#WITHOUT FEELING BAD I MEAN SO I CAN KEEP SHIFTING THE BLAME ON YOU

[agirlsawalittlerose]

This is Me Trying

ModernAU!Aegon x OFC

Fresh out of rehab, Aegon Targaryen is looking for a way back into music when he meets Victoria, a talented but stubborn singer-songwriter who wants nothing to do with his family’s record label. Reluctantly thrown together, they form an unexpected creative partnership, finding common ground in music and shared struggles.

TW: Alcoholism, Addiction, Sexism

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 14: Walkway Blues

Wine, Pringles, the red sofa in the living room, and her best friend. Vic couldn’t think of a better evening.

She desperately needed it, after the chaos of the past few weeks and the looming threat of the Christmas party hanging over her like a dark cloud.

On the TV, a contestant on MasterChef was having an absolute meltdown over an undercooked lamb chop.

“This is embarrassing,” Sara said, shaking her head as she tucked her legs under her. “How do you get on MasterChef without knowing how to cook lamb?”

“I know, right? How difficult can it be?” Vic agreed, narrowing her eyes at the screen. “You season aggressively, sear it hard, baste it in butter. It’s not complicated.”

Sara turned to look at her. “Love, why do you sound like a non-Scottish Gordon Ramsay?” she asked, grinning proudly.

Vic barely knew how to fry an egg. And as for Sara, 99% of her diet consisted of Tesco meal deals and Taco Bell.

Vic ignored the question, leaning forward slightly. “Oh, here we go. He’s gonna cry.”

The contestant, a man far too confident for someone presenting a piece of meat that was still practically alive, was stammering his way through an explanation. The judges were unimpressed.

“I bet he blames the oven,” Sara muttered, taking a sip of wine.

And, as if on cue—

“It’s just… I think my oven wasn’t calibrated properly,” the contestant said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sara groaned. “Unbelievable.”

Vic scoffed. “That’s like blaming your guitar when you play a bad gig.”

Sara smirked. “Or the tap for a bad Guinness.”

“Oh my God, Sara. Depressing. That’s the best you could come up with?” Vic asked, half exasperated, half laughing, she noticed Sara laughing with her mouth open, before turning back to the screen. “Look at his face. He knows he’s done for.”

They watched in silence as the head judge cut into the meat, exposing a raw center that could’ve still been bleeding.

Sara exhaled dramatically. “Pack your knives and go.”

“That’s Top Chef,” Vic corrected.

“Same energy,” Sara said, taking another sip.

Vic grinned and reached for her own glass, only to find it empty. Without thinking, she stood up and stretched. “I’m getting another bottle.”

Sara glanced at the clock, then at Vic. “Don’t you have studio tomorrow?”

Vic waved a hand. “Not until the afternoon.” She walked toward the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder, “I’ll be fine.”

Sara didn’t reply, but Vic felt the weight of her silence. She ignored it. Focused on getting the bottle.

When she returned, Sara was watching her with an expression Vic didn’t like. Careful. Attentive. Concerned. Or at least something close enough to make her skin prickle.

Vic poured the wine, taking a long sip before settling back on the couch.

“So,” Sara said, her voice quieter now. “How are you?”

Vic blinked, caught off guard. “I’m fine.” She forced a lightness into her voice, but she could already feel the tension creeping in.

Sara gave her a look. “I mean, really.”

Vic took another sip. “Still fine.”

Sara set her glass down, watching her carefully. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

Vic frowned, playing dumb. “What does that mean?”

Sara sighed, shifting to face her fully. “I mean, you’ve been a little… off. Since, you know—”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence.

Since St. Louis. Since her brother’s incident. Since Aegon, the red bricks, and an unfinished cigarette.

Vic’s stomach clenched.

She took another sip, keeping her expression neutral. “I’m fine, Sara.”

Sara didn’t look convinced. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

The words hit harder than Vic expected.

She should say yes. She should say of course. But the truth sat heavy in her chest, pressing down on her ribs, making it hard to breathe.

So she just smiled, small and tight. “Obviously.”

Sara didn’t push. Just studied her for a second longer, then let it go.

The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable, until Vic grabbed onto the first distraction she could find.

“Oh, shit, he’s eating his own raw lamb,” she said, nodding toward the screen, forcing her voice to sound easy, amused. “Man’s got balls.”

Sara exhaled, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “I hope he gets kicked off just for the oven excuse.”

Vic laughed, taking another sip of wine—only to realize Sara was still watching her.

“I talked to Aegon…” Sara started.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Vic cut her off, lifting a finger. “Sara, babe, love of my entire existence. What did I tell you about using that name outside of work hours?” she asked, comically serious, her head light from the wine.

Sara huffed, rolling her eyes. “I know, but I talked to him and—”

“And unless you’re in mortal danger because of him—and honestly, not entirely impossible—I don’t care,” Vic interrupted again, trying to sound firm but keeping it lighthearted.

Sara sighed, clearly unimpressed with that answer. There was definitely something she thought Vic should know. But Vic had shoved Aegon under the rug as much as possible—she could even look at him now without feeling like an earthquake was ripping through her stomach. She didn’t need revelations.

“What about Aemond, then?” Sara tried again.

Vic raised a brow, grabbing a handful of chips. “What about him?”

Sara gestured vaguely. “I mean… you two have been spending a lot of time together.”

Vic snapped her head toward her, looking somewhere between bewildered and horrified. “Oh my God, Sara, no. We’re friends.”

“Friends like you and Aegon?”

“No, babe. Actual friends. He’s not my type.”

Sara shrugged, finally—finally—looking convinced for the first time that night. “Just checking.”

“For fuck’s sake, Sara, our conversations would not pass the Bechdel test,” Vic muttered, shaking her head with a laugh as she picked up her wine.

Sara burst out laughing, lifting her own glass and turning to her.

“Fuck men.”

“Fuck men,” Vic echoed, clinking her glass against Sara’s.

The next day, Vic stepped into the studio, nursing a mild hangover and a Coke zero. She wasn’t wrecked, not really, just slightly off-kilter in the way she always was after a night of drinking—like her brain was moving half a second behind everything else.

The studio was mostly empty, save for one familiar figure sitting on the sofa, guitar in hand. Aegon.

She stopped in the doorway. “Where is everyone?”

He barely glanced up, fingers still idly plucking at the strings. “Aemond sent an email. Moved rehearsal with the band an hour later.”

Vic blinked. “Oh.”

Aegon finally looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t see it?”

“No.” She exhaled sharply through her nose, shifting her weight. “Didn’t check my emails.” Which was true. She hadn’t checked much of anything after she got home, too busy drinking and ignoring the part of her brain that sounded a lot like Sara.

Aegon didn’t comment, just nodded once before looking back down at his guitar. His fingers moved, coaxing out a quiet arpeggio.

Vic lingered by the door for a moment, fingers tapping against the side of her Coke. The silence stretched, awkward and heavy. Aegon was still fiddling with his guitar, picking out the melody to Oblivion, the designated single, almost ready for the Christmas party.

She hated awkward silences.

Without thinking too hard about it—because thinking too hard would mean acknowledging things she didn’t want to acknowledge—she wandered over to the bass resting against its stand.

Aegon’s eyes flicked to her, his fingers pausing for half a second before he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He started playing again, and Vic fell in easily, plucking out the root notes first before letting herself settle into the groove.

But then Aegon, like the little shit he was, changed the chord progression.

Vic’s fingers stuttered for a split second before she adjusted, following the shift smoothly. She shot him a sharp look.

Aegon grinned.

Oh, so that’s how he wanted to play it?

Fine.

He changed the rhythm next, and Vic was right there with him, keeping up like it was second nature.

He sped up. She followed.

He threw in an unexpected pause. She anticipated it.

It became a game, a test of reflexes, a silent challenge wrapped in melody. Aegon kept throwing curveballs, expecting to trip her up, and she kept meeting them head-on, adapting so fast it was like she knew what he was going to do before he did it.

The grin Aegon was trying to fight off finally broke through. “Alright, show-off.”

Vic smirked, not even pretending to be modest. “You started it.”

He rolled his eyes and Vic did the same in reflex.

He settled back into the original progression, and Vic followed instinctively, their playing falling into sync like they hadn’t spent the last few weeks barely speaking to each other.

******

Aemond just didn’t know how to handle women—there was no other way to put it.

Sure, Aegon had occasionally caught him flirting with the harpist who dropped by the label every now and then. Maybe he’d even managed to sleep with her half a time, but it was painfully obvious that any woman worth her salt could eat him for breakfast without breaking a sweat.

But whatever, Aegon was in surprisingly high spirits that evening, thanks to that day’s rehearsals being particularly satisfying.

They were packing up their instruments when his brother showed up carrying a black coffee in a to-go cup and ceremoniously handed it to Vic, blushing like a schoolboy just because she’d said thank you.

Hazelnut syrup cappuccino—that was Vic’s favorite, Aegon thought as he plopped down onto one of the armchairs, momentarily marveling at his own memory. Maybe quitting drugs did have its perks after all.

But Vic had wasted no time and had already taken a sip.

“You were absolutely right, this stuff isn’t bad at all,” she commented, one hand resting on her hip as she shot Aemond one of her soul-destroying looks.

Aemond hunched his shoulders in response, his face holding something dangerously close to a smile—a sight rare enough to be noteworthy—and then launched into a ramble about aromatic qualities and how cigarettes supposedly tasted better after a black coffee. As if to prove his point, he pulled out the steel cigarette case he always kept in his pocket and offered her one.

She accepted. The two of them strolled out to the terrace, chatting away like it was the most natural thing in the world.

What a pathetic sight. What a complete disappointment.

Aegon forced himself to look away, muttering something under his breath as Cole and the rest of the session players packed up their gear. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

Maybe it was time to tell Cole to start looking for another bassist. It was only a matter of time before Aemond’s terminal awkwardness rubbed off on Vic, and she started driving Aegon crazy with nonsense about flat-wound bass strings. There was no way he’d put up with that.

"What do you think? Are you ready?" Cole asked, placing a hand on Aegon’s shoulder and snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts as he stared at the two idiots out on the terrace.

"Why? Did I seem not ready to you?" Aegon replied, his posture stiffening. He suddenly felt insecure, caught off guard by the question.

The label’s Christmas party was set for that Friday, and no, he wasn’t ready—not even close. But Aegon knew he probably never would be ready to endure his father’s sharp-edged judgment.

Of course, he couldn’t tell Cole that. Especially not with the other musicians in earshot.

"I think the track’s a hit, and you guys sound tight," Cole said with a quick glance toward Dan, the other guitarist, "but Dan’s an asshole, and I don’t trust him." Cole whispered to his ear.

Aegon laughed, unable to disagree. Dan had tried more than once to sneak in flashy flourishes that, first of all, sounded awful, and second, reeked of desperation and a need for attention—exactly the kind of thing Aegon couldn’t afford to let slide.

"What if you played it acoustic?" Cole added after a moment.

Aegon considered him, his mind churning.

If he performed it acoustic, his father wouldn’t be able to attribute the success of the song to anyone but him. And it would mean no Vic and her new sycophantic fanboy getting in his way for at least a few days.

It was a win-win.

“Oh Cole, you wanker, don’t threaten me with a good time," Aegon replied with far too much confidence.

*****

"You haven’t played me anything new yet," Aemond said to Vic as she huddled into her jacket, bracing herself against the biting December wind.

He immediately regretted the way it came out. His tone had been too stern, almost authoritarian—the last thing he needed was to put Vic on the defensive, especially now that her attitude toward him was no longer one of outright rejection.

She was finally starting to warm up to him, even agreeing to come to the Christmas party and perform in front of his father. The idea of her signing with the label felt closer than ever, a tangible reality within reach.

Thankfully, Vic didn’t seem rattled. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, taking a long drag from her cigarette, and smiled faintly.

"I don’t have anything good," she said, shrugging lightly.

"Bullshit," Aemond replied, his eyes glued to her in a way he couldn’t quite control. "Don’t make me show up at open mic night just to prove you wrong."

Vic smiled, shifting her gaze to the city sprawled out below them. “I thought you liked coming to open mic nights,” she said, throwing him a sly look.

“I only go to hear you,” Aemond replied impulsively, his carefully constructed filter—the one that had taken years to perfect—suddenly malfunctioning.

It wasn’t exactly how he would’ve phrased it if he’d given himself a second to think, but too late now. And, really, it didn’t matter; it was true. As she turned her eyes back to his, he thought he caught the faintest hint of a blush rising on her cheeks.

Surely he was imagining it.

“Need a ride?” Aegon’s voice broke through, startling them both as he appeared in the doorway leading to the terrace.

Of course. Of course his brother had to show up at the worst possible moment, as if timed by some cosmic joke.

Aegon tossed out the question with his usual cocky, indifferent air, the same attitude that grated on Vic just as much as it did on Aemond.

She raised an eyebrow, her expression sharp and skeptical, as if silently asking him to explain himself further.

“I have to drop something off with Sara,” Aegon added, his tone offhanded and deliberately vague.

Aemond smirked to himself at the flimsy excuse—probably the oldest one in the book. Why not just admit outright that something was going on between him and Sara? Aegon’s newfound sense of discretion was puzzling. Usually, he couldn’t help but brag about his latest fling.

And yet...it wasn’t like him to keep quiet.

Vic seemed to share Aemond’s suspicion, her confused expression lingering even now. “Isn’t she working?” she asked.

Aegon shook his head. “She worked the morning shift.”

Vic stubbed out her cigarette against the ashtray mounted near the doorframe, the motion so swift and feline that, for a split second, Aemond half-expected her to put it out on Aegon’s face instead.

Then, she turned back to him, handing him the lighter he’d loaned her just minutes ago.

“I’ll let you know if inspiration strikes,” she said lightly, her hand briefly brushing his as he took the lighter back.

And just like that, she was gone, disappearing into the night with Aegon following closely behind.

Aemond wanted to respond with something clever or even mildly charming, but all he managed was a useless, muted “mh.”

*****

Vic didn’t want to know what the hell they were talking about in the kitchen.

It wasn’t her business. Aegon wasn’t her business, and besides, she trusted Sara.

And yet, this whole he had to return her t-shirt excuse seemed like complete bullshit.

For one, Aegon claimed he’d borrowed it on the night Charlie stayed over—the same night Sara had closed at work and Vic had gone home early with Charlie. But Vic knew Sara’s wardrobe like the back of her hand, and there was no way—absolutely no way—Sara would have shown up to work in that shirt.

Also, why would Sara have lent Aegon a shirt in the first place? It wasn’t like she kept a stash of spares for emergencies. And even if, for some bizarre reason, Aegon had needed one, why the hell would he have chosen a Paddington t-shirt at least two sizes too small for him?

And if he’d borrowed it for whatever dumbass reason—why hadn’t he just given it back the other night at the pub?

Vic didn’t want to know what the hell they were talking about, and yet lying on her bed in silence, staring at the ceiling, was only driving her closer to insanity.

She sat up abruptly, brushing her bangs out of her face with a nervous swipe before slapping a hand over her face and glancing around for her tobacco. Her gaze caught on the guitar.

She felt a pang of guilt for lying to Aemond.

It wasn’t true that she had “nothing good.” She’d been writing nonstop ever since she and Aegon had stopped speaking.

“All You Wanted” had come out of her in one rush of emotion during a rare night when she hated him a little less. She’d been thinking about all the things she wished she’d said to him instead of...well, instead of what she had done.

Of course, maybe she hadn’t technically lied to Aemond. The song wasn’t ready. She was still tweaking it, still figuring out the last details.

But even if it was ready—even if it was perfect—she still wouldn’t play it. Not at open mic, not anywhere.

Too personal. Just a bit too revealing.

As she sat there, cigarette unlit, thoughts swirling, Vic found herself struck by the ridiculous dramatic irony of the moment. Here she was, about to pick up “All You Wanted,” while the man who’d inspired it sat just ten meters away, separated only by a wall.

Talking to her roommate. Sitting on her sofa. Probably drinking her tea.

Abandoning the tobacco, she reached for the guitar instead.

******

“You’re both pathetic,” Sara had said, without ceremony or even sparing him a glance. She sat at the kitchen table with her legs perfectly crossed, a cup of tea in her hand, shaking her head like a disappointed preschool teacher.

What annoyed Aegon even more was that every single attempt to steer the conversation away from Vic had failed miserably. Sara kept pressing him for updates—had they talked about what had happened? Had he grown a pair and told Vic how he felt?

If she weren’t the closest thing he had right now to the possibility of vulnerable sex, he would’ve told her to screw off.

No, actually.

If she weren’t the closest thing he had to a friend, he definitely would’ve told her to screw off.

“I don’t get what the hell you want from me!” he snapped, frustrated, slamming the tea mug down onto the table with more force than necessary.

“I’ve got nothing to say to her. I don’t want to talk to her, and even if I did, she’s practically glued to Aemond now!”

Sara snorted, the sound sharp enough to cut through his growing irritation.

“Unbelievable. You’re actually jealous of your brother.”

AS IF. Aegon didn’t even dignify the comment with a response. No, he wasn’t jealous—he just meant that even if he did want to figure out some way to smooth things over with Vic, maybe even talk her into ditching whatever girl code nonsense was stopping him from taking Sara to bed, he couldn’t exactly have that conversation in front of Aemond.

Or in front of the Uber driver who had ferried the two of them here together.

Damn Vic Dawson for putting him in this position. The entire ride over, he’d had to endure 20 minutes of painful small talk about Arsenal matches with the driver, all because of her.

“Why are you the one changing the subject every five minutes?” Aegon asked, finally fed up with circling around the real reason he’d come here.

Sara turned her face toward him suddenly, arching a single brow, though she radiated an air of total awareness. She knew where this was going, and maybe that was why she deliberately shifted her legs, angling them away from him.

“Because I’m not going out with you, Aegon,” Sara said firmly, her gaze steadfastly avoiding his.

Yeah, okay. Bullshit.

Aegon could smell bullshit a mile away—it was practically his second language.

“And why not?” he pressed, confidence rushing in to fill the space left behind by her discomfort. Her hesitation was like a soothing balm to his recently battered ego.

He had at least two solid counterarguments ready for whatever nonsense she might throw at him about not dating someone who’s been in your friend’s bed. For one thing, technically, he’d never been in Vic’s bed. Not practically.

And for another, it was obvious Sara was into him.

Painfully obvious from the way she turned toward him again, her chin resting on one hand, those green eyes of hers locking with his. Aegon could practically taste the victory teasing his tongue, sweet and just within reach.

“Because I don’t do placeholders or stand-ins,” she replied coolly. “Especially not for people who are clearly hung up on someone else.”

Aegon felt the blood in his veins freeze. He’d heard exactly what Sara had said, but his brain had processed her words in an entirely different way.

Sara had asked him not to use her—not to make her another one of his stupid coping mechanisms, just a temporary fix to make himself feel better.

His mind darted back to that damn night weeks ago, to how Vic had made him feel. Just a placeholder. Someone to fill the void because Charlie hadn’t wanted her back.

Suddenly, the blood in his body started flowing again—but now it was molten, boiling with shame.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his eyes dropping to the floor, unable to face what he had just suggested.

Sara didn’t say anything.

In the heavy silence of the kitchen, the only sound that broke through was the faint strum of a guitar.

The sound yanked Aegon’s head around almost instinctively.

“Does she always do this?” he asked, his irritation barely masked now that Vic had started to sing. Part of him was annoyed—Vic seemed to have a knack for getting under his skin without even trying—and part of him just wanted to dissipate the thick tension between him and Sara.

Sara shrugged, feigning exasperation. “Always,” she replied.

Suddenly, Aegon had no desire to stay in that house any longer.

He got to his feet, catching Sara’s glance as he moved. “Thanks for the shirt... and for the tea.”

“Anytime,” she said, her tone casual. But perhaps she noticed the guilt that clouded his expression, because she added, “We good?”

Aegon paused, studying her for a moment before giving her a genuine smile. “I hope so.”

Sara returned the faintest of smiles before standing to clear the empty cups off the table.

Aegon knew it was borderline psychopathic behavior to wander silently through someone else’s house, but he couldn’t stop himself. Curiosity had taken hold, steering his legs toward the partially open door of Vic’s room.

Vic was sitting on her bed, a pair of oversized headphones clamped over her ears, plugged into an amp. An old green notebook lay open in front of her, and from the way she was playing now—nodding furiously—Aegon could tell she’d just worked through something she hadn’t liked. She always nodded like that when she thought she’d nailed it.

She was turned three-quarters toward the window, and yet Aegon couldn’t look away from the curve of her cheekbone, the subtle line catching the glow from the room. It tilted upward as she smiled, the unmistakable signal that she was about to start singing.

It felt almost like cheating, but after everything that had happened, if there was a shortcut to Vic’s thoughts—even a morally questionable one—Aegon wanted to take it.

Maybe, despite the fear of stumbling into yet another irritating love letter to Charlie, he hoped he had been enough in her thoughts to force her to pour them out like this. After all, she hadn’t actually spoken to him about what had happened.

And while the first verse hadn’t offered him any real comfort, the moment Vic started singing about someone who seemed cold on the outside but needed someone to guide them, Aegon felt something stir in his chest.

And if that hadn’t been enough to convince him that Vic was singing about him—about the wave of insecurities they’d faced and how they could have ridden it together—when the chorus hit, the words shattered any lingering doubt.

Aegon felt like an idiot for ever doubting, even for a second, that everything Vic had done—her silence, the desperation with which she’d sought him out—hadn’t been anything less than a cry for help. One that she’d believed only he could hear.

He didn’t know what it meant entirely, not yet. He hadn’t figured out if this was the grand declaration of love he’d been waiting for that night outside his building. But for someone who’d spent weeks believing he was just a footnote, a scribbled thought lost in the endless sea of an old notebook, he now understood something else entirely:

He wasn’t just a passing idea.

He was an entire song.

In her mind.

In her chest.

In her voice.

Footsteps startled him, pulling him from the moment. Aegon instinctively stepped back, not wanting Vic to realize he’d been standing there, listening. His gaze snapped toward the source of the sound—and when he spotted Sara at the bottom of the stairs, her grin told him everything.

“I knew you’d like this one,” she said, her tone sly.

Hello, beauties! A quick message to thank you for all the love, you’re truly amazing 🥹 and to remind you that yes, I stole one of my all-time favorite songs and gave it to Vic. We declared Michelle Branch should be a bigger artist and she deserves THE WORLD, and that’s exactly why I wanted to pay tribute to her. Plus, I think it fits perfectly with the dynamic of our two idiots. Thanks for your understanding, I hope, as always, that I haven’t ruined your suspension of disbelief 🤍

[enstarsass-slice-of-sex]

never let me play DoL again when this fixation eventually fades for a period of time because everytime I have to be mean to kylar I feel like this. even if it isn't on the abby save

[keepingitformyself]

especially for tender ones like us

A/N: hehehehehehehehehehehehe synopsis: humor, anxiety, and the salvation of love.

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: fluff.

warnings: no?

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha tries not to stumble over her words when she suggests staying in, instead of going out. she does not mean to, but she does. 

how could she not? could you really blame her for wanting a quiet night? something that isn’t so public. she wanted to see you, of course, but she wanted to see you in a space you could be comfortable in, without any of the outside world and free from any distractions.  

you listen intently through the other line, you fight the giggle at catching her little stutter. she can’t see, but you smile widely at the whole thing.

“yeah, we can stay in. i can cook us dinner,” you nod. natasha’s shoulders drop in a quiet sense of relief at your words. her lips curl into a smile. “i’d like that. i can’t wait.”

although this would only be the fourth time you had met up together, to natasha, it felt like the first every single time. 

you continue talking for a little while more. natasha shares details about her day, work, and what she ate during lunch. she tells you how on her way to grab her usual coffee order, an americano, she decided she’d switch her order to a matcha latte after having had you recommend it to her. she tells you, 

“it was good, but not nearly enough caffeine for me to keep up with,” she said, her tone light but teasing. and while it hadn’t become her new favorite drink, just knowing she’d tried it for you was more than enough. her words sent your thoughts spiraling, a warmth blooming in your chest. you were certain that if she were standing next to you, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss her right then and there.

but you can’t do that so instead, you just fall back on your bed like a high schooler talking to her crush. 

when you finally do meet up the following evening, natasha is buzzing with nerves she doesn't understand. she has taken down whole regimes and has fought aliens from space, yet she seems to draw the line when it comes to facing you. 

she knocks on your door, her other arm clutching a brown bag containing wine and flowers. a reasonable offering if you’re having dinner with someone you want to impress. 

when you answer the door, you're wearing a cream-colored knit sweater. 

“i thought i heard pacing out there.” you joke. 

natasha’s cheeks flush as she tries—and ultimately fails—to fight the smile tugging at her lips. “i wasn’t pacing,” she says, though the slight crack in her voice gives her away.

you step aside and invite her in, and neither of you acknowledges the quiet intimacy of the moment. it feels like more than just dinner, more than just a simple evening in your apartment.

you’re about to cook for her, and somehow, that feels monumental.

natasha’s nerves are a mess, though she can’t quite figure out why—or maybe she can. maybe it’s the way your presence makes her feel unsteady, as though the ground beneath her shifts whenever you’re near.

but natasha doesn’t want to be nervous.

she saw once—a penguin mistaking a sleeping walrus for a rock. the penguin had been caught completely off guard when the walrus stirred, nearly crushing it before it scurried away just in time.

natasha had found it funny at the time, the way surprises can sneak up on you. but now, thinking about it, it doesn’t feel so funny. it feels… unnerving.

surprises are bad for the heart, she thinks. she’s been taught her whole life to avoid them, to anticipate every possibility before it unfolds.

but knowing too much, being too prepared—that can hurt, too.

her thoughts are interrupted by your laughter, light and unburdened, as you guide her toward the kitchen. your smile is so easy, so genuine, and she can’t help but feel how good it is to exist in this space with you.

she offers to help you cook, but you shoo her away instead. you make her watch.

she sits there, with her hands on her lap, and just stares. and she can’t help the look of longing on her face. the kind of thing that suggests she wouldn’t mind this being a constant. 

you made pasta for the evening. nothing too spectacular, but natasha had treated it like you were a top chef and had spent hours crafting everything with your bare hands. 

and then once you’ve plated food for you both and you’ve gotten down to a few bites, you notice the small sigh natasha lets out. the flutter of her eyes as she takes in the meal. 

you smile at her reaction as you move some of the food with your fork. 

“do you like it?”

she looks at you, mid-chew, her mouth stuffed with the food, but she manages a smile. 

“yeah, uh, yes it’s good. it’s so good,” she says, hand over her mouth. 

you continue eating, talking about everything and anything. the night was filled with small moments that would bleed into much deeper ones. you laughed, she smiled, you smiled, she laughed. the kind of things one feels they become when around those who make you tender. 

and you don’t know how or when but you try not to notice how little by little natasha seems to retract a little. 

you decide maybe she needs a small moment for herself and start cleaning up the table. she offers to help, but you wave her off, insisting she relaxes. 

she tries to, but realistically, natasha doesn’t know how to relax. so she sits back and stares at you like she isn’t sure what to do with herself. she isn’t used to this at all. spaces like this–warm, cozy, comfortable.

the impending guilt comes. it’s all so layered. she feels so much at once. the nervousness, the anxiety, the fear of loss, the fear of not being present enough. 

natasha doesn’t know how to be here without sacrificing so much. 

after a while, natasha speaks up. 

“i should probably get going.” her voice too casual to sound like she meant it. she tries not to notice the look of disappointment on your face when you turn around to face her. 

“you don’t have to.” you find yourself saying, not wanting her to leave. 

she hums, something that says she’s already made up her mind. she gets up and gathers her things. 

you follow her to the door, or at least try to—but you pause at the end of the hall when you see her linger near the door, uncomfortably. unsure if she should leave. 

you call her out on it. “you can stay longer if you want.”

natasha wrestles with herself because she really wants to. she looks at the door as if it’d answer for her. 

you’re letting her know. 

natasha feels awkward, clammy hands. she doesn't know what she’s doing. and it’s hard to think of anything else when your eyes are screaming, don't actually leave, at her. 

you look at her carefully, trying to see if you can find any clear indication of what she may be feeling, but it isn’t hard to figure out the redhead in front of you. 

you’ve noted quite quickly how easy it comes for her walls to lower when you’re around. and if there’s anything you’ve learned from that, it’s that natasha romanoff isn’t the trained killer everyone thinks she is. 

sure we all have certain versions we show to certain people. but the natasha you know is anything but rough-edged. the natasha you’ve come to know is actually quite the opposite of what everyone else perceives. 

she’s tender, in her own silent way. too afraid to ever let too much slip away that she’s so painfully aware of everything around her. 

natasha is tenderness wrapped in quiet strength, a paradox of someone who feels deeply but guards herself fiercely. she sees the world clearly—the beauty and the harm—and carries that weight like a constant ache.

like she knows the world hurts more for those most aware of hurt. 

her tenderness isn’t soft; it’s sharp, vigilant, always bracing for the pain that comes with letting others in. you can see it in the flicker of her gaze, the way she hesitates as if expecting the world to hurt her.

and yet, she doesn’t harden. she holds onto that fragile, open part of herself, even when it would be easier not to. it’s beautiful and a little heartbreaking.

natasha looks up at you, then back down at her hands. just above a whisper, she says, 

“i don't know what i’m doing.” 

“that’s the most fun part.” you joke. she smiles, she doesn’t know how to say she wants more time. 

how could she say she feels greedy at this moment? she wants to protect being here with you. we have such little time, she thinks. 

bashfully, she steps closer to you, “i don't want to go.” she says. 

“then don’t.” and natasha almost complies. instead, she takes a step closer, her hand lifting towards your cheek. she’s so close now. 

she kisses you, soft, and shy, but you make her feel sure when your arm circles her neck, deepening the kiss altogether. when she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours, she lets out a shaky breath. 

“maybe i’ll forget my scarf,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. 

“please do,” you replied. please leave your scarf, please linger near the door uncomfortably instead of leaving. please always come back. “that way you’ll have to come back later for it.”  

and just like that, her quiet uncertainty washes away. 

she takes her scarf off and drops it near the door. you follow her actions, you smile, amusement in your eyes. 

later that night, when natasha gets home, she texts you. 

i forgot my scarf. 

you reply, you’ll have to come get it then. 

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 & 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 | a joel miller x reader oneshot

summary: this is based around work song by hozier, felt a deep need to write some joel miller comfort stuff. listen to the song if you fancy, it really helps, i swear. this is just a lot of angst, fluff, and longing wrapped into a 5k fic i wrote out a couple weeks ago out of missing writing and joel miller.

word count & warnings: 5k | 18+, fem!reader, mentions of violence/blood/fighting (nothing graphic), joel being in a state of shock, sex for comfort/coping, no heavy sex warning it's just v intimate, psuedo love confessions bc joel is bad with words

It’s like an atom bomb uprooting your world with the heavy rasps of a hand against solid wood, sending a sharp buzz of electricity down your spine as you shoot up from your position on the couch, nearly tripping over Ellie on the way. The remnants of a night spent like a teen, enjoying a sleepover with the young girl who had a lot to talk about. You knew enough about Savage Starlight that you were practically an aficionado now, but that didn’t matter. 

Ellie only stirs slightly, turning on her side on the cushion of her make-shift pallet and you open the front door slowly despite your rapidly beating heart.

Joel never knocked, never really announced himself. He would come in quiet, quick, and busy himself upstairs. You knew that because he usually found you in his bed, waiting for him.

Tonight was a little different. 

No grave can hold my body down,

I'll crawl home to her

You world spins as you see what’s on the other side, a soft gasp leaving your lips as you see him.

Joel. But he wasn’t alone.

“Maria—“ It’s laced with too many emotions, too many meanings. You shift your gaze between the two.

“Everyone—“ Maria has to force herself to take a deep breath, a careful hand on Joel’s arm as she forces him to take a step forward, “everyone is fine.”

“Maria, he’s covered in blood.” As if that wasn’t obvious.

It was crusted and oxidized down, sticking to his skin and covering him like something out of a horror movie. He wasn’t shaking, that was the first thing you noticed. Joel was unnaturally still. Frozen.

“Do you have him?” Maria asks, only expecting one answer. “I’ve gotta tend to Tommy and he’s not telling me a damn thing.”

“Is he hurt?” Your brow furrowed in concern, but Maria doesn’t elaborate at all. You reach for Joel silently, his skin icey to the touch, the rigid, cold weather partially to blame.

“He’ll be alright.” Maria assures you with a nod and she’s gone without another word, leaving you to stare at the shell of a man before you, his eyes boring into the ground, staring at the scuffed up material of his boots, not a word to be spoken. Not even so much as a breath.

“Is he in shock?” Ellie’s less than chipper voice speaks from behind you, forcing your heart to kickstart again.

“Um, I don’t—know…” You pull him inside gently, which he doesn’t fight, but he feels lifeless, “has he—have you seen him like this before?”

“Never.” Her eyes well with silent tears and you quickly shoo her away. Ellie almost seems thankful. Joel can’t admit it to himself but Ellie knows. 

You care. 

“Go upstairs and get some sleep, Ellie.” You assure her, “I can handle it.”

The walk to Joel’s bedroom feels miles away. Joel shows no signs of life still, as you drag him inside of his room and shut the door with a soft click.

“You need to shower.” 

Joel knows this, he can smell it on him.

The smell of death.

You smell it too, but you can’t bring yourself to admit it.

“Joel,” You speak softly, invading his line of sight, a gentle touch against rough skin, his scruff a few days grown and there’s a small twitch as your warm hand makes contact, “are you here?”

His nod is a sigh of relief, a weight off your chest.

“Okay—okay, that’s good,” You keep your voice low, like a secret between the both of you, “do you need my help?”

Joel shakes his head weakly, pulling at the buttons of his thick coat, realizing slowly that it was just as bloodied as the rest of him. He wants it off. All of it. Now.

“Are you going to fight me if I try to help?” It’s lighthearted, but you can see how deeply it digs at Joel, like a fresh wound. “Sorry—I just, I want to help. Okay?”

He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t push your hands away when they reach forward and take the coat from his hands. You toss it in a nearby corner, out of sight and out of mind.

You could handle it later, get rid of the mess so Joel wouldn’t have to bother with it.

He toes off his boots after tugging at the laces, delicate fingertips tracing down his chest as you unbutton his flannel, forcing it down his shoulders. It takes a moment, but eventually he’s down to his boxers and tattered white undershirt, barefoot on the hardwood floor.

And he stops, leaning into you, pressing his forehead against your own in a silent bid of thankfulness, a heavy sigh escaping his chest.

Joel showers alone, eerily quiet. You get rid of the clothes, bringing them out to the garage to deal with in the morning.

Joel is already in the bed by the time you make it back to his bedroom, but if he was actually asleep was yet to be discovered, the nightmare replaying behind his eyelids unbeknownst to you. 

I was three days on a drunken sin

I woke with her walls around me

Joel wasn’t supposed to come back until later in the evening that day, well after work was wrapped up for the day and everyone was already tucked into bed. You found yourself in Joel’s bed most nights now, off and on for the first few months but now, almost a year into…whatever this was, it was a weekly thing, as often as Joel wasn’t out on patrol. 

There was never an agreement about what this was either, not that there needed to be. But, the unspoken rule was to keep your problems away–the anger, the fear, the suppressed feelings you both have tried to keep at bay for weeks now. Joel only mildly complains about things around Jackson, but never about his life before, how he feels now, or how his pseudo-daughter seeks out comfort in your presence when Joel isn’t around. 

Joel hasn’t stirred for hours, or so it feels. The night sky fades away into early morning, the tiniest amount of dawn peeking through his window and bathing him in a shadow of blue. The crinkle of sheets pulls your attention toward his face, your body heats like a furnace as it slid near, hoping that even in his slumber he might draw closer. There’s a brief moment where you think he might wake, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer. Nuzzles. 

You’ll take it. 

He moves silently, letting you hold him. An arm slipped under his head, a leg slipped between his own thighs and his hands found their way around your middle and you sigh, a deep breath through your nose that does nothing to calm your worrying, aching heart. 

If he wanted to talk about it, he would. That’s all you can hope for.

I didn't care much how long I lived

But I swear I thought I dreamed her

Joel is edging on delirious. The adrenaline was beginning to wane and he kept seeing things in faint recollection. The faces of the couple that had snuck into the cabin he and Tommy were patrolling last night, the fear on his brother’s face–something he hasn’t seen from Tommy since they were teenagers. They’re battle-hardened warriors, attack first and ask questions later. His brother was helpless then and if it weren’t for Joel’s terrible bout of insomnia—he couldn’t think about it.

He feels everything finally caught up to him, the physical exertion, the mental toll, he’s never slept so easily in his life and he feels terrible about it. He feels terrible about bringing this on you, forcing you to help piece him back together and keep him from falling apart. 

Joel is a man, solid and steel-like in his ways but he’s not invulnerable to emotion. He feels it creeping in as he blinks his tired eyes open, the flutter in his chest growing strong when he feels you wrapped around him and his own limbs just the same. 

He could’ve swore you left. The look on your face, of pure terror and disgust as he poured his heart out to you, but Joel quickly realizes that was only a dream, something his mind cooked up in the haze of hysteria.

“Is Tommy hurt?” You ask with a timidness he’s not used to, your fingers massaging at the base of his neck, twirling a curl of his hair around your finger idly, “Maria...didn’t say, she looked exhausted.”

We don’t talk about these things.

We don’t talk.

We don’t.

“I’m not asking you to tell me what happened,” You assure him like he’d spoked aloud, “Just…even a nod, Joel. Anything.”

Joel waits too long, to the point where you think he’s fallen back asleep. But eventually, he shakes his head. You relax briefly. No, he wasn’t hurt.

But, that doesn’t explain the blood. 

As much as you wanted to know, it wasn’t your place to ask.

She never asked me once

about the wrong I did

Joel doesn’t understand why he feels drawn to you, so eager to have you here, home. You had your own place, your own things, but when you were here it almost felt normal. Real. He’s dragged this out for months, avoiding the looks you give him when things get a little too intense and he pulls away. 

Ellie calls him an idiot every month that passes, knowing how good it is to have you around.

“Jesus, Joel—you can’t really be that oblivious.”

Joel forces Ellie to drop it.

But, not before she mumbles the word under her breath.

There’s a soft sob that racks your body as Joel stirs, crying silently above him with worry. You weren’t as great at burying those emotions as him, unfortunately.

Because, for tonight, well—it was almost too much to process.

“I took care of it,” Joel speaks through his gruff, sleep-filled voice, “Tommy’s fine.”

It? Took care of it? Come on, Joel.

“It was a couple. Hunters. They were from the west.”

You stay silently, scared that speaking might startle him too. You didn’t want to steal the chance of knowing, understanding.

“I handled it.” The emphasis around the word is enough to make you understand.

He killed them. There was no way around that.

“I’ve never…” The quiver in Joel’s voice is apparent, no matter how hard he tries to mask it, “I’ve felt a lot of things. Anger, betrayal, but that fear—”

You squeeze your eyes shut, pulling Joel closer into the space you shared.

“They had their hands around him,” Joel explains slowly, like he’s trying and failing to relive that sight in his mind, “my damn hearing, old fucking age—another minute and things would’ve been a hell of a lot different.”

“But, you took care of it.” You affirmed him and his hands tightened against your skin. “Seem pretty damn capable to me.”

“Fuckin’ cowards.” Joel spits out, “We were sleepin’ and they tried to get the jump on us.”

“It’s alright, though—Tommy’s okay, you’re…okay,” You hesitate, a quiver of a breath from Joel ghosts over your chest, his tired eyes peering into yours, “You’re okay, right?”

“Always am,” Joel assures you with a low, soft response, “had so much on mind, though, ya’ know?”

“Well, yeah—”

Joel shakes his head, cuts you off for a brief moment. You don’t really mind, talking felt too draining right now.

“Ellie’s still learnin’, she can’t even go out on patrol by herself. Tommy and Maria have the baby now.” Joel’s fingers squeeze again, a nervous tic he’s picked up when he’s got himself wrapped around you, the urge to say things he wishes he could but can’t. You’re begging for it now, wondering if this was the moment. “I couldn’t live with myself if things went the other way.”

My babe would never fret none

About what my hands and my body done

Joel was a killer. Is. But, with good intentions. Not that it was needed anymore.

Survival, family, protection. He’s killed for the wrong reasons and the good ones, but it’s never been something you’ve judged him on. You never even questioned it. You accepted it, moved on, and treated him like everyone else. But, of course, there was a tinge of sweetness that creeped in, got him all caught and wound up in your web.

“Did she give you any trouble last night?” It’s a quick turn from the heavy conversation you were having, but it isn’t lost on you. He’s silently asking things to shift to something else.

“No more than the usual,” You shrug, talking softly in the early morning ambience, wind howling outside his bedroom window, a storm brewing on the horizon, “I don’t think it’s me that you should be worried about her giving trouble anyways.”

He would be stuck here in Jackson for a few days. You’ve never been more thankful for shitty weather in a goddamn apocalypse. 

“That kid loves you.” Joel comments fondly, and I do too.

“Only because I help her and Dina sneak out during town movie nights,” You admit, glancing away sheepishly, “she really worries about you.”

Joel nods knowingly, his usual scowl returning to his face. You reach forward, rubbing your thumb along his cheekbone—in this light he looks fine, untouched and perfect, but he winced at the contact. He’s a tough man, but he’s not invincible. 

The touch of his fingers as they wrap around your palm are instinctive, he’s careful that he doesn’t startle you by the quick action, but it’s almost like he’s being shocked and brought back to hours before, the one hit they managed to land on him.

You’ve seen a few of Joel’s violent outbursts, yelling matches upon yelling matches with Tommy but it’s never been directed at you. You retract slightly, fingers curling over the top of his own.

“I’m sorry,” You apologize, “I didn’t realize—“

“I would never hurt you.” Joel says adamantly, but you can’t help but feel puzzled. “I’m not a monster.”

That idea never crossed your mind.

“Defending yourself doesn’t make you a monster, Joel.”

Joel doesn’t know why he feels the need for validation. 

“Maria—she thought I,” Joel laughs sadly, a huff of air that borders on defeat, “Tommy was hitchin’ the horses up and she saw me first, without him and she thought I left him behind. That I sacrificed my own damn brother to save my ass.”

Maria had never been fond of Joel, that much was always apparent, even from the moment you met. She tolerated him because he was Tommy’s brother but that was all. There was no way around it. 

“I’ve done plenty of shit to cement my place in hell somewhere, and so has Maria,” You tell him, “Doesn’t matter what she thinks, Tommy knows you would never do that.”

Joel squeezes your waist tighter, the soft skin molding under his calloused fingertips, “You’re too damn good to me.”

The kissing starts slowly, a soft caress as Joel moves in closer, and doesn’t even try—he waits for you, teasing you with a touch until you can’t fight anymore and you press your lips against his gently. It’s the first time in the last several hours that Joel doesn’t feel like he’s drowning, barely skimming the surface to keep himself afloat. 

He feels horrible, using you like this—coping with things by stowing them away and surrounding himself with you in a hope that you wouldn’t ask anymore questions, that he would have to explain his actions or justify them. But, you taste too damn sweet under his tongue and he prods until you let him in, a small sigh leaving your mouth as your lips part. 

“Fuck, darlin’.” He swears like a symphony, sounding more devious than it should as it leaves his lips, “Can’t keep at this, not with Ellie upstairs.”

“Joel, she’s not here.” It’s not so obvious to Joel, who’s just about as oblivious to every teen antic thrown his way. “She’s out with Dina, probably. That’s usually where she goes when she’s upset.”

Joel’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“I heard her moving around when you were asleep,” You explain quietly, jostling your head slightly on the pillow until Joel’s situated over you slightly, his head resting in the palm of his hand that held him upright, “it’ll do you some good to talk to her in the morning.”

Joel nods knowingly, half-smiling as he pushes your hair behind your ear, his thumb finding the sensitive dip behind your lobe and rubbing until you couldn’t hold your laughter in, letting it bubble out weakly before falling silent, a soft, but serious look growing across your features.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” You tell him, “please.”

“C’mere,” Joel nudges his chin upwards, drawing you in close, “I’m not goin’ down without a fight, darlin’.”

“I’m serious,” You don’t need to force a love confession on him, not that it would salvage anything or make things better, because Joel already understands—there’s too many instances where he’s felt his heart tug in all the weird, uncomfortable places he’s kept locked away since he was younger, before the outbreak, before Sarah, “you can’t do that anymore.”

“I’m here,” Joel assures you, forehead pressed firm against your own as he nods, “I’m right here.”

He failed to mention how after the attack, the split second of everything flashing through his memory, the possibility of losing Tommy, disappointing Ellie, that you were the one thing that kept him conscious enough to come home.

He’d left you with a burning kiss the day he left, kissing like two lovebirds trying to keep a secret as you hung around the stables as the pairs readied to leave. 

It was his own little promise of a return, but you didn’t realize in just what shape. He was good at masking, even now. Joel was hurting, but all he wanted was you.

And you could give him that.

And she put her love down soft and sweet

In the low lamplight I was free

Joel hums, soft and quiet, “Don’t move,” He pleads, “need you right here.”

His palms are heavy, feeling so much larger than they should as they span the length of your body, pulling you in close and cradling you like a safety blanket. Maybe you should stop, it isn’t the best route to cope with the situation, but Joel is there—wanting and needing and he’s mouthing at the junction of your neck in a way that has you gasping for air. 

He needs you to occupy his mind, it’s what you did best for him. Joel needed somewhere else to be, anywhere but the hellscape behind his eyes when sleep succumbed to his pure exhaustion.  

Just a moment. Just a moment to breathe. To feel.

Your brow furrows so deep that you're scowling now, but mostly out of concern, forehead scrunching from the emotion and you cradle Joel’s face carefully between your hands, “Tell me what you need.”

You. 

He doesn’t say as much, but you can feel him sifting for your tattered pajama pants as he digs his fingertips under the waistband and yanks, hoping you’ll get the idea. 

Okay, this is fine. He needs sex, you can provide him that. But, you won’t let him escape. Joel needed to be present and here with you, not forcing himself to some far off space in his mind and keeping you around him like nothing more than a warm body for him to fuck.

He’s got you all pliant under his touch as he needs at soft skin, thumb digging into your hip bone as he shifts between your legs lazily, spreading you wide and using the arm that is holding most of his weight to unfurl his hand and reach for that tight space behind your knee, tucking that leg up and over his right hip—this feels undoubtedly vulnerable, but he’s staring at you with those eyes and you absolutely fucking melt, his mouth parted by mere centimeters as his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip.

“Go on, darlin’,” Joel encourages, “I know you need it too.”

That was an understatement.

He’s already hard, head of his cock resting against the small expanse of skin between his groin and belly button. It’s like a wave of heat that rushes over your bodies when you finally touch him how he’s been begging—not so much with words but pleading looks. He needs it even more than you do. 

Usually you would spend a while in the throes of leisurely foreplay, letting Joel devour you until you were nothing but a heap of numbness on the bed and only then would he allow you what you were begging for the entire time. His cock, buried deep enough inside you that it felt impossible. But, there was none of that.

Your thumb slides over the head, smearing the precum in a too teasing motion that has Joel cursing under his breath before you’re abruptly guiding him to your core, slick and waiting without a single touch, embarrassingly so. Fortunately, you and Joel were long over that. Joel was overly aware of the effect he had on you—mind, body, and soul. 

He slides home and you have to take a moment, a second to breath, chest expanding with a full breadth of air as Joel pulls you in closer, if that was even possible, warm hands settling firm on your hips, his head resting against the pillow you both shared, “There she is,” Joel comments vexingly, “always know what you need, right, baby?”

As good as it feels to hear him, the way he can melt you with a single phrase or sound, he’s still on guard in the way he’s shielding himself against your body, rocking his hips in a motion that drowns out all relative thinking and it builds, builds until you can’t take it and you feel like you just might burst. You slip a hand out from under him to pull at the chain on his bedside lamp, drowning you in a soft yellow glow and Joel doesn’t look right away—that’s how you know. 

“Switch me,” You suggest softly, followed by an even lower, disgruntled noise from Joel, “—Joel, come on.”

Joel feels that distant ache in his bones, the soreness in his hands from the damage they caused, he groans with the movement, but even louder with the way you sink back down onto him once he’s settled against the mattress, hands fisted into his shirt and rumpling it up his stomach, revealing a few inches of soft skin, grinding down against him until he’s nearly writhing. His mouth opens slightly, ready to say something you didn’t want to hear.

You offer a soft shhh, eyes focused on the lines of his face, beautiful with age and scrunched up in pleasure, eyes closed as he settles into the feeling of you again, “Stay with me,” You jeer quietly, a soft giggle settling on the surface as you smile, ever so slightly, ”‘can you do that?”

Sometimes it feels like an impossible feat, but Joel grips you a little tighter, pulls you in ever the more closer and the slick of your body feels so goddamn good, he doesn’t even realize his thought breached his lips before your breath is hot against his ear, his mind battling the thoughts buried under the surface and every filthy thing he could blurt out in the moment, he’s so tense with anticipation, “Stop thinking so hard, Joel. You’re home. Safe.”

And for once, he gives in. A long, hard fought battle that succumbs to his own exhaustion, allowing the kinder touches, the intimate glances between two people, almost like your fingertips were grazing each other’s souls. It’s felt intense before, but this moment is sharp around the edges and Joel knows what you need to hear. He’s fought it for a while, trying to right his wrongs, remind himself still, that he didn’t deserve you. He’s done fighting.

“Just need you, darlin’.” He admits gruffly, lips sliding against each other in a messy, lazy attempt at a kiss, “Always know just what to do.”

In other words, you could read Joel like a book.

And in the few years you’ve known him, you were hoping that was the case, considering the level of intimacy you’ve reached. Joel comes with a tired, drawn out groan that pierces you deep, and you’re right there—right there, before Joel is flipping you over with little fight on your end, sucking on your clit with a ferocity that doesn’t let up, coming with a shout as you grip his hair at the root, riding out the extent of your climax against his mouth as he eased you into your sated state of exhaustion.

The comedown is heavy, long, extended bouts of silence as you two try to catch your breath, slow your pounding hearts and Joel, at some point, finds his way higher up your body, his head laying against your chest, just underneath your breasts and it's an easy position to rub your fingers into his hair, along the planes of his face. He'd never admit it, but this is his favorite part. The after.

For you, it was everything.

"I want you around more often," Joel says quietly, like a whisper, "—m'tired of worrying about you when you're not around."

It almost makes you think you slipped into some sort of fugue state, not believing that the Joel Miller had said anything remotely close to a confession. But, then again, he surprised you every day. And you knew he couldn't ask you outright, not now, maybe not ever.

But, you'd settle for this.

"I'm not going anywhere, Joel." You promise, "You've always got me to come home too."

[fadingdaggerr]

Hey, I have just read heaven’s gate ( Larissa weems x reader ) and absolutely loved it! Is there any chance for a part two? Thank you x

pearlescent (18+ minors, dni)

pairing: larissa weems x gn!reader

summary: part two of heaven’s gate | 4.5k

includes: lesbians too in love for their own good, fluff

warnings: kissing/making out, sexual innuendo, afab reader (no breasts described for r), smut (fingering (L/r), oral (L), thigh riding (L)) can u tell i like eating pussy

note: first non-melissa post in over a year to bring me back from hiatus. thank u for ur patience. i feel like those wattpad writers that are like “just got out of a coma here’s a fic”

The smooth paving of the highway becomes bumpy and uneven as you pass the final gas station between here and your destination. Every pothole the car jumps over is like a shot of espresso through your aching joints. After the last stop, you promised yourself to drive straight through. Another stop would mean another chance to acknowledge the numbing of your ass after five hours in the car, and with one hour left, you’re not risking it. You really weren’t kidding when you said that teleportation would be much more useful.

Cell service is quickly obsolete as you continue through the woods, scanning the road for any squirrels that may decide that today was the day. Drumming against the steering wheel, you let your mind wander. Maybe coming without telling her is a bad idea, but it also has the potential not to be. She had begged you to drive to her just two days after she left, and you would have, if only your client hadn’t walked in the door. Dueling busy schedules made two months pass like molasses, longing to drop everything and hitchhike if you had to. Would the lack of alerting her put her off? Gods, you hope not.

A sudden shift of turbulent driving to a slight jostle of cobblestone removes you from the swirling doubt in your mind, peeking towards the sign you’re approaching. Green and rusting, white lettering reads: Welcome to Jericho! The Salem of Vermont. You find yourself glad someone took the time to graffiti over the last bit.

Ignoring the anxiety climbing your spine, you keep going, and going, and going, and going, until you finally break through the treeline. Out of nowhere sits the cutest town you think you’ve ever seen, with little brick shops with murals and a gazebo with the remains of New Year’s decor still hanging on. It makes sense why people would want to come here, why she would choose to stay.

In an attempt to not draw more attention than an outsider already gets, let alone an outcast one, you don’t linger on viewing the quaint town of Jericho. There’s better views awaiting you later, at the very castle-like building you can see on the high hill. Looming in a shadow, one that doesn’t extend over the rest of the town, sits Nevermore in all its glory. The corners of your lips turn up into a small smile, the view is nostalgic, bringing back the memories of your time at Byron’s.

The memory brings a reminder to the forefront of your mind, and with cell service restored, now is the best time. Carefully, and without taking your eyes off the road, you navigate to your favorite contacts.

“Hello, my angel!”

You chuckle, “it’s just me.”

“Fuck, nevermind then,” Parker grumbles, “so you’re not there yet?”

“I’m pulling up in a second, just wanted to let you know now before I can’t.”

A characteristic cackle comes from the other end, “gonna jump her bones immediately, I see, I see. Can’t say I blame you, she makes me question things about myself.”

“This is exactly why I called you before getting here,” you chuckle, pulling through the front gates, “but I gotta go now.”

“Yes, yes, go get slutted out, harlot. Just please call me sometime, so I can talk with the love of our lives,” Parker begs.

“I’m telling Max you said that,” you deadpan, hanging up just as you hear a rushed wait!

—��—

For a town so small minded, from what you’ve been told, you’re more than surprised to find that you are able to walk into Nevermore unnoticed. Some students stand around, talking amongst themselves, but none seem to pay you any mind, likely thinking you’re just another teacher. Using the anonymity to your advantage, you slow your pace, listening in carefully. A gorgon walks by you, the only student at this time that seems to be carrying any school supplies.

You mentally scold yourself for stereotyping her studious behavior before you focus in on her mind. Your consciousness runs through hers, searching through test anxieties and hockey tryout concerns, until you find what you need. The literature wing, I could’ve guessed that. Coming back into your own mind, you’re already speeding up the stairs before your pupils return to their normal size.

Passing another student two stories up, you pray the siren knows which office you need, yet they don’t. Neither do the werewolves or the seer. Do you guys even go to classes? You’re about to give up on the full surprise, headache seeping in from all the mindreading of anxious teenagers. Just before you exit the hallway entirely, you actually look up from your feet, and you mentally smack yourself upside the head for not just reading the plaques on the doors.

With a renewed pep in your step, you keep just shy of running as you read every door. Finally, you reach a door that has a newer plaque compared to neighboring ones, serif font unscathed by age. Professor L. Weems, Department of Literature. Your heart skips a beat at the mere sight of her name. Noticing the door being cracked open, you push it open slightly more, hoping your search ends here.

Hunched over an antique desk, red-framed glasses perched on her nose with a pen spinning between her fingers, she doesn’t seem to notice the attention on her. It’s hard to pry yourself away from watching her, when holding her is seemingly moments away. Pushing the door the rest of the way open, you knock on the doorway with shaking knuckles.

A huff passes scarlet lips as Larissa peers up, a brief, disinterested gaze passing over her features. The pen in her hand stills, falling to the desk with a small clatter. Blue eyes widen as she stares unwaveringly at you. Fidgeting under her gaze, you smile nervously, “was- uh- was looking for professor Weems? Know her, by any chance?”

In no less than a blink, Larissa is rounding her desk at top speeds, crashing into your body as her arms wrap around your neck. Nearly falling into the hall, you just barely keep the two of you up, leaning into her to walk her backwards. One hand grips her waist as the other blindly reaches for the door to shut it, quickly coming back to bury into her hair. Your face tucks into her neck, brushing your nose against her skin, breathing her in.

“You’re here,” Larissa says quietly, disbelieving.

“I’m here,” you mumble against her warm skin, “couldn’t wait any longer.”

A sigh of relief passes plush lips, “and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Surprise, it’s a noun,” you joke, pressing a soft kiss to the expanse of her neck, relishing in the way she shudders at the contact. There’s no reply except for her arms tightening around you, wordlessly telling you that this surprise is one she likes.

Pulling back from you suddenly, Larissa just stares at you, blue eyes taking in every feature, lingering on your lips before flicking back to your eyes. Your hand moves from her waist to cup her cheek, stroking soft skin that you’d been longing to touch. She takes the invitation, leaning forward to press delicate lips against your own, slow and savoring. Your tongue traces her lips, tasting earl grey and lipstick as she lets you in. No struggle or search for dominance, simply a familiar dance you’d both dearly missed. The hand in her hair stays in place, keeping her close as the other traces her cheekbone and jaw, memorizing the feeling of her skin. Every piece of you missed her, and all of those pieces felt healed the moment her lips touched yours.

Pulling away slowly, both of you keep your eyes closed, simply existing in this moment. It takes a while for either of you to move away, but you feel giddy seeing Larissa’s pink cheeks and smudged lipstick. Your thumb drifts to her lips, wiping away the mess you’ve made, ignoring that you are likely equally covered. Soft lips press into the pad of your thumb, gentle and sweet.

“I cannot believe you’re here,” she whispers into the small space between you, “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you,” you reply at the same volume.

It takes two hours for the halls of Nevermore to empty, students retreating to their rooms or to the quad, finally allowing a chance for the two of you to leave Larissa’s office. Silence seems to come over the school, however frightening it may be when dealing with teenagers, though neither of you mind as you simply exist in the spacious office. After weeks of phone calls that lasted most of the night, quiet amazingly comes easy.

Only a soft hum from the blonde breaks the silence, twisting her wrist to check her watch. Turning towards you slightly, she keeps a soft volume as she speaks, “how would you like a tour?”

“That sounds perfect, I only got to see the foyer and this hall,” you answer, nudging into her shoulder softly. “Was on a mission, I didn’t really get a chance to explore.”

“Sorry about that, but we’re not supposed to have visitors here,” she explains, “the campus has essentially been on lockdown since the nineties.”

You chuckle, reaching a hand out to draw her in. Her fingers slide across your palm before gripping, letting you tug her closer, “in that case, security might be too lax. I got in no problem.”

“You what?” Larissa stiffens, looking at you bewildered.

“I drove right through the gate, walked right in, no one even noticed me,” you chuckle, “just walked on up.”

Her lips purse as she tries to hide the laugh building in her chest, leaning in more, “you read a child’s mind to find me, didn’t you?”

It’s impossible to hide the wry grin on your face, “potentially.”

“Potentially,” she mimics, amused.

—☽—

Nevermore has officially put Byron’s Home to shame.

Every hallway is covered in paintings, Latin engravings littering every shelf, moon phases in different corners. It makes you wish you never set foot in that brick schoolhouse all those years ago. The conservatory alone almost made you weep; crawling vines and shining moonflowers, the feasting venus flytraps, and, your favorite, bleeding hearts. Larissa stands back and watches as your fingers ghost over petals, pressing lightly against the flytraps full belly, all with a deep fascination behind your eyes.

“I can’t believe you have this,” your voice echoes quietly in the room, “it- it’s incredible.”

Her silence throws you, immediately turning. The lost look in her eyes makes you falter, and where your typical instinct is to read, you instead step closer.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, reaching to run your fingers over her knuckles that stay clutching her shirt.

There have been many times where Larissa wished for different abilities, or no abilities at all. Right now, however, she wished for nothing more than your ability. She wished she could reach into your mind and see how you saw the world, how you see the flowers, how you see her. Seeing you now, how you watch her with more reverence than you grant what, in her mind, is a greater beauty, she knows she has a window into the limitless path your consciousness takes.

“Nothing at all. I just have one more place in mind,” she answers, hand lifting to stroke your cheek, lingering against your oddly cool skin. You nod wordlessly, letting your fingers intertwine with hers.

Hand held in Larissa’s, you let her lead you through the halls. She pauses to peak around every corner, terrified the two of you would be caught. Leading forward, more like tugging, she brings you towards a spiraling staircase. Letting her go first, she enters into a massive room, cool but comfortable, dark enough to rely on distanced golden lamps.

Floor to ceiling bookshelves line everywall, the familiar Latin etched into stone and wood alike. Ancient Greek, Cyrillic, and Tamil, first and second editions of texts you thought you’d only ever see inaccurate translations of. Sections of different outcast abilities, poetry from around the world, fables of the inception of different classes. Most have an unfortunate layer of dust over them, long ignored in interest of the clearly loved young adult section.

“You’re really trying to make me jealous,” you say breathily, “this place is incredible.”

“These are my favorite sections,” Larissa admits shyly, “I spend hours of my day here and never see another soul. It’s peaceful.”

“All by your lonesome?” There’s a slight mockery in your tone, “not alone now, are you though?”

Red lips curve into a smile as you step closer to her, fingers grazing up her side, slipping around her back to tug her closer. Hands rise to cup your face, eyes hooded as she takes you in. Pupils blown and lip between your teeth, she doesn’t want to deny herself the view nor the pleasure. Leaning into your space, her nose brushes yours, lips just barely ghosting.

You know she’s teasing, even with closed eyes, you can sense her smile. Tilting, you capture her lips, sighing at the contact. The moment your tongue brushes her bottom lip, a switch in Larissa flips, pushing you back into the shelving behind you. Sliding from your face, her hands grip your waist, clutching with an unnecessary urgency. Meeting her pace, your fingers weave into her updo, pulling hairs loose as you try to keep her closer than she physically can manage.

The muffled boom of a door on the other side of the shelf forces you to jump apart, wide eyes looking at each other like deer in headlights. Cheeks puff as you try not to laugh, Larissa immediately pulls you out of the library, forcing you into a jog as you run towards a different end of the building.

—☽—

Carefully, she guides you upstairs, praying that no other teachers or students are around to see her sneaking someone in. Both of you struggle to keep your giggling in, the juvenile nature of it all making you fluttery.

Coming up to a white door, you see another plaque reading Dormitory Parent. Unlocking the door with a strong wiggle, Larissa motions for you to walk in first, quickly shutting the door behind her and latching it. Leaning against it, she lets out a sigh.

Larissa doesn’t get a chance to move closer before your lips press against hers once more. This time, neither of you waste a second, no longer nerved up by the chance of someone walking in again. Timid brushing of lips is forgone as her tongue bullies its way into your mouth, stroking yours with a gentle dominance that has your knees weak.

Wanting hands grip at her waist as she pushes her backwards, leading you further into her quarters until you’re backed into a wall. Lips move from yours and trail down your chin to your neck, teeth passing over your pulse. A groan leaves your lips, hands scrambling to pull Larissa back to your lips, missing them greatly in the seconds they’ve been apart from yours. Feeling her smile against you makes your heart clench, needing more, anything she’s willing to give.

Pulling back from her lips only enough to speak, you ask, “bedroom?”

There’s no reply, only you being tugged from the wall and walked backwards further into the room. You’re so lost in her, her lips, her hands, her tongue, everything. The feeling of dropping onto the mattress is what brings you back in, eyes cracking open to see a lightly panting Larissa above you, lips parted and kiss-swollen. Lapis eyes flick over your face, expression similar to the one she wore when she first saw you, right on the cusp of relief and disbelief. She’s not unlike a goddess viewing her devotee.

Taking her moment of distraction as a tool for your benefit, you flip the two of you, happily taking in the new view of her beneath you. Hair of white gold splaying over the pillows, eyes wide, skin flushed, and entirely beautiful, Larissa Weems is a gift for your eyes only. The hand on her hip slides up, pushing the fabric of her dress with them as they climb. It’s a silent question, or more of a silent begging, hands impatient to feel her.

Larissa’s head rises off the pillow, lips pushing into yours, her hands going to yours to push them even higher, dress inching up more and more. As she wishes, you lift her dress, hands finding solace on plush thighs, laying your body between her legs. The familiarity of it makes you moan into her mouth, pure want running through your veins.

Hands close in on the lace covering her, lips moving to her neck for a chance to breathe, “can I take this off?”

“Yes,” she answers in a whiny tone, lifting herself off the mattress slightly.

You carefully, thought quickly, lower the zipper. Larissa strips the dress off her torso, letting your wanting hands take care of the rest. The world stops for a moment as you look down at her, skin luminescent against dark sheets, constellations of freckles dotted across her chest.

The blush crawling up her neck brings you back in, and you haphazardly shrug off your jacket and tear off your own shirt. Leaning back down, you forgo her lips to kiss down her neck, reveling in her skin beneath yours. Larissa moans softly as her hands wander down your back, around your torso, tugging at your belt, and you're quick to head her command. Greedy hands pull you back down on the bed, gripping at warm skin as your lips take purchase on her neck again.

Laying her back, you continue your path down, fingers taking her bra straps down with you. Eyes peek up to hers, silently asking permission. Larissa arches into you in response, and your lips wrap around a rosey nipple. Nails dig into your back as she moans beneath you, hips bucking against your. Satisfying her desire, you place a thigh between her legs as you continue to lavish her chest with affection.

An already soaked white thong becomes absolutely ruined as Larissa grinds steadily against your thigh, moaning huskily into open air. Continuing down, your thigh moves away as you near her heat. Fingers curling around the band of her panties, you pause, “may I?”

“Please, darling,” Larissa replies breathily, mouth hanging open as you toss the fabric across the room.

Mouthing at her thighs, you suck harder as you get closer, red marks painted across a white canvas. Reaching her slick pussy, your mouth nearly waters at the sight, descending on her immediately. Her hips rock just as quickly, trying to ride your face as your tongue swipes through her folds. Savory wetness covers your chin, nose just barely rubbing against her clit.

Tilting up, you allow your lips to wrap around her button, sucking gently. The gasps Larissa emits above you only egg you on further, hand moving from her thigh to her entrance. Your middle finger slowly pushes into her, pumping carefully before adding your index. Her walls grip your fingers snugly, trying to keep you there. Her hips never still, and you force them down with your free hand as you focus your attention on her.

Alternating between sucking and licking her clit, combined with your fingers increasing pace inside her, has Larissa’s voice growing horse, moans turning to pitchy whines. Long legs wrap around your body, holding you snugly against.

Heavy whimpers fall from her lips. “Please,” she begs, “more, baby, please.”

Denying her when she’s asking so nicely, so prettily? You could never. Your ring finger lines with the others, pressing into her quickly. The stretch makes Larissa cry out above you, heels digging deeper into your back as your tongue swirled around her sex. It takes little time for her breathing to grow hoarse, mouth hanging open as her eyes squeeze shut.

Her breath hitches and hips still, essence coating your fingers as you watch her chest rise and fall rapidly, eyes finally reopening. Slowing your fingers, you retract from her, but in no way are you done just yet. Letting go of her clit with a small pop, you drag your tongue down to languidly traverse her folds, taking in her full taste.

Probing inside her, you relish in the breathy whine that comes from her throat. Pulling back, you flatten your tongue, swiping across her cunt. Trailing up, passing her navel, the dip in her ribs, you take a quick pass over her nipple, swirling softly. Grabby hands pull at you, tugging you back to her lips. Moaning at her own taste, Larissa’s body arches into you, heat brushing over your thigh once again.

Hand trailing up from her thigh, you pull back from her lips, offering your fingers in place of your tongue. Fading red lips wrap around your digits, her own tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing. You can feel your eyes glazing over as you watch her greedily taste herself, gently and unknowingly grinding on your thigh.

Letting go, Larissa takes your stupor to flip you over. Staring down with cool blue eyes with a mysterious fire. Wandering lower and lower, they trace over your own underwear, slick from pleasing her. The whimper you let out only eggs her on, rubbing you over the fabric.

“Riss…” you manage out, already breathless from her touch, “baby…”

A low hum leaves her throat, hand sliding under to make contact with you. Long fingers slide through wetness as lips attach themselves to your neck. Two fingers slide into you, slowly, her thumb makes tight, firm circles over your clit, making you keen into her. The pressure building in your core, that had been steadily growing since the library, feels so overwhelming with her all over you now.

Feeling you trying to ride her slow hand, she speeds up, taking over for you as your moans quickly become airy. Under her lips, she feels your heart beating wildly. For her. All for her.

Her scent, her taste, her hands, her tongue, all of her was all over you. Her teeth scrape against your skin as her fingers curl, making you groan. The hand not in her hair splays across her back, desperate to keep her close. Feeling the want dripping from you, her fingers speed up, almost bullying gummy walls that cling to her.

Tugging her by her hair, you bring her to your lips. Open mouth and messy, you’re barely kissing, just moaning into her mouth as she presses harder to your button, bucking into her hand. You can’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed about how quickly she got you here, how quickly you’ve become putty beneath her.

Deciding she needs to taste her hard work sooner rather than later, her fingers just barely spread inside you, stretching you. The motion makes you erupt in a silent scream, clinging more to her as you feel the coil in your stomach begin to snap.

“C’mon darling,” she husks against your throat, “give it to me. I know you want to.”

Her words are your undoing, the sheer need in her voice and the feeling of her inside you was enough to snap the band. The whines from you turn into breathy pants, hands on Larissa still holding her close as her fingers slow. As she tries to remove them, you close your legs around her wrist, locking her in place. Her lips drag up your neck, capturing your own, sighing into your mouth as your fingers scratch gently at her scalp.

Lazy kisses last until the post-orgasm warmth leaves your body, shivering slightly at the cool air that you can finally feel tickling your skin. Legs unclamp her hand, allowing her to draw back. You nearly cum on the spot watching her suck your release off, moaning softly against her own fingers.

“Keep doing that and you’re not leaving this bed for a week,” you mumble beneath her.

She chuckles, rolling off to lay on the bed beside you, “I can’t say I’d be opposed.”

Just facing her, watching her chest rise and fall, rosy cheeks slowly returning to their normal color, you’re in awe. Freshly fucked and still perfect, Larissa Weems is a miracle. Laying on your side, you trace your fingers up and down her side, following the path of silver stretch marks and faint freckles. You push yourself forward, pressing yourself into her warm body, adoring how her arms immediately wrap around you.

“I missed you,” she whispers, as if she’s not sure you’d share her sentiment.

You press a kiss to her collarbone, “I missed you more.”

There’s a few minutes of silence before you feel Larissa chuckle beneath you. You hum in question. She squeezes you briefly, “would you like dinner?”

Another pause. You both giggle as you try to walk out of the room with a small waver in your steps.

—☽—

When your eyes open, you think it’s the sun cracking through the curtain that pulls you from the depths of slumber. A piercing ring breaks through the tiredness, bringing your attention to your phone. Your groan is met in tandem by Larissa’s, who shoves her head into her pillow further, arm tightening around your waist. Stretching in her grasp, you mentally prepare for what you know is coming. The little shit has a radar.

“No,” you say the moment you bring the phone to your ear.

“Oh sweet angel, I miss how nice you are,” Parker sing-songs, “did I wake you from your slutty slumber?”

“Yes, both of us. Dick,” you grumble, “you have zero consideration.”

“Give my real friend the phone, I’m done with you,” he says, though you know he’ll never leave you alone. Even when you eventually die.

“Baby, it’s for you,” you say as you pull the phone away from your ear. Larissa peeks one eye at you, clearly irritated. Parker, you mouth. You wish it wasn’t so endearing how quickly she perked up. Sitting up, she nods, motioning for you to put her on speaker.

“Hello, Parker,” she utters through a yawn.

“My love! How are you? Achy? Tired? In need of a better lover?”

“I’m great,” Larissa chuckles, “and yes, yes, and no, most definitely not.” Her eyes stay on you as she answers, peeking down at your lovingly annoyed expression.

The rest of the call is simply Parker talking at Larissa, rather than to her, while you shake your head at his antics. Curling back into her side, you let them talk as you watch her face. She seems at ease, a stark contrast from the stressed Larissa you’d seen when you first looked in her office. She’s less imposing, loose hair and smudged makeup, a smile playing on her lips as she listens to Parker’s plans for a surprise two month anniversary gift for Max.

In the walls of her bedroom. In bed with you. Breathing the same air. Perfection lies beside you.

note: if i could rewrite the entirety of part one i would. but i guess that shows growth in writing or whatever

feedback appreciated as always

[topazy]

Tomorrow’s promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixion x reader, Rick Grimes x sister reader

Warnings: Character death, smut, violence, swearing

Chapter: 4.05

“Anything?”

You look over at Daryl and shake your head. Thankfully your shift in the watchtower was almost over because you were exhausted and bored, and you could feel yourself nodding off before Daryl joined you. “Nothing so far; hopefully it stays that way.”

The only thing of interest you had seen on watch was Michonne and Hershel leaving the prison with a truck full of bodies of people that either died from the flu or from being attacked by a walker that needed to be burned. You didn’t envy the job they had, especially Hershel, who blames himself for not being able to save everyone.

“You should rest; I can keep watch.”

There was a mattress on the ground with a thin cover tossed over it, but you’d feel bad resting while he did all the work.

“It’s fine; it won’t be long until my turn is over.”

The more you thought about it, the sweeter you thought it was that Daryl joined you whenever you kept watch so you wouldn’t be alone. He nudges you with his elbow, “What are you grinning at?”

Smiling, you hook your finger through the belt loop of his trousers to bring him closer to you and tilt your head up to kiss him. “I was thinking about how lucky I am to have you.”

You go to step back, but Daryl pulls you into him and crashes his lips against yours, his hands moving between squeezing at the back of your thighs and bum while your fingers tangle into his hair. Panting heavily, you detach your lips to catch your breath, and you could see his green eyes now fully blown with lust. You swallow thickly, “We don’t need to do anything if you don’t want to.”

You knew Daryl was a virgin and didn’t want to pressure him into anything he might regret. “I know,” he presses his forehead against yours before sliding his hand from your ass to the zipper on the front of your jeans. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

His expression is soft as you fumble to remove each other's clothes. When you are wearing nothing but your underwear, you unclip the back of your bra and let it fall to the ground. You stare at his body, noticing all the scars you’ve never seen before—the ones he keeps hidden from everyone else.

Without breaking eye contact, Daryl removes his underwear and then sits on the mattress. Following his lead, you sit down beside him. He traces a pattern on your thigh with his finger before resting his hand on the hem of your pants. He patiently waits, giving you time to change your mind, but you don’t. You take the lead and guide his hand to take them off.

During another heated kiss, you reposition yourselves on the mattress with Daryl leaning over you. He rubs the tip of his nose against your own. “You know you mean everything to me, right?”

You chuckle, “One of the many reasons I love you is that you show me you care instead of just telling me.”

“I can think of another way of showing you,” he says before starting to move down your body, kissing every inch of you that he could.

“You don’t need—”

You stop talking when Daryl settles between your legs. A heavenly sight. When he begins to gently lick and suck at your sensitive flesh, it feels nice, but when his tongue passes over your clit he notices your reaction and repeats what he’s doing until you clasp a hand over your mouth to stifle the loud moaning sounds slipping from your mouth.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

While you come down from your high, Daryl gently repositions himself so that he’s now hovering over you. His lips ghosting your own.

Playfully you roll your eyes, “Wipe the smug look off your face already.”

“Not smug, just proud.” Daryl kisses your forehead, then your nose. “Making you feel good is important, ya know?”

A silent understanding passes between the two of you. Daryl leans down to claim your lips with his own, and after a few moments he changes the position, rolling onto his back and taking you with him so you’re on top. Once you’re straddling his waist, you take his cock in your hand and stroking it a few times before sinking onto his length.

The both of you are moaning loudly in unison.

You take it slow at first but soon pick up your speed. Daryl grips onto your hip with one hand and slips his other hand on your legs to frantically rub at your clit. It’s not long until you’re both coming.

“Oh god!”

“Fuck!”

You collapse forward, your hands landing on either side of Daryl’s head. “That was… something.”

“Hope that’s a compliment,” you laugh.

You get off his lap and rest your head on his chest, both of you panting and sweating. He strokes your hair and says, “It was definitely a compliment.”

—

You press your lips against the back of Daryl’s neck as you quickly brush by him to put Jace in his cot. Your son was now in the habit of getting fussy before his afternoon nap, and Daryl was growing agitated the more Rick explained everything that happened with Carol to him.

Carol’s need to protect the rest of the group was understandable, but there was no defending what she did.

When you place Jace into his cot and Rick and Daryl walk by the cell, you are still able to hear their conversation from where you stood. “Do you think it will be a good idea to tell Tyreese it was Carol, right now? I don’t want the two of you getting into another fight.”

“We’ve got no other choice,” Rick says. “He loved Karen and won’t stop until he knows the truth. I can respect that.”

He had a point, but you were still worried it would escalate into something.

Daryl steps forward, observing you putting on your light-weight jacket. “Where are you going?”

“Someone needs to tend to the fruit and vegetables. I’ve told Mika to come and get me if Jace or Judith wake up.”

—

“Why do you look so terrified?”

“Shut up, munchkin.”

Carl and Beth both laugh at your response. You hated gardening; it was something you weren’t ever good at, and you were scared you’d somehow manage to kill all the food that Carol had been growing.

Without any warning, an explosion rocks the prison, sending tremors throughout its walls and towers. You feel the vibrations beneath your feet as she stands in the courtyard.

Your heart races with adrenaline when you see a loose brick about to fall off the prison wall.

“Beth!” You leap forward and yank the blonde by her arm and pull her towards you just as the brick hits where she was standing. “Holy shit, it’s him.”

The governor was standing on the outside of the prison fence with a new army and an army tank.

The courtyard spins and fills with most of your remaining group, and soon as the governor spots your brother, he calls out. “Come down here, Rick; we need to talk.”

You lock eyes with Rick, “Don’t do it.”

He swallows thickly and takes a moment to think before replying. “It’s not up to me. There’s a council now; they run this place.”

“Is Hershel on the council?”

A woman with long brown hair opens a car door and pulls out Hershel, whose hands are tied behind his back, and forces him onto his knees.

“What about Michonne?” A man drags her by the arm then forces her to kneel on the ground. “Is she on the council?”

“I don’t make decisions anymore!”

“You’re making the decisions today, Rick. Come down here, let’s have that talk.”

Oh my god. This man is even more insane than you remember.

Rick rubs the back of Carl’s neck and quietly says, “We can do this, alright?”

You tear up watching him walk down the path towards the governor. It was a trap; there was no way the mad bastard was going to let any of you live.

“We ain’t got the numbers.” Daryl’s voice is quieter than normal. “We’ll go into the woods like we planned. If things go south, everybody gets on the bus.”

“I need to go back inside; someone needs to get kids ready... Jace... Judith...”

“Tyreese is going to pass the message along. Daryl cups your cheek, “Ain’t nothing going to happen to those kids.”

“If we get separated, do what it takes to get them out of here.”

—

You felt sick not knowing what was being said between your brother and the governor, but from what you could hear, your brother was trying like hell to convince him. Daryl has handed our weapons to everyone, but you were lucky if you had twenty bullets each, which wouldn’t be enough.

Tyreese taps you on the shoulder, “The kids are going onto the bus.”

“Thanks.”

“No!”

Beth and Maggie start sobbing when the governor holds up Michonne’s katana to Hershel’s neck.

Rick tries to plead with them. “Put down those weapons and walk through those gates, and you’re one of us. We let go of all of it, and nobody dies. Everyone who’s alive right now, everyone who’s survived this far, has done the worst kind of things to get here, but we can still come back. We’re not too far gone. We get to come back. I know, we all can change.”

For a moment it seems like the governor is contemplating Rick’s words, but in one single swoop he swings the sword and chops Hershel’s head off. Starting an all-out war.

You see a bullet graze your brother's leg when he tries to take cover. “Rick!”

The gunfire goes back and forth, but you only manage to shoot one of the assholes attacking your home. “Beth, come with me and protect the kids on the bus.”

Daryl yells. “I’ll cover you. Go, go.”

You narrowly manage to avoid being shot while getting to the bus. When you reach it, the first thing you notice is the lack of crying, “Where’s Jace? Jace! Judith!”

“They’re not on here,” a woman says.

“Oh my god, my baby! Beth, stay here.”

You go by your nephew when you run towards the prison entrance, “Carl, get on the bus and stay with Beth!”

You run directly into the woman who put Hershel on his knees. She opens her mouth to say something, but you shoot her in the head.

With all the bullets and grenades going off, it was becoming hard for you to see what way you were going. You stop running to try and get your bearings, but the loud bangs and smoke have made you slightly disoriented. It’s not until you hear a baby crying that you snap out of it.

“Jace!”

You turn to face the direction of the crying, but before you can move any further, you're hit with a stray bullet and fall to the ground.

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 46

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 43, part 44, part 45

Something shifted between Steve and Eddie. Something important. There wasn’t any yelling. Or resentment hiding in their eyes. No, they were just talking with each other. Standing close and looking comfortable. No sign that they were flinging insults at each other last week. None of that.

They were just acting normal. Like they weren’t screaming at each other the past few weeks. As if they’ve been friends for years.

Which is weird, right? It’s weird.

Robin and Nancy are here too, off in their own little world. Just talking in some of the deck chairs. When they should. Robin’s so close to Steve, she would know about all the fights. All the things that would have been said. She’d be biting back. She’d be giving Eddie hell if he said anything too mean. But there she sits, like nothing happened.

How can everyone be acting like nothing’s happened? So much has happened and no one is talking about it. They’re all so ready to go back to real life, and Dustin feels so stuck. It’s like he can’t move on. Not when the consequences are staring him right in the face and he can’t stop looking at it.

Max is just sitting on the first step in the pool because she can’t swim without someone holding her. Her limbs are still building their muscle mass after the break. Not to mention that fact that she’s fucking blind.

But here she is, smiling and laughing. Not feeling out of place at all. Her life has changed on its axis, and she seems to be over it. Just moved on. Accepted her new life.

And Steve’s standing in the shade with his sunglasses on. Dustin saw him take a migraine pill earlier, but he’s still out here. When he doesn’t need to be. He can be inside taking care of himself, but he’s out here, watching them.

Talking to Eddie, who’s standing with his forearm crutches. He could be sitting. Resting. Not forcing himself through pain that Dustin knows is happening right now.

He’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Without all the layers, Dustin can see the damage to his skin. The reddened marks of healed tissue. Still ragged and slightly concave. So different from the rest of his pale complexion. Because the nerve damage wasn’t enough, Eddie has to have obvious scarring too. For the rest of this life.

They are just going to live like this for the rest of their lives and continue to smile. How can they continue to smile?

Dustin wouldn’t blame them if they never did. He wouldn’t blame them if they were angry forever. Upset that their lives have changed forever in seconds. One small event, and it’s over. He wouldn’t blame them. But somehow, they can keep moving. Keep walking forward.

It feels like everyone is ten steps in front of Dustin. Like something is tied to his feet, keeping him stead while they can move on. His mind continuously reminding him of their scars that they can just look past.

Steve keeps looking at him. Saying something to Eddie that Dustin can’t hear. Somehow, he knows it’s about him. Because of course, Dustin can’t act normal for one afternoon. He had to make this all about him, when he’s not the one whose life has changed.

Will bumps his shoulder into his. “Are you ok?”

Dustin shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know, you just look like you’re anywhere but here. I know what that’s like, it’s not fun.”

Because Will has been through so much more than Dustin has. He’s been kidnapped, possessed, moved across the country. When what, the most Dustin’s gone through was breaking his ankle and seeing some of his friends almost die. Pretty run of the mill for them at this point.

“I’m ok,” the words come out of his mouth like a foreign language. He’s not even sure what they mean. “Just tired.”

“That makes sense. The fourth is coming up, that would be bad memories for you.”

Not just for him.

“What do you mean?” It means bad memories for all of them. His were the least of their problems.

Sure, he roamed around a Russian bunker for a night and ended up living. Max lost her brother, El lost her dad. They all fought against the mind flayer. It shouldn’t affect him more than him.

“I mean, you never really told us about those few days. All I know from it has been from what Lucas told me about Erica’s nightmares. And the little bits you’ve dropped like it means nothing. That week was hard for all of us, especially you.”

“I wouldn’t say especially me,” he tries to say.

“I would,” Will interrupts him. “You haven’t been the same recently. With everything that’s been going on, and with the anniversary coming up, I just wanted to make sure that you were taking care of yourself. You’re allowed to feel whatever it is you need to feel about this.”

Is he? Someone was supposed to keep smiling. It was supposed to be him.

He only wished his brain could realize that. So, he could stop thinking about bright lights and dark tunnels. The song that played in the background of the recording. Haunting as he took each step.

The weight of an electric poker in his hands. The way it buzzed as he pressed it against skin. How easy it was to hold in place. Watch as it made someone drop to their knees. To the floor.

Shoes on concrete, running faster than he ever has. Unable to process what just happened, immediately onto the next problem. Holding up the weight of someone he thought was so strong. Eyes so dilated, Dustin couldn’t see the brown of his iris anymore. His laughter rings through the elevator while the blood drips from his face.

There was so much more than he knew. So much more that Steve protected him from. But Dustin was smart enough to put the pieces together in those seconds. To feel the weight of what happened fully washing over him.

He couldn’t focus on it then, but he could focus on it now. When Steve has his sunglasses on and stands as far from the noise of the pool as he can while still keeping an eye on them.

It was Dustin’s fault that he had to at all. It was Dustin’s fault for a lot of the things that happened to them. If he hadn’t gotten involved. If he hadn’t pushed. Where would they all be right now?

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[nekrosdolly]

trust

comforting albert proves difficult.

on days when you have work early, albert wakes up with you. when he's working late, you stay awake until he gets home.

you both do little things for each other. it helps to keep insecurities at bay.

when you're insecure, he holds you and tells you all the things he loves about you.

albert doesn't say anything when he's insecure. he shies away from your touches and becomes cold. bit by bit, he tries to push you away until he can't.

"al, honey," you'd say as you sit on the couch beside him. he's reviewing a file from the R.P.D., his glasses off and set on the side table to his left.

"yes, dear?" he doesn't look at you, icy blues roaming the file with disinterest and boredom. his posture is unkempt, his hair slightly ruffled.

without warning, you take the file from his hands and set it aside. he looks annoyed at that but he refuses to say anything. his brows furrow, his lips pursed, but no words come out as he turns towards you.

"talk to me."

"talk about what, my love?" pointed. frustrated. hurt.

"something's wrong. don't tell me there isn't." as gentle as can be, you cup his cheek. he flinches before leaning into your hand, a soft sigh leaving him.

"it- i don't- please, dear, don't patronize me," he keeps his eyes off of you. his voice is less frustrated, more downtrodden and hesitant. the fact that he doesn't trust you hurts. you thought he'd be past this by now.

"albert, you know that's not what i want to do. i could never." you insist, your thumb stroking his cheek. he reaches up to take your wrist and moves your hand away. it falls to his thigh.

this is, unfortunately, routine when it comes to these episodes. he rejects touch and affection. this time, you're a bit frustrated.

"albert, honestly. you can't keep pushing me away." you sigh and pull away, lying back on the couch. the air remains tense. there's little point in trying to get through to him when someone's as stubborn as he is. he does feel bad for pushing you away. it's hard to change learned behavior.

the conversation is over. you turn on your side and rest your head on the plush throw pillow tucked into the corner of the arm and the cushion. it's silent until albert lies on his side behind you, his arm around your waist. given that he's taller than you, his chin rests just above your head. he kisses your head and buries his nose in your hair.

"i'm sorry, darling. don't be too upset at me, please?" he murmurs, and your cheeks tint pink. he's sickly sweet.

"you don't trust me. can you blame me for being upset about that?" you ask, your voice as soft as his.

he squeezes you softly.

"i trust you, i do, my dove. i wouldn't be with you if i didn't." he's always been a good liar.

"i love you, darling. trust me on that." he kisses your cheek, your temple, your jaw- anything to put you at ease.

"al, don't- you just- god, you're confusing." you don't push him away because you enjoy his undivided attention, his affection.

"i know, i'm sorry. i don't mean to be." he's very much a cat. not like he knows how to be much else, though.

you remain silent for a moment, which worries him. you're supposed to be comforting him, but here you are, being comforted. you turn to lie on your back, looking up at him. he sits himself up on his elbow as you scoot up a little to be level with him.

"let me be there for you, just this once. we don't need to talk, just let me comfort you." you take his hand and lace your fingers together. he's quiet, eyes wandering your face as if looking for some sign of betrayal or mockery.

"...alright. if it means that much to you."

"it does." with that, albert shifts so he's lying on top of you, his face buried in the nape of your neck. here, he can hear the rhythmic humming of your pulse, smell your skin, feel the rise and fall of your breathing. your arms wrap around his middle. his shoulders drop their tension as he relaxes in your hold. you rub his upper back, making him sigh in relief. your hands are warm through the blue button-down he's wearing, still not quite out of his work uniform. his vest was set aside a long time ago when he got home, his cargo pants traded out for pajama pants despite not changing into full pajamas, given that he got side-tracked with excess work.

"thank you." he mumbles against the skin of your neck. you're content to hold him until he attempts to pull away, but he never does. you're sure he's purring on the inside.

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭— 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐅𝐅

Note: Check Description and other chapters first to understand the story ^^♡

Chapter 17

Bang Chan

"Your files are secure Chris."

click click tap

"There's no way he'll be able to get through this" Seungmin's fingers were flying over his laptop keyboard in such speed, his hands were basically going invisible.

"Are you sure?" I took a sip from my glass of bourbon, the liquid burning slightly as it went down.

The room was filled with the soft hum of his computer set up and the occasional beep from the various gadgets he had around the place, it feels like I stepped into a server room instead of his penthouse.

"Are you doubting me?" Seungmin looked up, arching an eyebrow, my hands immediately went up in surrender. He narrowed his eyes at me and then looked down at his screen, his fingers flying across the keyboard again.

"I've doubled the firewalls, encrypted the sensitive data, and set up real-time monitoring. If he even tries to breach the system, we'll know."

"Well, then good" I nodded, feeling a bit of the tension ease from my shoulders. At least the digital side of things was secure. After that bastard's visit 2 days ago, I was positive it was Victor who must have tried to access our files to leak information about the launch.

Relief washed over me after Min assured about the security, I looked around at my friends gathered in the living room at his place this afternoon. If I spent another hour in my office I'd definitely lose my mind, so I made plans with Seungmin to talk about the file security and we decided to invite the guys over as well since we didn't meet after Christmas and New Year's.

"So," Hyunjin said, breaking the silence with a grin. "Someone disappeared for a long time during Mr. John's party"

The guys' eyes flickered to Hyunjin then me, I shifted in my seat taking another sip of my bourbon while having Hyunjin smirking at me without an end.

"Oooooh," Han interjected, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Spill the tea, Hyunjin. What happened?"

"Nothing happened" I said defensively. The last thing I needed was for them to turn this into a grand drama. But it wasn't like they were gonna stop anyway.

Hyunjin leaned back, stretching his arms on the head of the couch. "Well, I was just chatting with Aria, you know, making polite conversation. Then Chris here comes over, looking like he's about to rip someone's head off, and next thing we know, the two of them disappeared for the rest of the night."

The room went to a chorus of oooohs, Changbin bursted laughing, slapping his knee, the sound echoing through the whole room. Sometimes his laughter was funnier than the joke itself, contagious and impossible to ignore.

"Oh man, did you get jealous? Of our Hyunjin?!" Changbin managed between laughs, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

"The hell? No I didn't."

Yes you did.

I kept my glass on the table with a soft thud and looked at him, "I just didn't like the way this guy," I gestured at Hyunjin, narrowing my eyes at who was supressing his laughter, "was looking at her"

Felix chuckled. "Sounds like jealousy to me. You were worried Hyunjin would sweep her off her feet with his charms."

Hyunjin closed his eyes nodding proudly. "I mean, can you blame her? I'm the Versace Prince after all."

Ever since he got crowned Versace Prince by Donatella Versace herself, it's been impossible to shut his mouth about it. Not that I blame him. I'd be crazy flattered if I were to get crowned in only a few months of modelling for them.

"I wasn't jealous." I said firmly. "I was just concerned"

Han wagged his finger at me. "Sounds like someone's got it bad. You actually care, huh?"

I sighed, shaking my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. "It's not like that. I just wanted to make sure she was okay."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that," Lee Know said with a smirk.

"But disappearing with her for the rest of the night? That's a bit more than just 'making sure she's okay.'" His fingers air quoting as he spoke.

The guys laughed, but I couldn't stop from playfully scoffing at their teasing. If I told my old self who was erratic and carefree in Europe that I am now married and my friends giving me shit, calling me out on being 'jealous', that Chris would have asked me if I was high on crack.

"We heard about the whole 'wife calling you during a meeting' thing. Bet that was a first, huh?"

My head immediately turned to Seungmin as Changbin's question remained unanswered, the guy was hiding his grinning face behind that screen, trying to avoid my glare.

Seungmin glanced up, feigning innocence. "What? It's not like it's a state secret."

I rubbed the back of my neck and cracked my knuckles, "She never calls me, so I knew something was wrong."

Felix leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "And you rushed home like a knight in shining armor, didn't you?"

"Shut up, Felix," I glared at him. "I did what anyone would do."

"Yeah, right," Han chimed in, nudging I.N. "Our fearless leader, dropping everything for his lady. It's almost romantic."

"Almost?" I.N raised an eyebrow. "I'd say it's pretty damn romantic. Next thing we know, he'll be writing her love letters."

"Or serenading her with his guitar," Lee Know added with a smirk.

"You guys are impossible. It wasn't that dramatic." I grabbed my glass again and chugged down the remaining liquid, coughing lightly. Jack Daniel's is better.

"Sure it wasn't," Felix said, grinning. "Just admit it. You were worried."

"Not worried," I corrected, trying to maintain some dignity. "Just concerned."

"Concerned, worried, same thing," Lee Know said, waving a hand dismissively.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my cool. "What we do in private doesn't need to be involved in our conversations."

"Right," Changbin interjected, a sly grin on his face. "Because what happens behind closed doors is where the real magic happens, isn't it?"

I rolled my eyes. "You guys have way too much time on your hands"

"Since you're the only married person among us and constantly need advice, it very much is an interesting topic," Seungmin added, glancing over the top of his laptop with a smirk.

Despite their relentless teasing, there was a warmth in their banter that reminded me why these moments felt kind of good. Friends who give you shit and still have your back, they were the best.

Hyunjin clapped me on the back getting up from his spot, “Just remember, if you ever need guidance on how to keep a lady happy, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass." I kept Aria happy enough— probably not in the best way, but I'd rather step on a thousand Legos than see her that close to him again.

What the fuck. Am I actually jealous?

As I leaned back on the couch, my mind swirled with thoughts. I'm beginning to hate the way I'm starting to feel around Aria. Getting too close to her will only make it harder for both of us when our...deadline reaches.

Which is in exactly seven months from now.

This was a problem. Not just because of the ticking clock on our arrangement, but because I wasn't supposed to feel this way. I shouldn't feel this way. We had a clear line drawn between us. But lately, that line was starting to blur.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me. Although at the same time, I'm starting to actually like how there's someone to go home to. Unlike last year when my mansion was empty, my housekeeper and butler spent more time there than I did.

It was unsettling how quickly I'd grown used to her laughter echoing through the hallways and her presence filling the emptiness. The way her cheeks swell when she smiles or how good she feels in my arms. And how quickly I'd come to look forward to it.

"We'll figure this out"

"And you won't. You've come this far"

Aria's words replayed in my head again, the way she reassured me. There was a warmth in her voice, a sincerity that cut through my defenses.

She believed in me, in us.

It was more than I ever expected from this arrangement.

I stared at my friends who were engrossed in their own worlds. Min's head glued to his laptop, Hyunjin, Changbin and Lee Know gaming, Felix texting and scrolling his phone while Han and I.N snacking, engaging in a conversation.

And my mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. I was used to control, to having everything in its place. But Aria had a way of dismantling my rules without even trying. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

Part of me wanted to push her away, like I did with almost everyone except for my parents and my friends. To keep the distance that had always been there. But another part of me, a part I was struggling to ignore, wanted to pull her closer.

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. This was a dangerous path. Letting my guard down, letting her in, could only end in heartache.

But as much as I tried to convince myself otherwise, I couldn't deny that she was becoming a part of my life. More than just a contract and a part I wasn't sure I wanted to let go of when the time came.

With the launch and fucking Victor trying to bring me down, my life had become a balancing act on a razor’s edge. Every decision, every move felt more critical than ever. And now, with Aria in the mix, it was getting harder to keep everything on track.

I leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling of Min's living room, the sounds of my friends' laughter fading into the background. The weight of my thoughts pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe.

Seven months.

That was all the time I had to figure out if I could let go of the woman who was turning my world upside down, or if I was willing to risk everything for a chance at something real.

"Are sure you want to have your Pre-launch event in this Venue?" The sudden voice felt like a splash of cold water, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"What?" My voice got caught in my throat, I turned to see Han, standing next to me scrolling his phone without looking up.

"The venue. Are you sure you wanna have the event there?" He asked arching an eyebrow, removing his eyes from the screen.

"Yeah." I replied, trying to refocus. "This place has the right mix of elegance and exclusivity."

"Cool. I'll email you the details by tomorrow and the guest list?"

"Jane has it set. She should have sent it to you by now" I said, shifting slightly on the plush sofa. Han nodded, his fingers moving swiftly as he made a note.

My father suggested we hold a Pre-launch event to build hype and attract potential investors for the upcoming line. He always had a knack for these things, knowing just when and how to create a buzz.

He also suggested I speak with the event host he has been working with over the years but I knew better to trust Han with my event.

Just at the age of 23, Han managed to host successful events for multiple brands and had quickly built a reputation as the go-to guy for high-profile launches. His attention to detail, coupled with his ability to anticipate what would captivate an audience, made him invaluable.

"Just make sure everything is flawless. No room for errors," I reminded Han, though I knew I didn't need to. His track record spoke for itself.

"Don't worry," Han replied, his tone confident. "I've got everything under control. This is going to be the talk of the town."

I nodded at him and took a moment to look around at the guys. Seungmin, was the tech genius, which makes sense why his penthouse looks more like a micro data center rather than an actual house, who made sure my digital security was airtight and of his other clients as well.

Changbin, lounging comfortably, was the CFO of Tommy Hilfiger, his sharp mind for finance keeping budgets and investments on track. Lee Know involved shaping trends and setting new standards in luxury fashion was the Creative Director of Gucci.

Felix and Hyunjin, the dynamic duo, were renowned models for Louis Vuitton and Versace, while I.N, with his magnetic presence and social media savvy, served as a brand ambassador for Bottega Veneta.

And I, currently am COO but the future CEO of Aurelius.

As the evening sun painted the penthouse in golden hues, the excitement and anticipation among us were palpable for the Pre-launch event. I glanced at my watch, it was almost 5pm, I did kind of promise Aria I'll be home by the evening.

Since I truly suck at telling how I feel, I might as well treat Aria a bit more...nicer, for the remaining six months before we have to part ways. For some damn reason that thought made my heart clench, it was a heavily uncomfortable feeling.

With a sigh, I stood up from the plush sofa, catching the attention of my friends.

Changbin raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Off to be the dutiful husband, Chris?"

I chuckled lightly, rolling my eyes as I straightened my shirt. "Something like that."

"She'll be coming to the party won't she?" Felix asked, sitting down on the couch holding a glass of water. Him, I.N, and Han never drink when it's not a weekend.

"Yes," I tried to keep my tone casual.

"Better watch out," Seungmin who finally laid down his laptop, gestured at Hyunjin, "Or this guy might steal her away again" said with a smirk spread across his face as he poured himself a glass of bourbon.

Hyunjin grinned mischievously. "Like I said, can you blame her? I've got irresistible charm."

The guys chuckled, and I could feel the heat rising to my face. "Don't push your luck," I said, my voice was tinged with annoyance.

"Why not? It's not like it bothers you" He let out deep chuckle, somehow that only irritated me more.

"She's my wife."

The room fell into a silence like a sudden drop in temperature, leaving the air thick and tense. The words slipped out unexpectedly, surprising even myself, the guys exchanged glances, then all their eyes fell on me as I stood their as if I was rooted into the floor.

"About time you admitted that" Lee Know chimed in, clinking his glass with Seungmin, a cocky grin playing on his lips while bringing his glass up.

"Let's not make a big deal out of it." I muttered, slipping my phone and keys into my pocket, I could feel the weight of their scrutiny, their eyes on me like lasers. 

"Too late for that," I.N's amused expression was hard to miss.

I could feel the weight of their gazes, their smirks, and the unspoken words hanging in the air. Their reactions only fueled my desire to get out of here.

"See you guys later." I grabbed the jacket off the couch and headed for the door, their laughter and teasing followed me. But I didn't bother to defend it. I didn't want to defend it.

As I made my way towards the elevator, that same unfamiliar feeling settled in my chest.

The lights flashed as I clicked the key to my Porsche, the engine roared and I swifted into the streets. The sun began descending in the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and yellow, the nightlife beginning to stir as I drove by.

A flower boutique caught my eye as I drove through the bustling streets, I went past it, then without thinking, I U-turned. I pulled up to the curb, parked and stepped out into the setting evening air.

I haven't stopped at a flower shop before, hell I never had a reason to buy flowers in the first place.

The bell above the shop door chimed softly as I entered. The place was surrounded by gorgeous flowers, filling the air with the sweet scent of fresh blooms. A young woman behind the counter looked up, smiling.

"Good evening. How can I help you?"

"Hello. I'm looking for tulips," I said, my voice sounding almost foreign to my ears.

"Of course," She gestured me to a vibrant display of flowers, and there they were, their petals a mix of pinks and purples sitting in delicate glass vases. I stepped closer, the sweet fragrance enveloping me.

She wrapped a neat bouquet of purple tulips delicately and tied it with a satin ribbon as I searched for my wallet.

"Someone must be very special," She commented as she finished wrapping it.

"Yeah," I replied, taking the bouquet, feeling a slight unfamiliar flutter in my chest.

"She is"

I handed a hundred dollar bill, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of it before she quickly composed herself.

"Sorry sir, we can't break a hundred."

I smiled slightly, holding out the bill. "Keep it," I said. "It's a tip." 

Her expression shifted to one of surprise, then gratitude, her cheeks flushing slightly as she accepted the bill. "Thank you," she replied, her voice sincere.

I nodded, barely acknowledging her thanks as I turned my attention back to the bouquet in my hands. The tulips were delicate, almost fragile, their colors vivid against the darkening evening outside.

I walked back to my car and placed the bouquet on the passenger seat, it's soft fragrance mixing with the scent of leather. The city lights flashed past in a blur as I drove home as the flowers rested beside me.

Once I pulled up to the driveway of my mansion, my heart began thundering in my chest like a like a drumbeat echoing through an empty hall.

I took a deep breath and got out of the car grabbing the bouquet, and walked inside, the cool evening air brushing against my skin. The house was quiet, the only sound was my footsteps on the marble floor and the door slowly closing shut behind me.

"Aria?" My voice echoed, bouncing off the walls, only the lights from first floor and the living room were on, Aria was no where to be found until she came out of the guest room holding her tablet.

"Oh Chris, Hey. You're home early."

"Yeah I was with the guys and um," A hand embarassingly went behind my neck while the other came from my back, holding the bouquet.

When the hell did I hide the bouquet behind my back?!

"I got these for you." I handed it to her, my heart racing at the speed of a runaway train.

Aria's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, she just stared at the flowers. Then, a soft smile spread across her face as she took the bouquet from me, her fingers brushing lightly against mine.

"Oh Chris, thank you."

I shifted uncomfortably, not used to these kind of intimate gestures. "You're welcome. I know they're your favorite."

She looked up at me, her eyes shining with genuine appreciation. "They are."

Feeling the awkwardness of the moment, I cleared my throat, it felt like I had a cactus shoved right down it. "I know that we are a bit... complicated"

Dear fucking heaven. Why was talking to my own wife so hard?

Her eyes were glued to me, then fell on the tulips, then back to me. Good God, I might explode here out of sheer discomfort. I felt like a teenager fumbling through his first confession.

"I just wanted to, you know, show that I'm, I don't know. Trying."

She smiled softly, her fingers tracing the petals of the tulips. "I can see that, and it means a lot."

I nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and tension. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. I'm not exactly Mr. Romantic."

She laughed gently, a sound that was both comforting and nerve-wracking. "I won't. But it's nice to see this side of you."

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to ease the tension in me. "Thanks. Don't expect too much."

She just shook her head, chuckled and walked near the vase that was on our coffee table removing the roses and putting in the tulips. Okay, since when did we have roses in the house?

And that's it?

Whatever. I didn't care. I took a deep breath and walked to her, her presence was genuinely comforting and terrifying at the same time, I started to wonder when did I get so affected by her.

She glanced up from the vase, her expression soft but curious. "Want dinner?"

A knowing worked its way onto my mouth at her question and right as she turned away figuring out my intentions, I grabbed her wrist, pulling her to me and lifted her up on my shoulder.

"CHRIS!"

"Oh yes sweetheart, I do."

------------------------

Taglist: @bowsnbang @bangchannie97lov @hwasmints @laurenalpha123 @mrs-hwangh @greyyeti @sociallyawkward18 @stephanieeeyang @piscesrising01 @jaquisos @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know <3 (If I missed someone please lmk)

Thank you for reading!

xx,Ivyy

Next Chapter

[zarvasace]

If you're still taking writing prompts- could we see some Shatterproof Legend? Maybe with him struggling with weather or not he wants to use an aid?

Sometimes aids can have drawbacks for the first minute or so (such as being weird until your body is used to it again, or puts a little extra pressure or weight on the person using it)

afaik canes are particularly bad about this. I still need to get one so this isn't personal experience but.

~500 words :)

---

It's a good day for Legend—almost. It started without much pain at all, but now he's sitting in the cart after a shift pushing it, using a knife to cut up a block of cheese and handing it out to everyone for lunch on the road. 

Legend aches a little, but he doesn't strictly need to be here in the cart. In fact, his chest feels heavy with guilt about being here, and he's already made up his mind to get out as soon as possible. Hyrule is dealing with an injured shoulder, so his cane is less useful right now, and he's sitting on top of a pack of two. Four’s napping off some exhaustion, and definitely deserves it. There's room for about one more person, and while Legend is taking up that space right now, he sees Wind trailing behind, exhausted due to the same trip down a waterfall yesterday as Four. 

The problem that keeps Legend’s mind occupied is that all of his joints ache. The question isn't about whether he'll get out of the cart, but if he wants to use his cane. It'll help relieve pain on his worse leg, but it'll make his shoulder hurt more, and put a lot of strain on his better leg. He's miserable just thinking about it. 

But damn if that'll stop him. When everybody has eaten their fill of cheese and bread, Legend tucks the food away and hops out of the moving cart. He leaves behind his pack with everyone else’s, but brings along his cane, still undecided. 

Legend wanders to the back of the group and hits Wind’s shoulder for attention. 

Wind looks up, scowling, but Legend nods to the cart, and Wind’s expression relaxes. “Oh. You, uh, noticed?” 

“I'm paying attention,” Legend says quietly. “Go on, you need it.”

“Well, if you're insisting.” Wind shrugs and runs to catch up to the cart. He launches himself inside and takes the little space left with a relieved sigh. Hyrule greets him with a grin and an enthusiastic hello. 

Legend tosses his cane back and forth between his hands, walking a bit more slowly than he should be to keep up appearances. He sighs and decides to do what he can—he puts his cane in the right place in his hand and falls into the familiar gait, already feeling the strain on his shoulder and opposite knee. 

Suddenly, Warriors is there next to him, signing. “And what about you?” 

“What about me?” Legend scowls. 

Warriors just raises an eyebrow. 

“I'll be fine.” Legend flaps his hand as if he could wave away Warriors’s fretting. “Stop giving me that look. This is about cost reduction, not elimination. I know how to keep my mouth shut, Wind would be complaining all day.” That's a bit uncharitable of him, and they both know it isn't quite true, but it's better to blame Legend's selflessness on that than to call it what it is. 

“It’s a late start tomorrow, then,” Warriors says. It means he won't argue with Legend’s decision. 

Legend shrugs. “Yeah maybe. Sorry.”

“Cost reduction,” Warriors repeats, nudging Legend with his elbow.

[greatwyrmgold]

i feel like everyone has their own vision for this in their head, so what do YOU think an Ai Lives version of OnK would be like? both in terms of what you think the manga itself would have been like and what you, as a fan, would like to see for the characters in that kind of scenario

So, the fun thing is, I've had a few Ai Lives AU fanfics kinda outlined and semi-scripted in the back of my head. I'll try to keep "what I think makes sense for the AU" separate from "what I thought I could justify in that fanfic," but no promises.

I will divide this into two sections. First, I'll discuss how I expect the Hoshino family dynamic would shift over time if nothing disrupted it. Second, I'll discuss a disruption that I expect/hope would happen sooner or later.

The Hoshino Family

Much like HikAi, the Hoshino family is a bunch of people with complimentary unresolved traumas. Like HikAi, there's theoretically a way where these mesh together cleanly and let everyone involved heal without complication, like a broken bone that sets itself.

Like HikAi, that would require implausible serendipity. Unlike HikAi, I don't see that devolving into violence. But the idyllic Hoshino would devolve into a normal, mildly dysfunctional family, composed of people who have minimal experience with anything except the idyllic Hoshino family and idiosyncratic forms of filial abuse.

Aqua has the least baggage. But depending on how his slide from Goro to Aqua turns out, as Ai and Ruby's baggage comes up, I can imagine him appointing himself as the Family Adult without even realizing it. The part of him that's still Goro still sees Ai as his patient, someone who needs his help.

Of course, Ai doesn't know Aqua remembers being his mother's doctor. To her, this just feels like the child/parent relationship being inverted. And I don't think she'd like that much! She'd probably blame herself before Aqua, thinking that this is all because she's a terrible childish mother, but still.

As for Ruby...she'd react basically how you'd expect a little sister to react to her big brother telling her what to do.

There'd be more tension between Ruby and Ai. Ruby wants the unconditional love a mother is supposed to give her child, Ai wants to feel like she can give someone that love; they should mesh like puzzle pieces designed for each other. But that's conditional on Ai being able to express that love.

One of the AU fics I've outlined is the first time Ai has to spend several weeks away from home. She stars in a move with a bunch of scenes shot in Hokkaido or somewhere, and a week or two later B-Komachi has its first world tour scheduled, and then that gap gets unexpectedly filled when Ai gets hospitalized away from Tokyo. (Maybe she broke her leg in a skiing accident or caught an infectious disease or something.)

Anyways, the end result is that for a couple of months, Ruby doesn't see her mama. All she has are occasional phone calls. Even if the rational part of Ruby realizes that her mama isn't intentionally abandoning her, she feels abandoned, and doesn't appreciate Aqua's appeals to her rationality. She needs Mama and mama isn't here! And Ruby's lonely and scared and mad and explodes when Mama finally shows up again. And Ai is dying inside because she feels like she's failed her kids on a fundamental level.

If there's a single moment where the "idyllic Hoshino family" phase ends, it's that. Maybe not that exact scenario, but whatever moment where Ai's work means she can't maintain that intense positive affection. After that, no matter how real Ai's love for Ruby is, it's not going to feel real the way it used to.

Crucially: The actual Hoshino family experience is, objectively, not that bad. But to Ai and Ruby, it feels like they stepped off the slippery slope. Ai worries that she's going to keep slipping until she's as bad as Ayumi, while Ruby worries that Mama's going to keep growing more and more distant until she's abandoned, like everyone except Sensei abandoned her.

Part of the problem is that the Hoshino family is kinda left to stew by itself. As long as Ai of B-Komachi is a public figure, she has to keep lying. She can't admit that she's the mother of her children to anyone she doesn't trust absolutely. That means they can't give her advice, or comfort, or even point out that from their perspective the family is still okay. It's fine. They're fine. It's fine.

(I guess there's Ichigo and Miyako. But they're not exactly an ideal nuclear family themselves.)

Odds are, the Hoshinos will stew in the fear and paranoia about becoming a Bad Family until something disrupts their status quo.

The Hoshino Disruption

The argument that Ai of B-Komachi needs to hide her family for her whole life, or at least her whole career, is contingent on Ai Hoshino being able to hide her family for her whole career. When she's just a semi-famous idol with a couple kid-kittens at home, that's not unreasonable.

But as Ai of B-Komachi's fame grows, more and more people will poke around, looking for a lead that could make their carer, or at least a tidbit that could let them pay rent. And as Ai Hoshino's kids grow, it will be harder and harder for her to balance their needs and desires against her career.

In one of the AU fics I outlined in my head, the dominoes fall like this: The Saitous set up a livestream so Ai can watch her kids' first sports festival, a paparazzi catches her watching it, he recognizes one of the kids as that boy from That Was the Start, then does a little digging to find out that that boy and his sister are legally the kids of Ai's boss, then does a little more digging to find some circumstantial evidence suggesting that Ichigo Saitou's wife was not actually pregnant when the twins were born and also they seem suspiciously close to Ai of B-Komachi.

Nothing definitive, but enough suggestions and raised questions to catch the world's attention. Because by this point, Ai of B-Komachi is the global face of J-Pop. However these suspicions accumulated into circumstantial evidence, finding out that this perfect, pure idol might have had a secret boyfriend and two children is a major story in Entertainment News.

And then there's Kamiki.

Maybe Strawberry Productions could have answered those suspicions and provided something more (seemingly) concrete than all that circumstantial evidence. But as indicated by the Ai Dies primary universe, Kamiki is still emotionally clinging to Ai and prone to doing impulsive things at her.

In my fic outline, Kamiki crashes a press release where Ai and the Saitous are answering questions about these allegations. He basically says "Yes, it's all true, Ai had children and I'm the father! Ai, will you marry me???" And Ai panics and agrees on live TV and there's no walking that back, even though she realizes it was a mistake.

Whatever the details, Kamiki is gonna do something that makes it impossible for Strawberry Productions to just dismiss the rumors out of hand. If they don't admit that they hid their idol's pregnancy, there are gonna be investigations. And those kids are Ai's children; if Kamiki elevates this story from top-tier celebrity gossip to an evening-news controversy, the truth will come out sooner or later.

The Fallout

Whatever ends up happening to Kamiki, whether he gets to marry the love of his life or gets murdered by Ryosuke for defiling history's most perfect idol, the Hoshino family is free of the burdens of secrecy. Ai can go to PTA meetings and take her kids to the movie theater and show baby pictures to her colleagues. She has so many baby pictures she never got to show anyone, it'll be years before she shows anyone pictures of what they look like now.

Of course, they'll have new burdens. Ai is probably too famous and skilled to go completely without work, but her reputation and income will probably never recover. And Ai of B-Komachi's ex-fans are going to exert as much pressure as they can. Ruby, who has been flaming the haters since she was a toddler, is going to give them more clickbait than they know what to do with.

But at least Ai Hoshino can stop lying. And whatever tribulations she must face, I don't think the Hoshino Family can know peace until that happens.

[itsjaywalkers]

for the prompt game: ROSEKILLER 57 WITH BOXER AU IVE BEEN WAITING MY WHOLE LIFE FOR THIS MOMENT……….. (also i hope you’re having a fun day off laurie hi hi 🥺🤍)

HI HI SAINTS BELOVED <333 i actually didn't get the day off bc i'm an idiot and i couldn't say no when my coworker asked me to change shifts.. but at least i got home before 10pm which . is unusual for me lmao . and today's shift was actually kinda fun so !!

anyways, hope you're having a lovely day and that u enjoy this silly lil thing <3 first peek into boxer au rosekiller <3 (i went a bit overboard but they've been plaguing my mind and u don't deserve less)

57. "Teach me to fight."

It's been more than half an hour of hitting the punching bag nonstop when Barty finally decides to take a break. It's not even because he's actually tired, despite the sweat he can already feel dripping down his back and his face. It's because his bad shoulder—the right one—dislocated during the last combination he tried, and after Barty puts it back in place, he's gotta wait a little bit before going back to training.

This happens way too often for comfort, but it's not really painful anymore—it never really was, or maybe Barty has simply dealt with much worse. Besides, the longer he ignores it, the more serious it'll get, which means he'll have an excuse to go get another check-up.

His manager already warned him when he first got the injury after that stupid fight with stupid Potter. Barty began to grow restless during recovery time, and then decided his shoulder was fine when it stopped hurting.

Obviously, he was wrong. Except, it only dislocates when he goes too hard, and he's learnt how to put it back in place without issue, so really, technically, he was sort of right. What does his manager know, anyway? As long as Barty continues winning and putting money in that fucker's pocket, there shouldn't be any complaints.

He pulls up his tank top and dries off some of the sweat on his neck and the side of his face, while rolling his shoulder gently, testing the waters before he goes back to punching, when the hairs at his nape begin to stand up.

There's no noise, no sudden sounds. Barty doesn't hear the door opening, or closing, and yet, when he turns around, smirk already pulling at his lips, he isn't surprised to find someone standing right behind him.

"Hey, Rosie," he greets the other man, who blinks at him, completely deadpan. "I didn't know you were still around. Long shift today?"

"Yes, you did," Evan responds, that cool tone of his sending a pleasing chill down Barty's spine. "Know, that is. I'm pretty sure you've got my schedule memorised."

Barty takes a few moments to drop the hem of his shirt, because he notices the way in which Evan's gaze drops to his stomach and stays there for a handful of seconds. His expression doesn't change, there isn't even a flicker of something in his face, but the attention is more than enough for him.

"Well, you left your email open and your laptop in my near vicinity." Barty shrugs, eyes running up and down Evan's body. He's still wearing that sexy white coat of his, the shirt underneath it perfectly buttoned and tucked inside his jeans.

There's barely any skin showing, because Evan is a little weirdo, but there's some ankle peeking, since the pants are ridiculously tight on him and the legs keep riding up slightly.

Honestly, it's like he's doing it on purpose. Barty can't be blamed if he ends up hard under his sweats. He can already feel some blood rushing south just at the sight of that tiny sliver of soft brown skin.

"And you downloaded my rotas?" Evan guesses, tilting his head to the side.

"Nah," Barty says, crossing his arms over his chest, flexing a little. "Didn't have to. I've got a damn good memory. I read over them for a couple of minutes until they stuck."

Evan nods, not fazed in the slightest.

"That's why you only come in when I'm on shift," Evan states, and it's not a question. He doesn't seem surprised, or freaked out, but then again, he barely shows any emotions. Apart from irritation, that is, and that one's reserved for when Barty is being especially pushy. Or especially horny.

"I don't think I've ever seen any of the other nurses a single time in my life," Barty tells him with a chuckle.

"You have," Evan retorts, and his eyes narrow the tiniest bit. Barty feels a pull in his stomach. "You were talking to Betty three weeks ago, after your match against Black. The bad one. You let her check your shoulder."

Barty lets out an incredulous laugh, not sure on where to focus first, going dizzy with how badly he wants this freak of a man.

He's obsessed with the way in which Evan always seems to get the urge to clarify which Black he's talking about, as if it's not obvious, considering only one of them fights. How he's always so precise, never allowing any ambiguity into his sentences. How almost nothing seems to hold his focus apart from his experiments and medicine and his patients' injuries, and yet, here he is, remembering when Barty talked to someone else momentarily.

"Did I?" Barty asks innocently, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his shit-eating grin at bay.

"Yes," Evan responds, a little furrow appearing between his eyebrows. "She was touching you."

"Was she?" The corners of Barty's mouth are twitching so much he's sure he must look like an absolute maniac.

"Yes," Evan repeats, some exasperation slipping into his voice. "She wasn't even doing it right. She kept kneading the muscle in the same place, instead of checking the ligament, and she did this for more than five minutes, even though it takes seconds to find out about a dislocation—"

"Rosie," Barty cuts him off gently, watching, with no little amount of delight, how Evan's frown worsens. "I didn't even know her fucking name. I couldn't give less of a fuck about stupid Betty, or whatever the hell she's called."

Evan blinks slowly. "But you—"

"I was tired and sore after that match, my shoulder was bothering me, and she was there. My manager told her to check my shoulder, just in case I had fucked it up beyond solution, but if I had known you were around she wouldn't have laid a single finger on me."

There's a beat of silence, Evan's dead eyes searching all over Barty's face, assessing and determined. He smirks at him, which results in Evan huffing and looking away.

"Don't do it again," it's what he ends up mumbling, and if Barty didn't know any better, he'd dare to say Evan is close to pouting. "You're my patient."

Barty raises both eyebrows, a deranged smile splitting his face while he perks up like a goddamn dog. "Is that jealousy I'm hearing, Rosie?"

"No," Evan drawls, straightening up. "It's just the truth. You're not my only patient, you know? But if you're getting treated by me, then you're not allowed to see any other nurses."

"Damn, way to make a man feel special," Barty scoffs, but he does actually kind of mean it. Which he's aware might be a bit pathetic, but, well, he'll be whatever the fuck Evan wants him to. "Wasn't interested in seeing any other nurses, anyway."

"Good." Evan nods, almost to himself, and Barty has to make an active effort not to coo. "Are you done training?"

Barty blinks a couple of times, slightly taken aback, both by the sudden change of topic and by Evan entertaining conversation. Normally, talking to the other boy feels like pulling teeth��oh, man, Rosie would fucking love this comparison—which Barty doesn't mind because he finds it incredibly fun. Unless Evan is going on one of his medical rants, and yeah, Barty shouldn't find it as attractive as he does, but it's not like he's ever worked like he's supposed to.

But this? This is new.

"Not really," Barty answers, still feeling off-kilter. He shakes his head, forcibly pulling himself out of his mind. "Why? You wanna join me, Rosie?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

Barty snorts, assuming that it's a joke, even though he's more than aware that Evan doesn't do jokes, because his humour is way too dark, and rarely finds funny what others do. But Evan's expression doesn't change, and Barty nearly chokes on his own spit.

"Wait, you're serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You've never been interested in boxing," Barty points out.

"That's a lie. I watch every match," Evan argues, lips pursed.

"Because you're job kind of forces you to."

"Also a lie. I need to be there when I'm on shift, in case they call for me, but I'm not required to actually watch."

"Yeah, but you still do, because your pretty little morbid head goes absolutely feral at the prospect of seeing some blood."

Evan scrunches his nose, as if disgusted.

"You're wrong," Evan lies, expression giving absolutely nothing away. Really, if Barty didn't already know the truth, he'd be inclined to believe him. "It's got nothing to do with that. I like boxing."

Barty huffs, the noise filled with amusement. "Sure you do, Rosie."

"I really do," Evan insists, always so ridiculously stubborn.

"I don't know who you're trying to convince, but—"

"Teach me to fight."

Barty sputters, brows almost reaching his hairline, and he gapes at Evan, who's still staring at him. He seems unaffacted by Barty's dramatics, but then again, he's unaffected by almost everything.

"The fuck?" he manages to spit out at some point.

"Teach me to fight," Evan says again, a lot slower, as if Barty is some kind of idiot. God, he wans to fucking devour him.

Barty isn't sure of what's going on right now. Evan barely interacts with him outside of their appointments, it's always him reaching out, so he doesn't understand what prompted this. What Evan is hoping to achieve.

"Why?"

"I told you, I like boxing."

"Yeah, okay. And the real reason?"

Evan's tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek, and it's so, so hard for Barty, not to make a very inappropriate joke.

"I'm testing something," he admits, albeit bedgrugingly.

"Ah, so you want me to be your guinea pig," Barty sighs a bit dreamily. "That sounds more like it."

"Sure," Evan agrees with unsurprising ease. "Will you?"

"All you had to do was ask, Rosie."

They get to work right after that. Barty doesn't even bother with suggesting a change of clothes, because he's aware of how well that'd be received. The fact that Evan chooses to take the white coat off is already more than Barty expected.

He tries to show him how to stand, how to do a basic punch. Evan knows most of the basic theory, mostly due to how often he deals with boxing injuries, but he's absolutely helpless when he has to act it out himself.

It doesn't matter how often Barty corrects him; he keeps slouching, stance all wonky. He lacks strength, and he takes a bit too long to protect his face after doing a jab.

The main issue, though, is his obvious lack of interest.

Evan seems to be distracted by something, too inside his own head, and when Barty is about to point this out, poke some fun at him in hopes of getting Evan to snap, the other man speaks again.

"That's enough," he declares, tone leaving no place for argument. "Let's spar."

Barty chuckles, disbelieving, but then Evan is sending a glare his way, and he raises both hands in mock surrender, giving in immediately.

He'll do pretty much whatever the fuck Evan wants him to, really.

They both get into position, and regardless of how much Barty is holding back, trying to give the other man a chance, is actually kind of laughable, how easily he overcomes him.

One moment they're exchanging soft blows, and the next Barty has Evan pinned to the floor, his legs and arms completely immobilised as Barty grins maniacally from above.

"Happy now, Rosie?" he teases.

Evan presses his mouth in a tight line. "Not quite."

"Oh, really? Because I'm starting to think this was all a ruse to get me on top of you."

Evan rolls his eyes so hard Barty worries they might get stuck inside his skull. "I'm afraid that's more your style. And anyway, I don't think it's wise to understimate your opponent like this."

"It's nothing personal, Rosie, but when victory is already mine, I—"

Barty never gets to finish. Evan raises his head so quickly his brain barely registers it, and then he's sinking his teeth hard where Barty's neck meets his shoulder. Until he breaks skin, until he draws blood, until Barty lets out a pained groan and his body goes slack, more in surprise than actual hurt.

A moment later, their positions are reversed. Evan is straddling him, mouth still attached to his skin, and Barty is lying on the cold ground, dizzy and a little bit breathless.

He doesn't know how long they stay like this—definitely not enough—but after a while, Evan lets go and sits up a little, lips stained red. It's dripping down his chin, and when he parts his mouth a little, panting softly, Barty finds out that his teeth are also crimson with blood. With his blood.

Barty groans again.

"You're hard," Evan comments, painfully nonchalant. It's that same casualness he used the first time Barty had an erection during an appointment, after Evan had pulled at the stitches on his leg and stuck his fingers inside Barty's wound.

"Yeah," he breathes out, half-delirious. "Yeah, no shit."

Evan hums, cocking his head to the side, analytical gaze running up and down Barty's body and making him twitch in his pants. The fact that Evan can feel it right under him, between his legs, forces Barty to swallow down a moan.

Barty is about to say something incredibly stupid to maybe, hopefully, alleviate the tension, when Evan leans down once more; this time, slower, more careful.

He's prepared to feel the sting of a bite again, toes curling in excitement, but it never comes. Instead, there's something wet and tentative and soft lapping at the open wound, gathering all the blood there that is still coming out.

It takes Barty a moment to realise it's Evan's tongue.

The knowledge hits Barty like a motherfucking bus. He can't stop a low moan from coming out now, or his hips from thrusting up, searching for something, anything, that Evan might give him.

Surprisingly, and instead of pulling away, the other man makes an odd noise against his skin, and Barty thinks he's imagining it when Evan presses down on him.

He freezes up after that, but only for a second, Evan's licking never stopping. But then Barty moves again, more purposefully, rubbing his erection against the apex of Evan's thighs.

The response is immediate, although definitely unconscious. Evan grinds back experimentally, with no coordination or finesse, dropping another sound into Barty's bleeding wound.

His eyes widen when his brain finally catches up properly, hands coming up to grab at Evan's hips and halt his movements.

"Rosie, are you..." Barty stops, swallows harshly. "Are you turned on right now?"

Evan laps at the blood a few more times before straightening up again, staring down at Barty with unblinking eyes and red all over his face.

"Fuck, are you—?" A laugh, strained and bordering on hysterical. "Are you wet?" He doesn't even need to check to know the answer.

Evans nods, almost imperceptibly. "Apparently so."

He has half a mind to turn them over and fuck Evan into the floor. Until Evan is a whimpering mess. Until he's crying, begging, unable to do anything but fucking take it. Until he's sore, and hurt, and full, but still asking for more. Until he can't say anything else apart from Barty's name, until he's—

"Bloody hell," Barty whispers, shutting his eyes tight and letting out another cackle.

Oh, he's going to die. He's absolutely going to fucking die.

[manias-wordcount]

Hi! If your requests are open, I have one I’d like to see (but if you’re uncomfy with this request please feel free to ignore!!)- I’d love a little smutty reader x Jet Black, where the reader teases him until he snaps and rough sex ensues. Thanks!! ❤️❤️

Want it Now (Jet Black x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗮 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗼𝗹 𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘀𝗼 𝗶 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆 𝗶𝘁!

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝘅𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁, 𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗰 𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗰𝗲𝗻𝗰𝘆 (𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘂𝗽 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗮 𝗯𝗮𝗿 𝘀𝗼 𝗶𝘁'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝘇𝘆 𝗟𝗢𝗟

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

Jet’s a big guy. 

  A big guy that you don’t get to see that often. So you know he means well whenever he tells you how he wants to take it nice and slow with you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. Doesn’t want to break you. Just wants to love on you. Take care of you. Make you feel all sorts of good to make up for all the missed moments in between. Those sorts of things.

  But you don’t want nice and slow. You want him. So you let him know that.

  “What can I get you both tonight?”

  But it’s hard. You’re out in public. And he’s distracted. You don’t like that he’s distracted. You don’t like the fact that the bartender is still coming by and asking about new orders instead of telling you to make room for new customers. You don’t like the fact that Jet is the decent type of man who still insists on taking you out and boozing you up- even if you both know exactly how things are going to end.

  He’s been talking you up all night when the two of you met at the bar. Saying all the things he wants to do you in between all his stories about the misadventures of his crew. And you want to listen to him- you really, really do, you swear! But It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, but that smile and that voice of his is still the same. It still does the same things to your body too. It still sends shivers down your spine and has you stumbling over your words. Even when he’s doing something as simple as slipping a hand around your waist as he orders you a refill. 

  “I’ll take another bourbon.” He says it so effortlessly. A polite smile on his face. A charm to his voice. Like he hasn’t even noticed you shifting in your seat and crossing your legs nice and tight this entire time. Does he know how badly you want it right now? Does he know how bad you want him right now? You’re not sure. Because the smile he gives you is so genuine- so sweet when he gestures to the empty glass in front of you. Fully intent on filling you up in another way before the night grows older. “And another Firecracker for the little lady right next to me.”

  “Coming right up sir.”

  The bartender steps away at that, and your eyes follow their back as they go. At this point, you’re about ready to make some bad decisions and blame it on a little pre-gaming you did before meeting with him. You’re about ready to take what’s yours. Take what you want since he seems too slow to do it for you.

  So you don’t even bother waiting until you’re both good and drunk and back in the love hotel he booked for the night. No, you don’t. You couldn’t. You’re far too needy tonight. Far too brave too. Because even without the liquid courage in your system, you still find that you’re all too eager to reach underneath the covered bar and to place your hand on Jet’s clothed cock.

  Exactly where it needs to be.

  Now, of course, Jet’s a big guy. The type of guy who can keep his chill. He’s been around the sun more than you have. He knows what he’s doing. But even he can’t help but let the corners of his twitch further upwards while he’s making some small talk with the bartender about something you really couldn’t care less about. But you don’t let out a peep the entire time. In fact, now you’re all pretty smiles and light laughter, even if your hands are busy feeling the outline of Jet’s hard-on through his pants. A full turn around to the almost rabid feeling inside of you that existed mere seconds earlier. Now you’re squeezing, feeling, and fondling him in a way that you know for sure is going to get you in trouble tomorrow. And yet…

  “Someone must be excited, huh?”

  You’re far too busy to care.

  “Hmm,” You let out an absent-sounding hum, as your date turns to you after finishing up with the bartender. He doesn’t try to move your hand or anything. In fact, you swear that he shifted into you- leaning over to better conceal what’s happening between the two of you. The action makes you smile just a little wider. And you know you must be looking like the cat that just caught the canary as you meet his gaze and bat your eyes with a purr. “Maybe~”

  “Maybe, huh?” He laughs good naturally. Almost as if you had just told him a good joke. Almost as if you weren’t leaning over and feeling up his hard cock through the fabric of his pants- familiarizing yourself with the shape once more. Your cheeks warm in slight embarrassment, but Jet is subtly moving his hips in time with your hand. You don’t even know if he realizes it. You don’t even know if he realizes just how much more excited this makes you feel either. So you grow a little bolder. A little more purposeful with your touches. Firmer squeezes. Exploring hands, the whole works. And that only serves to rile the two of you up even more than before. So much so that you’re not even surprised when Jet decides to lean in even closer than before and drop his voice all low before saying to you: “Does maybe this mean I need to order your liquor to-go and take you back to the hotel ASAP, huh?”

  “Nah…” The hand he has slung around your waist lowers itself in a way that’s dangerous. But you’re the one who started the fire. You’re not about to be the one who is going to start complaining about burns either. After all, you liked the heat. The heat you feel on your cheeks. The heat you feel running through your body and all throughout your blood. The heat you feel from Jet as he sits close to you and lets you be as shameless as you want to be. You like the heat. No, you thrive in it. So you’ll turn the notch up. Just a little bit. “This maybe means something else.”

  Vaguely, you hear the bartender announce your Firecracker as the soft clinking of class sounds in front of you. The call of a bourbon is quick to follow. But you don’t even pay the bartender or your drink any mind as it’s placed in front of you. Instead, you’re a little occupied giving your date a half-lidded stare, beckoning him to challenge you. To give in to you. To let you be needy. To let you be a tease. And you’re lucky- because he’s Jet. He’s into you as much as you’re into him. He’s willing to put up with you and your ways. Your boldness. Your fire. Because he likes it. Because he wants it. Because he wants you.

  “Like…?”

  So you’ll show him…

  “Like…I better be bent over outside in the next five minutes or I’m going home with someone else tonight.”

  …that you’re not going to wait for him to decide on his terms. 

  And at that, you’re smiling extra-wide and nice and pretty and moving your hand out of his lap. Because your date’s jaw just clenched all tight and a gruff sound just escaped his throat. Telling you that he heard you. Showing you that he heard you loud and clear. But that wasn’t enough for you. Not nearly enough for you. So you stood up from your stool ready to step outside and wait for him if you had to. Ah, but that’s the thing.

  You don’t have to.

  Because the second you’re on your feet and taking your first step, Jet is up and behind you. Yelling at the bartender to put the bill on his tab as he places his metal hand on the small of your back. It’s hard and heavy against your backside, but you that it works in all the ways you need it to so you don’t mind. You don’t mind one bit.

  Especially now that you’re a little busy being led out the door by your date as he whispers in your ear just how hard and fast he’s going to take you in this alleyway the second the two of you are out of sight. But that’s fine with you. Jet was the one who originally wanted things to go nice and slow. So it’s only right that he makes up for his mistakes now. It’s only right that he gives himself to you in the way that you want. Because what can you say?

  You like it hard. You like it fast. You like it big. And you like it hot. But most of all?

  “You better put your money where your mouth is, baby.”

  You want it now.

  “Because I expect not to be able to walk home tonight.”

  So you’ll get it now.

[chocolate-cream-soldier]

Ok rant time so putting under the cut //

This is about the whole Peggy/Dottie and Agatha/Rio parallel thing that people keep talking about and yes it's been bothering me. I mean, we are what, kind of 2 months after the show's finale now? so I get to rant a little, and I won't do so on other people's posts and art cause I am not an asshole duh so this is the best way to get it off my chest ha ha…I've seen the parallel gifsets and I have seen some posts floating around about it and every time I see them I am like but but that is so not a parallel!! It really isn't… other than it being a kiss between 2 women and them both being marvel properties. Because then by that standard every wlw kiss is a parallel of each other lol!

Peggy and Dottie are antagonists ( u can read it as romantic. I am not gonna stop you. Hayley and Bridget had great chemistry) but there's no history between them prior to the show. Peggy doesn't even clock Dottie as a threat initially. The reason why the kiss comes off as a surprise to her, she never anticipated it and that's why Dottie was able to get so close without rising any suspicion…

Rio also didn't anticipate the Kiss and that's why she initially failed to realize that it wasn't just a kiss but also Agatha siphoning her power and surrendering to Death!

so if we are counting the surprise element as the parallel then ok this one I'll concede.

But that's the end of it right?

The two kisses are fundamentally different in intent and visualization. I need to know that people understand that, cause if not you are really reducing the magnitude of the vidarkness moment

The Peggy/Dottie kiss is a ploy , it's for shock, to frame Peggy and get her locked up, to buy Dottie time to execute her masterplan, also Dottie initiates the kiss and Peggy suffers the consequences so even from a purely visual angle they don't match up.

In contrast the vidarkness kiss has so much heart to it, Agatha chooses to kiss Rio and the consequences are faced by both, it's not merely done for shock value, they have been building up to it, this was the culmination of a season long narrative arc, for Agatha to finally reconcile her loss of Nicky and her love for Rio and that they can co exist cause she realized that the blame doesn't lie with them, that sometimes boys just die, that out of death comes life and viceversa, that life runs in tandem with death. So her choosing to sacrifice herself by surrendering to her love, it puts to rest (it might be temporary but still) the war that had been waging inside her, the immense guilt and heartbreak that they were both dealing with. Love can't conquer all neither can it lessen the impact of grief but as we all know and hopefully believe- it does persevere.

The point is-I know most posts are tongue and cheek but it doesn't take much time for it to shift in tone and for nuance to get lost in the process. I have seen that shift happening, people being annoyed that the only time we get to see women kiss in mcu they are just getting conned or that it's a cheap trick( or queerbaiting) but that's so not the story when it concerns Agatha and Rio. I don't really get bothered with bad readings when it's some random dudebro but when it's people who claim to be fans doing this, it definitely grates on my nerves. Not saying you can't have a different take, and this show had it's limitiations, the lack of a backstory for Agatha and Rio is still a stinger for me personally, but I also liked the show for what it managed to explore and I appreciate the care that they put in making the show. So I guess I just want to encourage these kind of creatives and want them to feel empowered and bold enough to create more diverse stories. I know this is * piss on the poor* website but please please I need people to stop reducing stories into 5 sentence badly written summaries as if it's been generated by chatgpt, cause that's really counterproductive imo.

// that's the rant, sorry anyone who stumbled upon this suddenly and had to deal with my wordy and somewhat nonsensical ramble lol. I will shut up and go back to scrolling for pretty arts and fics on my dash now. Thanks and goodbye.

[artful-aries]

When You Are In Danger (Kaveh, Baizhu)

This week has been crazy for me, but I managed to squeeze out some content. Enjoy the Dendro boys!

Kaveh

The man will be beside himself if he can’t find you, let alone if he knows that you’re in some kind of danger

He will absolutely blame himself for it even when it has nothing to do with him. Regardless of the circumstances, he felt like it was his responsibility to keep you safe, to make sure nothing bad ever happened to you

It will be one of the rare circumstances where he is certain in his convictions; Kaveh is going to get you back no matter what. He’s willing to even go to Alhaitham for help if he feels he can’t handle the situation on his own, he’s just that desperate to get you back that his pride goes out the window

Whether it’s rogue Eremites, vicious fungi, or one of the other many dangers in the land of Sumeru, Kaveh will not hesitate to charge in, admittedly without a plan

It’s because he rushes in so quickly that he’s likely to get himself hurt in the process of rescuing you, but he pushes through the pain until your safety is guaranteed

He will be bruised and bleeding, his shirt and hair completely disheveled, yet as soon as he lays eyes on you after the threat is eliminated his red eyes will immediately begin filling with tears

His arms are around you before you can even blink, practically crushing you against his chest as he hesitantly asks you if you are okay, as if he is scared of how you’ll answer. If you were to fret over him and his condition he will be a bit confused. Who cares about his injuries? You’re the important one here

He’ll stop his self-deprecating talk and attitude if you seem upset by it, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t still harbor the thoughts. Still, he’ll push it aside for later. What matters to him right now is getting you home

Kaveh will absolutely beat himself up over this for a long time, even more so if you had managed to get injured before he could rescue you. He feels like he’s not worthy of you if he can’t do something as simple as keeping you safe. The man will need a lot of love and reassurance to bounce back from what he perceives as his failure as a partner

After the incident, Kaveh gets very anxious whenever you go out by himself. He’s not assertive enough to ask that you wait until he can go with you, yet he also won’t mention how uneasy your solo trips make him. The agonizing feelings whirling in him feel almost like a suitable punishment for his past mistakes

Kaveh will suffer in silence until you notice the way his brown knit together when you bid him goodbye, or Alhaitham slips you hints out of desperation, borderline demanding that you do something about his roommate’s “mopey attitude” as he puts it

Baizhu

He is a bit calmer when you come up missing or he sees you in immediate danger, but his heart does feel like it’s dropping into his stomach

You being in danger brings up his deepest fear; what if you get injured to a point that he cannot heal you? Just the thought alone is enough to make him feel frantic

Together with Changsheng, Baizhu seeks you out immediately; investigating your disappearance personally, or rushing into battle if he is to find you in immediate danger. He will push his body to its absolute limit despite Changsheng’s warnings, desperate to ensure your safety

When the threat is gone, he will be beyond relieved, but now his focus shifts to thoroughly inspecting you for any injuries. He’s happiest when you’re unharmed, but he can’t deny the warm feeling in his chest as he tends to the few scrapes you managed to collect through the ordeal. Mostly he’s just thankful that you weren’t injured beyond his capabilities to remedy

Now that you have been properly protected and tended to, Baizhu focuses his energy on hiding the strain he put himself through to keep you safe. He doesn’t want you to feel guilty, and as a man he does feel a slight twinge of shame in almost being too frail to protect someone he cares about

He’ll likely get away with hiding the way his body aches, or how he has a more prevalent cough after exhorting himself, but on the off chance that you do notice his deterioration he will circumvent your worries and insist that he is fine.

No matter how much you push, he will not admit his struggles to you, and he will shoot Changsheng warning looks if she were to try and rat him out

Baizhu will take you home before retreating to Bubu Pharmacy so that he can all but collapse, with Changsheng scolding him both for pushing past his limits as well as lying to you about how terrible he felt

When he fully recovers, he’ll make a point to try and spend more time with you, subtly keeping an eye on you to make sure that nothing bad happens to you again. If he can’t find the time to break away from the pharmacy to check on you, he’ll likely send Gui or Qiqi to check up on you

If you were to ask him about it, Baizhu would just say that he simply wants to stay in better touch with you, only halfway admitting his concern for you. Yet it’s always obvious with how his gaze softens that he cares tremendously about keeping you safe in the future

[yamishika]

Another rant I need to put out there—this one’s more cynical than usual, but something has been bothering me for a long time, and I need to get it off my chest.

Please help me understand…when did it become socially acceptable to live in lies and leech off others? To feel entitled to another person’s energy and efforts? Life dealt you a bad hand, and now your mission is to replay the same sob story like a broken record, over and over, expecting recompense—and more?

It honestly boggles my mind. Everyone is quick to call out narcissists, manipulators, and attention-seekers. People shut them down without hesitation. But where is that energy when it comes to the wolves in sheep’s clothing?

You know, the ones who weaponize self-pity, performative humility, and constant victimhood like their lives depend on it.

The ones who never take accountability, always shift the blame, and twist every situation to make themselves the ‘poor suffering soul’ who deserves endless validation.

Are you serious? You demand support but never give it in return. And if you do? It comes with strings attached, constant reminders, or some unspoken debt hanging over my head. Genuine kindness? Your pockets are too tight for that.

Yet, somehow, you still expect the world to bend over backwards for you—while you do nothing but drain it.

And on top of that you want to act like you’re above us all?? Like you’re the ultimate authority on life when you’re clearly failing so terribly with your own. And yet you still act like you’re the one that can condescend us?

What kind of delusion is that?

And the minute someone sets a boundary to protect their energy and mental well-being?

Suddenly, they’re the villain.

It would almost be funny if it weren’t so pathetic. But it’s not a joke—it’s a reality. A sad reality that too many people enjoy and not enough question.

Too many people have gotten comfortable in their own misery, expecting the world to save them from their own self-made ruin.

To those people: We owe you nothing. Not our time, not our energy, certainly not our sympathy. I’m done with people abusing my patience, leeching off my energy, and still coming back for more.

And then having the audacity to bitch about it?

Please.

The irony is, these same people love to talk about narcissists, manipulators, and energy-drainers—yet more often then not, they embody all three.

I hadn’t seen it before, but now I do.

Just because something isn’t overt doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

I don’t know. I’m just tired. Tired of giving, just to watch people take. Tired of offering help, just to see it turned into an expectation. Tired of dealing with people who don’t want to change—they just want an audience.

So to those who have made their entire life a never-ending performance: Go ahead. Keep acting. Keep putting on your grand spectacle.

I’m done watching.