#I have zero energy and Its starting to worry me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

damneddamsy · 22 days ago

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falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part xi)

ZERO CROSSING—The moment everything inverts, and the axis breaks.

summary: Joel is too far from home, travelling and surviving once again, for a purpose.

a/n: buckle up, this is a looooong one. I wanted to share all the journey and the loss in a single chapter, initially, I wanted to break it into two, but it only made sense here to have it done with. Please take this with a grain of salt, and understand the world of TLOU is difficult and irredeemable. bad shit happens, you can't stop it. okay, let's do this!

word count: 19,000 + [ I had an ask from a sweet anon who wanted this included. hello! I hope you can estimate your reading time now, thanks for letting me know :) ]

DAY 1: EN ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES - APPROX. FOURTEEN HOURS SOUTH OF JACKSON, SOMEWHERE PAST SALT LAKE CITY.

Regrets and worries. Joel knew now—they weren’t the same. Not even close. Two different beasts, pulling in opposite directions. One stalked behind you, the other ahead. He had both nipping at his heels.

Regret caught up fast enough. It had already happened, and there was no undoing it. Hated that shit to the core. And worry? Well, he was so used to seeing its back before him now, just waiting for it fuck up. Together, they twisted in his gut. Frayed wires, snarled and buzzing, so tangled he couldn’t tell which was which anymore.

Not here, not now—lying on the splintered floorboards of some half-collapsed home, walls paper-thin against the hiss of falling snow outside, air cold enough it bit the inside of his nose when he breathed too deep.

The cabin was barely standing. Roof half gone, one wall caved in, and wind came through the boards like breath through teeth. It was shelter in the loosest sense—four walls and a place to keep his back to. That’d have to be enough.

The stew sat like lead in his stomach. Came out of a battered can, label long gone. Might’ve been beef. Might’ve been dog food. Probably expired a decade ago. He didn’t care. Shoved it down like punishment. Energy was energy. Didn’t matter how it tasted going in—only that it stayed down. Now, though, his gut churned like it disagreed. Violently.

With the rifle close at hand, Joel sat with his legs stretched out, boots frozen stiff with slush, snow melting slowly off his jacket shoulders. He hadn’t bothered stripping out of his gear. No point. Cold like this, alone out here, you didn’t sleep long anyway.

He’d been riding for fourteen hours. Maybe more. He’d stopped keeping track somewhere past hour ten. Through rough terrain, past the last of the patrol lines, past roads that weren’t really roads anymore, just veins through snow-covered land that didn’t feel real. The map crumpled in his jacket wasn’t worth shit now. Just paper soaked with sweat and hope.

And fuck this snow. It wasn’t just cold—it was fucking brutal. It soaked through seams, dulled the edges of his vision, and turned the horse into a slipping mess of nerves and bone. He couldn’t wait to hit the open heat again—past Vegas, past the mountains, back where the sky turned gold and didn’t bite.

Vegas. Jesus, he’d be riding past it soon. What a weird thought. He’d never liked that place. Clinking noise and vice and strobe lights that didn’t mean anything. Still, the thought of it almost felt like an assurance now—like anything would be better than this stretch of cold emptiness.

The sun had set and risen without his permission, and the horse was starting to limp. He’d have to rest it come morning. If there was a morning. This part of the country didn’t feel like it had days anymore—just gray stretches of silence between dusk and deeper dusk.

And still, sleep wouldn’t come.

He rolled something between his fingers—small, brass, worn, warm from the heat of his palm. A button. Not from anything he’d owned. Probably from a coat someone lost before the world went to hell. Maya had picked it up off the road during the summer, on their way back home from dinner at Tommy's. He remembered her squealing when she spotted it, stubby fingers plucking it out of the dirt like gold, and handing it to him later, bestowing him a treasure, her tiny gummy smile vast as anything.

He’d kept it ever since. Didn’t matter what it came from. The button was hers, then his. It hadn’t left his pocket since.

He squeezed it between his fingers, thumb brushing the grooves, meeting his lip just once, and tucked it away again.

He hadn’t said much when he left. Tommy met him in the barn before sunrise, lit only by a lantern swinging from a nail. The horses had been restless. Cold was coming in through the slats, and Joel had cinched the saddle like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Tommy had offered to go—thrice. Said it didn’t sit right, Joel riding out alone. But Joel had shaken his head.

“You stay here. For my girls.”

He didn’t trust anyone else to watch over them. Not the way Tommy would. “Just make sure they eat and sleep. That they know I'm doin' fine. You hear me?”

Tommy didn’t argue after that. Just handed him the reins and clapped his shoulder once. It was enough, maybe more than enough.

He’d ridden out before the light touched the mountains, the sound of the gate swinging shut behind him like a period at the end of a sentence.

Just yesterday—just yesterday—he’d been home. His home. The big white house, on the edge of Jackson with the bramble bushes out back and Leela’s cursive handwriting on the walls in pencil, tiny indelible equations scrawled between coat hooks and door frames.

Maya had held onto his finger compliantly, in her too-thick coat, dragging her plastic basket across the frost-hardened ground, and crouched beside him in the garden beds as they picked out what her mama had wanted for dinner. Carrots, lumpy and sweet. A head of cauliflower. All collected in her basket, while Joel wondered out loud to her, that maybe Leela was making that spicy stew of hers, with sumac and saffron.

And that night—he’d had Leela’s breath in his ear, her hand latched around his. They’d curled up together under that white duvet, head resting close, her thumb drawing soft, slow circles into his palm until he drifted off.

Now here he was.

Cold. Dirty. Bone-tired. Alone. Chasing ghosts toward a city he hadn’t seen in decades.

He leaned back until his head tapped the wood behind him, and let out a breath. It fogged up in front of him and vanished.

“Screw it,” he muttered.

The backpack was by his side, half-buried in snow-dust. He pulled it closer, unzipped it with numb fingers. Inside, wrapped tight in old linen, was Leela’s notebook—the one with her proofs, her ideas, the kind of math that gave him a migraine. The one he was risking everything to deliver.

Tucked beneath it were two small tape recorders. But—there were two of them, same make, scratched from use. He’d grabbed both in a rush. One of them had her logs, her working thoughts on the Riemann Hypothesis. The other… who knew.

It didn’t matter. He needed her. Her voice. Even if it was just numbers and theorems he didn’t understand. Even if it was her being brilliant in a way that left him in the dust. Something to make the world feel less far.

Joel held one to his chest a moment. Closed his eyes. Thumb hovering over the play button for a moment before he pressed it.

The machine clicked. The static cleared. A brief hiss.

And then, for a second, all Joel could hear was the wind scratching at the seams of the broken-down cabin. Then came her voice—soft, unsure.

He smiled, exhaled, and let the recorder rest on his chest. Ready for sleep.

L.REED MAYA INFANCY DEVELOPMENT LOG – AUDIO FILE #9

(Click. The soft static of the recorder kicks in. There's a rustling sound, like someone adjusting a blanket or shifting in bed. Then, Leela's voice—gentle, low, a little breathless, like she’s just settled in beside someone small and wriggly. Maya.)

“You wanna say 'hi'? Hi?”

(Maya hums. Coos softly before saying—) “Hah.”

(Leela laughs.) “Close enough. Okay, so. It is August the seventeenth. Time is… very late.” (A soft snort.) “Um, two-twelve a.m. Bedroom. Maya, age eight months.”

(A soft, gurgling coo interrupts. Then a thump-thump—like a baby kicking her feet against the mattress. Leela exhales a smile into the mic.)

“Baby girl is vocalizing consistently. Her consonant-vowel chains are stronger. Lots of ‘ba-ba’, ‘ga-ga’, ‘ta-ta’, occasionally ‘da’. This morning, I caught her mimicking Joel yawning and singing. She’s watching his lips more, listening to intonation. Repeating the pitch, if not the structure.”

(More babbling now. Higher-pitched. Happier. Leela’s voice quiets slightly, as if leaning in.)

“But just now…” (a pause, soft disbelief flickering in her voice) “…she said ‘Mama.’”

(There’s a quiet moment. A little sniff from Leela, then a huff of a laugh.)

“I was holding her, rocking her. She had her hand on my lips, just as I taught her to express ‘I love you’. Looked me dead in the eye. And said it.”

(Maya giggles, wet and delighted, then says it again—muffled but distinct) “Mamamamama.”

“That. Right there. Did you hear that?” (Leela’s voice wavers, thickens with emotion she’s trying not to name.) “Omigosh, baby.”

(We can hear Maya closer now, her soft breaths, her curious coos.)

“You wanna say that for me, please? Can you say 'Mama' one more time?”

(Soft, adorable, Maya speaks.) “Mama.”

(Leela giggles.) “Yeah?”

(She's excited, seeing her mother smile.) “Maaaa!”

“Maya's first word. Not just a sound. Not just noise. She meant me.”

(Another pause, the rustling of blankets. Leela’s voice softens even more, almost like she’s speaking to herself now.)

“My baby is growing so fast, learning, laughing daily, and it's all Joel. He speaks to her so much, it's no wonder she wants to talk right back at him. But I don’t know what I expected. I mean, I’ve studied this a little from that old baby book Mom had lying around in storage. I know the milestones. The phoneme acquisition timeline. But hearing it…”

(She stops. A breath. Then, quieter—) “It made me feel real. Like I didn’t just survive her. Like maybe I was meant to be her mother after all.”

(Maya babbles in the background, then lets out a little sigh and flops back against the mattress. Leela chuckles softly, tired.)

“She does this cute thing with her hands when she’s trying to form new sounds. Presses her fingers to her mouth like she’s shaping the word. Like she’s building it.”

(A beat. Then Leela's voice dips into playfulness—dry, teasing, a rare glint of humor.)

“She’s smarter than me, I know it. It’s totally fine. I’ll just be the one who cuts up her fruit and explains Hilbert spaces until she’s old enough to tell me to stop.”

(The door creaks open. Joel’s voice enters the room, low and gravelly, but softened with affection.)

“You still up, darlin'? Jesus, go to bed already.” (His boots thud quietly against the floor as he steps in. A pause. Then the sound of a kiss—quiet, slow. A press of lips to Leela’s temple.) “Doin’ experiments with the poor kid again? Hi, baby girl.”

(Leela hums, leaning into him whilst Maya squeals in excitement at Joel's arrival.) “Infancy development log for future purposes. Joel, come sit. Listen, listen. Maya said her first word.”

(There’s a beat. Joel exhales like he’s trying to hide a smile. He shifts closer—more rustling, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he sits beside them. Maya lets out a soft coo.)

“Yeah?” (His voice is quieter now, touched with awe.) “What’d she say?”

(Leela pauses. Her voice is a little breathless when she finally answers.) “She said 'Mama.'”

(Joel is quiet. Then—he laughs under his breath, low, warm and a little stunned. A laugh that carries years in it.)

“Course she did. Trouble and a traitor.” (A kiss, this time to his baby’s head.) “Smartass, just like you.”

(Maya babbles off-screen—happy nonsense, punctuated with a triumphant little—) “Mama!”

(Leela half-laughs, disbelieving) “Hear that? Again and again. No prompting, Joel. Just—‘Mama.’ Like she knew.”

(Another tiny voice from the baby.) “Maaaaaama.”

(Joel sighs like a man personally betrayed.) “Wow. She’s on a roll.”

“You seem jealous.”

(Joel, in mock offence) “Psh. Jealous, schmealous.” (Then addresses Maya directly, lowly.) “You know how many nappies I’ve changed for you, trouble? How many times I’ve walked you around this house at two in the damn morning?”

(He leans closer, pitching his voice hopeful and coaxing.) “Say Da-da. Come on, baby girl. Just once. Da-da.”

(Maya hushes. Then lets out another cheerful—) “Mama.”

“She’s doin’ it on fuckin' purpose.”

“She’s a baby.”

“She’s my baby. Which means she’s bein’ a pain in my ass on purpose.”

(The static is filled with the sound of Joel scooping her up, lifting her overhead with ease—Maya giggles, squeals, kicks her feet.)

(Joel playfully threatens.) “That it? You say 'Mama' one more time and I swear to God, I’m throwin’ you in the trash.”

(Maya hiccups out another: “Mama!” then laughs like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Leela bursts out laughing behind the recorder.)

“Right, you're with the raccoons now. C’mere, you lil’ menace.” (He smothers a chuckle with a deep kiss against Maya's cheek.)

(Leela's teasing does not cease.) “Go ahead. She’ll climb back out.”

“She’s got your damn mouth. And your attitude.”

(Leela’s voice, still recording, drops into a whisper—proud and fragile.) “Cannot believe she picked me.”

(Joel snickers.) “Yeah, baby. But we’re all hers now.”

(Click.)

DAY 2: EN ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES - APPROX. TWENTY-SIX HOURS SOUTH OF JACKSON.

You know how when you're completely alone, and there’s nothing left to look at but the walls, nothing to hear but the ticking of your own breath? When there’s no noise, no job, no person, no purpose to pull you away from the one thing that's been haunting the edges of your mind?

That’s where Joel was. No goddamn purpose except forward.

The road stretched ahead like a savage scar across the earth—silent, broken, endless. The only sound was the dull rhythm of hooves on packed dirt and the occasional creak of the saddle under Joel’s weight. His ribs throbbed with every breath.

No talking. No laughter. No baby cries. Just him, the horse, and the wind. It was in that kind of silence—complete, bone-deep—that the memory found him. The quiet made space for things he didn’t want.

It wasn’t even something big. Not some major milestone, holiday, or sweet, cinematic moment he could cling to like a lifeline.

Just a soft thing. A quiet day. It had been raining since morning, their first wave of summer storms.

It was not hard, not a downpour, just that steady mountain drizzle that turned everything gray and soft, that blurred the windows and hushed the world, made the house smaller and cozier. Inside this cushy room he'd made for his little girl, the air was scented of old cotton, wood, and whatever Maya had wiped on his shirt earlier.

Joel had stood in the nursery, one arm braced on the crib’s rail, the other setting down a freshly folded onesie on a small, lopsided pile. The window had been cracked, just an inch, enough to let in petrichor and the patter of water on the roof. The rhythm of it folded itself into the room like background music—so familiar he barely noticed it anymore, like a breath or heartbeats.

The laundry was warm from the dryer, and the little pink crib had become a makeshift laundry basket—tiny socks, soft bloomers, onesies with Leela's sweet embroideries of bears, owls, stars, and moons, all heaped together like a colourful cloud.

Maya, just a hair past eight months, sat squarely in the middle of the pile, the clean laundry heaped around her like a nest. She had one sock in each hand, neither matching, and looked at them like she was weighing philosophical truths. Her dark curls were sticking up in fuzzy snares. Her legs were crossed, her posture oddly regal—like she’d appointed herself queen of the sock mountain.

Joel glanced at her, then down at the onesie in his hand. It had a bear on the front, kind of wonky, with one eye stitched lower than the other.

He let out a soft huff through his nose. “I keep meanin’ to ask your mama to patch that bear’s eye. Looks like he’s been through some shit, right?”

Maya blinked at him, then looked back at her socks, utterly unbothered.

Joel folded the onesie and stacked it. “Yeah. Damn garden’s gonna be drowned if this rain keeps up,” he muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. “See, I told Mama not to put that basil down near the low spot, but she won’t listen. You’ll see when you’re older—ain’t no one listening to the man with the shovel.”

Maya scrunched one of the socks in her hand, held it up, and gave him a look like, Is this even a sock or is it something greater?

Joel chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Socks. Don’t make no sense, huh?”

He reached over and gently tugged one of the matching pairs out of the pile. “This your big contribution?” he asked. “You fold this one? Looks like it got run over by a possum.”

Maya made a quiet noise—something between a hum and a grunt—and waved both socks in the air like streamers. Joel looked up again, and this time, he softened.

“I see you, baby girl,” he murmured. “Workin’ real hard.”

She blinked at him, pleased with herself, and stuck one sock on her foot over the other one she was already wearing.

“That’s it,” Joel hummed. “Yeah, two socks on one foot. Tyra Banks, you are. You’re gonna revolutionize the whole town.”

And suddenly she was a firecracker of excitement in her double-layered socks. She was up on her feet, squealing, “Da-da-da-da!”

Her little bare feet thudded softly on the crib mattress as she twirled, arms stretched out like wings. The flannel dress—a new one, made by her Mama, cut from one of Joel’s old shirts—fanned out around her like a pinwheel. The plaid knots at her shoulders bounced with every turn, and the fabric spun around her legs with a gentle swish, like the hush of wind through leaves.

Maya made a breathy sound with each spin—a little “hah!” like surprise was bubbling out of her chest. Her curls, puffed up from the static, lifted with each whirl, a halo of chaos above her head. She looked like joy personified: loose, unselfconscious, free.

Joel, sock still half-folded in his hands, couldn’t help but watch. Something about her face in that moment—the pure glee, the trust in the world—grew a warm ache. The kind you didn’t know how to carry, because it was too good. Too fleeting.

“Look at you,” he said, quiet. “You like that dress, huh? That’s Daddy’s old shirt, you know.”

Maya squealed but didn’t answer, too caught up in her spinning. Until her balance gave out. She toppled sideways into the cloth hill with a wild, delighted shriek, caught herself on her hands, and let out a giggle.

He opened his mouth to warn her to slow down—when the thunder cracked.

It came like the snap of a tree limb overhead—sharp, sudden, alive with force. The windows rattled in their frames.

The sound wiped the joy clean off her face. Her arms dropped. Her breath caught in her throat. She pivoted toward the window, her expression one of stunned betrayal—like the world had just raised its voice at her for the first time.

Then she moved.

Ran straight at Joel, flung herself against the crib rails, fingers latching onto his jeans like she could climb up into his skin. She didn’t cry, not yet. But her whole body was taut and trembling. Her face was still turned toward the glass, mouth parted, trying to understand the sky.

He saw the tiny tremble in her lower lip, the way two fingers picked at them nervously, the way her eyebrows drew tight, a wrinkle forming between them like a shadow.

Another thunder roll followed. This one longer, deeper. It crawled over the house like a prowling animal, ploughing into the roof.

Maya let out a whimper—not loud, but helpless. She looked up at him, big eyes wide, uneasy, and in a voice cracked with fear, she whispered, “Da-da, mhmm. Up, pease.”

Joel didn’t answer. He moved first.

In two strides, he was at the open window. He reached up and slammed it shut with the heel of his palm. The muffled silence afterward was almost a relief, just the soft percussion of rain on the roof.

“There we go. Nothin', it's gone now.”

Then he came back to her, crouched down, arms open before she even reached him. She crashed into his chest with a panicked little cry, climbing up him like he was a tree, tiny fingers clawing for purchase in his shirt, breaths shallow.

“I got you, honey,” he murmured to her as he stood, lifting her up against him. “You’re alright. I got you, baby girl.”

Another boom rolled over the mountains—long, low, rumbling—and she whimpered, her face pressed into his neck, her whole body trembling against his.

He gathered her up and lowered himself slowly to the rug. Sat cross-legged, grunting, settling herself in the crook of his chest. He curled himself around her like a shelter, drawing her in until she was tucked fully against his chest. Her bare toes nudged under his arm, one arm trapped between their chests, the other clutching his collar in a death grip.

“It’s just the sky talkin' to you,” he said, soft against the crown of her head. “Ain’t nothin’ but the sky being all big and loud for its favourite little girl.”

Another crack of thunder, and she jumped.

“Ahh, no, no, no da-da!”

“Okay, okay. Ssh.”

That’s when Joel gently brought his hands up to her ears—those big, calloused palms, rough from years of labour but soft now, careful as he cupped her tiny head. He didn’t press, didn’t smother—just curved them over her ears like a living shield. Just enough to hush the worst of the world.

“There,” he whispered, voice tucked low in his throat, like a secret just for her. “That better, baby?”

She only sagged into him, her whole weight melting down like her bones had gone soft. Her breath came fast, shallow little gasps against his neck, her cheeks hot and wet where her tears were soaking straight through his shirt.

Joel’s chest clenched.

“Shh, hey now,” he murmured, rocking her gently, like he’d done when she was still small enough to fit in one forearm. “Ain’t no storm gonna touch you. Not while you’re right here with me.”

He pushed a kiss to her temple—warm, lingering—then rested his cheek against her curls, letting himself sink into her warmth too. Her curls were soft against his stubbled jaw, but still quivering like a frightened baby bird. Every flinch of hers felt like a blow to his own ribs.

The next clap of thunder rolled in, less sharp now but still loud, echoing through the valley.

She flinched again—hard—and bowed into herself even tighter, like she was trying to disappear inside his chest. Her lip quivered, her little shoulders jumping beneath his hands.

Joel tucked her closer, wrapped himself around her, every muscle taut with the instinct to protect. To cover.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, peppering kisses wherever he could. “Almost over, sweetheart.”

His hands moved—slow, pacifying—one cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades. He could feel her heart racing under his palm, tiny and frantic. Like a hummingbird. But with each pass of his hand, it began to slow, just a little.

Outside, the thunder rumbled again. Softer now. Farther away. Tired, fading.

Joel didn’t move his hands. Just kept holding her, kept being the still point in the storm, the rock she could anchor to.

“You hear that?” he said, reaching down to brush his thumb against her eyes and wipe the tears away. “Storm’s gettin’ tired. Runnin’ outta gas.”

And as the rain gentled on the roof, Maya’s breath began to slow. Her tiny fists, once knotted in his shirt, loosened, fingers going slack. Her lashes fluttered against his collarbone like moth wings. Not asleep—but safe. Settled.

After a minute, she shifted. Pulled back just enough to sit upright in his lap, still nestled between his knees. Her legs folded beneath her, toes peeking out under the hem of her dress. She didn’t say anything—just found one of the buttons on his shirt and started turning it slowly with her fingers, brow furrowed.

Then she looked up. Big, brown, still-wet eyes. A pout like a petal turned down, cheeks sticky with the last of her tears. Her curls were a damp halo, and her bottom lip wobbled, just a little.

Joel leaned in, forehead leaning gently against hers. Let their warmth meet in the middle.

“Hey. Doesn’t stand a goddamn chance against you and me, right?” he asked in a whisper.

Maya blinked up at him. Then touched her fingers to her lips—soft and sweet—and pressed them to his. That little 'I love you' trick again. She gave it off so freely sometimes, to Ellie all the time, to Maria, even Tommy, who bugged the hell out of her.

He gave a breath of a laugh, quiet and rough-edged. His eyes closed as he felt her tiny hand against his mouth.

“I love you too,” he murmured, catching her little hand between two cautious fingers, rubbing the bare lines there. His fingertips barely spanned her palm, this tiny little thing that trusted him to hold her through her first storm.

Let it thunder, he had thought then. Let it break the whole damn sky. It wouldn’t get to her. Not here. Not while he was breathing.

That memory bloomed behind Joel’s eyes like a flame in the cold.

He blinked, slow, pulled back to reality by the enduring rhythm of the horse’s hooves. Wind whipped around his straight collar. His ribs ached with every breath.

Forever was a grandiose fucking myth. That soft, rainy day might as well’ve been a dream. A world made of cotton and woodsmoke and spinning plaid dresses. Twenty hours behind him. Maybe a thousand miles. Maybe gone forever.

And if she was scared now? If the thunder came again and she reached for him, he wouldn’t be there.

All he had now was the ghost of her breath on his neck. The echo of her trust. The weight of his baby girl he could still feel in his arms, though she wasn’t there.

Joel hunched deeper into his coat, reins pulled taut, leather digging into his palm.

Because the storm hadn’t left him. It had just moved inside.

DAY 2: EN ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES - APPROX. TWENTY-SEVEN HOURS SOUTH OF JACKSON, JUST PAST GRAND JUNCTION, COLORADO

The first thing that hit him was the same goddamn cold.

Not the kind he was used to, that stung his fingers or turned his breath white—but the kind that stole. That lung-squeezing, bone-hollowing cold that came with being slammed headfirst into a river in the middle of no-fucking-where.

It engulfed him whole.

Joel’s skull cracked against stone. He barely had time to curse before the water closed over him. It was an aggressive silence, all muffled roars and bubbles, blood rushing in his ears. His body spasmed on instinct, legs booting, hands clawing for something—anything.

His face broke the surface with a sharp gasp, just before a boot came down, hard, and shoved him under again.

He went back under with a strangled snarl, teeth bared in the dark, throat filling with river. He thrashed—unseeing, feral, like a dog tangled in barbed wire, hands scraping across riverbed rock. Something thick and ugly filled his chest—not just water, but rage. Blind, instinctual, living within his very marrow.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

He didn’t even know where the trap had sprung from—just that one second he was crossing that busted-out bridge, cold wind at his back, and the next he was flying sideways, skull and ribs screaming as they hit the bank. A flash of movement, then mud, then water.

Now his gear was scattered, his rifle somewhere downstream to the Gulf of California, and the weight on his back was not budging.

Had to give it to him, the guy was strong. Not smart. Sloppy, wild. But strong as fuck.

Joel twisted, spine screaming, hips torquing. A crack of pain lit up his ribs—he didn’t have time to wonder if they were broken. He got one knee up in the current and drove it backwards—boot connected with something soft. The man grunted. Joel surged, body arching, hands fumbling. His fingers closed around something slick. A stone, maybe. Maybe a piece of his own gear. He didn’t look. Just swung it upward.

There was a crack of bone. The weight lifted.

Joel broke the surface like a corpse pulled from the deep. He choked, spat, and coughed, the sound raw and ragged. His whole body was trembling, muscles stuttering from the cold.

He had half a breath in him before the guy was on him again.

“Sonuva—” he bit out through chattering teeth.

Big, ugly, one of those loner types. Eyes wide and bloodshot. Beard crusted with something black. Stinking of rot, blood, sweat and boots that’d walked through worse places than this.

Joel didn’t waste time—got a hand on the man’s face, fingers clawing for the eyes, gouging. The other hand dropped to his belt—the knife was still there. Thank God. He drew it, fast, but his wrist was shaking and his grip was off.

He wasn’t thinking. He was moving. This wasn’t the first time someone tried to kill him. And it wouldn’t be the last.

The blade found flesh—but not where it needed to. It glanced off the bastard’s side, shallow, not enough. The guy roared and drove a fist into Joel’s temple. Stars burst behind his eyes.

His boots skidded on slick river stones. He went down hard.

The weight came again. Pinning him. Crushing.

The man’s knee jammed into Joel’s chest, ribs shrieking under the press, full body leaning in. Joel felt something crack. Pain ripped through him like lightning. The knife slipped from his hand.

Shit—

“You're fuckin' dead, asshole.”

Alright. Bring it the fuck on.

The guy was growling in his ear, teeth gnashing, breath hot and putrid. Hands clawing at his throat. Joel struggled, arms scrabbling. His body was giving out. Water dragged on his clothes. His lungs were still half-full of the river. His legs were kicking, but they felt far away.

Too tired. Too fucking slow. Too fucking old.

A knee jammed into his chest. His own vision flickering. The sky above him was a fair smudge between barren tree branches.

Not like this.

He saw her face. Maya’s. Then Leela’s. Ellie’s. Faces he’d left behind to protect. Faces he wasn’t ready to forget. Just a little more time. One more chance. Go back home, forget this whole damn thing. Just live.

Not like this, not like this, not like—

BANG.

The body on top of him jolted. A spurt of red bloomed across his shoulder, steam rising from the impact.

BANG.

Closer this time. Blood misted across Joel’s face. The man slumped. Collapsed. Dead weight, sudden and slack.

Joel lay there for a second, breath snagged in his throat. The silence came back—but it wasn’t tranquil. It was sharp. Expectant.

He eventually gasped furiously, chest heaving, struggling to pull air through raw lungs. Hands numb, shaking. His ears rang. Blinked the blood out of his eyes.

Then slowly, painfully, he shoved the corpse off and rolled onto his side. Coughing. Wheezing. The river soaked into his bones like poison. His fingers dug into the pebbles just to remember what solid ground felt like.

A third gunshot wasn't coming.

He turned his head, half-expecting a hallucination, knife still in hand—every nerve sparking. His body was coiled, heart pounding in his throat, soaked through, freezing, half out of his mind—

And standing there, staring at him with wide, shit-scared eyes—

Ellie.

Still holding the pistol two-handed, her arms locked, face pale and furious and terrified. Her breath ghosted in the cold, breathing hard, like she’d run all the way here. Snow dusted her hair, melting into her collar. Hair messy, sleeves pushed up, a smear of blood on her cheek—he didn’t even know if it was hers.

She looked like a goddamn kid again, that shock in her.

Joel stared at her for a moment that felt like the world had paused—like time itself needed a second to understand what the hell just happened.

She took a step toward him, lowering the gun.

“Joel—” Her voice broke halfway through his name.

And then, behind her, out of the trees—Leela.

Moving quick but steady, wrapped in that old worn coat of hers, fur-lined, hair tied up into a big, tight bun, eyes locked onto Joel like she’d been hunting him through a warzone. Her hand was clenched around something that looked cobbled together from broken bottles, tubing, and copper wire, rigged with metal scraps and cloth. A bomb, crude and half-melted, glass fogged with something dark and hissing inside. Acid, maybe. Of her own damn making.

A fucking acid bomb.

He stared at them both, still on his knees in the water, stunned, soaked, heart clawing its way back into his throat.

For a split second, he thought he was dreaming. Thought maybe he’d finally cracked. That maybe he died in that river, and this was what his mind made up on the way out.

But unfortunately, no.

Ellie was still holding that pistol, shoulders tense. Leela was here, real as anything, her breath catching when she saw the blood on his face.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel rasped. He staggered upright to his feet, knees buckling, one hand pressed to his broken ribs. His voice was hoarse with cold and panic. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

Ellie didn’t answer. She was staring at him like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to hug him or shoot him for leaving her like that.

Joel was still dripping, clothes ungainly, cuts stinging on his hands and face. His fingers flexed around the knife hilt, but he let it drop, slowly. His voice, when it came again, cracked with cold and fury and fear.

“Have you lost your goddamn minds?!”

He didn’t care how raw he sounded. Didn’t care that his legs were shaking. Because what the hell were they thinking?

Jackson was safe. He left them there for a reason.

Joel turned his gaze to Leela, eyes wild. Still couldn't believe this shit. No, he was definitely imagining this.

“You—you brought her out here?” he rasped to Ellie, the words stumbling out, shredded at the edges.

His voice cracked with wrath, but beneath it was something else. Something jagged and terrified. He wasn’t yelling at her—he was yelling because if he didn’t, he might fucking break.

But Leela didn’t move. Just stood there. Still as a statue, wet snow clinging to her sleeves, her mouth parted like she couldn’t speak. And her eyes—no.

She looked at him like she didn’t recognize what she’d found. Like she’d expected someone else. A stronger man. One who wasn’t half-drowned, bloody, and shaking from the cold. A man who didn’t have someone else’s blood running down his neck.

She’d come all this way, and this was what she got.

He wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore. This was the whole reason he’d left. So she wouldn’t have to see this version of him. The one he tried to keep locked up in the dark.

The bleeding one. The broken one. The furious one. The one who failed and lost—over and over again.

Joel’s lungs seized. His ribs ached like something inside had torn loose. Not broken, just bitterly bruised. He didn’t know if it was the pain, the grief, or just too many nights without sleep.

“I told you to stay the fuck back,” he growled, staggering forward, fury spilling out of him just to cover the terror underneath. He took a step forward, wet boots dragging in the muck. “Do you even know what the hell I’m walkin’ into? You think this is a joke? You've just killed yourselves!”

He wasn’t shouting at her anymore. He was shouting at the world. At himself.

But Ellie’s voice cut through the fog like a blade. “He would’ve fucking killed you. How about a 'thank you'?”

“Coulda blown my goddamn head off,” he grunted.

“You scared the shit out of me, Joel! You just—” she rubbed her wrist against her nose, to quiet a sniffle, “When she came to my door with the kid, crying her head off, I thought you were... God, you're such a fucking asshole!”

Joel stopped.

Her hands were shaking. The gun still hung in her grip, barrel down, smoke curling from the muzzle. Her eyes were glassy, but she wasn’t crying. Ellie never cried, not where he could see it.

He wanted to argue. Tell her she shouldn’t have been here, that she was reckless, that she’d risked everything—

But he couldn’t. Because she was right.

So instead, he looked away. His jaw clenched. Hands flexed uselessly at his sides, fingers twitching with adrenaline that had nowhere to go. The cold came creeping back in.

He didn’t know what the fuck this was anymore. Didn’t understand how they’d followed him this far. Didn’t even understand why. All he knew was that the two people he’d tried to protect by walking away were now here—wet, cold, bleeding. Standing in the wreckage of his silence.

And for a second, it felt like the whole damn universe had flipped inside out.

Then he muttered, hoarse and quiet, almost to himself, “I ain’t sure what’s what anymore. Stupid kids.”

He barely had time to let the words settle before Leela moved. Past Ellie. Past the smoking pistol still loose in her hands. Past all the invisible lines she obeyed—the ones built of silence, of distance, of dignity too scarred to name.

She moved like he had finally broken open inside her. And all he wanted was to just bring her close, sink her into his chest, all her warmth and strength, be grateful she had come all this way, and she was still alive. His good arm opened to do just that.

Until she hit him. Hard.

Joel didn’t even register the motion. Just the crack—a sharp, ringing pop against his cheekbone, like someone had fired a shot next to his ear. His head snapped to the side, mouth open in dumbfounded silence. The cold air lit up against the raw skin like fire on ice.

He barely managed to turn his head, blinking, confused, lips parting to speak—the fuck—to find her eyes, to demand something, anything—

When the second slap landed. Harder.

Across the opposite cheek, this one sent him a half-step back. His balance rocked. His knees gave a warning lurch. His vision blurred at the edges.

Ellie, though, came through with a hollow, “Jesus.”

The ringing in his ears drowned out everything. Even the birds had gone still. The only sound was that awful, hollow rush of blood in his head. His jaw ached. His mouth tasted of copper.

He didn’t know whether to be infuriated or stupidly impressed.

Leela was small. Smaller than him by a long shot. But she had those arms—those long, welder’s arms. He’d seen her rip stubborn rusted bolts loose like paper tabs, carry piping half her weight over her shoulder, hold Maya in one arm and stir sauce on a pot without breaking for a full hour. All that strength—he felt it now, blistering across his jaw. Twice.

She stood before him, chest rising and falling too fast, few loose curls clinging wet to her cheeks, lips parted like maybe she was about to say more—but didn’t.

And Joel just stood there, wordless.

The cold didn’t exist anymore. The bruising in his ribs didn’t matter. His back could be broken for all he knew, and he still wouldn’t have felt it.

Because all that existed now was her.

Leela. Storm-eyed. Livid. Trembling. Hot, if he might brainlessly add. And something else—something behind all that rage. A breaking point.

He had never seen her like this. Not once. Not even in the worst moments. Not even when Maya was screaming from frequent colic at two in the morning and Leela hadn’t slept in days. Not when the generator blew and she spent a week hauling scrap in snow up to her knees to get the lights back on. Not even when he'd practically roared at her for taking up that supply run with Tommy all that time back.

She always held the line. Quiet, astute, controlled. Too benumbed, sometimes. Too in her head to react. Never like this.

Then—her hand was on him again.

But this time, not to strike, but he did flinch though. Her slaps hurt like a bitch.

Her fingers curled into his scruff—rough and fast, like a wrench clamping down on rusted metal—and she yanked his face back toward hers.

He tried to look away. Tried to drop his gaze, tried to vanish into the pain, the shame, the damn noise in his skull—oh, she didn’t let him.

Her grip was iron. Her eyes locked with his, and what he saw wasn’t just rage. It was worse than rage.

It was finality.

“Listen good, Joel. I left my one-year-old daughter behind to travel for two days through stinking shit, trying to find your dumbass. And when we get back to Jackson after this,” she said, her voice low and flat, steel cooled just before it cracked. “I’ll make sure you never touch a goddamn hair on Maya's head again.”

She let go, just like that.

Her fingers unhooked from his chin like she was cutting a rope, severing the last thing tethering them together.

And he—well, he didn’t fall, not exactly. But his spine bent, his head dipped, and his shoulders slumped like something inside had gone slack. Like the immaterial weight he carried every day had finally doubled, and he’d just let it.

She stepped back, stiff, her breath catching now, arms trembling—whether from rage or the cold or the crash after adrenaline, he couldn’t tell. The acid bomb still dangled from one hand like a fucked-up metaphor—glass, cloth, something sharp—as if she didn’t even realize she was still holding it.

Joel didn’t move. Couldn't force another word out.

He stood there in the destruction of it—soaked to the bone, shaking, cheeks stinging red, the blood of a stranger drying on his collar. His pack and rifle, drenched. His bearings were lost. Everything that had once made him sure of the next step.

And now—that one sentence—rattling around his skull like a bullet in a spent chamber, louder than the gunshots, louder than the river, louder than the slaps.

Leela meant what she said. And there was no fire, no flood, no click of a rifle or scream of infected that disturbed him more than those words.

He’d lost her for good. Not in some hypothetical, not in a nightmare. He lost her, in truth. In the cold light of consequence.

And he was losing Maya too. Not to death or sickness.

To himself. To the choices he made, trying to keep them safe.

He swallowed hard. It felt like glass going down. His eyes, dull and sunken, drifted sideways—to Ellie.

She hadn’t said a word through all of it. Just stood there, in the dying light, watching. Her eyes were too sharp, too old for her age. Her mouth set in a line like she was biting down on something jagged to keep it from spilling out.

She didn’t say I told you so. Really didn't have to.

Joel straightened up, rolling his shoulders. Slowly. Felt every snap and creak in his spine. His breath shuddered through cracked ribs. His jaw clenched once. Twice.

Then he did what Joel always did. He put it all in a box—every shattered piece—and shoved it deep, where the other shit festered, where it couldn’t get in the way. Where it couldn’t slow his hand if the trigger needed pulling. Where it wouldn’t matter.

Because they were still alive. And that meant the work wasn’t done.

So he cleared his throat. Almost a cough. And nodded once at Ellie. Then, he spoke in a voice low, steady, already shifting back into the man he had to be.

“We gotta get movin’.”

Ellie blinked at him. Leela didn’t turn.

The stinging wind picked up around. Joel looked toward the trees—branches swaying. The river was still coursing around him, still loud in his ears, but fading now.

He adjusted the straps of his pack on his shoulder and shook out the water from the rifle. Pocketed the revolver and a knife he couldn’t remember drawing.

He didn’t ask if they were ready or reach out. He just started walking ahead.

Because there were still threats out here. Still ground to cover. Still two people behind him who might not want him anymore—but they needed to make it back home.

And if that was the last thing Joel could give them, then by god, he’d give it. Even if it broke him for good.

Now, Leela knew everything.

It wasn’t about how much she knew—it was how deep it cut. And worse, how much she must hate him for it. There was no middle ground left. No soft place to land. Whatever warmth she’d once kept lit for him—whatever delicate belonging he’d built with her and Maya—it was probably gone. Extinguished.

They made camp off a deer trail, tucked under a collapsed ridge where the wind didn’t bite quite as hard. The sun was long gone, dragged under by the tree line, and the cold had come thieving in.

A fire snapped to life with Ellie’s careful work, dry bark and pine needles catching under flint sparks. It cast a low amber glow, flickering over ash-stained hands, over their little circle of silence. They were three bodies, orbiting the same silence. One fight too many.

Joel sat against a stone, one knee bent, the other leg stiff with bruises. He pressed the heel of his hand into his ribs—each breath was a blade. A cracked rib, maybe two. It'd heal in some time. His cheek throbbed where Leela’s palm had landed square beneath the eye. There was still the taste of blood in his mouth from the split inside his cheek, and he didn’t spit it out. He kept it there. Felt like something he owed.

But the rest—the real pain—had nothing to do with flesh.

His knuckles were broken open again. Skin peeled back, raw and crusted with blood. They hadn’t been torn like that in months. Not since Maya. Not since he swore to himself that those days—those versions of him—were done.

He found a patch of old snow, tucked in the roots of a fallen tree, and jammed his hand in it without thinking. The sting cleared his head for a second. Not long. But long enough. Better that than thinking about what he'd lost in the last twenty-four hours.

Across from him, just past the fire’s reach, Leela sat hunched against the bark of a maple, her knees to her chest, arms wrapped tight. Her silhouette was tense. A wire pulled too far. Her face was turned away, but he could still feel the gravity of her silence.

She hadn’t said a word since the fight. Since the slap. Since she told him he’d never touch Maya again.

Joel didn’t blame her.

He couldn’t look at her too long. It felt like staring at something holy that you’d already shattered with your own hands. Like the moment before a deer bolts—only this time, the deer had every reason to tear you apart instead.

Ellie passed around rations—some real food for once, not the dog-food shit Joel had been choking down since he left Jackson. Canned venison. A half-stale biscuit. Dried apples.

Leela barely took a bite. Just lifted the fork, stared at it, waited for the appetite that wasn't coming, and handed it back to Ellie with a quiet shake of her head.

“C'mon, Leela,” Ellie tried. “You can't just—”

“It's okay. You need more energy than I do,” she reasoned. “I'm really fine, honey. Thanks.”

Of course, she wouldn’t eat it. She wasn’t built for this kind of hunger. She could stomach a hundred theorems, burn through chalk and paper and sleepless nights like they were fuel, but this—this fire pit, this blood-caked survival shit—he never wanted her to have to endure it. He’d promised her safety. Comfort within their big, white house with walls thick enough to keep the world out.

But he’d dragged her right into it.

Joel watched her movements like they were coordinates. Markers of the damage. Not one bruise on her skin, but she looked like she’d been through hell. Not the kind he was inured to. The parent alone kind. The watching every shadow in case it takes your child kind. And he’d left her in it.

He cleared his throat. The words scraped coming up. “You two ate somethin’ on the way?”

Leela didn’t respond. Didn’t even twitch.

Ellie glanced between them. Her voice filled the space like a thread trying to stitch up a wound that wouldn’t close. “She foraged,” she said. “I had rations. We got by.”

Joel nodded, though it didn’t ease a damn thing. Getting by wasn’t the point. One day was enough. One day without Maya, not knowing where she was—what she needed. Whether she’d cried herself to sleep. Whether she’d asked for her dad.

His hand throbbed inside the patch of snow he’d buried it in, and he left it there. A self-inflicted punishment that didn’t go deep enough.

He glanced across the fire again.

Leela hadn’t moved. She looked fossilized—ancient and delicate, trapped in amber. Beautiful, brittle. Ready to break under the wrong kind of breath. He wanted to go to her. Kiss her palms. Her feet. Kneel, grovel even. Say anything.

I’m sorry. I did this for you. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m here now. I’m here. Take me back.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t trust his legs. Didn’t trust her to want him near. Didn’t trust himself not to ruin something worse.

“Who’s got Maya now? She okay?” he asked instead, softer this time. Barely a whisper.

Ellie shrugged. “Tommy has her.”

Yet, something in Leela shifted.

She turned her head toward him slowly, like a hinge rusted from disuse. Her eyes gleamed amber glass in the firelight—not soft, not tearful. Eyes that used to flinch from cruelty now dared it.

“Oh, you care so much all of a sudden?”

Joel shrank back. Not from the words—he could handle words. It was the disgust behind them, the truth he could hear in the marrow of her voice.

“Of course I fuckin’ do—”

He stopped himself. The old Joel—the one with fists and fury and pride—wanted to bark something back. But the man in front of her now? All of that had caved inward.

“It’s all I care about,” he said instead, quieter, shriveled on the way out. “She’s all I care about.”

Ellie glanced between them again, saw the scene for what it was, and without a word, she got to her feet with a grunt.

“I’m gonna go scout the area,” she sighed, a quiet, nonsense excuse. Her voice didn’t carry judgment—just tired understanding. And wise enough to leave broken things alone until they stopped bleeding.

Joel barely heard her leave. His eyes were on Leela. On the streak of dried dirt down her neck. The way her free hand curled into a fist at her side.

Leela’s glare didn’t soften. If anything, it sharpened. Her mouth twisted, barely restrained.

“If you did care,” she continued slowly, “you wouldn’t have left her, you lying coward.”

Joel stared into the fire. His ribs ached with every breath. His hand stung. But none of it compared to that.

Coward. That one fit. And still, all he could think was—you deserve it. Every word. Every second of this.

“You nearly cost my daughter her father,” she went on. “The one you promised you’d be. All for your self-righteous, noble bullshit that I never even knew about.”

Our daughter, he wanted to say, but it caught in his throat. It rose halfway up his throat before dying there, stuck in that place where pride and sorrow went to rot. Because maybe it wasn’t true anymore. Maybe that word—our—was already gone.

Joel stared into the fire. His ribs throbbed. His knuckles ached. But none of it hurt like her voice.

“I left to protect what is mine,” he muttered. “I left because—”

“Because what?” Leela cut in. “Because you didn’t think I could handle it? Because you thought sneaking off in the middle of the night was kinder than just letting me choose with you?”

Joel blinked, and it hit him in the gut: she wasn’t exclaiming because she didn’t need to anymore. Because maybe she was done needing anything from him at all. It was worse this way—each word a clean and precise incision, a scalpel gliding through flesh. Pain wearing the skin of rage.

Grief had taken root behind her eyes, and it had teeth.

“I don’t care that you didn’t tell me about LA sooner,” she said. “I don’t even care that you thought you were loving me by keeping it all to yourself—because you’re a dense, selfish, sad, angry bastard, Joel, and I knew that from day one. I chose you anyway.”

His mouth opened. Closed. Hollow. Stupid. Like a man reaching for an apology after the fire’s already burned down the house.

“I hate your goddamn nerve,” she spat. “I hate that you thought you were sparing me. I hate knowing that if you died out here, I wouldn't even know where to bury you.”

Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. That calm—that cutting calm—was worse than rage.

Joel tried to speak again, defend himself, make her understand. Nothing came. Just breaths. Just fire.

“I hate that you thought you were protecting me,” she said. “You always think that you know what’s best. That you can carry it all on your own. That if you just bleed enough, it counts as love.”

Joel leaned forward. His cracked rib barked in protest, but he barely registered the pain. “I wasn’t tryin’ to—”

“Yes, you were,” she snapped.

She turned her face back to the fire, as if looking at him hurt worse than the memories. “You don’t get to decide what I can survive, Joel.”

His hands shook now. Tremors he couldn’t hide anymore.

“I do,” he rasped. “I fuckin’ do. I’m the only one who does.”

Leela laughed. Not from amusement—but something bitter and jagged that barely passed for a laugh at all. “You think that makes it better?”

Joel looked down at his hands. At the crusted blood, the swollen joints. The man they belonged to.

“You haven't seen what I've seen. Fought, bled, and starved with this shit. Leela, there are slavers out here,” he said, eyes dropping to the fire. His voice was unraveling. “And if you get away from that, there are people who try to eat you. Hunters. Raiders. Rap—”

He stopped. The word stuck like a bone in his throat. A single syllable, too heavy to lift up. Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say it.

But they both heard it anyway.

Leela flinched like she’d been struck. In half a moment, her shoulders straightened, eyes steel again.

“You think I don’t know that?” she said, sharp as shrapnel. “I have been living with it in every breath I take.”

Joel wanted to disappear. Not walk away—vanish. Just cease. Be unmade.

“I left because I thought I could do something for you,” he said, voice low, cracking open at the seams. “Find someone. Anyone. Get them your proof. Make it count. That way, maybe everything wouldn’t just sit there in the dirt and rot, like you said. That is what you wanted.”

The fire popped. A spark shot upward, fizzled, and died in the cold air.

Leela stared at him. And in that look was every sleepless night. Every muffled sob she’d buried in Maya’s curls. Every second of silence and solitude he’d forced her to carry alone.

“You think I needed you to go fix it for me, Joel? What are you, my partner or some god?” she asked. Her voice was raw now. Stripped to the bone. “You don’t get to disappear and say it’s for our own good. No. You don’t get to wrap your guilt up in goddamn sacrifice and act like it’s some kind of gift.”

His lips parted, then closed again. His throat constricted like it was physically rejecting words.

Because what was he going to say? That he did it for them? That he didn’t tell her because it would’ve broken her heart that he kept from her this long?

That he thought maybe—just maybe—if he made it out to LA, if he delivered her precious legacy, if he gave the Fireflies her working theory, maybe then he wouldn’t have to carry the guilt anymore?

He was supposed to carry it. That was the deal. That was the role he’d carved out for himself after all the blood, after every goddamn life he'd taken and every one he'd failed to save.

But Leela didn’t see it that way.

All she saw was the door closing. The boots gone from the threshold. A child wailing at night with no arms strong enough to lift her.

And all Joel could whisper—quiet, hollow, useless—was: “I needed to do the right thing for you.”

She stood. Slow. Heavy. Like her joints were made of stone. The firelight curved around her, throwing shadows under her eyes, painting her tired skin gold and gray.

“I needed you to stay. To talk to me, to trust me.”

And that was the kill shot. It landed clean.

Presence over preemption. That was all it was to her, only he realized too late.

“I didn’t need some far-off maybe or prove yourself to someone who knows you,” she said. “I needed you. Here. I needed to step outside the house without worrying if she’d choke or fall or cry herself raw. I needed her dad to hold her so I didn’t have to do it all alone. I needed someone to watch her grow with me. Because that is what is real, Joel.”

Joel closed his eyes.

And he saw her—Maya—small and warm in his arms. Her tiny fist tangled in his shirt collar. Her big, bright, brown eyes blinking up at him. The way she said Dada like it meant safety.

He’d traded all of that for an empty road. A mission. A maybe.

And now here he was—blood dried on his collar, ribs cracked, knuckles split, and heart hollowed out like the carcass of some roadkill he hadn’t even seen in time.

He’d gone looking for hope. Thinking he could trade blood and sweat and scars for redemption. For Ellie. For Tess. For Sarah. That if he walked far enough, bled hard enough, proved his love with enough miles and silence and pain—he’d earn something back.

But Leela was right. He’d dressed his guilt in duty. And called it love.

And now all he had to show for it was this—The wind in the trees. The crackle of dying fire. A man lost.

He wanted to go to her. To hold her back, take her hand, press his forehead to hers, say the words he couldn’t ever seem to find.

But he didn’t move.

He just sat there, broken and burning, his only fallback left to survival. The fire crackled on, spitting cinders into the dark.

And Joel—protector, survivor, fool—just watched it, and hated the man he’d reverted to.

DAY 3-5: EN ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES - APPROX. SIXTY HOURS SOUTH OF JACKSON

“We're seeing this through. So I'm not leaving, and neither is Ellie,” Leela had finalized for him outright.

“Look, I can't—”

“I don't need you to. I said I'm not leaving, Joel.”

Stubborn fucking mama.

And Joel didn’t fight them on it anymore.

He should’ve. He told himself that. Told himself it the morning since they saddled up and rode out together—that if he were the man he used to be, he’d have grabbed both of them by the arm, dragged them back into Jackson, forced them to stay where it was safe.

But Leela had made her choice. And the truth was, he didn’t have it in him to push her away again.

So now, they rode.

The world around them unspooled like a reel of forgotten film. Dry plains gave way to rocky scrub, sagebrush rustling under the winter wind. They passed old highways cracked wide with weeds, a rust-eaten railroad bridge swallowed half by floodwater, a small burned-out town swallowed whole by silence. The road south stretched endlessly ahead, its shoulders littered with bones of the old world—billboards sun-bleached to blankness, gas stations gutted, houses like open, parched mouths.

The cold had let up somewhere past Idaho. By the fourth day, they’d started peeling off their outer layers, stripping down to threadbare flannel and undershirts. The sun was sharp now, almost springlike in the way it bore down around noon. Nights were still bitter, but the frost no longer clung to their boots come morning.

Ellie named every strange cactus they passed, tried to make him laugh by pointing out skeletons shaped like they died mid-dance. One, half-buried in the sand, was hunched like it was tying its shoe; another leaned back, arms splayed, the skull twisted toward the sun.

He gave her a few hums in response, nothing more. His attention kept drifting behind her—to the woman riding pillion, quiet as a shadow.

Leela didn’t speak much. Not to him. Just to Ellie. She wasn’t angry anymore. That was the worst of it.

Anger had a shape, volume—one he could understand, parry, push back against. This silence was weightless and permanent. Like the ash after a burn.

At night, she curled in close to the fire, wrapped in her own coat. She didn’t sleep easily, just like old times. Joel noticed the way her body stayed curled too tightly, like she was bracing for something. And sometimes, when it was his turn to take watch, he’d hear her stir behind him, restless, breath catching in her throat.

She’d wake with a sharp noise, legs thrashing, hand flying to her side like she expected something there.

Joel would glance over, pretend he hadn’t noticed. But he always did.

One night, she jerked upright so fast her hood fell back. Her breath came fast, shallow, and she folded forward with her arms around her knees, head ducked low like she was trying to disappear inside herself.

“Darlin’, you alright?” he had tried to call to her once.

“I—I wasn’t sleeping, just...” she drawled off, voice dry with exhaustion.

He nodded. “Okay. I'm right here.”

Joel turned his gaze back to the dark horizon, giving her that thin veil of privacy she always clung to. But when he heard the rustle of her coat, the soft scrape of her boots in the dirt, he realized she hadn’t lain back down.

Instead, she stayed awake beside him. Didn’t say a word. Just sat there with her arms folded, eyes watching the fire.

This happened more than once. Sometimes she’d wake from those dreams and never return to sleep. Other times, she didn’t even bother lying down—just sat with whoever was on watch, a silent shadow, her eyes rimmed red and distant come morning.

Joel didn’t ask. He wouldn’t push her, not about that.

He knew the ghosts that came back louder in the quiet. Knew how the wilderness could turn remembering into something sharper, hungrier. How it could whisper the worst things back to you in your own voice. And even if she didn’t say it, he knew exactly what kept her awake. What she was afraid of.

Sometimes he wondered if she thought Maya would be safer if she’d stayed behind. If she questioned the math, the risk. If she blamed herself, the way people like them always did.

But even like this, she was still… same old Leela. Which meant she was still incredible.

She knew how to move through this land, the way a bird knows when to migrate. He caught her one afternoon scaling the knotted side of a tree that had grown wild across the ruins of a collapsed overpass. She gripped the bark like she was born to it, legs coiled beneath her, moving with deft efficiency. She tossed down a fistful of small, yellow apricots, slightly underripe, and a few wild pears with bruised skins that thudded onto Joel's waiting jacket. Later, he watched her dig up something near the riverbed—root veg, maybe burdock or wild carrot—and clean it carefully, rubbing the dirt off with her sleeves, pressing them to her nose, testing if they were sweet or poisonous.

Joel lowered himself beside her with a grunt, his knees stiff. He held open her pack as she added more roots, careful not to crush the fruit she’d wrapped in a handkerchief. Woodsmoke wafted through the air from the fire that Ellie had just started uphill.

“You always know what to look for,” he said, keeping his voice low. “The stuff that won’t kill us, I mean.”

Leela didn’t look up. “You get good at it when you’re tired of throwing up pine bark.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Pine bark?”

She picked up another root, brushed the dirt from its ridges. “Good for the heart.”

Joel nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I'll take some of that when we get back home.”

She doesn't say anything more. His sentence hung in the air, almost shaping into a misreality.

He kept looking at her hands—fast, continued, precise. She wasn’t being cold. Just simple. Honest. It was a fact of the earth, same as everything else she pulled from it.

Evidently, she hated canned food. Always had. Joel remembered how she used to nudge the tins aside, which he'd brought her from patrol, grimacing at mushy peaches and synthetic meat stew like they were poison. So now, she gathered what she could. Built fires. Let the fruit and roots roast slowly over the open flame.

That night, he found three apricots—peeled, pitted, still warm from where they’d sat on a flat rock near his sleeping bag.

Didn’t let him go hungry.

And in the morning, when he stirred against the half-deflated camping mat, shivering from the cold ground, ribs smarting, there it was—her jacket draped across his shoulders, fur tickling his nose. That puffy green one she always wore, the one patched at the elbows. Smelled faintly of smoke and lavender soap. She must’ve covered him sometime before dawn, when the fire died low and the frost crept back in. His fingers curled over it without thinking, bringing it to his nose. He didn’t want to let it go.

Didn’t let him freeze either.

“Take care of your own damn self out here,” he muttered to her that afternoon, when Ellie had wandered off to check a sound in the brush. “I’ll be fine.”

Leela didn’t answer. Maybe she’d heard it too many times before.

Soon enough, they were moving through the shell of a city—some old Vegas township gutted by time and flame. Dust coated everything like it had fallen just yesterday and never stopped. Storefronts with sun-bleached awnings sagged in silence, windows cracked or blasted clean through, their displays long since picked over—or left to rot. An old jewellery store stood crooked between a payday loans kiosk and a shuttered vape lounge, its signage hanging by one rusted chain.

Joel didn’t like it. Too many angles. Too much open space.

Ellie pushed open the busted glass door.

“Gimme a sec,” she called over her shoulder. “Might be something useful in here.”

Joel stayed out on the sidewalk, scanning the street, back set against the tilt of the wind. Leela had wandered across the way, squinting up at a streetlamp that had snapped clean in half and was tangled in telephone wires like a dead limb. Her coat tugged in the breeze, hair pulled back tight today.

Joel kept half an eye on her, the other on Ellie.

From the inside, Ellie’s voice floated out through the cracked window. “Ooh, now this is romantic. Joel, check it.”

Joel let out a harshened sigh. “Don’t, kiddo.”

“C’mon,” she said, grinning, holding up an old velvet ring box missing its jewel. “Little shiny thing like this? She’d probably cry.”

“She doesn’t want all that,” he muttered, eyes tracking the rooftops. “Doesn’t want anything from me. The way she's goin' about this, I might have to move out again when we get back.”

Ellie snorted, still rummaging. “Sure, that’s what she says. But I dunno, man—if I survived the apocalypse and the kind of shit you two been through? I’d want some credit. Maybe a bouquet of barbed wire. Something symbolic.”

Joel gave her a flat look through the broken window. “You done yet?”

Ellie wiggled the ring box again, then tossed it onto a dusty counter. “You’re no fun. What happened to carving rings from bone for her?” She held up the sign of the horns. “Disgusting, but metal as hell.”

Joel huffed through his nose, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Leela turned back then, catching his eye from across the street. She didn’t wave. Just nodded—barely—and returned her attention to the crumpled lamppost, fingers brushing the wiring like she was piecing something together.

And then came the gunfire.

No warning. Just the sudden crack-crack-crack of it, echoing off old brick, and Joel flinched sideways as the sharp hiss of a bullet splintered stone inches from his ear.

“Down, down, move!” he roared, rifle up in a second.

Ellie hit the floor, crawling fast toward the back exit, already firing through the jagged window glass. “Joel!”

Joel ducked behind a rusted truck frame, adrenaline flattening his breath. The street flared with gunfire, loud and close. Somewhere to his left, Leela had disappeared from the sidewalk. Goddamnit, where was she? Where was she?

“Ellie,” he growled, crouching low as he swung around the corner of the car, “head down, c'mon!”

“Yeah, I got it!” she shot back, sharp with focus. “You see Leela anywhere?”

“I dunno,” he muttered. His heart punched harder. Maybe she found cover nearby. Dammit, that stupid ring joke didn’t feel so funny now.

Ellie ducked and returned fire without hesitation, pushing herself into the side of a rusted-out car. Joel followed suit, rifle up, stock tight against his shoulder.

“Fuckin' ambush,” he grunted. “You see that? Two o’clock—rooftop. Gotta be fast, kiddo.”

Ellie scoffed. “I know, I ain't blind, old man.”

They’d walked right into it. Fucking scavenger crew—hunter types, the kind that circled ruined cities like vultures. Not Fireflies. Not FEDRA. Just the kind who didn’t blink at killing for shoes or rations.

Shots tore through the air like thunder cracks. Joel’s head snapped to the sound—figures ducking behind a flipped bus, another peeling off to circle left. Four, five, six—too many.

His gut tightened.

“Ellie, no. Stay down!”

“I got it, Joel!”

She broke cover, darting low. But she didn’t get far.

One of them—tall, fast—slipped out from the wreckage like a fucking shadow, got behind her, arm around her throat, dragging her back behind a wall.

Joel stopped breathing.

Everything else—gunfire, shouts, the pounding of his own heart—fell away. The world narrowed to that one point: Ellie being taken.

He saw red. And he pushed forward.

Not tactical. Not planned. Just rage and instinct.

He exploded from cover with a snarl caught in his throat, moving like he had a purpose and a goddamn clock ticking down. His revolver barked—once, twice. The first man went down with a bullet in his chest. The second—gutshot—dropped screaming. Joel didn’t blink.

He was already on the third.

The one with his arm wrapped around Ellie’s throat.

Joel hit him from behind, slamming him into the wall with bone-cracking force. The man grunted, tried to turn, but Joel hooked his elbow and wrenched—shoulder dislocated with a wet pop—and drove a knee into his spine, once, twice, until he dropped Ellie with a choked gasp.

She hit the ground, coughing.

Joel didn’t stop.

He fell on the bastard like a dog on a carcass, knife already in his hand. It wasn’t quick. He didn’t want quick.

First strike—base of the neck, just above the collarbone, angled down to sever the artery. Second strike—lower, ribcage, a twisting motion that made the man buck and scream.

Blood sprayed warm across Joel’s chest, his hands, soaking into his shirt. His knuckles were already skinned raw from impact. He drove his boot into the man’s hip when he tried to crawl. Then the knife again, this time straight into the chest.

Between the ribs. In and out. Faultless. Practiced.

Joel didn’t stop, grunting, letting the man bleed, until the man went still.

And even then, for a moment, he just crouched there—knife dripping, chest heaving, the silence crushing.

Then he heard it. Not Ellie. Not gunfire.

A gasp.

Joel’s head whipped up.

Leela.

Ten feet away, half-shadowed by the remains of a splintered awning. Her boots frozen mid-step in a puddle slick with oil and blood. She wasn’t crouched, wasn’t armed, wasn’t anything but exposed. Frozen. Not moving. Not blinking. Her hands had lifted halfway—toward her mouth, toward her wide eyes, he couldn’t tell.

Not just the scene. Not the blood. Not the body crumpled beneath him, throat torn wide, chest leaking into the cracked pavement.

Him.

Joel. The man who traced the outline of her ribs under cotton sheets. The man who kissed her slowly as breakfast sizzled on the stove, called her ‘darlin’’ until she broke out a grin, danced slow with her in the living room to the record player, Maya on his hip, all honey and drawl. The man she let in, trusted, after all she’d been through.

But he wasn’t that man now.

Only this was left. This feral thing she’d never seen before.

Blood up til his elbows. Wild-eyed. Panting like a fucking animal. Knife still tight in his broken fists. He didn’t know how long he’d been on top of the guy. Didn’t remember the last stab. Couldn’t even tell where the screaming had stopped and his breathing had started.

And she saw it. All of it.

Her expression—it gutted him more than the fighting ever could.

She didn’t look angry.

No, she looked like she’d just walked through a door into another life, and one she hadn’t agreed to. There was fear there—not loud, not flailing—but silent. Contained. Like someone who’d learned a long time ago that panic didn’t save you.

“Leela—” His voice was gravel, torn and rasped and nothing soft.

She flinched when he stood. Not away—just a jerk of her shoulders, like she’d been struck once and braced for the second.

And that—was the fucking worst of it.

Because Joel had seen her scared before. Seen her tense up in the dark, eyes scanning for shadows that didn’t exist. Seen her sit up from a nightmare with her hands clenched into fists, her breath short and strangled.

But she’d never looked like that at him.

He didn't get to go to her. Get to explain. He wanted to wipe the blood off his hands, off his chest, off the whole goddamn world. But it was too late. Because right then—

“C'mon, we have to go!” Ellie’s voice splintered through the space between them. She was already pulling on Leela’s wrist. “Now, now, go, go, go!”

Joel heard the shot before it echoed. Close.

He saw Leela’s fingers twitch—like she might reach for him, or maybe just steady herself. For one splinter of a second, he felt everything—her horror, her disbelief, the silent question in her eyes: Is this the man I love? The one Maya sweetly calls da-da?

And then that old, festering and terrible being in him took the reins. The hunter. The killer. The man who always fucking survives.

“MOVE!” he barked, voice cracked open by fury and urgency. A dire command.

Leela jolted. Her head ducked. Her feet moved.

And they ran.

They didn’t stop running until the city was a smear behind them—just smoke and ruin on the horizon, softened by distance and dust.

They found cover in a half-collapsed service station half-sunk into the dirt, the roof bowed like a snapped spine, windows blown out, desert wind whistling through the hollow bones of what used to be civilization.

Joel sat slumped against a concrete pillar, elbows braced on his knees, hands stained and stiff. Dried blood mapped across his knuckles, under his fingernails, along the creases of his palms like some fucked-up tattoo he hadn’t earned but couldn’t wash off. His shirt clung to him, crusted dark across the chest.

He hadn’t changed. Couldn’t. Didn’t deserve the comfort of clean clothes just yet. No river around to wash off in any way, and even if there had been, it wouldn’t scrub out what was under his skin.

He hadn’t looked at her. Not once.

She sat maybe too far away. Back to a wall. Her pack in her lap, unzipped. She wasn’t cleaning a weapon like methodical Ellie—not Leela. She didn’t carry guns. Joel would never let her.

Instead, she was threading a needle.

Or trying to.

He watched her from the corner of his eye, head bowed like he wasn’t. Her hands—usually so steady, precise—were quivering. The needle slipped from her fingers twice. She picked it up again, quietly, without swearing or sighing, and tried again. Her knees were drawn up. The strap she was stitching had only a small tear, maybe half an inch—but she worked it like it held her together.

He’d seen her sew before. Months back, she once fixed the lining in his jacket in less than three minutes with the same damned needle. She’d repaired most of Joel’s clothes back home, stitched her own strappy little tops, embroidered tiny designs into Maya's clothes, humming while she did it, threading them with ease, her fingers confident and graceful.

Every stitch is a solution, she'd say to him when he watched her, and the design is just the equation. A measure, a numeral. Now she looked like she didn’t even remember how to hold the damn thing.

Because every so often her eyes slid to him.

No, not to him. At him.

The difference. His hands. His shirt. His boots, still stained from when that last bastard had coughed blood all over the ground and it had splashed up onto Joel’s shins.

And she’d seen it all.

The way he’d moved. Not just fast. Not just angry. But precise. Like he knew the exact spots to hit to ruin a man. Like it wasn’t new. Like he’d done it before. Because he had. More times than he could count.

And she knew that now.

She’d seen what was under the soft Texan drawl, the morning coffee, the warm, calloused hands that tucked Maya’s curls behind her ears when she ate. She’d seen what that tenderness was built over.

Violence. Unapologetic, unflinching, survivalist violence.

And Joel couldn’t scrub it off. Couldn’t fold it up and stash it away before she got too close. He almost wished she had screamed and told him he was a monster. Asked how the hell he could do what he did. At least then he’d know where to place her in all of this.

Joel swallowed, jaw tight. A vein throbbed at his temple. His heart had slowed, but it still kicked, irregular, like a motor trying to start after a crash.

What the hell was he supposed to say? Sorry you saw me gut a man alive? Sorry I turned into the thing you’ve spent a year convincing yourself I wasn’t?

He’d been brutal before. She just hadn’t seen it.

Only now she’d seen what he truly was. The old world didn’t raise kind men—it bred survivors. And Joel had survived every way a man could. Through pain. Through blood. Through choices that never stopped echoing even now.

The only thing he managed to say, finally, low and gruff and barely louder than the wind scraping across the station floor, “We’re still a full day out. We’ll keep movin’ at first light, so get some rest.”

And look, Joel was trying to rest. Trying and failing, but still.

His head was a goddamn mess. Static. Replay. A loop he couldn’t break. Blood. Breath. The sound that bastard made when the knife went in—wet and sudden, a choke of surprise right before the silence.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose. Closed his eyes. Let his head fall back against the cracked concrete wall, cool against the sweat on his neck.

And then he heard it. Soft at first. Half-whispers. Barely there.

“I’m Leela.” A pause. A breath. A shift of cloth behind the shattered doorway of what used to be a bathroom. “Leela... no. Leela. I want to tell you—no. I have solved—my parents and I have solved—no.” A frustrated exhale. Then, quieter, “I am Leela… dammit. C’mon.”

Joel opened one eye. Turned his head.

The light in the bathroom was dim—barely a glow from some scavenged flashlight she’d propped up near the mirror. He couldn’t see her, but the words carried, echoing off tile and porcelain. She must’ve thought she was whispering. Must’ve thought no one could hear.

Across the room, Ellie was propped up on her elbow, her face lit faintly by that same flicker. She was grinning, eyes alight with mischief.

“Been goin’ on for ten minutes,” she snickered, voice hushed, like sharing a secret. “It’s adorable. I think she's nervous to meet these Firefly folks.”

Joel didn’t smile. Just raised an eyebrow. Looked back up at the ceiling.

Adorable. Maybe. Or maybe it was a bad sign. A red flag waving itself stupid in the middle of the dark.

Practicing your own goddamn name. Stumbling over words like they were bricks in your mouth. That wasn’t adorable. That was pressure. That was fear, chewing at the edges. That was a person so wound up she didn’t trust herself to say hello without screwing it up.

His jaw tightened.

There was a part of him—a stupid, reckless part—that wanted to get up. Walk over there, nice and quiet. Knock on the doorframe just once. Let her know she wasn’t alone. That she didn’t have to rehearse anything. That if she needed to talk, he’d sit there and listen, no matter how long it took.

But the other part—the bigger, meaner part—kept him pinned down.

Because he still hadn’t earned the right. Not after what she saw. And the last thing she needed was him looming over her, making it worse.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Exhaled slowly. He was a complete fucking idiot.

“You’re an idiot, Joel.”

For a moment, he thought he had been the one to say it out loud.

He blinked and turned his head again. Ellie. Still watching him. Smirking now, like she’d been waiting for him to figure it out.

He grunted. “Not in the mood, kid.”

“You’re never in the mood,” she shot back, flopping onto her bedroll. She rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite behind it—just the kind of tired, familiar sass that came from too many nights like this. “Doesn’t stop you from being a total dickhead.”

He gave her a look. One of those long, dead-eyed stares that usually shut her up. The kind that said, Don’t push me.

Not tonight.

She just grinned, hands behind her head. “You really think she came all this way—through all those cities, with people trying to kill us every ten miles—just to tell you to fuck off?”

He didn’t answer. Not right away.

“She cares about your hardass, just as much as I do,” Ellie muttered.

So, maybe Ellie saw all the things Joel didn’t let himself see. Or maybe she was just better at hope.

Because he had thought it.

More than once, he’d pictured it—that she’d reach the Fireflies, hand off whatever math magic was burning a hole through her skull, nod her thanks, and go. Cut the thread. Return to Jackson. Return to their—her daughter. Back to her life before he bulldozed into it like he always did with anything good. Maybe she’d have the decency to leave a note at the door when kicking him out.

Joel, please just leave us alone. I don't want a psychopath raising my daughter.

Maybe he deserved that.

He sat there a moment longer, thumb working absently along a notch in the stock of his rifle, tracing the smooth edge over and over. The kid was right. She had come all this way. Across states, through wasteland, through gunfire and ash, and sickness and silence. She’d fought beside them. Saved his life once. Slept with one eye open, traded warmth for distance, wore her grief like it was stitched into her coat. All of that. And not just for some cause.

She left Maya behind.

The thought hit like a hammer to the sternum.

Maya. His baby girl. His sweetheart, who barely fit in his arms anymore, yet so small she could tuck her frightened face under his chin when it thundered. He’d seen it. Seen the way Leela held her now, so different from all those months back—no fear, just pure maternal instinct. Even when she was dead on her feet, her touch was protective. Fierce.

You don’t leave that kind of love behind unless you got no goddamn choice. Unless whatever’s out there—the person, the reason—is worth the risk of not coming back.

He ran a hand down his face. Felt the rough scrape of beard under his fingers. Closed his eyes for a second. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Goddamn.”

Because no matter how many times he tried to tell himself she’d come for the Fireflies, for the math, for the cause—every time he looked at that bathroom door and heard her voice cracking around his name—he knew better.

She’d come for him.

A tangle of shame and wonder and raw, stupid hope in his chest made him feel like a little boy again. A dumb, dangerous feeling.

But his eyes slid back to the thin light under the bathroom door. The edge of her pack catching a sliver of glow. The sound of her voice still faint, repeating those words, again and again, as if she was willing herself into belief.

I am Leela.

Joel sat up.

His joints popped in protest, old aches coming to life as he rose slowly to his feet. The room tilted for a second—blood loss and no real sleep—but he steadied himself with a hand on the wall.

“Wipe that smile off your face, you little shit,” he hissed to Ellie.

“Whatta marshmallow,” Ellie mumbled, just watching him go, her smirk softening.

The door wasn’t fully closed. He nudged it open with two fingers.

The bathroom was dim and damp, smelling faintly of rust, infection and old mildew. A cracked mirror stretched above the sink, fractured down one side like a spiderweb frozen mid-snap.

Leela, hunched over the filthy porcelain basin, arms braced, hair falling around her face and body like a curtain. Her bare shoulders, under that black tanktop, rose and fell with shallow, controlled breaths. She hadn’t heard him yet. Or maybe she had and didn’t move, too far gone in whatever loop she was caught in.

Joel stepped in.

Quiet, like muscle memory. Like coming up behind her at the kitchen counter, when she was at the chopping board or scribbling on paper. In that quiet way he used to do, just to let her know he was there, he wanted her near, that he didn’t need her to talk.

He slid his hands around her waist.

Her body tensed.

Not a flinch exactly—but enough. A subtle stiffening beneath his palms that made his chest cave in a little. His heart fractured in that single instinctive reaction.

He didn’t pull away. Because as it had been established, he was selfish fucker. He stayed and didn’t say anything.

Just rested his forehead against the back of her head, where her hair smelled faintly of soap and smoke and salt. His eyes shut. He couldn’t bear the mirror. Couldn’t look up and see the condition of them—this makeshift version of a life that should’ve been warm, and home, and full of sweet nothings.

He’d had a picture in his head.

Them, side-by-side at a clean sink, still damp from the shower. Brushing their teeth together while Maya babbled from their bed outside, waiting to be put to sleep. Arguing about whether to fry the rice or save the eggs for pancakes. Leela nudging him with her elbow because he always hogged the mirror.

That was the image. The one he clung to.

Not this. Not her hands shaking just barely, gripping the sides of a stained sink as she tried to convince herself she still belonged to something greater than this broken world.

He didn’t speak at first. Just breathed her in—like maybe that alone could calm the blood in his veins. His hands were splayed over her powerful middle now, warm through the thin fabric of her shirt. She was too still. Not pulling away. Not leaning in.

So he moved slowly.

Pushed her all her thick, long hair gently over one shoulder, careful not to tug. It slipped between his fingers like threadbare silk. Then he bent forward, kissed the shell of her ear. Just once. Just enough.

“There’s a part of me that—I never wanted you to see that, darlin',” he whispered, the words nearly breaking in his throat.

She didn’t move.

Joel’s forehead pressed to the side of her head again. He closed his eyes. “That… thing. That man with the knife. That’s what’s left when I run outta reasons. When I think I gotta protect somethin’ I already lost.”

Silence buzzed in the air.

He wanted to tell her exactly that he’d do it all again to keep Ellie safe. That sometimes you didn’t get the choice to be gentle. That the world didn’t work in softness and she should wake the fuck up. But all of it sounded like a goddamn excuse, and worse—it sounded like the truth.

His voice faltered off. “If you hate me… I get it. I ain’t askin’ you to forget what I did. I just—”

God, what was he thinking? He wouldn't want her apologies anyway.

His chin lifted a little. “But I’m still me, Leela. Still Maya’s. Still yours, if there’s any part of you that wants that.”

There was no dramatic pause. No breath held in hope. He said it like a man naming his failures in the dark. Mum. Certain. Not because he thought it would change anything—but because it was true. And because she deserved to hear it out loud.

Maybe she was remembering what it meant to let something dangerous that close. Maybe this was the moment she realized she couldn’t love him. Maybe this was the moment he proved he didn’t deserve it.

He didn’t blame her.

Then he felt her shift. Just barely.

Her hand came up and back, platting into his hair. Her fingers scraped lightly at his scalp, a slow, grounding motion—not tender, not affectionate, not forgiving. Just there. Present. Real.

She didn’t say it’s okay. She’d never needed to wrap things in softness. Sadly, she knew what it meant to be ruined.

To be taken apart and put back together with pieces missing. She’d lived in the wreckage of her own skin, patched herself up with logic and reason, with equations and notebooks, trying to make sense of something that defied sense.

And still—he loved her. Not in spite of it. Not around it. Just through it. All the way through. So what if he’d split a man open like kindling? What if she’d been split first—by someone who’d never deserved to touch her in the first place?

She was here. She’d come. With her voice cracking in the dark and her hands braced on a sink like it was the only thing keeping her upright. She was still herself. Still trying.

Joel let out a breath against her neck.

And then, quiet—low and splintering—she said, “I’ve been dead before, Joel. This is not what kills me.”

The words lodged in his chest like a nail. No dramatics. No trembling voice. The truth. Her fingers kept moving, dragging slow circles in his hair.

And when she turned her head—just scarcely—he saw her in the mirror. Saw the red-rimmed eyes, the taut mouth, the exhaustion etched so deep into her face it looked like it might never fade.

She met his gaze in the cracked glass. A long moment passed.

There was a change, not in her body, not in the set of her jaw or the tremble of her breath, but in the way she looked at him. Like seeing a wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding and finally understanding why the bandages never worked. A clarity there he was familiar with.

Joel just watched her eyes, the way they softened and steeled in the same breath. The way grief and love could live in the same goddamn face.

He saw her swallow. Her throat worked once, twice, like the words weren’t forming—they were fighting their way up.

And then, without turning fully, she said, “It’s horrible. How grateful I am that you can become... that.”

He blinked. His heart gave a slow, brutal thud against his ribs.

“Because it means no one will ever touch her. Not Maya. Not while you’re breathing.”

And just like that, he had to bite the inside of his cheek. Hard. To keep from falling into whatever that was curling up inside him. All that shame and pride and an ache so old it had turned quiet.

Her head stayed dipped, his mouth just a breath away from her skin.

The silence between them wasn’t hollow anymore. It had mass. Weight. Like a room full of smoke that they’d both learned to breathe in.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t dare. His hand remained at her waist, palm flat, fingers barely curled. He could feel the heaves of her breathing—still tight, still not stable. But alive. Still with him.

He should’ve said something. He knew it. Should’ve said I’m sorry, even if it wasn’t enough. Should’ve said you can hate me, I’ll still kill for you. Should’ve said you can take Maya away, and I’ll still be at your back the rest of my life.

But every sentence that came to mind sounded like another wound. Another wrong turn.

So he stayed quiet. And waited. Let her have this moment to leave—if that’s what she needed. But then—

She turned. Just a little. Enough that her shoulder brushed against his chest. Enough that he saw her face not in the mirror, but right there—real and close. Red-rimmed eyes. Lips chapped from the cold, pale, parted just a bit.

There was no invitation. No demand. Just presence. And that—God help him—was what crushed him.

Joel raised his hand, slowly. Let his knuckles ghost across her jaw like he was scared to touch her too hard, like she might shatter.

She didn’t lean in. She didn’t lean away. She just stood there. Breathing still.

That was all the backing he needed.

The kiss he prompted was not soft. Not romantic like the hundred before. It was dry, cracked and laced with grief. His mouth moved over hers like he was memorizing the shape of her pain, and hers opened to him with something like surrender—not of will, anything but.

They didn’t move or deepen. Didn’t gasp or moan or pull or want or seek anything more.

They just connected. Two broken things, sealed at the seam for a single breath of repose in the storm.

Joel’s hand stayed on her cheek, rough thumb grazing the edge of her temple. His other hand, the one still resting at her waist, gripped just a little tighter, like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go now. Not after everything. Not after seeing the worst of each other and still not walking away.

He didn’t know if this meant anything, if it was the beginning of the end. Or just a flicker of what used to be.

But when they pulled apart—slow, wistful, just inches—her eyes opened again.

Clear. Tired. Still full of all the rage and grief and brilliance that made her who she was.

“You’re still in there, Joel,” she whispered. Not accusing. Not forgiving. Just observing. Like she was taking stock of a fire that wouldn’t quite die, even after the smoke had choked the sky.

Joel held her gaze for a moment, and then dropped it—couldn’t take the weight of it. He exhaled, slow and heavy, eyes closing. His voice came low and coarse, barely brushing the air between them.

“Don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

He leaned in, pressed a kiss just below her ear. A whisper of a thing. A thank you. An imprecise I’m sorry. A Jesus, what the hell are we now?

Outside, the wind pushed against the walls of the small bathroom like it wanted in. The fire crackled somewhere in the next room, Ellie’s shadow moving quietly near the doorway, always vigilant, giving them space.

Inside, Leela didn’t speak. But her fingers—still trembling—moved to cover his on her abdomen. Held them there. No tighter. No looser.

Just there.

Joel let the moment breathe, let the silence settle. His throat worked once before he spoke again, voice barely a rasp.

“When we get to California, whatever happens… I just…” He paused, brow furrowing. “You don’t gotta decide anything yet. I just need to know I’ll still get to see my little girl.”

A flicker passed through Leela’s eyes. She didn’t flinch or draw back, but she didn’t soften either.

She looked at him like she was trying to hold him in focus through a haze of old pain and newer fractures. Behind her gaze, where he lived, there it was—subtle, distant.

Her fingers didn’t move from his. But her voice, when it came, was quiet. Neutral. Like she was choosing every word as if it could tilt the precarious balance in this world.

“Let’s see what happens first.”

That was all. Not yes. Not no. Not never. But not enough either.

Joel’s jaw worked. He almost nodded—but didn’t. Almost pulled away—but couldn’t.

Instead, he kept his hand where it was, over her belly, where Maya used to sleep once, safe and tiny. Where Leela had once felt the flutter of her little feet and hands through her skin, long before she had her pretty name.

“You don’t gotta do it for me,” he said at last. “But she’s mine too. I need both of you.”

Leela didn’t argue. Her silence said she knew. Said she’d always known. But knowing didn’t always mean trusting.

Still, she kept his hand where it was.

DAY 7: CALIFORNIA INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, PASADENA, CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES - APPROX. EIGHT-FOUR HOURS SOUTH OF JACKSON

The sun stretched long over the broken streets of Pasadena in the Golden State, just as much, casting amber behind a veil of smog. The quiet clip of hooves on cracked asphalt echoed like a heartbeat in a place long hollowed out. Joel rode just a pace ahead, his rifle slung low, boots scuffed from days on the road. Ellie was beside him, reins loose in her hands, a sliver of calm in her eyes. Behind her, Leela fidgeted with her hair again—first the braid, then a ponytail, then nothing, then the braid again.

She’d done it twice in the last hour.

Not out of vanity. Joel knew that. It was nerves. Restlessness. That same rhythm she used to have with a pencil—tap, scribble, flip a page, start again. Always thinking. Always fighting something unseen.

She hadn’t said much since sunrise. None of them had. The weight of what might be waiting ahead pulled the air taut between them.

“Do you think we could stay for some time when we get there?” Leela asked, not looking at either of them.

“Sure thing. I wanna see the beach, too,” Ellie replied without pause, smiling and all loyal, already craning her neck for the first sign of the Caltech buildings.

Joel said nothing. But his hands tightened just a little on the reins.

Stay. Stay for what?

See, if there were scientists there—real ones, still working on things like cures and vaccines—then it wasn’t just Leela they were walking into that place for.

It was Ellie. It was the blood in her veins. That cursed miracle pulsing just beneath her skin.

His mind was running ahead of him, tearing through what-if after what-if. What if they were here? What if they had the equipment, the knowledge? What if they looked at Ellie like she was the key again? What if they asked—no, expected—the same sacrifice?

And Joel—he knew himself too well by now. Knew the panic that twisted up in his gut and tried to claw its way out. He didn’t let it show. Not in his face or voice. But it made him nudge his horse forward just slightly, pace picking up, eyes scanning rooftops and blown-out cars and anything that might look like trouble or, God forbid, hope.

They crested a slight hill, and Caltech unfurled below.

Golden light skimmed the cracked concrete and broken signage like it was trying to remember what wonder looked like. Ivy crawled up the old physics building, curling over shattered windows, draping across the once-grand entrance like a shroud. Palm trees stood like sentinels over long-dry fountains.

Joel pulled his horse to a stop beside Ellie’s, her body swaying forward slightly with momentum before sitting back straight.

For a moment, no one spoke.

They were here.

This was it.

“This is where they're supposed to be,” Joel murmured, more to himself than to either of them.

Or what was left of it.

Buildings, sure. A few were still standing proud. Brick and steel and glass, scabbed over with vines and scorch marks and time. But no movement. No guards. No posted signs or perimeter watch. No sound beyond the dry creak of trees and the hum of wind through broken fencing.

Joel felt it like a gut punch before anyone said a word.

The front of the building looked like it had been blown out from the inside—glass scattered across the steps like a trail of brittle petals, black scorch marks clawing up the stone walls. Half the Caltech signage still hung above the arched entryway, its metal frame twisted, under layers of ash and grime.

Joel dismounted first. His boots crunched over the broken glass, rifle already in hand. Ellie hopped off behind him, lighter on her feet, but just as alert. Leela stayed on the horse a beat longer, her eyes locked on the faded lettering above the entry. ‘California Institute of Technology for Advanced Research.’

She whispered it aloud like it was something sacred. “Wow. We're here.”

Joel motioned for her to stay close. Light slanted in through fractured skylights above, catching on overturned desks and moldy file boxes. Drawers like mouths wide open. A bunk with a Firefly logo stamped on the wall above it—old, faded, forgotten. Emergency cots folded and stacked like they'd been waiting for orders that never came. A faded banner still hung across the far end of the lobby, reading proudly:

‘INNOVATION FOR THE NEXT CENTURY.’

Oh, what a big fucking joke.

You try to innovate, you end up like this. You pick up a gun, you get to live. The world they lived in now.

Now, what they hadn’t expected was the smell.

The moment they stepped inside the physics building, it hit them—thick, wet, and metallic. Like mold and meat. Old rot. The kind that stuck to your tongue. He knew what it was already. Joel raised a hand, signalled Ellie behind him. Leela paused just inside the threshold, her face blanching.

“Get back outside,” Joel said to her. “Don’t need you in here.”

But Leela didn’t move.

She stared down the hall like she could still pretend it was just dust and old desks and the smell of something dead not walking.

Until the first one came.

It staggered out from a lab at the far end, skin sloughing off in ribbons, yellowing mouth open in a wet click-click-click. Ellie didn’t hesitate—she dropped to one knee and put a bullet through its eye. But the goddamn Clicker wasn’t alone. From the shadows, they came dragging, stumbling, clicking—two, three, five of them—some already burst open with fungal bloom, their faces split by time and Cordyceps.

“Shit,” Joel muttered, rifle already up. “Leela—go, get out of here!”

She bolted off. He didn’t watch where.

The gunfire echoed in the narrow halls. Joel moved with brutal efficiency—tight shots, clean execution. Ellie flanked him, nimble and fast, clearing corners. They moved like they'd done this a hundred times. Well, because they had.

But Leela was new to it. She waited outside, pacing, clutching the straps of her bag so tightly her knuckles nearly bled. Her eyes flicked to the windows, to the flashes of movement inside.

She hadn’t come for this. To watch them both die at the end.

When the last echo faded, Joel emerged from the stairwell, blood on his sleeve and a tight grimace on his face. “All clear.”

Leela didn’t answer. She pushed past him, boots scraping on tile as she made her way deeper into the building. Joel wanted to hold her hand back, tuck him into his side.

“Maybe they were Fireflies?” Ellie muttered, nudging one corpse with the toe of her boot.

Joel didn’t respond. He didn’t want to think about it, even if he knew the signs.

This wasn’t an outpost.

It was an exodus.

He pushed the doors open into the next wing—a long hallway flanked by glass-walled rooms, some still scrawled with chemical equations and 3D renderings of gene splicing. Dust hung thick in the air, swirling in lazy spirals, disturbed only by their presence. The deeper they moved in, the clearer it became: this had been a research hub. State of the art. Once.

Now it was just dust and silence.

Ellie was the first to call out. “Helloooo? It's Dr Leela here with your math magic miracle! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Her voice echoed down the empty walkway. And no answer.

“Shy buncha nerds,” she harrumphed.

“Ellie,” Joel sighed.

Leela drifted toward one of the labs as they moved up to the second floor, climbing over debris, her hand brushing against the edge of a metal table. There were still beakers here, clipboards thick with faded paper, broken monitors, glass casings. Her fingers hovered over them like she didn’t know whether to read or weep.

Joel had gotten used to failing so much, this didn't hurt anymore.. He’d brought her all this way. Let her believe.

Now, he stood in the doorway of the ruined lab like a man caught between two times—one where hope had still been breathing, and the one he was in now, where it lay stiff and cold on the floor.

Joel’s eyes were drawn, inevitably, to the skeleton, slumped against a bank of monitors, mold climbing up one arm like ivy.

It wasn’t the first dead body he’d seen. Not even the hundredth. But this one was different. There was something almost edifying in the way the figure was wilted—propped against the monitors like they’d died mid-thought, clinging to some last hope that didn’t pan out. What had they been hoping to see? A breakthrough? A miracle? A sign someone else had made it?

The bones were dressed in a lab coat, name badge still clipped to the collar. YAMADA. What was left of the face was caved in, probably from the gun still lying on the floor beside them. A personal choice, Joel figured. Easier than turning, for sure.

But it was the recorder nearby that made his stomach knot.

He watched Leela reach for it like she was reaching for her own fate. Slow, careful, fingers trembling despite all her control. She glanced back at him—asking for what? Permission? Support? For him to tell her this wasn’t what it looked like?

He gave her the nod because it was all he had.

And because he couldn’t lie to her anymore. Whatever that device held, bad or worse, he had her always. What were another hundred miles? Perhaps another boat, a storm in the ocean, another open city, another ten years on the road? He'd do it with her if she wanted to.

Leela pressed play.

As the recorder whirred to life and that ragged, weary voice filled the silence, Joel’s heart dropped to somewhere cold inside him. Every word was another nail in the coffin.

“This is Dr. Kichiro Yamada. March twenty-third, the time is four-twenty-four in the evening. If you’re hearing this, then you’re too late. Or maybe you’re lucky. Jury’s out.”

Joel stared at the monitors. The screens were dead, cracked, and flecked with grime. Whatever brilliance had once flickered there had gone out long ago. There were notes on the desk, too, curling with rainwater. He couldn’t read half of them, and didn’t understand the other half. But he recognized the desperation in the handwriting. Bold strokes turned frantic. Numbers blurring. Whole pages scratched out. A slow unraveling.

“We gave it everything. Years. Two whole decades. All of us. There were twenty-four of us here once. Distinguished faculty of professors, scholars and dedicated students—from aeronautics, biochemistry, theoretical physics to fucking art history—working toward a common purpose. Persevering in the face of extinction. Then we dwindled. Nine of us, then four. Then Dr. Connelly, now it's... just me. See, the world didn’t wait for us. Supplies dried up. People got scared. We had raiders come in once or twice, and butcher some of our best. Most of them left. Some went east, to survivor settlements. I stayed until the end. I made it this far.

Joel looked over at Ellie. She was still. Watching Leela. Watching him.

“To whoever finds this... you’re standing in the last Firefly outpost in California. Maybe the whole goddamn continent. Shit, I don't know anymore. We had data. We had hope. And then we had death. I’ve just managed to upload everything we had and researched to the central terminal. If you’ve got the brains to use it, maybe it won’t be for nothing. Help yourselves. Save yourselves.”

A long silence. He thought of how long they must’ve laboured in here, chasing answers. How much belief it took to type that much down.

“This place was supposed to save the world. We were supposed to make a difference. What a fucking waste.”

Click.

Joel let out a long-suffering sigh. Ellie hovered near the door, her jaw set, eyes wide, trying to take it all in, trying not to crumble.

Leela stood motionless, eyes fixed on the blank recorder. Her shoulders started to tremble, slow at first, then all at once—tight, pulled inward, trying to keep from flying apart.

She didn’t cry.

She just knelt down beside the desk, knees hitting the floor in a slow, mechanical motion, folding over her own legs like her body had given up on standing. Her hair—braided, unbraided, ponytailed, undone—hung limp down her back, as if it too had finally settled into stillness. No tears, no words. Just the quiet shape of someone who’d hoped too hard for too long.

Joel stood there, unsure if he’d made her kneel or if the world had.

He swallowed hard.

He’d brought Leela here. Not just her—her hope, her faith, her genius, all bundled into that same quiet determination she wore like armor. She had believed in this place. Believed in the people who’d once lived here. She’d believed him, maybe worst of all.

And now? Now it was just another tomb. Another place the world had forgotten how to care about.

Joel clenched his jaw. “Wasn't supposed to end like this,” he said softly. But the words felt hollow the moment they left his mouth.

And yet, somehow it always did.

The world didn’t care about minds like hers. It didn’t give a damn about brilliance or sacrifice or the people who tried to fix what was broken. It just… moved on. Swallowed the light whole. Buried the good with the bad and let it rot in the dark.

Behind him, Ellie spoke, her voice quieter than usual. “Hey, we should check out that terminal.”

Joel nodded once, not looking back. “Yeah.”

He moved slowly, boots scuffing against the floor. That terminal—an old monitor, half-sunken into the desk, still humming faintly—blinked as they approached. He expected nothing. Expected it to flicker out, dead and useless, like everything else.

But somehow, when he moved the mouse, it lit up.

“C'mere, baby,” he called out, trying to will what he had left into her. “Let's see what this is.”

Leela had already started typing. Her hands trembled, but she typed anyway—quick, practiced keystrokes, as if her muscles still remembered how to do this even when her heart didn’t.

Lines of data filled the screen. Pages and pages of it. He didn't know what the fuck it was. Research logs. Complex equations. Genetic markers, timestamps, decay models. Scans of buildings and servers. Plant growth charts. Vectors and resistance patterns, and computational models he didn’t understand, but recognized by the sheer significance of them.

She stared at the formulas like they were the names of the dead.

Joel knelt beside her, slow, as if any sudden movement might shatter her.

He didn’t reach for her. Not yet. Didn’t deserve to. Just stayed near, let his voice reach across the inches between them.

“You did what they couldn’t,” he said, hoarse. “You're a goddamn saviour, Leela. You did it all.”

Her eyes didn’t move from the screen. “They were supposed to be here.”

Joel glanced toward the body by the monitor, the fingers still curled like they’d meant to hit save and didn’t make it. “They left it behind for you,” he said. “They wanted it found. You found it.”

Leela turned to him, finally. Her eyes were dry—but there was nothing behind them. No fire. No fight. Just a dull, hollow ache where everything else had been scorched out.

“It’s not enough, Joel.”

“No,” he whispered. “It ain’t. But it’s all we got.”

And he couldn’t stay away any longer.

He reached out. Gently. Palms callused, hands unhurried.

This time, she let him pull her into his arms. She didn’t fall apart. Didn’t cry, or shudder, or whisper anything dramatic. She just leaned—slow, silent—against him, her face resting into his shoulder like the grief was too dense to lift her head anymore.

It wasn’t forgiveness she gave him. It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t even warmth. And for the first time in days, Joel didn’t feel guilt, or fear, or even that thick, choking regret.

Just the excruciating, quiet ache of being alive.

He turned his head, pressing his cheek to the top of her hair. She smelled like the road. Like leather and firewood. Like survival. Like the kind of person you meet once in a lifetime and never again.

He almost didn’t hear the footsteps—soft and measured.

Ellie, framed by the last of the sun bleeding in through the broken glass. She crossed the room slowly, past ruined dreams, past rusted lab equipment and flickering terminals, past the slumped skeleton and the shattered hope. She didn’t speak. Just knelt beside them, her shoulder bumping gently against Leela’s other side.

Joel looked at her just in time to see her hand reach out—hesitant, hovering for a second—then settle across Leela’s back.

Not in comfort or even empathy.

Recognition. Kinship. Guilt.

Leela was everything Ellie wasn’t—older, brilliant, composed—but in this moment? They were the same. Two people who gave their hearts to something that’s gone.

Ellie's fingers splayed across the jacket, tentative at first, then firmer. She didn’t look at either of them. Her face stayed turned, eyes down, jaw clenched. Simply being there.

Joel could see it in her—the way she held her breath, the way her lips were pressed into a thin, white line. That familiar cyclone behind her eyes. The echo of so many other losses.

He didn’t say a word.

Because in that lab, surrounded by failure and rot, the three of them formed something that had no name. Not victory, hope or even survival. Just austere, tangible proof that they were still here.

He looked at the recorder lying in Leela's palms like a gravestone, and as she hit rewind, that last line rang in his ears like a verdict:

“...What a fucking waste.”

Joel closed his eyes. He didn’t know if the voice was talking about the science, the building, the people, or the whole damn world.

But whatever it meant—however it was intended—it felt right now. And maybe all the brilliance in Leela’s head, all the years she’d clawed her way through loss and theory and impossibility—maybe even that had nowhere left to go.

He knew this one all too well. The one that told him some endings weren’t explosive or tragic or heroic.

No last stand. No meaning. Just a hush. A breath. A door that closed without ceremony.

Some endings just... stopped.

The storm comes, you crawl into shelter. Find something—someone—to hold onto. And when it's over, you are left to breathe in the quiet afterward.

Waiting for the next storm. The next door.

taglist 🫶: @darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams , @bluemusickid , @bumblepony , @legoemma , @chantelle-mh , @heartlessvirgo , @possiblyafangirl , @pedropascalsbbg , @oolongreads -> @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , @isla-finke-blog , @millercontracting , @tinawantstobeadoll , @funerals-with-cake , @txlady37 , @inasunlitroom , @clya4 , @callmebyyournick-name , @axshadows , @littlemissoblivious } - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

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lovelynim · 4 months ago

Text

Fanfiction

Zenless Zone Zero - Asaba Harumasa (feat. Reader x Harumasa)

A/N: I don't even know where I start to explain the idea behind this one. Well, fanfics are canon in ZZZ and Harumasa is aware his fans write fics for him so... yeah.

Summary: Harumasa is reading a fanfic at work.

Word count: 1844 words

Harumasa sighed, slouching in his chair while the report pages rested empty on top of his desk. There was still about two hours before he could finally clock out and his body simply refused to waste its energy on filling those insufferable documents.

He already had to risk his life fighting ethereals, exploring hollows and doing medical check-ups, why did he also have to worry about explaining how any of those went? Why did it even matter in the first place? They just happened, weren’t the higher ups glad enough that he saved the day?

“Asaba-kun,” a cold, firm female voice came from behind him, making Harumasa jump in his seat and sit back up straight, dragging him from his thoughts back to reality. “Are you making progress with your reports? It would be troublesome to request another deadline extension after a two month delay.”

“D-deputy chief, you scared me!” Harumasa whined softly, his hand pressing flat against his chest while he looked up to Yanagi with puppy-like eyes. “Of course I’m making progress, but it’s just so har-”

“Good,” Yanagi nodded with a smile, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder, “I’m sure you can make it up for all the reports behind the schedule, Asaba-kun,” she added before walking away to pay some mind to whatever matter was going on with Soukaku and Miyabi.

‘So mean!’, Harumasa thought, how could the deputy chief of all people not even bother to offer him some help with that endless pile of work? He frowned, resting an elbow on top of his desk and his head on top of his hand. Well, there were still two hours, right? He could kill off some time and do that report later…

He reached for his cellphone, which was just by the side of the pile of work he was trying so hard to ignore, and mindlessly moved his thumb around the screen, drawing an arrow and unlocking the device.

Browsing through the interknot shouldn’t be that much of a big deal to most people, but things may get a little interesting when you have an army of restless fans that are chronically online, to say the least. It was still a little hard for him to believe what kind of thing his admirers would do and create: drawings, banners, edits of his fights’ footage with upbeat songs, and even fictional stories… Now that he thought about it, Harumasa was probably the one inside the Section 6 that paid the most attention to these contents: Yanagi usually brushed them off with a polite smile, not even daring to give them a second look; Miyabi didn’t understand the concept behind people’s admiration towards her; and Soukaku only cared about the gifts she could eat.

Still, while being popular could be a little troublesome at times (like when he was trying to sneak out with a certain proxy), having a legion of followers would come handy at boring moments like this. After all, Harumasa knew there would always be something to entertain himself with.

“Masa-masa enthusiasts explain why he is so cute; Check it out!”, “Ten things you didn’t know about Asaba Harumasa!”, “Harumasa caught secret dating?!”, “Harumasa spotted at the Lumina Square! See more pictures here”...

Harumasa rolled his eyes, scrolling past all the posts he deemed dumb. Why was the tag with his name filled with so many weird articles anyway? Where was the good stuff at? He let out a quiet groan, continuing to search for something that actually deserved his attention.

He continued to search, post after post, article after article, photo after photo. After a couple moments digging throughout the interknot, a post from the “Archive of Our Eridu” caught his attention. Finally some good fan made content, Harumasa through, smirking slightly as he clicked the link and opened it.

“‘Harumasa/Reader’, huh..?” He mumbled, shifting in his chair as his eyes moved past the tags, skipping the summary and the author’s notes to finally get to the actual story.

‘You watch your captive slowly regain his consciousness, his muffled groans barely making past the improvised gag and his limbs’ moving restrained by the tightly tied ropes’- Harumasa arched one eyebrow at the content and its form, remembering one of the fanfic’s tags.

Right, this should be someone else’s point-of-view, which means… the said ‘captive’ was him? Wait, how was he supposed to read it if he was doing both roles?

Harumasa frowned, shaking his head. Probably the author never expected him, of all the users in the interknot, to stumble upon this. Still, he should probably just think of ‘reader’ as a different person while reading it, that should make things easier for him to understand and get through the text.

So, back to it…

It was a straight forward setting. The reader in question was playing the role of some sort of criminal organization’s leader while Harumasa played… well, his own role. For some reason, the author skipped the previous events that led to the current scene - Harumasa assumed that would be too much context - and the first paragraphs described some sort of… interrogation? At least, that’s what it sounded like.

“Heh, am I going to fall in love with the bad guys here..?” Harumasa giggled with the thought, surprisingly amused as the reader threatened and tried to intimidate him. “They are making me sound so stubborn here…”

Harumasa continued to read, flinching when the reader snatched the tape off his lips, imagining how much it would sting, and even unawarely mimicking his reactions described in the story: parted lips, half closed eyes, erratic breathing…

‘We already took care of your colleagues. No one is coming to save you, Asaba, you better speak’, he shifted in his seat at that line. ‘Hah, even better. Do your worst, you’ll get nothing from me’, was he actually this sassy? And what’s up with the attitude? Harumasa shook his head, rolling his eyes at the cliché threats from the reader. Maybe he did set the bar too high for some amateur stor-

‘Pain? Who said anything about hurting you, my dear Asaba? I have my own methods of making you talk’, oh? Was that the beginning of the steamy parts? Harumasa looked around the office, making sure Yanagi was still in her seat before continuing his reading.

Being caught reading this kind of stuff would be even worse than getting caught slacking off. Gladly, Soukaku seemed to be doing an amazing job at keeping the deputy chief busy.

Alright, time to resume it.

‘What?’. ‘Ah, Asaba… I’ve always been fond of you, I could never bring myself to hurt that pretty face of yours, but… I still need to make you talk, right?’ He could feel his cheeks warming up a little, imagining the scene a bit beyond what was written.

Ah, this better not be something weird awakening inside him, Harumasa thought.

There was still no action. The story only described how the reader walked around him, wandering in the room and circling the chair he was tied to while explaining to Harumasa the roots of their affection for him. Still, Harumasa couldn’t help but to feel his heart beating a little faster with anticipation - both as the audience and as a form of sympathy towards his character.

The next part had Harumasa leaning more and more on the edge of his seat, going an inch forward with each word read. The description mentioned something like the reader sitting at Harumasa’s lap, popping his shirt’s buttons open one after the other and pushing his shirt away, exposing his bare chest.

‘Get your hands… off me, you f-freak!’. “Why? Are you nervous? Feeling shy? Maybe there is something stuck at the back of your throat? Let me get it out for you’.

Harumasa felt a shiver run up his spine, regretting ever underestimating one of his fan’s work. The description had him wrapped around its finger and even he himself couldn’t figure out what was so good about it - neither what made it sound so awfully hot.

‘You began to drag your fingers around his toned midriff, circling his navel before teasing his sides. You watched Harumasa tense up, sucking in stomach, trying to avoid your touch. You chuckle, fondly, tickling the edge of his waist.’

So this was the torture they had in mind? Tickling? Harumasa looked up, lowering his phone for a moment and contemplating the idea. Unexpected, yes. Unwelcomed? Not sure. He couldn’t really tell if he was ticklish - was there ever a time for him to figure it out?

Of course, the lack of this confirmation didn’t stop this fan, it seemed. He should probably leave a like in their work for the effort - finding a piece of information that Harumasa himself wasn’t aware of. Heh.

But, back to the fanfiction… Why was it making his heart flutter? Or, even better, why was he struck by the imaginary feeling of it?

He could feel a ghost-like sensation roaming his body. Unconsciously hitching his breath, brushing a hand over whatever spot was mentioned to get rid of the phantom feeling and even catching himself smiling at nothing but his own thoughts.

‘Harumasa laugh helplessly under your hands. You dig your finds under his arms, squirming your way past his defenses despite his efforts into clasping his elbows to his torso. He throws his head back and you can’t help but to give his neck a little tease’.

“...w-what kind of freak would be into this stuff?” He groaned quietly, pouting while his cheeks felt warmer than before. Harumasa even lifted his hand - after hesitating a little, for some reason - to rub his neck, trying to shift his attention from the nonexistent sensation.

Stomach, side, neck, ears, thighs, knees, waist, feet, back… even his hands! How many words did that fanfic even have?!

Harumasa crossed his legs before leaning back into the chair, his breathing quickened for some reason. “A-ahm, does anyone mind if I turn on the AC?” Harumasa whined sheepishly, hooking a finger around his collar to loosen it.

“No, go ah- Asaba-kun, are you feeling alright?” Yanagi asked, furrowing her brows slightly with concern. “You actually look sick, do you need me to-”

“I-it’s fine, deputy chief,” Harumasa sighed, wiping a drop of sweat from the side of his face and fanning it with his hand. “Just a little… overwhelmed, I’ll be fine,” he pulled out a forced smile, making Yanagi nod despite the doubt.

He should stop reading these things at work…

Brr, brr.

Wise lifted his head from his pillow, turning around and giving his attention to his phone instead of trying to sleep. Reaching out to it, taking him less than a couple swipes to check the reason behind the noise.

[A guest left ludos on Harumasa’s Interrogation], read the e-mail. Wise shrugged, placing his phone back on the table. Well, at least something was doing numbers, unlike this commission he was stuck at… but he should be able to do it after a good nap!

#zenless zone zero #zzz #zenless zone zero tickling #zzz tickling #asaba harumasa #lee!harumasa #ticklish!harumasa #kinda #i mean #there is also a bit of #harumasa x reader #but oh well #whatever

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drvscarlett · 7 months ago

Text

About You Pt 19

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

A/N: and i think its a good time to reread the series because we have some parts that is a hint to the previous chapters. its all connected! i hope you all enjoy!!!

About You Series

2015, Albert Park

Today marks the first race that he would do for Scuderia Ferrari, the dream team of most drivers. From the entrance, there were plenty of Tifosis with their banner and red ensemble waiting for him. Sebastian was used to having fans back in his Red Bull and Toro Rosso days but the energy of Ferrari fans is on a whole another level. People of all ages with different speaking languages calls out his name with something in hand for him to sign with.

“Bring the championship back to Ferrari”

“We are with you Sebastian!”

“Grazie Sebastian, have a good season!”

The words of encouragement being passed by people is something that brings a smile on his face. It was uplifting to hear that people still believed in him despite losing the championship last year. He feels extremely motivated to go to the car.

When he entered the garage, Kimi, his teammate was sitting there with his usual poker expression. Upon seeing Sebastian, he cracked one of his rare smiles and welcomed Sebastian to the team. The rest of the garage seems to be excited in welcoming Sebastian as well. They buzzed about how excited they all are about the build of the car and the opportunities that this season may grant. It was a good omen for Sebastian.

The practice session won’t start for a few minutes, so he opted to lounge in his driver’s room. The minute that Sebastian opened the room, his eyes zeroed in on the fruit basket of oranges placed on his desk.

An irony that a single fruit can bring back so many memories and could make all happy thoughts disappear from Sebastian. It suddenly reminded him that there was one person that he won’t be seeing around this year.

With a sigh, he picked up the card attached to the basket.

Congratulations Sebastian Vettel for being in Scuderia Ferrari. Have a great season ahead.

He smiles thoughtfully with the message. Flipping the card he tried to find who have sent it but it seems unsigned.

‘Can this be from her?’ he couldn’t help but think about it. He believed that he never mentioned it in any of his interviews that this was pre-race ritual goodluck for him. His thoughts couldn’t help but drift to her.

It has been months since he has seen her. There were also no news about her like she disappeared out of thin air, like she never even existed. He just wanted to know how is she doing. Is she doing better now? Can she walk now?

The heavy weight of his feelings had him sitting in silence.

“Seb..”Kimi knocked and entered the room “Free practice is starting in a few and they wanted me to call you”

The Finn was often referred as someone who doesn't care but he was secretly good at picking up emotions, “Are you okay?”

Sebastian looks up and tries to shrug it off“I’m good, don’t worry…Just the oranges”

“You allergic?”

“No”Sebastian’s voice falters “Just wondering who might have sent it”

“Probably a fan of yours”Kimi suggested.

“Yeah a fan”

2015, Sepang

Mark Webber’s book Aussie Grit, a chapter excerpt

Honestly, I never gave it much thinking that my sister sacrificed a lot of her time to be with me. She was merely 16 when she decided to accompany me to my racing and be my personal assistant. Instead of going out during the weekends, she spends it with me in strategy rooms or moping about a winless weekend. Now that I see it, I never saw her have time for herself. Everything that she does is because of me.

I wish I could tell you that I have been a good brother. There are several instances where I have been the cause of her heartache. If only I brought down my ego a notch then I wouldn’t miss several years with my baby sister. It was a great thing that she even gave me a chance. We were rekindling and everything. Then, last year was an eyeopener when she got into that accident. We were lucky to have her alive but it paralyzed her legs completely and it’s taking a while for her to recover. I respect my sister’s wishes to step back from anything motorsports related or from the media’s eyes. As her older brother, I do what I have to do to make sure she is getting the privacy that she needs.

She may or may not be reading this book but I hope you know Y/N how loved you are. We will always be waiting here for you. You take your time and your big brother will take care of everything.

2016, Lausitzring

The crowd was roaring as a Schumacher was once more placed on top of the podium. Glee was evident in Mick’s face as he made his way down from the podium. His eyes scanned the crowd and he couldn’t help but widen when he saw Sebastian’s face. He didn’t know that he would be joining to watch the race today.

“SEB!” Mick immediately made a beeline towards the F1 driver “What are you doing here?”

“Watching you race of course” Sebastian grins.

It was something that Sebastian has tried to do as much as he could. He can sense that Mick needed guidance and Michael would have done that if he was awake. So, whenever Sebastian could, he would drop by and watch Mick race. When he couldn’t, he rewatches them and messages him to commend him or recommend some improvements in his techniques.

“Very very proud of you Mick”he added the praise.

Sebastian hugged Mick proudly. Cameras immediately went off to capture the moment. Both of them have been used to the fanfares of the paddock and they could already see the articles that will be posted comparing young Seb and young Mick.

“Excuse me Seb but we have to get Mick for media duties” someone from the PR team interrupted the moment

“You can wait at the driver’s room”Mick instructed

“Look at you so bossy”Sebastian joked

“Viv, don’t let him go anywhere”Mick insisted “Seb, I still have to talk to you and update you about a lot”

Sebastian nodded and headed his way to the driver’s room. He greeted some of the staffs that were lounging there and proceeded to make himself feel at home in Mick’s driver’s room.

He couldn’t help but chuckle as soon as he enters. The driver’s room was pristine and clean. Sebastian was not the most organized driver on the grid when he was Mick’s age. Seeing how every paper has been neatly filed, clothes folded, and pillows arranged—Mick was far better from him than a mile.

There were two tables but his eyes lingered at the table where the drawer was slightly opened. He catches the glint of a photo frame. Curiosity got the best of him, and he opened the drawer a bit more to see the frame. It was a photo of the Schumacher family with him and Y/N. The bright smile on each faces and the way Sebastian held Y/N with Mick in the middle. It was a reminder of the good old days.

“I hope you are okay”Sebastian’s hands hovered at the picture.

She never leaves his mind. He stopped talking about her but she is always in his mind. Sometimes when he takes photos of Mick, he wonders if she is watching his progress. What would she say? Sebastian could bet that if things were a little different then Y/N must have been there in every race that Mick participates in. She would have been there with Sebastian proudly cheering for Mick.

“Hey”Mick was right on time to interrupt him “Media is sometimes even more tiresome than the race”

“You think that’s bad, wait till Formula 1” Sebastian snickers.

He slipped the picture back to the drawer and shut it close to avoid anyone else from snooping. If this was hidden away then Mick might have wanted it private and away from prying eyes. Sebastian respects that. However, Mick didn’t miss it.

“You saw the picture, didn’t you?” Mick asked

“Yeah” a sad smile graced Sebastian’s face “It’s been a while since I saw her and its just a bit nostalgic”

Mick has tried to avoid talking about Y/N as per her wishes and of course because he was unsure about Sebastian’s thoughts. He didn’t have the full picture of what went down but he was not dumb to not know that the ending caused them a lot of pain.

As a witness to their pining, Mick can tell that Sebastian never stopped loving Y/N.

“You miss her” Mick softly says.

Miss was a simple word to use. Sebastian longs to be with her. He has all the connection, power, and money to find her but he always stops himself. She needed time and he is willing to give that to her. However, he really longs for her.

“I do kid, I really do miss her” Sebastian sighs.

“Even after all these years?” Mick wondered

The older driver could only nod. Mick gave Sebastian a comforting hug. Mick wished that he could say the things that he know but he made a promise and his Papa raised him to honor his words. The hug is the only thing he can do right now.

2016, Yas Marina Circuit

The party was on full swing. The drinks are flowing, and Jenson could not hear the endless cheers of congratulations for his retirement. As a former party boy, he used to enjoy these kinds of events but now that he is getting older he seems to be taking a step back. He found himself making his way out of the balcony to get some open air.

“Ditching your own party? That’s so unlike you Jenson”

It seems as if Jenson was not the only one who needed some fresh air as Sebastian was also out there with a beer. The Ferrari driver has a drink in hand as he leans by the balcony.

“I think I entered my party days too early so now I’ll be retiring” Jenson admits.

“Congrats to your retirement man”Sebastian hugs him "Retiring seems to be a trend"

The implication was subtle. For the past few years, people have been retiring. Starting from Mark to Y/N and now its Jenson. He has also heard Nico joking around earlier that maybe he could retire as well now that he has a world championship. Sebastian couldn't help but ask if this is a sign from the heavens that maybe he should as well

"You should try to, there is an appeal to it." Jenson voiced out his thoughts.

Taking a sip from his beer, Sebastian shakes his head in response. He can't retire yet. He still has a passion for racing, its the only thing he has ever known so it would be hard to quit it.

"I think I can still keep up with the young ones"Sebastian replied thoughtfully.

"Wanting to race or do you want Y/N to find you easily if she decides to come back?"

Bold statements from Jenson seems to take the conversation to a different turn. A sober him would have himself controlled with the information that he shares especially with Y/N. But his defenses are down and he knew Sebastian wanted to know how she is.

“She is doing okay, she is better now and healthier. But I don’t think she will return, she is happy with her life now. No media, no stress, just a simple life”

A wave of relief washed over Sebastian's face. It was a sense of comfort for him to know that she is okay. The distance is difficult but he is glad that she is alright and getting better.

"I'm glad to hear that." Sebastian stated "But I’m not asking for her to comeback. I want her to have her time to recover as she said"

Jenson's face contorted to what seems to be an irritation or maybe this was the alcohol making his emotions go haywire.

"Why are you like that?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"How can you keep waiting and holding on even though it has been years. You should have forgotten her, you should have chosen another one. Why do you stay?"

"Because I love her." Sebastian answer was immediate "I know it is naïve and simple but there is no other way to put it. I love Y/N. I think she tried to push me away before but its always her no matter what. I know I made mistakes and I hurt her and I tried to make it up. Everyday I am trying to do better because I wanted to be a better person that Y/N comes back to"

The air that Sebastian ended his speech with was crackling with tension. Jenson, who seems to be drunk a while ago, suddenly sobered up with the confession. He looks skeptically at Sebastian and he could see how much he means everything he just said.

"You really love her right seb?"

"I do."

"Okay then wait for her." a resignation in Jenson's part "You take care of her okay? She is one of the best person in the world and she deserves the best. I hope you don’t get tired waiting for her."

Jenson has always been careful to keep his feelings away. He knew that this was a losing battle to admit his emotions but maybe people were right to say that alcohol manages to bring out the deepest darkest truth that we have.

In this haze, Sebastian finally dawns a realization. Something that he should have realized years ago. It was so obvious now that Jenson is all drunk and open to read.

“You love her”

“Loved.” Jenson begrudgingly admits “I know at one point I tried shooting my shot because I wanna piss Mark off. But when I got to know her damn man, I was a puddle. I knew it was useless to tell her how I feel when a) I am a playboy that cannot be taken seriously b) you look at her like she hangs the whole universe in front of your eyes and c) because she loves you so so so damn much”

Plenty of times that Jenson wished that he played his cards right. He wished that maybe he could have sabotaged the relationship and show Y/N that he is a better option. However, he doesn't have the heart to do that knowing that it would end up with Y/N being hurt. He also knew that her happiness is with Sebastian and all he ever wanted was to make her happy.

“So you take care of her better now that you know that I’ll always be watching your back. You fail another time and I’m stealing her away” Jenson laughs jokingly

Sebastian nodded in agreement.

2017, Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya

"One, two, three, smile!"

Anyone passing by would have thought that its just another tourist family with the mother taking a photo of her daughter and husband. But they couldn't be more wrong.

Four time world champion Sebastian Vettel was hiding under the glasses and the cap. He looks like any other regular dad with his fanny pack and the simple get-up. Margarette was now 3 years old with a crooked smile that makes her a spitting image of her father.

"Papa, where we gonna go today" the little girl couldn't contain her excitement.

"You are so energetic huh" Sebastian picks her up with ease and placed her to sit comfortably on his shoulder "We are off to see this beautiful place"

"What is it?"

"It's a secret but its near" Sebastian assured.

It was one of those trips that Sebastian have planned to spend time time with Margarette. The Spanish Grand Prix was just right around the corner so Sebastian is maximizing his time to spend with his little girl. Hanna couldn't help but feel a sense of joy seeing the two together. Maybe the two of them didn't work out as a couple but she was glad that Sebastian never abandoned Margarette.

"Papa are we going to that big palace?"Margarette asked "Mama look we are going to that palace"

Margarette was pointing to the tall construction of the Sagrada Familia. It made Hanna let out a small wow because she have heard stories about this place before but this was really a breathtaking sight.

"It's not a palace darling, its a wonderful church made as a biggest apology for the city's sin"Hanna explained.

"But Hanna"Sebastian interjected "I think this is the grandest showcase of love because they keep on working on it for years and years for the city's forgiveness and-"

Sebastian stops halfway. The memory of the place from years ago seems to dawn him and why the whole conversation was flowing out as if it was recited for memory.

"You alright Papa?" Margarette wondered.

Sebastian was quick to shrug everything away, "Let's go inside"

The inside was even more beautiful than its facade. Margarette didn't know where to look and she seems to be awestruck anywhere she gaze upon. Sebastian chuckles to himself plagued once more by the memory of a certain someone that he once toured with in this place.

Once again, Sebastian was at the pews muttering a prayer. Even now he doesn't believe but he prays to any mighty Being out there to take care of Y/N. If its possible, make her walk again and help her heal from everything that she has been through. Sebastian was sure there were some stray tears that runs down his cheeks as he prayed.

A tug at his side reminded him that Margarette was there sitting next to him.

"What do you pray for?" she wondered.

"I'm praying for a friend"

"Is that why you cry?"she pressed on more "Is friend sick? Is friend sad?"

Sebastian honestly don't know what to answer with the following questions. How could he say so when he didn't have any form of communications with her.

"I don't know baby if she is okay but I pray she is okay" Sebastian sighs.

Her tiny hands reached for Sebastian as if a way to comfort him. Sebastian held Margarette's hands tightly. Hanna watched the two of them from a pew behind not wanting to interrupt the moment of the two.

"You know they say we can get three wishes when we visit a new church" Sebastian diverts the topic "You should go make your wishes"

"Like a birthday wish? It will come true?"

Sebastian nods and he immediately noticed how she brightened up. She was at that age that she has so many to wish for and she wanted to wish every best thing in the world. However, after a moment she seems to smile.

"I'll wish for your friend to be okay" Margarette declared "And I hope you see friend soon"

"That's very thoughtful of you baby"Sebastian couldn't help but hug his little girl.

Silently, Hanna prayed as well for that wish to come true. She hopes that maybe Y/N could come back for Sebastian. She has been a witness to how much Sebastian waits for her to return and its clear to her now how much he means to her.

2017, Suzuka Circuit

Sebastian Vettel asked about when is he going to settle down.

After being stuck in a panel in the Japanese Grand Prix media day with a group of drivers who have wives and girlfriends, Sebastian Vettel sticks out like a sore thumb in the bunch. He was pressed as to when would he introduce a girlfriend or if he has any plans on settling down. The Ferrari driver joked that the media is just like his mother asking him the same question.

“The thing is, I am happy as I am at the moment. I am not cynical about the idea of love, its just that lets say that love has already found me early. Maybe I am a sappy or romantic but I intend to wait for that love to return to me because it’s the love that I have promised to wait for. Nothing compares to her.” The person behind Sebastian’s definition of love has remained a mystery to the media. It has already been years but Sebastian has not been spotted to bring any partners to the paddock.

When asked about his rumored daughter, Sebastian has admitted that he has a daughter. He refused to deny his daughter but he wanted a quiet and simple life for her. “She is someone I treasure greatly. I intend to keep her away from the media as much as possible, she is one of the best thing that life has given me without asking.” He also mentioned that she is co-parenting with the mom of his daughter as they are great friends and nothing more.

2018, Albert Park

“Exciting season yeah Kimi?” Sebastian was his usual enthusiastic self.

The Finnish driver just shrugged a small yeah as they pass through security. Sebastian was already used with Kimi’s responses and he decided that it balanced out their duo. If Sebastian is the hyperactive one then Kimi is the laidback quiet one.

“Did you hear Jules' godkid is coming to the grid this season?" Kimi wondered.

Sebastian remembered how Jules has been mentoring a young kid before. He has mentioned his name multiple times but Sebastian have forgotten it already.

“Charles?”Kimi offered.

“Charles? The one we saw in 2015?”Sebastian asked

“Yeah that one. He got a seat at Alfa Romeo”Kimi nodded in agreement.

It was crazy how quick time passed by. It was just yesterday that he was racing with Jules and now he will be racing with his godkid. Sebastian could feel his age catching up on him with the new rookies joining the grid.

“We better go check on him and welcome him” Sebastian suggested.

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up later”

Sebastian headed to the Alfa Romeo garage which is quite a walk from the Ferrari garage. He stopped by to greet some of the media and the people at the paddock. But he has his eyes set on to welcome the newest rookie to the Formula 1 community.

"I'm looking for Charles Leclerc" Sebastian announced upon reaching their sister team's garage.

The mechanics were quite busy with the preparation for the car so all hands were on deck. It was a good thing that Fred Vasseur immediately caught Sebastian's presence

"I think he is the driver's room with his family" Fred smiled

"Can I interrupt them?"

"Go ahead, I'm sure Charles would love to see you her" he encouraged.

Sebastian made his way towards the room and he could hear the overlapping voices of Charles' family. It brings him back to the first time that he joined Formula 1 and his whole family has also been supportive just like this.

"Charles, be careful. I don't want you hurting yourself in your first race"

"So I can do it in my second?"

"You are a little menace, how do we put up with you?"

The bantering between them seems to keep Sebastian from disturbing them. He knew that he shouldn't be eavesdropping on them and he started to think that maybe he should just greet Charles later during the drivers' parade.

"But Charles listen to Pascale, you come back safe to us"

The chills that went down his spine when he heard that voice was like no other. He knows that person very well but he can't help but think that he may be wrong because its been so long. His heart started to beat loudly, his clammy hands shaking to twist the door knob of the door open. He was out of his wits to even overhear that Charles was getting out of his driver's room.

"Yeah, I'm-" the shock was visible in Charles face and he immediately steps out of his driver's room "Sebastian, I didn't know you were there"

Sebastian wanted to mentally facepalm himself to be caught in such an embarrassing situation.

"I just wanted to welcome you to the grid, kid" Sebastian manages to say

Charles shifts from his spot, "Thanks I guess"

It was obvious that Charles seems uncomfortable with Sebastian around. A normal feeling that a rookie driver would feel in his first season. Sebastian wanted to ease his mind a little.

"Jitters?"

"You could say that" Charles agrees "Maybe I just need a little bit of time with the family before I go out and race"

"You do that. I'll see you later"

"Thanks Sebastian"

As Sebastian retreats, Charles could let out a sigh in relief before entering his driver's room again.

Pascale was there with eyes wide as if asking his son if that's who she think it was outside the door. Lorenzo and Arthur were by the door seemingly anxious with the interaction.

"He's gone now and I think I managed to hold him off" Charles assures everyone "But I still think its really a bad decision for you to be here"

"And miss your first race in Formula 1? Jules would kill me"

Sitting at the corner of the room, Y/N Webber was there. Her face seems to have matured over the years but she still carries the same tricks just like how she is fiddling with her necklace.

All eyes of the Leclerc family was on her because this was the closest call that she have encountered with Sebastian after all these years.

"I have been careful Charlie. I have been to several of Mick's races undetected with him at the attendance. I have been in some Formula 1 races undetected "Y/N soothes "Calm down, okay?"

Charles couldn't help but feel a little bit guilty. He didn't want his debut to be the reason for Y/N's pocket of peace to be disturbed. He certainly didn't know that Sebastian was coming to greet him.

"I travelled a long way to watch you race so you better focus, okay?"Y/N encourages.

"Thank you for being here Y/N" Charles softens to a smile.

"But Y/N, aren't you planning to ever meet Sebastian again?" Lorenzo couldn't help but wonder.

The girl in question could just smile.

Honestly speaking, there wasn't an answer in her head at the moment. Hearing his voice just a door away was taking all of her self control to not run outside and hug him. She is scared if he would still welcome her back or would he still love her as much as she loves him even after all these years?

Fiddling with her necklace, the pendant that he has given still sits on the chain together with the ring he once gave her.

#about you series #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel angst #sebastian vettel imagine #sebastian vettel fluff #f1 fanfic

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hummingbird24220 · 12 days ago

Note

OKOKKOKKKK WHAT IFFFFFF reader does something REALLY cringe (like junko posing or speaking in cursive) and zoro just....throws them off of the ship BUTTT everyone forgot that reader is a devil fruit eater so they actually start drowning and no one goes to save them until it's completely silent.. No spashes or nothing. and when someone brings them back on deck (preferably sanji) reader isn't breathing and they almost die. Uhhh sanji x reader if you can (mouth to mouth mayhaps????)

I LOVE YOUR WORKS I HAVE READ THEM ALL BTW ILY AND THE WAY YOU WRITE SANJI

yessssssssss i love a good junko pose. also THANK YOU, i worry Sanji is OOC sometimes but i suppose this is just my interpretation of the sexy man.

Its not as long as i would have liked, but i think it ended in a good place <3

Hope you enjoy!

Consequence of Cringe

Sanji x Reader

The sun was blazing, the sea was calm, and the Straw Hats were just trying to enjoy a peaceful afternoon.

Which, of course, meant the perfect time for you to strike.

You stood on the edge of the Sunny’s deck, one foot perched dramatically on a barrel, your long coat (absolutely unnecessary in this heat) fluttering in the breeze you summoned yourself using a hand fan. With a mischievous smirk, you threw your arms wide and struck the most flamboyant pose imaginable—one that Junko Enoshima would envy.

"Fools! You thought you could live in peace?!” you howled, spinning with over-the-top flair. “But this world is filled with despair! Misery! And bad fashion choices! I—" you twirled, then froze in another pose with a twisted grin—"—am your reckoning. Call me the Cringe King!"

Chopper blinked. “Is this a bit?”

Brook leaned over to Franky. “Yohoho... I can’t tell if they’re joking or actually possessed.”

Usopp was already hiding behind a barrel, muttering something about cursed performance art.

And Zoro?

Zoro didn’t even blink. He just grabbed you by the back of the collar mid-monologue, walked to the edge of the ship with the same casual energy as taking out the trash, and—

“Overboard.”

You screamed all the way down.

SPLASH.

Sanji, who had just walked out of the kitchen with a tray of drinks, frowned. “Huh? What was that?”

“Y/N,” Nami deadpanned, arms crossed.

“They were doing the thing again,” Zoro added with zero remorse.

“Fair,” Luffy said, chewing meat. “It was kinda weird this time.”

"Still," Robin mused, flipping a page of her book, "Zoro, didn’t you say they were a Devil Fruit user?"

There was a long pause.

“...Oh.”

Sanji blinked, the tray clattering to the deck as his brain connected the dots. “WHAT?!”

Heads snapped toward the railing.

No more splashing.

No more shouting.

Just... quiet.

Too quiet.

Sanji didn’t wait. He dove off the edge without another word, tearing through the water like a bullet. It didn’t take him long to spot you—limp, floating just beneath the surface like a broken marionette.

His heart nearly stopped.

“Nonono—come on, mon amour, don’t you dare—”

He grabbed you, dragged you back up, and kicked into overdrive, reaching the Sunny again in record time. The others helped pull you aboard, but you weren’t coughing, weren’t moving. Your eyes were shut. Lips blue.

Sanji dropped to his knees beside you, eyes wide with panic.

“Y/N?! Wake up!” He pressed his ear to your chest.

Nothing.

He cursed under his breath, tilting your head back and pinching your nose. “Come on, come on, s’il te plaît...”

And then—

Mouth to mouth.

He sealed his lips over yours, gently but urgently. One breath. Two. He pushed on your chest with shaking hands, then tried again.

The rest of the crew stood frozen in silence.

Then—

You choked.

Water shot out of your mouth as your body convulsed. You coughed violently, rolling to your side, gasping like you’d never tasted air before.

Sanji caught you before you could fall again, pulling you into his arms. His breath was shaky, his voice even more so.

“Don’t you ever do something that stupid again,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

You blinked up at him, dazed, then muttered hoarsely: “Was it... at least a good monologue...?”

Zoro groaned.

Luffy laughed.

Sanji just held you tighter.

You blinked up at the sky.

It was blue.

Too blue.

Everything ached. Your lungs felt like someone scrubbed them with sandpaper, and your throat burned like you’d gargled lava. Your clothes were soaked, your limbs heavy—and your dramatic monologue had been criminally underappreciated.

You groaned, flopping your arm over your face.

“Ughhh... What happened? I was in the middle of my villain arc...”

“You drowned,” Sanji’s voice snapped, tight and low beside you.

You peeked at him through your arm.

He looked pissed. Not annoyed. Not irritated. Genuinely pissed. His hair was dripping, jaw clenched, and shirt still clinging to him from the ocean water. But even through the tension, his eyes scanned your face like he was afraid you’d vanish if he blinked.

“Oh.” You blinked, then frowned. “Wait. Did I... seriously drown? Like, no flailing, no epic comeback—just ‘blub blub, Y/N go bye-bye’?”

“That’s not funny!” he snapped.

You flinched a little, guilt replacing the remnants of your dramatic flair.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

He didn’t answer. Just stood up and walked off, muttering something about getting you dry clothes.

You sat up slowly, still wheezing. The crew had mostly dispersed, probably out of secondhand embarrassment. Brook gave you a thumbs up from across the deck. Chopper was pacing, clearly still shaken. Nami offered a little “Glad you're okay” before disappearing with a sigh. Luffy waved like you hadn’t almost died.

And Zoro...

Zoro stood nearby, arms crossed, trying really hard to look like he didn’t care.

“Tch. Should’ve sunk deeper.”

You turned toward him slowly.

Your eye twitched.

“Oh. Oh, you’re still here.”

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “What, you gonna monologue me again?”

“No,” you rasped.

Then you pulled your fist back—

AND FALCON PUNCHED HIM ACROSS THE FACE.

“YOU THREW ME OFF THE SHIP, YOU SOGGY SWORD-SWALLOWING GREMLIN!!”

Zoro actually stumbled. He took it like a champ, but there was definitely a red mark forming on his cheek.

“Hey! You survived, didn’t you?!”

“Barely!”

“You were doing the voice again!”

“That’s called art, you uncultured shrub!”

The two of you were mid-screaming match when Sanji returned, tossing a towel at your head.

“Y/N. Dry off. You’re not even wearing shoes.”

You caught the towel with a pout. “You’re all lucky I didn’t have a tragic backstory monologue lined up, too.”

“We are lucky,” Sanji muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “Wait, how did I even get out of the water? I can’t swim, remember?”

Everyone went awkwardly silent.

Zoro looked away.

Luffy scratched his head.

Chopper blinked. “Uhhh... you don’t remember?”

“No?”

Sanji turned around, waving a hand. “Doesn’t matter. You’re safe now.”

You stared at his back. Something in his voice was weirdly soft.

You tilted your head. “Did you save me?”

He paused.

Then he lit a cigarette.

"...Maybe."

You squinted. “You’re being weird.”

Sanji didn’t turn around. “You’re imagining things.”

Zoro rubbed his jaw, muttering, “He totally mouth-to-mouthed them.”

Your head whipped around. “Wait. WHAT?”

Sanji froze.

“Zoro,” he growled.

“What?” Zoro smirked. “Just saying. Bet your heart rate hasn’t dropped since.”

Sanji spun, ready to kick his head off, face flaming.

You?

You just turned beet red.

And then coughed violently because you forgot your lungs were still wrecked.

The ship had quieted down by the time you made it to the kitchen. Everyone was either napping, training, or still recovering emotionally from your full-blown theatrical disaster-slash-near-death-experience.

You were clean, in dry clothes, and still a little shaken—but mostly? Embarrassed. Painfully embarrassed.

Sanji stood at the counter with his sleeves rolled up, quietly chopping vegetables. He hadn’t said much since he saved you. Just made sure you were okay, made sure you didn’t die, and… avoided eye contact like he was the one who’d screamed despair-themed monologues.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping into the kitchen.

Sanji didn’t turn around. “You shouldn’t be walking around yet, chérie.”

“I’m okay. Promise.” You sat on a stool at the counter, arms resting in front of you. “And… I wanted to say thanks.”

He finally glanced over, brows raised. You met his eyes, sincere this time. No dramatics, no posturing.

“Like. Actually. Thank you,” you said. “I’m really sorry for being a dumbass.”

Sanji tilted his head. “You weren’t a dumbass.”

You blinked.

He turned back to the cutting board. “Zoro was. He’s the one who threw you off the ship.”

You smiled a little. “Okay, yeah, true. But I kinda set the stage with my ‘despair and doom’ speech.”

He cracked a smile at that, just a little one.

“I should’ve taken it more seriously,” he said. “When you didn’t come up right away, I—” His voice caught in his throat. “—I thought we were gonna lose you.”

You stood quietly, heart softening at how his hands trembled ever so slightly around the knife. You walked around the counter and leaned against it beside him.

He stiffened as you gently took the knife from his hand and set it down.

Then you stepped close and rose onto your toes, brushing your lips softly against his cheek.

It was feather-light. Barely there.

But Sanji froze like you’d kissed him with fireworks and a confession.

You smiled. “I figured I owe you a kiss that isn’t tied to the worst moment of my life.”

He blinked, slow.

“You—you don’t owe me anything,” he said, voice cracking in disbelief. “I didn’t do that expecting—"

“I know,” you interrupted, smile still soft. “That’s why it means something.”

He turned toward you then, really turned—one hand reaching out hesitantly to brush your cheek, like you might disappear if he touched too hard.

You leaned into it.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmured.

“You didn’t,” you whispered. “I’m right here.”

Sanji’s thumb traced your jaw gently. “Can I—?”

You nodded.

This kiss was slower. Warmer. Still a little breathless, but not from drowning. From feeling.

When you finally pulled away, his cheeks were flushed, eyes dazed.

“Also,” you added, “you’re totally allowed to kick Zoro into the ocean next time.”

Sanji grinned, smug. “Gladly. Maybe I’ll wait until he’s mid-monologue too.”

You snorted. “He never monologues.”

“Exactly. It’ll really catch him off guard.”

#x reader #one piece #luffy #sanji #nami #reader insert #nico robin #tony tony chopper #usopp #sanji x reader #request

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 1 year ago

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hi it's the good omens mascot here's some shit about me that might be relevant

I appear to have accidentally caused chaos so I figured you might as well know about me since I'm responsible for it. And also so that you know who you broke, thanks ineffable fandom.

I have been called the prophet by some of you all. This is not entirely untrue, but I would like to add as I did in one post, that Apollo also gave me the curses of art, (very emotional) music, (sometimes good mostly dreadful) poetry, (same parentheses apply, except that the dreadful is on purpose) writing and (used to be good now dreadful) medical knowledge, and so yes, you did accidently adopt a messenger of an ancient Greek god.

Yes, this entire entry into your cult happened from start to now happened in 48 hours.

This will seem less bizarre when I give you context about me and fandoms. I changed career paths (after three years of intense study that cost me my sanity) from science to the arts because I was inspired by drarry fanfiction of them leaving their ministry jobs and following their dreams. Yes I tossed three years and my loss of sanity away in one week of decisions. I'm now a designer. Thanks Draco.

I read so much drarry fanfiction that my mum had to take me to the hospital for injured wrists. I wore wrist and elbow supports and was in constant pain for a few months. I was only later introduced to autoscroll. Yes, I am a fool. Yes, I am unaware of how to human.

I'm broke and cheap enough that I feel guilty buying bottled water, but for Christmas I spent the equivalent of around 150 bottles of water getting a Bakewell tart custom made (they don't sell them where I live). Why? Because in one single fanfiction, it is Draco's favourite food. I would never spend that kind of money on a dessert for any real human being.

That is to say, you all are not ready for when I REALLY fall for Crowley. I don't saunter vaguely downwards for people. I bypass earth and crash into hell, leaving a smoking pit in its infernal ground.

I swear I'm not as dumb as I seem, I just have ZERO general knowledge, and am terrible with faces. I can tell you what the graffiti on the walls of Pompeii from before 70 AD said but I don't know who my previous president was, and personally I think that's very classy of me.

Some of you seem concerned about my sleep schedule. Worry not, I sleep in four installments, night, morning nap, afternoon nap, evening nap. I sleep more than you all, that I can promise. I sleep more than my doggy sister.

About the streams and the timezones, I have no idea how to make it so people can watch, because I frequently mix up east and west and last morning I mixed up the Pacific and Atlantic ocean. I don't know at what point the Eastern hemisphere becomes the Western or how any of it works. I also thought Wakanda was a real place.

But hey fun fact, in 2020 diclofenac sales were dropping in Iceland. I know this because I wanted to make sure to use the correct painkiller in one sentence of a story I was writing. It was completely irrelevant. But hey any of you writers here probably feel my pain. I don't write fanfiction, but I am an author and I write original stories. And honestly what is more useful, Icelandic diclofenac sales from three years ago or timezones?

A career test once told me to be a standup comedian.

Yes that's me Asmi, just your regular dumbass lad who is slightly unhinged, serving himbo twink energy, hello hi nice to meet you all. PS: the poll results are out and Doctor Who won, so tremble, DW fandom.

#good omens fandom #good omens mascot #asmi #weirdly-specific-but-ok #this is me y'all #good omens brainrot #thanks for breaking me i figured you should know about me #crowley #just crowley i'm going to shatter soon #drarry #draco malfoy #fandom culture #fandom things #doctor who #dw fandom #more inaccurate summaries coming up #good omens #fanfiction #and how it ruined and saved me

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yandere-romanticaa · 2 years ago

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With a sigh, Welt tore away another piece of paper from his sketchbook, unsatisfied with his latest creation. The pencil in his hand trembled as he gripped the piece of wood so tightly it could almost be shattered to bits if he wasn't careful. Turning his head towards the clock he checked to see the time - it was close to midnight, most of the crew was either fast asleep or they shut themselves in their rooms, making sure to do whatever they needed to do quietly and not disturb anyone on board at such a late hour. He sat up, the wooden chair scraping against the floor as he put the sketchbook back on the table along with the pencil he nearly demolished by accident. With the reach of his hand he went straight for the handle and opened the door, the soft clicking of his shoes being met with the pavement on the other side.

The only source of light in the dark corridor was the infinite sea of stars which were on his left side, said stars taunting him to take a peek throughout the window and bask in their beauty.

Opening the door for the parlor car Welt saw Pom-Pom in the room, the tiny critter having its back turned away from the man. Welt made sure to mutter a "good evening" as he made his way towards the leather seats but Pom-Pom jumped at the sudden greeting, its ears rising high in the air as it accidentally let out a tiny yelp of surprise. Covering its mouth in embarrassment, Pom-Pom huffed and stomped its feet on the ground.

"Welt! Do not sneak up on me like that!"

Welt had a flat look on his face as he stared down at Pom-Pom, a glimmer of sorry just barely visible in his eyes.

"I am sorry, Pom-Pom. I'll be more careful next time." said Welt as he fixed his glasses. He sat down on the plush seat, making himself comfortable while doing nothing in particular. Welt's mind seemed to be elsewhere but Pom-Pom could tell that something was off about the man tonight. His jaw was tense, lips pressed too tight and he was looking too far up ahead, clearly lost in some other dimension. At first Pom-Pom decided to give him some space but as it let the silence settle, the more Pom-Pom got disturbed. Welt was a quiet person by nature but the energy he was radiating off tonight was beyond off-putting. Checking the clock, Pom-Pom saw that almost an hour had passed since Welt stepped foot into the main parlor car and the man was not doing anything.

He was not drawing, tinkering with something, reading, hell Pom-Pom would be happy if Welt would suddenly start break dancing out of the blue, just something to break the tension. Crossing its arms, Pom-Pom walked towards Welt and asked him with zero hesitation:

"Welt, what is wrong with you?"

This question brought Welt back down to the ground as his soft brown eyes widened ever so slightly. Just what was he doing? He... He wasn't sure either. He could not sleep, not with-

"You're thinking about (y/n), aren't you?"

Welt felt himself choke on the air he inhaled as he heard Pom-Pom mutter a little I knew it! under its breath. Gasping for air, Welt pressed Pom-Pom for more questions as to just how it knew what was on his mind.

"You aren't as subtle as you think you are mister." teased Pom-Pom, a tiny grin on its face. Welt felt his cheeks heat up at the provocation but decided not to take the bait. Pom-Pom placed its tiny paw on Welt's knee, the warmth spreading fast as Welt looked down and saw Pom-Pom's concerned gaze.

"Keeping such feelings isn't good for your body or soul. You should do something about that."

Pom-Pom was right. Welt really should do something about his feelings.

But what?

Just what in the devil was he supposed to do? At the mere sight of (y/n) his heart would speed up at an alarming rate, so much so that he almost passed out on several occasions. He can still feel the soft touch of (y/n)'s hand against his cheeks, worry etched onto their face as they checked to see if Welt was okay. The man would always, without fail, grit his teeth and power through it with a smile, reassuring (y/n) that he was indeed fine and that he might have taken a sip of Himeko's coffee by accident. Yes, that was what made him feel ill, not the boiling hot jealousy that was slowly taking over his entire being as he watched the way in which everyone in the express got close to you.

Welt was more than a little ashamed of these resentful feelings. After all, everyone on the express had pure intentions, he had nothing to worry about. And yet, whenever he would see March scoot next to you and start taking pictures he would always make sure to stand in the frame which would in turn, annoy March beyond belief. He made sure to always check those photos, his gaze glued onto your smiling or bamboozled face, only then would the prickly thorns around his beating heart settle.

The same could not be said whenever he saw you alone with Dang Heng or Himeko. Just what were you doing with Dang Heng, all alone locked in the archives? There was no way you were just going through the files, the nights could get long and boring after all... and whenever he would see you the next morning, a smile plastered on your face his mind could not help but wander.

Himeko did little to soothe his worries as well as the woman would have her arms around you constantly, be it your thighs, hair, waist, literally anything she could possibly grab.

...why couldn't he be so casual? He was tired of always being swept by the sidelines. At the end of the day, Welt was nothing more than a man.

But that night, he decided to take Pom-Pom's advice to heart, but, perhaps not quite yet. The thorns around his heart would cease the second he saw you once more.

He really could just stare at you forever and die a happy man. He just wished no one could enjoy your radiance too.

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sainteclectic · 2 months ago

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“We can't keep doing this, Atlas.”

Atlas hears a voice beside them, and faintly, they remember being loaded into the passenger seat of a car. Beside him is Helios, tapping his finger impatiently against the steering wheel, eyes glued to the road. Atlas just hums in response, which makes it bristle with frustration.

“Atlas.” It starts with a tone that Atlas knows will become a lecture. “I've had to drive you to the hospital five times this month. And yet, you refuse to tell us why. You haven't even told us where you're going, let alone what’s giving you those bite marks. Do you enjoy worrying us?”

Atlas lifts his head from the car window slightly. “You… You’re worried about me?”

“Of course I fucking am!”

The sudden outburst makes Atlas jolt upright, his surroundings becoming a spotty blur from sitting up too fast. As their vision returns, they see Helios gripping the steering wheel tight, teeth gritted.

“...Atlas, please,” he starts again, quieter this time. “We just want to know what's going on.”

It's a type of gentle vulnerability Helios rarely allows itself, and their chest hurts because they know what it's asking for is something they can’t give. Not when it could lead to Harmonia being hurt.

As much as Atlas trusts Helios, as much as he trusts Juno, there's no way either of them would react well to the truth. And once they found it out, he would have zero chance of stopping them. Harmonia would be in danger if he said anything.

So despite Helios’ pleas, they look away without a word. Instead, he focuses on the side view mirror, wondering how bad he must look to get Helios that concerned.

Helios sighs, and Atlas can tell that it's glaring at him.

“Fine. Be that way.”

His voice is harsh, but Atlas knows it's a farce. It's the tone of disappointment, of anger, of helplessness. Their chest only aches further.

“I… I can't,” they manage. “I can't tell you.”

“If someone is blackmailing you—”

“It's not that!”

The raising of their voice startles even themselves, an amount of energy they didn't know they had left. He takes a shaky breath.

“I—I'm not being forced, or… or coerced, I'm… I'm happy! I'm finally fuckin’ happy, I finally have a reason to stay alive, I…”

His vision blurs, but he doesn't feel dizzy anymore. Belatedly, he realizes he's crying. They clench a trembling fist.

“...I can't let you take him away from me.”

An uncomfortable silence lingers in the secondhand car.

“‘Him?’”

Wait.

Atlas’ breath catches in his chest, realizing a moment too late what he's just done. They've never mentioned it was a person before.

“Nonono, wait— I didn't mean—” Atlas feels their heartbeat pound in their ears. “There—there's no him! None at all, I—I'm just confused, haha, must be the blood loss…”

The blood loss is the least of their concerns. How could he be so careless? Harmonia is doomed. The thought makes Atlas feel sick. They should've died. The blood loss should've killed him. At least then, maybe, Harmonia would be saved.

No. No, then he would starve instead. Somehow, that prospect scares him far more than bleeding out.

From the driver's seat, Helios looks at him with a raised eyebrow, and they feel that ache in their chest sink to the pit of their stomach. After a pause that feels like an eternity, it turns its attention back to the road.

“Don't overexert yourself. You've lost too much blood to be making a scene like this. Save your energy for when we get to the hospital.”

The world is falling apart. They can feel it melting away, spinning with nothing to hold onto, making Atlas even more nauseous. He looks out the window, hoping that would make the nausea go away, but the sun in his eyes makes his vision go spotty. They sink down into their seat.

“...Right.”

#a little crumb of plotline. as a treat #will probably post this on ao3 at some point as well #cccc #chonnys charming chaos compendium #chonny jash #cj soul #cccc soul #cj mind #cccc mind #lifeblood au #cj lifeblood #eclectic excerpts #cj whole #cccc whole #<heavily implied

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sheeezu · 3 months ago

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A conversation with myself. (Past self and present self)

I used to have a tumblr account with zero followers. The blog's sole purpose was to scream out into the void, my frustrations and agony. It wouldn't be tagged, and it wouldn't reach anyone. That was the purpose of it.

(Don't read this. If you were to read this, this will change your opinion on me. But don't worry, you don't know me, we're strangers. Therefore you must have a moldable opinion on me, some shifting post I made resonated with you, perhaps. And that's all.)

There's no turning back, there's no synchronisation anymore once you let go

Why hold on to others so hard, you don't know. Assume them royalty, assume them authority over your thoughts, your life. One day you're going to have to walk away from them, it doesn't matter if they've benefited you or not, you might as well walk away empty handed, with your soul half developed, dependent on someone else, have you asked yourself, why do you need other people's success stories or advice, to achieve something? Does it not set your soul on fire, do your eyes not burn, that you still haven't taken control.

You don't have to be synchronised with your environment, with the thoughts of other, since once you sought after a new identity, does it not sound ironic, you're a supposed creator of your reality, but you're still looking around for step by step instructions, what are you, a fraud?

Don't contradict yourself now, don't embarrass me now, you're choosingly still here

Stop saying you're fighting something, you never jump to go "I'm fighting gravity/physics". If you despised it so much, you'd stop thinking about it, without your energy, will it exist? No. You know that, than what's so "tragically beautiful" about choosing to be aware of this place? Are you a sadist?

What do you try to find?

Who will you find here? Was your family lineage so rich you delved into its root? Let's face it, it was a shit show. Do you have plans of sitting by the lake, reminiscing about your pain? We can do this elsewhere, I fear even the swans might attack us here. Does the end of your suffering give you a superiority complex, who do you think you are, acting all high and mighty? There's a new flow to your tone, you're helping people. How much more can you achieve in this reality, I'd see, you're going to tire out once again. The first impression of this reality will remain our last.

It weren't heaven

An impossible goal, it wasn't our place to begin with, unfortunately if you escaped flying bullets, you should be at the minimum be granted a half assed paradise where you still have to ask a glowing projection of your assumption "please".

You should be glad you escaped it, acting like a devil did the trick, as your sinister walk prevented you from ever seeing your soul being sucked out of your feet, as you rocked yourself at 80.

You're not a savior

You're not meant to be, you might think it's the truth, either you could be selfish or selfless. You can not reach anyone at this state, the voices which don't reach their ears might as well land as bullets in their chests. Just close your eyes, and shift to the fairytales, you always wanted to be a hero, anyways.

You are a rebel, but you can't start a revolution

Good, you've escaped the traditions and the wicked culture, the tag you were given at birth. You were brave. You ran with your weak bones and anemic blood, good. Its cool that your intensity of energy, dreams and ambition push apart the foundation of all existence. Its cool you built a world for yourself, a dazzling exhibition of self-expression. But don't fall into a delusion. As if a few paragraphs written in the dark at 3am are going to change anything. You're as powerless in this reality as you always were. You don't belong here, you're as invisible to the people here, and they're to you.

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bless-my-demons · 2 years ago

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Redamancy: Chapter Four

Jasper Hale x Reader

Series summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: Almost-car accident? Talk of getting smushed by a car.

Notes: Finally, a little something-something! I’m trying to post on the weekends to have some sort of schedule, but I have zero impulse control… so here it is a day early!

Word Count: 2146

Series Masterlist

• January 25th, 2005 • Forks High School •

Jasper

Not only am I lucky enough to spend lunch with Y/n, but some godly force must be watching out for me in that today’s history assignment allowed me to team up with her and learn more about her.

Her energy is absolutely fascinating and it almost worries me that I’m internally compelled to want to spend even more time in her presence. Two days and I’m already a goner, Emmett is going to have a field day interrogating me tonight.

Which leads me to now, after completing our history assignment with only a few minutes to spare, I’m escorting her to her car in an effort to prolong this addiction to her attention.

“Where are you from?” I ask, curious to know anything about her.

“Texas. Well, Dallas more specifically.” She’s still watching the ground as we walk, nervousness pouring from her.

“Why Forks? You couldn’t of picked a more completely opposite environment.” I miss my home state, and if it weren’t for my adversion to the sun - I would return.

“My parents divorced.” She continues before I could apologize for the intrusive question, “Happily divorced and I protested the whole ‘stay together until she graduates’ bullshit.” Fingers gesturing around the air quotations.

She trails off after that, circling back to our history assignment that no doubt has her still worked up. The Civil War, I cringe internally at today's topic since it’s a sore one for myself - having lived through it and fought in it.

“All I’m saying is, maybe history class should be more focused on the lessons learned, than just the events themselves.” She states rather passionately while inserting the key into the lock on the driver’s door of her car.

“To recognize and avoid in the future.” I respond, leaning my back against the rear of the small vehicle as I scan the wet parking lot packed with kids.

“Exactly!” She pops her head up, an excited smile in place as she garners my gaze again.

But just over her shoulder my eyes flick up to catch the sight of a blue van headed our direction a little too quickly for such a busy spot. A car horn blaring has her turning in its direction and the gasp I hear across the parking lot from Alice sends me into action. I grab Y/n by the waist and spin her against her car, so that my back might take the brunt of the hit, but it never comes as the rear of the van just barely slides past us. I relax the grip I have on her and tear my eyes from hers as I spin my head in the direction of the vehicle, ready to yell at the driver for being so reckless. The words die in my throat as I see where it’s headed - straight for Isabella Swan.

“Bella!” Y/n screams, but it’s lost in the screech of tires and the headphones in her ears that are keeping the outside world out.

Just as I’m about to damn us all to save another girl from this idiot driver, Edward flashes past to stop the van from crushing the Sheriff’s daughter.

“Fuck.” I whisper, glancing back to where my other adopted siblings are standing next to their own vehicles - faces unreadable, but emotions blaring alarm.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. Please be safe getting home?” I ask her urgently as I peel my fingers from where they want to stay gripping her, safe and close to me.

“But Jas-“ she starts, a little shell shocked at my quick action of saving her and the close call with her friend.

A whistle from Emmett interrupts her before she can interrogate me, so I flash her an apologetic smile before jogging at a normal human pace to the familiar silver Jeep. My hands flex in my lap the entire tense ride home, warm and tingly from when I gripped Y/n to protect her fragile little human body.

If we weren’t vampires already, this family meeting about to take place would definitely give Carlisle a full head of gray hair.

• January 26th, 2005 • Forks High School •

Reader

“Hey, mind catching me up on what that was yesterday?” I immediately bombard Jasper as I sit across from him at what I’ve mentally deemed ‘our table’ at lunch.

He glances up from his sketchbook with a look that says he wasn’t prepared for my blunt line of questioning.

“The saving you from certain death part, or?” He leaves open ended for me to clarify.

“The part where Bella was alone next to her truck, but your brother teleported to her side AND somehow the van skidded to a stop right before turning them both into pancakes?” I’m not pulling my punches with my queries, after having spent last night stewing over what I had seen.

“He wasn’t that far from her when I moved you out of the way, I must’ve distracted you enough that you didn’t see him walking to her after he got out of class. Plus, the van wasn’t going that fast, maybe when it hit the back of her truck the tires got traction and he could brake properly.” He answers, turning his gaze back to his sketch and resuming his work.

I don’t really buy it, but I mull over my recount of yesterday afternoon as I pull my lunch from my bag. Was I so focused on Jasper the moment he put his hands on me? Was I so soda-strawed in on Bella being in the way of the van that I missed Edward?

No, something isn’t adding up. I know that van was hauling ass in the parking lot, I was going to yell as much at the idiot driving before I saw it headed for Bella. But I can also tell I won’t be getting the answers I want from Jasper. I can tell from the rigidity of his spine that he’s worried I’ll ask more questions. I mean, his recount of the accident isn’t out-landish, but I know what I saw!

I need to talk to Bella.

“Yeah I guess that makes sense.” I acquiesce. I see him deflate a little with relief as I pick at my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Thank you for saving me, by the way.” I add nervously, a little heat working it’s way onto my cheeks.

Jasper glances up to my face and with a small smile, “Anytime Y/l/n, anytime.”

• January 27th, 2005 • Forks High School •

Reader

“Bella!” I yell down the hallway, catching her as she slams her locker shut. I jog over to her as she turns towards the exit, everyone that has Mr. Banner for Biology is going on a field trip today.

“Hey Y/n, what’s up?” She questions, seeing the look on my face.

“Tuesday, parking lot, what the hell happened?” I jump right into it.

“Tyler must’ve lost traction-“

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. Edward was nowhere near you.” Cutting off her redirection. “Jasper won’t budge, he insists I was distracted and didn’t see his brother before the accident.”

Bella glances around the hallway and decides to pull me into the empty female bathroom for some privacy.

“Edward is avoiding me, I was asking him the same questions when I was at the hospital and he refused to answer.” She answers nervously.

“It’s weird, right? I mean, one second I’m unlocking the door to my car, and the next Jasper spins me around to protect my body with his. And then I see Edward jump over the tailgate of your truck when I thought Tyler’s van was going to end you.” I’m just rambling the thoughts that have been pinging around the last two days.

I can see her hesitate, “You can talk to me, you know? I kinda don’t have any friends besides you, I mean - if you want to be friends?” I tack on the last part, worried I’d over stepped.

“Yeah no, of course - I um, I could use a friend to vent to.” Bella glances down at her shoes, picking at the sleeves of her sweater as the both of us exit the bathroom. “He’s coming on today’s class trip, I’ll talk to him then and see what I can find out.”

“Perfect, want to sit with me on the bus?” I ask, walking out of the building for the student parking lot where the buses are waiting.

“As if I’d risk getting stuck sitting with Mike Newton, absolutely.” She jokes back. “I’m going to grab my book from my truck, I’ll be there in a sec - save us a seat!” She yells as she jogs to her vehicle across the parking lot.

As I board the first bus I can hear Mr Banner yell at everyone loitering in the parking lot, “Yo yo yo, hey guys c’mon! We gotta go, we gotta go! Green is what? Good, let’s go!”

A few moments later Bella joins me in our claimed seat, book in hand looking a little frazzled. I see Mike pass us with a forlorn expression on his face, “Oh God, what happened?” I ask.

“He asked me to prom and I told him to ask Jessica, please don’t make me talk about it.” She answers with what I assume is a shiver of discomfort.

I want to laugh, but I just grin instead. “Your not-so-secret admirer fumble is safe with me, Bells.” I knock my shoulder into hers to tease her a little as I crack open my own book I brought for the bus ride.

• Community College Greenhouse •

Reader

Walking alone in line through the greenhouse, my hands drift over the different sprouting vegetables. Behind me I can hear Mr. Banner giving a spiel on “compost tea” and how its derived from table scraps and other organic waste. Every now and then my fingers float over the soft petals of flowers placed sporadically through the hundreds of food-producing plants; earlier it was explained that they encourage pollinators to visit.

Even though I’m a smidge lonely since Bella is hanging back with Edward, I’m glad to be surrounded by greenery instead of stuck in a stuffy classroom.

Just as Tyler Crowley pushes past with a clear mug of what looks like poop/dirt water, I spot Alice just ahead standing to the side of the isle with Jasper to allow students to flow by. When I get within arms reach, Alice loops her elbow through mine, almost like she could sense my loneliness.

“So,” she drags out the word cheerfully, “Enjoying the plants? Fresh air? Freedom from school?”

“Oh absolutely,” I glance over my shoulder at Jasper following behind us silently. “I’m surprised you’re not off in a corner doodling flowers, Hale.” I catch him duck his head and chuckle under his breath as Alice watches our interaction, surprised.

“And isolate myself away from your commentary? Never, Y/l/n.”

“Oh, Emmett’s opinions on your drawings are too much, but mine aren’t?” I smile as I turn to look at new plants as we pass them in our slow walk through the final greenhouse.

“My brother isn’t nearly as interesting.” His response catches me off guard and if it weren’t for Alice’s grip on my arm I would’ve stumbled on the wet concrete.

“As I live and breathe, Jasper Hale flirting-“ but Alice doesn’t finish her sentence due to Jasper snaking out a pinch to her ribs, her flinch forcing our hold to separate. Before I could chide Alice for teasing her brother for just being nice, Edward storms up to the three of us.

“Ready to leave?” He glances between his siblings, pointedly ignoring me so that I wouldn’t feel the obligation to join them.

“Edward-“ Alice says disapprovingly, but he pushes past us without waiting for an answer. She looks at me apologetically before skipping after him.

“Sorry about my brother, he’s insufferable when he’s in a mood.” Jasper offers as explanation as we watch the two of them exit the greenhouse.

“I get the feeling he’s always in a ‘mood’.” My fingers emphasize the last word with air quotations and it draws another chuckle from the gorgeous boy at my side.

“Touché.” He says with a grin. “I better catch up before they ditch me, see ya around darlin’.” He weaves his way through the crowded isle and out of sight before the heat settles in my cheeks.

I manage to file outside and towards the buses with the rest of my class after I gather my wits. I spot Bella already in our shared bus seat with a sad expression. “Wanna talk about it?” I ask as I sit.

“Not right now.” She answers, turning to look out of the window.

#twilight #jasper hale #jasper hale x reader #jasper whitlock hale #redamancy series #bless-my-demons #twilight fanfiction #jasper hale fanfiction #jasper whitlock #female reader insert #jasper hale twilight #jasper hale x female!reader #slow burn #romance

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panpanghost · 6 months ago

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I can't believe it but part 3 of this :

_"Hey guys!" Monkey king jumped off his cloud and into the sand where the gang was waiting at the shore,

_"Monkey king! Are you okay?! Where's Macaque?!" MK asked worriedly,

_"Hey hey, easy budy. I'm as gorgeous as ever and Macaque is asleep." Wukong put his hands on MK's shoulders and he could feel MK relaxing after saying that,

_"Oh, that's great. Wait- asleep? Why is he asleep?" MK went back to his worry,

_"He was trying to find new info about the crown as well and stayed up for a couple of nights so I thought I'd just let him sleep."

_"he must be working hard... did he find anything?"

_"Unfortunately no."

_"Fiddle sticks... But don't worry! We found something! But thankfully it's wrong."

_"Why would you say that?"

_"Because if what we found is true, Macaque would've been dead by now." Mr. Tang added,

_"What?" it was almost a whisper, Wukong now understands why MK was so worried, "Ahem. Why? What did you find?" he asked hoping it's nothing serious,

_"Well, the scroll said it's 'the corrupted king's crown'. It's supposed to take over the person wearing it. Once under its control, they start to destroy everything around them until it absorbs all their energy... and soul..."

_"Well no need to worry. Macaque has healed nicely and hasn't used his powers to destroy anything, so maybe it's another crown or the information is badly translated." Wukong said smiling,

_"Really?! Oh that great!" MK felt relieved, so did everyone else, their faces finally lit up.

_"Show me the scroll and I'll look into it, maybe ask a few old friends."

_"of course, here." Mr. Tang gets the scroll out of his bag and gives it to him.

_"Now that that's out of the way, I feel so much more relaxed and super hungry, I'd love to eat some noodles." Mei said giving Pigsy a side eye and everyone else joined,

_"ALRIGHT ALRIGHT!! I GET IT!" Pigzy snaps at her, well... if he's being honest, he's also hungry.

_"Do you and Macaque want to join us?" MK asks the monkey king before they started heading towards the ship to leave.

_"I don't think that's a good idea, kiddo. Staying here is safer for him." Wukong felt his heart squeeze when he saw MK's disappointed face, "Once he's all good, we'll go together and have a feast." he said and winked at MK, and it did make him a bit happier.

Once everyone left, Wukong opened the scroll. Damn it. It is the same crown... Is that why Macaque couldn't use his powers? Is that why he couldn't heal and needed my powers? Is that why he couldn't recover his memories? He did say that he feels pain in his entire body every time he tries to use them...

That's...

GREAT! So as long as Moonpie wears the crown he won't leave. But... the soul sucking part is worrying. He hasn't lost his mind yet so maybe the spell wasn't completed properly when whoever did this put it on him. I need to make sure that part is out of the way-

_"Wukong?" Macaque startled Wukong when he came from behind him,

_"Oh, peach! What are you doing here?"

_"I heard them leave so I came. Did they find anything?"

_"Sorry peach, they only thought they found something but it doesn't fit so we're back to zero."

_"Oh.. That's disappointing."

_"Hey hey, don't be sad, it's just a little set back, you'll be fine, I promise." Wukong hugged Macaque and gave him a little forehead kiss,

_"Yeh, I guess." Macaque said hugging Wukong back, "I just don't know what to do. I'm lost." Why...

_"Well, for starters, how about we take a long hot shower, and then I give you a little massage aaaaand maybe we can watch TV, there's a show I KNOW you're gonna love."

_"*sniff* yeh, that sounds good." Why are you lying?

_"yeh?" Wukong held Macaque's face in his hands, "You have nothing to worry about."

_"I know." Macaque said as Wukong wiped his tears, "I have you."

_"Yeh you do! Now let's go, we'll order some food as well."

_"oh I love that! Can we get some noodles?"

_"I'll get you whatever you want." You just have to stay with me and I'll give you the world.

_"I want a piggyback."

_"pffff, haha! Alright, get up here." he held him on his back and headed back home.

edit: part 4

#macaque #six eared macaque #lmk macaque #sun wukong #lmk sun wukong #shadowpeach

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anonymous-rendezvous · 2 years ago

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He Comforts You - Shu 💜

Shu Yamino x GN!Reader

✦ — Written by Mod I ✨. Beta Read and Edited by Mod S 👿. ⏌

✧ — Comfort & Care Masterlist | 💜 You comfort him

✦ — Contains: Established Relationship, fluff, & comfort

✧ — Word count: 515 | Ao3

Snippets of time showing how you and your partner care for each other.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

From the second you’d woken up, it had become pretty obvious that it was going to be a low-energy day. Thankfully, no plans had been made for today and you could try to rest as much as possible. How this had all led you to stand in your kitchen looking down at the counter, you had no clue. However, trying to remember why the hell you’d come in here… your mind had totally blanked, thoughts clouded with static. Giving up on trying to remember, you decided to make your way back to the bedroom.

However, as you get closer to the bedroom, you can hear your boyfriend talking. Now standing outside of it, you try to recall if he had a stream to do today, but come up blank. Trying to be as quiet as possible, you push the door open and peek inside.

Almost immediately, Shu catches the movement out of the corner of his eye. “Oh hey, babe.” Turning his head towards you, he smiles and gestures for you to enter the room. “Not streaming, if you’re worried about that. We’re just playing for fun.” Amethyst eyes flicker back to the screen and a bashful giggle falls from his lips. “They all say hi.”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips and you give a small wave before realizing they can’t see you. This causes Shu to laugh harder as you immediately hide your face in your hands. As the sorcerer explains what happened, you shuffle closer to him. Once you reach his side, you give his hoodie a light tug. His eyes meet yours and it’s then that he seems to realize what’s happening. With quick movements, he excuses himself for a second before muting his mic and giving you his full attention. “Blue day?” He asks, tone gentle. When you nod, he continues, “What can I do to help?”

“Can I–” you hesitate, worried that this might be too inconvenient for him, your gaze falling to the floor. A hand wrapping around yours breaks your line of thought as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “Um, can I sit in your lap while you play? I think your body heat would really help me right now.”

With zero hesitation, Shu moves his mic out of the way before completely turning his chair around so you have enough space to climb into his lap. And you waste no time doing so. Once you are settled, face buried against his shoulder, he shifts back around to face his computer. He pulls his mic just close enough to pick up his voice and unmutes.

As he continued to play more rounds with his friends, whenever he died or they waited for a new round to start, one of his hands always found its way back to drawing soothing circles along your back or stroking over the back of your head.

Eventually, you feel yourself drift off, and in your last conscious moment, you feel his lips press against the crown of your head. Their softness blessing you with sweet dreams.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Likes are nice and we do appreciate them. However, comments/feedback is what really motivates us to continue writing. Even just a keyboard smash or emojis are a joy to see!

We do not allow our stories to be translated or reposted/shared anywhere. The only places our stories should be found are on Ao3 or Tumblr. Nowhere else.

#shu yamino x reader #luxiem x reader #nijisanji x reader #shu yamino #nijisanji luxiem #nijisanji shu #nijisanji en #nijisanji #x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #Mritten by Mod I ✨

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yaoi-enthusiasts · 1 year ago

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Suguru Geto — In Love With a Cult Leader

Masterlist <3

One of the longest ones I have written >_<

MDI- 18+, smut, sadness, degradation, fluff, sad sad sad, I’m sorryyyyy—

You saw the two young girls, bruised and scared, fearing what their fortune was about to become, Mimiko & Nanako the two twin girls. You just so happened to be cleaning the rooms of the building the girls were imprisoned in, scrapping up the change you were given to feed your mother and father, who beat you just as badly. You watched as the young man who stood taller then the men beside him killed each and every person in that village, the anger gleaming in his eyes, you hid behind the door, fearing you were next. You had given the twins food any chance you could, Mimiko sticking her hand out to yours, to hold it. She sensed your fear of what was happening. The tall man, known at Suguru Geto, stood over your shaking body, noticing how the small 5 year old child was holding your hand through the bars of the cell. “Get up.” He scolded, he could kill you in seconds, he sensed zero cursed energy from you, waving away, deciding to put an end to you. “No please.” Nanako cried. “She gave us food, and cleaned our cuts.” Mimiko cried, “Please spare her.” The two girls said in union. Suguru Geto staring down at you, “What could you possibly do to be worthy of life, you monkey.” He growled. “W-well, I can clean, and I can cook, and I-I’m very good with kids, I-I had brother’s and sisters before they got sick and passed.” You shook, trying to look the tall man in the eyes. “Please.” The girls pleaded with the young Jujutsu sorcerer. Geto waving his hand, smiling at the girls, a sense of relief washed over, “Let’s get you girls out of here, it’s dangerous here.” He smiled, helping you stand, and helping the girls stand as well. The young girls held onto your hand, and Suguru grasped onto your hand as he walked. This was the official start of your new life as a servant of a man who became wanted for genocide.

6 months later

Suguru finding a secluded home out in the rural lands, he found a home for the 4 of you to live, while he built his empire as a cult leader. The girls were thriving, learning about their cursed technique and the difference between curse users, jujutsu sorcerers, and monkeys also known as you.

“I don’t like calling Mama a monkey.” Nanako said, “A non curse user.” Geto corrected, wanting to please the child and her worries of her new mother, he knew you were not at fault for not being able to have any cursed technique, but he somehow always took his hate out on you, with the way he spoke about people of your kind.

As you resided in the home with the curse users, you begin to see curses you had never seen before. Having fear when they would taunt you, one particular night, one would tickle your feet at the edge of the bed, and run its tongue up and down your legs, beginning to rape you with its tongue. You cried out quietly, you were gentle, quiet, you knew not to bother the great Suguru Geto. “Why must you silently cry, rather than ask for my hand?” Geto grumbled, sucking the curse up, swallowing it whole. “T-thank you.” You cried quietly, your body shaking from the forced orgasm of a curse. You felt so vulnerable in the way you night robe was open, and you were disheveled. “Come with me.” Geto ordered, you stood up, wobbly legged, following the tall young man. You followed him into his bedroom, he opened the door for you, “You shall sleep in here from now on, so I can protect the weaker one of the home, I would hate for the one who cooks our dinners, to be gobbled up by a mere curse.”He chuckled, it was a taunt at you. But you were thankful he was willing to protect you despite your limitations.

2 year later

The two twin girls now the age of 7 and a half, they were growing tremendously, you and Suguru now being 19 years of age. “Mama” Mimiko mustered out, “Yes my beautiful girl?” You smiled, “Are you and Geto-sama in love? My friend has a mama and a daddy and they love each other.” She giggled. “I-“ You nearly choked. “Girl’s are you ready for your lessons?” Geto smiled, interrupting the conversation that had left you speechless. Suguru had never once even touched you, even though you had slept in his bed every night since 2 years prior. You were his loyal servant, cleaning up the blood of the people he would kill, scrubbing blood from his robes and kimono, with zero complaints. You were as innocent as a butterfly, yet you were given the duty that made you fear the man respectfully.

The day had come to an end, Geto spent the day with the girls, and meeting with other curse users, preaching his belief of a new world with only curse users. You felt your heart twinge, what if it came to a day, where he could not make an exception, and kill you along with the other non cursed users. As you looked at the clock, you knew he was going to be coming back home from his temple anytime soon. Drawing him a bath, with a fresh pair of night clothes, and a towel. You laid them out delicately for him to easily grab and use. “Good evening.” Geto smiled, appearing behind you quietly. You hadn’t noticed how long his hair had grown. “I am tired today, please bathe me.” He quietly said, removing his Kimono which looked like was free of blood today. “Of course, Geto-San.” You quietly muttered. “Suguru. Only you can call me that though. But only when we are alone.” Geto said, dipping his aching body into the bath.

“Ah, I sensed Satoru today, he must have been near. I wonder how he has to be doing?” Suguru questions to himself, letting the hot water sooth his aching muscles. “I am going to rinse your hair.” You said. “Mmhmm.” He hummed. You washed him, feeling your heart pound as you watched his hard cock throb under the water. “Theres no way he would actually make me touch it, would he?” You thought to yourself. “Ignore it, I will take care of it.” Suguru sighed, lightly jerking himself, while you washed his hair. “I-I can help, I-If y-you need.” You shyly said, you didn’t know where that came from, you rinsed the soap from Suguru’s hair, watching his mouth open lightly, his breath getting heavier, as he jerked himself under the water. “You want to?” Geto peered into your eyes, looking so innocent and yet so needy. You made it in your head, that your only means of living was to fulfill the needs of Suguru Geto. You nodded your head, getting on your knees, dipping your arm down in the bath, Geto grabbed your small delicate hands, guiding it to his large member, you wrapped your small hand around it, mimicking the movement he was doing, his breath hitched, “Fuck— yes, just like that.” He groaned, throwing his head back. This was probably the most vulnerable you had seen the long black haired man. You felt his groin twitch, releasing a milky liquid. His muscled relaxing and feeling his chest lightly heave up and down. “Please let me finish up in here alone. Thank you for assisting me.” He waved off, as you glanced at him one more time before walking out, you noticed his cheeks that had turned a bright red. “He’s embarrassed.” You thought to yourself. Finding it cute how the man blushed.

2 year later

Nothing happened between you and Suguru Geto, the most that you would do, is jerk him off and then leave when he was finished. You felt your body begin to grow hot for the man, being 21 now, and seeing the way he was changing, his arms being more defined, and his stature growing bigger, he stood over you like a tree, even the way his voice had grown more calloused, and almost a purr when he would speak to you, but when he spoke to anyone else, it was a kind and gentle sensai. One night as you lied in your bedroom that you did not share with Suguru, your hands wondered around your body, you dipped your fingers into your throbbing heat, this wasn’t the first, nor the second, probably more than the 20th time, you had fantasized about Suguru and how he would touch you. But they were simply only fantasies, there was no way he would ever make love to a monkey like you, at least that would be what you would tell yourself. “Y/n!” Suguru shouted from the halls of the home. You jerked up, your orgasm had already begin to subside, you hid your hands behind your back, as he barged into your room. “Why are you in here?” Geto says in an almost angry hiss. “I just wanted to lay down quietly for a little bit, I apologize Geto-San.” You bow your head. Geto smelled your arousal from across the room, “What were you doing?” He questioned, itching closer to you. “N-nothing, I was only lying down.” You stammer. You had brought your robe down before he came into the room, but your underwear was on the side of the bed. “Is that so?” He pushed an eyebrow up. “I smell your lust from here.” He whispered into your ear, flicking your robe open. “Ah!” You screech out, covering your mouth, not realizing the hand you used was the same one where your juices were dripping from. “Mmm I see you have already accomplished your goal.” He says with a smirk, grabbing your hand, and staring at you. “I- I am sorry Geto-San.” You nervously get out, “Suguru.” He whispers into your ear, then placing your hand closer to his face, flicking his tongue around your digits. “Geto-San!” You say, trying to pull your hand away. “Would you much rather I lick where you got these delicious juices from?” Suguru questions, eyeing you. “I could never ask for that!” You say, embarrassed, the redness in your cheeks were practically on fire. “Let us head to our bedroom.” He lifts you up bridal style. “I must confess my passion for you, I regretfully can no longer care to keep it hidden from you.” He says, latching his lips onto yours, you never knew how much you wanted this, and how much you craved for his attention, his affection, his acceptance, until this very moment.

Suguru placed you on the bed gently, grabbing a hair tie. “Dinner was splendid, but this my dear, this is my dessert.” Suguru groaned, opening your legs wide, spreading them. “Geto-“ You went to say, “Suguru, I do not want to hear you say Geto-San again. Am I clear?” He said with a dominate tone. “Yes, S-Suguru.” You said, biting your lip. “Good girl.” He said into your cunt, causing you to moan out loud. “I-I’m sorry.” You cover your mouth. “Did you just moan at my praise?” He smirked, “I-“ you said, not knowing what to even say. “Do I not praise you enough? I praise you for your food, cleaning, the way you take care of the girls. I must not praise you enough when it comes to you and I.” He says, spreading your folds, and beginning to lap his tongue over your already sensitive clit. “Su-Sugu.” You moan, you had moaned that pet name for years now, naturally coming out as he gave you this new found feeling. “Hmm? You taste exquisite.” Geto groaned into your cunt. “Oh yes.” You moaned, feeling your legs twitch. “S-so so so good.” You mumbled, moaning quietly. “The girls are gone, I want to hear you.” Geto said, licking faster, and inserting one of his thick fingers into you. “Ahh— slow slow.” You moaned, this sensation was new, you didn’t know how to feel, nor what to say. “Do you fantasize of me doing this to you?” Suguru questions, adding a second finger, stretching you slowly. “Yes yes yes.” You moan. “I think of you Suguru.” You whimper out. “I am but a lowly monkey, I am not worthy of your affection.” You moan out, you needed more, you needed him. You had fallen madly in love with the cult leader, then man who would call you monkey, or throw his robes at you to wash, the same man, who watched you scrub blood off the floor the first year of living with him and the girls.

“You will become my bride, you will carry my children, give me a child, give me your life.” Geto groaned, humping into the mattress. “Mmhmm, all yours.” You moaned. Suguru pulled himself on top of you, smashing his lips, passionately kissing you, licking all inside your mouth, sucking on your tongue. “Suck my tongue.” Suguru said, you did as you were told, as you did so, the man moaned into your mouth. You hadn’t even realize his robe was discarded now, and he was bare in front of you. You ran your hands all around his biceps, and abs. “Please Sugu, make love to me. I want to be yours til we depart from this world.” You cried out, tears sliding down your face.

“Y/n?” Geto quietly said, You began to cry, feeling his fingers rub your clit slowly. “Listen to me.” He said, looking into your eyes.

You nodded, feeling the pit of your stomach burn, it wanted to release so badly, but the pace he was going was far to slow, he knew what he was doing, he wanted you to listen to him, before he ruined your innocence.

“I will die one day, I will die trying to fulfill a dream of mine. When I pass, you will live a life making sure our children protect the weak, protect people like you. Please do not let my children follow in my footsteps, I do not want you nor the ones I love to die, live a long life my love.” He said, tears pulling out of his eyes. You had never realized how Suguru felt towards you, all the moments he forced you to do things you hated, you thought it was simply because he hated you, when in reality, it was him trying to push you away. But love had a way of being stronger in the end.

“I’m going to fill you my dear.” Suguru groaned, grabbing onto his length and lining himself up. “Hold onto me.” He said, you did as he said, you felt the tip push in, the stretch burning. “Ah-“ You hiccuped out, you were not prepared for such a night. “Suguru, I love you.” You cried into the crook of his neck, as his length pushed further into you. “My bride, I love you.” He said, pushing the rest of his inches into you, feeling something snap inside. “Give me many children.” He groaned, slowly thrusting so you could grow comfortable with his size. “S-so big.” You moaned and cried. It felt painfully good, you didn’t know how to describe this feeling, but it was a feeling you never wanted to forget.

The night consisted of the two of you going at it like to animals in heat, he filled your cunt with his seed, pushing it back in with his cock. “Let me fill you once more.” He groaned, he was obsessed with this feeling, he couldn’t believe how amazing you felt. “I love you, I love you.” You moaned. Your body was covered in his love marks, all around your neck, to your chest. You knew the girls would ask, but nothing mattered, you were Suguru’s and he was yours.

9 months later

“Mama— when is my brother’s going to be born!” Nanako giggled. “Soon.” Suguru patted her head, smiling down at the excited girls, who watched their adopted mother swollen with two twin boys. “I must admit, I will be putting another child in you when those come into the world, seeing you like this, make me want to ravish you.” Suguru whispered into your ear. Your cheeks burned, feeling the girls staring at you in confusion.

Suguru only dressed you in the finest Kimono’s, you were a queen in his eyes, building you and the girls a bigger home, “Raise my children in this home, for the rest of your days.” He had told you.

Years went on, and you were blessed to birth four of his children. You knew that one day soon, you would become a widowed mother, but you pushed the thought into the back of your head, as you stared at the beautiful children you both had created. “I declared war today.” Suguru said, rubbing your slowly growing belly, with his fifth child. “The girls told me.” You responded delicately. Suguru sometimes couldn’t believe how calm you were about the life you decided to live, the life where you never once tried to flee from.

“We have two four year olds, a three year old, two year old, and now I am having another child. I do not recall a time I was not filled with a child of yours.” You giggled, changing the topic. “We definitely have our hands full, make sure the girls help you dear.” Suguru kisses your belly. Tears well up in your eyes, you felt a burst of anger and sadness. “I wish you could have chosen the kids and I.” You cry. Suguru knew there was nothing he would say to ease the pain, so he rubbed your arm, and kissed you as you cried into his arms.

December 24th, 2017

It had been a decade now since Suguru had saved you and the twins, you watched the twin girls get dressed and complain to their adopted father how they wanted sushi when all of this was over.

“Girls, please be careful. I need my girls to come back safely.” You held onto them, kissing their foreheads. “Yes mama! Mama when we get back, can you make us homemade Mochi?” Mimiko squealed. “Yes my dear.” You smiled. You were 27 now, your husband the same age. “You ready girls?” Suguru smiled, he was in his finest Kimono. He had the gleam in his eyes, passion, he was going to win, he knew it. “When I arrive home, we will live in a new world my wife.” He smiled. You could only smile, tears trickled down your face. “I love you Suguru.” You smile, kissing his cheek. “I love you y/n.” He said quietly, watching your heart break. “Kiss the children goodbye Suguru.” You whispered. “Wait. Can we get a photo of all of us before you guys go, this is a special day after all.” You smiled, trying to push through the unspeakable event that was about to unfold. “Yes, let’s do that.” Suguru smiles. Setting up the camera, you 8 stood proudly close to each other, smiling. Before you knew it, they were gone, and you were at home with your children, staring at the photos that you took. One of them was Suguru turning to look at you smiling, his smile was the biggest in that photo, he looked like he had the whole world in the palm of his hands… it only pained you to see how happy and bright he was, but you knew in time, you would look back and smile at the graciousness and love from the criminal.

“Daddy isn’t coming home.” You cried, rubbing your belly.

He was not coming home.

“Y’n Geto?” The white haired, blue eyed man who was at your door said. “You must be Satoru Gojo. My husband has told me a lot about you.” You smile, opening the door for the Jujutsu Sorcerer. “Good things, I would hope.” He smiled, “Yes of course.” You laughed. Shutting the door. Your four kids went running to the white haired man, “GOOD MORNING!” They four bowed, the two year old near tripping. “Okay kids, come on and lets go to the play room, mama needs to speak with Gojo-Sensei. Can you say it was nice to meet you?” You say, “NICE TO MEET YOU!” They say in their child like manner, while they run off to their play room. “You have your hands full. I sense another on the way.” He says, “You’re like Suguru too, can you sense the cursed energy as well?” You question. Satoru nods.

“Please sit.” You point to the chair. “Please excuse the mess in the living room, my kids love to throw their toys everywhere. My husband is usually here to help me.” You nervously giggle, the lump in your throat forming. You knew your husband was dead, but no one outright told you, but you knew if Satoru Gojo came to your home, Suguru was dead.

“Suguru is gone.” Satoru finally speaks out. “I figured much.” You choke out, the tears trickling down your face. “I spoke with him before his passing.” Satoru began, clearing his throat, he looked just as hurt as you. After all, that was his best friend. “Suguru is a selfish man.” You muttered out, “Leaving me with 5 kids, to carry on his name, carry on his cursed energy, and to help me carry on in life without him. He was so passionate in what he believed, no one could have changed his mind, not even me.” You choked out, feeling your body ache at the sobs coming out of your mouth.

“He is selfish, yet so selfless. In his last moments, he asked me a favor.” Satoru bowed his head. “He asked me to take you and the children in, train the children to protect and learn the ways of Jujutsu. It’s funny isn’t it, the man who hated the life of a sorcerer, wants his children to follow in those foot steps?” Satoru chuckled. “That is Suguru.” You smiled, wiping your tears. “I’m not leaving my home, I want to stay here.” You said, “I respect that, once the kids reach 15 we will discuss further on their participation in coming into Jujutsu High.” Satoru smiled. You nodded your head. “Please is there anything I can do to ease your burden, I will take care of you. I’m sure Suguru handled your financial assets before his departure, but what can I do?” Satoru grabbed your hand, squeezing lightly. “Thank you.” You smiled. “I cannot manage the outside work, and sometimes I find it difficult to cook while watching the children. I would appreciate assistance.” You smiled. “I can do that.” He said with a nod.

Time passed, you had given birth to your fifth child, your first little girl. Suguru desperately craved for a little girl, and of course he was not here to see it.

“Gojo-Sensei was sealed…” Yuta Okkotsu tells you, “how?” You croak out. “Please sit.” Yuta says, trying to calm you down.

After the death of Suguru, Satoru had taken the burden of helping you, and introducing you to Yuta, who was essentially his right hand. You were not always very fond of Satoru due to his childish behavior, but your children loved it. It became charming. As you sit down, Yuta kneels in front of you, “A curse by the name Kenjaku has taken over Suguru Geto’s body. Gojo-Sensei did not properly dispose of the body, he became to soft in the end.” Yuta sighs. “M-My husband is—“ you cover your mouth. “He is not alive, but his body is, his body is being used by Kenjaku.” Yuta says again. You fall apart, all the memories washing over you, as Yuta shows you the footage of Shibuya and the man known as Kenjaku, who had taken over your husband body. “B-but my husband, there’s no way he’s alive?” You cry out. Yuta opened his mouth, then closed it. There was nothing he could say, except no. And he knew you didn’t want to hear that. “I have something else to tell you, which will be a lot.” Yuta looks at you, “Mimiko and Nanako were killed by the king of curses— Ryomen Sukuna. Unfortunately the only thing I was able to recover was their bracelets.” He said, handing you the bracelets that were speckled in their blood. “NO!” You cried out, your heart had shattered to a million pieces, your husband, your daughters, gone. They weren’t coming back. Now Satoru, the strongest of them all was sealed, you felt your heart ache, and your eyes flutter shut as everything turned black. You had fallen asleep, fainted at the shock of everything.

You woke up to the kids all eating dinner at the table, Yuta sensed your awakening. He ran over to you, saying— “I fed your newborn, luckily there was bottles in the fridge.” He smiled gently. He did not know how to talk to you, he only knew that you were broken, your life was destroyed, yet you had your 5 kids to care for, while you grieved your husband and two girls. You picked up the photo that was framed, the last photo you all took. The one where Suguru stared at you and smiled. “Yuta, please care for my kids. Take them away from here.” You weakly smiled. Yuta knew exactly what you meant, and he couldn’t stop you either. It was the end of the night, one of the drivers pull up to the house, and your kids are packed and ready to go. You kissed all your kids, and said you would see them soon. Yuta bowed down at you, “You are the strongest, tell your husband we will care for the children from here.” Yuta smiled, walking out the door, with the newborn in his arms.

This was your end, or maybe your beginning, you didn’t know, you just knew you missed your husband and girls, and nothing could ease your heart much longer. Picking up the cursed tool, you grabbed the photo, holding it in your hand, tearing pooling in your eyes, as you stuck the cursed tool into your heart. You felt your eyes close, then a moment later there you were— the field of grass which Suguru and you would lay out, it was just behind the house, Suguru was wearing a white Kimono, and you were in your silk one you had ended your life in. your husbands hair swaying in the wind, smiling. “I told you to not come so soon, you were supposed to stay with the kids.” he said with a head tilt. “I suppose Okkotsu took care of it. I’m glad the kid took them and not Satoru, Satoru is a fool after all.” He chuckles. You see your two daughters waving at you. “Mama! We missed you.” They smile, pulling you into a hug. You stood there as the girls smiled and hugged you. “We’re all back together again.” Nanako smiled. Your husband walked up to you, “My wife has had it hard hasn’t she?” He questions, grabbing your hand. “I am pleased to share my life again with you, I just wish it wasn’t so soon, but I suppose now we can spend our lives together in peace. Maybe we will even be worthy of being reincarnated and brought back together.” He smiles, pulling you into a hug.

“Sugu— where you go, I go. I never want to live a life that you’re not in it. Take me wherever you go.” You smiled and cried into the arms of the ghost, the angel, the man who was redeemed as innocent and forgiven for his crimes. The lords and Gods forgave the blood that he shed, and now you will spend the rest of your life, human and spirit, as Suguru Geto’s wife.

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