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whalesforhands · 2 years ago

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swallow your doubt (gojo x reader x geto) pt.1

next masterlist

warnings: ao3 is down and i’m losing myself; i have a clear bias but i like them equally i swear; gojo

In more ways than one, Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru completed each other.

Darkness and light.

Black and white.

Yin and yang.

What they had for each other was more than a feeling, more than a simple friendship. It transcended the meaning of the much too simple word of ‘like”, or ‘love’.

It was always, always so much more. What one was, so was the other. What one could, so could they.

In other words, they were made just for each other.

But, why, oh, why? Why do you long for what couldn’t, shouldn’t be yours?

Your lingering gaze on Geto whenever he gently placed his hand on your waist to move you to the side whenever he needed to pass by you.

“Please excuse me…” He would whisper into your ear, the dull, calming scent of lavender filling your nostrils whenever he pressed himself close to you for that brief moment.

Your stunned stare at Gojo whenever he would unceremoniously shove one of his many treats into your mouth. Sometimes even purposely leaving his sugar-coated fingers in your mouth to perhaps spite you. His grin a little too wide when you obediently chewed, his pale fingers reaching to pull at one of your cheeks and cooing before leaving.

It was wrong. So wrong. Yet, your heart ached, yearned for them.

You craved them.

But how do you fit in what has already been completed?

How do you trace the calluses that mar Ge- Suguru’s hands as he watched you so?

How do you count the stars reflected within Satoru’s eyes as you both gazed up at the night sky above?

How could you continue to live with such guilt, such pining, such anguish?

Your hands shook as you watched the pair shove and tease each other, their forms slowly disappearing into the distance, with Shoko watching with a lazy grin on her face as she leaned against your dazed form.

A hot summer afternoon, a warm bench and a cute girl to relax with. Everything Shoko needed to kick back and chill, all she was missing was an ice cold drink from the vending machine. Should she get one with you?

She watched as your eyes glazed over, your breaths growing a little shorter, your hands moving to hug yourself a little tighter than usual.

“Hey.” She shook you gently.

No response.

You must be really deep in thought. It wasn’t rare to see you lose yourself to your creative little head. Wasn’t rare to see you dazed over in your imagination and giving Shoko free reign over you for a little while as she played with your fingers or twirled your hair.

She let out a hum, debating whether or not to interrupt your little internal debate, watching your pretty eyes shine before she caught a glimpse of the troublesome duo making their way over. With gifts in hand, no less.

“Yo! Feeling hot?” Gojo greeted as he tossed a can of cold soda over to Shoko, the girl catching it with ease and an easy grin as she felt the coolness of the can against her warm skin.

“And for the other lady… Tada! Your favourite chocolate milk! Fresh from the vending machine!” The grandiose speech went unheard even as the white-haired menace dangled the drink in front of you, waiting for your response in order to tease you.

No response.

Gojo leaned down to be eye level with you, sunglasses tilted down onto his nose bridge as glittering blue eyes stared into your empty ones. Ah, you were having another of your moments.

“Satoru! Don’t run off with the drinks I bought!” Another male voice made itself known before Gojo was roughly shoved to the side, a whine escaping the white-haired sorcerer’s lips as he absorbed the shove, nearly falling over as Geto moved to snatch your drink from him.

He gave one glance at you, and another to Shoko.

The brunette shrugged, “I bet she’s having fun in there.” Opening her can, she leaned back into the backrest and chugged. “You could try to get her out though. You succeed the most.”

“That’s not true! Suguru and I have a 50/50 split on that!”

“More like 70/30. She doesn’t even respond to you half the time.” A pause. “And why does my soda taste weird?”

Their continued banter went unheard by the raven haired sorcerer as he moved to sit beside you on the 2/3 filled bench.

No response.

He gently tucked a strand of stray hair away from your face.

No response.

He pressed the still cold carton of milk to your cheek. Watching with a fond smile as you slowly started to come back. A hand reached up to relish in the chill of the drink, to relish in the feel of his hand pressed close to you.

“Suguru.” You quietly greeted, lips slowly pulling into a cute smile as your eyes moved to meet his.

“Welcome back.” Your hand was now placed over his in another greeting, gently patting it before you moved to take the packet from him with gratitude.

(He wished you let yourself linger your touch on him longer.)

Suguru chuckled, watching as you pulled the plastic straw out and began to drink. “I should be telling you that.”

Suguru moved himself to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with you, relaxing in your presence as he searched his pocket for his now lukewarm soda. He’s still content anyway.

“And why is everyone on the bench but me?! No fair! Move over!”

His last statement was directed at Shoko. Instead of pressing Ieiri inward and sitting at the other end of the bench, the long legged menace chose to squeeze himself in-between Shoko and yourself, pushing you closer to Suguru as he fought off Shoko’s smacks and yells of discontent.

Finally settled uncomfortably with all of you on the bench, his long arms stretched out over the backrest, one arm even daringly resting over your shoulders as he crossed his legs and took in the afternoon sunshine.

“Lovely day we’re having!”

masterlist next

Notes:

Shoko still finds it hard to believe you aren’t taking any of the hints the two boys have been giving you. No matter, she’ll let you figure it out yourself as she continues to lowkey flirt with you.

You remain oblivious to the two’s very obvious flirting but, you’re not immune to Shoko’s charm at all.

Shoko, despite not showing it much here has made you flustered way more than Gojo or Geto ever have.

#geto x reader x gojo #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #jjk x reader #whalewrites #getou suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #dyf au

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littlejoyss · 3 months ago

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Do you write for more than just Hyunjin? If so can I request a Felix fic where he is comforting a plus sized reader? -Thanks!

Yes! I write for OT8. Sorry for the late reply, life has been busy. Here is the fic :)

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕

Stray Kids - College Au!Lee Felix x Plus Sized!Reader Warnings: Body image issues, bad self-talk, not proofread Word Count: 1.1k (short n sweet)

You and Felix have been friends since the beginning of freshman year, but your connection has always felt like something more.

Sometimes, it’s in the way he insists on walking you home after a study session, brushing it off as “just being a good friend,” or how he remembers the smallest details about your likes and dislikes. Other times, it’s the quiet moments when you’re alone together.

Though you’ve never crossed the line into romance, there’s a subtle hint of it in your relationship, leaving you to wonder if Felix feels it too, or if you’re imagining it.

You must be imagining it. He was handsome and you were…you. Chubby and shy.

You tried not to think of it too much though.

It’s a cool evening the city hums softly in the background as you and Felix walk side by side. He had texted you earlier, suggesting a late-night hangout, and you immediately said yes.

Felix walks with his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, his breath visible in the cold air. “So,” he says, his voice low but bright, “are you ready for our adventure?”

You laugh softly, tilting your head. “Adventure? Isn’t this just us walking to the park?”

He grins. “A park at night is totally an adventure. Who knows what we’ll find? Maybe a stray cat or… a really questionable vending machine snack?”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. That’s always what Felix has done for you. He makes even the most boring things seem magical.

When you reach the park, the two of you settle on a bench overlooking a frozen pond. Felix pulls out a thermos from his bag and offers you a cup of hot chocolate he made at home. You take a sip, savoring the warmth.

His freckles are faintly visible in the dim light, and his expression is relaxed as he stares at the pond.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say softly.

He turns to you, his smile gentle. “Anytime. You know that.”

The moment stretches, the unspoken tension between you lingering like the mist of your breaths in the air.

He speaks again, “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

You glance up at the sky, the moon shining softly against the dark canvas of the night. It is beautiful.

You’ve read about that phrase before. It’s often used as a poetic confession, a subtle way of saying what someone might be too scared to say outright.

Your cheeks heat, the chill of the night doing little to cool the warmth spreading across your face. You glance at him, trying to gauge if he meant it the way you think he did. Felix is still looking at the pond, but there’s a slight tension in his jaw that wasn’t there before.

You take a steadying breath. “It is,” you reply softly, your gaze drifting back to the moon. You could leave it at that, let the moment pass as so many others have before. But you didn’t want to this time.

“Felix,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you say that?”

He hesitates for a moment, then shrugs, his lips twitching into a nervous smile. “Because it is beautiful,” he says, his tone not entirely convincing. “And because… I wanted to know if you’d understand.”

Understand.

Your hands tighten around the cup of hot chocolate as you muster the courage to ask the question you’ve been too afraid to voice for years. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

He exhales, his breath fogging in the air. “I guess I am,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “But it’s hard, you know? You’ve been my best friend for so long, and I don’t want to mess that up. But…” He trails off, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I feel like I’d regret it more if I didn’t say anything.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest. You set the cup down beside you, your fingers trembling. “Say what?”

He looks back at you, his expression raw and open in a way that you’ve never seen before. “That I like you. Not just as a friend. I’ve liked you for a while now. And I didn’t know how to tell you because… well, because I thought maybe you wouldn’t believe me.”

You blink, his words taking a moment to sink in. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

Felix gives a soft, almost bitter laugh. “Because you never see yourself the way I see you. You’re kind and funny and smart. You make everything feel easier, lighter. And you’re beautiful.” His cheeks flush, but he doesn’t look away. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

“I thought… I thought you were just being nice. That you couldn’t possibly…”

“Like you?” he finishes gently, leaning closer. “Why couldn’t I?”

“I just…” you stammer, struggling to put your feelings into words. “You’re you. You’re amazing. And I’m… me.” You look down at your body.

Felix's thumb brushes over your knuckles, a gentle, reassuring touch that brings your gaze back to him. "Hey, don’t say that. I like you exactly as you are. I don't care about anything else, just you.”

You blink, feeling a mixture of disbelief and something else you can’t quite name."But I’m not like-" you start to say, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

"Stop comparing yourself to anyone else. You’re you. And that’s all that matters to me." His hand moves, slipping to the side of your face as he gently cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear you didn’t even know had fallen. "I’ve always liked you for who you are, not some idea of what you think you should be. No matter what size you are and no matter what you look like, I see you, and you’re perfect. Every part of you."

"I don’t know what to say," you admit, voice small and unsure.

"You don’t have to say anything right now. I just wanted you to know how I feel." He lets out a small laugh, a nervous edge to it. "I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now, but I didn’t want to mess up what we had."

Your heart beats louder, and the urge to close the distance between you becomes overwhelming. "Felix..." you murmur again, this time with a quiet, but genuine smile.

His thumb strokes your cheek once more. "You’re perfect just the way you are,” he says again.

You find yourself leaning into his touch, your heart swelling, and before you know it, your lips meeting his in a kiss. It’s gentle at first as if both of you are testing the waters, but when his hand moves to the back of your neck and pulls you a little closer, the kiss deepens.

When you finally pull back, your faces are very flushed. Felix grins, his forehead resting against yours. "So," he says with a playful glint in his eyes, "was that okay?"

You laugh, your heart racing in a way that feels right. "Yeah, that was more than okay." You breathe out, "The moon thinks the sun is beautiful too."

#stray kids #skz #lee felix #skz felix #kpop #skz fanfic #skz fandom #kpop fanfic #stray kids comfort #felix #stray kids felix #felix x reader #felix x female reader

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eff4freddie · 1 year ago

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Touch | Part Three

Of bar fights and ice blocks

Words: 4.3

Part Two | Series Masterlist | Part Four

Warnings: slow burn to the point we might just be embers, eventual smut but next chapter I promise, teeny bit of blood, quite a lot of masculine nonsense, Joel is hot but remains grumpy

When you were in eighth grade you fell madly in love with Johnny Hocart. He was a theatre kid, wildly charismatic for a 14 year old boy, and smart enough to recognise that you had a crush on him and use you for it. You’d signed up to help out with the school play that year, Johnny being the lead in Death of a Salesman the only motivation for your sudden interest in the arts, and he turned you into his roadie almost immediately. You used your own money to fetch him chocolate from the vending machine, you carried his water bottle around behind him on the off chance he might be thirsty. The afternoon you applied his eyeliner for him, on tippy toes and terrified to topple over and take his eye out in the process, fuelled your first fumbled attempt at an orgasm (you wouldn’t get it right until eleventh grade, but you had fun figuring it out). He made you feel something heavy and relentless and heated in your chest, something that unfurled its wings and beat against your rib cage when he walked into view. The little shit let you dote on him hand and foot right up until the wrap party when he stuck his hand up Donna D’Marco’s skirt and spent the rest of the year bragging about it. You were crushed by it, the weight of the humiliation heavy on your shoulders, slumping you forward and folding you into yourself. You vowed to never forget it. But you had, until you met Joel.

Sitting in the mess hall you wondered what happened to Johnny Hocart on outbreak day. You liked the idea that he hadn’t died immediately, that he’d lived in fear for a few months before getting shot by a raider, or maybe that he’d been traded to a slaver and collapsed one day from exhaustion, from malnutrition. You hated to think of him as a clicker, because even though he was a dick no one deserved that, but at the same time you liked the kind of dramatic irony of him as a bloater, overblown as his ego had been.

You chewed your sandwich, one eye on the door, waiting for Marla and definitely not waiting for Joel. You thought instead about the clients you had booked in for the afternoon, and how you were going to finally sort out Peter Fletcher’s tennis elbow so that he could comfortably hold his rifle, and why didn’t they call it rifle elbow since that sounded so much cooler, and you considered all of this while you kept your head down, and very purposefully didn’t think about the hazel flecks in Joel’s eyes as he gazed up at you, one hand cupping and lifting his muscle while you stood square between his knees.

He’d been grumpy and dismissive, you reminded yourself, and the minute he’d felt some relief he had just up and left. You conveniently forgot the part where you had essentially ushered him out the door, suddenly keen to exorcise your living space of him. You weren’t even sure exactly what that was about, except that you had felt the first flutterings of a wing against your ribs, had recognised the feeling as something dangerous and done your best to quash it.

You were contemplating this when a shadow appeared at your table, and you startled.

‘Shit, sorry, just me,’ Ray said, and you craned your neck up to regard him. ‘Can I?’ he asked, pulling at the chair opposite you, and you nodded while you tried to calm your heart. You could see something was up.

‘You ok?’ you asked, when he was finished apologising.

‘Me and my stupid glorious brain,’ he said, and you were tempted not to let him go on any further. ‘I intercepted a message that read like it was raiders, something about a big stash, an old pharmacy that hadn’t been hit yet. Coordinates, too.’

‘That’s great,’ you said, watching his face carefully, studying the lines across his forehead, his furrowed brow, decoding Jackson’s best decoder. ‘It’s not great,’ you concluded.

‘They called in a bunch of patrols to go check it out,’ he said, and suddenly you imagined Joel on the back of a horse, leaning to the left to try and protect his right side, gun strapped to his back and his neck muscles straining under the ache of it. You grimaced. ‘Marla’s was one of them,’ Ray finished, oblivious to your sudden turmoil.

It was a poorly kept secret that Ray was in love with Marla. Poorly kept in that the only person who didn’t seem to know was her. You suspected Ray would have happily stayed put in Chicago were it not for Marla going arse over tit for the idea of living on a ranch. She had barely had to convince him to come with you both, such that he had offered to trade and borrow to get the supplies you’d need, parting with his mother’s wedding ring that he wore on a chain around his neck in the process. You weren’t even sure if Marla noticed, as it had been lost in the service of gaining three passable sleeping bags, and Marla had wrapped her arms around Ray’s neck and kissed behind his ear when he presented them to you, and you had seen in that moment that for Ray it had been enough.

You could tell Jackson hadn’t been what he expected, not least of all now having to share Marla with an entire town.

‘Ray, you did a good thing,’ you said, reaching out and putting your hand on his bicep. He nodded his head, slowly.

‘You heading to the Bison tonight?’ he asked, and you scrambled quickly to come up with an excuse.

‘I was going to check on Maria,’ you replied, grateful for your guilt reminding you that you’d still not caught up with her. ‘It’s been a while since I saw her, and she’s due soon-ish I think. I was going to take her some dinner.’

He looked at you, his mouth downturned and his brows saddled over his eyes, and you felt yourself retracting from his sadness, from his regret. Johnny Hocart had painted your face in similar colours.

‘Yeah, ok,’ you said. You tried hard not to show on your face that the idea was making your skeleton want to crawl out of your mouth and try its luck on the road. But you could see Ray was struggling, that he was bouncing his leg up and down under the table. ‘Marla’s a fighter,’ you said. He looked at you for a long moment, then nodded his head.

‘Bison. Tonight,’ he said, with finality.

You didn’t ask if he knew who else was going on the expedition. You reminded yourself you didn’t care, taking a big swig of water to drown the butterflies.

—

Propped up at a table off to the side, you had a clear view of the bar on your right and the door on your left. You were sitting with Ray and his friend that you didn’t know, and you were trying to participate in conversation but your guts were churning. As much as you wanted to stay in the moment, you couldn’t stop yourself scanning the crowd for threats. Someone smashed a glass over by the jukebox and you felt yourself startle, nearly knocking your own drink off the table. Over by the bar Chloe Bennett, owner of lumbar back problems and occasional sciatica, demonstrated how much her yelping laugh sounded like a woman being stabbed to death with her own stiletto, and you wanted very much to push your chair back and leg it, but Ray kept glancing at you to check you were ok, and his friend Simon seemed quite nice generally speaking, and if nothing else you might be able to drum up some more business out of him.

‘So you don’t charge anything?’ Simon was asking. Simon and Ray worked the radio together most days, Ray listening in to the white noise for any sign of covert communication, and Simon dutifully twisting the knobs beside him. Some part of you registered that he was conventionally attractive, and you wondered if the way he was leaning in to you as you chatted was what passed for flirting in an apocalypse, but also you were watching Ray scanning for Marla, trying to telepathically tell him it would be ok.

‘I mean, we don’t have money,’ you answered Simon.

‘You don’t barter then?’

‘I’m grateful to be here. My home is payment. My safety is payment.’

‘I don’t buy it,’ he said, and he was grinning and you knew that it was playful, but also you felt a wrinkle of frustration in the folds of your skin.

‘You don’t agree?’ Simon shrugged at you in response, and for a reason still not clear to you it made you want to slap him a little bit. You turned to Ray for help, but Ray was looking at the door, and when you looked too you saw Tommy and Joel had just walked in.

‘Fuck,’ Ray said, and you scanned his face for anxiety but found only awe. ‘They are so cool.’

Simon nodded in agreement, and you scoffed in surprise.

‘Are they?’ you asked, and your companions turned to you, confused, and Ray even slightly betrayed.

‘Tommy basically keeps this place going, him and Maria,’ Simon informed you as if this was news.

‘Peak Mama and Daddy Jackson,’ Ray chimed in.

‘Joel. He’s just…’ All three of you turned to watch him approach the bar, nodding to the bartender, who had started pouring him a whiskey the moment he walked in, and slid it over to him.

You weren’t sure how you wanted Simon to finish that sentence. Your eyes kept being drawn to Joel, the broadness of him, the salt and pepper in his hair in stark contrast to his strength, the power under his muscles and behind his eyes. You felt warm in your palms where you had held him, flexed your fingers to try and get the heat out.

You let the conversation move on without you, staring down at your drink, tracing the droplets of condensation first from the body of the glass and then down to the tabletop. If you hadn’t rushed him out would he have let you keep massaging him? Would you have peeled his shirt from his body and explored the planes of his skin? You wiped the water away before it could damage the wood.

‘They’re heading out tomorrow, first light,’ you heard Ray saying, and suddenly your attention snapped back to the present. ‘So I want to be on the radio early, before they go. See if we can find the signal again, make sure the raiders aren’t going in first.’

‘You said you thought they were further out,’ Simon pointed out. ‘That it was bouncing off the mountain.’

‘I know but we’re a day behind.’

‘That’s a lot of ground to cover.’

‘Not on horseback,’ Ray reasoned.

‘We don’t know if they have horses,’ Simon replied. He held his hands palm up on the table, in appeasement, you realised.

‘We don’t know that they don’t, either. We’re sending seven of our people out there…’ your stomach lurched at seven, and your eyes flicked again to Tommy and Joel, and you wondered if tonight was last drinks for them, not knowing if they would both make it back, a time for two brothers to come together before heading back into war. ‘…including Marla, and I just want to-‘

‘What does Marla have to do with it?’ Simon asked, and you decided then he was either an idiot or heartless, and neither option was preferable. You exhaled slowly through your teeth, and watched Ray for his reaction, and wondered if either of them would notice if you just slipped away into the crowd.

You watched Ray gather himself. ‘Marla is a good shot,’ he said, eventually.

You could feel Simon preparing to argue but suddenly there was yelling, actual yelling not imaginary traumatised-by-the-end-of-the-world yelling, and all three of you turned to the bar.

Jacob and another man you didn’t recognise were standing at the other end of the bar, pointing fingers at Joel and Tommy. Joel had already stepped around his little brother, squaring off with them, and you could see that his body was braced, a tightly wound spring in a flannel shirt and jeans. You picked your glass up off the table and cradled it to your chest, as if that would solve it.

You didn’t know Jacob. He was one of the men who had already decided he didn’t own muscles, or feel pain. You knew that he was younger than the men he was squaring off with, that he was full of bravado and empty of brains, the type to shoot first and think later, and it wasn’t lost on you that back in the day he would have made the type of cop that was the subject of several enquires and a few unflattering news items, who would have been shunted off to be the deputy of a shithole town that’s biggest crime wave was when a couple of cookbooks went missing from the local library, a town that he nevertheless tortured until he retired.

Jacob was currently yelling so hard spittle was flying across the bar, and you could make out the carotid artery along his red neck.

‘All well and good for you two,’ he was saying. ‘Sitting back while the real men go out and defend this town.’ Joel was moving forward towards him, despite Tommy pulling on his sleeve to bring him back, and everyone in the bar was now frozen, watching. Jacob continued, because he was as dumb as he was hateful. ‘Oh I’m on the fucking town council, that means I get to decide who lives and who dies without having to put my own arse on the line. Fuckin’ weak, pathetic-‘

‘Lower your voice,’ Joel said, completely calm and also utterly terrifying. Jacob laughed, actually laughed, in Joel’s face.

‘Fuck off old man,’ he spat, taking another step towards Joel, who wouldn’t back down. ‘You don’t get a say either, ridin your little brother’s dick all the way to retirement.’

‘It’s men and women,’ Joel continued, undeterred and still deathly calm. One afternoon on the road you’d come across a snake on the path, big and brown and poised with its head up, watching you. It had taken you ten minutes to back away from it, so sure it was about to lunge. Watching Joel now, inching forward towards Jacob, you had the same feeling. Jacob wasn’t following Joel, made too stupid by his misplaced entitlement, his anger and his impotent fury. ‘We are sending the real men and women to defend this town, and Tommy and I’ll be here to keep it safe while you’re gone.’

You exhaled for the first time all day, the tension you didn’t even know you were carrying with you suddenly releasing. But Jacob was more angry now, and Tommy was backing up Joel and squaring off too, and you felt the heat in the room ratchet up.

‘I’m having a baby, you fuck,’ Tommy said, and Joel raised his hand to calm him. Tommy immediately settled back behind his bigger brother.

‘Not to say we ain’t grateful,’ Joel continued, but Jacob had noticed that the whole bar was watching, that Joel was about to talk him out of an argument, that he was about to be alpha’d by a man twice his age. He took three steps forward toward Joel, who had already reached back to push Tommy out of the way, and Jacob’s arm was swinging just a fraction slower than Joel’s, who clocked the younger man hard in the jaw and sent him spinning, landing hard on the top of the bar and shattering glasses and bottles underneath him. He was only down for a second before he was back up and swinging, landing a blow on Joel’s eye socket before he and Tommy had him by the back of the collar. You realised you had stood up and had moved towards them only when you were close enough to hear Joel grunt ‘a fuckin bar fight, really? You that fuckin clichè?’

Jacob just grunted, his airway constricted by his shirt that Joel was now using as a vice, and even in the middle of the violence you could see he was careful not to compress harder than he needed to, holding him sturdy but without gripping so hard as to injure.

The four men headed for the door, Joel pushing Jacob through first and then following, using the momentum to swing the younger man out and down the stairs and into the dirt below. His friend rushed to him, pulling him up and away, and as you followed them out you heard Jacob spitting threats of his return. Joel was puffed, leant against the railing to catch his breath. He turned to his brother, checked on him, and then to you, where his eyebrows shot up and you realised he was seeing you only now. Your breath caught in your throat. You had no idea what you were doing there, either.

‘You’re hurt,’ you said after a moment, gesturing to his fist. You could see a scrape of blood pooling on the knuckle.

‘Ain’t broken,’ he said. Turning to Tommy he more or less ignored you. ‘You ok?’ he asked. Tommy nodded, before he also nodded to Joel’s fist.

‘Take him to ours,’ he said to you. ‘We got ice in the freezer. Time to work some more miracles.’

You were alarmed, pretty much constantly, but especially so when Tommy turned back to go inside.

‘You’re not coming?’ you asked, and you hated that your panic had carried through into your voice.

‘Gotta make it right here,’ he said, without turning around.

—

The walk to Maria’s was three minutes at most and still you would have flayed your own skin clean off not to have to do it. You could feel the wings now, beating hard against your rib cage, and you swallowed only to taste acid on the back of your tongue. Joel was silent, but it was the type of silence that belies being pissed off, a general curmudgeon-ing, that set you on edge.

You thought again back to your teacher. When the clients in pain, keep them talking.

‘How’s the shoulder?’ you asked, into the darkness in front of you instead of looking at Joel’s face.

‘Thought it wasn’t my shoulder,’ he said, and it took a second for you to realise he was teasing you, not goading. ‘S’ok, I hear it’s all connected,’ he pretend to console you, and you squawked out a surprised laugh, wondering if you’d ever, up until this moment, made a sound like that before.

At no point had you considered that Joel Miller could be funny. Now, though, you discovered you had even less of an idea of how to talk to him.

‘You’re not going out on the run?’ you asked, and you hoped not to sound too relieved, too hopeful.

‘Got things to look out for at home,’ he said, and you stayed quiet in the hope that he would keep talking. ‘Ellie and me, we had a rough time of it…she’s been quiet. Thought best to…’ he trailed off.

‘Maria said you went to Salt Lake?’ you asked, and because you were still unable to look at him you didn’t see him flinch. ‘Why did you have to go there?’ you continued on.

‘Didn’t realise Maria liked to gossip so much,’ he said, and you heard it then, the hardness of it.

You rushed to defend her. ‘I was just curious,’ you started, and Joel stopped you, stopped walking altogether. You turned back to him.

‘Dangerous thing,’ he said, and you wanted to tell him that you knew that, that you weren’t normally like that, that you were clever and you had survived this long because if it, but he was already turning up the path to Maria and Tommy’s place, and all you could do was trail behind him, like a fucking lap dog, worried he’d lock you out if you took too long to get inside.

From the couch Maria called for Tommy, and when Joel responded she pulled herself up to stand. You were surprised by how big she’d gotten, trying to remember the last time you’d seen a pregnant woman. Let alone a pregnant woman about to pop.

‘I know, I’m huge,’ she said, when she saw you staring and you snapped your eyes back to her face.

‘Radiant,’ you said, and she snorted.

‘Thank you for lying,’ she replied, and you felt the warmth of genuine affection between the two of you, thought for a moment of sunshine on your skin, of your sister.

‘Tommy said you had ice,’ Joel cut in, and Maria noticed Joel’s hand, her face hardening.

‘They started it,’ Joel said, and you nodded behind him to confirm that this was indeed true. You saw the suspicion in her eyes, the way she was careful with him, and you stepped forward, taking his elbow.

‘I’ll sort it,’ you said, smiling with what you hoped was confidence. Joel looked down at your hand on his arm, then up to your face, where you ignored his obvious indignation at being herded like a child. ‘On we go,’ you said, feeling like a deranged grade school teacher, trying to get her class of unruly six year olds through to 3 pm unscathed. You didn’t see the bemused look on Maria’s face as you pushed Joel down the hallway, but you wouldn’t have wanted to anyway.

Once again you found yourself crammed into a kitchen with Joel. Sitting him at the table you put some ice in a cloth then plopped down into the chair beside him and held out your hand. He stared at you, unmoving.

‘I can do this,’ he said, and you were tired then, having dealt with quite a lot of male bullshit in just the last two hours, and so you groaned and pulled his hand to you, holding him firm by the wrist lest he try and patriarchy his way out again.

‘I can do it better,’ you said simply, and he huffed out a laugh.

‘Now that I don’t deny,’ he said, and it was quiet, just barely muttered between the two of you, and when you looked up into his eyes you found that they were crinkled with something like amusement, something like affection.

You looked down, flexed his fingers for him, heard him hold his breath when you inspected the knuckle.

‘They teach you this in school, too?’ he asked, and you heard again that he was ribbing you. You decided it was a good sign.

‘No this is purely growing up with a daredevil older sister,’ you replied.

‘Family resemblance, then,’ he replied and you looked up at him sharply, angry for a second that he was calling you meek, that he was deriding you for a perfectly normal reaction to the collapse of society, but you saw nothing on his face that belied any aggression. If anything, you saw warmth.

‘This sore?’ you asked, just gently wresting a fingertip on the bone. His hands were big, with thick and powerful fingers, and you were doing your absolute best not to consider what they could do to you, if you let them.

‘S’alright,’ he murmured. For a moment you saw outside yourself, watched you hunched over inspecting the paw of a lion, a little mouse reaching in to extract a thorn.

‘Here?’ you said, hushed under the light of Maria’s kitchen. You pressed down slightly, on exactly the same spot, and heard his breath stutter. You realised the makeshift ice pack was too bulky to fit between his knuckles, so you opened it and took a block out, resolutely not looking up into his face.

‘Tell me if this is too cold,’ you said, holding the block between your fingers and running it gently over his skin.

‘Mmhmm,’ he hummed, gently. You kept the ice moving, your eyes watching his hand for any sign of a tremble, but he stayed resolute under your touch.

The heat of his skin started to melt it, cold water running down and snaking under his palm, between his fingers. It washed away the blood, so that you could see only scratches, surface abrasions, from where knuckle met jaw. You watched the pink of it, mixing with the water, little rivers of something precious, something Joel. You were aware only of your finger tips, the push of wings against your chest present but forgotten, as you witnessed him, his essence. As you gazed down on the thing that made him, that kept him, the life in his veins. As the block melted down to just a wafer, as it healed, sealed over the hurt, you lifted it to your mouth to taste it, wanting the iron and the tang of it, the sharpness of the cold mixed with the heat of him, of your open mouth.

You heard his breath hitch. Your eyes flew open, not having realised you’d closed them, and landed on his face, where you gasped when you saw the look of pure wanting, of pure desire, painted pink and red over his features. You dropped his hand in your panic, your face burning, your legs moving before your brain had even taken a moment to collect itself.

‘Thanks Maria I gotta go think Joel will be fine I hope you’re ok will drop some food around you’re the most beautiful pregnant lady I’ve ever seen take care bye’ you vomited, gathering your coat tight around your shoulders and wanting but not wanting, terrified but hoping, to hear footsteps down the hall behind you. You wrenched the door open, felt the welcome rush of cool on your face, already halfway down the porch before you heard it slam shut behind you.

You sprinted, shuffling over ice but not slowing, back to your home. As you went you followed the wall, wondering how it could have made you feel safe now that you were trapped behind it, wondering how you could possibly live with the snake poised to lunge at you, how you could outrun it when it had taken up home inside your belly, beside your breath.

Tag list (just learned what these are, lemme know if you want me to add you)

@orcasoul

#joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #fanfic #joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou

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raccoons-garbage-can · 6 months ago

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Day 8

Been back from uni pretty late today so today is a tired Luis day. He's holding a vending machine hot chocolate because that's what keeps me warm and sane... I love projecting

#tinyserratober #my art #luis serra #re4r #resident evil #resident evil 4 #resident evil fanart #art #digital art #tinyserraposting

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jacky93sims · 2 years ago

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Food Stands Fixed

Sooo I spent all the afternoon fixing the Food Stands I made. Now when visitors buy the item, your sims won't be charged anymore. This is the list of the items I fixed, let me know if I forgot something (I don't remember all my cc ahahah :D)

ATS4 - Ice Cream Stand

Oak Barrel on a Stand with Beer

Cakes Food Stand

Sandwiches Food Stand

Burger and Fries Food Stand

Korean Street Food Stand

Trdelnik Stand

Cream Crepes Stand

Hot Dog Roller Functional

Food Truck Functional

TS3 Ice Cream Truck Functional

Milk Frother Chocolate Maker

Bubble Tea Machine

Chestnut Vending Machine

Juice Dispenser

You can download them from the original posts.

#the sims 2 #sims 2 download #ts2 #the sims 2 cc #ts2 download #food stand #fixed

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atlantisplus · 2 years ago

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https://flokii.com/blogs/view/98098/boost-your-office-experience-with-top-quality-atlantis-vending-machine

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pixeldistractions · 2 months ago

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The Granite Falls lodge had a camp store where Jordan and his boys spent the morning stocking up. This afternoon, they would leave their truck in the long-stay parking lot and head off deeper into the forest. Jordan browsed the camping supplies—backpacking stoves, dehydrated meals, instant coffee, emergency kits—while the boys flocked to the bright lights of the vending machines.

Milo: “Dad, can I have candy?”

“Sure.”

Felix: “Chocolate?”

“Not chocolate. It’ll melt in the heat.”

Felix: “Can we pack soda?”

“If you’re gonna carry it yourself.”

Felix: “What if I drink it here and pee it out before we start hiking?”

Jordan laughed. Nobody would ever be able to say that boy wasn’t clever. “You can try.”

Milo: “Can I have a hot dog?”

“Eeew, there’s a hot dog in a vending machine? And you want to eat it?”

A funny thing happened here—Jordan stopped worrying about Colette. Totally and completely. She had taken leave of his mind. His phone had been offline for most of the drive, so the angry ping of her texts couldn’t reach him. In fact, Jordan was so at peace with her absence in his world that it was actually Felix who finally suggested, “Do you think we should call mom? She’s probably worried.”

Oops. “Oh, shit. Yeah. Call your mom.”

Jordan connected his phone to the lodge’s Wi-Fi and it bombarded him with dozens of Colette’s texts, lighting up the screen. And a few charming messages from Maria, too, which Jordan read first, happily, before scanning the onslaught of Colette’s complaints.

Felix connected his own phone to the Wi-Fi and called his mother.

“There’s so many bugs here,” he told her. “And I’m so good at fishing. I caught two fish and Milo and dad didn’t catch any!”

“Wow,” Colette said. “Fishing requires great mental fortitude. It’s not a wonder your father couldn’t do it.”

She said it loud, of course, because she wanted to make sure Jordan heard that, too.

“I caught a praying mantis,” Milo shouted into his brother’s phone.

“That sounds gross,” Colette responded.

The boys passed the phone back and forth. Jordan didn’t want to speak to her, but he returned some of her texts.

She was mad that they didn’t call the first night and the next morning and every other hour thereafter. “Nope, not happening,” Jordan replied. He didn’t come all this way to be tied to a phone, especially not a phone with her voice on the other end. “And besides, we won’t even have connection that often. How about I’ll text you pictures when I can to prove they’re still alive.”

“Smile boys.”

He took a photo of the boys here in the camp store, with its mixed lighting and clutter—photography was not one of his specialties, though he supposed he should take a nicer picture at some point, in front of a waterfall or something. He sent the photo.

“They look dirty,” she texted back.

Jordan looked forward to disconnecting from the lodge’s Wi-Fi.

Their packs were heavy with snacks and sodas, as much as they were willing to carry. Jordan also replaced some gear, picking up a spare water filter and some emergency supplies.

The boys were mesmerized by a rack of brochures. So many things to do and see, both near and far. The boys picked some, and Jordan picked up some more.

“Can we go to Thailand?… Brazil?… Japan?… Mexico?”

“I don’t know,” he told them. “Those are all so far away, even further than this.”

“Can we go to Maine? Can we go to Florida? California? Nevada?”

Felix got out his phone, still connected to the Wi-Fi, and charted the course on a map. “See,” he said, “Nevada is only two days to drive, like this was. Mom has to let us.”

I don’t think your mom likes being told that she has to do anything, Jordan thought. “Maybe she will.”

When the boys had finished their little daydreams, they were ready to explore the rest of the lodge. But Jordan wasn’t ready to pull himself away from the brochures. There was a wine country tour in northern California. He smiled, thinking of Maria. She often talked of a favorite daydream—rolling hills, a vineyard full of the sweetest fruits, making her own wines and selling them at county fairs. Of course, she’d never made even the first attempt at making her own wine. He didn’t fault her for that. Didn’t everyone have dreams like that? The kind of wild unreachable dreams that keep you going?

He picked up the brochure to bring home to her.

And rock climbing classes in Nevada… he stared at it for the longest time. It was too far. They all were, really. Two days drive, like Felix said. The boys were out of sight now, around the corner.

“Come on, Dad, let’s go!”

He pocketed the climbing brochure, sliding it next to Maria’s wine country tour. Then he shook his head at himself for the tragic impossibility of it all.

— “why are you here? #3: a cage left open” part 3/9

Next -> // WAYH #3 start // index

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #sims story #jordan #felix #milo #part 3/9

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0rionz-belt · 1 year ago

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I’m gonna chug this fucking drink and buy a cup Iof hot chocolate to hold. My fingers are freezing.

#it might end up giving me a cup of boiling hot water tho idk. either is fine bc im not drinking it #wether I get hot water or hot chocolate isn’t my decision to make though #that decision belongs to the coffee vending machine

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andrewminyardapologist · 2 years ago

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TW: Food Trauma

Thinking about how it's probably really healing for the Foxes to have "family dinners" at Abby's because so of them most likely have some sort of trauma surrounding food.

Dan: Had to support her family, struggling to put food on the table, having to work to keep herself and her family fed. So much food insecurity that she doesn't have to worry about anymore. (I'm sure she still does, it doesn't just go away, but she now doesn't have to worry about making enough to afford her next meal.)

Allison: In recovery from an eating disorder, learning to have genuinely happy experiences revolving around meals, praised for her strength on the court and not just her beauty, learning that food is nourishment.

Neil: I mean... This one is obvious. He's been on the run close to a decade, and now has sit down meals regularly with people he cares about. Food doesn't just mean stuff you can steal from a grocery store or scrounge up at a gas station vending machine. It's part of home. It's Abby's kitchen, warm and bright, surrounded by his chosen family all helping to cook and set the table. It's smiling and laughing over a big plate of lasagna.

Kevin: He's obsessed with health to the point it's disordered. In the Nest, food was not about enjoyment. It was about being perfect. Everything he ate was chosen for him. At Abby's, he gets to pick his portion size, which foods he wants to eat, probably learns what he likes and dislikes genuinely because of taste and not nutritional content. I would bet eventually Abby catches on and makes his favorites pretty often, helps him try new foods and actually enjoy them, regardless of nutritional content.

Andrew: Andrew grew up in foster care, and he says none of his placements were good. He seems to have a lot of sensory issues surrounding food (rips it into tiny pieces, likes really intense flavors like spicy or sweet, etc.) I'm willing to bet he was often underfed and did not often get much say in what he ate. If he wanted to eat, it would have to be whatever he could. I think that while he might never admit it, having Abby's dinners (eventually) start to feel safe for him, the routine of it, the fact that no one would judge his eating there or force him to eat things he didn't like, would be something that helps him feel more comfortable around food. I think being allowed seconds, or thirds, would help him feel some security surrounding food. Similar to Kevin, I think Abby would pick up on the things he likes and make those meals more often. I think Bee helps with this too, what with the hot chocolate and everything.

Aaron: Tilda was abusive and neglectful. I think it is safe to assume Aaron had to worry about keeping himself fed for most of his life, and had to learn to cook for himself. Probably he had to figure out his own way to make sure he stayed fed without much help from Tilda. It's probable she punished him by withholding meals as well. I think similar to Andrew, having some consistency in the routine of dinner at Abby's helps him feel more secure. Additionally, I think he probably likes not having to bear the full weight of cooking for himself, and learns to enjoy it as something he does with his family instead of something done out of necessity. I imagine Abby teaches him some recipes that are fun and not just basic stuff thrown together in an attempt to make something edible.

Nicky: Nicky was 18 when he took in the twins. He had to work HARD to keep the three of them fed. It was probably difficult as well considering Andrew and Aaron already had issues surrounding food. I think he would find comfort in seeing that the twins were not only getting fed, but we're starting to let go of some of that insecurity about food. I think he would also find relief in not having to worry about feeding two kids when he was basically still a kid himself.

#aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #aftg andrew #aftg fandom #aftg neil #the foxhole court #the kings men #the raven king #food mention #nicky hemmick #dan wilds #aaron minyard #kevin day #abby winfield #aftg allison

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beecauseevan · 4 months ago

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[Previous Chapter] | [All Chapters] | [Next Chapter]

December 2023

"We should do Secret Santa," Buck says at breakfast the next day. They're at their favorite café, winding down after last night's shift, and Eddie tears his eyes away from the large steaming cup Buck is cradling and looks at Buck's face instead. The morning sun is caressing his cheeks, turning his birthmark a rosy shade of red.

"Secret Santa?" Eddie echoes.

"That's what I said."

"Are you sure?" Eddie asks. "Also, it's 66 degrees out here. Why are you drinking hot chocolate?"

"Don't be a Grinch, Eddie," Buck reprimands him, his smile disarmingly proud. That's the movie they ended up watching after they came back from that snow-slime infestation, which means Buck's list of must-see Christmas movies that he has watched grew by 100% last night.

"Secret Santa gets complicated if there's too many people," Eddie points out. "We would need a guest list. People would have to RSVP."

"Okay," Buck says. "Then let's do a guest list."

"It was supposed to be a casual Christmas party."

"Who said that?"

"Bobby," Eddie replies, "when he suggested it."

Buck shrugs. "Bobby roasts his own cereal. He doesn't know casual."

"Well." Eddie doesn't have a rebuttal for that.

Buck smiles, satisfied, and stirs his hot chocolate. "Hey. Did you know that you need 400 cocoa beans to produce one pound of chocolate?“

"Where did you learn that? Never mind," Eddie says, before Buck can answer. "You're from Hershey."

"Actually, I learned that when I was in Peru."

"Was that when you had the frosted tips?"

"Shut up," Buck snaps, not unkindly. His cheeks are red, and Eddie is suddenly very pleased with himself. "I still can't believe Maddie showed you that picture. I should uninvite her. She's uninvited from our second official 118 Christmas party."

"Chim might have something to say about that," Eddie replies.

"I'll just ignore him. I'm good at that."

December 2024

"Here." Chim hands Eddie a cup of hot chocolate. It's bad, too sweet, the taste artificial in a way that suggests it's never seen actual chocolate, but Eddie didn't expect any culinary delights from a hospital vending machine anyway.

"Thanks."

They're sitting outside Buck's room. Maddie is in there right now, with Jee. Eddie stares into his cup for a bit, then at that door, and then back down at the cup. He swirls it around, watches the grainy brown residue slide slowly down the plastic.

"Did you know." He clears his throat, starts again. "Did you know it takes 400 cocoa beans to get one pound of actual chocolate? That's kind of crazy, right?"

Chim sits down and leans back, trying to get comfortable. It's impossible, Eddie knows that from experience. Hospital chairs are never comfortable. Still, Chim tries. He stretches out his legs next to Eddie's, and then he puts a hand on Eddie's arm.

"He'll be okay. He always is."

"Yeah," Eddie says. They don't know that yet, but Chim is right. Buck has to be okay. "He will be."

He bans all other possibilities from his mind, kicks them out and shuts the door behind them. It's not that hard, because they don't leave behind a vacuum. He has plenty of shit he can occupy himself with, and there's one what if scenario that screams particularly loudly, that won't stay in the little corner of his mind where he keeps trying to banish it to.

What if he hadn't been there? He hasn't found a place in El Paso yet. He's been looking—Buck's been helping—but buying a house is a pretty big commitment and he doesn't want to make the wrong choice. It has to be perfect. It has to be a place Chris will want to call home. He hasn't found that yet.

What if he had?

What if Buck had been alone out there?

What if, instead of fighting tooth and nail to save his life, Eddie had been on the receiving end of a terrible phone call instead? He could be standing at a grave instead of sitting by Buck’s hospital bed.

How is he supposed to live with that possibility?

Written for the @911countdowntochristmas - this was supposed to be 24 drabbles but the Buddie NDE speculation going around pre 8x08 inspired me and now it’s a 24-mini-chaptered fic instead. And definitely more hurt/comfort than fluff. Oops.

[Previous Chapter] | [All Chapters] | [Next Chapter]

#911 countdown to christmas #buddie #buck x eddie #buddie fic #buddie fics #buddie 911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #mine #911 spoilers

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azsazz · 2 years ago

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Dead by Dawn (Part 10)

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, eventual poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death, mentions of cannibalism.

Word Count: 3,919

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9)

Notes: Trauma bonding for the win. GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. Didn't proof read.

_________________________________________

Night 192

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Your lips haven’t stopped tingling since. Not when Feyre had found you in the restroom, trying to control your shaky breathing. You’d apologized to her for the way that you acted outside, although it wasn’t as heartfelt as you wanted it to be with the way that your mind was spinning and the only thing that you could focus on were the buzzing sensations everytime your lips moved.

You could still feel Cassian on you. Hauling you into his arms and pressing you up against the wall. His body was warm, much warmer than anything you’d come across in a long time, and it felt like heaven being pressed up against his firm chest, his thick arms corded around your thighs, sliding up your sides, his fingers feeling just as deprived and desperate for affection as yours did.

There wasn’t even a doubt in your mind that it had been a mistake. Not when he had placed you back onto the ground and stared down at you and told you, “We’re not finished with this.” There had been a fire in his eyes, demanding and hot and pure, and it had made your core even more molten at the sight, hungry for him.

A partially stocked vending machine proves the perfect distraction for Feyre. You don’t need to hear any more apologies, don’t want to see the pitying, worried looks she sends your way when she thinks you’re not looking. Cassian was right, words won’t change a thing, and you’re still here.

The candy and Mountain Dew is expired but you’re past the point of caring, moaning at the chocolate that melts in your mouth and grimacing at the flat, overly-sweetened, syrupy taste of the sodas as you relax in the back of the van.

It’s the first real time all of you are getting along, joking around and trading candies like you’re excited children on Halloween. Even Azriel isn’t trying to hide the soft look in his eyes, and your breath leaves your chest when his lips twitch into a grin at Rhysand’s story.

You look away before he catches you staring, and end up meeting Cassian’s eyes. He’d caught the way your lips had parted, watched the awe on your face, the way your fingers tightened unconsciously around the can of your drink at the sight of his broody friend's smile. He understood, it was a rarity, that grin, and it still made his own heart pound in his chest, made him preen for that look.

The heat of your cheeks increases under Cassain’s understanding look. The feeling is doubled, as your mind flashes back to the bathroom only a few minutes ago. You are much colder without him near you, on the opposite side of the van, and you wonder if it was just because Feyre had chosen the spot between him and Rhys so she could sidle up to the violet eyed man, or if it was because he wouldn’t be able to control himself in such close proximity to you.

You get it, because as if he’s remembering what had happened in the rest stop bathroom, his ruddy hazel eyes go from soft and admiring to heated and wanting.

You have to look away or you’ll climb right over Rhys and Feyre to finish what you’d started inside.

When the conversation dies down and the sugar rush turns into a crash, you offer to take the first watch. Feyre has no complaints, kicking off her shoes and is more than uncaring when she tucks herself into Rhys’ embrace to rest.

You’re hoping that Cassian will volunteer to take shift with you. Maybe you’ll be able to sneak in a few more kisses or shy touches if you’re quiet, but you find yourself unprepared when Azriel is the one who speaks up to join you.

Your eyes dart to Cassian, brows pulled tight with worry. Azriel hasn’t been the nicest to you, and now you’re about to spend hours of the night with him, most likely in brooding silence. Sure, what had happened back at the lake had won him points in your book, but you still were wary of the protective man.

Azriel climbs into the front seat and when you move to follow, avoiding Feyre and Rhys tucked up into each other, his fingers drawing soothing circles on her back while she slips into a deep slumber.

Passing by Cassian is no easy feat. He’s a wall of a man and he’s trying to touch you as you pass, a reassuring brush of your hands that turns into both of his hands on your hips, helping you maneuver your way around him. It seems as easy as moving an empty box, the way he manhandles you around his injured leg, hooking your thighs over his hips with a suggestive smile. A slight pause there, not long enough for Azriel to notice it’s more than you moving around Cassian, but you can’t help but soak in his warmth in that brief moment that feels much longer, placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

His hands slip from the curve of your waist, sliding over the tight denim covering your ass. You bite your lip, eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head and you have to strain to keep from arching into him the way you so desperately want to. You’re pathetic, and you can admit that, burning up from the simplest touch from him.

Cassian’s eyes say, ‘You’ll be alright,’ as he helps you slide over into the passenger seat, brushing his fingers through Azriel’s shaggy hair as he retreats.

You watch the two of them. The way that Az leans into Cassian’s touch, a seemingly unconscious move for him. It feels almost like you’re intruding on something more intimate than a lifetime of friendship between the two, confusion stirring in your chest as your eyes dart away.

You keep your head pressed to the passenger window, counting the stars as the car drifts into silence. You can hear the even breathing of Feyre and the light snores of Cassian, but you can’t seem to relax, the tension in the front of the car much more than you were hoping for.

Your shift partner’s eyes bore into the side of your head as you gaze up into the night sky. If there's one thing about the apocalypse that makes you smile, it’s that there’s significantly less pollution in the air, and you can see the well lit sky most nights.

There’s something about it that calms you, imagining a whole different world where the dead aren’t rising for revenge, starving and mindless and numb. You wonder what it would be like to be one of those bright blinking stars, smattered across the void-like sky.

“I’m sorry,” Azriel’s gruff voice startles you, and you rip your gaze from the night to him. You thought you’d be sitting in hours of silence until one of you finally woke one of the others, despite the few conversations you’ve already shared with the broody man.

He’s nice when he wants to be and absolutely dreadful when he’s not. Azriel stares at you but you can’t read the look on his blank face. It makes you nervous, drawing your lip between your teeth. His gaze follows the movement before flicking back up to meet yours.

“About earlier.” It sounds like an afterthought, like the silence from his apology had been so unbearable that he had to fill the silence again.

You shrug, staring out the front window at the dinghy rest stop again. “Never had someone want to eat me before,” you say weakly, trying for lightheartedness but falling oh-so flat. You shudder as Beron’s words replay in your mind. “Reckon she’s last us at least a month.” You rub at your raw wrist, focusing on the sting and letting it draw you from your thoughts. “That’s a pretty good compliment, right?”

He studies you from across the car for a moment, while you’re avoiding his gaze. “You don’t have to do that you know,” Azriel speaks softly, and it sounds like he knows. He wants to reach out and comfort you, even though he doesn’t know how or why. After he’d seen you so broken, so small in Feyre’s arms. All Azriel had wanted to do was rip you from her grasp and tuck you into his chest, brushing the hair from your face and whispering soft words into your ear.

It’s exactly what he wants to do now.

He keeps his hands to himself though, tucking them underneath his thighs.

“Do what?” you respond dully, shifting your head back against the headrest, peering through the darkness for anything to avoid looking at Azriel.

“You don’t have to pretend like it was nothing,” Azriel tries to explain, but he waits to see how you’re going to react. You’re surprised by his words. You know that you don’t have to pretend that what had happened didn’t, but a part of you also feels like you do have to shove it deep down inside of yourself. That’s just how things work these days.

Azriel takes a breath, continuing, “You’re allowed to be scared and upset and have feelings.”

Your head whips around so fast to stare at him that you’ve startled him. You watch as he flinches like you’re going to lash out but he doesn’t break eye contact with your harsh gaze. His fingers twitch beneath his thighs.

“Emotions get you fucked up in this world,” you rasp, voice thickening as you remind yourself of just this. You’ve already acted foolish enough, going off on your own in a fit of anger when anything could’ve been inside the rest stop waiting for you. You hadn’t cared.

You swallow the lump in your throat, pushing back your unshed tears. You’ve already talked about it with Cassian, and you’re not sure if you want to have this conversation again, with Azriel of all people, but the look on his face has you humoring the man.

“Yeah, I guess they do,” he agrees quietly.

You let the soft sounds from the rest of your sleeping group fill the silence again. Sometimes you find yourself wondering if living a life like this is actually worth it. To have to maim and kill just to survive, all to become one of them some day…your thoughts are harrowing.

“You’re not alone, you know,” Azriel says softly, and you blink at the quiver of his tone. It draws your attention away from the outside world and back to him.

“What do you mean?” you ask tentatively, and you’re sure that he’s going to say something along the lines how humans aren’t the only things trying to eat you out here.

Instead, he pulls his hands out from under his legs and stares at them. They’re trembling slightly and you shift, unsure of how to react.

Of course you’d noticed the marred flash covering his hands. You knew that something awfully serious had happened but you hadn’t been able to put a time to the tattered scares climbing up his forearms.

“Those people…” he takes a breath and you watch the bob of his throat, suddenly hyper aware of what he’s going to do.

Open up to you.

“They weren’t good people.”

You remember Cassian had said something similar in the bathroom, and all of a sudden it clicks.

Your response is on a soft exhale of disbelief. “You knew them.”

Azriel gives a jerky nod, fingers curling into fists as he watches the way the scarred flesh pulls across his knuckles.

Your stomach roils.

“One of the men…Keir–he had a daughter–”

You don’t know if you can handle this, the sugary mess of your dinner already crawling back up your throat at the idea of what they’d done to him.

“You don’t have to–”

His golden gaze cuts to you, “I want to.”

Your mouth snaps shut and you nod, allowing him to continue. If this is what he needs, what he wants, to show you that you’re not alone in feeling this way…

“She was Rhys’ cousin,'' Azriel swallows thickly, and you glance over your shoulder to where the man has tucked himself protectively over your friend as she sleeps, like he can keep anything and everything away from her with just his body covering hers.

“We’d all been lost, separated from our families. By the time we found Mor, she’d…already been bitten.” He shudders and you desperately want to look away but you can’t, transfixed on Azriel as he tells you of his horrific past.

“It was me, who did it,” his golden eyes glisten as he glances at you. It’s a fleeting movement of but your stomach tightens at the look nonetheless. You don’t need him to explain what he means.

Your throat is thick with emotion. You try to open your mouth, to speak, but you don’t know what to say, how to let Azriel know that it’s okay because it isn’t. It never will be and you know that. You’ve lived through that. It never gets easier.

Azriel clears his throat, picking at his fingers as he continues.

“We found Keir – her father – about a month later. He’d been searching for her, but he never really cared for her the way that a father should care for his daughter. Hell, I’m no poster child for a perfect family, none of us are,” he casts another longing look at his friends asleep in the back of the van, “But it was something else. She hated him. And Mor didn’t hate many…”

Something twists in your gut. The pain like you had known her yourself, settling in your bones. You didn’t know what he meant by that, but it couldn’t be a good thing if his spine is this straight with tension. He wrings his fingers together again, and you ache to reach over and take them in your own, let him hold onto you, to let him know that you understand, and that you’re here for him.

So you do.

Azriel flinches when you reach out your hand, but you pause before touching him, letting him make the decision. An offering, a truce.

He stares at your hand for a long time. Long enough that your cheeks heat and you’re about to pull it away, pretend this never happened–

But then he takes it.

His hand is soft in yours, the scars smooth but fingertips rough from the use of weaponry throughout the apocalypse. He turns his head out the window to hide the pink of his cheeks, even if it’s pitch dark in the van. Azriel’s chest tightens. His thumb brushes over your knuckles once. Twice.

“He wasn’t happy to find out that his daughter was dead. Even less so when he found out that we’d buried her with her mother.”

Your fingers twitch around his and he peeks at you, anger flaring through your veins at the thought of the terrible man who’d tried to capture you. You knew that people were desperate by now, hell, you’d been too, but you’d never resort to something like that.

“But he was Rhys’ uncle, and no matter how badly our instincts screamed at us not to, we ended up staying the night with them. Beron had been one of his neighbors, we’d known that family for years before when we’d visit for holidays and such. His sons were rowdy and trouble-makers, and their family had been a mess of their own…” he trails off and you think that that’s a story for another time.

“Don’t know where they found Amarantha,” Azriel shrugs, and his fingers tighten considerably. “We were sleeping in the back of an abandoned grocery store, in one of the storage rooms. I’d had a nightmare and woke up with a start, and it’s funny because I was dreaming that I was tied up, and that Mor wasn’t herself anymore. I still remember the way her eyes looked…”

He shudders in his seat while you’re frozen in yours. Your mouth can’t muster up a single word, you can’t even pry your tongue from where it’s glued to the roof of your mouth.

Azriel must sense this, or catch the look in your eyes, because he smooths his fingers over yours again, like this is all okay.

It’s not. Your heart aches in your chest for him, for the way he’s been treated by people he should’ve been allowed to trust. For the things he’s had to do.

You understand now.

“I woke up, and those exact same eyes were staring down at me in the exact same way. Except they weren’t Mor’s.” He shudders out a breath. “Keir was the man in charge and was furious that I’d killed his daughter, even though she was turning into one of them. They’d tied us all up, but it had been me who’d done it, so they tried to take my hands…”

Azriel chokes on the words and it’s your turn to hold him tighter, caress his hands, comfort him. The hatred in his tone isn’t shocking, you’ve heard him speak similarly since you’ve known him, but the tenderness, the longing, the hurt, is new.

“Poured gasoline on them, and lit them up,” he says wetly, and you really think you are going to vomit. You can picture it, even as you try to shove the images away. Azriel tied up on the floor, golden eyes wide and scared as Beron pours lighter fluid over his hands and Beron strikes the match. You can picture Amarantha’s cruel smile as they do so and–

You swallow the feeling in your throat, taking short, panting breaths to try and ease the acid in your stomach. You try to push away the stinging in your eyes, but you can’t, so you let your tears fall silently down your cheeks, not wanting to pull your hand away from his to wipe them, an iron grip around your fingers.

“I’d nearly passed out from the pain. I wish I did. All I remember was screaming and the heat of the flames burning through my flesh. The smell…it’s a contender for worst smell. I’d put it up somewhere by zombie smell,” he tries to joke but neither of you crack a smile.

“Somehow Cassian had gotten himself out. Beron was going to pour the lighter fluid all over me, burn me up, but Cass had gotten ahold of his ax and–” He doesn’t need to explain. You’d seen Beron’s missing limb.

“The screaming and bloodshed attracted a horde of zombies, and they’d gotten away before Cass could do any more damage. The three of us nearly died there, with the amount of zombies that came running. I was out of it for the most part, but those two patched me up, took care of me and watched my back, just like brothers would. And it hadn’t been any different from when we were kids, but the fact that they didn’t let me…the point is, is that not everyone can be good. People do bad things when they’re desperate, but they’re gone now. They can never hurt you again.”

He’s staring at you now. Azriel doesn’t linger on your tears, doesn’t care that you’ve shed them for him. He lifts your chin with his free hand when you dip your head to look away, pulling your gaze to meet his. He needs you to understand this.

“And we are going to come across more like them,” his voice grows more firm. “But you will never be alone again.”

Your breath catches in your throat. He says it like a promise, and the look in his eyes proves nothing but truth.

You squeeze his hand and nod because you can’t muster up the words, not even a thanks.

Azriel stares at you for a long moment, taking in your soft features, the planes of your face as if he’s really looking at you for the first time.

“You are strong, (Y/N). Don’t forget that.”

His words are a soft murmur, his eyes piercing. His touch is searing and you know that when you part, you’ll be feeling his hands – the one holding your chin firm but the one gripping your hand fragile – for moments forward.

You find yourself leaning into his touch, a slight turn of your head against his palm that makes his thumb stroke your cheek on instinct. Your eyes flutter at the movement but just as quick as it happens he’s pulling away, but not quickly, he lingers as if he’s trying to force himself away.

“You should get some sleep,” he says, turning to look out the front window once more.

A part of you deflates. You don’t want to go to sleep. You’re not sure you’ll be able to after that, but it’s not a rejection, he’s asking you to give him some time. It was a lot, what he’d admitted to you.

“Okay,” is all you can offer, your voice hoarse.

Azriel doesn’t look at you as you climb over the seat as quietly as you can muster. You don’t think that he should be alone right now, so you place a gentle hand on Cassian’s shoulder as you crouch to get yourself comfortable. It’s enough to wake him.

His hand moves on instinct, wrapping around your wrist, not tight enough to hurt, but it relaxes as soon as he realizes it’s you, his sleepy furrowed brows relaxing into a soft look.

“My turn already?” he slurs, and you feel a pang in your chest from having woken him. You’re positive that he’s as bone-achingly tired as you are, but you can’t stand the thought of Azriel being alone now that his story is spinning in your mind.

You don’t feel pity for him, it’s nothing but unwavering fury for what those people have done to him, the scars it’s not only left mentally, but physically as well.

You’re glad they’re all dead now.

“Yeah,” you whisper, throat tight. Cassian must mistake your emotion for tiredness, because he’s clambering to his knees and helping you lie down, hands warm and touch soft.

He brushes his fingers over your hair and he climbs into the front seat with Azriel and you roll onto your side, burrowing into the warm spot he’d left behind.

It's been quiet for a long time. There’s a shuffling of the men up front, like one of them is pulling the other across the leather seat to tuck them into their warmth. You hear Cassian’s unmistakable baritone voice but can’t make out the words he’s whispering, you aren’t sure if you want to, but the soft smacking of lips makes your body go rigid.

Your stomach burns for a new reason. You’d just kissed Cassian inside of the rest stop and here he is, kissing Azriel. You want to curse, to question him. Had you misread the situation? From the way that Cassian was kissing you in the bathroom stall it seemed like he was as into it as you were, but this–

“I like her,” Cassian murmurs softly, but you still pick it up over the sound of your blood pounding in your veins and the rapid thrumming of your heart.

“Yeah,” Azriel whispers so softly that you have to strain to hear him. His next words are more clear, like he’s looked over his shoulder to gaze at your sleeping form. “Me too.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

DBD Taglist: @writingsbychlo @kemillyfreitas @5moremin @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @waggel36 @bionic-donut @que-serasera @applepie02 @azrielsbabyg @arcadianmoonlight @pradaxstyles @illyrian-dreamer @secret-ly-here @reiincarnatiion

#azriel x reader #cassian x reader #azriel x cassian x reader #dead by dawn #azsazz #acotar modern au #acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel #cassian #zombie au

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