened to her in the span of few months that she's considering drowning the pain away again.

Caitlyn's question: "Are you still in this fight, Violet?"

The line delivery is incredibly soft and intimate, and Cait calling her Violet is the cherry on top. She's knows Vi is not okay. She's knows she's going through a lot right now.

Caitlyn's question seeing this is really, at least, three questions:

First and clearest is a check-in: "How are you?" "Will you be okay?" "Do you want to talk about this?"

Second is "Are you staying?" Vi could leave to be alone as she did at the beginning of Act II, could go with Ekko to Zaun... I can also see an "Are you staying with me?" After everything that happens, after the little time that they've had to be together and to solve the many things between them, her asking "Are you still in this fight" can mean both "hey, are you holding up" and "Are we still together in this?"

Third would be "So, are you up to face this, solving things between Piltover and Zaun?". I know some people have criticized the lack of resolution in the Zaun/Piltover conflict. I'd argue, as much as I'd love for the class conflict to be expanded, it is not the core of the series, and both the writers and the characters know that a conflict like this cannot be solved in such little time. The series was not going to solve it. What it does is solve it's main plot and character arcs, and leave a space for this theme to have the start of a resolution. Piltover an Zaun joined against Ambessa's army, and the ending gives us a glimpse of the will to change the relationship between topside and bottom (e.g. having Zaunites in the council). It's not a perfect ending nor it is a resolution for Zaun's class struggle -I'm pretty sure that was never the intent, though I would have liked for both cities' relationship to be more comented upon in this season-, it's the opportunity to advance towards a resolution. So Cait is asking Vi if she is willing to deal with that too. "Are you still in this fight?" can also have an implication to mean fighting to make things better. This also means fighting for them to be together.

Then, Vi's answer: "I am the dirt underneath your fingernails, Cupcake. Nothing's gonna clean me out".

Now, I like this because it sums up to Vi saying "I'm not going anywhere" but the line itself and the delivery gives it a few more layers of meaning.

First of all, Vi is clearly not okay. She's very emotionaly scarred and considering an unhealthy coping mechanism. She looks incredibly sad. And she's deflecting with humour to the question because she's probably not ready to talk about it. So her delivery here, plus the strange joke/comparison and calling Caitlyn "Cupcake" (which she's only done when she's teasing her in a flirty or funny way or deflecting the conversation by doing so) is telling Caitlyn that she's not okay right now, but that she isn't going to leave. "

I interpret "Nothing's gonna clean me out" as her basically saying "I'm tough, I'll get through this" to Caitlyn's "How are you?" and saying "You're not getting rid of me" to Caitlyn's "Are you going to stay?"

Furthermore, calling herself "The dirt underneath your fingernails" has an obvious implication about her being a Zaunite and Caitlyn being from Pilotover. I've seen some people saying this is insulting to Vi's character and to Zaun's storyline.... I don't think so at all. Yeah, I can get to see a layer of self-depreciating humor, but for me this is Vi using her humour as well to reinforce herself and her identity as a Zaunite (which arguably she left aside/lost sight of during Act I) while also teasing Caitlyn for being a topsider. I like to interpret this as Vi saying "Yeah, Piltie, I'm sticking with you and I will keep bothering you". The tone and calling Cait "Cupcake" reinforces this as a tease as well. Reinstating her identity as a Zaunite also gives insight on Vi's position on the Zaun-Piltover new relationship: yes, she's willing to help out manage this, always from the position of a kid from the Lanes.

Zaun and Piltover are also stuck together after the ending - they've fought together against a common enemy and that has also forced Piltover's elite to sit and listen to Zaun's demands. For sure Piltover's aristocracy still has to get their heads out of their asses but this is how I like to read the phrase in regards to Zaun-Piltover, layered upon what Vi is saying: I am the dirt underneath you = I (Zaun's state and problems) am a consequence of your (Piltover's) actions and I am not going anywhere. (You will have to listen).

Anyways, lots of rambling and I'll still be missing stuff!

Another thing is, native spanish speakers as I am use the phrase "Nail and flesh" to say that two people are inseparable, and this has enough similarity to that for it to feel like Vi is also saying they are inseparable. So yeah

[fanon-canon-idfk]

(This story takes place through the dark era, Dazai’s time in hiding, and ADA)

Genre: angst to fluff

Dazai Osamu x Male Reader

Dazai was your boyfriend in the simplest terms. He loved you with all he could, even when his abilities to express so were lacking.

You could tell when he was expressing his love, you had gotten used to how your lover worked and accepted him in full.

As your superior, he would always send you on less risky missions if he had a choice. If he didn’t, he would assign you a whole team of strong and intelligent mafia members.

He loved you more than anything, and you loved him just as much.

You were his rock, his protector, and his weak spot.

Of course at this time, the Great Demon Prodigy wasn’t exactly crying in your arms, but you were who he could lay against on every hard day when his mind was particularly persistent.

Then tragedy truly struck.

One of yours and Osamu’s close friends, Odasaku, had not only passed away, but Dazai himself disappeared without a word.

The love of your life,

The boy you relied on,

The boy you kept warm in his shipping container,

Your boyfriend,

He left without a single word. Not even a goodbye.

To say you were hurt would be beyond an understatement. You were broken.

You gave so much of your life, your soul, your heart, all to this singular boy and he didn’t even say goodbye or tell you where he was?!

You also got home that night to a smashed phone and all remnants of data carrying his phone number or messages, etc!

To make matters worse, Mori didn’t let you have a single day off. Constantly interrogating you, having people watch you, all to guarantee you had no knowledge on Dazai.

It took several months, but finally the entirety of the mafia was off your ass.

You were burnt out, barely walking your way home after you were let off your shift and allowed a day off (credit to Chuuya convincing Mori for you).

You finally reached your apartment. After locking your door, you staggered straight to your bedroom and plopped right onto your bed. You passed out immediately.

You woke up at around 2 AM to the sound of shuffling in your bedroom. Originally having passed it off as nothing, you didn’t bother to open your eyes as you let yourself drift back to sleep.

Then you felt a presence pressing down on your mattress right in front of you. Right as you felt their arm snake around your shoulder you shot up, smacking their arm away and ready to defend yourself.

As you grabbed the blade in your pocket and opened your eyes however, you were met with sight and sound of a familiar presence.

“M/N! Wait, wait! Hey, hey, relax, it’s me! It’s just me..” Dazai reassured you. That’s right. Dazai.

Technically-but-not-really-because-there-was-no-breakup ex boyfriend, Dazai.

Dazai, who left you behind.

Honestly, you weren’t too sure if learning it was him made you want to stab him any less.

After a while of tense silence, Dazai suddenly grabbed the sides of your face, attempting to pull you in for a desperate kiss.

Right as your lips were about to touch one another’s, you pushed him back from you, making him have to quickly catch himself before he fell right off the bed.

“What the hell are you doing here?! Do you have any clue what they’ll do to you if they find you here? What they’ll do to me?!” You shouted.

“I’ve missed you..” he looked at you pitifully, a smile still being forced onto his face. Dazai attempted to get closer to you again, but stopped himself when you held a hand out as a signal to stay where he is.

You placed the blade in your hand down on your bed, getting up and facing away from him. You scattered through your brain as you ran your hands through your hair in frustration.

He didn’t say a word, just silently watching you pace around your room.

You took a deep breath, settling your anger and hurt for a moment.

“So.. you’re not wearing your face bandages anymore.. or?” You asked casually, without turning around. You still couldn’t bare to look at him right now.

He didn’t answer your question, but chuckled at your casual talk. He felt a light warmth in his chest, happy to finally have someone treat him the same as always.

“You can stay in my room tonight..” his eyes lit up, “I’ll be on the couch..” and then his heart sank.

“What..?” He questioned weakly. “You’re here for a place to sleep, right? That much you’ll get from me.. but I- I can’t sleep here.” You explained, beginning to walk out of the room.

He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t lose you again. He couldn’t stand being alone anymore.

He acted purely on emotion, leaping off the bed and gripping your torso like a vice.

“What the-?” You were cut off,

“Please.. I don’t want to be alone anymore.. I promise, I’ll explain everything… please.. I’m sorry, M/N..” He begged you, his hold on you never faltering.

You finally looked down at him. He was crumbled to his knees, gripping onto your dress shirt like you would disappear any second, forehead pressed against your back.

God, everything about this sight pained you beyond belief.

You couldn’t stand to see him like this, even after everything.

So you kneeled down to his level, scooped him up in your arms, and brought him back to your bed, sitting beside him.

Just as he promised, he explained everything. What happened to Odasaku, why he had to leave, why he had to cut you off. Everything.

By the end of it all, you were back where you both were used to being; him with his head in your chest, your arms wrapped around his body, the both of you together.

You fell asleep together, just like before. You were finally at peace, and so was he.

In the morning, you woke up alone. You almost thought you dreamed it all, that was until you saw a napkin with writing on it.

On it was Dazai’s handwriting, and it said:

“M/N, please wait for me. I promise, I’ll be back and we’ll be together again. Right now, I need to stay in hiding, and most importantly, keep you out of it. I’ll find you.

I love you.

Love, yours truly.

PS: I had your last frozen waffle, sorry. <3”

Despite the ache returning to your heart, you chuckled.

You’d miss him like hell, and he’d definitely have to make it up to you, but you knew he’d return to you.

So you waited.

4 years later, he turned up on your doorstep.

A 4 year recap and some serious apologizing later, and Dazai was back where he was before. He was in your arms again.

After you two got back to where you left off, you were introduced to the new people in his life.

You were happy for Osamu; he’d finally found a community that accepted him and cared for him. He wasn’t isolated anymore.

After the dust finally settled between the mafia and the agency, you didn’t hesitate to slip a ring on that pretty little finger of his.

Osamu was now your beautiful husband, and you both couldn’t be happier.

After all, with that ring on his finger, nothing but death could part you again.