#but they have a huge death age gap but also only a one year age difference at the same time

[barren-heart]

Wait. If Guillermo started as a familiar at 19, then he’d be 34 this year? And Nandor died at 35, so they would be only be one year apart in human age.

[seventeenpins]

a slight miscalculation - pt. i

pairing: Joel x F!Reader

word count: 8.3k

summary: Sarah is off to college, and Joel is about to be living in an empty nest. They road trip out together, and as she spends her first night in her new apartment, he's staying in a nearby hotel. Letting go of his inhibitions for the first time in a long time, he tumbles into a one night stand that becomes very complicated, very quickly.

content/warnings: smut, age gap, mycologist!reader, dick sucking, implied pussy eating, fingering, no outbreak au, reader likes to hike, reader also infodumps, joel miller has a big cock, he also has anxiety, reader has anxiety too, and a cat, reader is in early 20s--exact age not established, one (1) use of daddy, alcohol and weed consumption, joel is a diligent condom wearer, set in present day, discussion of girl scout cookies, joel is sweet and soft and hasn't been eviscerated by the death of his daughter

a/n: I'm intending this to be about five parts. This may change, but right now it's looking like five. I've been struggling to write for a while, unable to focus, but I think I'm back at it? as always, your feedback is hugely appreciated, and i'm kissing all likers and commenters and rebloggers deeply and with tongue 🩷

check out pt. ii

For the first time in nineteen years, Joel is completely adrift. Sarah's starting college in just two months.

It's the kind of realization that hits him like a bucket of ice water, a sudden shock and then an unpleasant trickling of anxiety wrapping about him in nasty tendrils. And then he feels guilty, because he's so, so happy for Sarah because he knows that she's thrilled, but fuck she's gonna be two time zones away and now what's Joel meant to do on Thursday movie nights when he's here without her?

It's terrifying, and it's new. And it's not that he's new to anxiety. He's usually anxious, and he has the Sertraline on his bedside stand to prove it. But if his general anxiety baseline usually hovered around a 6.4, where he was at now far surpassed a 10. It felt exponential, and totally exhausting.

When he voices his fears to Tommy, to Joel's horror, Tommy just doubles over in laughter.

"Jesus, Joel," he wheezes, wiping fake tears from his eyes in exaggerated movements, "You looked so serious I thought you were gonna say you'd killed someone."

Joel scowls. "The fuck you laughing for?"

"She's going to college, it's not like she's dying!"

"How'm I gonna be there for her? What if she needs me? What if-"

"Joel-," Tommy pats him gently on the shoulder, "She can always call you, and you can always call her. And we both know she's got a good head on 'er shoulders."

Joel snorts in concession. "Yeah, yeah. Better than yours and mine put together, and then some."

"Exactly." Tommy agrees, "And if there's ever anything that really goes wrong, you got me. We can drive out together and make sure she's okay."

Joel nods and feels the tiniest bit of tension leave him. One step at a time.

Just over nineteen years ago he found out he was about to be a dad. Suddenly, he had a purpose. Having a kid at twenty-two wasn't something he'd ever intended, but somehow he knew he loved his baby girl from the moment he knew she was a possibility. He spent a solid seven months running around, hustling, doing everything he could to get the very best for his kid. He'd take on doubles, working himself to the bone to make sure they had the best crib, and the best stroller, too. He was thrilled and terrified and so, so green.

Now, his heart feels so big he doesn't know how to handle it. His baby girl is an honest-to-god adult, moving out and going to college, and he has no idea what he's gonna do with his time now.

He has work, of course. But beyond that? He's really gotta to widen his circle, he realises, because who's he gonna hang out with? His brother?

He'd only just turned forty-one and had absolutely not come to terms with an empty nest--the few friends from high school he'd kept in touch with were so much further behind than him. The ones that had kids had them later in their twenties and thirties, and now they're raising middle schoolers while Joel's kid is a real fucking person, leaving home and everything. All the scrapping and saving he'd been doing since before Sarah was born–for his little girl to be able to follow any dream she chose–it was finally paying off. The precocious young woman she is, she graduated early and spent nearly a year working retail to save up some cash. She'd applied to colleges all across the country, and a few international ones, too. Joel had been crossing his fingers for months, hoping she'd choose something near Austin, but cheered with her all the same when she got her acceptance letter from Oregon State University. The previous summer, just before she'd started her applications, she and Joel and Tommy spent a miserable, wonderful week hiking round the Pacific Northwest. She fell in love with it, and the university offered a few of the majors she wanted to consider.

Joel didn't know what he'd do with his baby girl so far away, his life, his reason, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna tell her that. He will not clip her wings. His baby's gonna change the world and he's not gonna hold her back. He is, though, gonna require regular phone calls and check-ins and god they grow up so fast.

"Y'all should road trip out there," Tommy suggests one night over the dinner table.

Joel knew the conversation of how Sarah would get to the West Coast would come up, and it oughta be sooner rather than later. He was half afraid that she wanted to head out on her own, that she didn't need her dad anymore. Worried she would say she wanted to get a plane ticket, or take the Amtrak all the way to Corvallis. But he knows he needs to loosen his grip a little, so he braces himself when he turns to her.

"What'dya think, Sarah? You wanna be stuck in a car with your old man for a cross-country trip?"

Sarah rolls her eyes, but her face breaks into a grin. "Can we, Dad?"

This was too good to be true, he knew, but he wasn't gonna give up one last opportunity to spend some time with his girl till winter break.

"Course, baby," he tells her, and that flicker of anxiety quells just the tiniest bit.

The next few weeks fly by, and the knot of anxiety in Joel's chest feels like it's consuming him from the inside out. He's taken some time off, more than Sarah or Tommy can remember, but he's constantly trying to suggest ideas for activities to Sarah. For the most part, she's a good sport, understanding how much it means to her dad. She took pity on him, and let him drag her to places that ideally she would've gone to when she was little, but she humored him and he appreciated her dedication. He did his best to step back when she was heading out to spend time with friends--her time here was limited, after all, and she was always a social butterfly.

There are five weeks till classes start, four weeks, three, two, and in the blink of an eye, they're loading up the truck with all of Sarah's things, and Tommy is hugging Sarah goodbye, teary eyed. He gives Joel a hug, too. Joel would never admit it, but fuck he had really needed that hug.

They would take the scenic route. Make a memorable trip of it. Joel would make sure she settles in safe and sound, and then he'd head home.

6am Sunday.

You wake with a start. It's just over a week before term starts and your entire body aches. Fuck, you think to yourself, definitely overdid it with that last hike.

(The hiking part wasn't itself a problem, but one of the trails had washed out. You thought you'd found your way, but the "easy" three and a half mile hike took about five hours, leaving your calves bruised and your heels blistered.)

You roll over in your hotel room bed and, at the sound of a slight yelp followed by a gentle thud, realise with a sudden start that you just catapulted your cat off the corner.

"Shit, sorry goblin," you tell Spatula, who glares up at you with disdain as he licks at his paw. You reach down and, despite your inadvertent cat launch, he immediately rubs up against your fingertips and lets you scratch behind his ears.

"I'm sorry, baby," you soothe.

He meows, loudly. Howls, really. You take it as an apology accepted.

You sit up properly and look at your phone calendar. Nothing immediate. You don't need to get keys to your new apartment till tomorrow, nor do you meet your roommates till then–they're both moving in today, and moving is already horrible without having to navigate around the belongings of two other people. No, thanks. You can afford one more night at the hotel, and it'll make everything go that little bit more smoothly tomorrow. Besides, you have a bit of reading you'd like to get through, maybe stock up on non-perishables till you have a full-sized fridge, and get to know the city just a little.

You move gingerly, testing the ache in your muscles as you unfold yourself from the position you've been sat in and pull yourself from the bed. It hurts, but not something that won't be fixed with a little movement.

A plan forms. First, a walk, to try and loosen up your tight muscles. Then, errands. You have a whole list, with everything categorised by store, but then you enter IKEA and exit fifteen minutes later, only to find that five and a half hours have passed and it's evening now.

How was it that IKEA harnessed such a malicious power. How could anything harness that?

You need a fucking break. And a goddamn drink.

"Hey Dad," Sarah calls from the adjacent bedroom as Joel sweats, hauling another box towards her. The drive has been good, but it has been long. His legs ache. His back aches. There are parts of him that he didn't know existed that now ache.

"Yeah?" he calls back.

"Are you sure you're okay with me staying here tonight?"

Joel lets out a breath. He wants to be okay with it. And there's no way his nineteen year old would want to hang out with her dad when she could be spending the very first night in her brand new apartment. But he also wishes she wanted to spend one last night, hanging out in a hotel room with her dad. They could watch shitty movies together. Make the most of the final night before this cataclysmic shift.

But no.

That'd just be him being selfish. He can handle a night by himself. He's gotta handle a whole lotta them soon enough.

"O'course baby," he nods, hoping the smile he's plastered on his face looks totally genuine. "But we're still doin' breakfast in the morning, right?"

She nods, vigorous, and then waves her phone around. "I was looking up places! There's a diner called Tommy's," she laughs, "Wanna try that? 9:30?"

"Let's do it," he smiles, and this one is a little less forced.

"How much more do we have?" Sarah asks, nodding towards the box Joel's still holding.

"Last box," he grunts, "What else can I help with?"

He places the box down and lets out a slight, almost silent whimper. Sarah catches it, though.

"Maybe you should take it easy the rest of the day, Dad," she tells him, "We both know you have old man back."

He rolls his eyes but nods. "Guess you're right," he shrugs, "That my cue to take off?"

Sarah blushes but turns to him sheepishly. "Yeah, I-"

"No need to explain," Joel assures, "I know you must wanna get unpacked and settle in, get to know your roommates an' all."

She jumps up and, almost startling him, wraps her arms around him in a bear hug.

"Love you, dad," she grins, and she squeezes just a little tighter than usual.

He squeezes back, and they both pretend there aren't tears in his eyes.

As you step through the doors of the hotel bar, you decide you like it. The lighting is comfortably low. It's not loud, but it's not quiet, either. Colorful bottles line the shelves, the light of the filament bulbs glinting off the glass in rainbow prisms.

You take a seat at the bar and give a nod of thanks as the bartender passes you a small menu. It's unsurprisingly extortionate, hotel bar and all, but it'll do.

"Old fashioned, please," you tell the bartender, who nods in response. A minute later, he hands you a glass, delivered with a twist of orange and a cherry on top.

With your first sip, you feel your shoulders start to relax and some of the tension loosen from your body. The warmth of the burn envelops you and your stress starts to unravel, leaving only the buzz feeling good.

You order a second, and as the glass is handed to you, a voice to your right catches your attention.

"This seat taken?" a man asks.

You shake your head and offer a quick smile, gesturing towards it, "All yours."

"Much obliged," he nods, and slips into the backless stool next to yours.

The bartender comes over and passes him the same menu, but without looking at it he asks, "Could I get an old fashioned?"

You smile and catch his eye, tipping your glass towards him. "An excellent choice," you praise, "Though if you don't have a sweet tooth, I'd recommend asking Jeff there if he can go easy on the simple syrup."

"Oh yeah?" He asks, and then he leans in conspiratorially. "T'tell you the truth, I do have a bit of a sweet tooth."

You raise an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Suddenly, he breaks into a grin and it's dazzling.

"Yeah," he laughs, "I've got cookies stashed in secret locations all through my house."

You raise an eyebrow. "If I keep 'em in my pantry, my brother'll find 'em and eat 'em all," he explains, "But ever since my kid was a girl scout, I always get cravings for girl scout cookies, so I buy an armful o'boxes and try and preserve 'em throughout the year, till I can replenish."

"What's your favorite girl scout cookie?"

"Caramel deLites, hands down."

"Oh yeah?"

"Absolutely," he nods.

The bartender, Jeff, sets the man's drink down with a clink. You catch one another's eye and both erupt into a fit of laughter.

You're not even sure what's funny. Maybe it's just been a long day? Maybe the whiskey was getting to you?

Whatever it is, it feels good.

The man takes a sip of his drink and lets out an aaaahh and it's goofy and charming and then he extends his hand.

"Joel," he tells you, "Joel Miller". You shake his hand, introduce yourself, and then take a sip of your own drink.

"So, tell me about yourself," you smile, "You coming from out of town?"

"Yes ma'am," he nods, "Come up here from Austin."

"Texas?"

Joel nods.

"That's a long trip."

"Yeah," he laughs, "It really is."

"So, you're a nice Southern boy, huh?"

"Well," he swishes his glass and tries to bite back a smile, "I don't know that I'd go quite so far, but my mama did raise me to be a gentleman."

"That so?" you ask and his blush deepens.

"I... have been known to get up to some trouble, but I like to think I've mellowed in my old age." He gestures at the beautiful little smatterings of silver at his temples, and you cackle.

"Okay, that's hot," you tell him and he chokes, but you keep going, "Old age, though? What are you, like, forty?"

He exhales, chagrined. "Forty-one."

You roll your eyes. "That ain't old."

"It feels it sometimes," he smiles, "My kid is grown. My little brother's married with a kid of his own on the way. My back hurts, pretty much all the time."

You snort. You also notice, without trying to look, that he doesn't have a wedding band. Doesn't have a tan line for one, either. Interesting.

"But more than that," he continues, "I guess I feel- I don't know. A little... aimless?"

"Yeah," you nod, and you let the moment sit. "I get that."

He lets out a little breath, and then turns back to you, focused.

"What about you? Where're you from?"

"Oof," you exhale, "All over. Spent a bit of time on the East coast. The Midwest. Lived a few months in the South, even," you tease as you bump your shoulder into his and he laughs. It's a surprisingly familiar gesture, but miraculously comfortable.

"Ever make it to Texas?"

"Naw," you shake your head, "My time in the South was all in Mississippi. After that I moved out to California, and I've been slowly working my way up the West Coast."

"And what have you been enjoying about the West Coast?" Joel asks.

"The mushrooms," you grin, and Joel frowns.

"Like, the kind you get in a little baggy from the dealer down the street, or-?"

"No," you laugh, "Or, well- Okay, sometimes. Gotta say it is great out here for that, too. But I mean fungus as a whole--mushrooms, mold, yeast, lichen. But I'm most interested in mushrooms. They're just really fuckin' cool, and there's so much we don't understand about them. And, they're delicious."

"Huh," Joel ponders, "T'tell you the truth, I've never thought much about mushrooms, besides enjoying 'em as a pizza topping."

"Most people don't," you agree, "But fuck, like-- Okay, so we know there are over five million types of fungi on Earth, but we've identified less than two percent of them. Some fungus aids decomposition. Some fungus is bioluminescent. Some are known worldwide for their delicious flavours, and others are known by the slow, horrible ways they kill you."

Joel raises his eyebrows, and suddenly you feel a little self conscious.

"Sorry, I do this," you laugh, rubbing at the back of your neck, "I get very excited about fungus and manage to alienate everyone around me."

You half expect him to stand up and walk away.

Instead, though, he leans in closer. "Don't apologise," he tells you, "I'm learning something new. Tell me more?"

"No, I should stop. Otherwise I'll never stop talking," you wince.

"How about just one more fungus fact?"

You sit for a minute, pondering. "This is- well, I guess this is one of the reasons I find fungus so fascinating. So, fungus can't photosynthesise the way that plants do--they can't produce their own food from sunshine, and water, and carbon dioxide. Instead, their mycelium-- they're these thread-like networks--they branch out beneath the earth, seeking out food, growing in the direction where it can find the nutrients it needs and breaking down organic material all around them, sometimes living organisms, as a parasite, and sometimes dead organisms as a decomposer, or both. And it's just- It's this hidden world, that exists right beneath the surface even in some of the extreme places on earth, temperature-wise. And most days, we don't even think about it."

You punctuate your thought with a large swallow of your drink, which is half-watered down now that the ice is melted, and doesn't hit quite as hard as you'd hoped, but then you look up at Joel and he's smiling at you, pensive, and--

"That's- That's actually really interesting."

Before you can respond, though, Joel glances at his watch and balks. It is getting late. "Shit," he shakes his head, "I think I oughta call it a night," he says, pulling back. "Early morning tomorrow, and if I stay at the bar I'll just keep drinkin'."

Fuck. That's a dismissal. Of course you went on too much about mushrooms. You'd fucked this up. You'd thought this was going well, but now it felt like a bucket of cold water was dumped over you. "Oh," you nod, matching his posture, and try to swallow down the sudden wave of disappointment. "Of course. Have a good night, Joel."

Joel stands up and then looks you up and down, considering. It's not brazen, but it isn't shy, either. And then understanding flashes across his face.

"Wait- Sorry, that's not how I meant it." He reaches out towards you and you melt into his touch. "I'm messin' this up." He chuckles, but it sounds pained. "Now look, I don't wanna make any presumptions. And I'm really hopin' I'm not coming off as some--dirty old man. Jesus, I haven't done this in a while. But I'm in room 308."

Your eyebrows shoot up. What you'd taken for disinterest was just--nerves?

"I reckon I'll be awake for a while yet. You're welcome to... drop by."

The disappointment melts, making way for a fluttering in your stomach.

"Twenty minutes," you assure him, "308?"

He nods and he brakes into a sheepish grin, shedding what you now realise had been something of an anxious wince. "308."

You watch him leave. When he's out of sight, you toss back the rest of your watery drink and go to pay your tab, but Jeff tells you it was already settled. You thank him and tuck your shaking hands in your pockets. You feel an electricity running through you as you take the elevator up.

When you get back to your room, you hop into the shower, just to freshen up--you keep your hair dry but scrub your body. Once you're clean, you brush your teeth.

Stepping back out of the en suite, you survey the hotel room. Spatula is lounging on the corner of the bed, entirely uninterested in your movements. You top up his dry food bowl and place a kiss between his ears before slipping out.

When you knock at Joel's door, you hear a slight rustle and clatter and then the door swings open, Joel's staring a little wide-eyed, like he didn't actually expect you to show. He's wearing grey sweats and a Johnny Cash t-shirt that looks like it's been around nearly as long as you have. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, an anxious tell that's desperately endearing.

"C'mon in," he smiles, and you step in, closing the door behind you.

You reach out to cup his face, delighting in the feeling of coarse stubble beneath your fingertips. Your first kiss is chaste. You both lean forward and press your lips to one another gently, exploring.

Then, you let out a little moan and Joel shudders. Heat surges between you, and his hands are cradling your head and brushing your cheek and he's pinning you against the closed door. You're kissing again, nothing chaste remaining, learning the taste of him, his rhythm, the crashing waves of give and take between you.

You wrap one leg around him and smirk when he lets out a throaty groan as you grind against his hard cock. You're pretty sure he's not wearing underwear, the thick bulge seemingly unconstrained in his grey sweats, the whole length pressing against your thigh.

Your head falls back and you let out soft, breathy noises as his lips trace along your collarbone, up your throat, and against that tender little spot behind your ear. When he puts your earlobe between his lips and presses his teeth gently against the skin, your knees go weak and he chuckles, strong arms wrapping around you, holding you up.

"Bed?" he asks, and you breathe yes and then, with a yelp and a throaty chuckle, you're lifted up and spun around and both tumbling into the duvet.

You're grasping at each other, desperate to keep your hands on one another. The only times you part is when you undress, and even then, you're helping each other--pulling the hem of his shirt over his lifted arms, pressing into him as he reaches around and moves to unhook your bra, but then he realises you're not wearing one and lets out a groan, his thumbs brushing alongside the tender skin along your ribs, moving gently as if to cup your breasts, but then he pulls back.

Normally you might wait, do this part slowly, draw out the tease just a little bit longer.

Tonight, though, you're ravenous.

As you fiddle with the buttons of your pants, you tug at the drawstring keeping Joel's sweats on his hips. The bow comes loose in one smooth motion, and he lifts his hips and you pull the sweats down.

Your mouth immediately waters seeing him bare, laid out for you. You watch a bead of precum drip down the head and pool on his belly. The coarse hair of his happy trail glistens with it. He's thick, uncut, and looks painfully hard, his cock head ruddy. "Fuck, you're beautiful," you tell him, and his cheeks redden but he grins. It's boyish, the way he grins, and devastatingly charming.

And, what you're saying is true. His body is gorgeous, something you wish you could sketch. Soft flesh over hard muscle, visible tan lines where his chest and shoulders are noticeably lighter than his arms. The muscles and veins along his throat are driving you absolutely fucking insane as he swallows and looks up at you.

He's got freckles on his shoulders, too, and without thinking, you lower yourself down to kiss at his shoulder. He shakes, just a little, and lets out the most beautiful gasp. It's addictive, pulling these noises from him. You follow the curve of him, giving him a taste of his own medicine--tracing feather-light kisses along his collarbone, up the tendons of his neck, behind his ear. You can feel the blood pulse in his veins as your lips brush along him. Joel goes from panting lightly to full on groaning, rutting his hips up towards you and, frustrated, meeting only air.

"Can I taste you?", you ask, and Joel lets out a half-strangled sound and nods, vigorous.

You scoot back, lower yourself, poke out your tongue and, without any preamble, lick at the slit of his head, tasting the salty, tangy precum.

Joel tips his head back and groans and you decide to be kind. You grasp onto his hips and take him in your mouth, slowly sinking down, inch by inch by inch and now you can feel him at the back of your throat, your saliva dripping down the shaft and collecting in the hair between his thighs.

You bob your head up and down, taking him deeper with each thrust, but your throat is full and there are still inches to go. You relax, doing everything you can to take him deeper, and he starts to thrust up gently.

You let him fuck into your mouth but release one of his hips, allowing him to move as freely as he needs and freeing up your hand, which you shove into your underwear, rubbing furiously at your clit.

It doesn't take much to lose yourself in it, to focus only on the sensation. You're so wet, slick coating your fingers, making the glide that much smoother as you touch yourself. Joel tastes so good, too, the intrusion of his cock the most delicious thing, feeling the way he shudders when you moan, the way he moans when you shudder.

"Fuck-" Joel gasps, and then there's a hand guiding you gently off of him.

You raise an eyebrow. "You okay?"

He swallows, hard, and nods. "More than okay. Felt too fuckin' good."

"Oh yeah?" and you lean down, as if to take him back in your mouth, but he chuckles and pulls you back again.

"It's been... a while. For me. And-" He drags his palm down his face, wearing an almost pained expression. "Christ, you just look too fuckin' good down there, mouth stretched 'round me while you touch yourself. An' it feels too fuckin' good, too. I ain't ready for this to be over yet but if you keep lettin' me fuck your throat like that it's gonna be over real quick. And I wanna feel that pretty pussy myself."

You sit back up and he pulls you towards him so you're straddling him.

"You gonna fuck me, Joel?"

"Yes," he breathes, "Yes, baby, please-"

You do an awkward wobble and then stand up, shedding your pants and letting your panties drop, stepping out of them, one foot and then the other, and the way he's watching you is addictive. He watches you with beautiful eyes, drinking all of you in, and suddenly the moment has changed into one of those quiet, intimate moments where you both exhale a laugh.

You straddle him again, and lean down to kiss him, and the electric current surges up. He grabs you by the jaw, meeting your desperation. His lips on yours are exactly the balm you need and you can taste the whiskey on his breath.

"Feels fucking good," you tell Joel as you slide up and down his length. He's not penetrating you, not yet, but the lips of your pussy are spread and you're gliding along him, feeling his head at your clit and thrusting back till you're nearly seated on his balls.

He watches you, nearly unblinking, drinking it all in. Then, he lets out a groan, and half-sits up, suddenly focused.

"Shit," he closes his eyes in frustration, "I don't have any condoms. Shit shit shit-"

You push him back down and kiss him again. Then, you hop off the bed and sift around in your jean pockets.

"Ah-ha!," you exclaim, once you've found your treasure. Joel raises and eyebrow and you wink. "Saw they were selling them in the lobby. Figured it might be a good idea."

"Shit," Joel laughs, and presses his lips just to the side of your mouth. "Clever girl," he tells you, and a shiver goes up your spine.

He leans to help, but you shoo him away and he watches, entranced, as you neatly open the condom wrapper and, with a small amount of difficulty, roll it down his cock.

"Feeling okay?" You ask him, "Shit, I shoulda gotten the Magnums. Is your dick okay? It's not being choked to death by an inappropriately sized rubber, is it?"

Joel snorts. "We'll manage," he says, and then he grips you by the hips, lines himself up. He draws his knuckles along your cunt and groans, "Fuck, so goddamn wet for me-" and, the moment you look at him and nod, he holds the head of his cock against your drooling lips and presses into you.

It's a big stretch as he lowers you down onto him, the intrusion almost painful, but before you can even take a breath, it melts into absolute pleasure. You've fucked people with longer cocks before, and you've fucked people with girthier cocks before, but never have you fucked someone with a cock that's both this long and thick and it feels like you're being split in two and it's perfect and you realise, with a sudden flip of your stomach, he isn't even fully seated inside you yet.

Then, you manage to focus on the words Joel is saying-that had really just been background noise for the past ten seconds or so-and suddenly you're tuning back in for "Tha's it," his voice low and hoarse, surprisingly gentle, "Good girl, takin' this cock so well, look at you."

His brow is furrowed and he's looking at you with such dark eyes, nearly black, the pupils are so blown. "Just a little more, that's it, just one more inch, you can do it, christ, look at you, takin' all of me."

His tone is reverent and it sets a fire through you. You can feel more slickness build and drip out of you, and from the way he moans, you're certain he can feel it too despite the condom.

"So fuckin' wet," he groans, "Soakin' my cock- grippin' me so nice-Fuck--"

He leans towards you and cradles your head in his hand, kissing you hard.

When you both pull back, you know your lips must be kiss swollen and red. His are--they're soft and bright, and you want to eat him whole.

"You're gonna be the death of me, woman."

He's thrusting into you lazily, holding you in place, but you need more, you need all of him.

You push forward and move his hand from your waist to your clit. As you manoeuvre him, his nostrils flare, and you'd wonder if he was angry, if not for the way you felt his cock stiffen even further inside of you. You start to move your hips, to rub up against the thumb on your clit, and to feel every fucking inch of him.

Urged on by the way he groans, you start to ride him, properly. Holding each other close, you fuck down onto him and he leans back, awed.

"Enjoying the show?" you ask.

"Damn- right- I- am-," Joel breathes, every word punctuated with a shuddering breath after you drive back down onto his cock, "Jesus- you- look- so- good- like- that."

You like being watched. Being admired. It sent an extra thrill through you, and your hips stutter, just a little, and now you're following a new, faster rhythm.

"Fuck, that's it, baby-" he praises, "Shit, yes- bounce on it."

You lean forward and kiss his throat, and then he makes this noise, half-strangled and beautiful.

"Shit, honey-- honey, honey, hold on-," he holds you still and you're glad he has, because your brain hadn't quite processed his words.

He's looking at you so earnestly.

"Baby, if you keep ridin' me like this I am gonna blow my load in the next twenty seconds and I don't wanna end this quite so soon."

You hum, a moment of consideration. You stare into his eyes, and part of it is calculated seduction, but another part is getting genuinely lost in the way he looks at you. The crinkles round his eyes. The way he seems able to focus on you, in a way that feels as frightening as it is exhilarating.

"How about this," You smile, "You get yours, and then you can eat me out till I get mine. And if you're ready to go again by the time I've come, we can see where we're at then. Hmm?"

You see a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, and take a moment to appreciate how much he's clearly trying to control himself.

After a moments of avoiding your eye, he looks at you again and he looks utterly wrecked. "You- talkin' like that?" He shakes his head and tries to even his breath. "Fuck, I nearly came right there."

"It's okay," you soothe, and you cup his jaw and resume you movements, riding him like you had before. "You can come if you need to-" your fingertips stroke the stubble of his chin, "You're close, huh? It's okay, daddy, you can let go."

Joel lets out a strangled noise and busts immediately.

You savor the way it feels, the pulse of his cock as he spills into you. No, into the condom, you correct yourself, but you can always pretend-

After his balls relax and you can feel him start to get soft, you hold the condom down as you pull yourself off, and you're nearly unseated when there's a sudden squelch noise that sends you both into tumbles of laughter.

It takes a while to calm down, and you find yourselves heaving, tangled in the sheets, and wrapped up in each other. The condom is hanging limply on Joel's now-soft cock and it's oddly cold and gooey as you accidentally roll against it, and that sends you both off again.

"Fuck," Joel snorts, and tugs at the condom, starting to roll it off his length, "I'd almost forgotten the weird texture of a used condom. Fuckin'... Slug-like."

"That-" you declare, "Is visceral. And I hate it. Thanks."

He snorts, and you suddenly have a question.

"Condoms not making too many appearances in your life?"

"Not many, no."

"What, you usually fuck raw?"

"Just haven't been sleepin' with anyone," he shrugs, nonplussed.

"Well, I gotta say, the good people of Austin have been missing out."

Joel shrugs again, and it comes off as casual, but you notice the way his ears tint pink. "Just- not been something I did. But now, I guess, I can. And with way less guilt."

"Why guilt? Are-" you venture, dread pooling in your stomach, "Are you married?"

His eyes flit up to you sharply, and then soften immediately. He lets out a breath and shakes his head. "No. Nothin' like that. I was married, but I've been divorced nearly twenty years now."

The tightness immediately uncoils and you realise how tense you were only a moment ago. I am not a cog in the machine of a collapsing marriage. Thank fuck.

But now your curiosity is piqued. "So... why the guilt?"

"Sorry, I- I really didn't mean to get into it. I'd rather not get into it. It's- complicated."

"Of course," you shrug, and it isn't a problem because this is just a hot fantasy hookup that you'll remember fondly, and it'll be wonderful masturbation fuel for probably the rest of your life, but you don't wanna make the poor guy go into his life's trauma, especially when he's looking at you so fucking earnestly and you are actually really fucking fascinated but no, you would not let this become a problem.

"Thanks," he says, and then steps out of the room. You hear the clang of the bin as he steps on the pedal, then drops the condom, takes a piss and washes his hands.

"You hungry?" He asks, and you realize very suddenly, you're absolutely famished.

"Yes," you jump up and he laughs when you run, bare-assed and shameless, over to the corner of the room filled with brochures and traveller info and finally, you raise it in triumph when you find it, the list of nearby takeaways.

"Okay," you look at the list, "There's one place at the top of the list here that's apparently highly rated, but I actually have plans there soon and I wanna wait till then to eat there. Hope that's okay."

Joel comes over to you and rests his head on your shoulder. "No problem."

"But... alright," you continue. "There's pizza. Or... more pizza. Or, look--there's a Southern-style place, that'll make you feel right at home!" Joel pokes you in the side and you swat at him as he grunts a laugh.

Suddenly, a warning sound starts playing on loop in your brain. It was dreadfully domestic, wasn't it? This was an absolute stranger you'd just met in a hotel bar? But... it also felt... nice? And it felt nice in ways that you'd never found yourself enjoying before. Even with long-term partners. Maybe because this was so low-stakes, you reasoned, such an inevitably temporary situation, so you weren't putting the same kind of pressure on yourself.

As soon as you think that, the eternal curse of overthinking shows itself and you suddenly feel desperately self conscious. Before you can pull away and make some excuse, though, Joel's arm wraps around you and his thumb starts rubbing little circles into a tender bit of skin between your hip and your tummy. The anxiety spiral you'd been teetering on the edge of suddenly vanishes.

"How about-," he nods at the list, "Pizza?"

After Joel calls in your order, the pizza delivery service tells you to expect your food in about thirty minutes. You remember you have a little box of edibles. You ask Joel if he minds if you take one, and he doesn't. You offer him one, and he automatically declines, but then as he starts to explain, he pauses and pivots, goes "Wait, actually. Yeah. Why not?"

A freckled kid who looks no more than sixteen pulls up with a short stack of pizza boxes and a two liter bottle of root beer. He raps awkwardly on the door after exactly thirty five minutes, and it swings open.

The room looks utterly wrecked, clothing strewn along every surface. Joel answers the door wearing a robe, his entire face smelling of sex, and his moustache still shining with the slick of your release.

"Thanks, kid," Joel nods, and hands him a small wad of cash. The kid eyes him and shrugs. "Keep the change," he tells him, and the door swings back shut.

The edibles have hit beautifully. You're both blissed out, comfortably hazy, lost in the sensation of bare limbs on bedsheets and the flavors of the pizza and it's assorted sauces. You lay together on the bed, paper plates strewn between you. In the background, an X-Files rerun plays.

"Ooh!" You sit up as you catch the premise of the episode, "I love this one! See the goo? There's a giant fungal... entity.. that's working on digesting them, and giving them hallucinations as they die."

"You and mushrooms, huh?" Joel laughs, but then looks back at the episode and contemplates the viscous yellow goo. "Jesus christ," he frowns, and sniffs, now contemplating the mushrooms on his pizza slice.

You spot his glare and snort. "I think you're safe."

He takes another bite and shakes his head as if to clear it.

"I'm getting tired," he admits.

"Me too," you agree.

"No pressure, but in case it wasn't clear, you're welcome to stay the night here."

"That's sweet," you tell him, and think it over. "If I took you up on that, would you be offended if I slip out early?"

Joel raises a brow.

"I have a cat," you explain, "And I'm working on moving into a new place, and meeting a friend for breakfast, and then I need to check out after breakfast because I won't be able to get my keys for the new place until the breakfast but I can't take my cat to a diner-"

You take a breath.

"Basically, I've got a bunch of things I need to do in the morning, but if you don't mind me slipping out around, maybe, 5-ish, then I'd love to stay."

He stares at you.

You regret saying as much as you said. You don't need to over-explain yourself to this actual stranger. He doesn't care. There's no reason for him to care. He's probably in it just for the fuck, and it was fun and if you stay then there's a chance the two of you will wake up at some point in the night, still horny and lustful and you might fuck again and you'd be lying if you said that wasn't part of the draw. You realise, though, you'd also be lying if you said you didn't care what he thought of you. All of a sudden, you are overwhelmed with caring what this man thinks of you.

How fucking inconvenient.

"I wouldn't be offended at all," Joel chews, swallows, wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin and speaks again. "What's your cat's name?"

You don't know what you'd expected he'd say, but it wasn't that. You buffer for a moment. "It's- Spatula."

"Spatula?"

"Yep." You feel foolish.

"Huh. Spatula."

A silent moment between you.

"Got any pictures?"

You weren't expecting that, either. "I... do? Do you want to see them?" He nods. You pull out your phone to scroll through.

Joel, suddenly scrambled around for his phone, too. It was late and he hadn't checked it for hours. Had it been on silent? What if Sarah had called and he'd missed it?

His panic eased when he saw he had only two notifications. Both from Sarah, but neither were bad. He hadn't been neglecting any crises. The first text was a selfie of Sarah and an unfamiliar person, which she'd texted to him with the caption New roomie!! The second contained an address to the place they'd have breakfast tomorrow along with Just wanted you to know I've invited a friend to join us tomorrow morning! Is that okay? Realized I should maybe have checked with you? 😬

There was an ache in his chest. He wanted to keep her to himself, get to spend one last day, just the two of them. It was the start of a whole new chapter, but more than anything, he wished he could hold onto the moment for just a second longer.

But Sarah was stressed, he knew this, so he wasn't gonna make it worse and put this burden on her. He could handle it. He had to handle it. He typed back- No problem, baby. Can't wait to meet your friend.

After a moment, he followed up with another text. Gonna turn in now. Good nite!

The less he texted right now, the better. He did not want Sarah to know anything about the night he was having.

His screen lit up a moment later. Night Dad! He takes a deep breath and wills some of the tension away.

He slips his phone aside and you scoot into bed next to him.

"This," you announce, "Is Spatula."

Joel scrolls thru, his brows raising higher with each image.

With a single nod, he opens his mouth and instead of speaking, he collapses into laughter. It comes out a wheeze- "I-- I know this won't make any sense, but your cat looks just like my goddamn brother."

You're laughing now too, both of you almost hysterical, even though you have no frame of reference. You cherish the absurdity.

Then, Joel pulls up a picture on his phone and shows you, and now you're doubling over again because his brother looks exactly like Spatula.

You don't remember falling asleep. You curse your body's internal clock because you wake up right at 5am, and even though you know you should get up and leave, you wish you could have just a little bit longer.

It's such a comfortable way to wake up. One arm is folded under your pillow, and the other is slung over Joel's hip. He's asleep, snoring softly, and strands of his hair are mussed along his forehead. Your hand is holding his tummy, but you realise there's something pressing against the heel of your hand, and then realise, with a delicious jolt, that he's hard and straining against his boxers.

It's so fucking hard to get out of that bed, but with enough barely-effective reminders--you're gonna fuck up your whole day if you're late, gotta make a good impression, Spatula's gonna be so disappointed if you're late with his breakfast--you manage to bully yourself out of the warm and wonderful bed containing blankets and absolutely fantastic dick, and you tiptoe through the room, dress quickly, and, after making a note and leaving it on his bedside stand, you slip out.

Joel wakes up with a jolt, and then rolls over to see that the alarm clock (which he dared not contemplate the number of times he must have snoozed) was telling him it was 9:13.

He was late. Really fucking late. And then the panic made his brain spin faster and that's when he noticed the note on his bedside table.

I had a really good time If you're in town for a little longer, don't be a stranger?

It's followed with your name and phone number, and a rather detailed mushroom sketch across the page. He wasn't sure what kind of mushroom it was, but it was beautiful, and clearly hand-drawn, and for whatever reason you'd decided to tear it out of, presumably, your sketchbook? And you gave it to him, and he's gonna read that note and replay last night for the rest of his fucking life. It felt incredibly precious. He placed it in a book so it wouldn't get creased or folded. Made sure it was all contained and neat, totally flat in between the pages.

Then, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower.

After scrubbing the smell of sex off of his entire body, he dresses quickly and checks his watch again. 9:28.

He texts Sarah and lets her know he's a few minutes behind. She responds with an eye roll emoji.

Joel settles in his truck and pulls up directions. It's only a few minutes away. He won't be too late.

When Joel steps into the diner, he's charmed by it. It's old school, with a checkerboard floor and bright red vinyl seats. He scans the room till he spots Sarah in a booth in the corner. She's laughing over a hot chocolate, and her friend must be in the seat opposite her.

He catches Sarah's eye and she grins at him, waving him over.

You've been at the diner about fifteen minutes, and you and Sarah are already getting along beautifully.

You'd met on a university message board and had become fast friends, but meeting someone in person was always a little terrifying. On top of that, you'd already committed to spending at least one (academic) year with this person, so you were damn sure gonna make it work.

Sarah waves over her dad. You can't see him yet, the back of the booth too high.

But then he's standing right there.

You already have a hand outstretched, but when he sees you and you see him, your stomach flips and dread runs through you. All the color drains from his face. He looks like a deer in headlights, and you'd be surprised if you didn't look the same.

Sarah looks between you, not quite concerned, but definitely confused. Sarah smiles and tries to diffuse the situation.

"Hi dad!" She grins, "This is my new roommate! Well, the other new roommate--the one in the picture, their name is Ellie, they weren't able to make it this morning. BUT. Breakfast seemed like a great time to hand off keys!"

Joel is still frozen and white-faced. Your brain whirs, and you know you've just fucking catapulted yourself into a disastrous mess, but you do your very best to save face.

Reaching your hand out further so he can't possibly miss it, he gives into some familiar social instinct, takes it and you shake. You think of his hands, how they dragged along your body last night, touched you, felt you, wrecked you.

You introduce yourself. He nods, avoiding eye contact.

"Joel." He grunts. "Miller."

Sarah frowns at him, but turns back to the menu.

This- was unexpected. Problematic. Arguably, really fucked up. All of those things and more. But it'll be fine.

All throughout breakfast, you repeat that to yourself, letting the words bounce around your head. It will be fine, you repeat your mantra, it will be fine, and you try not to feel too hurt at the way Joel's avoiding eye contact as if simply looking at you will cause him unimaginable disgust.

Everything will be fine.

Note: The fic's premise is loosely based on the book Mistakes Were Made which is a fucking excellent sapphic romance novel that utilises this trope. Would strongly recommend the book if you're into smutty queer stories.

[thetriumphantpanda]

Take The Weight Off His Shoulders | Javier Peña

Series Summary | Javier Peña has been your dad's best friend for as long as you can remember. He's also been the apple of your eye since you were old enough to know what that meant. Obsessed, some might say, in love is what you'd say. Now, he's back to Laredo for good, single but cloaked in a darkness you want to unravel. Surely, now you're all grown, he'll see you as more than his friends daughter, as someone who can ease his trouble and take the weight of his shoulders.

Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader

Series Warnings | Age gap relationship (12 years), forbidden/taboo relationship, slow burn, mutual pining, outrageous flirting, descriptions of PTSD and panic attacks, soft!Javi, protective!Javi, explicit smut, reader is innocent but not inexperienced, grumpy x sunshine vibes, canon-typical violence, mentions of the drug trade, drug use and drug related deaths and violence, Javier Peña gets his own warning (even more so as dbf - he's gonna be a menace).

Authors Note | I've missed Javier Peña so much so here we fucking go I guess? Huge shout out as always to @morning-star-joy who has been on the receiving end of SO much screaming about these two.

Main Masterlist | Series Playlist

Chapters

Chapters marked with ** indicate smut.

Chapter One - my lonely days are over

Chapter Two - pining & desperately waiting

Chapter Three - where have all the good men gone?

Chapter Four - one kiss is all it takes

Chapter Five - it's new, the shape of your body **

Chapter Six - get down on your knees and tell me you love me **

Chapter Seven - i only wanna worship you **

Chapter Eight - i don’t really wanna fight, ‘cause nobody’s gonna win **

Chapter Nine - close to you

Chapter Ten - i think he did it

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen.

Extras

Fic moodboard by @cavillscurls

Fic moodboard by @sawymredfox

Chapter One moodboard by @hellishjoel

[alvojake]

#WIP : The Nanny Diaries | J.WY

「pairing」 : wooyoung x fem!reader 「word count」 : TBD

「synopsis」 : after being let off yet another part-time job, you were sent into a panic as your mother's hospital bills started to pile up. you had no help from your family, seeing as they saw you and your mother as insignificant, so you and your mother only had yourselves to rely on. seeing your desperation, your best friend tells you about a nanny position for a well-known CEO, and you are quick to apply. however, you had not expected the world of chaos you had just thrown yourself into or how you would fall for the little girl's dad so quick.

「genre」 : romance, fluff, angst, small amount of crack, drama, smut, age gap, ceo!wooyoung, dilf!wooyoung, nanny!reader

「warnings」 : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, readers mom has cancer, familial trauma, mental breakdowns, arguments, mentions of death, death, grief, wooyoung is both a tease and mildly closed off, age gap (8 years), reader is depicted to be twenty-two, bullying, violence, betrayal, multiple(?) unprotected sex scenes, dilf wooyoung (yes this deserves its own warning), sir kink, kissing, blackmailing, child endangerment, (will add more as I write)

「also starring」 : choi san as wooyoung's best friend who also runs a well known company, giselle and natty as your childhood best friends, kang yeosang as wooyoung's childhood friend who teaches yoonha's class, huh yunjin as the girl who is concerningly obsessed with wooyoung and also a huge pain in your ass.

「notes」 : hello everyone!! I have had this idea in my head for a LONG time now and as I was working on the outline I realized that this wasn't going to be a smaller fic - so I have decided that I am going to make a wip post for the reason that it's going to be pretty long and has a lot of plot to it. I hope everyone will enjoy this as much as I enjoyed and will enjoy writing it, thank you all!! <3

spoilers ➻ one | two | three

「release date」 : TBD

「current word count」 : 6.4k

「taglist」 : OPEN

➻ please send an ask or reply to this post if you would like to be added to the taglist after this fic is finished. 18+ ONLY, you must have your age visible on your blog. any blank blogs and MINORS will NOT be added!!! also, if you are on my perm. taglist, you will automatically be added to the taglist, so you do NOT have to ask to be added!! <33

also please double-check your blog settings!! with certain settings, I will NOT be able to tag you, so please make sure you check that before asking to be added!

additionally, I will be ignoring and deleting any comments and/or asks from blank and/or ageless blogs asking to be added to the taglist!

@alvojake | Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work

𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ.

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 13

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"Beautiful people, beautiful problems."

summary: both of you and joel still feel the shadows from your past and...a mysterious man...

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 13

masterlist!

previous | chapter 12

next | chapter 14

The warm, sultry air of Louisiana clung to your skin as Joel eased the truck into the grand driveway of the hotel. The fading sunlight bathed the building in a soft, golden hue, casting long shadows over the narrow streets of New Orleans. The hotel stood like a relic of a bygone era—elegant, stately, and dripping in the charm of the 1920s. Wrought-iron balconies curled around its façade, their intricate designs reminiscent of a time when craftsmanship was an art form. Tall, arched windows, framed by deep green shutters, gave the place an air of mystery, while the soft glow of gas lanterns flickered against the approaching twilight, welcoming you into a world where time seemed to slow down.

Joel parked and turned to you with a knowing smile, catching the awe in your eyes as you took in the opulence. “What do you think?” His voice was warm and easy, like the honeyed notes of a Southern drawl.

You exhaled, still mesmerized by the hotel’s vintage charm. “It’s beautiful, Joel. Feels like stepping into another time.”

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and comforting. “Only the best for you, darlin’.”

You stepped out of the truck, the cool tiles beneath your shoes a stark contrast to the heat lingering in the air. Together, you began unloading the bags, your hands brushing his as you reached for the same suitcase. His touch, steady and reassuring, anchored you in this unfamiliar, yet intoxicatingly beautiful place. The hotel, with its antique grandeur and whispers of a decadent past, made you feel both lost and found all at once.

As Joel handed the last bag to the bellhop, you let your gaze wander. The lobby was a perfect blend of sophistication and old-world elegance. Polished marble floors gleamed under the soft light of crystal chandeliers, their glow casting a golden shimmer across the room. The furniture—plush velvet armchairs in deep, jewel tones—was arranged in intimate clusters, as if inviting whispered conversations and stolen moments. A baby grand piano, aged and stately, sat silently in one corner, as if waiting for the night to bring music and life to its keys. The quiet hum of voices, paired with the soft clink of glasses from the bar, added to the atmosphere of quiet luxury.

Joel, noticing your awe, smiled wider. “Go on, have a seat. I’ll grab the keys,” he said, nodding towards the seating area. “I’ve already made the reservation online.”

You settled into a velvet armchair near a set of towering windows that looked out onto a lush courtyard. The ironwork from the balconies extended here, wrapping around the garden where ferns and jasmine climbed the walls, filling the air with their sweet scent. The atmosphere was a mix of tranquility and hidden stories, as if each corner held secrets from a hundred years ago.

While Joel checked in, you let your eyes drift across the room—the shimmering marble, the vintage chandeliers casting a soft, romantic light, and the fresh flowers that added pops of color to the rich, muted tones of the décor. 

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spotted someone—an older man, perhaps in his 50s, with a salt-and-pepper beard and wearing a black leather jacket. He was standing near the entrance, leaning casually against the wall. There was something familiar about him, though you couldn’t quite place it. His eyes were on you, and when your gazes met, he smiled—a small, almost knowing smile—and nodded in your direction.

You glanced behind you, thinking that maybe he was acknowledging someone else, but there was no one there. Your heart skipped a beat, an uneasy feeling settling in your chest. Despite the oddness of it, you smiled back, trying to be polite. But there was something in his eyes, something that sent a chill down your spine, though you couldn’t figure out why.

He looked like he wanted to say something, his lips parting as if he was trying to speak to you from afar. But before you could make sense of it, you heard Joel’s voice, warm and reassuring, pulling your attention back to him.

“Got the key,” Joel said, walking towards you with a satisfied smile on his face. You turned back to where the man had been standing, but he was gone. The spot where he had been was empty, as if he had never been there at all.

You blinked, your mind racing. Had you imagined it? Or was it just a trick of the light? But the unease lingered, a faint shadow in the back of your mind. You wanted to mention it to Joel, but something held you back, the moment passing as quickly as it had come.

“Everything alright?” Joel asked, noticing the slight frown on your face as he handed you the room key.

You forced a smile, pushing the strange encounter to the back of your mind. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

He reached out, his hand brushing against your arm, his touch gentle and reassuring. “Good,” he said, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he led the way toward the elevator. “Let’s get settled in, and then we can figure out what to do for dinner.”

You felt the weight of the day beginning to lift, but there was still that sense of stickiness clinging to your skin, the remnants of the journey. “I need a shower,” you said, almost sheepishly.

Joel nodded, a teasing glint in his eyes as he leaned in closer, pretending to take a deep whiff. He scrunched up his nose in mock disgust. “Yeah, you sure do, darlin’,” he said, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Smellin’ like a long road trip in the middle of summer.”

You smacked his arm lightly, unable to suppress a laugh. “You’re so mean.”

His laughter joined yours, rich and comforting, echoing in the grand hallway of the hotel. The bellboy appeared to help with your bags, his polite demeanor contrasting with Joel’s playful teasing. As the three of you stepped into the elevator, the smooth hum of it moving upward felt like the beginning of something new—a journey you had only just embarked on, with so many more miles to go.

Joel turned to you as the elevator doors closed, his expression softening. “So, what do you wanna do while we’re here in New Orleans?"

You shook your head, smiling shyly. "I follow you, Joel. It’s my first time out of… well, you know. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

He gave you a look filled with warmth, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Then we’ll make sure your first time’s unforgettable. Music and the foods, You’re gonna love it.”

***

After shower, You changed quickly, and soon enough, the two of you were out on the streets, hand in hand, the world around you pulsing with energy. The French Quarter was alive—vibrant colors, wrought-iron balconies covered in creeping ivy, the smell of spicy Cajun food mingling with the sweet, smoky air.

Street performers played jazz, the music dancing through the air like something you could reach out and touch. It felt surreal, like you were stepping into a movie, every moment dripping with possibility.

Joel led the way, his grip firm but gentle on your hand. “You ever hear music like this before?” he asked, glancing at you with a soft smile.

“No,” you replied, wide-eyed, trying to soak it all in. “It’s beautiful. It’s like… it fills the air, like it’s a part of the city itself.”

He nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd, ever protective, but he kept his tone light. “Yeah, Feels alive, doesn’t it?”

You smiled, but that same uneasy feeling crept up again. It was subtle, like a whisper in the back of your mind. The crowd, the noise, the rush of the city—it all felt too much for a moment. You glanced around, your eyes scanning the faces of strangers passing by, and there it was again. That feeling.

You tried to shake it off, but something about it gnawed at you. The man from the hotel lobby flashed in your mind—the way he looked at you, too familiar, too knowing. You felt a shiver crawl up your spine as if he could be watching you even now.

Joel must have sensed your discomfort because he squeezed your hand a little tighter, pulling you closer. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low, concerned.

“Yeah, I just... It’s nothing," you said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Joel studied you for a moment longer, his brow furrowing in concern, his gaze soft but questioning.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice gentle, the warmth in his eyes wrapping around you like a soft blanket. "Babe?"

You nodded quickly, pushing away the thoughts swirling in your head. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, feeling the words stick in your throat like sand. "Maybe just tired. I don’t know. It’s been a long day."

Joel’s eyes lingered on you, searching for the truth beneath your words. “Maybe we should head back to the hotel,” he suggested, concern lacing his voice. “You could use some rest, and we can grab a bite there.”

You shook your head, not wanting to ruin the moment, not wanting to burden him with your worries. He was already carrying so much, and the last thing you wanted was to add more weight to his shoulders.

"No, no," you said, forcing a small laugh. "I'm fine, really. I want to explore this town with you. Just the two of us. Let's keep going."

Joel hesitated, his protective instincts kicking in, but he eventually relented, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright. But if you start feelin’ tired, you tell me, okay?”

You nodded again, trying to push away the lingering unease that clung to you like a shadow. The feeling of being watched, of someone’s eyes burning into the back of your neck, wouldn’t go away, but you didn’t want to tell Joel.

You didn’t want to add more to his already heavy heart, didn’t want to give life to the quiet fear that still lurked inside you—the fear that one day, your father might come and tear Joel away from you. That he’d come and steal this happiness, this safety, this love you’d found with Joel.

Sometimes, that fear still gripped you, like a hand squeezing your throat, making it hard to breathe.

It haunted your quiet moments, that dark corner in your mind where your father’s voice still echoed, telling you that you weren’t enough, that you didn’t deserve love.

But with Joel, you felt whole, like you finally had something that was yours.

You glanced at Joel, his strong presence beside you anchoring you to this moment. Maybe you were just imagining things--the man-- just like your father’s lingering shadow.

The man in the hotel lobby, the feeling of being watched... it was probably all in your head. You were just on edge, your mind playing tricks on you.

But still, you couldn’t shake the feeling. You were sure you had seen him before, though you couldn’t remember where. But, you didn’t want to dwell on it. Not now. Not when you were here with Joel, trying to enjoy this fleeting moment of peace together.

Joel’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. “You really okay, though?"

You smiled softly, shaking your head. “I’m fine, Joel. Really."

He smiled, a slow, easy smile that made your heart feel lighter. “Okay."

As you walked side by side through the vibrant streets of New Orleans, the city seemed to come alive around you.

You took a deep breath, trying to let the warmth of the night soothe you, trying to focus on Joel’s steady presence beside you. His hand slipped into yours again, his fingers lacing through yours like they belonged there, and for a moment, the world felt right again. You held onto that feeling, clinging to it like a lifeline, pushing away the shadows and the fear.

As the two of you strolled down the lively streets, you glanced up at Joel and said, “I’m getting kinda hungry.”

Joel smirked and gave your hand a playful squeeze. “Well, lucky for you, we’re in the land of good food. How ‘bout we stop at the next place that catches our eye?”

You smiled, feeling the tension ease a little. Just being with him made you feel safer, like everything was going to be okay. “Sounds good to me.”

A few blocks later, you spotted a cozy-looking restaurant tucked between two colorful buildings. The windows were lined with flickering candles, and the smell of rich, spicy food wafted out every time the door opened. Joel nodded towards it. “What do you think? Cajun food might hit the spot.”

You grinned, already imagining the warmth of gumbo or jambalaya. “Let’s do it.”

Once inside, the restaurant felt intimate, filled with the low hum of chatter, the clink of silverware, and the occasional burst of laughter. Joel guided you to a table near the back, and as you sat down, he gave the menu a quick glance before turning his attention to you.

The two of you bantered back and forth, finally Joel ordered for both of you, suggesting dishes you couldn’t even pronounce. You watched him, his hands gesturing as he spoke, his voice soft and easy. There was something calming about how natural everything felt with him.

As you both waited for the food, the warmth of Joel’s hand covered yours on the table. His thumb lazily traced circles against your skin, a gesture so small but filled with tenderness.

You looked at him and asked softly, “After this, where do we go next?”

Joel leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowing slightly as he thought. "Hmm," he mused, glancing around the bustling restaurant as if searching for an answer in the air.

“Well, darlin', where do ya wanna go? We could just keep drivin'. Maybe head to Alabama, or...” His voice trailed off, and he gave you a smile that softened all the edges of his rugged face. “Maybe even stop somewhere near the Gulf. Find ourselves a beach, relax for a bit.”

Your eyes lit up at the thought. “That sounds perfect.”

Joel chuckled, the sound deep and low. “We’ll just take it one town at a time. Motel to motel, ‘cross the states, just you and me.” He squeezed your hand gently, his voice turning more thoughtful. “Eventually, we’ll make our way to California. Like our plan."

The thought of it made your heart race. Just you and Joel, together, no one to come between you. “I’d like that,” you whispered, smiling softly.

You were about to say something more when the question bubbled up inside you, almost catching you by surprise. You hesitated for a moment before asking,

“Joel... do you miss Ellie?”

His grip on your hand faltered for a second, just long enough for you to notice. Joel's eyes darkened, and for a moment, he looked away, his jaw tight, the memories of Ellie lingering in the corners of his mind. He stayed silent for what felt like minutes but was only a few seconds, before nodding slowly.

“Yeah,” he finally said, his voice thick. “I do. Very much."

You could feel the weight in his words, the ache that he tried so hard to bury. Ellie was a part of him, in the same way you were becoming. And even though he tried to keep her at arm's length to protect himself, that love—Joel’s fierce, unyielding love—was something that couldn’t be silenced.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you said quietly, guilt bubbling up inside you. “I didn’t mean to take you away from her.”

Joel squeezed your hand again, this time more firmly. His eyes softened as he looked at you, all traces of tension melting away. “Stop that,” he murmured, shaking his head. “This ain’t your fault. None of this is.”

You bit your lip, but the words tumbled out anyway. “But—”

“No,” he interrupted gently but firmly. “You didn’t ask for any of this. You didn’t do nothin’ wrong.” He leaned in, his forehead almost touching yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’d go through hell to keep you safe, babygirl. And I’d do it all over again if I had to.”

His words hit you like a prayer—like an old psalm sung at dusk, filled with the weight of promise and sacrifice. Joel had become your protector, your keeper, like an Old Testament shepherd guarding his flock. And though you were not without your own strength, you knew that in his arms, you had found your refuge.

Without thinking, you leaned forward and kissed him, your lips pressing softly against his in a way that felt both new and familiar. Joel kissed you back with a quiet intensity, his hand resting on your cheek, the world around you fading into the background.

For the first time, you weren’t afraid of being caught. The street, the noise, the people—it all disappeared in that moment.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Joel smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Beautiful girl, my beautiful girl."

But before you could answer, something on the TV in the corner of the restaurant caught your eye. It was a news report, the kind you usually ignored, but this time it made your stomach twist.

Pastor Ben and Jamie Lee.

Both missing. Their faces flashed on the screen as the anchor discussed their sudden disappearance and the ongoing search.

"Oh my god."

You stared at the screen, feeling the air shift around you. Jamie Lee—his name alone was enough to bring back memories you had tried so hard to bury.

You hated him for what he had done, for the pain and humiliation he’d caused. But despite everything, a part of you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy.

After all, forgiveness was what you’d been taught all your life. Turn the other cheek. Forgive those who trespass against you.

Still, it was hard to reconcile that Christian kindness with the anger that bubbled inside you. Jamie had sinned, deeply. If anyone deserved to be lost, it was him.

Joel noticed your sudden stillness and followed your gaze to the TV. His expression darkened, but he said nothing, just watched. You couldn’t see the storm brewing behind his eyes, the fear and guilt clawing at his chest.

He had done what he thought was right—what he had to do. But now, with their faces plastered on the screen, the weight of his actions pressed heavily on him.

You whispered, almost to yourself, “I hated him. But... no one deserves to just disappear like that. Not even him.”

Joel stayed silent, his grip tightening around your hand, his pulse thrumming beneath his skin like a distant drumbeat. He wanted to tell you, to let you know that he had done this for you—for your safety, for your peace. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Not yet.

Joel’s heart ached with a weight that was impossible to shake, even as your words hung in the air between you like a fragile thread. I hated him. But... no one deserves to just disappear like that. Not even him. He swallowed hard, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon beyond the courtyard.

You didn’t know. You couldn’t know.

Joel’s mind churned beneath the surface, a storm no one could see. The truth of what he’d done was buried deep—buried like Jamie and Pastor Ben, like the bodies he’d laid to rest in the dark soil, far away from your innocence, your gentle heart. He’d done it for you, every twisted, violent act a means of protecting you from men who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.

Joel’s pulse beat heavy beneath his skin, the thrum of it like a drum, steady and relentless, as memories played behind his eyes. The sharp edge of the shovel digging into earth. The crack of bone. The blood, The silence afterward, so thick it felt like drowning. He had been methodical, precise. He’d done worse in his life—he’d done what he had to do, and this was no different. 

"Joel?" You ask him, because he seems like he lost in his own thought, "Are you okay?" you ask again.

Joel blinked, dragged back to the present by the sound of your voice, soft and concerned. He turned to you, his jaw tightening before he loosened it, forcing the tension out of his muscles. He hadn’t realized how far he’d slipped—back into those dark corners of his mind where the past bled into the present, where every sound and every silence reminded him of what he’d done, of the graves he’d dug.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

But you weren’t convinced. You tilted your head, your eyes searching his face, looking for something he didn’t want you to find. “Are you tired? We can take the food back to our hotel," you said.

Joel shook his head, offering you a quick, reassuring smile. "No, no, it's fine," he said, his voice steady. “We’ll eat here.”

Moments later, the food arrived, and you both shared a quiet, peaceful meal together. The evening was warm, the hum of jazz floating through the air as the city bustled around you. After dinner, you strolled hand-in-hand through the streets of New Orleans, the city alive with music and energy. The twinkling lights, the sound of laughter, and the scent of spices in the air made it feel like a dream. You had fun, really let go, and it felt like Joel did too—his laughter mixing with yours, his eyes softening when they met yours.

But when you returned to the hotel, the warmth faded as you began to unwind. You changed into comfortable clothes, wiped away your makeup, and kept chatting with Joel from the bathroom, the door cracked open so he could hear you. You told him about the jazz show, about the new friends you’d made with him by your side. The night felt alive in your words, full of joy, but after a while, you noticed the silence from the other side of the room.

“Joel?” you called, your voice carrying a little more concern. You stepped out of the bathroom and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, staring off into space. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, his broad shoulders tense, his whole body still, like a statue weighed down by invisible chains.

“Joel, what’s wrong?” you asked, walking over to him, kneeling in front of him so you could see his face. “Did I do something wrong?”

His eyes flicked back to you, as if pulling himself from some dark place in his mind. His brow furrowed, and he quickly shook his head, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “No, no, baby,” he murmured, his voice strained but soft. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You held his gaze, feeling the unease creeping into your chest. “Then what is it?” you pressed gently. “Are you sick?”

Joel opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. How could he explain the storm raging inside him? The news he’d seen earlier—reports of missing people, whispers of investigations—it sent a chill down his spine.

He couldn’t shake the thought that maybe it wouldn’t be long before the police found where he had buried Jamie and Pastor Ben. Maybe it wouldn’t be long before they came for him, before they tore him from you, or worse—before they dragged you back to your father, back to the hell he had tried so hard to save you from.

Inside his mind, the thoughts churned like a rising tide, each one more suffocating than the last. He saw it all—the flash of blue lights, the handcuffs tightening around his wrists, your face crumbling as they led him away.

He imagined you back in that house, imagined the way you’d be stripped of the freedom and love he’d tried to give you.

He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen.

But he couldn’t tell you any of this.

The truth was like a sickness in him, spreading through his veins, poisoning everything it touched. Every moment with you was a borrowed one. The walls felt like they were closing in, and no matter how much he wanted to pull you close and keep you safe, the fear of what could come next gnawed at him relentlessly.

“Joel?” your voice brought him back again, your hand resting on his knee, warm and gentle. “Please, talk to me. I know something’s wrong.”

He let out a long, shaky breath, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “I just… got a lot on my mind, sweetheart,” he said quietly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Nothin’ for you to worry about.”

But you could see it—the heaviness in his expression, the way his body tensed like he was carrying a weight too heavy for one man alone.

“You sure?” you asked again, your voice a whisper now, full of concern. “I can help. I’m here.”

"Joel. It's both of us now against the world. Just you and me. I will be with you no matter what, Joel."

Joel’s heart clenched at your words. The truth in your voice, the unwavering loyalty, wrapped around him like a lifeline. He wanted to believe it—to hold onto the idea that with you, he could face anything.

But the weight of what he had done, the fear of what might come, pressed down like a crushing force. He couldn’t risk destroying this fragile happiness, this fleeting freedom that both of you had fought so hard to claim.

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his, so full of love, of trust. Joel wanted to give you everything—his heart, his soul, his truth. But not yet.

His love for you was too deep, too raw, and the fear of losing you, of losing this, gnawed at him in ways he couldn’t put into words.

Instead of speaking, Joel cupped your face, his rough hands trembling slightly as they held you. The silence between you grew thick, but his lips found yours—softly at first, as if he were testing the waters, afraid of losing himself in you completely.

But the kiss deepened, and something inside him snapped. It wasn’t just desire, it was a desperate need—an overwhelming, aching need to feel alive, to drown out the darkness clawing at him from every corner.

He kissed you like a man starved, pouring every unspoken fear, every unexpressed emotion into that moment. His lips moved with a fierce, breathless intensity, his hands tracing the curves of your body, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

"Joel..." You moan as his touch was urgent, seeking comfort, seeking release from the turmoil spinning in his head.

Joel’s breath hitched at the sound of your voice, his name tumbling from your lips in a way that sent a shiver down his spine. His hands slid up your body, fingers tracing the soft lines of your waist, your hips, the curve of your thighs. His touch was rough, desperate, like he couldn’t get enough of you, like he needed you to drown out everything else.

"Say it again," he growled against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he pressed his body against yours. His breath was hot, his voice low and gravelly. "Say my name again, baby."

"Joel..." you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders, pulling him even closer, your heart racing as the heat between you grew. His mouth found yours again, and this time, the kiss was hungrier, deeper—like he was claiming you, like he needed this, needed you to ground him, to remind him that this was real.

His hands roamed, exploring every inch of you, each touch more possessive than the last. "You feel so good," he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "I need you... right now, baby."

You arched into him, your body responding to his every touch, his every word. “Joel… I need you too.”

He groaned softly, his mouth trailing down your neck, his hands slipping under the fabric of your shirt, lifting it higher until it was tossed aside. He kissed you again, harder, more intense, his body pressing you into the mattress, every movement filled with the weight of his need.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice rough and ragged, full of a quiet possessiveness as he kissed your collarbone, then lower, his hands gripping your hips, steadying you beneath him. "You understand? Mine."

"Yes," you whispered back, your voice trembling with want, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him closer. "Yours, yours only, daddy."

You realize when you said that, your eyes widened, face red. The word slipped out before you could stop it—daddy—and as soon as it did, your eyes widened, your breath catching in your throat.

Heat rushed to your face, your cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. You hadn’t meant to say it, not like that, but the way Joel had been touching you, the way he made you feel so safe and wanted, it just… came out.

For a moment, there was a stunned silence, Joel’s lips hovering just above your skin. Then, his eyes darkened, and a low, gravelly chuckle escaped his throat. He tilted his head up, looking down at you with an intensity that sent a shiver through your whole body.

“Oh, baby…” His voice was deeper now, rough with desire. His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as his lips grazed your ear. “What did you just call me?”

You swallowed, heart pounding in your chest. “I–I didn’t mean—”

But Joel cut you off, his mouth crashing against yours in a bruising kiss, his grip tightening as if he couldn’t get enough of you. When he finally pulled back, his gaze burned into yours. “Say it again,” he demanded softly, his voice laced with something dark, possessive.

"Say it for daddy."

Your pulse raced, your body tingling under his touch. “Daddy…” you whispered, breathless, the word trembling from your lips.

Joel groaned, his hands roaming over your body with renewed hunger, the heat between you intensifying. “That’s my good girl,” he growled against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck, sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

“You like calling me that, huh? Feels right, doesn’t it?”

You nodded, a soft moan escaping your throat as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him. “Yes… daddy.”

He growled again, his teeth grazing your shoulder as his hands wandered lower, claiming every inch of you like he was staking his claim.

“You’re mine, baby. All mine,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he kissed his way down your body, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. “I’m gonna take care of you, make you feel so good.”

Joel’s breath was ragged as he leaned back, his eyes dark with hunger as he reached for the condom, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. His gaze never left yours, the intensity in his eyes making your heart race even faster.

You watched, your body trembling with anticipation as he rolled it on, his jaw clenched with restraint. He was trying to hold back, but you could see how much he needed this—how much he needed you.

He hovered over you, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’m not gonna be gentle tonight, baby. I need you too much.” His voice was low, rough, full of a barely contained edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, your breath catching as his hand slid between your thighs, teasing you, making you gasp. "I can take it," you whispered, your voice breathless with want. "I want you, Joel... I need you."

With a growl, Joel positioned himself, his grip tightening on your hips. He entered you slowly, but even then, the sheer force of it made you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body adjusted to him. The pressure was overwhelming, the stretch sending shockwaves of pleasure through you as he filled you completely.

“Goddamn, you feel so good,” Joel grunted, his teeth grazing your neck as he moved deeper, setting a rough, desperate pace. He couldn’t hold back, his need too great, the weight of everything pressing down on him pouring into every thrust. “So tight, baby… so perfect.”

You moaned his name, your body arching beneath him, each movement sending pleasure spiraling through you. His hands gripped your waist, holding you steady as he moved harder, faster, his body pressing you into the mattress.

Every thrust was deep, forceful, as if he was trying to chase away the demons that haunted him, burying his fear and paranoia in the way he claimed you.

“My beautiful girl, such a good girl you are.” he growled, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss, swallowing your moans. “No one else gets you like this. Only me. You’re mine, baby.”

You could only nod, lost in the sensation, your body responding to every rough touch, every demanding kiss. “Yes… Joel… only you…” you gasped, your voice trembling with pleasure as he took you over the edge, his rhythm relentless, his grip possessive.

He groaned deeply as his pace quickened, the tension in his body coiling tighter with each thrust. “I’m never letting you go,” he rasped, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

“Never.”

Your body tightened around him, the intensity of his movements pushing you closer to your breaking point. You moaned his name again, the sound filling the room as you clung to him, your heart pounding in your chest.

Joel's grip tightened on your hips, and the bed creaked beneath the force of his movements, each thrust rougher than the last. The headboard knocked against the wall in rhythm, and your moans filled the room, mingling with the sound of his ragged breathing.

The pressure of his body against yours was overwhelming, and yet, even in the roughness, there was a tenderness, a care in the way his lips found yours between every deep, hard thrust.

“Joel...” you gasped, your voice shaking as your fingers dug into his shoulders, trying to anchor yourself against the intensity. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, the roughness somehow exactly what you needed.

Every time he moved, it sent you closer to the edge, your body tightening around him, the friction almost unbearable.

“You’re so perfect,” Joel growled against your lips, his mouth claiming yours in a fierce kiss. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly against your skin, a stark contrast to the way his body pounded into you. “So damn perfect, baby... Can’t get enough of you.”

The bedframe rattled against the wall as he thrust harder, the sound only heightening the heat building between you. Your back arched, your head tipping back as you moaned his name again, your body trembling beneath him. “Joel... oh God...”

He kissed you deeply, swallowing your moans, his lips rough but full of passion as he gripped you tighter. “I’ve got you,” he rasped between kisses, his breath hot against your mouth. “You’re safe with me, baby. Always.”

Even though his movements were rough, almost desperate, he made sure you were okay—his lips constantly finding yours, his hands steadying your body, his murmured reassurances grounding you in the midst of the intensity.

You felt the pressure building inside you, your whole body tightening as you clung to him, every nerve ending on fire as he pushed you closer to him.

The pressure inside you coiled tighter, your body trembling as the pleasure built, inching you closer to the edge with each of Joel’s rough, relentless thrusts. Your eyes fluttered shut, lost in the overwhelming sensation, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

“Joel... I’m so close...” you moaned, your voice barely a whisper, your body arching beneath him.

But Joel’s hand moved to your chin, tilting your face toward him, his dark eyes filled with intensity as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Look at me,” he growled softly, his voice rough with desire. “Open your eyes, baby. I want you to look at me when you cum.”

His words sent a jolt of heat through you, making your heart race even faster. You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze, the connection between you sparking like electricity. His eyes were dark, hungry, filled with so much need that it made your whole body tremble.

“That's it,” Joel murmured, his pace quickening, thrusting deeper, harder. The bedframe rattled against the wall as his hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you closer to him, pushing you right to the brink. “Stay with me, darlin’. I wanna see you fall apart for me.”

Your breath hitched, your body tightening even more as the intensity of his movements pushed you to the edge. His eyes never left yours, and the way he was looking at you—like you were everything he needed—made you feel like you were unraveling beneath him.

“Joel... oh my God...” you moaned, your voice shaking as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your entire body shuddered, your nails digging into his back as you came, your eyes locked with his the whole time, just like he asked.

Joel let out a low, guttural groan as he felt you tighten around him, his own control slipping. “That’s my girl,” he rasped, his lips brushing against yours, his voice thick with desire. “So beautiful...”

He thrust into you harder, chasing his own release, and with a deep, broken moan, he followed you over the edge, his body shaking as he came, holding you close like he couldn’t bear to let go.

"Fuck!"

Joel cursed under his breath, his chest heaving as both of you struggled to catch your breath. His body trembled as he pulled out of you, quickly disposing of the condom and tossing it aside. When you started to shift, thinking it was over, his strong hand gripped your thigh, keeping your legs open.

“Who said I’m done?” he growled, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes widened in surprise, your heart pounding all over again as you watched him, your body still sensitive from the intensity of before.

Joel leaned down, kissing a trail across your stomach, his lips dangerously close to the heat between your thighs. His breath was hot against your skin, and your pulse raced as he moved lower, his hands spreading your legs wider.

“Joel...oh my God,” you whispered, your voice breathless, but he didn’t respond with words. Instead, his mouth found the soft skin just above your core, kissing and teasing until you were trembling beneath him again, your hands gripping the sheets.

He looked up at you through hooded eyes, his hands firmly holding your hips in place as his lips hovered over your most sensitive spot. “I wanna hear you moan my name again,” he murmured, his voice rough with lust.

“Louder this time.”

And then, without warning, his mouth was on you, his tongue teasing you with slow, deliberate strokes, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body. You gasped, your back arching as you moaned his name, your fingers tangling in his hair as he devoured you like he couldn’t get enough.

“Oh God, Joel,” you cried, your body trembling, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of sensation. He was relentless, his mouth moving with expert precision, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from you as you writhed beneath him, completely at his mercy.

Joel groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and you moaned even louder, your body tightening again as the pleasure built all over. He looked up, eyes dark with need, watching every reaction, every moan as he drove you closer to the edge once more.

Joel’s fingers joined in, sliding inside you with a slow, deliberate thrust that made your whole body jolt. His mouth stayed on you, his tongue moving in sync with the rhythm of his fingers, fast and relentless. The sensation was overwhelming, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you.

Your legs trembled uncontrollably, the intensity almost too much to handle. "Oh God, Joel!" you cried out, your voice shaking as your body arched off the bed, your hands clutching at the sheets as if you were holding on for dear life. His fingers were fast, his tongue even faster, and it felt like you were on the verge of falling apart all over again.

“That's it, baby,” Joel rasped against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “Let go for me.”

Your eyes rolled back, the heat coiling tight in your belly, spreading through your limbs like fire. You couldn’t stop the moans spilling from your lips, couldn’t stop the way your hips moved desperately against his hand, chasing that release you craved.

“Joel... I— I can’t...” you gasped, your voice trembling as you felt yourself nearing the edge, your body overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch.

“You can, darlin’,” he growled, his eyes never leaving your face as he pressed deeper, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot. “Cum for me.”

His words were the final push you needed. With a cry of his name, you shattered beneath him, your entire body shaking as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

Your legs trembled uncontrollably, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you lost yourself in the sensation, the world spinning around you.

Joel didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from you until you were completely spent, your body trembling, utterly at his mercy.

Finally, Joel pulled back, his lips lingering on your inner thigh before he released a satisfied breath. Just as you thought he was done, he spit softly on your sensitive core, making your body jolt with surprise.

Without hesitation, his mouth was back on you, licking slowly, savoring every reaction he pulled from you. The sensation was too much, your overstimulated body trembling as his tongue tasted you again.

He worked his way up, his lips trailing kisses over your stomach, then your breasts, before finally reaching your mouth. He kissed you deeply, and you could taste yourself on his lips, the intimate mix of your desire on his tongue.

It was raw, electric, and it made your heart race all over again.

As his mouth moved against yours, you felt the weight of his body pressing into you, his hands holding you steady, his fingers trailing over your skin like he owned every part of you. “You taste so good,” he whispered against your lips, his voice husky with lust.

You gasped softly, your hands clutching his shoulders as you kissed him back, feeling the intoxicating mixture of you on his mouth. "Joel..." you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, still dazed from everything he’d just done to you.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low, teasing. His lips ghosted over your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"Tell me, baby, you like tasting yourself on my lips?"

You chuckles at his tease and nodded, your cheeks flushing, unable to form coherent words as his mouth claimed yours again in a fierce, demanding kiss.

His tongue teased yours, making you feel every inch of the connection between you. His hands roamed your body possessively, grounding you in the moment, and as he kissed you deeper, he left no doubt in your mind that you were his.

“Let’s go to sleep, baby,” Joel murmured against your lips, his voice soothing, still laced with the remnants of the heated moment you’d just shared.

He pulled away slightly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his eyes softening as he looked down at you.

You nodded, still feeling the warmth radiating from your body, but a sense of comfort washed over you at the thought of resting beside him. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice still thick with emotion.

As he settled beside you, you turned onto your side, facing him. The room was dim, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over his features.

You could see the tiredness etched on his face, the weight of everything that had happened still lingering in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You wanted to make sure he was alright, even after everything. “You seemed a little lost there for a moment.”

He paused, the moment stretching between you as he considered his response. “I'm fine, doll.” He brushed his thumb over your cheek, grounding you both in the intimacy of the moment. “Being here with you is more anough for me,”

You felt a smile tug at your lips, a warmth blooming in your chest at his words. “I want to be here for you, Joel. You don’t have to go through everything alone.”

He nodded, his expression turning serious. “I know, and I appreciate that more than you know, baby.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Just promise me you’ll stay close. I don’t want to lose you.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, but you pushed the fear away, focusing on the warmth of his body next to yours. “I promise,” you said, your voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere.”

With that, he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close against him. The world outside faded away, and for that moment, all that mattered was the comfort of each other’s presence.

As you settled into his embrace, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat began to lull you into a sense of security, a cocoon of safety that you had longed for.

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you drifted off to sleep, your dreams filled with warmth and the unshakeable bond between you and Joel.

"Night, Joel."

***

and im back, wazzup people! ENJOY SOME SMUT CUS WHY NOT! strongly suggest listen to heaven by julia michaels and cherry by lana del rey

[spacebarbarianweird]

Personal headcanons I have for Astarion

Origin

- He was born in Evereska to Caeldrim and Sylen Ancunin

- For both of his parents it was the second marriage (their first spouses/soulmates had died)

- Ancunin is Sylenn’s surname

- His parents had a huge age gap (300 years)

- Astarion’s father was a minor nobility and his mother was from a family of artisans

- Sylenn is High Elf/Fighter and a former mercenary

- She also was Balduran's bodyguard and mocked him and Ansur for their relationship drama

- Astarion had an older half-sister but she was killed at the age of 4

Childhood

- Sylenn gave birth to Astarion after decades of infertility

- He was given an adult name right away though it was considered a bad luck

- His original eye colour is green

- Sylenn taught him to pick lockets and steal things

- Caeldrim would complain it felt like having two children around

- Since childhood Astarion was obsessed with human laws and traditions and left to the Swords Coast at the age of 23

Youth

- He was the oldest at his course as he was studying in Baldur’s Gate

- Astarion wasn't a magistrate but served as an assistant to the one, a human woman called Alette whose friend he was

- He could become a magistrate only through marriage and it was discussed that Alette could legally marry him and pass her position to him once she is old though Astarion wasn't sure he wanted that

- Before death, Astarion despised people who slept around or were into one-night-stands

- He had two prolonged relationships (a human woman and a half elven man)

Death and vampirism

- The Gurs commited a series of crimes in the city including murders and sexual assaults and the commonfolk demanded to get rid of them

- Astarion was chosen as the one who would announce the decision and he was naive enough not to understand why other city magistrates didn't want to do that

- Later he was stabbed to death in the streets. His attackers were found and hanged

- In the AU where he doesnt become a vampire he leaves the city soon after

- Cazador hadn't known about him before and found him by accident

- If Cazador hadn't found him, there was a big chance Astarion would have been saved by the locals and brought to the healers

- Astarion was sent to streets only 30 years later. Before that he fully belonged to Cazador who used the tortures and rape to break his newfound spawn

- Since Astarion was young by elven standards, his mind was flexible (like one of a child) and it helped him to preserve sanity (but he also forgot almost everything what had been before)

Freedom

- At first, Tiriel annoyed him but with days to come he started liking her more and more

- She helped him to reconnect with his elven ancestry by asking him to teach her language and certain customs

- They spent 15 years traveling together searching for the cure until they reached for Daggerlake, a town enslaved by feys

- Astarion managed to end the pact and the locals asked him and Tiriel to stay

- Parenthood was a sheer accident and Astarion even tried to run away (and Tiriel talked to healer about termination)

- He enjoyed being a parent and wouldn't mind to have more children

- Alethaine definitely helped him with healing because having a child was something normal people do

- Later he and Tiriel moved to Luskan where Tiriel was the head of the adventuring guild

- After Tiriel’s death Astarion didn't want any relationship with anyone and stuck with celibacy for centuries to come (just because he didn't find anyone desirable enough)

- 220 years post game he started the Blood Guild, a union of dhampirs and vampires

- He had only one grandchild, an elven girl called Tiri born 322 years post game

- Tiri came to the guild at the age of 23 and persuaded Astarion to show her the world

- Meanwhile he was a rather chill and permitting father, as a grandfather he was more steict but he managed to become an authority figure for his granddaughter (and Alethaine was surprised to see that Tiri does indeed listen to him and does as he says)

Mortality

- While adventuring Tiri and Astarion accidentally found the cure for him and he becomes mortal 400 years post game

- His soul was new and not connected to his previous lives, he'd lost them forever

- Astarion lived for another 150 years as mortal, has a couple of relationships and also enjoys life to its fullest scale

- He dies during a siege by refusing to leave the battlefield (he realized should he live longer he would overlive Alethaine)

- His oldest great grandchild is named after him but he prefers the shorter version, Rion. The half elf/ dhampir also has to dealt with the remnants of the Blood Guild

- Astarion goes to Arvandor and to his surprise meets Tiriel as an elf

- When she died her soul was given a choice what destiny she wanted and she chose the destiny of an elf becuase she hoped to see Astarion again

- They spend some time together and later decide to reincarnate even knowing that they will lose their memories

- Astarion and Tiriel reincarnate a few centuries later and find each other soon enough (70 and 80 years respectively)

[misguidedasgardian]

The Winter Sun (21)

21. The dangerous Road

MASTERLIST

Summary: War came at a heavy price

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Fem!Targaryen Reader 

Warnings: Cursing, medieval and asoiaf customs, AGE GAP, Cregan is 12 years OLDER than reader), arranged marriage, death of a character, war and all that comes with it, mentions of pedicide (killing of a baby), threats of non-con, technically adultery, might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3 k

Notes: Like I said, the pace is picking hehe, and it will get dark for a couple of chapters. SO SORRY FOR THIS LOVES

“I bled once”, you whispered to the maester, “but the symptoms hadn't stopped, I thought to be with child”

“after the birth of a child it could be tricky”, he warned with a warm smile, “forgive me my lady but I must check you out” 

It was an uncomfortable afternoon with the maester, but afterwards, you left his tower to search for Sara

The test that he had made you do was going to take time to… “develop”, so you had a couple of days before receiving any news 

Sara, and you, had started a quick net of communication throughout the North, you had contact with White Harbor, with the Lady Mara, and the Lady Bolton from the Dreadfort, all the way up to the Bear Island, even down at Widow’s watch, you exchanged ravens regularly, you even created, with Cregan, the “Dragon watchers”, dragons were faster than ravens, but you had placed outposts with huge beacons of fire that were to be lit as soon as they see or hear them, so as soon as it is lit, the next one will light them also, creating a line of fire to be seen miles away in Winterfell

You were nervous, the people were nervous, you had yet to receive news of Cregan, but if you think about it more carefully, it could be dangerous for him to be writing where they are and where theta e going, letters can be easily intercepted, an the last months you realized people who believe a man should have priority to ascend the Iron Throne over a woman is bigger than you expected.

You could have Aegon royalists within Winterfell without even knowing 

When you found Sara, you gasped

She was a mess, clutching to her own chest, heaving and crying by the window in her room

“Sara!”. you called for her name, running to her, hugging her, “what happened?”

“I don’t know!”, she managed to whine, “I saw something”

“What did you see? What happened? are you alright?”, you were so confused, she was distraught

She weeped in your arms, and you hugged her to comfort her, you directed her to sit on the bed, and you cuddled her. She eventually calmed, but she still shook with the sobs

“I don’t know what happened”, she whispered, “one minute I was here, and another…I was somewhere else”

“What do you mean?”, you asked her softly

“That somehow, I was somewhere else, I was something else”, you believed in magic, you believed in people who could dream about things that were going to happen, everyone in your family knew the tale of Daenys the dreamer and how her visions saved the Targaryens from The Doom. Once you were hiding from the boys with Helaena, and she couldn’t stop whispering about stars in the middle of the day, you didn’t listen and when the boys found you you ran from them, failing to see the edge of a wooden furniture and banging your head against it, you passed for several minutes in which you could see silvery stars under your eyelids 

But this was something else

In the book Cregan had lent you, you had read about wildlings north of the wall that could take the body of animals and use them as their own… but it was only a tale, wasn’t it?

“I was in the skies”, she continued, “I was flying, I was big, I saw Dragonstone”

“Dragonstone?”, you asked

“I think it was, I- I had never seen it”, she explain, still catching her breath, “it was big and dark, seemed like it was built front he rock itself, and… had many dragons sculptures all over”, that was a fair description of the castle of your family

“What else did you see?”, you asked

“I took flight towards the west”, she said shakily, “over the seas until I could see a castle, surrounded by a powerful wall, and a small village, under the protection of another wall”, she said, she was with you, but her eyes were seeing something outside of the room, they were lost in her memories, “the castle was made of gray rock with reddened tiles in their towers”, you paled then, “a banner was hanging from the biggest one, two black wings over a white banner, in front of a checkered black and gray field”

“House Staunton”, you whispered, “a house front he crownlands, loyal to Rhaenyra”

“They were under siege, and I was going to help them, but then…”

“Sara…”, your heart was pounding in your chest

“Two huge beasts, Vhagar, and another golden dragon flew down upon me, jaws open, a breath of fire and I…”, her eyes filled with tears again and she wept in your arms, “I could smell the burnt flesh, and the reek of death!”, she weeped again, and you held her against you

“Shhh, it’s alright”, you whispered, “it is alright”

But it was not

You could feel it 

And you were made certain the very next day

“See that he is bathed gently”, you said to the main maid that took care of RIckon, “Even though he likes the heat, just like a little dragon”you giggled, playing with his feet, “I would bathe him myself but I have a meeting with the master at arms”

“Yes My lady”, she said gently, you liked her, she was sweet and cared for RIckon as he was her own, she took him gently and accommodate him in her arms

“Who is this handsome boy that needs a bath?”, she cooed, “let’s take a bath and let mommy focus on her meeting”, she said as she walked away

You smiled as you saw her leave the rooms, but were called by a pup, Rickon’s pup as he barked at you playfully, moving her triangular tail

“Don’t believe you are free of a bath!”, you chided playfully, and he barked again but ran to hide from you with a whimper. 

You giggled

They were really clever animals Direwolves 

But as you were preparing to leave your rooms to your meeting, there was a knock on the door

“Yes?”, you asked cheerfully, as you were the Lady of Winterfell, and you needed to show yourself strong, but the face the maester had, it immediately told you something was wrong

Very wrong

“I have letter for you, My Lady”, he said, he sounded apologetic

“What is it?”, you whispered

“One if from Dragonstone, but the other… is it from Harrenhal, from Aemond Targaryen”

You palet

you received the two small scrolls, your hand already trembling, you didn’t know which one to open first, you decided, that the one from Dragonstone

It surprised you to see it was from Rhaena, you had never had a personal relationship with her, but still you read the few lines she wrote

And as you did you whimpered, bitter tears falling from your eyes

Rhaenys was dead

Her and Melys had been burnt by Aemond and Aegon in both their dragons

Just like Sara described

Rhaena goes on saying  she wanted you to hear it from her, because she knew how dear you were to her grandmother and vice-versa

“No, no, no please”, you cried, clutching your chest, falling to your knees

“My Lady!”, the maester fell to the floor on his knees beside you, clutching you tightly, “Are alright?” he placed his hand on your forehead 

“No!”, you whined, you let out a scream of pain as you felt your heart was ripped from your chest. Sara showed up, taking the place of the maester by your side, grabbing you tightly 

“I will bring you a special tea, to calm your nerves”, he left the room

“She is gone, Aemond killed her”, you whined, grabbing into Sara, “my aunt is gone”

“I’m so sorry”, she whined, “I should have seen it sooner”

“It’s not your fault”, you whispered, your voice as broken as your spirit. You then looked at the other scroll that had fallen by your skirts, this had to mean something… something else…

You couldn’t resist, you couldn’t

You opened it

What you found there didn’t surprise you, there were threats, a warning, and a demand

You whined at the sight of his poisonous words 

But now… you jumped from the grief, straight to the anger

It was him!

The source of all your pains, all your traumas, it was him, for taking your baby nephew, and now your dear aunt

It was him

And you were the only one who could stop him

Sara looked at you, petrified and scared of what she found in your eyes

“No”, she whispered, when you looked straight ahead, tears were no longer falling from your eyes, all it was there was fire, and bloodthirst, “whatever you think you need to do…”

“I have to”, you answered barely, standing from the floor, your hands made fists

“No! you need to stay here!”, she cried, “please!”

“I am the only one who can stop him, stop this”, she took the scroll from your hand and read it, and she whimpered

“Its a trap!”, she said

But you were already on your feet, grabbing your riding gear, the thickest pants you could find and the upper part to go with it

“Please! think of Cregan! of Rickon!”, she insisted 

“Is for them I’m doing this”, you said, all emotion in your voice disappeared

“Please! they can fight him”, she insisted

“I can get close to him and kill him, I’m the only one who can”

“But at what price?”, she asked

“the debt is high already”, she whispered, “and it will only take me”

“please!”, you turned to look at Sara

“Tell Cregan I’m sorry”, you whined, tears falling down your cheeks again

“You tell him yourself!”, she insisted

“Take care of my son”, you cried, “please love him as your own”

“You will!”, she said, now desperate, “you will love him, and see him grow!”

“I did the best I could for the North, I’m sorry if it wasn't enough”, you cried

“It was! but is not over!”, she grabbed your arms, “please!”

“I’m the only one that can stop him”, you insisted, “I can kill him”, she knew there was no convincing you, she can see it in your eyes

“Please”

“No one else is going to die for me”, your voice again a flat line, “Cregan will be spared, and the crown will belong to Rhaenyra”

“But please let’s wait until we can reach Cregan”

“You know what his answer is going to be”, you said, but you realized Sara was not going to let you leave, so instead, you agreed to wait

Only to sneak out in the middle of the night, after telling the nannies to take RIckon for the night claiming you needed to be alone, they took him without question.

You couldn’t dare to see Rickon for one last time, if you did, you would second guess your decision and you couldn’t

This was more important than yourself

This was about the future of the seven Kingdoms and the future of your family and everyone you loved

This was bigger

Vhaelar was waiting for you outside the Winterfell gates, she roared into the night air but at this point you didn’t care if everyone listened, you will be in the air by the time they think they can do something to stop you

So you climbed on top of your dragon, Aemond’s words burning inside your brain

“I killed Rhaenys at Rook’s Rest, it wasn’t personal, but I know your husband is marching down with his army, you have three days to come to Harrenhal, if you do not, I will burn them alive, and then I will ride North and take you anyways. Spare the Starks, give yourself to me”

You had to answer his call

It was true, you can come to him willingly, you had a dragon, you could hide a blade in your undergarments, and after, you could slay him in his sleep or something, anything, but when he said it was the end of house Stark, it meant your baby as well, pedicide is not something you would put past Aemond. You knew he was capable and able to do it

For Rickon

For Cregan

And for Sara and the North

Yourself was a small price to pay

The night was long but you didn’t plan to stop as Vhaelar flew decisively under you

You believed you had until morning until Winterfell wakes up and sends a raven to Cregan, if you manage to fly over them it will be too late also

In the air, atop your dragon, nothing could stop you

Unless perhaps, another dragon

All night, all the way south, your mind was blank, there was only grief, pain, and rage.

You did not deemed yourself as vengeful person, and yet, you wanted it, desire it, you felt a fire growing within you, that wanted to burn everything in your path

You felt such heat within you you barely felt the still cold air that hit your face in the heights, and before you even knew it, the sun was shining in the horizon.

You felt no hunger, no tiredness, no nothing

Only the rage

It was Midday when you saw the unmistakable burnt towers of Harrenhal

Your dragon growled, like she was in pain, feeling your anger

You led her to descend upon the castle with a velocity that made your stomach drop, but you didn’t care about that, you cared about vengeance

But you were in a close distance, you felt the fire burning within you, one command and you could burn Harrenhal and the Green forces within them, Aemond probably was there, inside 

“Dra-!”

As you were going to give the order, you were interrupted by a low growl. Vhagar appeared from nowhere, pushing your dragon and you in the air

Vhaelar whined as she struggled to keep in the air and you knew then and there, that against the monstrous Vhagar, you could do nothing. Even if your dragons was one of the largest 

The Queen of dragons growled in greeting and you could feel Vhaelar’s nervousness as your own.

Or perhaps you were your own

Some people would say that you are more lamb than dragon, because of your mother’s house

But they were wrong

You were a dragon he awakened 

You landed heavily by the gates, you could see the restlessness of the soldiers in you and your dragon’s presence. You abandoned the want to burn everything, against Vhagar you couldn’t win. you had to be smart about this, she had the upper hand, the surprise factor was ruined 

“WHITE DRAGON!”, they chanted all over the walls, but you didn’t attacked them

Perhaps that is what you should do.

Burn them all

But the retaliation from King’s landing and the Greens could be worse

Aemond appeared by your side, he did not hide his smile, his happiness of seeing you there. 

Bold, you assumed, as you were near your dragon, you could burn him, here and now

The temptation was great

“You came”, he greeted, “good girl”

“I came to the call of your insanity”, you growled, he came to you, quick on his feet, you took a step backwards, still he grabbed you by the back of your neck

Vhaelar growled, dangerously, but VHagr was there, right by her side, she grabbed your dragon by the neck, furiously, dangerously

“NO!”, you screamed

Vhaelar whined in agony, and Vhagar released her, it was only a warning, but her black blood flowed profusely from the injury in her neck

“NO!”, you wanted to go to her, but Aemond held on to you tight

“If you don’t want me to finish her off, you will come with me”, he had to drag you towards the castle, as you could hear her whines of agony as her pain as if was your own

He dragged you through the halls, the stench of dead was clinging into you by every forceful step, and you whined under Aemond’s brutal hold

He threw you into a room. It held no windows, no nothing, but it was furnished with the very best he could find in his proximity, you realized. A luxurious big bed, with small tales on each side, many candles all over the room to light it up since it had no windows, and a table with chairs on one corners, tapestries on the floor and hanging from the walls to give it a more comfortable feel to it, but it didn’t hide what it was, it was a prison, only made for you

“A room for a princess”, he said mockingly, closing the door behind him, “you will stay here”

“I did as you asked”, you said, trying to regain control, “I came, I did as you said, promise me you will kill no one else”, you whined, “please”, he only smirked

“I promise I will no seek the death of anyone else”, he pleaded with a hand on his chest and another raised, but all seemed like a mockery, “I only wanted you, it is good that you finally saw this”

“I don’t understand”, you whined, “why me? after everything”

“That is not for you to know, now put on the dress I selected for you”, he said, taking your shoulders and directing you to look upon the bed, where a very revealing dark green dress was waiting for you. “You are to please me, since you are married, since you didn’t want to marry me, you will be nothing else, but my whore”

A single tear fell down your cheek as you contemplated what you willingly let your life turn into. 

@severewobblerlightdragon @missusnora @stargaryenx @poppyreader @chainsawsangel @court-jester-stuff @batprincess1013 @eddiepicker 

@lyannesworld @arujee @kamisunshine @​​mss-nthng @partypoison00 @grimistangel @elleclairez @may-machin @prettykinkysoul @justagurlwithships @champomiel 

@laura-naruto-fan1998 @zoleea-exultant @devotedlythoughtfulanchor @zoleea-exultant @llleon666 @dark-night-sky-99 @bitchigoteverythingissues @harrypotteranna23-blog

@esposadomd @ajanauia @phantomtea19 @let-love-bleeds-red @kishie8 @dreamingofyourmoons @esposadomd @sandronebabyy @kemillyfreitas @​​trifoliumviridi @dreamingofyourmoons @darling-jace @biblichorr @ivvypg @mendes-bae @borikenlove @tssf-imagines @praline357 @alitaar @prettykinkysoul @aelora-a @a-mexican-waffle @ateliefloresdaprimavera @alexa4040 @lrboyd @anditsmywholeheart  @weaselyssss  @scarlettqueen190 @deeeeexx @cloudroomblog @dreaming-of-the-reality

[reotacchii]

Hi saw that your request was open can you please do a platonic Blade from hsr when reader is his little sister/brother, and Blade just loves them to death. I can see an overprotective Blade with his younger sibling.

Dream Lantern

・─ pairings : Blade x GN!reader

・─ synopsis : Headcanons of Blade and little siblings + fluff !!

・─ a/n : I'm truly grateful each day with all of wholesome request, thank you so much dear requester and hope you'll enjoy this one 💗! I'm not sure with how Blade would act since I just got to Luofu a day ago, and since we barely got info of his canon age.. I'll give you two separate headcanons with different range of age gap.

" A day of your arrival on this world, a bliss of happiness draw across a boy face. As soon as the boy saw your face, that when he knew he'll caring for you "

6-8 years old gap :

★ Everything you need is an instant obligation for Blade. He would literally treat you like a literal royalty to put in a sense, that show how much he cares and love for you.

★ Tired of walking? He'll piggyback you. Feeling hungry? He got you snack on his pocket (I rather believe he always bring your fav snacks anywhere he goes so in any case you're hungry, he could just summon it out of his pocket).

★ You are his only siblings, he'll do anything to reserve the world just for you.

★ Not even a thought ever came across his mind that you are a bothersome, he always find your company the most comforting, a relief even.

★ Whenever he came back from his mission, you'll makes sure to greet him with a hug (he almost got into a breakdown because you are so precious to him).

★ Your body are so small compare to his, but it's a good thing because you can literally clinging onto his leg.

★ Kafka also loves to hanging out with you, she even give you a beginner gunmanship lesson because you are Blade little siblings (Blade relatives privilege)

★ But oh boy.. Do Blade even agree to it? Heck he's a literal worrysome; what if you gotten hurt? You are still a child, Kafka shouldnt taught you that. Battle just didnt suited you, he'll rather have his hand dirty than seeing you involved in one.

★ But most of his thought are how much he wanted to spend times with you. Seeing someone else taking away your time to hangout with others does saddened him a bit.

★ "Put yourself to rest, Kafka. I will be the one to taught y/n the swordmanship"

★ "What a sudden outburst.. Just say you wanted to play with your little siblings~"

★ The age gap may not huge, but he always view and treat you as a baby

★ His cold death stare replied to Kafka remarks, but eventually we all know you'll both goes to play around together.

2-3 years age gap

★ The first time you joined Stellaron Hunter, he kinda opposed to your decision, but soon he'll accept it once he found out every mission will be including you involved in.

★ Every mission going so fun with you, it went very well that both of you receive a nickname as "The Hunter Siblings"; It just shows how powerful both of your dynamic are.

★ Though, he knows well you can fight well, yet he can be overprotective at a times.

★ You can be a bit reckless at a times, so it's his responsibility to get in charge if anything worst happens.

★ Also, he can't stand anyone near around you, even he cannot trust how the Stellaron Hunter member would acts around you. It's kind of like a delusion sprout that growing in his head and all he can think about is the worst scenarios.

★ To put much surprises for both Kafka and Silver Wolf is that,

★ He tend to do this to find your usual reaction of either embarrassed or slight annoyance. And what's annoying to you, its that Blade doesnt know a good timing to pull his jokes.

★ Blade actually pull a lot of jokes so much around you (mostly sass which you'll get used to it).

★ It became a habit between both of you to pull a playful tease and jokes around.

★ Even Kafka and Silver Wolf admitted to find it amusing due to your reaction on getting teased..

★ But without you notice, Blade does this a lot knowing you can be so nervous before the battle. He want to lighten up your mood before doing the job.

★ "What? The baby need to put their diaper on? If not, you are going to piss yourself in a battle" he sarcastically remarked, you swear you could hear his low chuckles; and the worst is he's doing it infront Kafka and all you can do is to hold yourself together.

★ "NOT INFRONT OF- DUMB BROTHER, I WILL KILL YOU!"

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

How do siblings work with time lords / Gallifreyans? I know the doctor has an older brother, but how much older? What’s a normal age gap, or the equivalent. Like is four years apart a gallifreyan forty years? And can siblings end up in different chapters at academy?

Also, is there a longer list of gallifreyan roots and / or a dictionary? Trying to futz with names a bit more, I’m trying to make a name that starts with a d with an l and n somewhere, and one that starts with an H and has a lee sound somewhere in there. (It’s a surprise for my sister)

Also also, your work is absolutely amazing. This entire blog is absolutely incredible, it’s totally fantastic. Thank you for everything

How siblings work in Gallifrey is an extremely complicated question, you won't be surprised to hear.

First, if you don't know what Looms are, look here, then come back:

How do siblings work with Gallifreyans?

Each House has its own Loom, and each House is allotted a certain amount of cousins, and legally cannot exceed that quota. Therefore, new cousins can only be loomed when one member of the House has their final death.

Now, Looms have a standard genetic template that aligns with the House's and affiliated Chapter's values and abilities, and it creates random people based on that template. However, you can also feed in the genetics of one or more 'parents' to create a loomling, which also absorbs that standard genetic Loom template alongside the parents. Two loomlings who share genetics from the same person can be considered siblings.

In the case of the Doctor and Brax, it wholly depends on which account of the Doctor's birth you subscribe to, but in the most detailed and least conflicting version, the Doctor and Brax are half-brothers. They have the same father (Ulysses), while the Doctor has a mother (Penelope), and Brax may not even have a proper mother.

📺|🧑‍⚕🧐 Who are the Doctor’s parents?

What is Brax and the Doctor's age difference?

Braxatiel got going around 700-1000 ish years before the Doctor, which in human ageing years is around 9-13 years or so (in linear time, anyway, and disregarding the 18 maturation years). See:

📺|🧬👵Converting Gallifreyan Age to Human Years

What's a normal age gap between Gallifreyan siblings?

Because of the way the Looms work in 'allotted' cousins, there's no such thing as a 'normal' age gap; it's simply about waiting for one of your cousins to die. If they're womb-born, this is more flexible, and the gestation period could be something like a year, so like a year between children is the quickest you could physically do it. See:

💬|🍼👶How do natural Gallifreyan pregnancies work?

💬|🍼👶What would a Human/Gallifreyan pregnancy look like?

Can siblings end up in different chapter academies?

As mentioned above, Looms are pretty standardised for traits, and if a House is affiliated with a certain Chapter, the Loom will produce children with the natural traits of that Chapter. But are a few reasons they could end up in different academies:

Errors in the weft cause a huge divergence of traits;

They're loomed in a House that's affiliated to a different chapter to their sibling;

Their House doesn't have an affiliation (and their Loom is not standardised);

Being womb-born obviously HUGELY changes potential inherent traits, and is an entirely different essay.

For more on Chapter traits, see:

🤔|🏡🧩How do Gallifreyan Houses influence abilities and traits?

❓Which Gallifreyan academy would admit you? (Quiz)

More on language ...

Conlang: The list provided on this post was exhaustive (as of 10/24, may change). However, something to note is that 'i' is pronounced 'ee', and it's completely legitimate to use only the first two letters for any root particle. Here are a few randomers for some inspiration:

Duliakin [doo-leah-keen] (Interact, Natural, Affect)

Dosnelga [dos-nel-ga] (Regeneration, Progress, Stability)

Dukonel [doo-ko-nel] (Interact, Live, Progress)

Dosnilo [dos-nee-low] (Regeneration, Affect, Light

Duliani [doo-leah-nee] (Interact, Natural, Affect)

Holiasha [ho-leah-sha] (Move, Natural, Emotion)

Holigra [ho-leeg-rah] (Move, Learn, Strength)

Hokiosu [ho-keyo-soo] (Move, Affect, Write)

Hoklina [ho-klee-na] (Move, Element, Succeed)

Holiaga [ho-leah-ga] (Move, Natural, Stability)

The updated and revamped dictionary and grammar guide aren't ready for the real world yet. For anyone particularly interested in the conlang and who doesn't mind a bit of a scatty work in progress, you're very welcome to the links to have a nosey, but please message privately for them.

----

And that's it! Phew!

Heartfelt thank you for the additional. I put a crazy amount of time and effort into this project alongside my normal day job, so it's nice to have a few kind words that make me go all wibbly inside.

Also, it opens up a space to say that if anyone out there fancies keeping me conscious, there's a Ko-Fi page for that so I can get some caffeine.

[https://ko-fi.com/gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Any purple text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired😴

[alexsoenomel]

Zippo Lighter (Dean Winchester x Reader fluffy smut)

Request: Hi 😊 would you do a Dean Winchester imagine where youre secretly having a crush on each other but not admitting it. Then one time Sam is out and you're alone at the motel, so it happens you accidentally walk in the bathroom while Dean takes a shower. You get all flustered but Dean takes the chance to grab you and kiss you and you end up in bed making soft love that night. In the morning Sam finds you cuddling and is just happy you finally got together

Summary: You were born with a very special and powerful gift. This is the story of how you met the Winchesters and fell for the older one. 

Pyrokinesis  /ˌpaɪroʊkɪˈniːsɪs/ —The ability to set objects or people on fire or to supernaturally project fire from one's own being through the concentration of psychic power.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: mentions of rape, abuse and death, AGE GAP (DEAN IS 35 AND THE READER IS 20), sweet and vanilla sex (reader is a virgin)

Word count: 7,505 (OOPS! I got carried away...)

Note: I LIVE FOR MUTURAL PINING OKAY! I put my own little twist to it and the only thing I left out from the request was when Sam finds them together....I kinda wanted a funny ending. Request by @tieddown-withbattleshipchains​

Like/ reblog or both if you like it :)

ALSO HUGE THANK YOU TO MY QUEEN FOR BEING THE BEST AND HELPING ME GROW AS A WRITER! LOVE YA GIRL!  @ambergoddess444ALSO CHECK OUT HER BLOG!!  SHE IS AN AMAZING WRITER HERSELF AND IS CURRENTLY WORKING ON AN AMAZING SERIES CALLED LAWFUL BALANCE!!!! 

It was said that being different was, is and will, most of the time, be a bad thing. Why? Probably because people usually didn't understand why someone was different. Sure, there are good human beings in this world, but most of the time, when you hear something filled with hatred it tends to stay with you longer than the good things. That's why you kept things quiet.

You didn't really have good friends and your family died in a fire...a fire you started when you were just a little girl in diapers, crying yourself to sleep. One moment you were crying in your crib for mommy to pick you up and feed you, and the next, everything was on fire....except you. You still didn’t know what exactly happened. That day you became an orphan, depending on others and your home was an orphanage near the house you once lived in. You weren’t happy there whatsoever. You had no friends, the food was awful and the women who were supposed to keep you safe didn’t care and treated you like garbage. No one liked you, no one wanted you…so you decided to run.

The night before your 18th birthday you packed a bag and finally, when everyone went to sleep, at around 3am, you left and never came back. When they finally realized you were gone, they were furious. Of course they tried to look for you, but failed. You were far gone from your city and everything you knew. It was time to start over.

That was two years ago.

Now, at the age of 20, you were content and living your life instead of just surviving. You worked as a janitor in a local high school in Lebanon, Kansas. It wasn’t much but you had your own little place, some money to survive and had a somewhat normal life. You thought you had finally run away from your past, and as far as your outstanding ability went, you decided to shut it down. You didn’t think about it and just for a second it seemed like you had finally moved on. You were even thinking about going to college and finally doing something you loved. Being a janitor wasn’t something you wanted to do for the rest of your life. 

Everything seemed fine, you managed to make some friends at that high school (more like people you were friendly with); some of them were students rushing desperately to graduate and go to college, some of them were even teachers, and for the first time you felt accepted, which was ironic considering you worked in the most judgmental place on Earth.

Who knew everything was about to change one night? You sure didn’t. You were clueless.

At around 1am on a Friday night you were awakened by the sound of the glass shattering. You got up and went to the kitchen only to see a shadow of a man.

“Who the hell are you?” You asked. You weren’t scared, you were angry and that wasn’t good for either one of you.

“Hey there.” The man spoke. His voice sent cold shivers down your spine, and not the good kind. It was the kind that made you sick to your stomach.

“Don’t move.” He said, pulling out a gun. “You’re going to be a very good girl for me tonight.”

You still weren’t terrified. The man had the face of a true monster and you still weren’t scared. He told you he was going to rape you and rob you, and you still didn’t flinch. Instead you were raging with anger. Your jaw was painfully clenched as your hands formed two fists. Slowly you approached him, step by step…

“Don’t fucking move.” He ordered but you didn’t listen.

“You told me to be good, right?” You asked innocently while the muzzle of the gun was on your chest. Slowly you put your palm on it. “I will be good I promise.”

The smell of melted metal filled the room, along with the smoke and…light?

A small beam of light came directly from your palm, intriguing the man to become fixated on it. You, on the other hand, didn’t notice. A few seconds later, the gun muzzle was shut, and the gun became useless.

“What the fuck did you do?” The man asked, as panic started to set in.

You weren’t feeling right. You knew he couldn’t hurt you now but you were still angry. He broke into your home, with the intent to assault you and might try again if you don’t do something. The anger was too much…

“Oh nothing…” You said calmly and pressed your thumb on his chest imagining the fire burning on that exact spot.

The man was confused until he looked down and saw his sweater on fire. He started to panic and tried to find the nearest object to put the fire out. It was useless; he was a dead man from the moment he broke into your apartment.

You stepped back from him and slowly moved your hand up in the air. The fire spread all over him now and he was screaming. That scream of pure agony woke you up. You quickly realized what you had done and it was time to run. No time to get your stuff, you just grabbed your wallet and left. Soon,the whole ground floor, where your apartment was, was on fire…

You didn’t know where to run or where to hide. You didn’t have a car and you wanted to leave town as soon as possible. What happened? What have I done?

Those were the questions you couldn’t get out of your head while running God knows where.You didn’t know where your legs were taking you, but you couldn’t stop running.  It was dark and it felt like every soul was asleep except you. The night seemed so endless and hollow.

Why can’t I just be normal? I want to be normal.

It was probably 7am and you were still on the move. You unknowingly passed the highway and entered the woods you had no knowledge existed in the first place. Eventually you noticed the sun was about to rise and you were exhausted.

Still in shock from previous events, you felt like screaming. Tears were coming down your cheeks and your stomach made the loudest noise letting you know you were hungry. Realizing you were lost, you decided to sit down and rest for a bit. You let your mind slowly drift to sleep as you listened to the sounds surrounding you; birds chirping, wind blowing, branches swinging and…someone running?

You immediately got up, feeling anxious yet again. In your mind it could be a serial killer or a dangerous animal.

“HELLO?”

Nothing.

“HELLO?”

Nothing yet again.

You slowly started to panic, feeling like you could burst at any minute and setting everything on fire again scared the living shit out of you.

“Hey.” Someone said behind you.

You turned around, and faster than lightning, from your hand a small ball of fire flew and almost hit the guy who was standing behind you. Luckily, he was fast enough to throw himself on the ground and the fire hit a tree, missing him by a few inches.

“What the hell?” You mumbled and looked at your hand. This was new. You have never done something like this. Imagining where you wanted fire to burn was the only way you could create it.

Sometimes you would lose control (like last night) but you never thought fire could leave your body just like it did now. It was like you were a living, breathing lighter.

“I’m so sorry.” You said. “I’m so fucking sorry. Please don’t tell anyone what you saw. Fuck.” By this point you were having a full blown panic attack in the middle of the woods with a stranger. What a perfect scenario, you thought.

“Hey, first of all I won’t.” The stranger got up and cleaned the dirt off his shorts. He was tall, very tall, with long-ish hair and a pleasant face. By the looks of his clothes he was jogging. Who in their right state of mind jogs in the middle of the woods at 7 o’clock in the morning? Clearly this guy. “Second, how did you do that?”

“I don’t know.” You said wiping tears off your cheek. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Okay. This is going to sound crazy but I live in a bunker near these woods with my brother, we deal with this kind of stuff all the time. You’re clearly stressed out and tired, do you want to come with me? We can sort everything out.”

“What? So you have seen stuff like this?” You asked, genuinely surprised by his answer.

“This? No…but I have seen a lot of things people only dream about.”

“You sound like a character from a TV show…or a mental patient.” You said, still questioning whether he was telling the truth.

“Yeah. People usually tend to think I’m crazy.” He smiled.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“Think about it this way, you can kill me if I try anything.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.”

He seemed genuine and you felt like you could trust him. He was right; you could kill him if you wanted to. Your powers were growing and you could feel it. You didn’t want it, but it was out of your control.

On your way to “the bunker”, you explained to him what happened: the stranger in your home, destroying his gun and killing him…he seemed to believe your every word.  His name was Sam Winchester and he wasn’t lying. He did in fact live with his brother in these woods. It was some sort of a reinforced underground shelter, bunker of some sort;   it screamed men cave but it was cozy and felt like an actual home.

“Hey Sam.”  Someone emerged from the kitchen. A man in a long, gray robe with morning bed hair and coffee in his right hand. “Who’s this?”

“This is (Y/N). (Y/N), this is my brother Dean.“ He looked at him and just nodded.”I will explain later. Now do you want to take a shower while I talk to my brother?”

“That would be nice, thank you.” You said.

Sam gave you a towel, a clean shirt and showed you where the guest room was, along with the bathroom. You were still a little anxious and on the edge after everything that had happened the previous night, but strangely enough, you knew everything would be okay in the end. You could trust Sam.

“I’m hungry and I’m not gonna ask anything until I eat my breakfast.” Dean said calmly, looking at his plate of pancakes like he was looking at the most beautiful woman in the world.

“I’m screwed, aren’t I? Sam smiled.

“Oh yeah.”

After 10 minutes of Dean stuffing his face with pancakes and Sam looking at his laptop as usual, you were finally done with the shower and the older brother was ready to ask some questions.

“Okay first of all, why did you let a stranger use my shower?” Dean asked.

“It’s a guest bathroom, Dean.”

“Still…What’s her deal?”

“I ran into her while jogging…she’s…” He didn’t know how to explain it to him because he wasn’t quite sure what he witnessed in the first place.

“What?” Dean was growing impatient, you could hear it in his deep and sharp voice.

“She can create fire.” He finally spat it out. “I found her in the woods scared and alone and she threw a ball of fire at me.”

“And you brought her here?” Dean asked sarcastically.

“I scared her. The fire hit the tree.”

Dean wasn’t pleased with his brother and the decision to bring a complete stranger to their home, but of course, Sam already knew that and still decided to help you. He knew what it was like to feel completely alone, so he wanted to help.

“Still she could have killed you Sam.” Dean yelled.

“But I didn’t mean to.” You said standing behind them with wet hair and face almost red after a hot shower. The shirt Sam gave you was just above your knees but you were still wearing your dirty pajama bottoms.  “I panicked and I’m so sorry Sam.”

“I believe you. Now, let's figure this out.”

You nodded and sat next to Dean while Sam was still searching for something on his laptop. “There it is.” He mumbled and showed you the article. Damn, those journalists were fast. It was about the dead guy in your burnt down apartment. Luckily no one else got hurt or died. You then showed Dean the article.

“You did this?” He asked. His face was a little tense. He was contemplating if he could trust you or not.

“Yeah. Some guy broke in and threatened to rape me. I got mad.”

“Rape you?” He said after checking the screen once more. The guy you killed was a convicted sex offender.

“Yes. He had a gun.” You added.

“Well, it’s safe to say he got what he deserved. “ Dean said.

“Yeah but my life is ruined.” You said looking at your hands. “I could never live a normal life.”

“What do you mean? Where are your parents?” Sam asked.

You couldn’t even look at him and you sure weren’t about to cry. You told them about your parents, the fire, the orphanage and the abuse you endured and how life has been nothing but running and hiding for you. You have been just surviving for the majority of your life. It became exhausting, but once you finally started living, it all seemed too good to be true. Now you knew, it was. You could never have a normal life.

“I didn’t ask for this.” Your voice was trembling as you struggled not to completely fall apart. “I just want to be normal.”  

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were so angry at yourself it made your heart literally hurt. You felt like you were about to have a heart attack or maybe it was just breaking knowing you lost one thing you wanted the most – normalcy. You excused yourself and went to the guest room where you were staying. As soon as you shut the door you started to cry collapsing onto the floor. You suddenly heard Sam’s voice calling your name.

“Yeah?” You asked.

“Can I come in?”

“I’m a mess, better not. Give me a minute!”

“Okay but know one thing. It’s not your fault you were born like this. It doesn’t matter what you are nor what abilities you have, it only matters what you do. It’s your choice. You were a baby when it happened, (Y/N).”

Sam’s words hit you like a damn truck. He was right, you knew he was, but you couldn’t shake off the guilt you felt. You decided to open the door. You wiped your tears and let him in.

“You sure know your way with words, Sam.” You said, forcing a smile on your face.

“That’s because I’ve been there.” He confessed.

“You said you and your brother deal with all kinds of strange stuff, what exactly do you mean? Are there more people like me?”

He told you he will tell you everything if you stop crying and go back to the library.

“Okay.”

When you got back to the library, Sam proceeded to tell you stories that you would only read in books or see in movies. He told you he and Dean were hunters, but not the ones you thought. They hunted creatures… supernatural beings.

Stories about actual ghosts, demons and even angels followed. Dean even told you God himself existed…and that Lucifer was a tantrum making man-child which made you chuckle. When you asked them about humans with abilities he told you there were people with telekinesis, but your case was unknown to them.

“Well then…” Disappointment and confusion was all you felt in that moment.  “This sucks.”

“Want a drink?” Dean asked.

“Yes, please.” You said as a thought followed. I’m not old enough to drink.

Dean went and got you the strongest whiskey he could find. When you took a sip, the burning sensation went straight through your throat. It was strong alright and you have never tasted alcohol before. Strangely enough, it tasted good. It made you clench your eyes shut, but it was really good.

“Thank you.”

“Welcome.”

“Do you think I’m a monster?” You then asked him. Dean was taken aback for a second before he finally answered.

“Nah, you don’t want to kill people, do you?”

“No.”

“You don’t feed off people?”

“No.”

“Then you’re good, don’t worry. Besides, I think it’s pretty awesome what you can do.”

You have never heard someone tell you this; then again no one has ever known what you can do. His words rang in your mind as your gaze went to your now half empty glass, wondering how you drank the amount you did.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re like a walking, talking Zippo lighter.” Dean’s voice was naturally deep and husky; hearing him call you a walking,talking Zippo lighter sent light shivers all over your body. His lips formed a pout, he seemed to really like his little analogy.

Looking at your right hand, scanning every inch of it, you couldn’t get his words off your mind; a walking, talking Zippo lighter. Something in your mind happened that caused the tip of your index finger to make a small flame, indeed like a lighter. You smiled in shock; this was the first time you actually used your ability, without feeling angry. Rotating your hand you imagined the flame getting bigger, and indeed it became bigger.

“Like this?” You asked.

“Wow.” Dean said clearly impressed while Sam had a look of worry written all over his face.

“(Y/N)…” Sam finally spoke in a whisper. Brows furrowed; his face screamed concern. He was afraid you might slip and lose control, like you did with him. You took that as a sign to stop, so you brought your fingers into a fist and the flame was gone.

“Sorry.” You then mumbled.

“You’re indeed a Zippo lighter.” Dean said and lifted his glass. “Let’s drink to that!”

“Cheers!” You said lifting yours and chugged the rest of the whiskey.  “What am I going to do though?”

One glass of whiskey wasn’t enough for you to forget your whole situation. You had nowhere to go, only a little money in your pocket that will probably last you a month if you skip dinner every night.

“Tell you what, why don’t you stay with us for a while?” Sam said. “This library is filled with books about the supernatural, there must be something about your ability, we just have to find it.”

“Really?” You asked, looking at Dean for approval.

“We don’t usually do this, heck we don’t do this ever, but if Sam trusts you I trust you. But if you do anything stupid we will have a problem. Got it?” Dean said.

“DEAN!” Sam yelled, annoyed because in his eyes, he was basically threatening a child. You were 20, but still apparently a child in his eyes.

“THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!” You got up from your chair and went straight for a hug.

“Oh, okay then…” Dean said as you wrapped your hands around his neck from behind as he was still sitting and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Dean was definitely surprised by your actions and couldn’t hide the smirk on his face. Then you went and hugged Sam. You felt so small due to his height. His body was firm and he smelled like a winter mountain’s air, fresh.  

For the first time in your life you felt safe. These guys just met you and they were willing to take you under their wing and help you find answers to questions that followed you for as long as you have been on this Earth. You couldn’t be more thankful for that.

*********

First few weeks living in the bunker with the brothers was a bit awkward and not for them, but for you. It still kind of was after almost five months of being a part of their lives. Sam became like a brother to you, for the first time in your life you could just let go and tell someone what was bothering you and what was on your mind. He became your best friend.

But Dean on the other hand…

Dean was something else. You found yourself looking at him more and more, but in a way you didn’t understand. It came out of nowhere. The man was gorgeous, no doubt about that, but he also liked rock music, had a weakness for pecan pie and overall was a pretty funny guy with a heart of gold. Of course you couldn’t tell Sam about it, it would make things even more awkward and you definitely couldn’t tell Dean, so you decided to not think about it. Suffer in silence and be dramatic…

You had a pretty good life with them. At first Dean didn’t let you go on hunts with them because he thought you would get hurt, but you took care of that. When a nest of vampires came to your town you made sure to show Dean what you can do. You took down the whole nest with one flame.

“Damn (Y/N)!” He said when he realized the whole nest was dead. It made you blush like a schoolgirl.

Your ability just kept getting stronger. Sam was helping you control it and so far it was working, deep breaths, meditation and surprisingly yoga helped but as far as knowing the origin of your powers… that still remained a mystery. Being an impulsive ass you sometimes had moments when you couldn’t control yourself and lit things on fire. It was a little saddening knowing you might never find an answer where your powers came from but you learned to accept it. So far it was working for you. You were in a good place.

One Monday morning you were eating breakfast with the boys while Sam was on his laptop with a piece of toast in his mouth searching for a case.

“Sam, will you ever eat breakfast without your beloved laptop?” You asked him.

“Nope.” He mumbled.

You looked over at Dean who was looking back at you smiling. He was looking extra good today which made you nervous. Your little crush was still alive and well, tormenting you day and night. You smiled back at him before you heard Sam saying he found a case. Perfect timing, you didn’t want to look for too long and be obvious.

“Where?” Dean asked.

“Los Angeles. Two people dead and one is missing. Eyes burnt.”

“City of angels and dead angels. What an irony.” You said.

“Or demons.” Dean added.

“So are we going?” You then asked.

You were going and you were going right after breakfast. You packed your bags and went within 20 minutes. The ride was going to be long so you packed some snacks, water and beer as well. This was going to be the first LONG drive with the brothers. Almost 24 hours… Sitting in the back seat you couldn’t help but watch Dean as he started the engine and pushed the gas pedal of his Baby. He really loved that car, blasting Led Zeppelin through the speakers, jamming to their music and genuinely being happy.

After a while you put your jacket against the window using it as a pillow and fell asleep. You didn’t get much sleep that night so might as well use the time to nap.

You woke up about two hours later still on the road.

“Good morning.” You heard Dean say.

“Hi (Y/N).” Sam said.

“Hi, are we there yet?” You murmured, still a little sleepy.

They both laughed telling you, you have been asleep for only two hours.

“Damn it.”

The ride was long and exhausting. You listened to Dean’s playlist which you didn’t mind considering you loved classic rock and slept while the older brother was driving. You made a few stops here and there to stretch your legs and have a breath of fresh air before finally arriving in Los Angeles the next day at around 7am. You found a cheap motel and decided to eat and rest for a bit before going to work. The room was relatively small with three beds, a semi clean bathroom and a dining table.  

“Dibs on the shower.” You said.

“I’m next.” Sam said, looking at his brother.

“Ugh fine.” You heard Dean as you closed the door.

After a steamy hot shower you felt like you have just been reborn. Because it was hot as hell (pun intended), you put on a pair of shorts, one of Dean’s old Led Zeppelin shirts you “borrowed” and your worn out boots. When you opened the door Dean’s gaze went straight to you. He was obvious but you didn’t see it. You were too tired and hungry to notice anything.

Dean was lost in you and he was quite confused by it. When he first saw you, he thought you were cute but then when you told him you were 20 he slapped himself mentally. He was 35 and it felt weird.

While he was drinking his beer and Sam was taking a shower, he watched you as you roamed around the room packing your stuff searching for God knows what in those damn shorts before you sat down across from him and opened your small bottle of vodka you bought at the gas station. You looked older than your actual age so buying alcohol was never a problem for you.

“What’s that?” Dean asked.

“Vodka.”

“You know you’re not old enough to drink?”

“I will be 21 in five months, leave me be.” You smiled and took a sip. Vodka was strong, burning your throat for a few seconds but it felt so good it woke you up instantly. Drinking on an empty stomach wasn’t smart at all and you knew that, but man you needed that little taste. You were a little nervous being alone with Dean.

You didn’t know but he couldn’t stop thinking how hot you were in those shorts and his shirt. “Why the fuck do I have a crush on a chick who's not old enough to drink?”

*****

The next day started at 6am. Dean woke you with a fresh cup of coffee under your nose.

“Good morning princess.”

His sarcastic tone made you roll your eyes before you even opened them. You got up, eyes still closed, hair all over your face, and took a sip of bitter black coffee. It was good enough to make you open your eyes, as you sat on the edge of the bed, processing your existence.

“Where’s Sam?” You said under your breath.

“Went to check out the bodies. Get dressed! We are going in ten minutes!”

“Without breakfast?” You asked knowing damn well Dean would never skip breakfast.

“With breakfast dumbass! We are meeting him at the diner two blocks away.”

“Good.” You simply said and went to the bathroom.

*****

The whole day was a bust. You checked out the bodies but couldn’t locate the source of the killings and with Cas (a badass angel whom you had a pleasure meeting once) not answering his angel phone, you were kinda stuck.

Later that day another body popped up, but no new leads followed. Annoyed, tired and sweaty in the suits you were wearing pretending to be the FBI, you decided to try again tomorrow. Sam decided to go for a walk and clear his head, while Dean was ready to hit the sack. You were hungry so you decided to grab a burger before going back to the motel.

After eating your Five guys you came back to the room, ready for a shower and some sweet dreams. Where's Dean?

Kicking your boots off, you noticed Dean’s suit on his bed and yet again wondered where he was. You took off the blazer and pants, feeling the warm air brush your skin and relief since it was so damn hot. Wrapping a towel around your naked body you opened the bathroom door only to see Dean standing surrounded by steam with a towel around his hips. You have seen him shirtless before, covered in cuts and blood, but shirtless nonetheless and every time you would tell yourself to not stare for too long.

“Holy shit, I’m sorry.” You said and closed the door immediately. You could feel your cheeks burning in embarrassment as you tried to shake the same feeling away. Dean was good at reading people and you had to be careful with your silly little crush. You didn’t want to make things awkward.

Dean opened the door, still wearing only a towel.

“You done?” You refused to look at him. Your eyes were looking at the bathroom door right behind him.

“Yeah.” He said. He was admiring the sight before him. Your locks of hair gently touching your shoulders, white towel wrapped around you, you looked tired and beautiful. I will lose my damn mind.

You just nodded and went to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. Deep breaths didn't help, your heartbeat was in your throat, while your body felt unfamiliar and tense.

Meanwhile Dean got dressed and went to bed trying desperately to not think about the view he saw minutes ago. He failed.

Great, now I have a boner.

In the bathroom you took your sweet time to really enjoy the shower. You liked steaming hot showers, your philosophy was: if the skin wasn’t red afterwards, the shower wasn't good enough. You've always loved being hot, summer was your favorite holiday, hot coffee was your favorite drink; you sometimes wondered if your ability shaped your whole personality…BUT feeling hot and bothered because of a man was another story. It wasn't any man, it was Dean Winchester. You shook the sweet sinful thoughts of you and him doing the horizontal tango and focused on washing the shampoo from your hair.

After the shower you brushed your teeth and got into an oversized Mötley Crüe shirt you bought a few years ago in a random music store in Kansas. It covered your ass and was perfect for sleeping. Plus it reminded you of the things that once were and bittersweet memories of your almost normal life.

I wonder how his lips taste. God, I really want to bite his perfect little nose.

You shook your head.

No….skin care!

After finishing your skin care, which only consisted of one serum, you stepped out of the bathroom and saw Dean on his phone, pretending to not scan you as you went under the covers.

God, I love that shirt on her.

I should really do something before Sam gets back.

"(Y/N)?" You heard him as you were trying to get comfortable in a shitty motel bed.

"Yeah?"

She's too young for me.

She doesn't like me.

It's weird.

"Do you still wish to be normal?"

Stupid fucking question.

"Not really, why?"

Dean swallowed nervously, not knowing where to take this conversation.

You were surprised by his question. Why is he asking me this?

"Just wondering, I know how messed up you were when we met."

"You and Sam really helped me accept that part of myself. It's not something I would change." You were lying on your side, facing Dean. Something seemed off about him and you noticed. It felt like secrets were lingering in the air and he refused to say anything. The air was tense. You were nervous.

Maybe I'll get lucky tonight.

You're not in a porn movie (Y/N)! Snap out of it! He probably thinks I'm too young for him?

Should I do something though?

What is he hiding from me?

"Plus, I really like being a walking, talking Zippo lighter." You finally added, reminding him of his little comparison.

He chuckled. "You know, I have one and it's not as badass as you."

You felt your cheeks burning up. You were trying to determine if it was his comment or warm air in the room.

"Yeah well, I'm a collector's item. Unique, I guess." You said and sat up on the edge of the bed. You looked at your left hand before it was engulfed in fire. Dean was watching you closely, hypnotized by the flame. You wanted to try something you have been practicing for a while.

"Open your Zippo, Dean." You told him. He went to the sofa and got his lighter from his jacket. He was only in his boxers but you were too focused on the flame in your hand to fully process.

He opened the silver Zippo he had had for years and before he could say anything you snapped your fingers and a small flame started flying in the air before it settled on the wick.

"Holy shit that's awesome!"  

"Yeah? Been practicing control for a bit."

"Well good job Zippie! This is fucking amazing!" For a second he sounded like an excited child in an amusement park.

You chuckled. Zippie. You liked when he gave you nicknames and occasional terms of endearment like sweetheart or darling. It made your little heart dance.

"I really like that." You said and formed a fist making the whole flame disappear from your hand and his lighter.

"What?" He asked. His voice was deep but something changed. You couldn't put a finger on it but your gut was telling you something good was lingering just around the corner. His face was a dead giveaway. You knew Dean, not long, but long enough to recognise the look he had whenever he wanted to devour a woman alive. You’ve seen it like ten times in the past few months. He was a flirty type.  

His face was relaxed, smoldering eyes burning right through you, occasionally licking his perfect plum lips.

He likes me.

"I like the nickname Zippie." You finally said as you snapped back to reality.

He didn't say anything. He just put his lighter back in the pocket of his leather jacket and sat on your bed.

"Can I tell you something, Zippie?"

"Yeah, you can." You said, your voice struggling not to completely disappear.

"When I say I think you're badass I really mean that. You're really something else…"

Why can't I just tell her?

You smiled. You knew he thought your ability was awesome but to hear him say it was something else. It was from the heart.

"I believe you."

You sat next to him and put your index finger in front of him. A small yellow flame appeared.

"Make a wish!" You said. He wasn't sure why you did that but he knew exactly what to wish for.

I wish you would kiss me back.

Dean closed his eyes and blew the candle that was your finger.

After he did it, you did exactly the same.

I wish you would kiss me.

"What did you wish for?" You said, not noticing how close your faces were.

"This!" And with that Dean closed the gap between you with a soft kiss on your lips. You could taste the hint of mint right away from his toothpaste while your hand went to cup his cheek before you decided to sit on his lap. Your forehead was resting on his when you broke the kiss.

"I wished the same thing." You confessed.

His hand went in your hair as he smiled and kissed you again, this time letting you know he wanted more. He wanted it all.

You moaned into the kiss and you placed your hands on his cheeks, pulling him closer. His kisses were addictive, sweet and with a taste of something you have never experienced before – lust. You’ve kissed a few, you’ve made out with the few, but never actually felt wanted enough to sleep with someone. Until now.

You broke the kiss, panting like you just ran a marathon.

“Sam’s going to kill you, y’know?” You said as his lips drifted to your neck, leaving a small trail of kisses all over.

“Why do you think that?” He was, of course, clueless.

“It’s not like you’re 15 years older than me Dean.” You said sarcastically. “Plus he sees me as his younger sister.”

“Ew gross!” He answered between kisses. “I mean…I thought I’m too old for you but–”

“But nothing.” You cut him off. “It’s not like I’m 16, give me a break! Plus 35 is a perfect age for a man.”

Dean lifted his head up to look at you, his green eyes were sparkling and his lips were smiling. “You think so?”

“Yeah I know so! Sam showed me your old photos when you were in your early 20s. You are aging like fine wine.”

It was true. You and Sam were rummaging through old boxes on a random, rarely free, Sunday when you found old photos of the brothers throughout the years. Dean in his early 20s was an innocent, breathtaking boy with a stunning smile on his face. He would protect you and make sure you were safe, whilst Dean in his early 30s would kill for you and make sure you were far from danger. Dean in his early 30s was tired and wise, body and soul filled with scars, but beauty intact.

Dean’s smile became a smirk. He nodded, accepting the compliment before he kissed you again. His hands went under your shirt, his fingers tracing all over your skin, sending goosebumps all over your body. In response you started to slowly move your hips and grind against him, feeling how hard he already was. It then hit you. You didn’t tell him.

“Dean?” You said breaking the kiss…again.

“Huh?”

“I have a thing I forgot to tell you.” You started. You felt nervous even though you didn’t know why. It wasn’t a big deal and you knew that, The only question was how to properly articulate it.

“Spill it!” He looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes, excited about what you would say next. Who knew he was like a puppy when he liked someone.

“You’re going to be my first.” You finally spilled it after a few seconds of silence.

He tilted his head slightly. “You mean your first DILF?”

You sighed and gave him a bitch face. Too much time with Sam was rubbing off on you. “You’re not a father as far as I know, Dean! No, like the first guy I’m gonna sleep with!”

His lips formed a small O when you told him.

“You mean…?”

“Yeah!”

“Are you sure you want to though?” He then asked, even though he already knew the answer. You trusted him. He trusted you.

“Yeah. Now shut up and kiss me, will ya?”

“Yes ma’am.” He smirked.

This kiss seemed different, needy and filled with lust and adoration. It felt like he was holding everything back until now. It felt like you finally got to taste your favorite wine, so sweet and addictive. You couldn't get enough of it.

You leaned in, urging him to follow you as you fell into the mattress. While you were kissing, you couldn't help but slowly move your hips, grinding against him, feeling how hard he was. It was a brand new feeling. You liked the idea of him getting all hot and bothered because of you. He moaned into the kiss, growing impatient before he took your shirt off, exposing you completely. You thought you were going to be shy and hide your body from him, but something about Dean made you feel comfortable and free.

"You're so beautiful." He said in pure adoration.

"You're making me blush." You said and meant it. His words were meaningful and true. No other person has ever made you believe the things they said. That was why you didn't even bother to go all the way with people you have been seeing. You could read right through them and see their true intentions.

Your hands were roaming freely all over his body. He was all muscles and covered in scars, each one telling a story of his life as a hunter.

He took his time on you, making sure you were comfortable and relaxed for him. His right hand went down to your naked body, feeling every bump and inch of your skin. Your lips parted as you let out a sigh. When he reached the most sensitive spot between your legs his thumb started to rub you in a circular motion while his lips never left your neck. .

“You like that?” He asked between kisses.

The only thing that escaped from your lips was a light: “Aha.”

“Good.”

He took your panties off exposing you completely under him. Soon his boxers followed. When you saw how big he actually was you swallowed nervously wondering how much it would hurt. You knew first times always hurt and it usually sucked, but so far you were enjoying every minute of it. He knew which buttons to push and which places to kiss.

He positioned himself between your legs and slowly entered you. You were holding on to his back, fingers deep in his skin as you gasped in discomfort. It hurt but it wasn’t as bad as you expected.

“Holy shit!” You said under your breath.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah…just….move!”

He nodded and started to move slowly. It still hurt but after every slow thrust, it hurt a little bit less and less, until the pleasure took over the pain almost completely. He was taking it slow while kissing every inch of your skin he could get his lips on. You were breathing into each other while his thrusts became faster and stronger. You could feel yourself getting warmer and something in the lower part of your stomach. You weren’t sure what it was but you liked it.

“You’re hot!” He noticed, feeling your body temperature rise after every thrust.

“I feel weird!” You whispered into his ear before placing a kiss on his neck. “I think I’m close!”

It felt like a rollercoaster but instead of going up and down; you only went up until you couldn’t take anymore and just crashed. But the thing was your body temperature kept rising and rising until you reached your breaking point. You were both panting, gasping for air, your hands were leaving light scratches on Dean’s back and yet he didn’t even flinch.  

“FUCK!” You moaned, feeling the orgasm pierce through you. Your lips were parted, back slightly arched under Dean, but your eyes changed color – two yellow sparks appeared as you were experiencing your first big O.

“Dean!” His name didn’t leave your lips, just like a cigarette of a smoker.

Dean didn’t stop until you came down from the euphoric high. He watched your eyes go back to your normal color, following your body temperature.

When he stopped moving and collapsed on you, you kissed him on the lips and did what you’ve always wanted to do – you bit his nose.

“Why did you do that?” He smiled in confusion.

“You have a perfect nose and for some reason I’ve always wanted to bite it.” You explained.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He moved next to you, covered in sweat, wondering what he saw a few moments ago.

“(Y/N), did you feel your temperature rise before you came?”

“Yeah. It was weird and yet it felt amazing.”

“Yeah your eyes also changed color.” He added, thinking how perfect your nickname was. Zippie the human lighter.

“Changed color?”

“Yeah they were yellow, like you had sparks in your eyes.”

“Awesome!” You said and kissed his shoulder. “Sam is still going to kill you though!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah!”

That night you slept in separate beds since Sam was sharing the room with you. He came back three hours later and by that time you were both fast asleep.

The next morning during breakfast in the nearby diner, between stuffing your face with eggs and bacon, you decided to be a little bit of a dick.

“Sam, I found out something new about myself.”

Sam took a sip of his black coffee. “Really? What?”

Dean was ignoring the whole conversation, eating his pancakes.

“My body temperature rises and my eyes sparkle whenever I have an orgasm!”

Dean choked on his pancakes, while Sam stayed silent in shock before looking at Dean giving him his iconic bitch face.  

“Really, Dean?”

“Zippie, you’re a dick!” He told you.

“Your dick now since you like me that much, handsome!” You winked at him.

[archaiclumina]

I am sappy atm and this post will likely not stay up forever, because I am nothing if not notoriously fickle about sharing facts about my life with the old world wide web. But, I miss my brother and I wanna talk about him. The rest is under the cut <3 to avoid upsetting folks. tw include cancer and death

I truly do believe the dead only die when we forget to remember them. And while I remember my brother all the time, I rarely talk about him with strangers on the internet. But today, I want to. So I will tell you a bit about my brother, and share some of my family photos with you all!

People in my day to day life, and a few online friends who have gotten to know me really well, (and some folks who saw a post kinda like this one but a bit sadder at the start of the month you guys know who you are c':), already know how much I love my brother. He is gone now, but that doesn't stop me loving him at all. I speak of my love for him in present tense, because it didn't die when he did. Nearly every day I see or learn something that I wish I could share with him and tell him about. I wish I could tell him that David Byrne made new music with Montaigne. Or show him the Monster Hunter Rathalos Telecaster that Fender released. I wish I could tell him I got into my PhD! Because life is strange and maybe a little bit ironic, I found out about the approval for my PhD proposal on his birthday this year, so maybe in some strange universal way he does know about these things, even if I can't tell him. I like to think of it that way sometimes and sometimes, it is comforting to think that might be the case. But most of the time I am cold, and hard, and logical. I know my brother doesn't know anything anymore, because he is dead now. In those moments, I remind myself it's my job to learn about the things he loved still, to keep him close in an abstract way. I suppose in another way, it's also my job to tell other people about the things he loved, and the sort of person he was, to keep his memory alive. And I guess that is why I am writing this essay thing right now.

My brothers name was Marco. I used to call him Marcy. When I was 5 I apparently explained to him this was because "Marc" was for short, and "Marcy" was for long c': His friends called him pumpkin seed <3

My brother was 12 years my senior. We didn't really grow up together. Our home life was not great and he was a homeless youth due to those circumstances. But despite our big age gap and the fact neither of us got to spend our childhoods together, we were probably as tight as sibling could be in adulthood. We saw each other regularly, we texted regularly, we went to the movies together, went shopping together, we browsed second hand bookshops and scoured for occult classics from AE Waite, or epic fantasy from Le Guin. We sat on the grass in the park and looked up at the trees and he could tell me their names just by looking. My brothers love for plants is a huge part of why I worked plants into Oli's character concept tbh.

He was the person there for every important milestone. Graduation, birthdays, all that stuff. Funny story, digital cameras didn't exist when I turned sixteen and my bro spent a whole evening snapping pictures of my birthday with the lens cap on c': we don't have any photos from that birthday, but the memory of discovering all the blank photos when we developed them still makes me laugh a lot c: Here's a picture of us the day I graduated from my Masters.

I get emotional to look at it because you can see how happy I am and how proud he is of me. He always told me he was proud of me, I am sure most, if not all, big brothers are like that. And I know he would still be proud of me today if he was around, but gosh, wouldn't I give anything to be able to hear him say it again in the flesh instead of just in my memories. He was so supportive of me, and my dreams, "I never want you to stop writing," he used to say to me, I really wish I could tell him the book I was working on when he was sick is not only going to get read by people, it's going to form an entire academic work on the journey of authorship in the digital age.

When he was dying of pancreatic cancer, he was really adamant he needed to take lots of selfies for us all of him being silly, and joking around, often with silly snap chat filters, so no matter what, we'd remember him that way. Here are some examples of the ones he would send us c':

He was an amazing self taught guitarist. One of my favourite things in the world was listening to him learn a song by ear. He would pluck his way through it, learning the notes perfectly for each bar of the tune. Like my husband, metal was his main love, but he also was eclectic in tastes like me. He loved that "Enter the Ninja" song by Die Antwoord so much it's what we played when they cremated him. We made a playlist together when he was dying so I'd always have music to remember him by and he asked me to put on Betty by Taylor Swift because "it's a nice melody". He was a man of diverse and discerning tastes c':

When he was dying, his muso friends all brought their amps and instruments around, and our neighbours in our apartment complex were all beans who never complained once about the noise. (Obviously we had explained the situ before we let a bunch of metal heads rock up with marshall stacks c': ) Here's a photo of him playing just after the selfie he took during his chemo that I posted above!

He was the best and coolest brother I could have ever asked for. Even though his life was so hard, he was nothing but gentle and compassionate. He taught me how to be kind to others. Please know that every time I am writing a nice tag on your stuff, it's because he showed me how important it is to do that. The way he lived and the way he died taught me to say the kind words, to tell people how you feel, to take chances to connect with others, because time is so, so short, you know?

Sorry to maybe be a bit of a downer to folks, I know it's not great to hear about people dying of cancer. But he was so special to me, and I miss him a lot and it's been four years without his laugh and his jokes, and four years without him telling my husband he is the best cook, and four years without him asking me "where's my zucchini bread!?" (He was a vegetarian for nearly all his life and very fond of zucchini in just about every form you can cook it c': )

My husband knew my brother since he's known me, they were great friends, even before we dated, when we were just neighbours! (yeah my husband used to be my neighbour, but that's another story c': ) My brother and my husband were so tight they used to hang out together when I was living in the USA!

Here's the three of us together in October 2020 at a cool nature spot near where we used to live. He was so sick he couldn't go far from home really, but this place was super close and had a Japanese garden there too, which he loved, because I love Japan. We had a picnic there by the river the day we took this photo, it was about two weeks before we found out the treatment hadn't helped his prognosis and he only had two weeks left. Actually they told him he had a week left, but my brother was a resilient mother fucker and outlived their estimate by an extra seven days!

I know my husband misses him as much as I do. He was like a brother to him too. An unofficial brother-in-law, because he could only be there in spirit on the official day.

Boopoween day was an amazing blessing, I usually spend Halloween looking at photos like these and crying. But for the first time in a long time, I spent the day laughing and feeling connected to the world, instead of all alone with my grief. So thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who indulged all my silly spam boops that day. You really don't know what a gift you gave me. Halloween was our favourite holiday, it's another really strange, and ironic, and hard thing to deal with, that he died on that day. His birthday was October 2nd too, so the whole month is a bit of a write off for me honestly and why I don't spend much of it on socials.

This past few days my husband decided he would put some positivity into the universe and use his talent to do some nice things for people because he thought it was something my bro would have liked, and because it is nice when you're feeling sad to find a way to make someone else smile c: and, It really made both of us smile to see how happy everyone was with his little gifts, so thank you all!

And thank you for reading a little bit about my brother. It was nice for me to share some stuff about him with folks <3

[rabbitbonesandsheabutter]

How do you think Dale likes to be comforted? And what do you think makes him feel insecure?

Ok first I think so so much would make him insecure.

Almost every time you spend time with other people for one. He could know its purely platonic and it still reminds him how much he’s become reliant on you, just how attached he is. It makes him feel pathetic, he doesn’t have any social life outside of you and Ruth, he feels like you're choosing someone else over him even if only for a few hours. He’s always torn between wanting to take you out all the time and show off, and squirrelling you away so no one can ever look at you or notice his shortcomings standing next to you. He hasn’t had anyone hugely meaningful in his past, at least not for the last 20 years, so hearing about any exes especially if there’s multiple will send him spiralling. In his mind you could very easily replace him, and he can’t even bare to imagine a life without you again. Plus his age, he does find an age gap hot, but is also very aware that you probably don’t consider him the end all be all of your love life. It eats at him constantly, the knowledge that even if you stay until his eventual death separates you, you’ll just move on. You make a joke about him being old at the wrong time and he’ll just start crying.

If you spend a lot of time together and he’s really attached to you, there will be full meltdowns where he’s borderline inconsolable. They get much worse before they can ever get better; he's starved of any affection and gorging himself on everything you offer has only made him sick with worry that it’ll be ripped away again. He's heaving great big sobs and folding in on himself as he stands in front of you, face contorted in that over the top cry. You even try and brush him off or tell him he’s overreacting, I can see him dropping to his knees and grabbing onto you to stop you walking away. If he can’t pull on your heartstrings he’s very prepared to guilt trip you. He wants you to hold him tight as you can and lie to him if you have to, tell him none of those thoughts are true, that you'd never love anyone else. Then let him lay with his face in your chest until he falls asleep. While the insecurity is real, it’s very likely that he puts on a little performance every time you have to leave to see someone else.

[desultory-novice]

About Apologies au... I get that it's mainly about Noir and Adeleine's relationship. But, I have to ask. Since Adeleine likes to tease Noir about not having any friends (Aside from Raquelle), did she have any? I get there probably weren't many people on shiver star, and I know Adeleine got bullied. But... I assume she went to school and... Did she at least manage to make one friend of her own? That perhaps Noir didn't know about? Even if it was for a short time?

That is a good question! Time for Dess to actually get wordy (and surprisingly frank!) about the AU’s setting!

[CW: mention of grooming, abuse behind the read more]

...I think that, toward the end, as the environment became increasingly harsh, most kids (...what kids there even were...) tended to grow up under some form of home-schooling.

Now, that would be for people who still lived with some form of privilege in Shiver Stars troubled twilight years. Everyone else was probably bustled off into learning whatever tasks were necessary to keep up the planet's survival instead of math, literature, art...

Noir probably got a shockingly good education for the few year he and his parents still lived on the New World, and I'd like to think that Neichel and Rim continued to try and provide both their kids with an education after fleeing to Earth. (Thus why Noir has a penchant for storytelling and Adeleine for music...that, btw, only transformed into drawing AFTER the death of their parents, when a frightened young Noir, who had the distinct - and not incorrect - feeling they'd been murdered because of who they were - swore himself and Adeleine to silence about the lives they lived before...)

[CW starts here]

-

When the two fled their childhood home following a frightening home invasion that Noir barely fended off and were taken in by Roan (Raquelle’s wealthy and powerful and sadistic father) it LOOKED like they would still be able to maintain that quality of life…

Adeleine was included in the group study sessions the shelter community ran, which probably spanned a variety of ages, similar to pre-20th century schools. Noir might’ve been allowed to attend a FEW of these classes himself but was mostly busy "apprenticing" under Roan. (Which was Roan’s public-facing excuse to have all the time in the world to groom and abuse the boy in private, in-between dragging him to meetings like a collared pet......)

...But, yes, those horrors aside... I imagine the shy, sweet (and spectrum-y) Adeleine was still able to make a friend or two there that Noir would not have had the mind to notice. It was living in such close proximity to Raquelle that even allowed them to grow as close as they did! But the trio’s close bond was emblematic of the age gap friendships that were more common in that society! (Not that the trio has a particularly huge age gap between them, but as the idea of having kids in this wasteland got too depressing to think of, it grew especially rare for a kid to encounter someone their exact age.)

...Adeleine had to leave her schoolmates behind after getting “sick” and in the shelters they lived in after that, did struggle increasingly to make friends. That was the period where she was bullied, because she was considered painfully naive compared to her new "peers."

The guilt from realizing, belatedly, that even if he had little choice, Noir HAD taken his sister from friends (as well as feeling like he’d just done a bad job protecting her in general...) was why, immediately following, Noir endeavored to spend as much time as he was able with her, processing (escaping) his own trauma by mentally reconfiguring himself as an “entity” who existed FOR her. He also took to trying to scare off anyone he deemed a threat to his little sister, even if those people were not actually interested in Adeleine at all but were actually trying to make a connection WITH him. ^^;

Friendlessness Streak Continues ; w ;

At this stage in his life, with all he'd endured, the poor boy could only see others reaching out to him as an attempt to separate him from Adeleine (separate him from his only life-link…) and reacted with hostility. This is why Raquelle, who he knew from before they left, was the only one he would let get close/who could get back in to his heart. (Alas that it wasn’t -quite- close enough to keep her from getting killed. Blame her monster of a father for that…)

Now, Adeleine didn’t truly know what was wrong with her brother beneath the surface, but she kind of intrinsically understood that Noir looked much “...sicker...” when they were living with Roan and now her brother seemed better! (He was more active, at least) She was happy to spend more time with him finally too, so she had no complaints with the increased time together...even if they grew increasingly isolated from folks during this chunk of their lives...

While not to the level of “friends” friends, Adeleine did tend to get along well with the various kitchen staff crews she, as a young girl, would be teamed up with; inventing new (and sometimes frightening, depending on what ingredients they had the most of…) sandwich combinations together when the siblings were sent off to work. Though Noir, who was required to do more physical labor outside, being a boy who was mostly fully grown, would take Adeleine with him on his jobs as much as he possibly could.

...Phew!

A LOT of iceberg stuff (that you would probably have seen if Apologies was, like, a full-fledged novel instead of a series of short comics and asks) but I hope it was enlightening!

-

[Psst! Vote for Noir for even more lore!]

[sophiethewitch1]

Hey! I just wanted to say that I love the WWW series so much that I've literally read it like 4 times over. SO! I have several questions + observations about it that have been bugging me a little, if you don’t mind answering + talking about them.

Everyone’s ages are something that I've been curious about. I know that it’s stated that Damian and the Reader-insert are 3 years apart in age, 19 and 21 respectively. I’m assuming that they’re more like 2 1/2 years apart based on the ages we’ve been given.

Do they follow canon ages? For example, is Tim still around 7 years older than Damian???

Because i’m picturing the lineup looking something like this:

Bruce: 47

Dick: 33

Jason: 28

Tim: 26

Reader-insert: 21

Damian: 19

I was just curious because picturing everyone’s relative age is something that is really important to me when regarding the dynamics between characters.

Another thing that I noticed was how in the Reader-insert’s  original reality/world, her entire family died on the same day that Jason did. (“Your lives had both technically ended the same day, in the same grand calamity.”). Does that remain the same in this new world?

Because that would mean that the Reader-insert’s  counterpart would have known Jason at some point, which I think is SUPER interesting. Lots of implications.

That’s supported by something that Tim says in his 1st pov: “Your family had died, Bruce’s new wife had died, and all the siblings he never really got the opportunity to meet, gone in a brilliant flash.”

THAT has a few implications that I think are really interesting. It supports the idea that her family did die on the same day in this reality, and that she would have known and been living with Jason at the time (Well, before his death.)

Tim would have most likely only seen them at galas or something similar by that time…leading to his statement about how he “never really got the opportunity to meet” them.

This would mean that Jason knew her counterpart when the Reader-insert met him for the first time. 

Now, going off of all of those assumptions, I can only begin to guess what her and Dicks relationship was like before her family's death. I picture it like this:

Dick had only left the manor around 3 years TOPS before Bruce had remarried, bringing a whole nother family into the fold. Now, we don’t know too much about Dick in this story yet, (I'm SO excited to see more of him in the next chapter BTW) but I can assume that this would feel pretty upsetting. Leaving your home, and your adoptive? father only for him to marry into a whole new family not long after?

I’d be pretty bitter if it was me in his situation. I wouldn’t really want to have any kind of relationship with the new children he had taken in. MEANING that Dick and the counterpart didn’t have too much of a relationship before her family's death.

And between their death and Jason’s, Dick would probably consider the counterpart as some kind of chance to actually build a relationship with his siblings in the light of what he lost. Obviously, the counterpart didn’t appreciate the attempt.

Uhhh there’s probably a lot more that I'm forgetting to mention, but I think the way you write is super compelling, and the Reader-Insert has been the only one that I’ve ever read that I can relate to so well!

So TYSM for writing, it literally makes my day!! 🩷🩷🩷🫂🫂🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

(And I’m really bad at conveying my tone in text, so if I seem overly critical or anything then I’m really sorry!!! I don’t mean it like that!!!)

Sorry this took so long to answer I have been in sickly victorian woman mode. I'll answer these questions to the best that I can, but also I don't have everything planned and even if I did I regularly forget shit if I don't write it down <3 <3

First of all the ages- I aged both the younger Waynes up and the older ones down a bit, because I'm personally not into the super huge age gaps but also. Imagine them however you want, even if they come up later in continuity still just insert your personal preferences if you want. Like it really doesn't matter lmao they're relationship has bigger issues than the age gaps. Anyway here are how I had them written down but I might change my mind I am a fluid being

Reader: 21, Damian: 19, Tim: 22, Jason: 25, Dick: 29, Bruce: 45, Alfred: 67, Molly: Also 21, Cass: 25, Stephanie: 23, Barbara: 30, Duke: 20

Also yes, reader's family died the exact same day in both universes, and first world reader like... knew about the waynes but wasn't particularly interested in them till their own family was ripped away, then she started obsessing. in second world, reader and the batfam were like... sort of involved? she lived with them, and she was getting to know them, but wouldn't you be kind of weirded out if your mum married like. jeff bezos or something. and reader is sort of introvert coded, even if they don't read that way. it's just because she's trying so hard not to be, because she's so starved for attention. other world reader like,,, didn't seem to react the same way to what happened to her. but she might've, in the newest chapter it seems like she was talking to bruce after the disaster, and then stopped. But yeah you're right they never knew each other because not much effort was made to do so, and the Waynes are always SUPER busy.

Also about the Dick thing, he was actually pretty happy about the new family! But like you said he still didn't know other reader till the disaster. He just didn't have time to get to know her. He was obviously very upset with Bruce because he left to fuck off to Bludhaven for a while, but he's always loved how the Wayne family kept growing. Even when it was just him Jason, Babs and the weird kid who followed them around with a camera. Then he like decided he was going to treat her like a project because he has a savior complex that comes out especially so when he's having a hard time (oh damn my brothers dead). Not your best moment Dickie. I mean other reader definitely did need help but... as if she'd accept it from a guy like Dick. Imagine your entire family dies and you have to deal with the most beautiful guy on earth trying to comfort you while you look like a creature that crawled out of the sewers. And he tries to make you go outside because you're genuinely very mentally sick. I'd kill him tbh. Anyway this is all still technically up in the air and I might go back and edit the fic later because I'm like... very bad at timelines I just can never remember them properly which creates a lot of issues and inconsistencies.

Anyways thank you for sending in your questions/theories and enjoying my work so much! I'm glad you can relate to reader so well, she's like, one of the strangest characters I've ever written who refuses to behave in any concrete mannerisms because she's stubborn and has intimacy issues. But I think we're all a little bit like that lmao. And thank YOU for reading my stuff, I wouldn't still be doing it if it weren't for folks like you :P (also also you didn't come across as critical at all, you were very polite!!!)

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 20

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"You poor thing, sweet, mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do."

summary: negan show you his true colors

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 20

masterlist!

previous | chapter 19

next | chapter 21

The chill seeped into your bones, spreading slowly through your veins until you felt almost numb, the dampness clinging to you like despair itself.

Every heartbeat was a labor, each breath a painful reminder of the ache that pulsed through you, but worse than the physical pain was the yawning emptiness in your chest—the thought that you might never see Joel again.

It was a raw, hollow ache, a sharp pang of grief you couldn’t push away. You knew that you were on the edge, slipping closer to oblivion, but there was one last thing you needed to do, one final message that could reach him if somehow, in a miracle, it found its way.

Weakly, you took a scrap of paper you’d found buried under debris, your shaking hand struggling to hold onto the pen as you pressed it to the paper.

With every ounce of strength left in you, you began to write, letting your soul spill out in those last, broken words. Each line held the weight of the love you’d carried, a love too big, too deep, to die even in this place.

You thought back to that very first meeting, back when his voice was a gentle lull that wrapped around you, soothing away years of pain. He had been your only light, your guiding star in a night that had grown so, so dark.

You loved him fiercely, with a loyalty born of survival, a love that had grown in the cracks of your brokenness. And even now, at the end of it all, that love was unbreakable.

"To my love, Joel," you began, words blurring as tears welled up, spilling over the edges of your bruised eyes.

 "I don’t know if you’ll ever see this, but if you do, know that you have been everything to me. You gave me life in a way no one else ever did. For every moment, every touch, every look, I thank you. You loved me with a love I had never known, a love that carried me through this world when I didn’t know how to stand on my own."

You paused, gathering strength, your chest rising in shallow breaths, and continued, letting the words flow with the quiet intensity of a prayer.

"I never blamed you, Joel, not for anything. I know about the things you did, the choices you made. And I want you to know that it's okay—I understand. You were trying to protect me, even if it meant walking through the fire. You did what you had to do to keep me safe, and I could never judge you for that. If anything, I thank you for it. You are my protector, my guardian, my love."

The memory of him, every part of him—the way he’d pull you close, the warmth of his hand on yours, the steady beat of his heart as you lay together in the quiet—flashed through your mind.

"I pray for you, Joel. Every night, every moment I have left, I pray. I pray for your peace, for your strength, that God may keep you safe and lead you out of this darkness. I know I’m not there to hold your hand, but you have my heart, and it’s with you always, no matter what."

You could feel your own heartbeat slowing, your strength fading, but you forced your fingers to keep moving across the paper, etching the last of your soul into each word, a final testament to a love that would outlast even this.

"If you read this now it means I found you. I found you just to tell you that I made it real far, Joel. I never blamed you for loving me the way that you did. And while you were torn apart, I would still wait with you there, no matter the cost."

The weight of your words pressed down on you as you neared the end, each sentence a painful goodbye.

"Don’t think about it too hard, honey. Or you’ll never sleep a wink at night again. Don’t worry about me or these green eyes, baby. Just know that I love you. And I’ll see you when you get here."

A single tear slipped down, leaving a trail on the ink as it dried, forever a mark of the sorrow you’d carried for him, even here, even now.

"I love you forever, Joel," you scrawled at the end, closing the letter as if it were a prayer sealed with your own heart’s blood.

You looked at it for a moment, each word a testament of your devotion, the truest thing you had ever written. And as you pressed it close to your chest, you whispered a quiet vow, hoping he could somehow feel it—wherever he was, wherever you were.

"You’ll always have me with you, Joel. In your heart, in your soul. Every breath you take, I'll always be with you. Don’t ever blame yourself. You were my savior, my love. I forgive you, and I love you. I love you. I will always love you. Always."

"Good night, my love. I'll see you soon."

you whisper as you wrote, voice trembling, as if even the air itself could carry those words to him, beyond the walls of this hell, across the endless miles between you.

It hurts, knowing this letter is a goodbye, your last way of leaving a piece of yourself with him, in case you can’t make it.

You’ve always been afraid of dying, a fear so deeply rooted that it seemed impossible to unearth. But now, lying here, battered and bruised, it isn’t death that scares you—it’s the thought of never seeing him again, of leaving this world without his arms around you one last time.

Your mind drifts back to the memories of him, the warmth of his steady embrace that felt like home, his hands worn yet gentle, holding you with a kind of care you’d never known.

Joel, with his brown eyes that looked at you like you were his whole world, like you were something worth saving, worth loving. His voice echoes in your mind, gravelly and low, calming in a way that made you feel safe no matter how dark the world seemed.

You think of the way he’d call you his "doll," "babygirl," a name that melted the armor around your heart every time.

The pain in your body fades, giving way to a softness as you sink into memories. You can feel the ghost of his touch, his arms wrapped around you, as though his warmth could chase away even this darkness.

His laughter fills your mind, and in its sound, you find a strange peace, a comfort that holds you like his arms once did.

In the silence, you let yourself feel the depth of your love for him, a love so fierce it made you feel like you could rise again, like every wound, every hurt could be forgotten if it meant one more chance to see him.

You think of the nights spent curled beside him, his breathing soft and steady beside you, each rise and fall like a lullaby just for you.

His love was the one beautiful thing in a broken world, a light that shone even now, against all odds.

Your body aches, each breath heavy, but as you let yourself fall deeper into his memory, you feel something like calm. The shadows around you blur, your mind slipping into that in-between place where pain and peace blend.

Joel is still there, in your thoughts, his face the last thing you hold onto as the darkness begins to take you. You feel yourself slipping, surrendering to the pull of exhaustion.

And with that, you let go, letting yourself drift into that soft, you need a sleep for a while, you feel his warmth surround you one last time.

***

Emma stumbled back into her apartment, her hands shaking as she slammed the door shut behind her. Panic thundered in her chest, her breaths coming too fast, her mind racing through everything she’d just seen—your face, your desperate plea, the bruises darkening your skin. She could barely process it all.

“What happened?” Jim’s voice broke through, his brow furrowing as he stepped toward her.

She searched for her phone, fingers clumsy as she threw aside bags, tossed papers, looking. “Jim, I—I found her. I found her,” she whispered, her words barely more than a gasp.

“Who?” Jim asked, reaching out to steady her. “Emma, who did you find?”

“Her, Jim. Get my fucking phone!” she demanded, desperate. She couldn’t stop now—not when she was this close. Jim didn’t ask questions, immediately helping her search through the mess scattered across the counter.

The moment her hand closed around her phone, she pulled up Tommy’s number, dialing so fast her thumb nearly missed the button. The first call went to voicemail, and she cursed under her breath. “Pick up,” she hissed, “please, just pick up…”

On the second ring, Tommy answered. “Emma?”

“Tommy.” Her voice broke, raw with relief and desperation. “I found her. I found her.”

“What? What are you talking about?” Tommy asked, voice thick with confusion. “Is Joel with you?” Emma asked. "No, where is she?"

"She’s in California. You need to get here, now, both of you. She’s… worse, Tommy, she’s in real bad shape. I don't know how long she can make it.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Tommy stammered, trying to catch up. “She’s in California? How the hell did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she snapped, cutting him off. “The man who took her is Negan Smith. Me and Jim are getting his address now. We’re going to look for her, but she told me to tell you—tell Joel she’s waiting. Please, Tommy, don’t waste time, just get your fucking ass here!”

The line went silent, and she held her breath, hoping Tommy could understand the urgency. Finally, he spoke, steady but heavy with something like relief and terror all at once. “We’re coming.”

Tommy clicked off the call, his hands still clenched around the phone, trying to wrap his mind around Emma’s words. California. So far away.

He dialed Joel, only for it to go to voicemail. “Dammit, Joel, where are you?” He tried Frank next, desperate, hoping he’d find him there, but no answer.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Joel paced another faceless motel, this one in Arizona. He felt lost, like he was sinking deeper and deeper into a void where every day took him farther from you.

Each motel, each new face at the reception, each empty hallway echoed with his failure. His whole body ached with the weight of it, the guilt that clawed at his heart every time he looked around and realized you weren’t there.

The reception bell jingled as he approached the counter. He didn’t even know what he was hoping to find anymore—just some scrap, any hint of you he could hold onto.

But then his phone buzzed, and Tommy’s name flashed across the screen. Joel felt his pulse spike, something instinctive telling him this was it, that there was news. He picked up, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Hello?”

“Joel, I know where she is.”

The words struck him like a blow to the chest. His heart plummeted, hope surging painfully against the fear that threatened to choke him. “What? Is she… Is she alive?”

“Yes, Joel,” Tommy’s voice was thick, strained. “Emma found her, she’s in California. She saw her, talked to her. She’s with a man named Negan Smith.”

Negan.

That name seared through him like a brand, snapping everything into painful clarity. Negan. He remembered you talking about him, the creepy guy, the shadow he’d ignored.

Rage bubbled up, fierce and raw, as he cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. For missing it when you’d been right there, telling him about this man.

Without another word, Joel bolted from the lobby and strode across the parking lot, his mind consumed with the drive to reach you, to finally bring you home.

He’d torn the world apart already, but now it felt like nothing would be enough until you were safe, back in his arms.

“Where are you?” Tommy asked, voice taut.

“Arizona. It’s a nine-hour drive to California.” He heard Tommy’s exasperated sigh through the line.

“That’s too long, Joel. You need to get there fast. Emma’s working on getting his address.”

“I’ll book a flight tonight,” Joel replied, his tone fierce, unwavering. “You call the cops, Tommy. I don’t fucking care what you have to do, just get them there. I need to get her.”

He hung up, his pulse hammering as he strode into the night.

Joel drove through the night, his heart pounding in rhythm with the steady hum of the engine. The world outside was a blur of dark shadows and streaked lights, but his mind—his mind was full of you.

Images of you flooded his thoughts: your laughter echoing softly like a melody he’d heard a lifetime ago, the way your eyes lit up when you looked at him, the warmth of your touch, gentle and steady, grounding him like nothing else could.

And now, knowing you were out there, alone, with that monster… the thought tore him apart.

Anger rose like a firestorm within him, burning hot and consuming, and it took every ounce of control not to press down on the accelerator, not to tear through the night faster, harder. He needed to be there now, not hours from now.

Every second felt like an eternity wasted. The image of Negan’s face—the face he’d missed, ignored—came to him, filling him with a fury he didn’t know he was capable of.

The man who’d stolen you, who’d dared to lay a hand on you… Joel’s hands clenched tightly around the wheel, his knuckles white with the force of his grip.

He thought of you and the memories that had kept him going this far: the nights you’d whispered your fears to him, the way you’d leaned into him when things got tough, and that look in your eyes when you told him you loved him.

The love you’d shown him was like light pouring through the cracks in his broken heart, filling him with a warmth he hadn’t felt in years. And he’d failed you—he’d let you slip away into darkness when he should have known, should have seen.

In between the flashes of rage and regret, fear twisted through him like a silent, cold shadow. What if he was too late? The thought clawed at his chest, each passing mile stretching that possibility, and he cursed himself for every second he hadn’t realized the danger.

The thought of seeing you again both terrified and thrilled him—he feared the pain in your eyes, the hurt that would linger, yet he longed to hold you close, to know you were safe and back in his arms where he’d vowed to protect you.

Joel’s mind raced back to that promise he’d made himself—to shield you from harm, to give you the love, all the love you deserves. Now, he’d tear through hell and back for you, for a chance to fulfill it.

The streets stretched on before him, dark and endless, but his heart held one single, unbreakable truth: he would find you, he would take down anyone who stood in his way, and he would bring you back into his world—safe, whole, and loved.

***

Emma's nerves were already frayed as she and Jim pushed through the dim alleys and streets of Los Angeles, searching for any scrap of information on Negan Smith.

The city felt different tonight—empty and strange, almost like it was holding its breath. Los Angeles was supposed to be bustling, noisy, alive. But tonight, everything seemed quiet. Almost too quiet.

Emma gripped the flyer tighter, her eyes tracing over the worn, printed face—the photo of you that Joel’s friend Frank must’ve spread around the city.

Seeing your face printed on thin paper only made it all the more real, and the desperation clawed at her chest. She and Jim decided to split up, covering more ground quickly. Jim went downtown, and she pushed her way into a nearby bar.

The bar was a haze of dim lights and smoke, and Emma moved through it, flashing the flyer to anyone who would look her way. She repeated herself like a prayer, "Have you seen this girl? She’s missing—please, any information."

But most people ignored her or shook their heads. She was about to turn away when a voice broke through the noise.

"I saw her before,"

Emma spun around to find the speaker. A man in his fifties, dressed in a black leather jacket, his hair slicked back, eyes sharp. He gave her a slight, knowing smile, and it sparked something in her—a spark of hope or maybe just a flicker of relief. She approached him quickly, holding up the flyer.

“You’ve seen her?” she asked, her voice trembling.

He nodded, eyes flicking over the flyer with feigned casualness. “Yeah, I saw her working at a strip club downtown.” His voice was gravelly, the sort of voice that had seen a few lifetimes and wasn’t surprised by much.

Emma’s heart jolted at his words. “A strip club? Where? Please, I need to know where she is.”

“Relax,” he said, his voice a slow drawl. He waved a hand, motioning for her to follow. “It’s just a few blocks from here. Just follow me." He turned and began walking, a calm confidence in his stride.

Emma hesitated, glancing around the quiet bar. The shadows felt heavier, deeper, and she forced herself to push down the strange unease that was growing in her.

She had to follow him.

This was the first real lead she’d had. Taking a deep breath, she slipped her phone into her pocket, her hands clenching into fists as she trailed behind him.

They turned down narrow alleys and side streets, the noise of the city seeming to fade with every step. He moved with a steady purpose, leading her farther from the lights and crowds.

She could feel the sweat building on her palms, her pulse quickening as the buildings around them grew taller and more isolated. This didn’t feel right.

She looked over her shoulder once or twice, but there was no one else around. The sense of being followed lingered, like an itch she couldn’t shake.

"Where are we going?” she asked, her voice sharper than she’d intended.

“Just a little farther,” he replied smoothly, barely glancing back. “It’s right up ahead. Just around the corner.”

Emma hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to stop, to turn around, but she pushed the fear aside. She was so close. She couldn’t give up now.

They rounded another corner, and she stopped dead. The alley was empty, an eerie silence pressing in. She took a shaky step back.

“Where’s the club?” she whispered, her voice tight with fear.

The man turned slowly to face her, a small, sinister smile spreading across his face. He took a step forward, the shadows casting his face in sharp, menacing angles.

“You said you're looking for a guy name Negan too right?" "Look, this is your lucky day, sweetheart, I'm Negan."

Emma’s heart dropped as the realization hit her. She took a step back, eyes darting around for any escape route, she's trying to run, before anything else, Negan capture her and bang her head to the wall till she unconscious.

Meanwhile, Jim was scouring the downtown area, his heart pounding as he asked strangers, bartenders, shopkeepers if they’d seen you.

The emptiness of the streets gnawed at him, a chill creeping down his spine as he moved from one place to the next. There was something off about tonight, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He kept glancing around, feeling as if someone was watching him.

He checked his phone, hoping Emma had found something. Nothing. His heart hammered, a sense of dread building with each passing minute. He took a deep breath, shoving down the unease. He had to find you. Emma had to be okay.

Then, as he turned into another side street, something cold and sharp pressed against his back. Jim froze, his stomach dropping as a rough voice whispered into his ear.

“You should have kept out of this.”

And then, in an instant Negan snap his neck, everything went black.

***

A hazy fog clung to your senses as you opened your eyes, your vision flickering, swimming in and out as you tried to grasp onto reality. Pain throbbed in your temples, like distant thunder echoing in your head.

Slowly, the room around you settled into shape, and you took in the familiar darkness, the cold, damp walls of the basement—the place you had been trapped for what felt like forever.

Then, like a sharp, jarring note that shattered the silence, you heard it—a scream. It was high-pitched, frantic, echoing in the room. A woman’s voice, raw with terror, but somehow familiar.

And then Negan’s low, mocking laugh cut through the air, making your heart slam against your chest.

“Wake up, princess,” he drawled, his voice laced with twisted amusement. “Look who I got for you.”

You blinked, forcing the blurriness to subside as you pushed yourself up, still dizzy, still groggy. When your gaze finally focused, a sick, cold dread washed over you.

Tied to one of the basement’s support beams, her hands bound cruelly behind her, her ankles tied together, was Emma.

A dirty cloth gag was tied around her mouth, stifling her desperate pleas, her eyes wide and red-rimmed with terror as she looked at you.

“No, no, no…” you choked out, the word falling from your lips like a shattered promise. Emma—Negan had her.

A wave of nausea twisted in your stomach as you struggled against your own bindings, but they were unyielding. It was all your fault. Emma had come looking for you, and now she was trapped here, in this dark hell.

Negan crouched beside her, a smug, dark glint in his eyes as he watched your horror unfold. “Got you your best friend,” he sneered, his lips pulling back in a twisted smile. “Seems like little Miss Detective here thought she could play hero. Isn’t that cute?”

Your voice cracked as you struggled to find words. “Let her go,” you managed to say, your voice wavering but resolute, despite the terror coursing through your veins. “Please… let her go.”

Negan chuckled, ignoring your plea as he grabbed a fistful of Emma’s hair, yanking her head back so she was forced to look up at him. The cruel grip made her wince, but her gaze flicked to you, desperate, pleading.

It was like a dagger twisting in your chest, knowing that you were helpless to protect her, that she was suffering because of you.

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t get to make demands here,” Negan said, his tone mocking, dripping with venom. He dragged Emma’s head to the side, making sure she could see you, as if enjoying the torment on both your faces.

“This one? She came looking for you. Sniffing around like a lost puppy. Now she gets to stay a while.”

Emma’s gaze locked onto yours, her eyes wild with fear, and in them, you could see all the questions she couldn’t ask aloud, all the pain she was enduring. Tears pricked at your own eyes as guilt crashed over you like a wave, suffocating and cold.

“You… you don’t have to do this,” you pleaded, your voice shaking, but Negan merely chuckled, shaking his head with a look of cruel amusement.

“Oh, but I want to,” he murmured, his hand still tangled in Emma’s hair. His fingers tightened, making her gasp in pain. “She thought she was clever, thought she could outsmart me. So I think it’s only fair she learns the consequences of getting involved in things she doesn’t understand.”

The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in as panic clawed at you. Your heart pounded painfully, and you could feel every beat echoing in your ribs like a warning, a reminder of how fragile this moment was, how everything could break in an instant.

Your mind raced, every thought a frantic, spiraling whirlwind of despair and helplessness. How had it come to this? How had you become so powerless, so trapped, that even trying to save a friend only brought them harm?

You couldn’t breathe. The thought of Negan turning his sadistic focus on Emma was unbearable. She didn’t deserve this—none of it. She’d come to help, risking everything just to find you, and now… now she was here, locked in this nightmare with you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking as you looked up at Negan, hating the vulnerability in your eyes, the tears you couldn’t hold back. “Please… just let her go. She doesn’t deserve this. None of this is her fault.”

Negan laughed softly, a sound that seemed to crawl up the walls, filling every shadowed corner. “Fault?” he echoed mockingly. “Oh, princess, I don’t care about who’s at fault. This isn’t about fairness. It’s about reminding you that you belong to me now. And she’s just the price of your little rebellion.”

You could feel the desperation clawing at you, suffocating, as if your lungs were filling with ice. Every fiber of your being ached to scream, to fight, to do anything to break free and protect Emma, but you were trapped, chained by the twisted, nightmarish rules of this place, this man.

Negan knelt down beside Emma, his hand still gripping her hair as he leaned in close, his voice soft but dripping with malice. “Now, don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll have plenty of time to talk things over with your friend here. It’s going to be a long night.” His smirk widened as he released Emma, standing up and dusting his hands off with mock satisfaction.

Your voice cracked as you begged, desperation spilling out of you like blood from an open wound. “Don’t touch her! Please, Negan, I beg you. I’ll do anything—just please let her go. Please.”

But he only smirked, a twisted, satisfied glint in his eyes. “Oh, now you’re begging? Did you already forget you killed my child?” His voice was venomous, laced with resentment that had simmered far too long.

And then his fist met your stomach with brutal force, and you doubled over, gasping as pain radiated through your body, so sharp and consuming it left you breathless.

Emma’s muffled scream echoed through the darkened basement, desperate and broken as she watched you suffer. She was struggling against her bindings, but there was nothing she could do, no way to stop what was happening.

Negan only laughed, his voice mocking, cruel. “You didn’t think your actions would have consequences, huh?” He punctuated his words with another savage kick, sending a fresh surge of agony through you.

“You… need to be taught a lesson. Acting like a fucking brat,” he sneered, grabbing your hair and yanking your head up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes gleamed with sadistic satisfaction as he added, “You know what happens to those who try to defy me?”

And then he threw you across the room like you were nothing, his rage boiling over as he stormed out, his footsteps echoing up the stairs. You lay there, every nerve in your body alight with pain, each breath a struggle.

But as soon as the door closed, you forced yourself to move, to drag your broken, battered body across the floor to Emma. You could hear her desperate, panicked breaths as you reached her and pulled the cloth from her mouth.

“Oh my god, oh my god…” Emma whispered, her voice shaking as she looked at you, eyes wide and glistening with tears. “We need to get out of here. Grab my phone. Call Tommy, now!”

With trembling hands, you grabbed her phone from her pocket, your heart racing as you dialed. Every second felt like a lifetime, each beat of your heart thundering louder in your ears.

And then, as the call began to connect, your breath hitched—a new call was coming in. An unknown number.

You answered without thinking, and your heart nearly stopped at the sound on the other end. That voice, the voice you’d dreamt of, longed for. A voice you had feared you’d never hear again.

“Emma? It’s Joel. Where are you? I’m heading to California tonight, I—”

“Joel.” Your voice broke as you whispered his name, and on the other end, he fell silent.

Time itself seemed to stop as Joel processed the sound of your voice. For so long, he had feared this moment, had dreaded that he’d never hear you again, never have the chance to hold you, protect you.

And now, hearing your voice—shaken, scared, but alive—struck him to his core. You were his heart, his soul, the person he’d die for without a second thought. Every ounce of guilt, every sleepless night, every sacrifice was for you.

“Doll,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Doll, where are you?”

Tears poured down your face as you choked out, “Joel, please, please… come now. I need you, Joel. Please, I need you.” Your words were desperate, trembling, but somehow, they made him feel stronger, more determined. He couldn’t lose you—not now, not ever.

“Baby,” Joel’s voice softened, his own panic barely masked as he struggled to stay calm for you. “Tell me, where are you? Do you know?”

“He got Emma,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “He has us both, Joel, please… he’s hurting her, he’s… Joel, I need you.”

His voice was tender but firm, a quiet strength weaving through each word as he spoke. “I’m coming to save you, darlin’. I won’t let anything happen to you, I swear it. I’ll never let you go again. Just… just hang on for me, alright? Stay strong, baby. You’re gonna be okay. I promise you, I’ll save you.”

You could hear the worry threading his voice, but his words wrapped around you, a fragile shield against the darkness that threatened to consume you.

“I’m scared, Joel,” you sobbed, unable to hold back the fear anymore, the terror clawing its way up your throat. “I’m so scared.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispered, voice breaking slightly as he struggled to hold it together. “But you’re strong, remember? You’re stronger than anyone I know. Just hold on, okay? I’ll be there before you know it. Don’t be afraid. I love you, baby. Just… hold on for me.”

You clutched the phone, drawing strength from his words, the promise of his love steadying you. You closed your eyes, holding onto his voice like a lifeline, but then—Negan’s footsteps thundered back down the stairs.

Before you could react, he wrenched the phone from your hand, tearing Joel’s voice from your ear.

“NO!” you screamed, reaching out, but Negan shoved you back with a cruel laugh, bringing the phone to his ear.

“Well, well, well… look who it is.” His voice was dripping with malice, savoring every second. Joel’s voice, faint but seething with fury, crackled through the line. “I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill you, you bastard. You lay a hand on her, and I swear—”

Negan grinned, his eyes glinting with dark satisfaction. “Oh, you’ve got a mouth on you. I’ll be sure to let her know how much you care, right before I break her. You’re too late, Miller.”

Negan’s laugh echoed through the dimly lit basement, twisting around you like thick smoke, suffocating and inescapable. He tossed Emma's phone onto the floor with a careless flick, then turned his gaze to you, eyes gleaming with a sick thrill as he dragged you closer, his grip merciless.

Fist after brutal fist connected with your ribs, your cheek, your stomach, each strike dulling your senses as you felt yourself sinking into a haze of pain, your breaths shallow and gasping.

Emma’s voice cracked through the brutality, a desperate, pleading cry. “No! Stop it! Stop it!” Her words barely seemed to reach him, her voice like a whisper lost in a hurricane as he continued to beat you, his face contorted with a twisted, frustrated rage.

“Can you just stop disobeying me, for god’s sake?” Negan’s voice was vicious, laced with a fury that seemed to have no end. “You were so fucking good this year!”

You could barely hold yourself upright as he finally threw you back, the cold, hard floor against your bruised skin like ice on a burn.

You crawled toward Emma, each movement a struggle, forcing yourself to meet her terrified eyes as you tried to breathe through the pain. Negan’s voice brought you both back to the nightmare at hand.

“Oh, I kept this for a long time, as souvenir when I found them,” he drawled, hauling a large, worn burlap sack into view, his eyes dancing with a twisted delight.

“Wanted to show you something. You might recognize them… thought they looked good in my freezer.”

Your body tensed, dread crawling up your spine as he reached into the sack, the slow, sick satisfaction on his face a silent promise of horror.

He pulled something out, the shape grotesque and heavy, and when he turned to show you, the sight struck you like lightning.

In his right hand dangled Pastor Ben’s head, eyes frozen in a lifeless, glassy stare, his mouth twisted into a grotesque half-scream. And in his left, Jamie’s head, his delicate features now haunting, locked in an expression of terror.

Blood, dark and coagulated, clung to their severed necks like rust, framing their faces in a sick parody of halos.

“Say hello to your little friends!” Negan taunted, waving the heads before you with a triumphant smirk.

You felt bile rise in your throat, the world spinning around you as nausea crashed over you in waves.

Emma’s scream shattered the silence, a piercing, helpless cry, and her eyes were wide with pure horror, her skin pale as she trembled beside you.

Negan grinned, savoring your reactions as if they were the finest applause. “I took their heads! Isn’t it lovely?” He leaned in closer, eyes boring into yours. “This is what you’ll end up as if you don’t learn to obey.”

His words cut through the haze, sharp and venomous, and you felt a surge of disgust, a sick revulsion that clawed at your insides. You barely had time to process it before Negan’s gaze shifted to you, a dark smirk twisting his lips.

“Oh, and sweetheart… how was the meat?”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. No. No, it can’t be. Panic flared in your mind, snapping puzzle pieces together in a grotesque image you couldn’t bear to look at, and yet it was inescapable.

Every bite you’d taken, every piece of flesh that had crossed your lips—all of it now made sense in the most horrifying way.

Negan chuckled, watching the dawning horror spread across your face. “Oh, please, don’t look so shocked. The meat wasn’t them.” He smirked. “They were from some other girls… from Chicago, West Virginia. They tasted good, right?”

Emma’s face turned green as she doubled over, retching. You felt yourself recoil, the taste of bile in your mouth as every meal, every bite you’d ever taken under Negan’s watch replayed in your mind with sickening clarity.

The horror of it seeped into your bones, an all-consuming violation that made your skin crawl, like you could never be clean again.

“You’re… you’re sick,” you managed, voice trembling with disgust as you glared at him, the fury in your eyes a tiny flicker of defiance. “YOU ARE FUCKING SICK!"

Negan’s laugh filled the air, his amusement bright and mocking. “Oh, come on now—is that any way to speak to the man who’s fed you so well? You liked it, didn’t you?” His eyes glittered with a dark, twisted joy as he leaned closer, his voice a low, mocking whisper. “Every bite. You loved it.”

Your skin crawled, your mind reeling as you tried to comprehend the depth of his depravity. He was more than a monster—he was something far darker, something that defied words, something that preyed on the most innocent parts of you, staining them with his cruelty.

The basement had never felt darker. It swallowed you both, thick with the scent of rust and damp cement, as if the room itself was bleeding along with you.

Every word that left Negan’s mouth was poison, each syllable seeping into your skin, weighing down on you like the very air around you was suffocating, pressing you down with an invisible force that you couldn’t escape.

His laughter was hollow and sharp, echoing through the space like broken glass—each jagged shard settling into your bones.

Then, you felt something brush against your fingers: small, cool, metal. Emma’s trembling hand nudged a pair of scissors into yours. You didn’t know how she had managed to get hold of them, her hands bound and body weakened, but the feel of it, sharp and hidden between the two of you.

She was guiding them into your hand as Negan continued, his voice oily with satisfaction, oblivious.

His monologue washed over you like filth, each word sinking deeper into your mind, tainting you with his delusions. He was recounting the first time he had seen you, the twisted way he had painted your innocence into something dark and sick, a figure molded just for him.

 “When I saw you on that porch,” he whispered, his voice dropping lower, almost tender, “I knew you’d be the one to take care of me, in ways you didn’t even know you could…”

"I'll kill them all just for you, your parents, I was the one who saved you, not Joel fucking miller!"

The cold edge of the scissors grounded you, your grip tightening around them as you worked to free Emma’s wrists. She remained silent, her eyes locked on his, fear mingling with a fragile resolve as you both waited, breaths quiet, slow.

Negan’s smile widened, his eyes narrowing as he continued, his words punctuated by a grotesque sincerity. “We could start a family, sweetheart. I could give you a chance.” He leaned in, his voice now almost a whisper. “A daughter, maybe. She could take care of me… when you’re gone.”

Your stomach lurched, bile rising as his sick fantasy unveiled itself. Emma’s eyes met yours, wide and pleading, her lips forming the barest of a silent Now.

With a surge of adrenaline, you both lunged. Emma’s hands flew to his shoulders, pinning him with all the strength she could muster. Your arms were shaking, but you held the scissors steady and drove them toward his chest—but he twisted, and the blade sunk deep into his hand instead.

"FUCKKK" Negan howled, a guttural sound, and shoved you both off with a violent rage. Emma crashed against the wall with a sickening thud, and you were thrown to the cold floor, the wind knocked out of you. You struggled to sit up, gasping, as Negan looked at his bleeding hand with a snarl of disbelief.

“You… bitch!” he screamed, fury twisting his face into something inhuman, his eyes burning with hate as he yanked the scissors from his flesh, blood dripping thickly to the floor.

He stalked toward you, his face a mask of unbridled rage. He grabbed you by the hair, hauling you up, and slammed your head against the wall, once, twice—each impact sending a sickening jolt through your skull, blurring your vision as spots danced in the dim light.

His words were coming in snarls, disjointed and raw with anger. “I’m fucking done with this! You wanna learn the hard way? I'll fucking show you the hard way so you’ll fucking learn.”

He threw you to the ground, your body limp and battered, as he turned to Emma, the cruelty in his gaze sharpening. She tried to crawl back, gasping, but his hand wrapped around her throat, lifting her off the ground with a terrifying ease.

You pushed yourself up, weak and dizzy, desperation clawing at your chest as you reached for him. “No! Let her go!”

He only laughed, his grip tightening around Emma’s neck as her face turned red, her mouth gasping soundlessly. He looked into her eyes with sick satisfaction, a mockery of tenderness as he whispered, “Any last words, brat?”

Through her labored breaths, her gaze defiant, Emma spat out her final words. “Go to hell.”

In a swift, brutal motion, Negan drove the blade into her chest. The world shattered around you, your scream tearing through the air as you watched the life drain from her eyes, her face contorting in pain before stillness claimed her.

"EMMA!"

It felt as if your very soul had been ripped out, leaving you hollow, raw, a vessel of pure agony.

You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, as you stared at Emma’s lifeless form, her body crumpled on the floor. Every part of you screamed, your insides twisting as though poisoned, the horror and grief coursing through you like venom.

The shadows around you seemed to stretch, swallowing you in their merciless embrace, as though the darkness itself was feeding off the horror.

Negan turned to you, his eyes dark, gleaming with a satisfaction that was worse than any nightmare. “See what happens when you disobey?” he sneered, his words twisting into the broken pieces of your mind.

You didn’t feel human anymore, nothing but a body suspended in suffering, consumed by terror and grief. Emma’s last breath echoed in your mind, a sound that would haunt you forever.

This was a hell you could never have imagined. And you were trapped, completely and utterly, with no light left to guide you out.

The tears streamed down your face, hot and relentless, each sob tearing at your throat like jagged glass. It was your fault—Emma was dead because of you.

The weight of guilt settled heavily on your chest, crushing the air from your lungs. You curled in on yourself, the reality of her lifeless body lodged in your mind, echoing endlessly, a reminder of your failure to protect her.

“I will kill you,” you rasped, your voice breaking as you glared at Negan. He still held Emma by her neck, her body dangling lifelessly, an object of his amusement.

He stepped closer, a wicked grin spreading across his face, mocking you with every slow movement.

“What did you say?” he taunted, his voice a sickly sweet whisper as he leaned in, pretending to strain to hear your words.

“I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!” you screamed, the sound raw and desperate, echoing off the cold walls. His laughter was a dark melody, wrapping around you like a noose.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he chuckled, his tone dripping with condescension, “you’re not brave enough for that. Just a scared little girl, always waiting for someone to save you.” He tilted his head, eyes glinting with malice.

“See you had so many chances to fight back, to break free, but you never did, did you? You’re just a kid—a broken one. Nobody wants you, nobody loves you. Nobody but me.”

His words sliced through you, a cruel reminder of your isolation, your vulnerability. He leaned in closer, the stench of his twisted satisfaction wrapping around you like smoke, suffocating.

“You think your precious Joel will save you? I’ll kill him before you even know it.”

A wave of rage surged through you, boiling over as you shouted,“Just kill me, Negan! Just fucking kill me!”

He advanced, a grotesque puppeteer, toying with the strings of your desperation. Emma’s body dangled from his grip, lifeless and haunting, a cruel reminder of what he could take from you.

The image of her crushed spirit seeped into your heart, and you felt your resolve waver.

“There’s no fun in that, is there?” Negan mused, glancing at Emma’s still form.

“Why would I want to end it quickly when I can keep you around? Besides…” His voice dipped lower, darkly playful. “You’re already dead, aren’t you?”

"You're dead inside."

The words wrapped around you, twisting like barbed wire, leaving you gasping for breath. He crushed a piece of paper beneath his boot, then picked it up, chuckling as he read.

“Oh, look what we have here,” he said, eyes sparkling with sadistic joy. “It’s your letter to Joel. A goodbye letter. How sweet. So you’ve been preparing, huh?”

He tucked the crumpled paper into his pocket, an act so cruelly casual it made your skin crawl. “I assure you, you will never see him again.”

"Now, excuse me miss, I got a dinner to prepare," he said then walking away with Emma's body.

“YOU’RE A FUCKING COWARD, NEGAN! WHY DON’T YOU JUST KILL ME? FUCKING KILL ME YOU FUCKING COWARD!” you screamed, fury boiling over. But he simply ignored you, his grin never faltering.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he turned and shut the basement door behind him, sealing you in darkness. The finality of it sent a chill through your veins, a cold that seeped into your bones.

You were left alone with the grotesque trophies of his madness—Ben and Jamie’s heads, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at you, accusing you, mocking you.

The basement felt like a tomb, the air thick and suffocating, heavy with despair. You curled up on the cold floor, the dampness seeping into your skin, a reminder of the hopelessness that surrounded you.

Your mind spiraled, trapped in a whirlpool of horror and grief, each thought crashing against the next until you were drowning in your own anguish.

The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded. You pressed your palms against your ears, trying to block out the memories of Emma’s screams, of Negan’s taunts, but it was no use.

They echoed in the recesses of your mind, a relentless reminder of your powerlessness.

You felt hollowed out, like a shell abandoned on the shore, waiting for the tide to reclaim you. The darkness around you was alive, pulsing with the shadows of what could have been—what should have been.

Hope was a fragile thing, and in this hell, it felt like a distant memory, a whisper that barely reached you.

But as despair threatened to consume you whole, a flicker of defiance ignited within. If you were still breathing, still alive, there was a chance—a chance to escape this nightmare, a chance to honor Emma’s memory.

You wouldn’t let Negan win.

You pressed your back against the cold wall, forcing yourself to breathe, to think. There had to be a way out of this hell. You had to find the strength to fight back.

Emma wouldn’t want you to give in, to let the darkness swallow you whole. You would find a way, no matter what it took.

And with that thought, you began to plot your escape, feeling the embers of resolve ignite within the abyss of your despair.

***

The hum of the airport was a chaotic symphony of voices and footsteps, but all Joel could hear was the steady thrum of his own heartbeat, echoing like a war drum in his ears. He had just landed at LAX, adrenaline surging through his veins, a desperate urgency propelling him forward. He fumbled for his phone, his fingers shaking as he dialed Tommy's number, praying for the answers he so desperately needed.

“Tommy, I need Emma's address now!” Joel's voice was a low growl, laced with anxiety.

“What? Are you in California now?” Tommy’s voice crackled through the line, confusion apparent.

"He's got Emma too, Tommy. I--I spoke to her. I fucking spoke to her, I--I need to save her, I got no fucking time, I have to be quick," Tommy can hear Joel's voice trembling as he mentioned you.

Tommy then spelled out Emma's address, "Okay, I'll look to her place first. Have you told the cops?" Joel asked Tommy.

"I did, but Joel if they--" before Tommy can answer Joe cut him off, "I don't give a shit, Tommy, just fucking get them here to back me up"

Without waiting for a response, Joel hung up, his mind racing faster than his feet as he rushed to catch a taxi, the city blurring around him in a haze of panic and dread.

When he finally reaches her apartment, he bounds up the stairs, knocking hard on the door. Nothing. Not a sound. He knocks again, harder this time, his fist meeting the wood with mounting fury.

He can feel it, that something terrible, lingering in the stillness like the silence itself is holding its breath. Another knock, louder—and at last, a door down the hall creaks open, and a middle-aged woman peers out.

“Are you looking for the Parksons?” she asks, eyeing him with concern.

Joel’s voice is a rasp. “Yes. They’re not answering.”

“Oh, I’m the landlord. Sometimes, those two… newlyweds, you know,” she says with a weak smile, her tone teetering between nervousness and sympathy.

“Can you open the door for me?” His voice cracks with urgency. “I’m Emma's uncle. I need to see her.”

Reluctantly, she nods, fumbling with her keys as she reaches the door. But as she turns the lock, Joel catches a sickly, metallic odor seeping out. The unmistakable stench of blood. His stomach clenches, but he swallows hard, steeling himself.

The door swings open, and the sight waiting within is a nightmare come to life. The room is in complete disarray, shattered glass and scattered furniture telling of a struggle that couldn’t have gone quietly.

And to the horror.

Jim stands—or rather, he’s been arranged to stand, stripped of flesh, skin turned into a macabre canvas, his body held upright on a broom handle speared through him from his base to his throat. He’s frozen in a ghastly semblance of life, his hollow eye sockets staring blankly ahead, his mouth agape, still stretched around a piece of paper lodged between his teeth. Blood pools beneath him, glistening under the dim light, each drop a fresh echo of brutality.

The landlord lets out a piercing scream, stumbling back in horror, and Joel, teeth clenched and trembling, growls, “Call the fucking cops.”

The woman ran back to her apartment to call the cops, Joel’s jaw tightens, his expression hard as iron. This is no crime of passion, no ordinary act of violence. This is a message.

He steps forward, tearing his gaze from Jim’s body only to focus on the note lodged in his mouth. He reaches up, his fingers brushing the edge of the paper. His heart is racing, each beat a heavy thud echoing through his chest. He’s seen violence. He’s waded through blood and death and destruction, but this… this is personal, a wound carved directly into his soul.

With a deep breath, he pulls the note free, his eyes darting across the letters scrawled in familiar handwriting. 

Your handwriting.

"To my love, Joel,  I don’t know if you’ll ever see this, but if you do, know that you have been everything to me. You gave me life in a way no one else ever did. For every moment, every touch, every look, I thank you. You loved me with a love I had never known, a love that carried me through this world when I didn’t know how to stand on my own. I never blamed you, Joel, not for anything. I know about the things you did, the choices you made. And I want you to know that it's okay—I understand. You were trying to protect me, even if it meant walking through the fire. You did what you had to do to keep me safe, and I could never judge you for that. If anything, I thank you for it. You are my protector, my guardian, my love. I pray for you, Joel. Every night, every moment I have left, I pray. I pray for your peace, for your strength, that God may keep you safe and lead you out of this darkness. I know I’m not there to hold your hand, but you have my heart, and it’s with you always, no matter what. If you read this now it means I found you. I found you just to tell you that I made it real far, Joel. I never blamed you for loving me the way that you did. And while you were torn apart, I would still wait with you there, no matter the cost. Don’t think about it too hard, honey. Or you’ll never sleep a wink at night again. Don’t worry about me or these green eyes, baby. Just know that I love you. And I’ll see you when you get here. I love you forever, Joel You’ll always have me with you, Joel. In your heart, in your soul. Every breath you take, I'll always be with you. Don’t ever blame yourself. You were my savior, my love. I forgive you, and I love you. I love you. I will always love you. Always. Good night, my love. I'll see you soon."

The words blur in his vision, his fingers trembling as he clutches the note. It’s like a knife twisting in his chest, the blade digging deeper with each word, carving into his mind, into his heart.

No, it can't be, no, you can't be gone, no.

“No…” he mutters, his voice strangled. “No, no, no…” 

He feels his stomach drop, the words blurring as his heart races, his chest burning with every shaky breath. Rage, heartbreak, a helpless desperation—it all crashes down on him, layer by suffocating layer, the letter slipping from his hands as he chokes out

"NO! NO! NO!"

His roar echoes through the room, rattling through his entire body, as if he’s trying to break open some hidden door to whatever darkness holds you now. The weight of loss is unbearable. You are gone—or so he thinks.

Then, in the stillness, his eyes catch something else. A second note, hastily pinned to the wall. The writing is hurried, yet taunting, every stroke sharp, every word a threat.

If you want her body, come to this address. P.S. Negan xoxo.

Joel’s fists tighten, rage flooding through his veins, cold and unyielding. He knows it’s a trap, knows Negan is luring him in like a lamb to slaughter.

But he doesn’t care. Because if there’s a chance—even the smallest, faintest chance—you’re alive, he will take it. He will hunt Negan to the ends of the earth.

His pulse pounds in his ears, driven not by fear, but by a brutal, vengeful need that has now taken the place of hope.

In his mind, he sees flashes of all he’s lost, the faces of everyone he’s ever failed. This time, he won’t let go. He can’t.

This isn’t just about vengeance; it’s survival—the survival of what little humanity he has left, and you, the last spark of it he’ll ever know. And if that spark is gone?

Then he’ll burn the world with Negan’s ashes.

[cornyonmains]

Decided to read the novel for My Stand In, which is titled Professional Body Double. I'm a little disappointed with some of the changes the show made. Needless to say, novel spoilers ahead, though I won't touch on anything that hasn't happened in the show, as I'm only halfway through the book. Anyways, on to my first beef with the show.

One of the most informative aspects of Joe's character was changed. In the novel, Joe had also never been on bottom before, but that wasn't because he was holding out for someone special. At the beginning of the novel Joe is fielding offers for threesomes, the guy's been around the block and doesn't have a huge attachment to his virginity. Joe's character never bottomed because he'd quite simply never gotten the offer thanks to his more masculine looks. What makes this even more depressing is you find out that he thought it might have been his preference in the first place, but Joe being Joe, advocated about as well for himself during sex as he did anything else.

I think it was unwise to switch things up the way they did, because it really does explain a lot about why Joe was willing to suffer so many indignities to be with Ming. Joe asked for very little from the people in his life and didn't get it. Joe never really stood a chance when Ming came along and started giving him what he wanted.

Another thing I thought it was a shame the show didn't highlight is that in the novel, there's a fairly considerable age gap between Joe and Ming. Ming is 20 and Joe is 30. This actually offered a lot of explanation as to why Joe ignored a lot of Ming's red flags. He didn't ignore them, he just chalked a lot of it up to Ming being young and spoiled. But that's not to say the novel lets Joe off the hook.

Joe was, and I truly do lack a better word to describe this, completely servile to Ming. In the novels he waited on him hand and foot, created no real sexual boundaries with him, and preferred placating Ming's temper over challenging it. He was willing to meet any conditions for them to be together.

Ming's character progression is something I wish the show could have found a way to depict. Because during this time, Ming's development wasn't stagnant. What Joe had right, to an extent, was that Ming was young and still learning how to process his feelings. Towards the end of their first relationship, Ming had managed, for the most part, to regard Joe as completely distinct from Tong, and not just as a replacement. It's heavily implied he was in love with Joe, but just didn't know how to process these realizations that kept coming to him in piecemeal.

Ming liked the happy and relaxed environment he had with Joe in his condo, he was convinced nobody would ever be as sexually compatible with him as Joe, and he'd actually wanted to support him the first time Joe came home completely exhausted from set, but didn't say anything about it until he fucked up. Ming, who ran away to America as soon as he realized he was gay, did what Ming always did, he was quietly processing things, and was too young and stupid to give Joe a clue. He took for granted that Joe would be, in HIS words, obedient and docile.

The author of this, Shui Qian Qeng, is so good at writing gay toxicity it's stupid. It made me wonder if they're part of the community, but we don't speculate in this house, it's just a passing thought I had due to how nuanced the depiction of sexual confusion in this book is, particularly with Sol's character. Sexual confusion in BL tends to play very formulaically on screen. Existential crisis, a few heartfelt conversations, one cursed episode, a kiss at the end of the season, and everyone lives happily ever after. In the novel, Sol struggles for years, and is still processing his sexuality in an unhealthy way because the 'I'm straight, but only gay for this one guy in particular' trope so often used in BL is used in this novel, but to convey denial and sexual struggle. Upon Joe's death, Sol is still saying he's straight, but that Joe's the exception. This is treated with much deserved skepticism. Shui Qian Qeng, as a queer person who knows you're not reading this, bless you for that. I so desperately wish Sol's story would have been better adapted for the show.

To wrap things up on a lighter note, I also found out by reading this novel that tops and bottoms are referred to as ones and zeros in China. And my sheltered Midwestern ass was like, "Well that's rude." because one of them was a zero. Then I was like, "Well why would someone refer to themselves as a zero? That's not healthy." Then I started thinking about what the numbers looked like, 0 and 1, and was like, "Oh." It was an emotional rollercoaster.