#and to comprehend fully lmao

[patriciaselina]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 薬屋のひとりごと - 日向夏 | Kusuriya no Hitorigoto - Hyuuga Natsu, 薬屋のひとりごと | Kusuriya no Hitorigoto | The Apothecary Diaries (Manga) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jinshi/Maomao (Kusuriya no Hitorigoto), Rikuson & Maomao (Kusuriya no Hitorigoto), Loulan | Shisui & Maomao (Kusuriya no Hitorigoto) Characters: Maomao (Kusuriya no Hitorigoto), Jinshi (Kusuriya no Hitorigoto), Rikuson (Kusuriya no Hitorigoto), Loulan | Shisui (Kusuriya no Hitorigoto), Suirei (Kusuriya no Hitorigoto), Xiaolan (Kusuriya no Hitorigoto) Additional Tags: Secret Admirer, Fluff, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Jealousy, Petty Jinshi, Everyone Loves Maomao (Kusuriya no Hitorigoto), Oblivious, Fluff without Plot, Title from a Stray Kids Song, Romantic Comedy, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Open to Interpretation, SKZ EXchange Island did a number on me...so this happened Series: Part 3 of Ka Corporate Holdings, Inc. Summary:

Suirei realizes, belatedly, that here is where the other shoe drops, because Jinshi finally tears his gaze away from Maomao long enough to consider the situation in front of him. Her, with the capacity to occupy Maomao's thoughts with their shared love for medicinal herbs. Loulan and Xiaolan, who Maomao doesn't fully realize she has the softest spots for. Rikuson, who shared a childhood with Maomao and has had her ride his motorcycle before. If you look at it in the way only a lovesick, jealous guy like him would: he is in enemy territory.

Everybody just wants Maomao to choose them. Maomao just wants everyone to shut the hell up.

Office AU fluff, I think? Spoilers for up to LN 4/5 due to a couple of the characters; I think the GX manga has reached this point but it will take a while for BG manga to get here (at the time of posting it is currently at chapter 68). Anyway, happy new year! It's been a while since I last did this but for now I'm putting the entire fic under this post, as a treat hahaha. Also shoving all the office AU oneshots under an AO3 series for my own organization purposes...

---

You're the only reason why I really love you...

Rikuson watches Maomao as she chews through the big hunk of meat that Jinshi had just lovingly fed her; her cold gaze is obviously no match for the adoring, soft eyes aimed in her direction.

He can easily imagine heart shapes emanating out of the guy's sparkling eyes. Rikuson chuckles to himself, hiding his smirk behind his drink - he hadn't seen Maomao try to look that infuriated since the time when her biological parents tried putting her in girly frills for one of the numerous La family pictures.

While his chuckle may have been successfully hidden, the mirth in his eyes was definitely not hidden enough. That's why Maomao's gaze decides to target him next, her cold eyes seeping into his soul as they convey only one message: don't you even start.

At that, Rikuson puts his drink down so Maomao can see just how amused he is with the situation his dear childhood friend has landed herself in now. She balks as it finally sinks in: with her attention fully on avoiding Jinshi's affections, she hadn't realized she had left Rikuson to his own devices, and truly, he can start anything he damned wants to start.

"You look awfully pleased, Mister Family Friend," Loulan says, eyeing the silent battle of wills in front of her with interest. She's sitting on Jinshi's other side, batting his hands away as she succeeds in reaching over him and handing Maomao the drink she had just poured out. "Is watching our Maomao eat that interesting?"

"Very," Rikuson grins, turning the charm up to eleven, knowing full well that while Maomao had gotten distracted by her drink, it is now Jinshi who is glaring daggers through his skull. He cheerfully decides to pretend he doesn't see that. "It brings me back to when Xiaomao and I were kids - I had to feed her because back then, all she wanted to do with her hands was use them to read through her books about medicine."

Something in between a scream and a shiver wordlessly passes through Maomao's face. Yes, Rikuson grew up with Maomao, but he never really calls her Xiaomao. Well. Not as much as he used to. When she was still a Xiaomao, she was a cutie - or so Rikuson remembers his younger self thinking, as well as his current self, sometimes.

But that's neither here nor there. Right now, Jinshi's hands are balled up into fists under the tablecloth, so regardless of whether it was a lie or not...it was a wise choice.

"I like people who enjoy learning," Jinshi says, making a big show of sounding nonchalant as he tosses his beautiful long hair over his shoulder with a flick of his hand. "I think it's great for people to have something they're passionate about."

"Oh, really now, Mister Jinshi?" Xiaolan perks up suddenly, almost elbowing Suirei beside her in her haste to get the next words out. "Would you say that a passionate learner is your ideal type?" A big smile blooms across her face, as it always does when she gets her hands on something she considers interesting.

Jinshi grins back, clearly pleased that at least someone has been picking up the breadcrumbs he had set down. Maomao rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair, as if she already knows what he'll say next, but she isn't actively moving away from him, either. "Yes. I like passionate learners. I also like people who aren't picky eaters and love their alcohol."

"Aww, that puts me out of the running! I just like sweets and juice." Jinshi smiles kindly as Xiaolan fake-sighs, holding a hand to her head in an imitation of a swoon. "But that's good for you, right, Maomao?"

"How did this go back to me?" Maomao snaps back, but a tad softer that she usually would. After all, she really is a softie when it comes to Xiaolan. Loulan sometimes complains about such blatant favoritism, but when she does Maomao merely pulls her aside and says neither of them should possibly expect dear sweet Xiaolan to keep up with the best of their messes.

"Oh, you know what I mean." Xiaolan says, her sunny smile firmly in place as she leans forward, a woman on a mission. "Remember when that nice Mister invited you out to go to the night markets and you and I had a phone call the entire night before to talk about where you should bring hi--mmph phh hmm?"

"You should eat more meat, you know." Maomao swears up and down that the only reason Xiaolan ever got to say that much is because she was busy loading up her chopsticks with meat. Definitely not because she was committing the look of surprise from the guy beside her to memory. Damn, why does he still look pretty with his flushed cheeks and stupid mouth all wide open like that. "Have some more."

"Xiaomao, easy on the meat, her cheeks are looking very full." Rikuson chides. He keeps putting unnecessary emphasis on the nickname, and Jinshi still looks like he'd swallowed a frog. "Your big brother over here will gladly take the rest of it, though?"

Maomao really, really doesn't want to reach across the table and feed Rikuson, but she doesn't know what else to do with the meat when she doesn't want to eat all of it either. She's about to bring the chopsticks out to reach his side of the table when someone suddenly pulls on her sleeve.

"Hmm?"

"I want that cut; give it to me." Jinshi says, in a tone of voice that brooks no arguments. It's more than enough to make Rikuson smile crookedly and move away.

"Get your own damned meat."

"No, I want that cut, not those cuts."

"Are you a child?"

"You really let her talk to you like that, Mister?" Suirei wonders. For almost the entirety of this meal, she had been quietly listening to their conversation, letting Rikuson and Xiaolan on each side of her pile up on the meat as she diligently sliced bite-sized portions for her little sister, who, like Maomao, was more focused on the drinks than anything.

After a few gestures here and there, it looked like Maomao finally caught on that Jinshi had wanted her to feed him, so she does, begrudgingly. There's a satisfied, contented sparkle in Jinshi's eyes as he licks his lips, holding Maomao's gaze the entire time. Then he turns to Suirei. "I'd obviously let her do anything with me."

"Big words from someone who wouldn't let me feed him cordyceps." Maomao grunts. From the tone of her voice, this seems to be a recurring complaint.

"I was with you the whole way, until you said you'll lock me in with a random other person. Isn't a woman of science supposed to personally observe their data?"

Loulan laughs at that, Rikuson quickly following along, and Xiaolan turns to the woman beside her in sheer confusion. "What's a cordyceps, Suirei-jie? What are they talking about?"

Unfortunately, due to her line of work, Suirei knows exactly how a cordyceps would be used, so she also knows in what purpose this Mister Jinshi is hoping to use it with their seemingly oblivious friend. "Trust me, Xiaolan, you're lucky to not know what they mean."

---

After the meal is done - which also means, after Jinshi had finally finished making Maomao feed him everything, up to and including half the plate of grilled silkworm that Loulan had ordered on a whim - Suirei tells them something that's been weighing on her for a while now.

"I realized we're going to have a problem on our way back."

Suirei had bought a four-seater sedan, but between all the medicinal herbs she and Maomao had haggled, the cute stuff Xiaolan bought for her new apartment, and Loulan's haul of assorted knickknacks, the back seat might as well not exist for human seating.

Rikuson had bumped into them at the market and went along with them to the restaurant, but he only has a motorcycle with him. He does have an extra helmet, though, so someone could possibly ride with him - not someone taller like Suirei or Jinshi, though.

Jinshi had insisted on bringing Maomao to her meeting place with the other three girls with the intention of just dropping her off and going back home, but when he had seen Maomao recognize Rikuson in the crowd and call out to said family friend with such familiarity, he suddenly didn't want to leave. If only he knew he was going to stay this long, he would have opted for his four-seater as well - now he just has his two-seater sports car.

"I don't see a problem," Maomao says, fully aware of the eyes that are suddenly on her. "Each vehicle can ride two people, and there's six of us. Easily said and done."

"Xiaomao, the helmet still fits on you, so you can ride behind me like you used to." Gods above, Rikuson thinks, behind his smile, Maomao's guy really needs to take a chill pill. But I guess I'm not helping.

"Call me Xiaomao one more time and I'll--" Make sure one of yours becomes small, is how Maomao usually ends this threat. It's a testament to her inner growth, or maybe how tired she is, that instead of completing that sentence, she takes a deep breath and stops herself. She massages her temple, seemingly nursing a headache. "Ugh. You know what? It doesn't matter."

"So that's a yes?"

"I take that more as a no," Loulan murmurs across the table so quietly that Rikuson suspects it's only meant for his ears. Then, louder, she speaks again: "I call dibs on me and Maomao riding jiejie's car home!" Loulan says in her usual bright voice. "I'm a super duper safe driver, and Xiaolan said before that she wanted to ride a motorcycle at least once."

"Uh, I wanted to ride with Maomao too, though?" Xiaolan says, her cheeks slightly flushed. "Just like last time. It was fun to ride behind her on the scooter..." The faint flush on her cheeks may be from the prospect of having to wrap her arms around an unfamiliar young man like Rikuson, but Maomao doesn't know what to do with the troubled look the young woman sends her direction.

"Xiaolan, I don't think we can ride together this time. I don't have a license so I can only ride my scooter, but I didn't bring it today." Come to think of it, that was Jinshi's fault. He smiles beatifically beside her.

"Then it's settled, Xiaolan and Mister Family Friend on the bike, me and Maomao in the car! I wouldn't want to separate her from her herbs after all."

"Little sister, where am I supposed to ride in this scenario, if you've taken my car...?"

"Oh, you and Mister Jinshi are similar heights so I just thought if he can fit in the sports car, you can too, jiejie!"

Suirei and Jinshi exchange looks. Literally the only things they have in common are their heights and a surprisingly soft spot for Maomao - his more prevalent than hers. That doesn't mean I'll automatically give way, she thinks, and chalks that sudden burst of pettiness up to how Jinshi had earlier made it an unspoken competition of who can buy Maomao more interesting medicinal raw materials.

"Wouldn't you have more fun in a fancy sports car with all the bells and whistles, though, meimei? I know you like driving fast." Suirei wonders aloud, a serene smile on her face. "Also, you did tell me before that you like talking to passionate people with clear-cut goals. As a businessman, I would guess Mister Jinshi would fit that description."

What is jiejie talking about? Loulan has met Jinshi for the first time in her life today, but she has heard more than enough of him from Maomao and seen them together around the office enough to know that if that guy has one passion in life...yep, it's probably Maomao herself. But that aside - "Jiejie, I was talking about Maomao back then! I want to talk with her more! Jiejie already hogged all her attention with all the medicine talks you had earlier. I wanted in too! Maomao!"

"Like I said, it doesn't matter to me either way," Maomao says, somehow grasping the fact that she is now the center of this entire conversation, without actually committing enough to listen to any of their debates. "The motorcycle is okay, either of the cars is okay. Just let me know whatever you've decided."

"But Maomao - come on, ride with me, you'll love it!" Loulan...sparkles, there's no other word for it, her eyes are sparkling up at Maomao's nonplussed expression as she shoves Jinshi out of the way to look at her friend better. "Don't you love me enough to share the ride home with me?"

Suirei realizes, belatedly, that here is where the other shoe drops, because Jinshi finally tears his gaze away from Maomao long enough to consider the situation in front of him. Her, with the capacity to occupy Maomao's thoughts with their shared love for medicinal herbs. Loulan and Xiaolan, who Maomao doesn't fully realize she has the softest spots for. Rikuson, who shared a childhood with Maomao and has had her ride his motorcycle before. If you look at it in the way only a lovesick, jealous guy like him would: he is in enemy territory.

What will he do now?

Maomao sighs and hangs her bag across her torso, readying herself to leave with her coat tucked into her arm. "We should go, then. If Rikuson and Xiaolan are taking the motorcycle, I think we should leave for the city before it gets dark out there."

Jinshi still appears lost in the train of thought he'd hitched a ride on, long enough that Maomao takes one good, long look at him and drapes his overcoat over his shoulders, unclipping his car keys from his belt loop and putting it snugly in his clasped hands for good measure.

They really do work well together, Xiaolan thinks. Too bad that for all their shared intelligence it appears like they cannot even fathom that when it comes to this, they're on the exact same page.

Jinshi blinks back to life when they're out of the restaurant, Loulan happily twirling Suirei's keys around her index finger as she herds Maomao towards her sister's sedan. "...wait."

Neither Maomao nor Loulan manage to get a word in before Jinshi catches up to them on his long, long legs and clasps his hand around Maomao's wrist. No pulling. He just holds her. "We live in the same floor of the same apartment building, I'll drive her home."

This is apparently news to Rikuson, who looks at Xiaolan in curiosity. She gives him back a timid smile that probably says, yeah, that surprised us, too.

"I live in the same apartment building as you two, boss." Loulan smirks back, her arm wrapping around Maomao's free arm. Suirei makes an astute observation that the picture they make almost resembles the tug of war scenes in the dramas Loulan loves to make her watch. This is, considering her dramatic little sister, probably done on purpose. "Maomao gave me the okay. Also, I called dibs first."

"Maomao and I had plans after this, the original idea was that I drop her off and come back for her when you're done." In spite of the confidence in his tone, there's something in the way Jinshi says Maomao's name that tells Loulan he doesn't really call her by that as often as he wants to. "Since we're already together, it only makes sense for us to go to the next location together."

"Jiejie, Xiaolan, Maomao and I are going to have a sleepover in my unit. In the same apartment building you're going home to. We are literally going to go to the same next location." The first vestiges of any pulling are coming from Loulan's side - Maomao winces, sometimes the girl really does not comprehend just how much upper body strength she actually does have. "The only one who's actually going somewhere else is Mister Family Friend over there, but he isn't complaining over Maomao not riding with him."

"Actually," Rikuson smiles curiously. "Uncle Loumen's staying over at Xiaomao's unit for the night and we're heading back home tomorrow, so I'm crashing on her couch for tonight too. We're all going to the same place."

Maomao blinks in confusion. "Ah. That was today? I thought that was tomorrow?"

"There was a mishap at the ticketing office and we got compensatory tickets for tomorrow morning. Lahan-ge's work, as expected."

Maomao shrugs, or as much as she could with one girl clinging to her arm and one guy holding her hand. "That's fine. I'll bring out the blankets for you, if you really don't mind the couch."

Hey Xiaomao, what about we share your bed like old times - is what Rikuson would probably say, if only the guy in front of him with an obvious burning crush on Maomao hadn't been riled up enough already. He keeps that little tidbit in the back pocket for future reference, instead. Nobody has to know that the only reason younger Maomao clung on to younger him back then was because she was dreaming and mistook his arm for a ginseng root, of all things.

"Maomaooooo." Loulan just about whines, her eyes sparkling as she tugs onto Maomao another time, attempting to pull her away from her coworker just enough so that she can run with Maomao into the sunset. "Come on, it's cold out and we have to go!"

At this point, Maomao can't budge, not even if she had wanted to, because Jinshi's hand has since moved down to interlock his fingers with hers. It's not exactly a position Maomao wants to be caught dead in, but his hand is warm and his fingers slot perfectly in between hers and Maomao can't quite understand why but she feels something quite like contentment settle deep into her chest. She will never tell the man in front of her that, of course. His pretty head is already filled with hot air as it is; she's not gonna add to that.

Maomao looks up at the guy in question, most probably to tell him to let her go so Loulan can stop sulking and actually drive, but the expression that greets her on that celestial beauty's face makes her stop dead in her tracks. His eyes, usually guarded behind his public smile or clear and open to match his real childish huffiness, are now glossy with unshed tears. His lips, glossy with a distracting sheen that Maomao knows full well came from all the meat she was feeding him earlier, are trembling. And his hand, the only part of his that tethered him to her, clasps even tighter against her fingers.

"I'll get you anything you want, Maomao, just please ride with me." Jinshi blurts out, his voice a complete 180 from the cool, calm, collected voice he was using when talking to everyone earlier. He sounds more desperate, more raw - it's the same tone of voice that convinces Maomao to do stuff she normally doesn't like gently tend to his wounds or let him cling to her as he sobbed and told her about his poor excuse of a father. And she's hearing it again now, all because these naughty kids she unfortunately calls friends have made a good game out of messing with him, somehow.

Xiaolan can't help but wish she had enough popcorn to pair with all this cheese, and shares an amused side glance with Rikuson beside her. He grins with her, in solidarity, because guess who's going to go home and tell Big Brother Lahan all about their littlest sister's budding workplace romance?

As Loulan pulls her closer, crushing her arm against her sizable bosom, Maomao shoots her a warning glance - that her friend, of course, gleefully ignores. "Bribery isn't fair, Mister Jinshi." Loulan chides, her words at a complete odds against her resplendent smile. "Maomao's coming with me and you can talk to her later!"

In response to that, Jinshi sniffles, which tells Maomao that he's about to blubber out more nonsense, stuff like "don't leave me behind!" or "will you abandon me like this!?" Maomao is (unfortunately) the number one protector of Jinshi when he's in such a delicate state, which means she has to bring Jinshi back to his usual state fast. So she decides to throw him a bone, for once.

"Wait a sec, Loulan, let's let him talk. What do you mean when you say anything?"

"As expected from our Maomao," Loulan coos, leaning her head against Maomao's shoulder. "You're just too nice!"

"When I mean anything I mean anything." Jinshi says, staring Maomao and Loulan down with a renewed confidence. "Just tell me what it is, and it's yours."

Maomao balks at that. "I don't think that having my boring ass in the passenger seat for a two-hour car ride is worth that much, actually, so don't be that vague -"

"You said before that you needed more cordyceps for your experiment. I can get a couple more, and throw in some saffron and rosy periwinkle for good measure."

Loulan knows exactly when she lost Maomao because she gets that shine in her eye that only appears when rare herbs are concerned. So she lets go of the arm she had been clinging to, and watches her walk away with interest. "I'll write up an IOU to hold you on that when we get home," Maomao tells Jinshi, doing nothing about her hand still interlaced with his as they walk back to his car.

"I'll gladly sign any paper that Maomao wants me to sign," Jinshi says, the fondness clear as day in his tone as he happily opens his passenger car door for Maomao. Wow, that's enough sparkles to drown Maomao in, probably. Still a better option than letting him break down and sob in front of everyone - Maomao knows how to deal with this annoying guy's handsomeness by now. She does not want to watch him cry again.

"Well, that's that on that, change of plans. Mister Family Friend, I'm going with you." Loulan says, matter-of-factly, taking the extra helmet from Xiaolan's arms and exchanging it with her sister's keys. "Jiejie, I can entrust our sweet Xiaolan in your hands."

There's a look on the young woman's face that tells Rikuson she's not doing this out of affinity with him - she had, in fact, been sizing both him and Jinshi up with matching glares whenever she thought Maomao was not looking. But nevertheless, Rikuson still thinks there's no harm in asking her what she's planning to do. "Miss Loulan, right? How can I help you?"

"You could've helped if only you rode with the boss," Loulan mutters under her breath, before turning to Rikuson with a blinding grin on her face. "How fast can you go on your bike?"

He still doesn't quite know where she's going with this. "Fast enough...within legal limits."

"That's good enough. Let's go and get close enough to ruin any romantic mood that settles in between them."

"Suirei-jie," Xiaolan whispers, as the odd pair makes their way to where Rikuson is parked, "I thought Loulan likes Maomao and Mister Jinshi's romance?"

"I don't know, Xiaolan," Suirei sighs, a hand behind Xiaolan's shoulders as she leads her to their ride. "Your guess is as good as mine." 

---

End notes:

i'm drafting an entirely different fic but it's postponed now since i just came back from watching skz code episode 44, final episode of their self-proclaimed jeju dating show and it's a hot mess and literally the only idea taking up my brainspace right now. for context, this is felix. see the things he says at 18 and 33 minutes into the video respectively:

like him, jinshi tries to be cool and calm when it comes to maomao but he isn't above freaking out and going straight to bribery. let us all pray for this lost little child. fun fact the title/beginning note is from the exact song we hear in the background when he says what he says in minute 18. wanted to have jinshi panic and be awkward even more but i felt that if he escalated maomao would actually shake him by the shoulders so just left it at this LOL

this was originally supposed to be a single scene from the fic i was drafting in the first place but i kept expounding on it and it became like this so here it is anyway. also as a bonus i wanted to keep track of who was sitting beside who so i made a seating chart, but i blinked and suddenly it became this. enjoy

i just want you to know watching aforementioned video woke me up in the last hours of 2023 with the urge to write down this mess in my brain and put it into words so everything came in a daydream and aside from this i don't think i can explain much else. so i guess, happy new year, stay healthy, etc. see you around and hoped you liked this!

[evildolokhoded]

okay nvm josh dun video clip dropped. the world is at peace !

[quaranmine]

one of the things that always made me smile a little while reading project hail mary was whenever ryland would say something about mixing units between metric and customary due to being an american scientist. because quite frankly in my experience of also being american trained in science. i'm far more comfortable working in feet and inches and miles and pounds (which i resent) than their metric equivalents but theres also so much knowledge where i Only know the metric equivalents and can't imagine it otherwise LOL. what a strange little space it occupies in your brain. what if i had to deal with blood lead levels by....idk, ounce per fluid ounce instead of μg/dL? nightmare country

[rosehathawhey]

The Forrester Men + inspiring girlies everywhere to ditch their wedding rings.

[qsmpbutwithsignlanguage]

LMAO I didn't even realize this was Alex fucking Quackity, I fully believed this was just some random person on the internet with a vendetta against answering questions in a clear manner.

this was the funniest thing to ever come out of any of the privs btw, just so we’re all clear

[coruscannot]

I want to make more Jin sakai edits but for that I need more than the basic scenes. Do you know how one could go recording the gameplay??

I don’t have any notable experience with video editing or gif making, unfortunately. I really only use the PlayStation capture system (create button) to save my gameplay and the PS App to download that to my device (which in my case is only ever my phone).

If there are better methods I’m not the person to be aware of them, sorry! I would look into accounts that post that content for better advice.

[thenighttrain]

I drank for a few days in a row once and got into a fight with a friend and between the alcohol and the tense fight we never made up afterwards so to me alcohol will always be over-rated and I'm more a fizzy drink coke girl really (and coffee)

god that sounds horrible i'm sorry!!! indeed literally any drink is better than alcohol

[oh-no-its-bird]

World's worst, most messy naruto time travel au EVER. Where a bunch of people from slightly different dimensions try to time travel to fix their bad endings.

But they all got dumped into their alternate bodies of the past of another slightly different dimension. And they all keep tripping over eachother.

So like. You have Sakura (from the dimension where there was no Kaguya/black zetsu, and Madara + Obito are the final villains)

Tripping over ANBU Sasuke (from a no Uchiha massacre/less bad Uchiha massacre universe where he never left the village and is filled to the brim with the will of fire)

Running into Naruto (from one of those evil konoha universes where the abuse aimed towards him was 100 times worse) who is absoloutley tweaking out in the corner, unsure and unable to comprehend what is (from his perspective) such a good world

Then theyre getting fucking tackled by Obito (from a roll swap dimension where he was team 7's sensei and Kakashi took his place in Akatsuki)

Meanwhile Kakashi from the 'team ro defects from Konoha' au is suddenly a jonin again and debating the merits of just sabotaging Konoha from the inside out

Then you also have Kurama, the only one of them to have gotten their own own new body instead of being dumped into the body of their alt version there (coming from a canon-similar world where Naruto sacrifices himself to give Kurama a body and send him back in time, a-la on the other side, by WideEyedDemon)

While in the distance, Gaara (from a dimension where Suna won the fight against Konoha and team 7 went on the run after the leaf was destroyed) tries to very hard to sabotage the attack he believes will prevail, in order to fulfill his promise to team 7 from that other universe bc they got to be friends

But he's being blocked around every corner by Kankuro and Temari, who came back together from a universe where Gaara was straight up an irredeemable monster who destroyed all of Suna

But also fucking semi-canon accurate housewife Orochimaru from Boruto is like. Around. Just absoloutley fucking it up in his milf era, giving no shits whatsoever. The alien tree people or whatever the hell is going on in boruto ate his world so he has his eyes on the sky.

^ so like. All of that and it just keeps going. U can throw in whoever from wherever, these are just starting points

(The only rule is Jiriya and Tsunade aren't time travelers bc I want them to see milf Orochimaru and scream in terror)

And the whole thing is that very few of them actually share the same bad end, and it's very unclear what the true bad ending of their current world is— bc to be clear, the dimension they ended up does not line up 100% with any one of the newcomers.

(Their current dimension is actually just canon, to be clear. Or at least incredibly canon-ish)

So they're just fucking tripping over eachother right and left, trying to prevent things that may or may not happen (bc some of their bad ends ARE still possible!!)

The inter character relationships would go so insane too. Bc like all of team 7 has been shaken to its core, pretty much.

Naruto wants to burn Konoha to the ground and Sasuke thinks it is hashtag worth fighting for.

Sakura is dealing from the whiplash of ehats basically a sasuke/naruto roleswap, and also thinks Obito is the irredeemable root of all evil.

Meanwhile, Obito is crying bc his kids don't recognize him

Obito, seeing his students so changed and then noting that Kakashi is so chill, gets his hopes up that maybe this is a loyal Konoha Kakashi...

But NOPE he's not, he's fully checked out of Konoha and has attachments to like. Team ro + Sasuke.

Tho he'd also be super fucked up to see Obito too, it must be said

Then Kakashi originally defected from Konoha in his universe bc Orochimaru told him ab the "truth" of his fathers suicide (and then he walked in on Danzo trying to kill Shisui lmao) And actually did join Orochimaru in sound afterwords, so.

Kakashi is rocking up to sound trying to confirm if shits similar in this universe and Orochimaru is going "a free copy cat Kakashi?? Don't mind if I do <3" and offering him a room there (which he might just accept)

Kakashi spying for Orochimaru....

The sand sibs are also having THE worst time ever. Gaara is trying so hard to be good and show he's changed but Temari and Kankuro are even more convinced of his irredeemable evil soul or whatever than they were in canon. They saw him rip Suna apart !!!

Gaara is also SO stressed about the chunin exam attack (fast approaching) bc hes convinced it will prevail and his future friends will be rendered homeless and hunted for sport again

Meanwhile also: Orochimaru totally fucking forgot about that and isn't. Actually interested anymore. So.

I have more thoughts but, like usual, I fucking clicked post too soon (these last bits are edits, oops) so I'll leave it here for now before someone reblogs the incomplete version

[purple-plum-petals]

Hello! I saw your homicipher requests were open, and I wanted to request some general mr scarletella fluff if possible! :D

⊱ General Fluffy Headcanons ⊰ || Mr. Scarletella Headcanons

╭─━━━━━━━━━━━━─╮ Character(s): Mr. Scarletella (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (and horror-elements), Unhealthy Obsession/Possessiveness, Cultural Barriers (Mr. Scarletella Doesn’t Fully Comprehend Certain Emotions/Expresses Them Differently Than a Human Would). Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, Romantic or Platonic Relationship (It’s Complicated, honestly). Word Count: ~900 words Request: “Hello! I saw your homicipher requests were open, and I wanted to request some general mr scarletella fluff if possible! :D” Author’s Note: I’ll be honest with y’all, writing straight-up fluff for these characters is really hard to do lmao. I try to stay as canon-compliant as possible (it’s low-key a curse, but it’s such a great way to practice writing 😔), so I hope these are fluffy enough for you given, well… the source material as a whole haha. Mr. Scarletella wasn’t originally one of my favorite characters from the game, but he’s honestly starting to grow on me at a concerning speed – shout-out to all the artists on Twitter who have added to my enjoyment of this man. ✌️

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

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🩸: Whenever it rains, Mr. Scarletella is always standing right there next to you, holding his red umbrella over your form so you do not become drenched because of the dreary weather. He takes his job very seriously, too, not minding how cold water causes his clothing to cling to his already deathly cold skin. He does it with an ever-present smile, too, watching you with unblinking eyes while he happily follows you around. Mr. Scarletella doesn’t get cold, he typically doesn’t feel any physical sensation in the first place, so getting a little wet while being able to keep you dry is something he doesn’t mind doing for you. If you invite him to join you under the umbrella, he falters for a bit before eventually standing next to you, shielding both of you from the rain (he loves being able to stand that close to you – he can almost feel the warmth radiating from you, and he finds himself craving it even after the two of you have found somewhere to take shelter). 

🩸: If there’s something you express an interest in, whether or not Mr. Scarletella is around when you make the off-handed comment, you’ll wake up to it lying right in front of your door. It’s honestly a bit creepy sometimes, just waking up to the article of clothing you looked at for longer than three seconds or the book whose title you briefly mentioned sitting at your feet when you open the door. In the past, any gift he left used to just be haphazardly placed in front of the door, and it reminded you of when a cat would catch a mouse and bring it to their owner (you’re not going to talk about the time you woke up to a literal human heart waiting for you, though…). However, Mr. Scarletella noticed that humans who exchanged gifts typically had them wrapped in paper, so he started to mimic their behavior, too, in the hopes you would like them more. Sure, his wrap-jobs were bad, almost hilariously so, but it was the thought that mattered. 

🩸: Whenever he looks at you, his pupils further dilate (even more than they usually are – it’s almost to the point where his entire eye is purely black, the red of his irises lost in the dark void of his gaze). Mr. Scarletella loves being able to just look at you, needing nothing more in life. He’ll watch you with an unblinking stare while you do literally anything. Whether it be cleaning your home or making yourself a meal, he will observe you as if you were the most interesting thing to have ever existed. As stated before, Mr. Scarletella is very good at mimicking human behaviors so, sometimes, he’ll ask if he can join you in whatever task you’re doing. He’ll copy the way you clean the floors or perfectly execute chopping the vegetables for the dish you were making after showing him what to do a single time. He’s very pleasant to be with during moments like these since he’s very good at acting like a human most of the time (other times, though – say if you need something from the top shelf – his body will twist and morph in very unsettling ways... It just emphasizes that, even if he’s good at pretending, he still isn’t human at the end of the day).   

🩸: Being with Mr. Scarletella means that you cannot have an unserious relationship, it’s just not in his vocabulary (because he’s obsessive, especially regarding you). He’s devoted to you entirely – body, mind, and soul – gladly letting you have the red umbrella to do with it whatever you wish. He’ll shiver slightly whenever you hold it in your hands, your touch is so strangely gentle as you softly run your fingers along the handle or press a kiss to the unassuming object. It hurts but in a different way. A part of him wishes you would just throw the umbrella to the ground, dig your heel into it, and have him experience a pain that was easier for him to understand… but you don’t. He loves your sweet touches, even if it’s painful and causes his chest to ache. He finds himself wishing he could touch you in that way, too, his ghost-like caresses causing your skin to tingle with static whenever his feather-light hands graze over your flesh (he loves cuddles and loving touches, even if he can’t experience them with you in a conventional sense). 

🩸: If you ever find yourself being bothered by someone who won’t leave you alone or someone who won’t take no for an answer, well… they may or may not end up missing. If you don’t want Mr. Scarletella to take care of anyone who is bothering you for you, you’ll definitely have to explain that it’s not appropriate because of the differences in your cultures – death and murder are common in the other world, after all (I’d also explain to him that he cannot harm or threaten people you care about, either, since he honestly wants you all to himself). This does mean, though, that you know that you’re safe no matter where you are. Mr. Scarletella is always watching you so, if you find yourself in a situation where your safety is at risk, you honestly have nothing to fear. He’ll keep you safe – you’re his love, his world, his reason for living, and he won’t let someone else take that from him.

[avonnimimi]

❀·°∗✧🌸✧∗°·❀

Blazed Affection

━━━━━♡━━━━━━━━━━♡━━━━━

a/n: This concept was requested, but i’ll keep her anonymous;) Hope you like it <3 If you guys are uncomfortable with non-con please let me know, I wanna make sure everyone enjoys:) Also i don’t think i’m good a writing soft dom stuff LMAO MEN AND MINORS DNI

content: non-con, smoking weed, fingering (r!receiving), talking you through it, softdom!ellie, subby!reader, intox. Lmk if i missed anything!

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Ellie leaned against the porch railing, a thick blunt nestled between her lips, her gaze fixed on the night sky. Bathed in moonlight, she possessed a captivating allure. You watched, mesmerized, as she inhaled deeply, a blush creeping up your neck as you observed the way her lips enveloped the blunt. She glanced at you as she exhaled a plume of smoke.

"Can I try that?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper, eyes full of curiosity. Ellie had always been firm about keeping her drug use separate from you.

"No," she stated flatly. Your face fell, a pout forming on your lips. You yearned for just one taste, one experience.

"But you do it all the time," you murmured, your lip trembling slightly.

"It's not exactly good for you, lily-bug," Ellie replied, her gaze softening as she took in your expression. Your pleading eyes and full lips, so close to hers, made it difficult to refuse.

"Please," you whispered, your voice laced with longing. Ellie sighed, then took your hand and led you to the small chair beside the porch steps. She sat and gently pulled you onto her lap.

A blush warmed your cheeks as you settled into her embrace, your face inches from hers. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine.

Ellie explained that this would be a one-time thing, just to satisfy your curiosity. But you couldn't touch the blunt; she didn't want your pretty hands smelling of weed.

Taking a long drag, Ellie inhaled deeply. "Open," she instructed. You parted your lips obediently. She leaned closer, and for a moment, you thought she might kiss you. Instead, she exhaled the smoke into your mouth.

The urge to cough was overwhelming, but you suppressed it. "Suck it in," Ellie said. You obeyed, but the burning sensation in your throat forced a cough. Ellie grinned. "That's what some good old state-side does to you, pretty girl." You frowned.

"How come you don't cough?" you asked.

"Because I've been smoking for a while now," she replied. Despite the stinging in your throat, you craved another try, and Ellie seemed to know it.

With each drag, Ellie blew the smoke into your mouth, patiently teaching you how to inhale properly. You watched, giggling, as she blew smoke rings that dissipated in the air between you.

Soon, a wave of drowsiness washed over you. Your eyelids felt heavy, and a desire to lie down consumed you. "I'm tired," you mumbled against Ellie. She pulled you closer, kissing your forehead. "No, baby, you're just high," she chuckled softly.

You ignored her, trying to comprehend the strange sensations coursing through your body. Your head felt heavy, but a warmth bloomed between your thighs, an ache building within you.

Hearing your soft whimper, Ellie understood. She shifted you so your back rested against her chest, her knees parting your legs. She lifted your oversized t-shirt.

Ellie shifted you so your back rested against her chest, her knees parting your legs. She lifted your oversized t-shirt, her warm breath ghosting over your skin.

"Ellie..." you whimpered, your head lolling against her shoulder, too intoxicated to fully grasp what was happening. Yet, a sense of security enveloped you; you were safe in Ellie's care.

"I know, baby, I know," she murmured, kissing your temple. "I'm gonna take care of you, don't worry," she whispered, her voice a low rumble against your ear. She pulled your panties aside, the cool night air a stark contrast against your heated core. The sensation sent a shiver through you, a moan escaping your lips.

You felt Ellie's hand slide down your stomach, her fingers tracing the curve of your hip before dipping lower, settling between your folds. A soft curse escaped her lips as she registered your wetness.

"Oh, fuck... guess this pussy likes weed," she muttered to herself, her voice thick with desire. Two fingers slipped inside you, a slick sound echoing in the quiet night. The feeling was intense, heightened by the haze of the high.

Ellie curled her fingers, exploring your depths, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. Too high to process the sensations fully, you simply reveled in the pleasure. "You like this, hm?" she asked, her voice a low murmur against your ear. You tried to nod, but your head only lolled to the side.

"Gonna make this pretty pussy cum," she murmured, kissing your forehead. You smiled lazily, a warmth spreading through your lower belly. "You wanna cum?" Ellie asked, and you whimpered in response, the word lost somewhere between a plea and a sigh.

"Sound so good, princess." Her fingers moved faster within you, a rhythmic pulse that sent waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"No matter how many times I finger this cunt, she always stays so tight," you heard her mumble, a soft giggle escaping her lips. She hit a spot deep inside you, and a cry tore from your throat, your back arching, hips bucking against her hand.

"E-Ellie!" you gasped, convinced you'd climaxed, but the tension remained, coiled tight within you. Every sensation felt amplified, the world reduced to the feeling of her fingers inside you.

"Just relax, I got you... I know everything feels different right now," she reassured, her voice a soothing balm against the storm raging within you. You grasped her hand, the one relentlessly pleasuring you, hiccuping between breaths as tears welled in your eyes.

The wet sounds grew louder, slick and rhythmic, as she continued her ministrations. Ellie brought her other hand around, her thumb brushing against your clit, sending sparks of electricity through your body. Your thighs trembled, whimpers spilling from your lips, each one a testament to the pleasure consuming you.

"Keep your legs open for me, baby," she commanded, her tone sending shivers down your spine. The slight pressure of her knees against your inner thighs was almost unbearable, adding another layer to the swirling vortex of sensation.

"I-c-can't," you stammered, your muscles clenching involuntarily.

"Yes, you can," she murmured, her fingers thrusting deeper, stretching you, filling you. You could almost feel her inside your stomach, a strange and impossible sensation that sent your head spinning. Your eyes rolled back, your body teetering on the edge.

The pressure built, intensifying with each stroke of her fingers, each flick of her thumb against your swollen clit. And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, you came undone, waves of pleasure washing over you, your body convulsing around her hand. You cried out Ellie's name, the sound muffled against her shoulder.

"Mhm, yeah, just like that, baby. Good girl," she whispered, her voice thick with satisfaction. She continued to stroke your clit, sending aftershocks through your still-trembling body. Your hips jerked in response, each spasm a lingering echo of the intense orgasm. Exhaustion finally claimed you, and you drifted off to sleep in her lap, the lingering warmth of her touch a comforting presence against your skin.

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this is my original post, please don’t repost, translate, or plagiarize my work ;)

©️avonnimimi 2024

[ekko-bro-cation]

*bro has skidaddled and skidoodled*

Professor Talis, I see you have found comfort in my office.

- @viktor-the-inventor

Oh—Sorry, I think I’m in the wrong office

[shinobiscribe]

I just thought of a funny baker in general based off the joke of someone or something like a person or a cat having a limited number of braincells or being like 'this is kitty, right now it is not their turn with the brain cell...'

If ya don't get the joke, I am so sorry for confusing you but don't worry I made an emergency backup request if you don't know joke/meme:

Request if you do know meme: just the cookies with a baker like that...someone who they joked 'doesn't have their turn with the brain cell yet.' Or 'look y/n....look at how their last two braincells are trying to comprehend what's going on.' Lmao just think it would be cute for them to have a baker who is like:

Red velvet or DE or pure vanilla or hollyberry...or dark choco/dark cacao if ya want the funniness of someone super stoic saying this: hello everyone, this is y/n. They only have one/two braincells and I love them more then life itself. (Or alternatively: hello everyone, this is y/n. Right now it isn't their turn with the braincell so there is nothing up there. I love them more than life itself.)

Baker: *blep.*

Cookie holding baker: precious. (And if you chose the 'not their turn with the braincell' path, fun little bonus:) despite loving them a lot...I hope they get their turn with the braincell soon.

If ya don't get joke: I see DE but feel like I wanna see how red velvet would be...imagine red velvet with a baker who likes to just bury themselves in the hounds or just likes to wrap red velvet's cakehand around themselves to feel cozy...

We have our moment

Baker while not as sharp, still wins the hearts of many and one of them is the stoic swordsman of Dark Cacao Kingdom.

GN!Baker, Mild teasing about intelligence or being forgetful, slice of life?

PS: I am unsure-

___

Baker or Y/N Cookie is known throughout the castle as a bit of an airhead. They often wander the halls with a dazed look, sometimes just staring off into space while absentmindedly nibbling on a piece of bread or cake.

The cookies have grown used to the sight, but none is more amused (and surprisingly fond) of it than Dark Cacao Cookie himself.

Despite Baker’s apparent lack of awareness, Dark Cacao Cookie is fiercely protective of them. Anyone who dares to mock Baker for being a little slow on the uptake will immediately feel Dark Cacao’s icy glare.

Or when Baker gets lost in the kingdom, which happens more often than he’d like, Dark Cacao is the one to go and find them.

Despite Baker’s frequent absent-mindedness, Dark Cacao is completely smitten. He finds their quirks endearing and wouldn’t trade them for anything.

Baker is always the first to volunteer for tasks or challenges, even if they don’t fully understand what’s involved.

During important meetings or when devising battle strategies, they might chime in with the most outlandish ideas that leave everyone else scratching their heads.

[bamfkeeper]

Above.

RQ: 'Hello 👋 I was hoping your requests are still open and I'm not too late! I know my oc Haven is very specific, and I completely understand if you need to work around. I wanted to request a fic centered around the idea that Haven returns to earth in their Seraphim form with like a whole new bunch of traumas, and they think Kurt will not like them anymore because they're a freaky-looking angelic alien with seven eyes and shit. I hope it's not too much, I completely understand if u ignore this request, lmao.' - @ladylorem

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!Reader // Warnings: None

A/N: My very first X-Men oc was a 'fallen seraph' so your oc really brings me back. I love them, and I'm happy to write this for you. I hope I do a good job, I took some liberty since oc work isn't something I am currently doing, but it will heavily be based on the scenario you gave me. No specific names will be used in this. Also tried a new writing style <3 WC: 2.4k

Deep breath...shit.

You sat up slowly, your eyelids fluttering open as consciousness gradually returned. A deep, pervasive ache radiated through every fiber of your being, accompanied by a disorienting fog that clouded your thoughts. The pulsating pain in your head served as an unwelcome alarm clock, forcing you into full wakefulness. As your senses sharpened, you became acutely aware of your surroundings, taking in every detail with newfound clarity.

An unfamiliar sensation coursed through your veins, a palpable energy that seemed to hum just beneath your skin. This newfound power, a direct result of your celestial descent, both exhilarated and unsettled you. The transformation you had undergone during your otherworldly journey altered you in ways you had yet to fully comprehend, including your physical appearance.

As the initial shock of your awakening began to subside, a single thought crystallized in your mind: Kurt. The overwhelming desire to find him, to see a familiar face in this sea of uncertainty, consumed you. Yet, even as you yearned for his presence, a nagging doubt crept into your thoughts. How would he react to your metamorphosis? Would he recognize you? Accept you? The fear of rejection battled with your need for connection, leaving you torn between seeking him out and retreating into solitude to process your transformation.

You stood on wobbly legs, reminiscent of a newborn fawn taking its first, shaky steps into the world. The sensation coursing through your body was an enigmatic blend of strength and weakness, as if a potent mixture of adrenaline and warm gasoline was flowing through your veins, igniting every nerve ending. You felt hot, your skin almost smoking and emitting waves of warm rays that coated you from the cool night air.

Your physical form had undergone a transformation, taking on what you could only describe as a more... biblical appearance. Though you couldn't discern the exact nature of your new visage, you knew it was likely most who gazed upon you would react with fear.

All you yearned for in this moment was to see Kurt, nothing else mattered. The ordeal you had endured left you craving the comfort only he could provide. You longed for the familiar warmth of his embrace, the gentle strength of his arms encircling you, creating a sanctuary where you could momentarily forget the events that had transpired. Your heart ached for the soothing words he always seemed to know how to offer, his voice a gentle blanket to your frayed nerves and turbulent emotions.

"Kurt..." you whispered softly, your voice barely audible as you set off on your quest to find him. The unfamiliar surroundings did little to deter your determination. Despite having landed in an unknown location, a mysterious force seemed to guide your every step. It was as if an invisible thread connected your heart to his, pulling you gently but insistently in the right direction. Your intuition, honed by years of connection and shared experiences, acted as an unerring compass, leading you through the unfamiliar terrain of the thick forest.

As you navigated, your thoughts drifted to Kurt. You couldn't help but reflect on the unique bond you shared - a connection so profound that it transcended physical distance and the constraints of the ordinary world. He had always been the one person who truly understood you, who held your heart with a tenderness that both comforted and amazed you. He was the first person, first mutant who didn’t try to hurt you. Instead, he approached you like a person, talking and making you feel more at ease despite your first introduction to the team. He made you feel safe.

When you finally reached the mansion, exhaustion had overtaken you. Your body felt like lead, weighing you down with each step. Fatigue clouded your mind, making even the simplest thoughts a struggle. A gnawing hunger twisted in your stomach, reminding you of how long it had been since your last meal. Damn, some of Kurt’s cooking sounded great right about now. The biting cold had seeped into your bones, causing involuntary shivers to run through your frame. All you could think about was the warmth and comfort of Kurt's bed, imagining yourself wrapped in soft blankets, safe from the harsh world outside.

With sheer determination, you willed your leaden legs to keep moving. Each step was a battle against your body's desire to simply collapse where you stood. The mansion loomed before you, almost taunting your weary state. Just a little further, you told yourself, even as your muscles screamed in protest. Finally, your strength gave out.

Unable to take another step, you felt your knees buckle beneath you. The world tilted, and you found yourself falling forward, your hands and knees sinking into the damp, cool grass of the mansion's lawn. The moisture from the ground seeped through your clothes, you swayed and ended up falling over on your side. The world faded to black after that, and you felt all the pain disappear.

When you regained consciousness, your numerous eyes slowly flickering open, you found yourself lying in the sterile environment of the mansion's infirmary. Not the best place to wake up to…it didn’t exactly have a good record in your mind. The stark white ceiling above you gradually came into focus as you blinked away the lingering haziness of unconsciousness. As your vision began to clear, you noticed a blurry blue figure standing nearby, its presence both comforting and familiar.

Your mind, still foggy from whatever ordeal had brought you here, immediately conjured thoughts of Kurt. With a surge of hope, you attempted to speak his name, your voice coming out as little more than a hoarse whisper. However, as you blinked more forcefully, willing your eyes to cooperate and bring the world into sharper focus, the blue blur began to take on a more distinct shape.

As the figure's features became clearer, a wave of disappointment washed over you. The furry blue form standing at your bedside was not the lithe, acrobatic shape of your Nightcrawler, but rather the broader, more imposing silhouette of Beast. You couldn't help but let out a small sigh, your expectations dashed even as you recognized the concern evident in Hank's intelligent eyes.

"There we are, take it easy now...you're okay. Just exhausted and a little weak. Nothing some rest and medicine won't help." Hank noted, his voice gentle and reassuring. He maintained a respectful distance, carefully observing your condition without encroaching on your personal space. His medical expertise was evident in the way he assessed your state, but he was mindful not to overwhelm you with too much attention or proximity. He understood that in your vulnerable state, even well-intentioned gestures might be misinterpreted or cause discomfort. Especially knowing your history with him and the others.

Despite Hank's soothing words and professional demeanor, his voice seemed to fade into the background of your consciousness. Your mind was singularly focused on one person, the one you desperately needed to see. The concern etched on Hank's face barely registered as your thoughts raced, wondering about Kurt's whereabouts and whether he was aware of your current situation. The urgency to connect with him overshadowed everything else, even your own physical discomfort.

"Kurt...I-" you managed to utter, your voice weak but filled with longing and concern.

"He's coming. I promise," Hank interjected quickly, his tone reassuring and firm. He recognized the importance of Kurt's presence in your recovery and sought to alleviate your worry with this simple yet powerful assurance.

The door swung open with a sudden creak, and there he stood, your beloved Kurt, framed in the doorway. His striking yellow eyes were wide with concern, brimming with a mixture of worry and relief as they locked onto your form. Without hesitation, he rushed into the room, his movements urgent and slightly clumsy in his haste. He nearly stumbled over his own feet in his eagerness to reach your bedside, his tail swishing anxiously behind him.

In an instant, he was at your side, his hands enveloping your own, having ripped off his gloves so he could feel you. His grip was gentle yet firm, conveying a multitude of emotions through that simple touch. You could feel the slight tremor in his fingers, his concern ran deep and he looked as though he had seen a ghost, like he believed you died. The warmth of his hands felt nice against the cool, sterile atmosphere of the room, providing a comforting anchor in the otherwise clinical environment.

Kurt's lips parted, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. "L-liebling..." he managed to utter. His gaze never left yours, silently communicating all the things left unsaid between you.

His expression remained steadfast, never wavering for a moment. His eyes meticulously scanned your appearance, taking in every detail with a mixture of confusion and worry etched across his features. However, contrary to your expectations, there was no trace of disgust or fear in his gaze. Instead, his eyes held a depth of emotion that spoke volumes.

"D...Don't...scare me like that..." Kurt finally managed to articulate, his voice barely above a whisper as he swallowed thickly. The words seemed to catch in his throat, as if he was struggling to voice the tumultuous emotions swirling within him. "I was...so afraid I would never see you again. I had no idea where you had gone off to," he continued, his voice cracking slightly with the weight of his confession.

Though his words carried a hint of admonishment, as if he was attempting to scold you for your disappearance, the underlying pain in his voice was unmistakable. The tremor in his voice betrayed the fear he had experienced during your absence, and the palpable relief that washed over him now that you were back in his sight.

"I'm sorry...you're not...afraid?" Your voice quivered with a mixture of disbelief and vulnerability. "Look at me now. I look utterly..." Your words trailed off, unable to find the right descriptor for your current state. A tumultuous blend of emotions washed over you - sadness at your appearance, anger at the situation, and confusion at his unexpected reaction. You had braced yourself for revulsion, for fear, for any number of negative responses.

Yet here he was, his eyes filled with nothing but genuine concern. It defied all your expectations, leaving you feeling both comforted and somehow more exposed. "Why are you so concerned despite my appearance?" you found yourself asking, your tone a blend of wonder and wariness. "I was certain you'd react differently, that you'd recoil or..." You left the sentence unfinished, the possibilities too painful to voice.

But contrary to your fears, he sat there unwavering, his worry for you evident in every line of his face, in the way he leaned towards you as if wanting to offer comfort but unsure if it would be welcome.

"Why would I care about your appearance? I... I mean, yes, you do look different, but that's not what matters," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. He slowly reached up, his three-fingered hand gently caressing your cheek. He allowed his fingers to tenderly trace the contours of your face, memorizing every new detail. A soft, reassuring smile spread across his lips as he gazed into your eyes.

"You're still... you," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. That gentle smile widened slightly, revealing his pointed canines, "The essence of who you are, your spirit, your heart - that hasn't changed. And that's what truly matters to me."

His eyes sparkled with warmth and understanding as he added, "Besides, mein Engel... I'm blue from head to toe and have a tail. Who am I to pass judgment based on appearances? We're both unique in our own ways, and that's what makes us special."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you as that particular stressor dissipated, leaving you with a sense of renewed calm. Kurt remained silent for a moment, his eyes filled with relief that you were okay and compassion as he knew your mental struggles were flaring.

Then, with a gentle voice that carried the weight of his sincerity, he spoke up again, "And whatever else you're grappling with, whatever challenges you're facing... I want you to know that I'm here for you. Not just now, but always. No matter where life takes you, no matter how far you might wander, I'll be here, waiting. You are the beating heart of my existence, the love that gives my life meaning. In me, you will always find a sanctuary, a place of unconditional acceptance and unwavering support. You are my home, and I promise to be yours, forever and always."

"I... I'm at a loss for words. Your reaction is so unexpected, given my altered appearance and... the events that transpired." You murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion. "I love you too, more than I can express. I'm truly sorry for my sudden disappearance. There were...complications I needed to resolve. But now, being back here with you, I'm relieved. Seeing you, seeing how you look at me...nothing has changed, has it?" You let out a sigh of relief, your hand weakly reaching and holding onto his.

"I've missed you. You've always been the one person who could see through my façade, who could truly understand me despite everything. Your acceptance...without any kind of ill thoughts, it means everything to me."

"As do you, liebling...Ich liebe dich. I am here now, you are not alone anymore," he whispered tenderly, his voice a soft caress in the quiet room. With gentle movements, he carefully shifted closer, the bed dipping slightly under his weight as he settled beside you. His arms enveloped you in a warm, comforting embrace, pulling you against his chest with a tenderness that spoke volumes of his affection. This was all you wanted…his arms tenderly holding you. "You've been through so much, mein schatz, but I promise you, those days of loneliness are behind you now. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Let me…"

His lips quirked into a playful smirk, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he added, "Besides, now you have more eyes to gaze into, hm? Twice the charm, wouldn't you say?" His attempt at lightening the mood was met with a gentle swat to his chest, your hand connecting with the soft fabric of his uniform.

"Kurt..." you murmured, a mix of exasperation and fondness coloring your voice. "You absolute dork." Despite your words, a smile tugged at the corners of your lips, betraying the warmth that spread through your chest at his endearing antics.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover image: Nightcrawler (2015) # 10 ; Pinterest

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller's ff) - chapter 3

chapter 2 | series masterlist | main asterlist | chapter 4

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader.

summary: you're at your wits' end with joel. so you have to do something about it.

warnings: 18+. nsfw. mdni. mention of sarah's death. probably absolute filth. some slapping. explicit smut with a plot. softdom!joel. biting. masturbation (m and f). finger sucking. unprotected piv. a bit of ass play. pet names (darling, sweetheart). sir kink. a slight breeding kink. some violence towards the end. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 36. no use of y/n. joel's and reader's pov.

a/n: buckle up, my friends. i apologise in advance, but this has been coming for the last two chapters lmao. who am i to deny them? no one. all interactions welcome! enjoy and thank you all for reading! <3

w/c: ~3k.

It had been a week since Joel almost lost his mind, and he still couldn’t comprehend what had possessed him to do such a thing. For a split second he had lost control of his own actions and gave in to his yearning. A yearning for human connection he did not know he had. The last few months had been living hell, to say the least.

Every time he closed his eyes to try and sleep, Joel could only see Sarah’s face. Her smile, her warm hugs, her giggles, her vivacity. And then, the light abandoning her eyes, her blank expression, her limp limbs as he would press her dearly against his chest. The desperation he felt then had still not deserted him. He had been a man of God because that was what his family had imparted him, but since Sarah’s death his faith was wavering. Why would God take her away from him? Sarah was an angel sent from above, she should have not suffered such demise. So, either God was a cruel entity, or an imaginary one.

That night Joel did not even attempt to get some rest so decided to do the first night shift instead. They were still at the same cave as it had proved to be a good spot to rest up and plan what their next steps would be. Tommy had suggested they checked out the quarantine zones the government had set up in big cities, but Joel was not so keen on the idea. In the last nine months since the outbreak, they had been witness to too many ungodly acts ― all committed by the living, not so many by the dead.

That was why they were in Ouachita National Forest, further north than what they were a few months ago. They were still debating whether they should head towards Kansas City, Chicago or remain in the wilderness. Although resources were scarcer, so were the clickers. They had not encountered too many people either, which, considering their past experiences, it was a good thing. No one could be trusted anymore.

Joel sat down on a tree stump by the entrance of the cave, rifle on hand. He had his worn-out, unbuttoned military jacket on as temperatures dropped considerably after sunset. The night was so quiet it felt eerie. He could not see anything when he looked up as the treetops fully covered the night sky. He assumed it would be a starry night, clear of clouds. He kept his mind occupied with made-up scenarios to avoid drifting away into Morpheus’ world.

Hours had gone by when Joel heard the slight twitch of a branch from behind him. He rapidly stood up, gripping the rifle with tension. When he turned around and saw you, he clicked his tongue with disdain.

You were too sleepy to pick up on his rude gesture. You stretched your back, which hurt like hell. You had tried to fashion some sort of cushioned bed with leaves and grass, but your makeshift bed was still hard as a rock.

“What time is it?”, you asked grumpily.

“Not sure, around four in the morning?”, he answered without looking at you while he sat back down.

“You have a wristwatch, don’t you know how to read the time?”, you said sneeringly to get some sort of reaction out of him.

“Huh, you’re so fucking funny I’d laugh if I could”, he rolled his eyes in annoyance. “It’s broken”.

You looked at him in silence, as you had done many times in the last week. You didn’t understand how this man could kiss you like the world was ending and then, a second later, he would pretend you were nothing more than an annoying moth flying around him.

It infuriated you. He infuriated you.

He was there as if nothing had happened between the two of you, while you just woke up because of a very realistic dream. Or should you say a nightmare? Your body had some unreleased, built-up tension that was damn hard to ignore. You blamed Tommy for interrupting you ― had it not been for him, you might have known what it felt like to be under Joel. Or on top of him.

You shook your head, angry at yourself and at the man in front of you.

“Sure is, I bet they didn’t teach you how to read the time when you went to school, hmmm, when? Back in the 50s?”, you teased again.

He stood up, leaving the rifle on the ground, leaned against the stump.

“Seriously, what is your fucking problem?”, he growled, his fists tightly closed on his sides.

Finally ― a breakthrough.

“My problem?”, you chuckled. “You are my problem, Joel Miller. Are you telling me you have forgotten about what happened a week ago, huh?”, you ventured.

“What happened a week ago was a mistake, that is what it was. I don’t even know what kind of demon possessed me, because I wouldn’t even touch you with a ten-foot pole”, you could almost hear his teeth grinding against each other.

His words hurt you, but they made you even madder. Who did he think he was anyway?

“You are a fucking mistake. And what you say is complete bullshit. Do you think I have not noticed how you look at me when you believe I’m not paying attention? You pretend you are not interested, but you need a goddamn reality check if you really think so”, you snapped back, the palms of your hands tingling ― you wanted to punch him so bad.

“You are frigging delusional, darlin’. You are the only woman I have seen in the last few months, it’s not like I have much to choose from, do I? It was a desperate move, nothing else. Stop imagining things―”.

That was it. He had crossed a line. So you slapped him to shut him up. His rugged face turned ninety degrees with the force of your blow. His cheek reddened slightly.

And then you grabbed him by the neck of his flannel shirt, forcing down his face towards you so he would not have time to react. You were going to prove him who was right ― and it wasn’t him.

You kissed him, separating his lips with your tongue. You outlined his top teeth with the tip of your tongue and then he let you in. You would have smirked if you could. You mapped out his whole mouth with quick but insisting twirls, Joel following your lead. You helped him remove his jacket.

One of your hands was still holding onto his plaid shirt while the other travelled south. You could swear Joel had stopped breathing, but you distracted him by breaking the kiss and looking at him with intent. His lips were parted and wet with your spit, slightly red. You grazed the prominent bulge on his jeans with the palm of your hand, biting your bottom lip down when he heavily sighed with some relief before he trapped your mouth with his again.

You let go of the flannel shirt to work on the buckle of his belt, unfastening it with some difficulty. Joel groaned loudly when you pulled down from the brim of his jeans to bring them down just below his ass, giving you plenty of access. One of Joel’s hands darted to your neck, circling your throat with the span of his fingers and squeezing lightly. Not to the point where you couldn’t breathe, but to the point where it made the whole experience even more pleasurable.

You moaned while your hand trespassed the elastic of his underwear and dipped your fingers down. You grabbed his manhood, already hard and leaking from the tip. You smiled as your thumb rubbed the precum against his sensitive skin and then slowly started to pump him. You had not seen his cock yet, but judging by the girth of it, you were not to be disappointed. You put some pressure on his shaft before upping the rhythm of the pumps.

“Fuck it, fuck this”, Joel wailed as he broke off the kiss.

For a second, you thought he was going to push you away.

His mind was spinning like a Ferris wheel coming off its hinges. He was mad, utterly mad. He shouldn’t but wouldn’t stop. Not now when you had enticed him this far. His dick was pulsing in your hand, and he was panting like a thirsty dog which had not tasted water in days.

He grabbed your adventurous hand and forced you to take it out of his briefs. Then he pushed you towards a fallen tree nearby. Joel was right behind you, his manhood hard pressed against your ass as he bit your neck, then pecking it where he had marked you. He took off your shirt before you could complain. You wore no bra, so when the cold air touched your sensitive nipples, you sighed. Joel’s hands were resting on your hips, but both quickly moved upwards until they gently cupped both of your breasts. He massaged them with care while he left a path of kisses on the side of your neck.

Then his left hand ventured south at the same time he twirled your right nipple between his fingers. You whimpered audibly when he dunked two fingers in your wet slit. He traced you up and down, your knees trembling with delight. Your cunt was so soft with your own fluids that it felt like velvet. Joel wondered how it would taste if he flattened his tongue against the damp skin and fucked you with his tongue. He groaned at the thought, and instead he paid special attention to your clit with his dextrous fingers. Your back arched, your ass touching his bulge ― you unconsciously wiggled your hips to grind on his cock. Then he tested your entrance with one fingertip, circling it slowly, while your bottom lip was quivering.

“You want this?”, he said in a coarse voice.

You nodded.

“Speak up, sweetheart”, he demanded.

“Yes, please, sir”, you whispered.

You closed your eyes and suspired loudly when his ring finger got greedily engulfed by your dripping hole. He started slowly, then fingered you relentlessly with two digits, to the point where you had to grasp his wrist to steady yourself. He curved them towards the front of your insides, stroking the right spot. You couldn’t help but watch as his fingers disappeared between your soaked folds. Your mouth shaped a perfect ‘O’ before you let go and came violently on his fingers. But Joel gave you no truce, he carried on masturbating you until you orgasmed twice more in quick succession with tears in your eyes. Your cunt was gushing for him ― you could feel the trickle of your cum going down your inner thighs. Your knees bended and you almost fell to the floor, but Joel held you by your hips with the firm embrace of his right arm.

“Good girl”, he purred in your ear, offering you his wet left hand.

You wrapped both of your hands around his wrist to hold it in place and sucked on his fingers with wanton need, his digits touching the back of your throat. You showed him explicitly what you would do to his throbbing dick if you had the chance. You licked him clean, tasting yourself on him.

Joel understood exactly what you were doing, feeling the tip of his cock touching his lower belly. He pushed down your trousers and underwear in one swift movement. Joel placed one hand on your back to make you go down on your knees. You kneeled on the ground, and he did so behind you. You put your hands down on the fallen trunk and looked over your shoulder for a minute. Joel had freed his dick, and he was holding it from the base. For a moment you wondered if it would fit, and you bit down your lip at the idea. You felt hypnotised by the sight, pondering how it would feel against your tongue, its glans pushing past your uvula, suffocating you.

“Lean forward for me, darlin’”, he muttered, and you happily obliged with dreamy eyes.

You rested your left cheek against the fallen log in between your hands, ass up in the air. You heard the rustling of leaves as Joel positioned himself right behind you. He placed his hands on your butt cheeks and cracked them open to have a peek. Joel groaned at such blissful picture. He could see your pussy literally throbbing for him, beckoning him like a siren a sailor. What a sight to see, he thought. With a pained huff, he let go of your buttocks and guided the tip of his dick to kiss your entrance. You hissed with pleasure. Finally, you thought. But he didn’t go in ― instead he trailed the tip of his cock along your slick cunt a few times.

“Joel, please, I beg―”.

“Shh”, he hummed at the exact time he went back down to your needy hole and pushed in his tip. Your flesh parted to make way. Your pussy was aching for him, burning to feel him inside. You have never felt this aroused in your life.

He took his sweet time, caressing your clit again as he went in inch by inch until his whole length was inside you. He stayed there for a long minute, letting you get used to him filling you up entirely. Your pussy choked his manhood at irregular intervals ― you just couldn’t control your own muscles anymore. It felt like heaven for both of you.

Then he moved back slowly, his shaft almost slipping out before he pushed back in with brute force. Joel freed your clit from his touch to grab your hips and started fucking you mercilessly. He found a devilish rhythm and you just went along with it. Both of your moans could be heard from yards away, as well as the squelching sounds coming from where you two connected ― luckily for you, Tommy slept like a log.

The roughness of the wood scratched the skin on your cheek, but you didn’t care. It felt too good. Your fingers clutched, trying to hold on to something as your body was being rocked by Joel’s thrusts, an orgasm creeping up on you. And then you came again, almost screaming into the dead of night, like you never came before. You could feel your whole cunt squeezing him uncontrollably, your clit burning with electricity. You felt extremely overstimulated, but you let Joel ride you to find his own release.

Joel’s eyes had rolled to the back of his head ― he had never felt this horny before. This damn woman ―you― was doing something to him, albeit he didn’t know what. He felt your inner walls tightened firmly around his cock and he almost lost it. Every time he locked eyes on where you two met, seeing his shiny dick pulling out of you, he thought you the most beautiful woman in the whole world.

His balls were so tense he feared he was going to spill his seed in you. But he found the last bit of sanity within him ― as much as he would love to claim you for himself, he couldn’t. And so, he pulled out just in time, lodging his shaft between your buttocks. He put his hands on each side of your ass to squeeze his manhood in the fold of your skin. He leaned forward, his chest against your back, to bite you between your shoulder blades before straightening himself again. Joel pumped himself a couple of times in between your buttocks and came on you abundantly. What a waste, you thought out of nowhere.

Both of you stayed in the same exact position for a hot minute, breathing heavily with effort. You were the first one to move, although your limbs felt like jelly. You grabbed some leaves and cleaned the cum off your lower back as Joel watched you avidly.

Joel stood up and pulled up his briefs and jeans, while his mind was racing with doubt. He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have let it go this far. What was meant to be a lesson for you, ended up being a lesson for himself too. Concealing his concern, he offered a hand to help you get up. You gladly took it and proceeded to clothe yourself again, being fully conscious of Joel’s hungry gaze.

You smiled at him.

“That was fun―”.

“A mistake”, he cut you off before you could say anything else.

You were left speechless. What did he just say?

“Are you fucking shitting me right now, Joel?”, you shouted at him. “Because if you are joking, I swear to God I will―”, your anger was raising up fast.

“No, I ain’t joking, we shouldn’t have done this. You don’t understand, I’ll just get you k―”.

“JOEL!”, you screamed at the top of your lungs when you suddenly saw a man a few yards behind him.

Before Joel could grab the rifle, a gunshot was heard and impacted on Joel’s right shoulder. He fell to the ground in agony, and you hastened to kneel beside him. Blood was quickly soaking his flannel shirt.

“No, Joel, please―”, then you felt someone pulling your hair back and yelled in pain. “Let go of me, you jerk!”. It was a different man.

The first man who had shot at Joel came towards you. Joel tried to sit up to fight back, but the man with the gun hit him in the head with the grip of the weapon and Joel fell back down on the dirt.

He was not moving. Was he dead? No, he couldn’t be. You felt the bile rise up in your throat but managed to hold it.

“Joel, Joel―”, you said with tears running down your cheeks.

“Shut up, bitch”, said the second man before slapping you.

You fought them back with all you had, but in the end, they hit you in the head too, rendering you unconscious, and dragging you away.

[mari-positas]

to hell and back l one

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l main masterlist l next chapter

summary: After escaping a group of brutal slavers, you are left with permanent physical and emotional scars. Unwilling to put your trust in another human being ever again, you spend a year fighting for survival alone in the post outbreak world. But when you choose to save the life of a man named Joel Miller, the wall that you’ve built to protect yourself slowly begins to crumble.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI. canon violence, canon language, brief mentions of slavers, brutality, torture, assault, guns, reader is an archer, mentions of hunting, animal death, injured/unconscious Joel, very minor mentions of blood, age gap (reader is 30, Joel is 56) very brief mention of scars, reader does not/cannot speak at times, a lot of internal dialogue from reader, at one point reader does try to speak to Joel but she is unable. *please be advised that no specific diagnosis is used or will be mentioned, i’m writing the series with the idea that reader herself cannot fully comprehend her inability to speak at times. basically the gist of it is we have a very traumatized person who does not realize just how traumatized she is.

word count: 8.2k (good lord I am so sorry)

a/n: not a whole lot to say except for that this is...different. at least i think it is, i could be wrong lmao. this is by far one of the most challenging things i have ever decided to write, but hopefully it turned out okay

California l Fall, 2023

You’d been on the run since dawn.

It was several hours later now and nightfall was approaching—and it was approaching a hell of a lot fucking faster than you could have even anticipated. The darkness was quickly closing in, falling around you like a velvet black curtain. However, stumbling around blindly in the dark was currently the very least of your worries. 

Your feet were raw, both completely blistered and bleeding through your socks inside of your worn out, muddied white canvas sneakers. Your sore, aching legs screamed out for mercy and your knees trembled violently, threatening to buckle out from underneath the weight of your body at any given moment. 

In the week and a half leading up to your escape from captivity, you’d been deprived of both food and water—it had been your punishment for closing your eyes and turning your head away after you’d been instructed by the slavers to watch their brutal assault of the young teenaged girl that you had been sharing a cage with. She’d been unable to keep up with her work duties, and they had decided to make an example out of her.

Despite still having been forced to witness the horrendous, unspeakable things they’d done to that poor girl, your initial resistance resulted in you being beaten and then starved for several days. Occasionally, one of the late night guards would try and bribe you, offering a small piece of jerky or a couple of stale crackers in exchange for a blowjob. At first, you told him you’d rather cut your own tongue out with a rusty blade than suck his dick, but when he proposed the disgusting, vile trade again just a couple of nights later, you’d accepted it—because him pulling you out of that fucking cage after hours and removing the tight shackles from your wrists when no one else was around would give you the chance to finally make a run for it.

You swung yourself around the nearest redwood tree, slumping back against its thick, wide trunk. You covered your mouth with your two hands in an attempt to silence the sound of your heavy panting. 

Besides being in pain, malnourished and severely dehydrated, the exhaustion was starting to set in too. The adrenaline pumping through your veins had brought you this far, but exactly how much farther could it take you? How much longer could it possibly keep you going before your tired body decided to give up and give out?

Somewhere behind you, you could hear the men calling out cheerfully.

One sang out, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

“Come out and plaaaaay,” a second taunted.

The third shouted, “We’re gonna get you!”

Their giddiness made you want to vomit. If your stomach hadn’t been empty, you would have.

Those sick, twisted fucks weren’t letting up. 

They’d been on your heels for hours.

The large group of slavers in California were over two hundred strong and had dozens of prisoners chained up in their human cages—they had more than enough people to force into labor. There was no need for them to waste their time and efforts going after you, but after spending the last eight months witnessing firsthand how these sadistic bastards operated, it occurred to you that their desire to recapture you wasn’t out of a need for labor. It was for their entertainment. 

They were hunting you down for sport.

This was their idea of fun.

“Fuck,” you whispered underneath your breath, your hands falling down to your sides.

Something had to give.

Your legs, your body, your will to live.

Perhaps all of the above.

You couldn’t keep on running for much longer.

And even if you could, where the hell were you supposed to go? How were you supposed to get there?

You had no food, no water, and no weapon.

Just the torn, tattered clothes on your back.

You were defenseless against whatever else was out there and you couldn’t see yourself surviving longer than a couple of days at most.

There was a part of you that wanted to give up and surrender. If you could be absolutely certain that they would shoot you dead on the spot, you would actually consider it and step out from behind the tree—hell, you would happily let them put a bullet between your eyes and put you out of your misery once and for all. But they wouldn’t be so generous. You knew they would have their way with you here in the middle of this forest and only after they were done would they take you back to their settlement where they’d put you right back in shackles so the real torture could begin. Just like that teenaged girl, the slavers would make an example out of you so that nobody else in their right mind would even think about running away. 

They would be sure to make your death as slow and as agonizing as possible.  

No. If you were going to die, then you were going to die. But fucking not like that.

Hearing them draw closer towards where you’d been hiding, you pushed yourself away from the redwood and willed yourself to keep on going.

Wyoming l Fall 2024

Your eyes softly flutter open.

Bright, early morning sunlight filters in through the ripped, white lace curtains that hang over the small, square shaped window right above your head. 

Blinking the sleep away, you prop yourself up slightly on your elbows and take a glance around at your surroundings. The old, abandoned cabin that you’d stumbled across just a couple of days ago is tiny, cramped, and crumbling. It also reeks—it smells damp, musty, and earthy, like rotting wood. But beggars can’t be choosers and you are certainly in no position to be a chooser right now. It’s not what you consider to be ideal, but it’s four walls and a roof, which is more than anyone can ask for. It’s sparsely furnished with a table and two chairs, an old wood burning stove you had been too afraid to light because you didn’t want to risk setting the place on fire, and there’s even a small, twin sized bed for you to sleep on. Well, perhaps calling it a bed was a tad bit too generous. It’s really just a mattress sitting on four large concrete blocks. It’s rough, dirty, and torn with rusted springs and bits of fluff sticking out from every corner. Still, it sure as fuck beat the hell out of sleeping outside in the dirt and using a rock as a pillow.

Besides the luxury of having something close to a proper roof to sleep under, there’s also a lake just two and a half miles north of the cabin where you had been able to fill your canteen with fresh water. Not to mention, you’d also been able to bathe and wash your clothes for the first time in a couple of weeks. You had been on your own for about a year now, and this was the luckiest you’ve gotten in terms of finding a decent place to stay.

Whether or not it’s safe, it was still too early to tell. 

Sure, you were out somewhere in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and hadn’t seen a single soul, living or dead, in a couple of months now. But that still didn’t mean that running into the infected or other people wasn’t a possibility. Letting your guard down was risky. Too risky. 

You swing your legs over the side of the mattress and sit up, slipping on your pair of warm, wool socks before tugging on your boots—you’d found them over the summer and even though they had been about one size too small for you, you’d managed to break them in since then and the supple brown leather now molds almost perfectly to your feet. You stand up and lift your arms up above your head while simultaneously twisting your stiff, sore back in a painful, but much needed stretch. You’re only just a couple of months shy of turning thirty years old, but lately, your bones snap, crackle and pop with each and every movement, making you feel twice your actual age. 

The thought of it makes you snort in amusement. You should be so lucky to stay alive long enough to see the age of sixty. Hell, you’re still unable to fathom how you’d even made it this close to seeing thirty.

Dropping your arms back down to your sides, you make your way over to your khaki colored pack and pull out your aluminum canteen from one of the side pockets. You twist off the cap and gulp back a long, cool drink of water, hoping to get rid of the dryness in your mouth and the cracks in your chapped lips. As soon as the liquid makes it all the way down to the pit of your stomach, the hollow, muscular organ grumbles loudly, demanding food. You’d had some decent luck while out hunting the previous morning, capturing two wild rabbits—you had eagerly skinned, cleaned and cooked them both, devouring one right after the other so fast that it had nearly made you sick. It had been a pretty decent meal, but not nearly enough to completely satisfy your ravenous hunger. Prior to finding the cabin and settling in, you had been living off of a couple handfuls of nuts and berries for three days while on the move. You were still fucking starving and all you could do was pray that you’d find more rabbits today. 

Maybe you’d get even luckier and spot a pheasant. It was their season, after all. 

You drink some more water and set your canteen aside. You’d planned to return to the lake later in the afternoon to refill it as well as to have another bath. You pull on your faded, black denim jacket over your hoodie and pick up the wooden bow and brown leather quiver of arrows sitting beside your pack. You’d found the weapon in some hunting shop back in Utah that had already been picked clean to the bone over the last couple of decades. However, no one had even bothered with taking the bow. It hadn’t really surprised you, though. In the post outbreak world, a bow and arrow would do absolutely nothing to protect against the infected runners and stalkers—and it would do much less to protect against clickers unless your aim was flawless.

Still, a bow was useful in its own right. 

It was perfect for hunting game. It was silent, keeping you and your location concealed from potential passersby at all times. Most importantly, you could reuse your arrows so long as you were careful and didn’t break them while removing them from your kills—and in the event that you did happen to snap an arrow, all you had to do was salvage what you could from the damaged projectile and make a new one. Simple as that. 

Your father had taught you how before he’d died.

“Why bother with a bow? What about a gun?” you had asked him. 

“Might not always be able to get your hands on a gun,” he’d replied as he sharpened an edge of the small, thumb sized rock in his hand. “Or bullets. It doesn’t hurt to have alternatives in the event that you can’t get your hands on either of those things, kiddo.” Despite being in your mid twenties at the time, he’d still always call you kiddo. “Always have a backup weapon, alright?”

He’d been wise to give you that advice.

You did have a firearm, a colt pistol that you hardly have ammunition for. There were ten rounds left in the clip and with no luck in finding any more in the last couple of months, you’d decided to preserve them, saving what little bullets you had left for a real emergency. You kept the gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans at all times, along with the sharp switchblade that you used to gut and skin game. As far as weapons go, you sure as hell could’ve been a lot worse off. But if you happened to stumble upon more ammunition for your gun, you certainly wouldn’t complain about it. 

Slinging your bow and the quiver of arrows over your shoulder, you grab the dark gray foraging bag that you used to collect and carry your kills in and leave the cabin, feeling somewhat confident enough to leave the remainder of your belongings behind instead of hauling them all along with you like you had the morning before. It wasn’t that you feared someone would come along and steal them. There wasn’t really anything for anyone to steal, anyway. Rather, you’d gotten so damn used to the instability and the constant moving around—you never stayed in one place for too long and were always prepared to run. But today, you decide to leave your things in the cabin, feeling certain that you would return in just a couple of hours. 

You step out onto the creaking, three step porch that’s so old it buckles slightly under your weight and a gentle breeze nips at your cheeks and nose. It’s the middle of autumn in Wyoming and the air outside is fresh, cool and crisp. Winter was looming right around the corner like a dark shadow, and although you’d somehow managed to make it through the previous year’s brutal snow season, that didn’t do much to stop you from being nervous about the one that was to come. If all went according to your plan, you’d be holing yourself up in that shoddy little cabin until the worst of winter was over and then you would move along.

To where?

You didn’t have the slightest fucking clue. 

You make a short trek about two miles south, going in the opposite direction of the lake and finding yourself closer to the thick forest trees that surrounded the base of the mountain range out in the distance instead. There’s a dried, grassy clearing just feet from the entrance of the forest—finding a single, decently sized boulder in the middle of the wide, open space, you decide that behind it is the perfect spot for you to set up and hope for the best. Carefully setting your things down on the ground, you pull out a pair of old, cracked binoculars from your bag. You lean your body over the smooth, round top of the rock and lift them up to your face, peeking through the lenses. You hope to spot something right away because it sure would be fucking nice to eat something sooner rather than later. Otherwise you might just start gnawing at your own arm. 

Diligently, you scan your surroundings for any and all signs of wildlife. 

That’s when you see it, standing near the edge of the woods.

You gasp softly as your sights fall upon the deer. 

Pulling your face away from your binoculars, you blink furiously before taking another look just to be sure that your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you. It’s not a hallucination. It’s a white tailed deer, a female, and from the look of her, she has to be at least about a hundred pounds. At least.

You try to not get too far ahead of yourself, but it’s far too late. The thought of finding some herbs and making a hot, venison stew for supper makes your mouth water. The rest of the meat could be dried out and made into a batch of jerky that could feed you for months. Months.

Then, you suddenly remember you’ve never even attempted to bring down an animal of that size before and you’re slapped back into reality.

You think about your father, who would bring home a deer every weekend after going on his hunting trips with some of his old college buddies. “You want to aim for the heart or the lungs,” he’d say as you and your siblings would watch him dress the carcass, much to your mother’s chagrin. “Look between the shoulder blade and the last rib,” he would tell you and your brothers. You’d also had an older sister, but she had always been incredibly squeamish and had a soul that was much too sweet and caring for hunting. She would always want to bring home every animal your father shot and nurse it back to health. “Somewhere between those two lies everything you need to hit in order to do the job and do it well. And for the love of god, don’t you ever aim directly for the shoulder. Behind it, kiddos, always aim behind it. You got it?”

“Yes Papa,” you’d all chime out together.

Setting down the binoculars in your hands, you reach for your bow and pluck an arrow from your quiver before stepping out from behind the boulder. You’re careful to be as silent as possible as you take a few steps closer towards the unsuspecting grazing animal. You position yourself and stand perpendicular to the deer, placing your feet shoulder width apart—you’re a little farther from your target than you would have preferred, but you don’t want to risk going any closer and scaring her off, so it would have to do. Once you feel comfortable enough with your stance, you nock the arrow and set it on the string. You then hold the string and steady your grip on the bow, relaxing your shoulders before drawing it and pulling your arm back until you’ve reached your anchor point, which is always the corner of your mouth. 

Breathe, you remind yourself calmly as you aim at the delicate spot behind her shoulder blade. Nice and slow. Breathe.

Just as you’re about to release the arrow and take your shot, the deer whips her head back towards the trees and her ears prick forward—a split second later, she darts off, zooming across the field in the opposite direction of where you’d been standing. 

Your mouth falls open in disbelief. 

“Are you fucking shitting me?” you mutter under your breath.

Frustrated, you lower your weapon and just as you start to contemplate whether or not it’s even worth it to try and hunt her down on foot, you suddenly hear something—it isn’t until the noise draws closer to where you’re standing that you realize it’s the sound of a galloping horse.

Perplexed, you squint over in the direction of where you think it’s coming from, right near the edge of the trees. Then, just a moment later, a brown stallion emerges from the woods with a dark haired man riding in his saddle. He holds a rifle in one hand and clutches the reins tightly in the other. 

Gasping, you whirl around on the heel of your boot and immediately make a beeline back to the boulder. You swing around the rock and crouch down, ducking out of his sight. You couldn’t be too sure if he’d seen you or not, but it doesn’t matter—a wave of sheer panic washes over you and you can physically feel your own body preparing itself to go into fight or flight mode. Despite having your gun tucked into the waistband of your jeans, you still haven’t reached for it and continue to clutch your bow and arrow in your hands instead. 

Swallowing dryly, you turn and carefully lift yourself up just enough so that you can glimpse over the top of the boulder. That’s when you see a second man emerge from the woods. This one is blond and he is on foot instead of a horse. He’s also armed, carrying a shotgun. 

“You’re mine you fucking son of a bitch!” he shouts. He lifts his weapon, aims, and then squeezes the trigger, shooting the horse in the side and bringing him down instantly. His rider goes flying off and he hits the ground several feet away from the dead animal, landing so painfully hard that even from a distance you’d manage to hear the loud, cracking sound his body had made upon impact.

You momentarily freeze. 

Your heart anxiously jumps up into your throat as you watch the shooter begin to approach him. The attacker moves slowly and with no haste seeing as his helpless victim is lying there motionless on the ground with his eyes closed and no idea that he’s about to die. The blond man comes to a halt just a few feet away from him, grinning as he lifts his shotgun once again and points the barrel of it at the other man’s head. His index finger hovers over the trigger. 

Before your mind and body can even make the connection, you rise to your feet and aim your bow, swiftly sending an arrow straight through the blond man’s neck. He crumples, falling to the ground writhing and squirming as he bleeds out in less than sixty seconds.

You wait it out for another minute, refusing to move another muscle until his body finally goes limp and you are certain he’s dead. Taking a look around, you make sure the coast is clear and grab your belongings, slinging them over your shoulder before you make your way over to the scene. Unsure of whether or not there could be others heading in this direction, your plan was to pick off their guns and any other useful supplies before making a run for it back to the cabin. You crouch down beside the man you’d shot and killed, carefully pulling your arrow out of his neck. It makes a loud, horrid squelching sound as you remove it and blood from his jugular splatters your blue jeans. You then pick up his shotgun and check the chamber for ammunition. 

Just like the pistol tucked away in your waistband, there’s hardly any rounds left, making it all but useless. Rolling your eyes, you carelessly drop the gun on top of his chest and move on in search of the rifle. You spot it right beside the dark haired man.

Apprehensive, you cautiously make your way over towards him. With how still he had been lying, you could have sworn he was gone—perhaps the fall off of his horse alone had killed him. But just to be sure, you decide to give his side a harsh nudge with the toe of your boot. 

He groans and his head rolls to the side.

He’s still alive.

You effortlessly string the bloodied arrow in your hand and aim it right at his chest.

Move again and you’re dead, motherfucker.

“Ellie,” the man mumbles, his eyes still closed.

Ellie?

You slowly lower your bow.

Without realizing it, a little bit of your guard lowers along with it. 

Carefully, you sink down onto one knee next to the man and get a better look at him. He’s much older than yourself, somewhere in his fifties if you had to guess. He has harsh forehead lines, deep creases in between his eyebrows, a patchy beard that is speckled with many, many grays, and wild waves of thick hair that look soft to the touch. Though some of his features are a little worse for wear due to his age, he’s still quite a handsome man from what you can see. He also appears to be in decent shape, clean and well fed, and you detect the light scent of laundry soap on his clothes. Surely, he had to have been part of some kind of group, and judging by the leather trimmed saddle on his horse, this group was one that was very well off in this post outbreak world. 

You hesitate, but then lift a slightly trembling hand and take the side of his face, cupping it in your palm as you turn his head towards you. 

There’s blood on his right temple and your fingers reach up to touch what you had assumed was the source of the bleeding—but then you realize it was a scar, maybe an inch or two in length at most and completely healed. Your fingers trail up even further and venture into his hair which, as it turned out, is in fact just as soft as one would imagine. You find a small gash on his scalp and your fingers become coated in the man’s blood.

Must’ve hit himself on a rock or something.

Your hand leaves his hair and you place it on his broad chest as you begin checking him over for any other potential injuries or wounds. Slipping your opposite hand inside of his brown jacket, you lift the hem of the dark green thermal henley he’s wearing and you discover the scar on his temple isn’t the only one he possesses—he has several more, way too many for you to count on one hand alone. You’re so preoccupied with inspecting the remainder of his abdomen that you don’t even notice the way one of his hands is slowly reaching for yours, the hand that’s still resting on his chest, right over his heartbeat.

Semiconscious, the man takes your hand in his so damn gently that it startles you and takes you by surprise, but it doesn’t frighten you. Weakly, he laces his fingers together with your own and he speaks again, uttering softly, “Babygirl.”

Puzzled, your eyebrows knit together.

It almost sounds like he’s pleading.

For what—for who? For Ellie?

Is she the babygirl he’s referring to?

Your other hand moves up to his shoulder and you give it a violent shake. 

Hey, you’ve got to get up now.

“H—” You try to speak the words, but can’t. They’re formed in your mind and it feels like they are right there on the very tip of your tongue, but when you open your mouth, they refuse to come out. You frown.

It’s happened before. 

In the spring, you’d stumbled across a small group of people while out hunting in Idaho—it was the first time you had seen other human beings since leaving California in the fall. There had been both men and women and they even had children with them, but that did nothing to stop you from panicking when they’d approached you. One of the women cornered you, trying to tell you that they were traveling across the country to the east coast. “It’s okay,” she’d tried to tell you, holding up her hands. “We’re not bad people, I promise. We’re just trying to get to the quarantine zone in Boston. I think you should come with us, honey.”

You’d been so terrified that when you’d tried to tell her that you didn’t want to join them, you couldn’t push the words out. It felt like your voice had gotten stuck in the back of your throat. That’s how afraid you’d been.

Technically, you can speak.

You’d talk to yourself often when you were feeling lonely. You would read the books you carried in your pack out loud. Hell, you even liked to sing.

But whenever you became stressed, anxious, or scared, it would happen. You’d lose your ability to speak and to communicate—not that you had anyone to communicate with except for yourself, but that’s besides the point. No matter how hard you tried to force your vocal cords, all you could get out were quiet, strangled noises. It was as if your own fears chased your voice away and during periods when you were under extreme distress, it would take several days for you to find it again. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, whenever you used your voice back in California, it only led to the harshest of punishments. 

A gunshot sounds off in the distance, snapping you out of your train of thought.

You shake the man again, harder this time.

Come on, get up! They could be coming this way!

It’s useless. He’s losing complete consciousness. 

You hear another gunshot and this one sounds like it’s coming from the base of the mountain range on the other side of the trees, not all too far from where you are. For all you know, it could very well be members of his own group who are firing those weapons out there. But whether it was his group or the other man’s group, it doesn’t really fucking matter. You don’t want to run into either one of them, regardless of who were the good guys and who were the bad guys. In your eyes, everyone’s a fucking bad guy. 

Yanking your hand out of his, you get to your feet and prepare to make a run for it. But just as you’re about to take off, the man mumbles one last time. It’s incoherent and barely audible, but you manage to catch that name again. Ellie. 

Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

For some reason you can’t quite explain, that sweet little name bounces around in the inside of your skull. 

You chew the inside of your cheek anxiously. 

If it’s his group out there, they’ll save him.

If it’s the other man’s group, they’ll kill him.

Normally, you’d have no problem with the idea of leaving another person to die.

After everything that happened in California, you had lost your sense of humanity. Your ability to empathize and actually give a shit about other people had been long gone—or so you’d thought. But you had just saved this man’s life and now you find yourself unwilling to run the risk of leaving him for dead. And you don’t have the slightest fucking clue as to why. He’s a stranger. He shouldn’t matter to you. 

You exhale a heavy sigh of defeat.

Okay, how the fuck do I do this?

Without much time left to waste, you gather up your belongings over your shoulder and pick up his rifle, slinging the brown leather strap across your chest so the gun rests comfortably against your backside. You walk around him, lean over, and hook your arms securely underneath his. Using every ounce of physical strength you have inside of you, you start dragging him back to the cabin as fast as you possibly can.

The pretty melody fills his ears as he comes to.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high

there’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby…”

Joel Miller isn’t all too sure if heaven is a real place that actually exists, but the very minute he hears the feminine voice singing, he can’t help but think he’s died and that’s exactly where he’s gone—because only an angel could possibly have a voice like that. So rich, so smooth, and oh so sickeningly sweet.

“Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue...”

The ballad being sung is all too familiar to him.

The Wizard of Oz had been Sarah’s favorite movie back when she had been a little girl, when she was seven years old and she still believed in princesses and fairy tales and faraway lands with yellow brick roads. Even when she grew older, his daughter continued to hold a soft spot for the film and Joel would watch it with her every Thanksgiving at his parents’ house right after their dinner—it would air on cable and Sarah would beg him to let her have her slice of pecan pie while sitting cross legged on the floor in front of his old man’s television set.

“So long as you don’t make a mess on Nana and PopPop’s carpet,” he’d warn her. “Deal?”

Sarah would beam at him and nod eagerly. “Deal!”

He’d grab his own slice of pie, park it right on the couch behind her, and together they would get lost in the whimsical world of Oz, although admittedly he’d usually fall deep into his food coma long before Dorothy had the chance to make it back home to Kansas.  

“Where troubles melt like lemon drops

away above the chimney tops 

that’s where you’ll find me...”

The words fade and the rest of the song is now being hummed.

Goddamn, he thinks.Even the humming is too fucking beautiful.

Joel feels a cold, damp cloth dabbing at his sore right temple.

Come to think of it, everything is fucking sore. 

Once, when Joel had been in his mid twenties, he had been doing some under the table roofing job with his younger brother, Tommy. It had been the hottest day of the summer in Texas, and the two of them thought having a couple cold beers with their lunch to cool off would be a good idea. The pair of them went back to work and started fucking around, goofing off like the drunk idiots they were. While horsing around, Joel accidentally stumbled right over the edge of the roof and he had fallen about fifteen feet to the ground, landing on his back on Mrs. Adler’s lawn. Luckily, he’d been okay after the fall and hadn’t sustained any serious injuries or broken any bones, but he had spent the following three to four weeks feeling like he’d been hit by a fucking Greyhound.

That’s how he felt now.

Like he’d been hit by a fucking bus. Twice. There isn’t a single part of him that isn’t pulsating with pain—his back, his shoulders, and his head. Oh god, his head feels the worst. It’s fucking killing him. 

Joel’s eyelids twitch and he cracks them open ever so slightly, just enough that he can see the silhouette of another person hovering over him. He feels a hand at the crown of his head as the other continues to dab at his temple with the cool cloth. It feels incredible against his warm skin and even sort of soothes the pain.

He lets out a small groan and the humming ceases.

Finally, he manages to force his eyes open.

Joel hears a little gasp and the bed he’s lying on squeaks and shifts. He then hears a loud thumping sound as if something, or someone had fallen to the floor. 

Although he’s still disoriented and his entire body aches with even the slightest movement, Joel manages to push himself up into a sitting position. Blinking rapidly, his blurred vision steadies itself after a minute and he glances around. He’s in a small, single room wooden cabin that has seen better days in its lifetime. Looking down, he sees that he’s lying on a bare, worn out mattress with his own jacket draped over him like a blanket. He racks his mildly concussed brain, trying to recollect what had happened—it takes him a minute, but one by one, the memories start flooding back to him. Joel had been leading mid morning patrol with Tommy when they had been ambushed by a large group of hostile raiders. He remembers shouting at his brother, telling him that he’d try and lead some of them off, away from the direction of their community. He’d succeeded and managed to pick off a few of the bastards that had been tailing him with his rifle, all except for one. The very last thing that he remembered was the sound of a gunshot behind him before his horse went down and he’d been thrown off and knocked out.

Everything after that was nothing but a blur.

Joel takes another look around the cabin and that’s when he sees you.

You’re on the floor, backed up against the wall near the foot of the mattress. Your eyes are wide and round, like a deer caught in the headlights. Your chest heaves, rising and falling rapidly—you remind him of a helpless, frightened animal that had been cornered by a vicious predator. You clutch the handle of a switchblade up against your chest with the blade pointing downwards, holding it so tightly in your hand that Joel can see the skin stretching tightly over your knuckles. 

“Who the hell are you?” He grimaces slightly, his own voice causing his head to throb. 

You don’t reply.

Joel moves onto his next question. “Where am I?”

Again, no response.

He tries again. “Are you alone?”

Silence. 

Joel takes a better look at you.

You’re young. You couldn’t have been older than your late twenties, perhaps even your early thirties although that might have been a bit of a stretch. You had that look about you, one that had become all but too familiar to him in the last two decades—the exhausted appearance of someone trying to survive in the post outbreak world. Your face is tired and worn, but somehow still soft and youthful at the same time. You might have looked a little rough around the edges, but you’re still the prettiest goddamn thing he’s seen in a long, long time. 

Joel speaks again. “Who are you? Where the hell are we?” When he’s met with complete silence for the fourth time, he raises an eyebrow, feeling annoyed. “You gonna fuckin’ say somethin’ or what?”

You can only stare at him, your fingers wrapped around the handle of your knife in a vice-like grip.

Joel frowns.

Are you really that fucking terrified of him?

Or perhaps you can’t hear?

Only one way to find out, he thinks to himself.

He raises his voice, asking once again, “Who are you? Where are we?”

You wince, your features twisting in discomfort.

Oh, you could fucking hear him, alright. 

Joel swings his legs over the side of the mattress, his movement causing you to shrink back further against the wall, almost as if you were trying to become a part of the old, rotted wood. He holds up his two hands, demonstrating that he has no plans to move another muscle towards you. “How long have I been out?”

He tries to show some patience and gives you a minute, gives you a chance to respond, but when you say nothing, he can’t help but sigh out in frustration. Just when he’s about to force himself to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any kind of answers out of you, you lift your free hand and hold up three trembling fingers. 

His stomach sinks. “Three days? I’ve been out for three fuckin’ days?”

You give him a nod so tiny and so subtle that he would’ve missed it had he blinked.

“Fuck,” Joel curses, hanging his head. He begins to spiral.

What happened to Tommy? And the others? 

Did they make it out alive?

And then Ellie’s face flashes in his mind, causing the blood in his veins to run ice cold. 

What could she possibly be thinking right now after he’d been missing for three whole days? Who was taking care of her and looking after her while he wasn’t there?

He needed to get back to Jackson—he needed to get back to Ellie.

He wasn’t sure how he would be able to do that if you didn’t start talking soon and answering his goddamn questions.

Lifting his head, Joel looks over at you again. 

“You all by yourself?”

You hesitate, but then nod in reply. Yes.

Joel sighs, his tense shoulders relaxing. That’s a start. “Listen, I’m gonna need a little help here, alright? I don’t remember much ‘bout what happened. I’m part of a community. I was out on patrol with my group when we were attacked by raiders. There were too many of them and I tried to lead some of them away,” he explains. He might not have known what had happened after he’d been thrown off of his horse, but the fact that he’s in your cabin and he’s alive help him piece at least one part of the puzzle together. “Wait a minute. Did you—did you save me out there?”

Sucking in your bottom lip, you nod again.

Stunned, Joel’s eyebrows raise up towards his hairline. “You fuckin’ serious?” he can’t help but question in complete and utter disbelief. Skeptically, he presses, “But how? What happened out there? How did you get me here all by yourself?” His queries spill from his lips one after the other despite knowing most of them, if not all of them, would go unanswered.

You look overwhelmed by them—by him.

Figuring it’s best to take it one slow step at a time, Joel stands up and he cautiously walks over towards you. He holds out his hand. “S’alright,” he assures you in the most gentle voice he can muster. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

You refuse to loosen your grip on your knife, but you accept his hand and allow him to help you up to your feet. Given that you didn’t lodge the blade straight through his chest, Joel would say some progress had been made. 

He releases your hand and takes a step backwards to give you your space. He isn’t too sure if you can’t talk or simply don’t want to talk—still thinking you’d been the woman he’d heard singing when he had drifted back into consciousness, he guesses it’s probably the latter. 

Joel tries to think of questions he knows you’ll be able to answer without having to speak. 

“How long have you been by yourself?”

Shifting anxiously from one foot to the other, you hold up one finger. 

“Sorry darlin’ but that don’t really help me much,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Are we talkin’ one week? One month?”

You make a gesture with your hand. Keep going.

“One year?” He doesn’t bother hiding his blatant skepticism. “You’ve been completely alone for one whole year?”

You point at him. That’s right. 

Joel is beside himself. He’s almost in awe over the fact that you’ve survived on your own for so fucking long.

“You got any other weapons besides that knife?”

You nod over towards a bow and sheath of arrows next to your backpack.

“You’re kiddin’ me. That’s all you’ve got?”

You narrow your eyes at him.

Hey, it’s a good weapon and it saved your fucking life, thank you very much.

“Sorry. Just can’t imagine that thing would do much against a clicker. ‘Specially if your aim is shit,” Joel muses. He notices the offended expression on your face and quickly moves on. “You don’t have a gun at all?”

You reach behind yourself and pull out a colt pistol from the waistband of your jeans. You finally set down your knife and then show him that you’re low on ammunition and don’t have any more. Tucking the gun back into your jeans, you step around him and walk over to a corner where his rifle is propped up against the wall. You pick it up, make your way back over to him and hand it over. 

I believe this belongs to you.

“Thank you,” he utters quietly, taking it from you. “And I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the gun, either. I honestly don’t think I’d be standin’ here alive if you hadn’t done whatever it was you did out there.” His eyes try meeting yours. “I’m serious, darlin’. I owe you one. I really fuckin’ do.”

You shrug, too timid to meet his gaze.

“I’m Joel,” he says after a minute, setting his rifle down. “What’s your name?”

You simply stare at him.

“Oh that’s right,” Joel mumbles sheepishly. “You can’t—” He stops himself, but he’s sure you know what he’d meant to say.

You can’t talk.

“You got a pencil or somethin’ to write with?”

You snort and roll your eyes at him. No, sorry. Silly me totally forgot to pick up a pack of pencils while I was out scavenging for supplies the other day.

Joel chuckles and holds up his hands in defense. “Figured it was at least worth askin’,” he says. “It’d be kinda nice to know the name of the person who saved my fuckin’ ass, you know.” He clocks the way the corners of your mouth threaten to turn upwards into a tiny smile at his remark. “How ‘bout a map? You got one of those so you can show me where we are?”

You hold up a finger, as if telling him to give you a minute. Digging into one of the front pockets of your pack, you pull out a large map of the state of Wyoming. It’s severely creased, as if you’ve folded and unfolded it hundreds of times. You hand it over to him and as he holds it out for you, you point to your current location. 

“Jackson’s ‘bout fifteen miles south from here,” Joel murmurs as he scans the map. Suddenly, his dark brown eyes flicker over your wrist—the long sleeve of your thin gray shirt had hiked up, exposing severe discoloration and scarring that went all the way around, marking your skin. 

Noticing where his gaze had wandered off to, you quickly retract your hand away from the map and tug your sleeve down back into place. But it’d been much too late. He had seen the mark, clear as fucking day. 

Joel awkwardly clears his throat and for the sake of not causing you any discomfort, he pretends he hadn’t seen a goddamn thing. He turns his attention back to the map. “Remember how I told you I’m a part of a community? It’s in Jackson and it ain’t all too far from here,” he states, peering up at you from over the top of the map. “The town’s gated and it’s secure. You’ll be safe there. If we head out right now, we can make it there by nightfall—”

You back away from him, shaking your head.

I’m not going with you.

He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Look darlin’, I don’t mean to offend, but you ain’t gonna last a whole lot longer out here on your own, especially not in a place like this with winter right around the corner. If you don’t starve to death, then you’ll fuckin’ freeze to death.”

You glare at him and lift your chin.

I’ve been doing just fine on my own, thanks. 

Having read your mind, Joel sighs. “Alright, fair enough. You’ve gotten this far by yourself, but that don’t mean you gotta turn down an offer for some help. Just come with me to Jackson—”

You shake your head even harder.

The last time that you had agreed to go back with a stranger to their camp, you’d been imprisoned. Tortured. 

Joel observes you, and it doesn’t take him very long to connect the dots between the scars around your wrists and your refusal to leave with him. His hard, stony face softens. “Listen sweetheart, I ain’t all too sure ‘bout what’s happened to you,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “But I can assure you that you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout a thing this time around. Just come with me and I’ll prove it to you.”

You toss him a skeptical look.

“Jackson is a safe place,” he swears. “My brother runs it along with his wife and a small council. There’s families, lots of children—hell I’ve got a kid myself. Teenager. Her name is Ellie and she’s fifteen years old.”

Your lips part slightly and your eyes glimmer with something that looks a lot like recognition, though Joel can’t be too sure what had prompted it. Perhaps you’d known someone with that name once in your life. 

“There’s plenty of food, running water, electricity,” he lists off in an attempt to sway you. “It’d be a shot at a normal life. Wouldn’t you like that?”

Crossing your arms, you lift your chin again.

You’d heard that before.

Why the hell should I even trust you? Why should I trust this place is what you say it is?

Joel bites back another frustrated sigh. 

Normally, he wouldn’t bother to put up with such stubbornness. He wasn’t one to plead or beg and part of him almost wanted to give up so he could be on his way, but you had saved him from being killed. He owed you his fucking life. He had to get you to go with him. He wouldn’t give up until you agreed to go to Jackson with him. 

“I’ll let you carry your weapons,” he offers as a compromise. “Hell, you can even walk behind me with your gun pointed at the back of my fuckin’ head if that’s gonna make you feel safest.”

You squint at him. Really?

“Or that bow of yours,” he adds, chuckling softly. “It’s your pick, darlin’. Whatever’s gonna make you feel comfortable. I’ll trust you not to shoot an arrow through the back of my skull—all I ask in return is that you at least make an attempt to trust me too. I think that’s a fair enough deal. Don’t you?”

You bite your bottom lip. 

I don’t know about this.

“I really don’t wanna leave you out here all alone,” Joel says, taking a step closer towards you. He finds himself feeling surprised that it hadn’t startled you and he only hopes that means that, to some degree, you trust him already. “Please. You saved my life—and I know you probably don’t need me savin’ yours, but at least let me take you to Jackson so you can see for yourself what we’ve got goin’ on there. If you don’t like it and you don’t wanna stay, then we’ll load up your pack with food and supplies. We’ll put you on a horse and you can be on your way. You can choose to leave and no one will lift a finger to stop you, I’ll make sure of it. How does that sound?”

He waits, giving you a chance to think it over.

Finally, after a minute, you sigh and reluctantly nodd your head. 

Okay. I’m gonna try and trust you.

“Good,” Joel says, softly. “Now get your stuff and let’s head out before we start losin’ daylight.” 

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Infected x reader angst, where the two of them were dating before the virus, and Infected doesn’t remember the reader? He feels drawn to them, though he can’t quite remember them. There’s flashes here and there- bits and pieces, the occasional snippet. Someone’s laugh, a pretty smile, late nights playing Mario kart or whatever. But he can’t ever quite seem to remember them

I apologize if this is TOO specific lmao . Angst moment

In light of the floppy disc update--my Regretevator interest has come back (and it got me out of my writer's block yippee) I finally got the "noise complaint" one so that gave me a lot of inspiration for this

........

You and Kasper once made a promise.

To be there for each other.

For better or for worse.

In sickness and in health.

But...

What do you do when that sickness made him forget that exact promise?

Although you've come to accept his new identity as "Infected", sometimes you think he's just playing a huge prank on you. And that the next time you swung by his apartment, he'll be resting and actually taking his illness seriously, and you'd have your old boyfriend back.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the case tonight, as you invited yourself inside with a duplicate of his key that he gave you long ago. As you closed the door, he didn't immediately run out to greet you like he used to. Instead, all you heard were the rapid taps of his keyboard and mouse.

Entering the living room space, you saw him sitting at his usual spot in front of the PC, intensely focused on some game. He had his headphones on, his face mere inches away from the bright screen, scowling--totally unaware of your presence.

You could've been an armed intruder for all he knew.

"Dud3s!! DUD3S!! Y0U SUCK!! WHY AM I TH3 0NLY 0NE C4RRYING TH3 TEAM?!!" He shouted into the tiny mic. "EITH3R GET G00D OR G3T 0FF THE G4ME!!!"

With a sigh, you made yourself known to him by stepping into the room, just within his peripheral vision and leaning against the wall

The moment his eyes flickered to you, he got startled, especially as his character made the dying sound. The other team was taunting him in the chat, but for once he ignored it, his cheeks flushed pink at your unexpected arrival.

"0h, h-hey, [y/n]! Wh4t brings y0u here, bab3?" He quickly removed his headphones.

"I sent you a message an hour ago. You said you wanted to play Mario Kart tonight, right?"

"I did....? 0hhhh, right! Right...s0rry. I'll be re4dy in a sec0nd. I just..." For a moment he paused, looking down at his lap and realizing he just had his pink shirt and a pair of boxers on. "G0tta put on s0me pants-"

"I've seen you in those nyan cat boxers before." You chuckled, shaking your head.

He blinked owlishly. "Y0u have?"

"Yeah. You don't have to change if you don't wanna."

"...g00d, 'cuz I was t00 lazy t0 do that anyways." After standing up, he stared at you. "Wait, h0w did you g3t into my r00m?"

"You gave me a spare key when you first moved in here." Holding up the item in question, your smile faded a little as you saw his eyebrows furrow, struggling to recall when he did that. "I don't expect you to remember, but-"

"Don't w0rry, babe. I'll take ur w0rd for it! I w0uldn't give a sp4re key to a str4nger." With a grin, Infected walked over to hug you and kiss you on the cheek. "I'll g3t the snacks. Sh0uld I make popcorn or hot p0ckets?"

"Surprise me."

"0kay!" While he dashed off to the snack pantry, you headed to the couch to get the gaming console set up for Mario Kart. You made sure to bring the wheel-shaped controllers for a fully immersive experience.

You had little hope that tonight he'll be able to remember something--or anything about his relationship with you as Kasper...so you don't know why you've kept them so high.

After the virus took ahold of his brain, you couldn't comprehend how it could make him forget ever dating you. In fact, you scared him a bit when you mentioned being his partner and got extremely upset at his confusion. He even called you "creepy" once.

Yet despite that...he still felt drawn to you, wanting to always hang out with you in the elevator or go to a skate park or bowling. He couldn't stand to be separate from you and didn't fully understand why.

That made him question whether he's known you before...

You're sweet, you like the same things he does, you've tried helping him find Poptart, and you never made a big deal about his sickness unlike most people.

Eventually, he asked you out (again, from your perspective), and you couldn't say no.

It was both flattering and sad that he fell in love with you twice, as you now had two cheesy confession letters hanging up at home. One signed with a K, the other with an I.

You'd look at them from time to time, seeing how differently he wrote between his life then and his life now.

He can't remember ever writing the first one, no matter how hard he tried...

From the first signs of this sickness, you've kept Dr. Retro on speed dial. She once visited the apartment to inspect the virus scripted into the couch while Infected wasn't home, hoping to collect even a tiny pixel-sized sample to study.

But there was nothing. It completely attached itself to your boyfriend and infiltrated the valve system, making the entire complex hazardous to live in--so much so his next door neighbors had to leave.

By some miracle, you haven't caught it yet, and you hope to god it'll never come to that. He's gotten better about his hygiene since dating you (again), so maybe that's why you've been so lucky.

Everyone else says you should've stayed away from him, and even Lampert urged you to abandon all hope that he'll remember who he was and the relationship you two had.

But you refused to.

The fact that Infected was willing to let you back into his life showed that deep down...he knew you meant something to him. You used to be someone special in his life.

Someone he couldn't let go of, no matter how hard the virus tried.

.............

"Sec0nd place again?? Bummer.."

"I told you, babe. You gotta expand your horizons beyond Roblox PVP games." Laughing in triumph, you set down the controller, brushing your hands against your pants. "Whew..I'll admit that got me sweating." You looked to your sulking boyfriend. "C'mon. Nobody likes a sore loser."

"I'm n0t a l0ser," he huffed, putting down his own controller. "N0t g0nna lie, that was fun." His smile turned right side up as he looked back at you. "S0 what d0 we wanna pl4y next? It's 0nly midnight."

"........."

"[Y/n]?" Infected blinked at your sudden change of expression, worried. "What's wr0ng? W4s...it s0mething I s4id?"

"No, it's just..." You hesitated, unsure if you wanted to bring it up so late in the night.

But after what you found taped to his door, you knew you two needed to have a serious talk.

"Wh4t?"

"They gave you another citation." Taking a paper out of your pocket, you skimmed it over and sighed. "For noise. This is your twelfth one. Why do you keep throwing them out? I thought you said you were gonna take care of these complaints."

"Ugh, I k33p telling them it's n0t me.." He groaned, deciding to lay his head on your lap. "Th3y're all addressed t0 Kasp3r...must be the guy from bef0re."

"Baby, nobody rented this space before you did. It's specifically talking about this apartment here. 007. Maybe they just couldn't put "Infected" as a valid name into their system."

"....yet th3y chose that n4me. Why?"

"Look, can you please just...read this over? And maybe take it seriously this time? They're close to evicting you."

His eye suddenly went wide. "Huh?? N0 way..."

"Yes way."

After some hesitance, Infected took the paper from you and read it, a frown crossing his features as he saw that the first words were "Dear Mr. Kasper".

Why couldn't they get his name right?

Why couldn't anyone?

What was wrong with "Infected"?

For a minute or so he was quiet. While he did admit to raging during late night gaming sessions and calling for Poptart since the day she went missing...it was the note that people next door could hear him "wailing in his sleep" that left a pit in his stomach.

He forgot how thin the walls were, but did they seriously hear him during all those nights where you weren't here, and he was alone, crying in his sleep over bizarre dreams and-

"I know they got your name wrong, but you gotta stop ignoring their letters." You lightly ran your fingers through his hair. It was a little greasy, but he did tell you he took a shower today, so it didn't bother you at all.

"Ye4h, alright. I'll em4il them b4ck, and t3ll them to go [CONTENT DELETED]---"

A bit startled by the sudden static garble that spilled from his mouth, you briefly took your hand away from his head. And he noticed, frowning up at you now. "Did I sc4re y0u??"

"I think you missed the part where I said "take it seriously"." You mirrored his expression, annoyed at his lack of maturity. "If you get evicted, I'm not sure where we're gonna put all your gaming stuff. So you need to figure something out, and fast."

"Why d0n't y0u tell them t0 get my nam3 right....and then I'll be willing to m4ke changes?"

"Excuse me? The lease isn't under my name. I'm not the one renting here and making my neighbors feel unsafe. You need to take responsibility for yourself."

"Why are y0u lecturing me?? Th4t's n0t cool.." Infected sat up from your lap, no longer feeling comfortable as he felt like you were being mean to him for no reason. "M4ybe moving out of here w0n't be so b4d. I'll be away fr0m that gradient fre4k, and-"

"God, that's NOT the point, Kasper--!!"

Suddenly, you realized your slip up and immediately silenced yourself. But it was too late, as you saw the dejected look in his eyes and the way his shoulders slumped. "Infected..I'm sorry-"

"Even y0u can't get my n4me right...." He scratched at his arm, feeling the virus' glitches pricking his skin like thin needles as he shuffled to the other end of the couch. "Y0u keep acting like h3's still here."

You remained silent, knowing you couldn't really say "because he is". He just wouldn't believe that. He couldn't.

"Was Kasp3r really...better than me? Was he he4lthier? M0re mature? N0t burden y0u with all this cr4p?" He looked down at his lap now, sniffling. "I'm s0rry I can't be him, [y/n]. I'm s0rry that I can't rememb3r anything. But..w-why can't y0u just acc3pt me? Am I n0t g00d enough?"

For the longest time, you stayed quiet, and he was afraid to look into your eyes, unsure of what you were going to say next.

Then you spoke.

"You're right about him being more mature."

His shoulders tensed.

"But..." You paused as he perked up. And you just gazed at the guy you fell in love with, wishing you could go back ten minutes ago--when you two were sharing laughs, hot pockets, and a round of Mario Kart--and not now, with you being the reason for those tears in his eyes.

Maybe...

You had to just forget about trying to bring back Kasper. There wasn't any cure yet, and Dr. Retro isn't even close to finding one.

It wasn't worth all this effort and arguing.

"..maybe I'm hanging onto the past too much, and not seeing what's right in front of me." Shifting closer to him, you sighed as you placed a hand over his, relieved that he didn't pull away. "Kasper and I had some good memories together. But you and I made some pretty awesome ones. When you begged me to rescue that cat in the minefield, I did and nearly got my legs blown off. But seeing your smile was worth it."

"......."

"When we visited Crem with Lampert and Melanie, you remembered my favorite flavor. Like any good boyfriend would." You added with a small chuckle, noticing his subtle nod.

Yet he stayed quiet, his eyes downcast once more so you kept talking.

"The point is..I love you, and you're good enough for me, Infected. I'm not angry at you for forgetting things. That's not your fault. I just..don't wanna see you get kicked out over some lousy complaints. That's all, okay?"

For a few long moments, there wasn't a response from him, although he sniffled a few more times. You worried he was about to sneeze, but when his gaze met yours again, you saw tears and pink snot dribbling down his face, his eyes red and puffy.

"Infected?"

"I-I still d0n't kn0w what's wr0ng with me, [y/n].." He mumbled, trying to bite back the sobs that wanted to escape. "Deep d0wn, s0mething tells me that...th-that I've always known y0u. It tells m3 th4t we've d0ne all this fun stuff bef0re. I want t0 remember, but..I-I d0n't know how. And...and..."

"And what?" You gently coaxed, squeezing his hand.

"And th4t's what keeps m3 up at night. N0t just the gam3s. It m4kes me feel like a [CONTENT DELETED] B0yfriend, and...I...owww--" Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his head, and he brought his other hand to it. "My h3ad's killing me.." Chills ran through his body, and he felt himself growing feverish.

"Again? Oh jeez.."

"Wh-What d0 y0u mean "again"?" He coughed.

"You keep having these flareups. I guess your sickness doesn't like our deep convos that much." You frowned a little. "Come here."

Once more, he laid down in your lap again, only this time curling up and shuddering with small sobs. You could see the virus attacking his body and senses again as he groaned in pain, trying to shelter his face from the suddenly harsh light.

In the early stages of his infection, he used to get these bad flare ups every other day, sometimes even calling you in the dead of night crying and whining. But they never became this bad while you were present.

'Is it..hurting him so he stops remembering?' You wondered, deciding to make a mental note to ask Dr. Retro about that. But for now, you just grabbed the blanket that was hanging over the couch and set it down on him, hoping it would help him rest.

For the first time, he was willing to accept that something is in fact wrong with him.

He wanted to remember all the things that you did together.

So maybe...Kasper wasn't really gone just yet.

Maybe there's hope after all.