#certain times of day trigger me into wanting to do them more

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can’t stop thinking the tall horror men of homicipher. I’m like 5ft something, so I know damn well these men tower over me…am I discovering something? Maybe 👀👀👀but I know I ain’t alone. TRUE STORY: Also there was this guy that came into my place of work moths ago with his family and he was TALL, bending down to get through the doorframe TALL but he was lovely.

So how do I imagine these boy would react if they see that you’re clearly ogling them for how tall they were.

Mr crawling

Given the fact that you’ve only seen him stand once, it was enough to have your jaw dropping to the floor. He was taller than the fucking doorway that he had to manoeuvre himself under it, and suddenly you’ve forgotten that you were being kidnapped by Mr Stitch, too intrigued by his height and now understanding why he had lied to you about his ability to stand.

He thought he would scare you but in fact made you feel the complete opposite, you loved how tall he was and you couldn’t get it out of your head, even when he’s back on his hands and knees to comfort you. The illusion had worn off and now you wanted to see him tall all the time, but you didn’t want to pressure him into doing so unless he felt comfortable.

‘You’re tall, really tall.’ You said in awe as Mr crawling coddled you against his chest.

‘Scared?’ He asked as though he was fearing your answer, which broke your heart as you nuzzled your face against his shoulder in an attempt of comfort.

‘No, handsome.’ You replied as Mr Crawling made chirps and purrs of happiness as he held you closer to him.

While he’s still not fond on standing to his full height, the fear of his intimating stature would chase you away one day embedded in his heavily, he would find some comfort in knowing that you loved his tall stature and love you even more for not forcing him to do something he clearly was uncomfortable with; preferring to shower him in kisses and remind him that whether he’s standing or on his hands and knees you loved him regardless.

Mr silvair

The man can feel your eyes on his back constantly. He knows he’s taller than most but the way you looked and admired his full height like you wouldn’t be able to anymore.

He wonders whether this was something only you seemed to have or whether other humans also felt possessed by the need to gawk at people above a certain height. Or was it just you that has this particular expression upon seeing his tall stature in general.

He would take notes of how his height seemingly did something to you that then triggered a chemical reaction within your brain to make you find his height appealing and possibly a requirement in finding your perfect romantic partner.

Or more specifically people of similar height to Mr Silvair himself or anyone close enough to his height to qualify. Mr Silvair soon deduced that you liked the domineering presence of someone much bigger than you, someone who’s able to drag you wherever as though you were nothing but weightless to them, almost like a ragdoll.

He’d soon find that this is in most cases considered a kink amongst you humans who found the height difference between partner rather erotic.

Mr Scarletella

Finds your content ogling of him flattering and thinks that it means that you were finally, finally reciprocating his obsession with you for your own obsession with him.

He’s another one who takes note of how you like how tall he is in comparison to you, always looking at him whenever he was entering the room, eyes widening when you see him having to bed down to get through the doorway, and your eyes never leave him even as he’s walking towards you; seemingly getting taller with each step until he’s in front of you and you’re looking at him in awe and hitched breath.

He’s obsessed with your expression each and every time and uses his height to his advantage. Such as doing things like putting his hand above your head and on the wall, looking down at you with those obsessive eyes of his as his smile seemed to widen upon hearing your breath hitch and eyes widen once more.

His height continued to elicit a reaction out of you that Mr Scarletella loved and adored and wanted to see more of in the future.

Mr Hood

Finds your constant ogling of his height interesting.

He didn’t know why you were so surprised he’s this tall, he’s been with you this entire time and it was only recently did your mind seemed to inform you of your Incredibly stark height difference, and bam! Suddenly he’s the subject of your constant staring and ogling as though it would be the last thing you did.

It was humorous to say the least and will earn you some head pats and cheek caresses that has you leaning towards his comforting and gentle touches.

It wasn’t something that you hide from him as half of the time you didn’t realise you were doing it until Mr Hood pointed it out with curiosity, meanwhile your left flustered as your mind held certain thoughts towards his legs, thighs and large hands.

Poor Mr Hood, he understood to some extent but after a certain point it’s better to explain to him that you find his height rather appealing to you in more ways than one.

[turtletaubwrites]

Numbers Game ~ Chapter 35

Lady Luck by My Side

Pairings: Cross Guild Polycule x Shanks x Fem!Reader x ???

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 10.2k+

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Chapter Tunes: Luck Be a Lady (Dezio Rezio) ~ The Atomic Beat Ranchers | Feel So Numb ~ Rob Zombie

Summary: Buggy deals with your heavy words, while Crocodile and Mihawk fight for you in their own, desperate ways. You are making the best of your situation, and if you could avoid your uncle's wicked words, you might even end up enjoying yourself. If you're lucky, of course.

Ch. 34 Recap: I've decided to put the recap directly below the cut in case anyone sees this post before getting to the last chapter. It's a bit more detailed than usual, and I vehemently detest spoilers. I refuse to watch trailers for movies I plan to watch 😂 I don't even like writing summaries, so I keep them vague. Hope you don't mind!

Author's Note: I have missed y'all so very much, I can't begin to describe 😭💜 I won't get into my disappearing act here, but I'll share some details below the chapter if you're interested, and I'll probably make a life update post about it later. Now that I finally have the time, energy, and health, to write again, I just want to write Numbers Game!

Dark Content Warning: Dark Content is bracketed with ~~~⚫️⚫️⚫️~~~ and summaries are bracketed with ~⚫️~SUMMARY~⚫️~ directly below the scenes, so that you won’t miss the story if you need to not be in the BIG FEELS of the scenes. Please take care of yourself, you are not alone! 💜

~ 1st ⚫ ~ PLEASE DO NOT READ this section if severe mental illness, episodes, treatment, or neglect could be triggering for you.

~ 2nd ⚫ ~ PLEASE DO NOT READ this section if mental illness treatment, doctors, or panic attacks, might be triggering for you.

Also, I hope everyone remembers the tag/warning: Cross Guild Boys are VILLAINS. It’s been there since day one, so 🤷‍♀️

Alternate POV Symbols:

�� ~ Reader | 🐊 ~ Crocodile | 🗡 ~ Mihawk | 🤡 ~ Buggy | 🔴 ~ Shanks | ⏰ ~ Flashbacks for listed POV | ⚫ ~ Scenes depicting Dark Content as listed in Author's Notes

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic currently contains spoilers for up to chapter 1064 or episode 1093. As we get further into Egghead Arc where our lovely boys are showing up more, there will be more spoilers as time goes on. Sorry y'all, I'm trying to keep most spoilers small details, but Cross Guild is endgame, lol.

Rating/Warnings: Author May Choose to Exclude some Warnings to Avoid Spoilers for Certain Chapters, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Use of Y/N, Dark Content, Blood & Violence, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Mental Illness, Grief, Hospitals, Doctors, Mental Health Treatment, Toxic Family, Childhood Trauma, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Guilt, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Relationship Drama, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Uncle Cedrick Has Become His Own Warning, Death of an Unnamed Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

Chapter 34 Recap: You struggled with your varied feelings for the hunters that fought for the chance to be your owner, surprised that you didn't hate them all. You discovered that Fukaboshi was a truly good man who knew that you'd be sending him away soon, and that Katakuri was far sweeter than he looked.

Mihawk discovered that his little rabbit's plight was being broadcast beyond the Oak Roots Estate, and his rage made him dirty his blade.

Former member's of Baroque Works, Zala and Marianne, reported back from Dr. Vorsan's asylum. Buggy fought against it at first, but Crocodile begged to watch the encrypted recordings they had found so that he could help his sweet girl. He saw her at fifteen years old, being restrained and drugged in that asylum after her father passed, and he demanded to see the next recording.

You lied to your sister about your feelings toward the Cross Guild, telling her that they were monsters, and you never wanted to see them again. You wanted to make her happy, so you'd keep up your smile, just like you had for your dad when you were little. You would pretend for her.

Chapter 35 ~ Lady Luck by My Side

~~~🐊🐊🐊~~~

Had it been hours? Years since he’d started watching? 

There was nothing but the tears in her eyes, nothing but the futile sobs he could do nothing to stop. 

‘Let me see my sister!’

‘Sweetie, you’re not ready yet. You need to get well first.’

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

‘I’m not sick, mom,’ his sweet girl begged, strapped to a table while her mother stood too far back to comfort her. ‘Just let me see Kitty, please. I need to see her. ‘

‘You need to focus on getting better,’ Delaine’s voice shifted, expertly condescending with a loving tone. 

Crocodile did not fucking like this woman. 

‘Sweetie, do you remember what happened? Do you remember what you did,’ Delaine prodded. Y/N’s face crumpled, sobbing while her worthless mother stood in silence.

‘It was an accident,” the fifteen-year-old girl pleaded while she struggled against her restraints.

‘I found you with that snail, Y/N, and I’m certain you would have killed the poor thing if I hadn’t found you when I did,’ Delaine scolded. Crocodile was going to gut this bitch for making her daughter cry like this. ‘I’m just grateful that it was me, I can’t imagine how your... It’s not your fault, of course. Arbo was always selfish, and now he’s made you sick. I’m sorry, honey, but it’s just not safe for Kathryn to be around you until you get well.’

‘Please, mom. Please listen to me,’ she whimpered, her body going weak, trembling. 

‘Just listen to the doctor, alright? I know you don’t want to hurt anyone, but you’re sick, honey. You need to— ‘

‘I need you to fucking LISTEN!’

Delaine froze for a moment before turning away, heading toward the door. She walked closer to the cam-snail on her way out, and her eyes looked way too fucking dry. 

Crocodile’s rage-filled thoughts were swept away by that young girl’s screams. 

‘Mom, please, don’t leave me! Don’t let them— ‘

~~~⚫️⚫️⚫️~~~

~~~

~⚫️~SUMMARY~⚫️~

The scene above is from Crocodile’s POV while he watched a recording of the reader in the asylum when she was fifteen. 

Her mother, Delaine, was present, and the reader stated that she wasn’t sick, and begged to see her little sister. 

Delaine replied that it wasn’t safe for Kathryn to see her until she was well again and asked if the reader recalled what she did to the snail. The reader said that it was an accident, and asked Delaine to listen. 

Delaine stated that she thought the reader would have killed the snail if Delaine hadn’t found her in time, and blamed Arbo’s selfishness for making the reader sick. She denied the reader's request again. 

The reader yelled for her mother to listen, however, Delaine walked out, and Crocodile felt rage for how dry her eyes were. The reader screamed for her mother not to leave her, not to let them– (the last line cut off).

~⚫️~SUMMARY~⚫️~

~~~

Y/N’s cries were cut short, the image of her teary face going blurry before the transmission cut out completely. 

Crocodile had already destroyed all the furniture, so he crawled through the debris toward the smaller snail, answering the call before he had time to make it. 

“Sir— “

“Finish the recording,” he threatened. “It wasn’t done, send it again.”

“The white snail passed out, sir,” Zala reported, her voice shaking almost as much as his fist. “I think that was too much for it all at once. It needs time to recover before we can send any more encrypted data.”

Crocodile could hear his teeth grinding together, but he kept still enough to speak a few words.

“Make sure it’s ready tomorrow.”

~~~🐊🐊🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

Buggy felt somehow empty, and too full at the same time. His mind was too full of those vicious words his star had hissed, too full of fear and guilt over what to do about them. 

“Secrets keep fucking shit up,” the clown murmured, pacing again. 

It was just a lie. Star was lying to her sister.

It had been some damn good acting though, and Buggy hated the doubts it stirred in him. He couldn’t stuff them down. 

I know she loves me, but could she really hate them? I could have sworn she… 

Why ya gotta be such a good actor, baby? 

Or maybe I’m just the selfish piece of shit that didn’t listen. I was too fucking distracted by that shithead. I wasn’t paying attention to you, Star, I just—

He gave a light yelp when the snail interrupted the constant beat of her heart, grateful to be distracted now while he floated toward Crocodile’s desk. 

“Howdy,” Buggy coughed, perking up at the low chuckle that greeted him. 

“Hello, little clown.”

“What’s up, crybaby?”

Mihawk’s voice sent chills across his skin, but all the clown could think about were those hateful words.

Murderers.

Monsters.

“Is that Crocodile,” the swordsman asked after a particularly loud crash echoed down the hall. “I have some news to report.”

“He’s watching…”

“Is he watching the feed?”

Now Mihawk’s voice chilled his blood.

“What feed?”

“I’m handling it,” his new lover tried and failed to soothe him. “Why don’t you two call me in the morning? I need to find a new room for the night anyway.”

“Why do you need— “

“How is she?”

Mihawk’s voice cracked just a bit, his desperation pushing through the relaxed front he’d clearly been holding up. 

“Same. Finally sleeping,” Buggy rasped, clenching his eyes shut at the spike of a headache. “I’m gonna read my notes again, I think she said something…  Crocodile might have something too, so we’ll call you tomorrow.”

…

“Mihawk?”

“You’ll tell me if she’s being hurt?”

“Yeah, I said I would.”

“And you’ll call me if she says she doesn’t want to be there? I don’t care if she whispers it in her sleep, Buggy, I’ll get her out. If she gives even the slightest opening, you’ll call me?”

…

“Bug— “

“Of course I will,” Buggy promised. It wasn’t a lie. 

“Thank you. Get some rest, little clown.”

“You too, crybaby.”

Buggy stared blankly at the snail after the call until the near constant crashing and yelling down the corridor got louder. And closer. 

His feet followed as fast as they could, but the rest of him charged into the banquet hall in time to see the terrifying sight of Sir Crocodile’s rage. The door to the conference room had been ripped off its hinges, and Buggy was caught in the other doorway, the urge to run held back only by the horror of what that frightening man might have seen.

Star… 

Crocodile was alternating between smashing through tables and chairs with his hook, and draining them with his hand, leaving waves of splinters and sand to spill across the gleaming floor.

Until he made it to the head table. 

“Hey boss, you really gonna wreck the best table in this shithole?” 

Buggy had floated his upper body slightly above the other man’s head. He wasn’t stupid enough to put himself in between Crocodile and his fury, no matter how many memories that table held.

The clown almost fell from the air when those frantic, silver eyes met his. 

“Is she still crying?”

“N-no… She’s sleeping.”

Crocodile fell to his knees, the tears on his scarred face slow and unsteady, as though they’d never traveled there before. Buggy brought himself together and did what he knew had to be a stupid thing. 

He hugged the raging man, embracing this villain that had destroyed so much.

“I can’t… can’t leave her there, Buggy,” Crocodile panted into the crook of his neck. He nearly brought the clown to the floor with the amount of weight he rested on him.  

“Don’t worry,” Buggy strained through his hold, “we’ve got her.”

The larger man crushed him against his chest, sucking down his tears before he started to offer comfort instead of taking it. Buggy made a show of accepting that comfort, knowing that he’d never be a better actor than his shining star. 

Can’t tell ‘em. Can’t risk it. 

The image of Crocodile and Mihawk collapsing in defeat at the party after Y/N had thrown her cruel words burned through his mind.  

I know you’re lying, baby. You’re just a good actor. 

Don’t wanna distract these idiots. They don’t know you like I do. 

He tried to let go of his guilt, but those words played on a loop. 

‘I don’t ever want to see those murderers— those monsters again.’

It wasn’t true. 

It was a lie. 

Buggy knew it was a lie.

It was a lie. Right, baby? 

~~~🤡🤡🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

The other men pushed and shoved each other when the scavenger hunt began, but Shanks had to hold himself back from the race. This one wouldn’t win him another date, and close contact with the other suitors had been pushing his self-control to its limit.

He’d always been able to let insults slide when it came to himself, when it was only words, but Shanks couldn’t recall this suffocating feeling.

This entire hunt was an insult, a torture made just for Y/N, and everyone here was having a lovely time using her. 

Shanks could feel himself about to snap, and only his surety that it wouldn’t help her stayed his hand. 

She couldn’t show her own rage, and it would be stupid and selfish to show his.

So, the red haired pirate sat this hunt out, staring at the old man that had weaseled his way beside her.

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

What was the theme today? Creating love? Finding my heart? Uncle really should have hired a showrunner for this shit. 

By gods, you were bored. And having “Gibby” at your side was only making your condition worse. 

“These young bucks sure do like to show off,” he teased, leaning his bony shoulder against yours, the scent of whiskey nearly knocking you out. “But I know what a sharp girl like you craves.”

“And what’s that, Gibby,” you flirted. 

It would be so easy to kill him, wouldn’t it? Just a good punch to the throat would probably end this old man. But that would be it. So many eyes… He’s not worth it. 

“A challenge of course,” he announced as though revealing a delightful trick. “You want to use your talents. All these little boys want is a little wife.”

“Oh,” you arched a brow, “and what do you want?”

The creep pinched your cheek. Even with your renewed determination, pretending was fucking rough. 

“I want Lady Luck by my side, of course.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

How many… Do lives or liters of blood count for more? Those lives are nothing but—

“Mihawk?”

“I’m here.”

Crocodile’s voice was off. If not for his trained sense of hearing, Mihawk would have believed that voice belonged to someone else. 

But it was him. His daddy. His brutal business partner that was too sweet on their former victims. 

“You go first, crybaby,” Buggy threatened, bringing a tiny smile to the swordsman’s lips. 

“Sylvad’s little game has an illegal broadcast,” Mihawk shared lightly, pretending it was fine. “Underground gambling rings are holding showings every night for an impressive fee. The show appears to be isolated to the surrounding island kingdoms, but that’s probably wishful thinking.”

The silence was torturous for them all, holding nothing but impotent rage. 

Mihawk stretched his neck, removing his hat to keep it from scraping against the dusty walls. He’d found a lovely, little shed to lie in wait in until his prey were all lined up. 

“I’ll be attending a showing tonight, so I should be able to watch the hunt. I’ll study the layout, and hopefully I’ll see something that you aren’t able to hear.”

“So, we’re all spying on her now,” Buggy sighed. The sound was so animated; Mihawk could see those shoulders slumping in his mind. 

He didn’t know when he’d gotten so used to these men in his life. 

“Wait,” he interrupted his own thoughts. “Crocodile, if you weren’t watching the feed last night, what were you watching?”

“He can’t tell us,” Buggy said, his voice gentle, but pained. “Recordings of Y/N at the asylum. Croc’s poky, lady agent, and the scary, little girl nicked them for us. “

Mihawk’s blood froze in his veins as the memory of her flashed in his mind. His rabbit had looked so beautiful that last day. Beautiful, but wrong. 

“Crocodile?”

…

“Can you tell us anything yet, boss? Daddy?”

“Just a kill list,” Crocodile rasped, and Mihawk realized what that tone in his voice was. 

Despair. 

“I haven’t finished watching yet. Just waiting on the snail. She wouldn't want me to hurt the snail…”

“Okie dokie,” Buggy loudly redirected, the sound of awkward pats coming through. “Star said something to her sister when she was crying last night. I think Asshole Charmer was right, she’s trying to protect Kat from something.”

“What did— “

“She said, ‘I left you,” Buggy rushed before either man finished asking, the strain in his voice ramping up. “Then she lied again. Told Kat she wanted to be there.”

“They wouldn’t let her see her sister,” Crocodile breathed, a distance in his words that had nothing to do with the ocean between them. 

“So, we have to find out what Kathryn Sylvad needs protection from,” the swordsman hummed. “When our little rabbit showed us her fangs, she mentioned the Celestial— “

“Kat said Uncle LimpDick can’t sell her anymore though. She’s too old for those creeps.” 

“But Y/N didn’t know that until she got to the estate. If that’s why she left, then we can—” 

Hope had crept into Crocodile’s voice, and it was almost more painful to hear, especially when it was killed so quickly.

“She could have gotten out with the merman yesterday,” Buggy reminded him, his usual frustration seeming muted. Anger was still present, but it was wrapped up in softer, sadder things while he caught Mihawk up on the prince’s offer. “Star’s acting like a fucking martyr.”

“It’s gotta be the doctor. Sylvad said something about the fucking doctor before she left us,” Crocodile trailed off, leaving them all to sink into the memory of that night. “That’s who she fears.”

“Then that’s who dies first.” 

That dusty, little shed became a cage, the monster within him nearly tearing through it at the thought of blood. 

“Wait,” his clown commanded. 

He obeyed. 

“You can’t just run in there and kill everyone on your own now. You have to protect both of them. We need a plan.”

This silence was full of caution, but it held the taste of possibilities. 

The swordsman wanted to sever his own tongue for dashing that new hope so soon. 

“We can’t force them. If her sister wants to keep that stifled life, then Y/N won’t forgive us for ripping her from it.” 

Mihawk sighed, remembering the rage on his darling’s face so clearly. It might be the only face of hers that he’d be worthy of seeing again. 

“So, I’m still our last resort. I’ll take her hate for you, Buggy.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Buggy groaned. “We know more than we did before, so we just need to keep looking. We’re gonna get her back. You got that, shitheads?”

How strange to recognize the sound of a hug. Buggy’s little hum of surprise, followed by a soft sigh that had to be from Crocodile’s lips, hit Mihawk with a wave of heat. The sensation built up in his throat until he shook it off.

Y/N wouldn't be the only thing he’d lose if he stole her away. The World’s Greatest Swordsman would lose this strange, little home he���d found with this strange, little guild.

“You got it, boss,” Mihawk teased. 

“Shut up.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. President,” Crocodile joined in.

The swordsman smiled in that dusty shed, pretending for a moment that this strange, little home he’d found would still be his. 

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Giberson never shut the fuck up, so you hadn’t caught most of the scavenger hunt, but soon enough, Uncle Cedrick was announcing the winner.

“There are no rules against hunters helping each other win,” he teased while the Vinsmoke brothers walked toward you. Ichiji was carrying a large wooden heart, a few missing pieces of the puzzle held in the losers’ hands, but he held the most. 

Apparently, the younger brothers had given their pieces to the oldest prince, flanking him as they all knelt before you. 

“I’m looking forward to showering you with many more gifts,” he smirked, smoothing his fingers over yours when he placed that wooden heart in your lap. “Gifts worthy of a princess.”

Cheesy. Cocky. His brothers’ lecherous stares weren’t helping.

But I might as well enjoy it, you thought, gifting him with a coy smile.

 

~~~

This opulent room had always been too ridiculously large to be the family game room, especially since you’d only play with your dad, or your sister, never both. Dad always had some work to take care of when Kat asked to play, and Mom never liked board games.

At least someone’s still playing games in here. 

“Come here, sugar,” Giberson pulled you along, looking healthier than you’d seen him so far. “You ever played Blackjack?”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🐊🐊🐊⏰~~~

“Hit me.”

“Is that an order, sir?”

Crocodile chuckled, feeling loose for a rare moment while he smirked at the woman across the table. Rain Dinners was as vibrant as ever, a stolen oasis that he planned to grow. The casino pulsed with greed, but a quiet air seemed to fall over the two of them.

“No orders at the table, sweetheart. You know that.”

Fuck. 

This woman’s silence always held an itching weight, that little smile making him narrow his eyes. He was the one that had slipped up. No time for that. 

Not until his work was done. 

“Hm, it looks like a bust for both of us, sir. I hope your orders don’t land us in a similar position,” she taunted in that airy voice of hers, as though her thoughts were merely floating through space, drifting by with no fault of her own. Yet her eyes sparkled.

Crocodile ignored how much he liked it when they did that. 

“Have a little faith, Miss All Sunday,” he grinned, the noise of the casino drowned out by her soft chuckle, her haunted eyes filling with a hard edge, a challenge. “Don’t you trust me? We’re gonna build a better world together.”

Her soft chuckle turned to outright laughter, the pretty sound bringing more eyes to their elevated table. That beautiful face tilted back, and the brim of her white hat shifted enough to let the glittering lights touch her skin. 

He paused to watch her, knowing that he was distracted. Knowing that she was an agent, that he couldn’t risk losing his balance until he’d met his goal. 

This girl is nothing but an asset. That’s all anyone is until I’m done. 

“Come, Crocodile, you and I both know that trust can be a fatal mistake. I know you didn’t bring me here for false promises, and I would leave if I thought you’d become such a sentimental fool.”

Soft hands sprouted from the table before him, lighting his cigar, and holding it to his lips while he gave a few gentle puffs. Those taunting eyes never strayed from his.

“You know me too well,” he laughed, taking a larger sip of scotch than he’d meant to. This asset of his had many uses, and interesting company was becoming too much of a favorite. “What kind of world do you wanna build when we get there?”

The way she stared at him… It was as though she was right there, seeing deep into the core of him, yet somehow distant. No matter how much time she spent by his side, they were always light years apart. 

“Are you feeling sentimental, boss?”

“Not at all,” Crocodile snorted before downing the rest of his drink. He motioned for another round but couldn’t shake off the sticky feeling of her knowing gaze. 

She’s right. What the fuck am I doing? Can’t think like this. Not yet. 

Nico Robin smirked while her many hands gathered the cards, dealing a fresh game. Crocodile found himself feeling proud of her practiced distance, but had to fight harder than he should have to keep from tugging at it. 

Trust is worthless in a world like this. 

“Well, boss?”

“Hit me.”

So, I’ll make a better world. 

~~~⏰🐊🐊🐊⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Everything was shining. Unlike most casinos, the shine in your family’s estate wasn’t just for show. 

It was another world. The glamor, the music, and the liquor seemed to hypnotize the crowd. Time was a commodity here, seconds falling away like the chips on the table. 

You might have been drawn in if you hadn’t been squeezed into this slinky, sequined dress. Viridian green sparkled under the lights, and it wasn’t as uncomfortable as you’d thought it would be. Still fucking distracting though. 

I wonder what his casino was like. Would he have liked this dress? He did prefer scales over—

Stop.

You almost asked why Giberson had foregone his private date for this public display but decided not to risk giving him the opening to take you somewhere else. He dragged a velvet covered stool close beside him before wrapping his frail arm around your shoulders, pulling you as close to his side as possible. 

Your smile stayed pretty under the golden lights, even as the sounds of the small casino bombarded you. All the hunters, and more guests than you’d seen here before, watched your every move when they weren’t losing berry. 

“What’d ya say, darlin,” he winked, nodding toward the cards on the table. “Should I risk it?”

At least there’s something for me to focus on. 

“Hit me,” he declared when you nodded, whistling and jostling you when he hit twenty one. “I knew I had a good feeling about you.”

“Is this why you’re here, Gibby? I’m sure you realize that my husband won’t need to gamble to be swimming in berry.”

Those words should not have left your lips. You didn’t need the nearest cam-snail’s drooping eyes to tell you that, but you couldn’t take it back. Playing up the flirtation was all you could think of to salvage it. 

The old man raised a brow at you, chuckling at your fluttering lashes.

“You are a sweet, devilish thing, aren’t you, dear?”

Your denial died on your tongue when your eyes got caught across the room, your red-haired prey staring hard at the hand Giberson had brought to your chin. 

This old man deserved your gratitude for tilting your face away from those soft, brown eyes. 

“I am many things, Gibby,” you purred. “And I am sure that you should stand.”

“I’ve gotta listen to my Lady Luck,” he laughed, wiggling your shoulders to show you off to the leeches at the table. 

“Isn’t that cheating,” one of them mumbled, earning a sickly, sweet smile from your lips. 

“All is fair in love and war,” you teased, tapping the felt-covered table with one of Giberson’s many chips. “Besides, card counters have to watch a game for longer than I’ve been at the table. It was just a lucky guess.”

Oh, how you ached to smash that entitled asshole’s face onto the shining table.

“You’re one to talk, Linus,” Giberson leaned around you to smirk at the man. The scent of liquor on his breath hit you like a train. “I believe you’re on mistress number three, aren’t you? Or what should we call this newest one, a boy toy? I suppose if Annie knows, then it’s not cheating, but either way, I’m sure she knows now.”

Linus’ face went from annoyance to horror impressively fast when he glanced at the very not-droopy snail on the table, and you bit your lip to keep from laughing. 

The man snarled, barely shifting toward you before Uncle’s security guards snatched him away. 

“Poor Linus,” you sighed while you shook your head. The satisfaction that warmed your skin only proved your self-hating thoughts, but it was more entertaining than being empty. 

Everyone here is a leech. Gorging on my blood and humiliation, eating me alive so they can feel more alive for a while. Fuck them all.

“Don’t worry about him,” your date pulled you back toward the game, “Annie’s been sleeping with his mother since their wedding night, so I’m sure she won’t be too broken up over it.”

You laughed enough that when he bought a bottle and poured you both a shot, you drank the burning whiskey. 

After he drank his first, of course. 

Then you won him lots of berry and giggled while he whispered secrets about all those shining guests in your ear. 

Maybe this old man isn’t so boring after all.

Laughing, and winning, and numbing it all down felt so good. If only you could rid yourself of those stupid, brown eyes that stuck to you more than the old man’s weak hand on your sequined thigh. 

“Do you know anything about— “

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Giberson hummed, filling your glass again. He nodded toward the red-haired pirate in the corner before shaking his head. “Afraid I can’t talk about the competition. I’d like to survive long enough to see the end of this delightful game.”

~~~

The corridors were endless. You’d traveled them so many times as a kid, but never quite like this.

Never drunk, in stupid, pointy heels that got caught in the plush carpet, while annoying servants tried to grab your elbows every time you swayed. 

It was fine. 

It was stupid.

But you weren’t even mad at yourself for being so reckless. Apathy could save or ruin you in a place like this. 

All you wanted was to feel nothing. There were many kinds of numb to find, but this particular buzz was wearing off too fast.

You had kept up your smile, and the bells had rung before you lost your mind to liquor. Yet now that the wall of eyes wasn’t on you, that liquor felt thick in your veins, and you needed to scream. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

“I’m sorry, Miss Sylvad, but— “

“I’ll take it from here. We wouldn’t want any more accidents now, would we, niece?”

You blinked, and the staff had already scurried away, leaving you alone with him.

“My little smarty,” Uncle Cedrick teased, digging his fingers into your arm while he guided you toward your suite. “Finally contributing to the family, after all these years. You almost had me believing that you’d like to marry that old bastard.”

“It’s too early to tell.”

Damn it…

A different kind of numb pulled you down while your gaze trailed down his face. 

His jaw is moving a lot. It’s okay. No, not the lips. Jaw. Eyes are too much. Can’t look up. Just down. Can’t look away. 

Fuck, I’m dizzy.

“He was never in the running anyway. The nuisance learned about the hunt and asked to join, and I couldn’t risk insulting the man.”

All the words were hitting your wobbly brain, a headache building behind your brow until you gasped at his sudden touch. Your uncle gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze in the darkened hallway. 

“You’re going to send the old man away tomorrow, and the fishman the day after that. You may be a selfish brat, but you’re still a Sylvad. It wouldn’t do to let you get stuffed full of expired seed, or guppies, now, would it?”

His eyes flared with satisfaction when you couldn’t hide the horror and disgust that twisted your features. You were trapped, gulping down your bile while he leaned over you, gripping tighter. 

“Keep up the good work, niece,” Uncle hummed while he tilted you toward your door. “Now go wash up. Whiskey isn’t a flattering scent on a blushing bride.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🐊🐊~~~

There was no point in fixing the conference room. Any replacement furniture would have been shattered the second he saw those tear-filled eyes on the screen. 

A makeshift door had been propped up for privacy, although there was no one but Buggy within range of Crocodile’s rage. 

That pathetic, useless rage that left the scarred man sitting on the floor in a pile of splinters and sand again, fighting not to drink. Not yet, at least. 

“Good evening, sir.”

“Is it ready,” Crocodile rasped, not ready for the answer.

“I believe so, sir,” Zala reported, her lovely voice too somber to be soothing. “The next cam-snail’s date is a bit smudged, so I’m not certain the timing is right. We’re trying to send them in order— “

“Just send it.”

…

“Agent?”

“Of course, sir,” the deadly woman breathed, strangely soft through the line. “Do you have orders for us when we arrive? We still have over a week, but it could be two days less if we— “

“Await your orders,” Crocodile growled, more at his own powerlessness than her questioning.

“Of course,” Zala conceded, sharing her next words in a rush before ending the call. “We’ll get her back, sir. I won’t fail again.”

~~~

For a cruel moment, Crocodile’s breath caught in hope. His sweet girl looked better. 

He should have known better. 

‘How are you feeling today, Y/N?’

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

‘I’m feeling well, thank you, doctor,’ she hummed softly, keeping her eyes low, although the doctor was still offscreen. A nurse guided her to sit, no restraints holding her to the table this time. 

‘Are you ready to begin?’

‘Yes, doctor.’

His girl was empty. Poised and polite with nothing inside. 

They made a doll out of her.

‘Just breathe, Y/N,’ Dr. Vorsan instructed, his slippery voice making Crocodile’s fingers twitch. ‘The snail won’t hurt you, and you aren’t going to hurt it.’

‘Of course, I won’t–’

‘Soft hands, Y/N,’ he warned while she unclenched her jaw and fists. 

A transponder snail was placed on the table before her, and her eyes went slow and droopy while she stared at it. 

‘We discussed this, Y/N.’ The doctor clicked his tongue while the nurse reached for the snail. Y/N shook herself but stopped before her hand got too close to the creature.

Her eyes were wide now, her panicked breaths loud enough for him to hear all these years later. 

‘I’m sorry, please,’ Y/N strained, going empty again while she pleaded. ‘I’m okay. I want to call my sister.’

‘Are you sure you’re ready,’ Vorsan needled. That voice was so perfectly kind, yet violent. It was a syringe that promised healing, but forced too much, poisoning with what seemed like a cure. ‘Take your time, Y/N. If you push yourself too far, you might have another episode, and I know you don’t want to put your family through that. You don’t want to hurt–’

‘I want to be well, doctor.’

Wrong. So, fucking wrong. 

‘Please, let me try again,’ Y/N begged, her sweet voice placating the monster out of view. ‘I’ll breathe and go slow. I want to get better.’

The nurse brought the snail back, and Crocodile couldn’t tell how much time passed while she stared at it. Her eyes were present, yet he could see the strain, her almost-smile shaking a bit. 

“What the fuck?”

The fucking snail had started ringing, and Y/N’s scream made him choke. She struggled to swallow it down, rocking in her seat until the nurse reached out to take it. She took in a breath when she reached out instead to answer, that sickening smile on her face. 

‘Hey, smarty.’

Crocodile’s hook dug deep lines along the floor. 

‘I heard you were practicing with the snail today, so I thought I’d help out. We all want you back home, safe and sound. Although, I suppose it’s not your safety we should be worrying about.’

If not for the slow shine of unspilled tears that grew in her eyes, Crocodile would have thought the recording had paused. She was frozen, until she flinched at his next words. 

‘I should probably check on little Kathryn. I told them not to sail this close to Aqua Laguna, but you know how stubborn–’

‘You’re lying,’ she screamed, spittle flying toward the snail before nurses appeared to restrain her. ‘Let me talk to my sister!’

‘Oh dear, you don’t sound very well, niece. I hope–’

‘Fuck you! Where’s Kat? Let me see my– Get your fucking hands off of me! I’m gonna kill…’

Cedrick Sylvad’s laughter creeped through the air, the transponder snail carrying that vile sound through space and time. 

Y/N had gone still, letting the nurses entangle their arms with hers, trapping her between them while they called nonsensical orders to each other in bland voices. 

She didn’t cry. 

Didn’t apologize. 

Didn’t fight. 

She looked like she’d been defeated, and Sylvad’s gloating laughter proved the point. 

‘I hope you get well soon, niece,” her uncle taunted. ‘I’ll tell your sister you’re not ready yet, once she gets back. Hopefully she makes it before the storm hits.’

Crocodile’s sweet girl slumped, her body going limp while so many others held her up. Cedrick Sylvad’s laughter ripped through the air until she was carted away, and the wall went dark. 

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

~~~

~⚫~SUMMARY~⚫~

The scene above was from Crocodile’s POV as he watched another recording of Y/N at the asylum. During this recording, Crocodile noticed that the reader appeared to be “better.” However, the prodding voice of Dr. Vorsan, and the reveal of a transponder snail showed that the reader was struggling to maintain her “doll-like” emptiness. The reader expressed a desire to speak with her sister, and was cooperating with the doctor, although he scolded her and reminded her of the potential violence she may cause. The reader remained calm and requested to try speaking with the snail again. The snail rang unexpectedly, and her uncle began to speak through it, causing the reader to become afraid, then react violently when Cedrick stated that her sister was currently sailing close to the time of the Aqua Laguna storm. The reader began to yell and threaten violence, until she looked defeated while her uncle laughed. The reader went limp while nurses restrained her and carried her away before the recording ended. 

~⚫~SUMMARY~⚫~

~~~🐊🐊🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

“Leave her alone, Uncle,” Kat seethed, charging into the hall to pull you from his grasp. 

“I’m just making sure she gets home safe,” he teased, clicking his tongue before releasing you. “Looks like big sis needs your help tonight. Aren’t you relieved that you won’t have to be her babysitter for much longer?”

“Fuck you— “

“It’s alright, Kitty,” you smiled, fighting your shaking muscles, and the nausea that flooded your body. “You got any snacks in your suite?”

“Ta-ta,” Uncle Cedrick smirked, thankfully walking away. 

Leaving you with her.

Fuck. I’m making her take care of me again. Selfish. Piece of shit. Stop.

“What kind of snacks do you want,” Kat frowned. Her eyes were sharp against your swaying form, but you held up your smile for her. 

“Salty. Crunchy.”

“Alright, drunky,” she rolled her eyes, “will you drink some fucking water first?”

~~~

Gods, it’s bright. Smile. Don’t forget to smile.

“Are you feeling well, niece?”

Uncle Cedrick beamed down at you, guiding you to the fallen tree in the courtyard, where the applause that greeted you made you want to chop your fucking ears off. The ungodly amount of coffee you’d inhaled during the breakfast with Giberson had been for naught, and you couldn’t recall any of the long winded stories he’d trampled you with. 

There’d be no more of his stories for you after this.

“Good afternoon, fine friends and hunters,” he addressed the crowd, and the suitors lined up along the carved bench. His practiced movements spread large across the side of the manor for all to see. You caught him glancing at his image on the projector screen enough times that you almost laughed. 

It probably would have hurt to laugh right now. 

“Before today’s hunt begins, I’m afraid that one of our contestants has missed the mark.”

Uncle pulled an arrow from the quiver at his back. He pressed the point of it to your chest, making the leeches gasp with mock fear or delight before he broke it in half.

“Go on, dear niece,” he ordered, pressing the splintered wood into your hand. “Who failed to pierce your heart?”

Don’t let it in. Nothing matters. Just her.

Fading into yourself, you put on a show, avoiding the sight of your simpering smile on the wall. Tittering noises filled the air while the wooden platform moved you from suitor to suitor, and you could hear the vultures calling out their last-minute bets.

You put on a good show, but eyes were too much. An inch below their left eye. That’s where you’d look while you paused. 

No favorites. No least favorites.

The moving platform wasn’t helping your nausea, or it might have been the scent of the Emperor whose crooked smile was almost as abhorrent to look at as his soft eyes. 

The painfully slow display finally came to a halt, the stench of whiskey still too fresh in your mind. 

The old man hadn’t been that bad though. 

“I’m sorry, Gibby. Your arrow didn’t pierce my heart.”

He took the broken arrow, before kissing your forehead, his mustache scratching along your skin. 

“Not to worry, my dear,” Giberson soothed, humming at the noises of the winners and losers in the crowd. From the sound of it, he’d been an underdog in the race anyway. “I feel lucky just to be here at all. Thank you for the lovely company.”

You needed to sit down. 

You had to keep smiling.

“Of course, Gibby,” your uncle shmoozed, gripping Giberson by the shoulder. He appeared to be speaking to the failed hunter, but his voice was too clear, his words too pointed.

Another part of the show.

“You may not be in the running to be our family, but you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t a friend of the Sylvad’s,” Uncle Cedrick glowed as the leeches practically moaned at the implication. Everyone wanted to be in his world. “You are more than welcome to stay for the festivities as a guest, so long as you don’t act like a sore loser and ruin the fun, of course.”

The joviality in the air was too full of greed. Your future was never going to be yours, but you hadn't expected him to let so many others join in his game. 

This game that never fucking stopped.

“Our lovely doe has requested a show of love for today’s hunt,” he took your hand and spun you for the crowd, grabbing you by the waist to keep you from tripping over yourself. “Run along, hunters. In the woods you’ll find materials of all sorts, but you’re welcome to use your own. Create something to show how you’ll care for your dear wife once you catch her. Care to give them any tips, Y/N?”

Fuck you.

“The man I love will make me smile.”

Uncle Cedrick caught his frown before it fully formed, but your tiny rebellion went cold when his eyes flicked to the locket you were fidgeting with. 

“You heard the doe, hunters,” he ordered, studying your shaky hands that you dropped to your sides too fast. “Make your prey smile before you pierce her heart.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🐊🐊🐊⏰~~~

He shouldn’t have been dropping his guard like this, but something about this room, this ridiculous, green couch, and that sweet girl’s flustered face, had Sir Crocodile fighting off a smile.

“But… I’ve still got work to do, and they— “

“Is my sweet girl worried about other men right now,” he threatened, patting the cushion beside him while he tried to keep his balance. 

The clown was off preparing for that gods awful show they’d have to sit through at the party, while the swordsman ran through security. Since Crocodile had already sent agents out to hunt for party favors, he had a free moment, and he chose to spend it taunting their numbers girl. 

She looked so pretty with that flash of fear in her eyes.

Especially when she gave in so quickly. 

“N-no, I…”

“You’ve been working so hard. I can help you relax. Wanna take a break, sweetheart?”

Y/N bit her lip softly, and Crocodile nearly launched himself at her. Patience wasn’t one of his virtues, but luckily his numbers girl got to her feet. 

“Not so fast, darlin,” he teased while she yelped in his grasp, moving through sand to carry her before she could take a step with her bare feet.

“Fuck!”

She looked so cute when he tossed her onto his desk. Y/N was shaking so much that he almost stopped, his fingers clenching against the wooden desk while he took a final puff of his cigar. The feel of smoke on his tongue only made him crave her more.

“Well, sweetheart, you’re not scared to be alone with me, are— “

“I want you, daddy,” Y/N vowed, her voice like some heavenly song, guiding him toward things he didn’t deserve. She sat up, reaching, clinging to him until he chuckled and pushed her soft fingers away. She’d tugged at his silk scarf, and he let her keep the purple fabric when he shoved her back onto the desk. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl, and relax for me,” he taunted. Crocodile stamped out his cigar before kneeling beside his desk, fighting his smile again at every desperate noise she made while he set her legs up on his shoulders. She nodded fast while he tore through her cheap panties with his hook, and her scent finally did him in. 

This ex-warlord, this wicked pirate, this bad man… was smiling. Smiling from pleasure and peace instead of cruelty and greed.

Sir Crocodile caught his smile as he pressed it against that sweet, swollen flesh, loving the way she tore at his hair. Her fingers went rough, then weak, again and again, as though she couldn’t help her need, but feared his reaction. 

“Let go, sweetheart. Let Daddy have it all,” he purred before shoving his tongue so deep. He moaned while he drank at her pleasure, proud of how she took what she needed, pulling his hair at the roots while she fell apart. 

“You’re doing so well,” Crocodile praised, fighting everything in him not to claim this sweet girl for himself, his own little dream. 

“Please, daddy.”

“My little girl’s so hungry,” he laughed while his fingers teased along all the wetness she spread before him. “You can have everything you want.”

Y/N had pushed onto her elbows to meet his eyes, but fell back, her body arching when he shoved two fingers into her pretty cunt. Her moans were so fucking precious that the ex-warlord’s mind went blank. Nothing but her.

“It’s still work hours, sugar. Try to keep it down.”

Fuck, she was gorgeous when her eyes rolled back, eagerly letting him shove that purple silk into her mouth. She was already crying when he undid his slacks, freeing himself to tease along that needy flesh.

Crocodile missed, pouring lube down the side of the desk before covering his leaking cock. She was too good of a girl for him to rush this, but the feel of his own lubed hand was nearly enough while he watched her begging beneath him.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he guided her while he held himself back. “You can take it, can’t you?”

He tried to be gentle, but Y/N still cried and screamed, so he fucked himself into her until his scarf fell from her lips.

“It’s too— feels too good— fuck!!”

She spoke the truth until he shoved the silk back into her mouth. It felt too fucking good to fill her up, to feel her body stretching and fighting to hold him. So soft, so wet, so fucking tight around his cock with every thrust.

But she could take him. She could take all of him, and she looked beautifully wrecked while she did, that silk scarf dark with spit now when he tugged it from her lips again. 

“Where does my sweet girl— “

“Inside me, daddy,” Y/N cried out before her body milked his again, eyes going white while she came. “Come inside me, please!”

“Fuck, you take me so well, baby girl. Mm— so fucking perfect…”

Crocodile held her down, pressing his palm against her chest. He hadn’t realized that his hook had been tracing along her side until he started filling her, but she looked like she was enjoying it, so he didn’t bother to stop. 

She looked like she was enjoying getting fucked by a monster.

She looked so sweet when he met her eyes, pulling out slowly to keep from causing more harm. 

“Daddy…”

“Hey, sweet girl,” he hummed while he kissed her neck. Her squirms were enough, and he felt his scarred face smiling against her skin once more. “How— “

“You could have just said you wanted her to yourself for a while,” the swordsman taunted from the doorway that had opened too quietly. 

Or maybe Crocodile had let himself get too distracted. 

“I thought you didn’t like liars,” Mihawk smirked, moving close enough to snag the spit-soaked scarf from the desk. 

“We got some work done,” Crocodile told the truth, although it felt like a lie when he looked down at her. “My sweet girl just needed a break.”

~~~⏰🐊🐊🐊⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

Their faces were easy to match up with the voices he’d planned to end while he listened in that dusty shed. This drab, little hole had been shined up so brightly, almost passing for a real casino, but Mihawk knew it could still use a fresh coat of red paint. 

“I suppose that only imbeciles would fail to recognize me when I walk through the door. I had assumed that was what all of you were, given your foolish choice in hobbies.”

“Hawkeye— Mr. Mihawk, sir, please,” the owner of the stale, little hall beckoned him toward the sticky, corner booth, “you’re an honored guest! Please, relax, and let us show you how we party in Majiastuka.”

The slim possibility of those words swaying the ex-warlord burned away when faraway voices filled the air.

‘You’re our little princess now.’

Their deaths would come later. For now, Mihawk kept his gaze away from the projector screen, and the flustered face of his little rabbit. 

“What a delightful invitation,” the world’s greatest swordsman sneered, drawing his black blade to hover over the filthy floorboards. “Unfortunately, I have already had my fill of your wretched squeals. Unless you can tell me how to reach Miss Sylvad, your worthless time on this planet is over.”

“Fuck thi— “

A coward off to the side stumbled while he cursed, fleeing toward the door. Mihawk didn’t even need to shift his eyes in that direction; Yoru simply flicked across the floor, the blade smacking into a chair that cracked the man’s neck when it hit.

Every movement, every breath was precise. 

A predator, and its prey.

“Hey man, I’m sorry, okay,” the pathetic kingpin begged while the ex-warlord stalked closer. “How can I help? Anything, please!”

“Such a well-mannered beast,” Mihawk growled while he dug his nails into the man’s jaw. “I’m taking your special snail, and I shall take your life if you don’t tell me where the fuck you got it from.”

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

This might be the worst idea you’d ever had. 

“It’s a…”

“Graham cracker house. They’re usually gingerbread, but no one likes to eat that shit.”

Cracker beamed down at you, so proud of the sloppy, edible house that he’d dropped onto your lap. 

“That’s you,” he pointed toward the misshapen figure by the front door. “I know that you’re a good girl that wants to help your family. I’ll help you be happy and safe, and you’ll help our family grow.”

Oh. 

The misshapen clump finally took shape in your mind; that fucked up cracker was meant to be you. 

Barefoot and pregnant.

This is super fucking fun.

“Thank you, Cracker. It’s lovely.”

“It’s trash,” Cracker corrected with that menacing grin, and you almost yelped when he touched your face. You had to meet his eyes, and that basic, human intimacy, coupled with the scent of that sugary house, nearly had you spilling your disgust onto the floor. 

Nausea had you in a chokehold, but that didn’t stop your smile. 

This ridiculous man leaned down, and the sparks at the ends of his hair were too fucking close to your face when he purred in your ear.

“You’re the only lovely thing I see.”

~~~

How strange that the sight of such a light and precious thing could drag you down so far. 

In the place of a pearl, the shell opened to show a long-lasting bubble. The treasure had become a reminder of your selfishness and privilege, yet your heart still ached at the sight. 

Precious trees had helped create this little magic. Sabaody should have been treasured, protected.

Instead, it was hell: a humiliating torture for people that didn’t look like you. 

“It’s beautiful, Prince Fukaboshi,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

“It is nowhere near as beautiful as your selfless heart.”

Smiling was harder when you had to swallow the burning bile on the back of your tongue.

~~~

“This is very nice,” you lied.

“It’s a poor rendition,” your prey laughed at his ugly drawing of what looked like a pile of fingers until you deciphered the shapes. “Starfish cling to their world, holding tight to their home… I could have stolen it for you, but it’s not right to take a star from where it belongs.”

“So, you left my star all alone,” you managed to pout; you were a selfish, spoiled, rich girl. 

Starfish were apparently too much for you to handle. 

~~~

“What do ya think, numbers girl?”

That deep voice made you shiver, shaking you out of your fog, but into the chaos of old desire. 

You knew you should hate him. You should be disgusted by his mere presence here, by all the details that would make your eyebrows raise if you heard them about a similar relationship. 

But you were too far gone to give a fuck. 

Mr. Iceburg was smiling at you. He was reaching out to rest his hand on yours before offering a gift he’d made with those same, lovely hands. The rough skin scraping against yours seemed to send you back in time, a teenage craving, still unfulfilled.  

“There wasn’t enough time, but I hope you like it,” Iceburg hummed when he placed a small, carved ship in your palm. The rough wood smelled incredible, and it was beautiful, rough as it was. 

All the details were vague, but your thumb traced across the redwood he’d carved onto the main sail. 

It wasn’t just his looks that had stolen your heart when you were younger. Mr. Iceburg had an air of kindness and wonderment about him that reminded you what those feelings could be like. 

Were you too far gone to feel that light? 

Was he too much of a leech for it to be real?

Who fucking cares? It’s Mr. Iceburg.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

“So, you left my star all alone?”

Y/N’s pouting lips were too much; Shanks was horrified by her ability to lie with every part of her. 

“Well, I…”

That fallen star smiled while the bells called him away, and she chose another man, yet again.

~~~

The Great Red-Haired Shanks was fucking useless. 

He had fucked up so completely that his every step to fix things put miles and miles between them.

And he couldn’t fucking talk about it. 

The estate was literally crawling with snails, so Shanks couldn’t risk speaking openly to his first mate. He couldn’t relax for a second with how hyper aware he’d become of the low hum of their presence. 

How the fuck does she live like this?

Throughout the pain and hardships of his own life, this Emperor of the Sea had carried something with him that he was lacking here, and the discomfort of its loss felt like another phantom pain, an unreachable itch. 

Shanks was raised as a pirate.

He was raised to be free. 

No one was free on this wretched island, except for the tyrant that toyed with them all. 

Cedrick Sylvad hadn’t joined the group that flocked to his little casino for a second night. He didn’t need the cash. 

The red-haired pirate followed the leeches and did his best to shove his frustrations aside while he fought for her. 

“Still here, huh?”

“Why would I leave,” Giberson breathed noxious fumes into his face while he leaned over his cards. “This game’s only just begun.”

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

Kat’s face pulled you into the moment, her quivering lips failing to hold back her disparaging smile.

You couldn’t blame her. 

“That’s a really nice cape,” she snorted, falling into laughter.

“I thought you wanted me to marry a Vinsmoke.” Your words were strained, although annoyance or laughter could have been the cause.

“Totally,” she managed to deadpan. “Definitely the number one choice.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

It was so good to see her cackle, even if you had to wear this poofy, frilly, fire-engine red gown to make it happen. 

The cape wasn’t nearly as bad as the embroidered “ones” along the hems. 

“I want you to marry one of them if…”

“Spit it out,” you ordered, holding in your own laughs while Kat fell apart. 

“If they’re your number one choice,” she squeaked again while she steadied herself with a hand on her thigh. 

You couldn’t blame her. Not with the state your hair was in. 

~~~

“Tonight, we have lifted one of our rules for the sake of fairness to our esteemed hunters,” Uncle charmed the crowd, his fingers resting on the back of your neck. 

He looked down at you with that practiced mask of a doting uncle while he gripped your skin like you were an unruly animal that he had to control.

“My dear niece must remain within the borders of the island, but the sky’s the limit now.”

He stepped away with a smirk, and you were too drained from smiling to care what he meant. It was always a game at your expense. You were just glad that he wasn’t touching you anymore. 

Resisting the urge to scratch his eyes out like the unruly animal you were took a lot of energy, and you were going to need it tonight. 

The vultures were practically squealing while Prince Ichiji walked up the path, flanked on either side by his brothers. The ruffles on their shirts looked natural on them, and their capes just reminded you that they were royalty, even if they descended from vicious conquerors who claimed that status. From all you’d gathered, these current Vinsmokes seem to carry that violent legacy.

Except for when they looked at you. 

Ichiji held out the longest, but soon the three of them were staring at you like hungry puppies. Niji and Yonji knelt at your sides to kiss your hands, thoroughly. Ichiji leaned down, the swoops in his red hair casting distracting shadows across his face beneath the lanterns. 

“Everyone’s fighting to take home the lovely prize,” he breathed against your ear before he pulled back to meet your eyes. “But they can’t have you.”

“Oh,” you tried to tease, but the kisses still peppering your hands and fingers were too distracting. “Why is that?”

The three of them laughed, and you would have fallen if they hadn’t gripped your hands in time. The three princes had all touched their belts, and the colorful raid suits they were so famous for spread over them instantly, to roaring applause. You hadn’t had time to catch your breath before Ichiji lifted you into his arms.

“You’re our little princess now.”

Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Don’t scream.

“Don’t be scared, pretty,” he comforted, though his pleased voice didn’t stop the world from disappearing beneath you. 

“Yeah, I’ll catch you if he drops you,” Yonji flew close to your cheek. 

“I won’t drop her.”

How does their hair stay like that in the wind, you thought, giggling to yourself while you watched the trees beneath you. 

“Can I touch the top of a tree?”

“You can touch anything you– ”

“Back off, Niji,” Ichiji growled at his blue haired brother that had flown too close this time before returning to that simpering voice. “Of course, princess. We can find every tree on the island, if you like.”

“Just one is lovely, thank you.”

Touching the top of a redwood tree had never crossed your mind, but the feel of it against your fingers gave you a moment of sweetness at the thought of telling your dad about it. He would be so excited, and he’d want to know every detail, until you both were scribbling on notepads to calculate how long it would take to touch every tree on the island. 

It was stupid. How could you stay numb when you kept reminding yourself of pain, or of something far crueler than that? 

Happiness and love would tear you apart. 

~~~

If you weren’t out of breath, you might have giggled again at how well the scene fit with your last thought. 

Another clearing on another stolen hill had come into view, during one of the brief glances you’d sent toward the ground. That ground was coming too close, too fast, but the scent hit you before your feet touched the ground.

Someone had planted a circular wall of roses that was taller than you’d thought possible for the flower. You had learned that the realm of possibility was vaster than you could imagine. What were some huge rose bushes compared to everything else in your world?

Ichiji set you down beside a gorgeous table of dark wood, with large, cushioned chairs in that matching rose-red.

He poured champagne, toasting to your beauty while you waited for him to sip first.

“Are you nervous,” the red head asked, the hint of laughter in his tone. “Don’t worry, princess, you can relax here. I made sure we’d have plenty of privacy.”

“Yeah,” Yonji called while he flew down into the tower of roses. “No one’s getting in here without catching some thorns.”

“We finished the rounds,” Niji reported. He stayed floating toward the top, lazily bouncing something in his hand. “This is the only snail left in a mile radius. Now you two can have some alone time.

“DON’T HURT IT! Please… don’t…”

Niji paused with his arm pulled back, stopping before throwing the transponder snail, cocking his head as he looked down at you.

“Don’t be so cruel, brother,” Ichiji purred beside you.

Breathe. Just breathe.

“Please, don’t hurt it,” you tried to keep your voice from shaking. It was already hoarse from that scream. “I… like snails.”

“So sweet,” Yonji swooned. He flew close, with Niji and the poor snail following behind him. “You should see our— “

“It’s my turn, brothers,” the eldest prince reminded them.

Yonji kissed your cheek before he flew away, but Niji grabbed your wrist. He placed the snail in the center of your palm before tracing his fingers down the side of your face.

“Such a pretty princess,” he hummed, “I’ll make sure this thing is safe for you. We can even let some watch our date if you— “

“This is my date, Niji.”

“Right. Have fun, you two.”

Thankfully, the blue-haired brother grabbed the snail before he flew away, but another set of eyes stayed glued to your skin.

“Sorry about that, beautiful. Let’s eat, I wanna know about all the other sweet things you like.”

Still cheesy. Still cocky.

Yet somehow his guiding hand on you lower back, and his hungry eyes reminded you of another sort of numb.

Nothing matters, so I might as well enjoy this.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🐊🐊~~~

“Feel good, star,” Crocodile’s little clown mumbled in his sleep, the stench of liquor on Buggy’s breath rivaling his own.

“Hey,” he started, wanting to carry Buggy to bed instead of leaving him alone on that green couch. “Come on— “

“Just feel good, baby,” his clown whined softly, the sadness in his voice tearing at the scarred man even more tonight.

“Shh, Buggy. It’s gonna be okay.”

He hoped he wasn’t lying.

“I won’t tell, star. I know it was a— What the fuck?”

“It’s just me, little clown. Let’s go to bed,” he offered his hand. Buggy shook himself but followed him down the empty corridor to that empty bed. “Bad dreams again?”

“No— I mean, just the same bullshit,” Buggy coughed while his fingers tapped along his thigh. “Ha, I really thought the booze would help… What about you?”

Crocodile pulled the man close, and kissed that tangled, blue hair as he closed his eyes against this shitty world.

“We’re gonna get her back,” he vowed ignoring the scent of lies in the air. There had never been room for trust in this world, but Crocodile realized he didn’t care if his little lovers were lying to him. He just needed them back.

He needed to make a better world for them.

~~~🐊🐊🐊~~~

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

Author's Note: "I've still been disappearing from the world," is how I started my last author's note from Chapter 34. So much has changed in my life.

Personal Vent below! Mostly vague, but trigger warning for toxic, demanding work environments, and their affect on physical and mental health. Mention of bipolar and adhd.

PLEASE DON'T READ THIS unless you really want to, and have the space for it! I would rather you scroll past than to take on any of my stress.

I am okay, and I want Numbers Game to be a place for us to rest and enjoy some fictional chaos instead. This will be the last time I'll discuss this on a Numbers Game post, but I felt I had to share how much I've wanted to be here with y'all. Any future updates will be posted separately on my lynna's health updates tag.

I am free from the situation that was wrecking my physical, mental, and financial health for the past five years. That chaos sent me into an episode that landed me on medical leave last year. But that fucked up time is when I started writing, and joined this wonderful community. I wouldn't have made it though the past year without y'all. I was in full on crisis mode, and it had all come to a head over these past few months. Then I got out. I was so fucking excited to tell y'all about the new changes in my life, but I was overwhelmed with everything that I had to do to get out and prepare. Plus, my fucking thumb stopped working because I was typing the first draft of this chapter on my phone since I had no time to sit down and write, and I had to rest it for the new job that seemed perfect for me. I hope that it'll get better soon, but I seem to have jumped out of the frying pan, and into the fire. I am okay. I am safe. I am just tired as fuck, and needing to set boundaries with a new company that is even more demanding than the last. At least they are actually paying me on time, and it's less physically demanding, (unless you count a lifelong insomniac adjusting to waking up at 6am and getting home at 6pm, five days a week 🥴). The main reason I was excited for this job, besides relieving the crisis shit I was going though, was that it would have a regular schedule; I'd be able to focus on what I really want to do. Sorry it took me so long to catch my breath, but I'm fucking back, y'all. I'm not letting another company drain my soul away. I'm not working off the clock any more.

I've got smut to write 🥰📝🔥

With so much love,

~ Lynna 💜✨

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @caniseethefourthsword | @hey-august | @chaoticqueen33 | @destinationmars | @novakitten0901 | @h0n3y-l3m0n05 | @dorky-birdie | @szired | @pinejayy | @laws-wife-things | @jadeddangel | @gingernut1314 | @urlocaltwink | @blue-rae18 | @bontensbabygirl | @bbnbhm | @0-sparkling-lace-0 | @ihearthazuki | @mikisspeak | @djloveyou3000 | @mercymccann | @horse-and-writer97 | @napagent

Part 36

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[hachiko-heartstrings]

【@hachiko-heartstrings ᰍ ִ ۫ ་ blᦅ ֙g 𒀭 ˖ ࣪⊹

﹌ ✧ ꜜ ﹌ ✧ ꜜ ﹌ ✧ ꜜ ╭ ͡   ͡ ◝╮

✵ ˚       · +   　 . *            ╰◟ ͜   ͜ ◞

.   . 　　　　 ·　　 · · ˚       ’ , ‘ , ‘ ’

𓈒 ࣪૮₍ ๑ • ᵜ 𝓛ig ࣪ht 𓊔˖ ۫ ݂ a˓s th ࣪e ◝

𝓅lu⋆m ⺌ blᦅׂssᦅׂᦂ’s ៹ 𓄧 ˖ ࣪ ン

. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·

hello! I am hachiko— yes, that is my literal name.

I live in Japan! And I am 18 years old.

I kin nana komatsu, but doubles are allowed!

I have dpd, audhd, bpd, and more! I am considered pretty sensitive, and am somewhat of a crybaby— so please think before you say anything. To put it more bluntly, I am mentally unstable.

I am a ballerina! I do that as my full-time job, and compete in some competitions as well as preforming in plays.

I can write English and use English grammar pretty well, but I am not currently fluent in the speaking aspect. This isn’t my first language, my first is Japanese. ,, ׅ ࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ

.𖥨 ˖ ͘ 𖥔 𝒯𖣠pi⸱c O1 🥛𓂃 ،،̲

💌 ˓࣪ ⸱𝓜y heaˑrt 𖥦 revives 》

ꕤ┈ with the 𝒮pring 𖠗 ࣭ ʾʾ ૮˃̵֊ ˂̵ ა

. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·

This blog is considered to be a Yandere blog. I will be using that term, even though I don’t really like identifying with it— for me, it’s more of a label to explain how my blog works and my emotions run.

A trigger warning for some mentions of sh, abuse, co-dependent relationships, gore, etc! If you aren’t okay with these topics, please don’t report me! Just block and move on with your life.

Of course, this blog won’t just have all of that— there will be some times I’ll repost certain posts or things I found interesting or funny!

anons are welcome! Don’t mind them at all. I wouldn’t say I’d be desperate for some, since they aren’t really required or needed for me to run this blog— but hey, whatever floats your boat! I do have some ground rules with this, though. Basically, don’t say anything too sexual with me. Yes I know I’m an adult, recently have just been. But, I still don’t want to have heavy NSFW or too many NSFW jokes in my inbox. If you want to ask questions, make sure they are not too personal. Don’t send hate in there, as said before— I am sensitive, and I don’t want to have to deal with people who have nothing better to do but send hate messages to a stranger on the internet.

taken anons: ,, ׅ ࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ

࣪◜｡ ࣪ 𝒯𖣠pi⸱c O2 🏩 𓍱 ִ ۫ ּ   𓏲 ،

ʚ₍ᐢ ›̥̥̥ ༝ 𝓛ady wit⸱h hearts ┈𖧧

╰𒀭˖ on your ♡ɞ   ࣪ ˖ 𓂃 halo

. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·

I have a lot of things I like! I think most of the things I like have to do with music, Japanese literature, and dancing. I love libraries and their smell, as cliche as it sounds, I think the smell of books is really comforting. I also think this with rainy weather, and the after smell when you walk out.

I like a lot of more feminine clothing choices, and sometimes it does cost me a couple stares of judgement when I walk down streets, or admiration. I think dresses, fluffy jackets, Pom Poms, the color pink, gray, brown, white, yellow, etc. are pretty! I don’t wear much makeup, unless I’m on set for a play or preformance.

I do like a lot of indie Jpop and J-rock. And as well as classical music, it makes me feel like I’m in a ballroom of sorts! ,, ׅ ࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ

་ꉂ 𓈈 𝒯𖣠pi⸱c O3 ⌯ ۫ 𖦹 🐰 , ,

𝓘 ˖ ꐑ dream Ꮺ ࣪ ֢ of a world 】

⿻*⌖.:˚◌˳˚⌖ elsewhere ໒꒱⋆ʾ ֑

. · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . · . ·

I have a basic dni list.

if you are a TERF, endo, pro-shipper, mainly NSFW blog, below the age of 15 + above the age of 30, fetishizer, personality disorder abuse believer, etc. do NOT interact. I’ll block you if you do.

i also block freely, and if I feel uncomfortable with you on my blog due to certain circumstances, I will block.

I hope you understand where I am coming from! If you have any concerns or questions, DM me. ,, ׅ ࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ

: ¨ ·.· ¨ : ˖ ࣪ . ִֶָ𓂅 𝒪u˓˓tr𖦹 ᴥ •⍝ა

` · .. · ` ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄. ᥫ᭡

Thank you for reading this!

follow if you want to be mutuals!

I hope you have a great rest of your day/night!

Stay safe! Bye! ,, ׅ ࣪𓏲ּ ֶָ

[heartshattering]

Very much hoping I don't mess up tonight :')

[the-smallest-gremlin]

i now work for a week straight this is gonna be great!!!

[medicinemane]

Few things piss me off more than when I'm researching something, and I find someone asking the question I want answered, and the response is just "you shouldn't want that, just do this instead"

Today, it's me trying to look up a build for this witch farm concept that uses raid captains to manipulate the witches ai instead of using redstone

"Just use the shifting floors farms, they're just about as good" people respond... you stupid prick, that's not an answer to the question actually asked. I don't know about these guys, but me, I want it cause it's novel and there's no redstone, and I like putting bespoke prestige projects on my server... you might have noticed I tend to do form over function on a lot of my farms... so this is about form, the function is just a bonus

Second example, I wanted to see if there was any way to make Terra Invicta load faster, "just don't save scum"... you idiot, one that's just stupid advice, people can play games however they want, but two this once again doesn't answer the question

Like yeah, how dare people want to know if there's a way to make a game load saves faster when loading takes like 1 minute

If they at least phrased stuff like "sorry, I don't know how to do that, he's an alternative you might try", it's not helpful but it's at least polite

But man... I just get tired of people not answering the question being asked and instead answering the one they've decided was asked

(Actually, a legit real problem in the real world such as... with doctors who don't listen to their patient and decide they know what's really being asked. Don't do it, answer the asked question, or at least ask questions to confirm what's being asked before going off pig headed)

[multifandomme]

A Dangerous Game

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Summary: Natasha is forced to admit that her feelings for you, an escort, are far more than transactional.

Genre: Smut, (mommy kink, power dynamics, exhibitionism vibes, semi-public sex, pet names, praise kink, light degrading, strap ons, fingering), not suitable for minors.

Word Count: 3k.

A/N: This is a gift for @ionlylikemarvelforthewomen as it's her favourite fic.

This piece is for day 7 of kinktober under the 'semi-public sex' prompt. This is a new and modified version of a fic I wrote in 2022.

More works from me here. || Masterlist here. || Kinktober 2024 Masterlist here.

––--– ♡ –––--

––--– ♡ –––--

“You’re so tense.”

A brief silence engulfed the lavish hotel room, your adept fingers digging further into the canyon that separated Natasha’s shoulder blades, softened grunts escaping her.

“Yeah,” she scoffed, her expression disgruntled due to the pain that materialised from your attempt at reducing the knots that hardened her muscles. “That’s not the only place.”

Natasha sighed loudly as you released her from your grasp, jogging her shoulders to assure that you had been steadfast in your endeavours. Over the last few months, Natasha’s visits had fluctuated to the point of concern, appearing at this same hotel room more than thrice a week. 

You couldn’t complain, Natasha a model client, respectful, obedient and left your pockets brimming with wads of cash. Knowing so little about her didn’t help stymie your overriding worry for her and for yourself, a bizarre kind of comfort surrounding you whenever her presence was near. You could not place the feeling, nor begin to describe it, though you did know that whatever it was that you had felt could only spell danger, territories that were better left unexplored.

“You know, you should probably find a better outlet than this,” you advised, the compassion that brimmed in your voice soon passed off as a mindless suggestion. “There’s only so much I can do for you, Natasha.”

Natasha surged upwards, swiftly abandoning her prior position perched on the edge of the bed, the sound of her kissing her teeth in irritation echoing out into the expansiveness of the room. The topic always seemed to incite inflammation, though you were all too wary of becoming too intertwined with a client, knowing the hardships that arose from personal experience.

You had your rules and at first, adhering to them provided no issue, though as the time passed and the frequency of your meetings grew, so did the temptation to shirk the consequences. Thus far, only two rules had withstood the test of time: no personal information that exceeded necessity and no visible markings left behind. 

Even with such boundaries in place, Natasha was undeterred, resolute in her pursuit of abandoning the latter. And when the throes of pleasure engulfed her in her entirety, her mind and desires unencumbered, she would beg, plead, do anything to convince you to reconsider your judgement. You had yet to relinquish, though you feared that one day she would reign victorious and break you, at times, you secretly hoped that she would.

“What I want is for you to do your job," she flared, frustratedly, "that is what I pay for, no?"

The smart remark almost triggered the emergence of a chuckle from you, profoundly amused by her ability to implement avoidance tactics whenever this particular topic was called into question. Instead of permitting her the delusion of her ardent denial, you decided to probe further in the hopes of collapsing her walls.

In an effortless manoeuvre, the black silk robe that shrouded your lingerie from view disintegrated into a velvety pool at your feet, Natasha’s gaze possessed with immediacy as you strutted towards her.

“Are you certain that’s all you want?” You interrogated, sultrily, your voice like honey as you attempted to distract her from the daring nature of the question. “I see the way you look at me. This isn’t just a fuck for you and you know it.”

Tenderly, you reached out to trail the soft skin of her cheek with your thumb, the gesture impeded as Natasha batted you away with intent, her guardedness rebuilding itself before you. Without a word, she travelled to the furthest corner of the room, her attention redirected to the cityscapes that lay beyond the window. An audible sigh exuded and you knew that your prodding had instilled a festering sense of doubt inside of her. 

“So what if it is more?” Natasha challenged, bluntly, the words falling from her lips as if her inner monologue had accidentally blurted its way out of her mouth, unchecked. “I know what I’m doing,” she assured, though the flickering of her eyes conveyed a distinct uncertainty, as if her lips were speaking of a truth she inherently knew she could not uphold.

The last sentence tugged a quirk from your eyebrows, a smug smile plastering itself across your face as you sauntered over, your lingerie-clad form shadowing hers from behind. Instantly, her breath hitched and the boldness that she donned only seconds prior seemed to ebb away until it had dissipated completely. Your smirk seared into the side of her neck as you attacked her pulse point with softened kisses, delicately as to activate the docility that bubbled just below the surface. 

“It’s a dangerous game that you’re playing,” you purred, sexily, your fingers creeping down to cup at her pussy, Natasha’s body tensing in surprise until she surrendered to the glimmer of pleasure that it delivered.

Natasha gasped softly, her legs shifting with heightened impatience as her thighs clamped firmly around your hand to attain further friction.

“I like dangerous games,” Natasha breathed, weakly, and you could tell from the way in which she spoke that her eyes were tight shut, a pliable state beginning its activation.

“Oh, I know, baby,” you whispered, your fingers abandoning her pussy to make quick work of her breasts, the light patronisation in your tone causing her to groan aloud. “But they’re not so fun when you lose, hm?"

“I’ll do whatever you ask of me. I’ll be so good for you.”

“Kneel,” you barked, authoritatively, pleased to discover her immediate compliance, dropping to the floor without a protest nor a sound.

Natasha’s obedience could not be faulted, revelling in the way she stared intently, her beautiful green eyes glazed over as she awaited your instruction. She would ask and beseech to be debased, which often led you to wondering what she was like in her day to day life, wondered what had shaped her into the quaking mess below you. 

“Good girl,” you praised, earnestly, a hand ruffling absentmindedly through her silky locks.

“Thank you, Mommy” Natasha blushed, a feeble smile playing on her lips as her eyes averted to the floor below, a slight glint of  apprehension filling her.

“Let’s see that pretty face of yours, hm?”

Orbs of serpentine raised to meet yours, her beauty undeniable as it captivated you with no means of escape. Delicately, you thumbed the apples of her cheeks, noting how a rosy hue began to appear. The deft touches allowed no prior warning as to what would occur next, though Natasha knew, her eyes tight shut as your palm thrashed against her cheek. Scarlet tinged her cheeks with vigour, adrenaline coursing through Natasha’s veins as she simpered, devoid of thought.

“Thank you, Mommy,” she beamed, dumbly as she excitedly braced for another wrecking impact.

But, you had other plans for her.

“Open that pretty mouth for me, angel,” you instructed, flatly, a hum of approval exiting from you as she promptly abided. “I think it’s time that Mommy put it to good use, hm?”

Natasha inwardly ascended at the idea, nodding avidly with her jaw widening at your request, her tongue slipping out from her mouth. She loved to be at your disposal and her features shone with enthralment.

Roughly, you stuffed two digits into her mouth and hummed in extolment as Natasha laved them generously with saliva, swirling her tongue with passion. Her pink lips blossomed into a deep shade of crimson, swollen below her valiant endeavours. The enthusiasm dripped from her, spurring you on as you pushed in further, a spark of bewilderment flecking her stare.

“Such a good girl,” you cooed, retracting your fingers to find a string of saliva dangling, momentarily retaining connection until it fell away.

“Thank you, Mommy,” Natasha enthused, her teeth peeking out to nip softly at her lips, her appetite noticeable, burgeoning. 

“Is someone getting needy already?” You probed, knowingly, Natasha’s face flushing with sheer humiliation as she pried her eyes from you in aversion. “Tell Mommy what it is that you want.”

A faltering gulp sounded, a pause of silence prevailing until you drew her chin upward and subsequently forced her into meeting your eye line. 

“I want you to fuck me, Mommy,” Natasha divulged, shyly, her blush all but darkening as the words exited her lips. “I want you to take me where everybody can see.”

“What a filthy little slut,” you taunted, unable to bite away the smirk that had subconsciously upturned your lips, more so when you had caught Natasha in a state of utter transfixion, taken by the large windows.

The redhead’s pupils visibly dilated as the fantasies flooded in her mind, robbing her of coherence as she imagined people staring up from the city below and gawking at her nudity, studying her. Unknowingly, a desperate mewl fell from her mouth, her arousal beginning to seep against the material of her underwear.

“Take off your clothes and face the window for Mommy, princess,” you purred, the sound of your voice able to coax her from her state of entrancement. “Don’t make me wait.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

The eruption of hasty movement behind you signalled Natasha’s expeditious compliance with your request, barely a minute having gone by before she quietly reappeared, her exquisite form unveiled, bare. Your mouth salivated profusely at the image of her, clearing your throat as a means of regaining the concentration that had been briefly stolen from you. 

The remnants of sunset light projecting through the window seemed to encompass her physique in gold, her irises boasting a milder green as she twisted to regard you, praying that you would sate her limitless hunger.

Cautiously, you approached, slowly as if you were stalking prey, only Natasha wanted to be captured, wanted to be devoured with carnal desire. Again, you found your place behind her, the soft silhouette of your black lingerie firmly pressing up against her. Natasha’s nakedness allowed for effortless access, taking her breasts into your hands as you played roughly with them. 

Her nipples stiffened instantaneously, perhaps furthered by the slight plummet in temperature her lack of clothing had incited. But she was breathtaking, her head relaxing backwards to bruise against your clavicle, her lips in fatally close proximities.

“It feels so good, Mommy,” she complimented, despite the shakiness of her breath, her eyes settling to a close. “I want more of you, I need it. 

The encouragement that she had offered was not lost on you, and only invigorated you with a heightened sense of accomplishment. Your hand trailed downwards, snake-like, the obstruction of her underwear no longer stymying your efforts as you made immediate contact with her delicate flesh. 

What had greeted you had racked you with genuine surprise, her arousal leaking languidly as you gathered it amongst your digits. Natasha sighed in annoyance as you quickly retreated from her, though her eyes became instantly restored with anticipation when you dangled the glistening fingers before her mouth.

“You’re dripping, princess,” you whispered as you sank your fingers into her mouth to be cleaned. “What a desperate little slut and all for me.”

Natasha cried out in response, the sound ebbing out into a lustful moan the minute your hand returned to where she needed it the most. She bucked sporadically, the volume of her protests only intensifying as you continued to prolong her suffering, rejoicing in it. 

“Please, Mommy,” she pleaded, her voice no louder than a softened whisper, her energy dwindling along with her patience. “I need you inside of me.”

Her pitiful pleas rang out like music to your ears, your free hand wrapping around her from behind to secure itself around her throat. Fixed in place, Natasha’s motion was thwarted, every trace of control stolen from her. A frenzied jolt reverberated through her as she felt you align your fingers against her pussy, an all-encompassing tremor claiming her when you finally slipped inside. 

As you thrust steadily inside of her, you scattered her porcelain neck with pecks, occasionally delivering an aimless bite as she panted. The lewd sounds that emitted as your fingers buried inside of her filled the vicinity, echoing, your addiction to her only reaching new heights. And just when you suspected that Natasha was approaching an orgasm, you removed all contact from her.

“Bend over for me, angel,” you insisted, a devious expression lurking upon your features. “Let Mommy see that pretty pussy of yours.”

Natasha obliged, her cheeks hued scarlet, palms pressed to the glass of the window as she presented her exposed pussy to you. Arousal splayed the area around it, fluttering as it clenched around the absence of your fingers. The woman groaned exasperatedly as you prodded her from behind, a probing digit stuffing itself inside of her just to feel the way she constricted desperately around it. She wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer, you knew that.

“Do you want to cum, princess?” You asked, mockingly, the evidence staring you in the face as she quivered lightly, her face disgruntled in displeasure at being denied. 

“Yes, Mommy,” she sobbed out, her head knocking against the glass, her shallow breaths tainting its clarity with translucent condensation. “Please, please.”

Hastily, you raced to collect her favourite toy but not before landing a quick slap against her ass, earning a squeal from Natasha. In the silence, Natasha could hear the sound of you securing the harness around you, her eyes peering around from her position as she stole a sneaky preview. You could almost see her pushing up to her tiptoes in preparation, her breasts squashed against the window for all to see. Her zeal was unrivalled.

“Aren’t you a good girl?” You praised, noticing the way she had modified her position, your hands ghosting her sides until they settled in firmly against her hipbones. 

“Yes Mommy,” Natasha acceded, delightedly, her palms spread as she gripped the window with a harsher force, readying for what was inevitable. “I’m your good girl.”

The tip of your strap on slid against her pussy as you teased her, before its entire length disappeared into her warmth. Natasha collapsed forward, saved only by the sturdiness of her arms as her breasts rocked methodically against the glass. You held her in place with an unyielding grip around the back of her neck, erratic breaths of oxygen spring from her as she adjusted to the intrusion, delighted in the sensations that it activated. 

“Oh, mhm,” Natasha moaned, shamelessly, the volume exceeding anything you had procured from her to date as she assisted you in rutting against the toy, taking it deeper than you had thought possible.

“You like that, princess?” You growled, breathlessly, tightening your grasp upon her until a brute force incurred. “Do you like it when Mommy fucks you like a whore?”

“Yes, Mommy, oh, fuck-”

With Natasha’s fiery locks wound around your fingers for leverage, you forced her closer, her body solidly against you. A wandering hand sought the apex of her thighs, pinching and rubbing at her clit as she began to convulse in your arms. 

“That’s it angel,” you encouraged, zealously.,“cum for Mommy.”

Natasha craned until her lips ghosted yours, intent on overstepping the boundaries and willing you into a kiss. For once, you did not possess the self-control to deny her, did not want to. She was angelic, the repercussions pushed so far into the back of your mind that they ceased to exist. So, you surrendered to the gravitational pull, claiming her lips as she jolted, her words stifled by your mouth as she unraveled. 

Natasha kissed with undying passion, the flames felt as soon as the contact was made. Her tongue infiltrated your mouth, sharp teeth tugging at your bottom lip as her moans were breathed into you. Abruptly, she broke the connection, staring into your eyes with an expression you could not quite fathom. 

“I like you,” Natasha blurted, her breathing still uneven, though her eyes were more alert than you had ever witnessed as they burned holes into your own, unyielding.

The tension hung in the air like thick cloud cover, an unnerving quiet whipping up and taking you under as you pondered your response to her confession. Toying with her first was always the more enjoyable option and thus, you decided to do just that.

“You like the way I fuck you,” you corrected, feigning seriousness, your gaze narrowing in order to convince her of the facade. “There’s a difference, Natasha.”

“If you don’t feel the same,” Natasha began, moving to collect her clothes from the bed, “then just say that.”

Laughter rumbled inside of you, unable to be stifled as it burst out from your throat, a hand covering your mouth to no avail. Natasha merely glared at you with fury unbridled, dejected, hurt. 

“Why are you laughing?”

You settled upon the edge of the bed, observing as Natasha willed herself into a state of fluster.

“Why don’t you take a look in the mirror, princess,” you suggested, the unexpected segue enough to pique Natasha’s curiosity, though she was still highly perplexed by the sudden redirection.

“I know I look a mess, I-”

“No,” you interjected, guiding her to the full-length mirror beside the bed and studying her features as the situation slowly ebbed out into clarity. “Look.”

Natasha stared mindlessly for a moment, her eyes dulled until she finally caught sight of what you were attempting to unearth. Her hands flew up to survey the skin of her neck, purple little bruises decorating the previously pale skin.

“You broke the rule,” Natasha gushed, wide-eyed, confused. “You marked me.”

You nodded, knowingly as you pulled her to take refuge on your lap. Her mouth was still lightly agape in shock, burning questions flocking to her mind.

“You… don’t mark clients,” Natasha remembered, the words exiting her as more of a question, as if she was confirming your knowledge of its sentiment.

A beam plastered itself upon your face, Natasha’s naivety bringing a warmth that seemed to persist. In that moment, everything seemed to fall into order, unable to take your eyes away from the ethereality of the woman in front of you. Softly, you pressed your lips against hers, hoping that the act would be enough to convey the words that you had struggled to find.

“I know,” you mused, “but I think it’s time that we both admit that we’re more than that, hm?”

––--– ♡ –––--

––--– ♡ –––--

[lightfeltmemories]

dungeon meshi | delicious in dungeon; reactions to reader having a crush on them / having a crush on reader

dungeon meshi various x gender neutral reader

note: hey everyone, please be mindful that this is the very first time writing for these characters, i have watched every available episode but i am still reading the manga (though i do have a general idea about the setting and the characters backstories and personalities) so if any characters are ooc to you my apologies, don't be harsh im new here lol. sorry some of them are shorter than others i kind of ran out of ideas when it came to certain characters :p let me know in the comments or reblogs or more preferably in my ask box if you want me to do any other character.

characters: laois, falin, chilchuck, marcille, senshi, namari, shuro, izutsumi (i'm adding her here because feels weird leaving her out when i've added former members of the party, also this is purely sfw so nothing weird will be aimed towards her.)

trigger warnings: nothing out of the ordinary but just read the manga or watch the anime before reading this.

if you like this and my other fanfics, please be considerate to reblog my work, it not only helps reach a broader audience but it also motivates me to make more content like this!

laois touden

reader's crush: when laois finds out that you have a crush on him, his reaction is.. well, how do we put it this way? is he flattered? yes and no, he doesn't see himself as ugly but also doesn't look at himself as the most handsome guy in the world, but someone straight up having a crush on him is kind of new, he doesn't really care much for relationships at the very moment but has thought about settling down with someone he likes, will it be you?

laois' crush: when it comes to having a crush, he tries to be his normal self around you, but sometimes can't help but be a little nervous especially when the two of you are alone, sooner or later he comes to the conclusion of realizing the he indeed, likes you, but confessing is the hard part, he's never thought much about rejection, it is a normal part of life after all, but when it comes to you? it's an entirely different ball game.

falin touden

reader's crush: falin already has someone chasing after her; shuro, theres a 50/50 chance of her reaction to reader's crush being the same as shuro's, but could there be a different reaction this time?

falin's reaction: surprisingly less shy than her brother, when she comes to this conclusion she'll build up the right time to actually confess, not wanting to rush things, just watch out for shuro i guess.

chilchuck tims

reader's crush: chilchuck learning about reader's crush is a bit sad, though he's no stranger to romance as he not only had a wife but also three whole kids, he's not really good with emotions so he's kind of scared you'll leave him just like his wife did, so, if reader confesses, there's gonna be a high chance that you'll be rejected, just give it some time.

chilchuck's crush: this weird feeling in his chest whenever he see's you will confuse him at first.. there's no way he has a crush on you?? after his wife leaving him he didn't really have any interest in romance, he might as well just focus on his work at the moment, one of these days he'll bring up the courage to confess, just not right now.

marcille donato

reader's crush: she can't really decide on whether she'll return the feelings or not, definitely flattered is what i'll say.

marcille's crush: she's similar to falin, she'll build up a better relationship with you for the right time to confess, she tries to make it seem as if she's not into you but it's quite obvious to the other party members.

senshi of izganda

reader's crush: out of everyone, he'll definitely be the most flattered, someone having a crush on him wasn't something he put much thought into, not to mention romance kind of isn't his thing, nor does he think he have the time for a significant other.

senshi's crush: i don't think this is the very first time he's ever had feelings for someone, but it's definitely a special feeling, he's not nervous of confessing his feelings at all actually, and he's not that sensitive to rejection.

namari

reader's crush: namari wouldn't really know how to react, honestly, she's never given the idea of someone having a crush on her much thought, she won't care much about rejecting the reader, at least she's honest.

namari's crush: her crush will be a bit hard to spot but when it comes to you, there will be a notable soft spot, she treats you like everyone else and isn't afraid to scold you if you do something wrong.

shuro | toshiro nakamoto

reader's crush: in an au where he still has feelings for falin, he immediately rejects you, telling you boldly that his heart is for falin and falin alone, but lets go to an au where he either loses interest in her or doesn't like her at all; definitely flattered, someone liking him (back) isn't unheard of but it is... nice?

shuro's crush: just look at what he does with falin, he will propose to you at some point, of course when time goes by and he starts to fall for you harder and harder, until he just can't contain it anymore.

izutsumi

reader's crush: very, very strange, someone having a crush on her is.. almost unheard of, or she doesn't pay much attention, anywho, she doesn't know... how to react? she knows what to do if she doesn't return the feelings but... someone liking her is just weird lmao.

izutsumi's crush: she won't make it obvious.... or try to at least, she accepts affection from you much more than she does from the others and sticks by your side more.

[ackermans-angel]

BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND!GOJO SATORU | FIC RECS

A/N: Been obsessed with the Brother's Best Friend trope recently, specifically regarding Satoru, and I really wanted to share my favorite fics created by the amazing writers listed below. ALSO I wanted to do this because I haven't made one of these recommendation lists in awhile, and I love to do them number one to help promote the writers I love, and number two because when I find a trope I love with a character I wish I had a list like this to just find fics instantly LMAOOO. PLEASE feel free to recommend me your favorite brother's best friend fics if you know anymore and FEEL FREE to send me an ask at anytime if you're searching for fics of a certain trope I'd be happy to make more lists. Now enough of my yapping, I got ahead of myself and I'm posting this now but I'll update as I find more fics.

WARNING: I WON’T BE MORE CLEAR ON THIS! If you proceed to these accounts make sure to look at the rules and warnings. please respect the account owner, as most of them don’t want people under 18 on them. ALWAYS READ WARNINGS ON FICS TO INSURE YOU ARE RESPECTING THE WRITERS GUIDELINES!!!

One more thing! IF YOU LIKE A FIC PLEASE REBLOG NO MATTER THE ACCOUNT! The easiest way to show a creator you care and that their work is being appreciated is to reblog reblog reblog! They spend hours of their time creating work FOR US. The least we can do is REBLOG!

accounts under the cut. (last updated January 4th, 2024.)

IF IT’S ONLY A TOUCH…AITA? by @tteokdoroki This one is so good and the most recent one I read. It's the perfect amount of angst and smut. It does have some descriptions of the reader having braids, darker skin, and brown eyes so if you don't like when it's not vague about how the reader looks then this is probably not for you. However, those descriptions do not match me at all and I didn't have a problem while reading at all. I think you should definitely give it a read if you like the brother best friend trope!

BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND by @cptnleviackerman This one was so good for it only having so few notes. definitely go hype this one up because it deserves it. Read the tags before you continue on though because some of the themes could be triggering! Other then that this one was super good.

HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO FUCK YOUR BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND? (FOUR WHOLE DAYS) by @saetoru SOOO GOOD. I love this fic so please go check this one out!

CRYBABY. by @ieirism AHHHH I FORGOT ABOUT THIS ONE. This one was soooooo goood. It is really fluffy and has so much sweet satoru. love love love.

TELL ME YOU DON'T WANT ME by @awearywritersworld I completely forgot about this one but from what I can remember it was really sweet. All angst and fluff and omg their dynamic after sugurus death is just so sweet.

YOUNGER BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND GOJO by @satocidal this is just a little drabble but the smut>>>>> that's all I have to say. go read!!

[relia-robot-writes]

I am the Princess in the Tower.

You know, people hear that, and they say, "Oh, that poor Princess, she must be so lonesome up there. Some cruel fate must have befallen her, to be trapped so."

It's true, to a certain extent. I am lonesome. There's no shortage of princes and princesses - I have to wonder where they all come from - who come to try to rescue me from my captivity. None of them ever get particularly close, of course. The Tower is surrounded by a dark and tangled wood, monsters of flesh and stone stalk the grounds, invisible barriers and devious traps block all entry, and even if they got to the base of the Tower, they'd have to figure out how to climb up a sheer, frictionless vertical surface while automatically triggered fireballs rained down upon them... it's pretty well defended, is what I'm trying to say. Every single one of them gets sent packing, cursing the wizard who built the Tower and imprisoned me.

Which is, you know, pretty funny, when you get right down to it.

I mean, it's only natural to assume that, right? Wizards are mysterious, they pop in and out all the time. If one decides to suddenly vanish one day, well, he's probably just off calculating the angles of reality, or whatever, he'll be back. And if a girl appears in his Tower, well, of course he kidnapped a Princess for his own unfathomable wizard purposes.

It hardly matters that there aren't any kingdoms missing a Princess.

I don't correct them, anyway. It's safer for me if nobody knows who I am, or how I've changed. Safety was, after all, why I built the Tower in the first place. You think wizards do this for fun? Out in the middle of nowhere, forced to conjure food and water? Having to walk up and down twenty flights of stairs if I feel like going outside?

Wizards build towers when they are scared shitless.

See, I cast this divination spell when I was an apprentice, and I fucked it up. It constantly shows me visions of my own doom...

Not buying it?

Well, there was this devil, see, and I tricked him into thinking I'd signed my soul away, so now he stalks me forever, seeking vengeance through the very shadows themselves...

No good?

Well, I was cursed as a wee babe, and now all the world is my enemy, from the mightiest warrior to the softest blade of grass, and each one thirsts for my blood!

...I would have died to that one, like, immediately, huh.

Okay. Fine. I'm just... a coward. I built my Tower as far away from everything and everyone that could possibly do me harm as I could. I studied magic because it felt like the best way to avoid any and all hard work, conflict, and danger. I held off on telling anyone anything about who I truly was or what I wanted until I felt I could be absolutely safe.

And still, with "rescuers" at my door just waiting for my hand, I can't bear to look at them. The idea of one even getting close enough to attempt to climb the Tower (it's happened more than once) is terrifying. I could ask them to stop, but who would believe me? "Yes, I, the Princess in the Tower, am totes fine, please go away forever thanks, I am not an evil wizard." That'd go over well.

There's another princess that just made her way through the Woods and slayed one of my constructs. She'll be at the Tower base soon. She's got really pretty hair

I wish

I hope that you

Please don't

I'm writing this down here, and then I'm gonna go hide. If you're reading this,

The blue-armored princess flipped the paper over to the other side. It was blank. Her hair smoldered from the fireball she'd almost dodged, and she drummed her fingers on the hilt of her blade as she reread the first side. Aside from the paper, the room - and, indeed, the entire interior of the Tower - seemed completely empty.

[physalian]

On Writing Characters with Hyper-Specific Triggers (and a PSA)

*Trigger warning for this whole post

Once upon a time, I had a roommate. Nothing looked wrong from the outside and this narcissist probably thought nothing was wrong on the inside, but there was. I knew moving in with them was a mistake, but financial circumstances demanded I shut up and try to make the most of it. Enter the longest thirteen months of aPTSD-inducing psychological stalemate I hope to never repeat again. Seven of which were on overdrive.

The why doesn’t matter. The how doesn’t matter. What matters is that this roommate was so toxic, there was no point in attempting to talk things out because any little thing could be a land mine for starting an argument and it didn’t matter what casualties got caught in the crossfire, so long as this person “won”. Casualties including our friendship. So if any little thing, anything at all, could be a land mind, what do you do if not try to completely avoid them? For seven months.

This person’s work schedule was incredibly erratic, but they were gone more hours than not, and when they were home, they were usually asleep. In those few overlapping hours where we were both awake, I could not leave my room for fear of said verbal land mines. If I wanted to cook, leave the apartment, get anything from the living room or my desk that I had to abandon, get more water from the fridge, I had to do it before they got home, or after they went to bed, and I could never predict when they’d be home.

Luckily (or unluckily), my room faced the parking lot, and this roommate drove a car that made a very specific sound. From the moment I heard that car from my room, I had about 20 seconds to shut down whatever I was doing in the apartment, retreat to my room, and lock the door. Overreacting? Potentially, I wasn’t in any physical danger, but this was seven months of near complete isolation from any other friends, and the fear of making it worse kept me silent.

So, 20 seconds from the moment I hear the telltale whine of that engine. If I couldn’t hear the car, our front door had a lock that chimes and I had about 7 seconds from the first chime to the door opening to get the fuck out of the way. I lost weight that I couldn’t afford to lose from being unable to cook past a certain time in the evening and staying locked in my room on their days off.

Seven months of only having a door chime and an engine to tell me when it was safe and when I had to run.

—

These chime locks are the new normal and one year removed from that apartment, every time I hear it and I’m already stressed, it’s a trigger.

Every time I’m on the highway and I see a dark grey sedan of that make, that is the most important car on the road until I make sure it’s not their car.

Every time I see a dark grey sedan parked in reverse, as they habitually did, that is the most important car in the parking lot until I make sure it’s not theirs.

Every time I have to drive near a certain location where they work, I am watching for that car.

I could pick it out from 200 others. I know the license plate, I know the license plate frame, I know what sticks to the windshield, I know what hangs from the rearview mirror. I would know that car rusted and crushed in an impound lot.

So. Today I drive home and I pass a rear-parked car one turn before my unit, and I think to myself, “that’s not X’s car, but I noticed it, I’m never not going to notice it.” It wasn’t the same make, model, or color, it was just a sedan with its nose sticking out and that was enough.

Then I turn the corner. And there it is. My ex-roommate’s car.

I shit you not it was like I had a warning from the Universe before it hit.

I don’t need to check the windshield, I know it’s theirs. I’ve seen it in my complex once before. The last time I did, I’d parked my own car and waited, got out, and hid between two others in the dark, waiting for this person to leave.

Today, in broad daylight, that car is empty. They happened to arrive while I was gone for 30 minutes. So I park, and I wait. I watch that car from my side mirror. I scan the sidewalk for them and I don’t see anything. I have frozens that can’t wait.

I’m thinking to myself, of all the parking spots in all the parking lots, of all the apartments in this godforsaken town, you parked right behind my spot.

Nothing happened, and even if we crossed paths, nothing probably would have happened (that’s how they worked, pretending nothing was ever wrong and that I was the crazy one). But I still waited, and when I decided to leave, I moved as fast as possible without drawing attention. One whole year removed from that person.

—

It doesn’t take physical abuse, or yelling and screaming and death threats. It doesn’t need to be a parent or a sibling, a relative, or a romantic partner. This person never touched me, never screamed (though they did yell on occasion), never actually threatened anything. They never called me names, were never direct with any of their insults, were never explicitly petty. I had no proof. Ever.

I just had example after example of every time they cut me down to feel smart, picked on me to feel better about themselves and project their own insecurities and jealousy, or used me as their emotional punching bag because of choices they made.

So a year after completely cutting them out, there’s that fucking car parked outside my apartment.

Media portrays “triggers” usually only in characters who are veterans. Noises that sound like gunshots, or thunder, fireworks, because that’s what we think of when we see PTSD—people who fought in wars.

It’s not like I sit around fixating on that car or that door chime (and actually with exposure to that chime every day with no consequences it’s gotten better), but that’s the point. They come out of nowhere when you least expect it. They don’t prepare you for their arrival, they just happen.

I didn’t have anything close to a panic attack, but nothing in the universe was more important in that moment than making sure I didn’t run into this person, until I calmed down.

Trigger attacks don’t have to be this big flashy thing, born of big flashy movements. It can be something as subdued as going quiet, staring at the thing, and your brain dumping everything else except all the potential outcomes of not escaping this situation immediately. It’s just a car. It’s not like an evil Big Dick truck with smokestacks and truck nuts and a MAGA flag on the back. It’s just a nerdy sedan that could belong to anyone.

—

So. PSA.

What you think might be an overreaction by someone you care about, they probably think is an overreaction, too. Did I want to have fate shit on my day and spend extra minutes under the hot sun when I have chores to do? No. But it happened.

What you think a trigger is supposed to look like or what the symptoms are supposed to be are not just what’s dramatic and flashy for the TV. Here I am writing a whole blog post about it instead of just moving on and I can't go back and check for typos because I don't want to have to reread it.

Do you want to die on a hill of “get over it” when someone you care about would love nothing more? Just. Be there for them.

And to writers, artists, anyone—it doesn’t have to be dramatic to be the most upsetting part of someone’s day. Including such simple things as a door chime, or the sound of an engine, really helps with visibility so people like me don’t think “I’m not allowed to feel this way, I didn’t actually suffer like a shell-shocked veteran”.

Most of us never will. That doesn’t make any of our hardships any less valid. Please be kind.

[lordprettyflackotara]

chapter eight || hitchhiker || the proxies

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. tw: humiliation like big time please read with discretion, degrading, rough sex, breeding kink, choking, face fucking

Masky knew time was running out.

In his hand sat a scrub brush, his fingers gripping the wood so tightly his knuckles were turning white. He knew they were running out of time. The Operator wanted you. He could see it now. He had been a blind fool to not realize it sooner. Your paranoia. Masky felt like a fool to ever even think that them being around you wouldn't cause this. He gritted his teeth as he scrubbed at your kitchen floor. They needed to do what they did best: disappear.

Toby was keeping The Operator busy, Hoodie occupied with finding Nova. They had agreed to let her live for your sake, so you would have someone while they were gone. Leaving meant one thing for certain: absolutely no traces were to be left behind that they were over there. No fingerprints, items, hairs, or any sign. Masky knew this is what they had to do. It was for your own good. They couldn't let The Operator have you. You didn't deserve this life of imprisonment. It was then your apartment door slammed open, your small figure shaking with rage. Masky's eyes widened, his expression hidden under his mask. You slammed the door behind you, reaching around to your back waistband.

You weren't proud of your decision to steal from Nova. She was your best friend. But as you clutched the metal piece in your hands, you had never felt more alive. You held out the stolen gun, aiming it at Masky's crouched figure.

"Who are you?" You asked coldly. You had never felt more explosive with emotions, your heart racing. "My name is Masky. I am a mere alter created by the Tim you know and love," Masky said flatly. You narrowed your eyes, your eyebrows furrowing. "Explain yourself," You ordered. Masky raised his hands, slowly rising to his feet. He noted you wearing his jacket even as you pointed a gun at him. "There's too much to explain, what you need to know-" Masky began, your audible scoff cutting him off. Your face was twisted in anger and betrayal, your hands beginning to visibly shake. "I don't give a shit what you think I need to know. Tell me everything. From the beginning. Leave out any details and i-i'll shoot!" You exclaimed.

Masky straightened his shoulders, eyeing you through his mask. "When you met us we had just gotten done with murdering Detective Williams, or whatever his name is. They all blend in together after a while. May I sit? We're going to be here for a while," Masky asked. He gestured to your coffee table. You frowned, cocking your gun towards the table. Masky recognized it to be a python. The same one Nova had threatened to kill Toby with. "I can listen to the story without your mockery. Detective Winston had a family. He had a community that looked up to him," You spat, venom lacing your words. Masky dug in his jean pocket, yanking out a box of cigarettes.

"They always do. He made himself a target by investigating the proxy symbol. I know Nova has showed it to you," Masky said. He was merely guessing, but your face twisting in surprise confirmed his suspicion. "The proxy symbol has been around for centuries. It was created by my maker, The Operator. An unstoppable supernatural entity that diminishes the sanity of his victims. The ones he wants to make proxies at least," Masky explained. He took out a cigarette, not bothering to offer you one. You looked like you could use one though. Your shaking was very noticeable. "When he plants the proxy symbol at a location. He has a specific target in mind. Once the target breaks down to his liking, he'll turn them into what we are. Enslaved proxies mindlessly forced to do his bidding," Masky told you. Masky knew it was highly unprobeable you'd actually pull the trigger.

But to make you feel better he took his lighter out of his pocket slowly. "However, in the modern day world, getting a proxy is a bit more tricky. Back when Hoodie and I-" He started, noticing you looking lost. He flicked the lighter, igniting the end of his stick. "Hoodie is Brian's alter. We were created due to Tim and Brian's mental corruption and faltering. We can swallow what The Operator wants. They can't," Masky clarified. He inhaled his cigarette, any protest of him smoking inside being kept to yourself. "Back to what I was saying. Back then, maybe seven years ago, people just used missing posters and if you weren't found in 48 hours, you were presumed dead. Nowadays there's cameras and more compassion," Masky rambled. He exhaled his cigarette through his mouth, a difference between him and Tim.

"Killing cops and detectives isn't our bread and butter you know. We used to just clean up corpses or crime scenes. But that symbol reaching a wider audience is lethal to life as you know it. Nova really fucked up, plastering that shit on television," Masky said in an annoyed tone. Your eyes were beginning to water, your energy spent on fighting back the tears that threatened to poor. "Why?" You asked. Masky raised his hand, as if having a gun at him was unfazing. "I'm getting there princess," Masky replied. He inhaled more of his cigarette, before quickly exhaling. The buzz gave him a decent amount of relief from stress. "When The Operator plants a symbol somewhere, he has a singular target in mind. If it gets exposed to too many people, they could suffer from his wrath too. You'd be surprised how many people are one day away from snapping. He targets the mentally weak, like Tim and Brian. The weak with deep down issues that he could exercise to his advantage," Masky said dryly.

"Don't say that!" You hissed. Masky gave you an odd look, one concealed by his mask. "Why? Because you made out with Brian? Because you shared a cigarette with Tim?" He questioned. Your tears were flooding your waterline now, blinks away from free falling. "Well listen up princess. They're the reason you're fucked," Masky barked. The tears became too much, two droplets sliding down your cheeks. "The Operator has now shown interest in you. And it's their fault. It's also mine, for not putting a bullet through your skull when I had the chance," He said coldly. Your hands were shaking, your finger trembling against the trigger. You had never shot a gun in your life. You feared if you removed your finger he would stop talking. But you also feared if you kept it there you may accidentally pull the trigger.

"And Toby?" You asked.

Masky picked up his head, "What about him?"

"How does he play into all of this? You haven't mentioned him once," You explained. Masky took another sharp inhale, the tobacco smoke circling around his lungs. "The kid was practically adopted by The Operator when he burned down his house. Tourette's, schizophrenia, and the inability to feel pain. The Operator’s perfect adopted child. Not including his homicidal tendencies," Masky told you. Your eyes widened, your heart beginning to throb painfully. "Homicidal tendencies?" You whispered. It suddenly occurred to you. Nova had been right all along. Masky pistol whipped you. He was responsible for the bullet wounds. "He cuts up the bodies?" You said, phrasing your words as more of a question. Masky nodded affirmatively. "Like no one you've seen before," He confirmed. You felt your stomach churn, nausea ensuing quickly. They were murderers, all of them.

You blinked slowly, soaking all of it in. You glanced over at your kitchen, noting a duffel bag on your counter and Masky's abandoned scrub brush on the floor. "Why were you cleaning my apartment?" You asked. Masky ran his fingers through his choppy hair. "To leave no traces of us. This is what we do. We get the job done, then we disappear," He said, the words spilling out like he didn't want to say them. You froze, his words soaking in. They were leaving? After everything that had happened? "And the duffel bag?" You questioned. Masky slowly rose from the coffee table, taking one last puff of his cigarette before tossing it into the sink.

He grabbed it, yanking open the zipper and tossing it upside down. Out spilled handfuls of hundred dollar bills. You had never seen so much hard cold cash before, your heart plummeting at the sight. “What is this supposed to be?” You gasped. Masky tossed the duffel bag aside. “A peace offering. We’re hoping you can forgive us. That’s around fifty thousand dollars. That’ll pay off your debts. Take the money and Nova and get the fuck out of town,” Masky advised. You temporarily put down the gun, feeling defeat.

“Thats what you think I want? To forget the three of you? Why did you do this to me? Use me to get to Nova? You-” You babbled, pausing when you realized you weren’t talking to Tim. You swallowed, choking on your own words. “Was it a game? To all of you? To Brian? Hood- Hoodie? Toby? Tim? You?” You questioned. Masky lifted his mask, tossing it aside. “Listen to me very carefully princess. Hoodie and I may have started off that way but you have no idea how much you’ve grown on us. How much we care about you. I mean, for fucks sake we just gave you fifty grand,” Masky said. You stomped over to him, grabbing a handful of the cash and throwing it at his chest.

“You think I give a shit about any of that? I let the three of you, five of you, what the fuck ever, into my goddamn life and not only, do you lie to me about who you are. You murder people due to a demon that you attached to me and now you’re just going to up and leave? Thats your resolution?” You exclaimed. Masky went to take a step towards you, your arm raising the gun out of instinct. “Dont fucking touch me or I swear to God i’ll shoot,” You threatened. The swelling in your chest was immense, pressure assaulting your chest.

For the first time in Masky’s existence, he felt something unfamiliar. He watched as you struggled to stay upright, your chest rising and lowering at a dramatic rate. “I don’t understand, why are you upset? This is the best course of action,” Masky said bluntly. You wiped away a few tears, your lip quivering uncontrollable. “Because I fucking care about you! About all of you!” You bellowed. Masky froze, watching your hand shake as you gripped the gun. He realized what he was feeling, his mouth running dry.

Remorse. He felt remorse.

In a swift motion Masky charged at you, one hand gripped around the python, the other backing you into the front door. His large fingers gripped around the gun, angrily tossing it to the side. “First things first princess, you ever aim a gun at me again i’m going to shoot you with it. Secondly, the next time you aim a gun at someone, maybe take the gun off of safety first,” He growled. You shook under his touch as he towered over you. “And thirdly, I care about you too,” Masky confessed softly. You stared up at him, the face of the man who you had shared a cigarette with and bought you cupcakes on a late night whim. Unsurely he brought his hand to your face.

He cupped your cheek, wiping away the remaining tears that stained your soft skin. You searched his eyes unsurely. “There isn’t shit we can do now about how we got here. But I want the best for you,” Masky told you. You put your hand on top of his, closing your eyes. “You all cant leave me. You- you can’t,” You whimpered. Masky’s gaze softened, watching tears flow freely. His thumbs couldn’t wipe them away fast enough. “You’re all I have,” You uttered. It occurred to Masky then, the situation you were truly in.

You had Nova, sure. But how long was it before she wanted a family of her own? Maybe she would keep you around, sure. But you worked a dead end job, one that clearly was not paying the bills. Your dreams were far and out of reach. You had no contact with anyone else besides them. How could he do it? How could Masky leave you here all by yourself? He always thought of himself to be stronger than this. To be stronger than Tim. He was created to be a ruthless obedient murder machine. Yet as you sobbed into his hand, he realized he may be more than that. He couldn’t allow The Operator to have you. He knew that for certain. But all he could do for now, was have you to himself.

He guided your head, using his hand to guide your chin to look at him. You swallowed, your eyes glassy as Masky pressed his lips to yours. His lips were rough, your arms wrapping themselves around his neck without a second thought. He pushed you flat against the door, his large hands roaming down your body. Briefly he bent down, reaching under your thighs. “Jump,” He grumbled against your lips. You did as commanded, the brunette lifting you like you weighed nothing at all.

Your legs wrapped around Masky’s waist out of instinct, his bulge rubbing against your clothed core. He began to slowly grind against you, the two of you groaning in each other’s mouths. Your hands found his hair, gently tugging at the roots as you meshed your lips against his. He swiped his tongue along your bottom lip, causing you to whine as you granted him access. Involuntarily you pulled him closer and closer, wanting Masky as close to you as humanly possible. “I have to warn you princess, I don’t play nice,” Masky huffed, pulling away from your lips. His cock was throbbing his jeans, each subtle movement of his hips resulting in a whine escaping your throat.

“I don’t want nice. I want you,” You whispered. Your doe eyes met his, your words only making him more flustered. “I’m not like Toby, I could seriously hurt you,” Masky repeated. You bit the inside of your cheek, your gaze flickering to his lips. “So hurt me then,” You agreed. Masky’s eyebrows raised, a devious smirk crossing his lips. “You sure you can handle it pretty girl?” He questioned. He brought his hand to your throat, squeezing the sides. You groaned as he restricted your airway, your hips rolling against his. “Holy fuck, you really are a slut,” Masky grumbled. He licked his lips, setting you down on the floor.

His hands fiddled with your sweatpants, shoving them and your panties down to the floor in a careless motion. You expected him to lead you to the couch or to drop to his knees. To do anything but what he did next. In a swift motion he picked you up by your thighs, nuzzling his face in between your thighs. Fear washed over you as he held you mid air, your back hitting the wall. You were almost touching the ceiling, your mouth running dry. “M-Masky i’m not sure-” You started to protest, Masky’s curious eyes gazing up at you. He held you as if you weighed nothing, his mouth dangerously close to your cunt.

“Something wrong princess? I thought you said you could handle it,” Masky chuckled. He straightened out his back, unfazed by holding you standing up.He had looped your legs over his shoulders, hit breath fanning over your folds. "It's just a b-bit high up here," You stuttered. Masky leaned forward, licking an agonizingly slow stripe up your folds. "I got you princess, now relax and fall apart for me," Masky purred. He brought his mouth to your clit, groaning into your folds as he devoured your pussy. Your core was aching, praying for more. His tongue wasn't enough, each flick making your body shudder. You began to relax, raking your hands through his hair as he lapped at your cunt.

Unlike Toby he was far more rough and assertive, his tongue teasing your entrance before continuing to lap any juices you produced. His grip on you was tight, your head tilting back against the wall as he held you in place. You felt the rope inside of you tighten. "Fuck Masky right fucking there! So close," You slurred. Masky took one last long lap of your cunt, before bringing you back to the floor. The tension inside of you dissolved. "W-what was that? I was so close!" You hissed. Masky grabbed a handful of your hair, dragging you over to the couch. He threw you over the arm of the couch, your ass high in the air. A sharp slap was delivered to your skin, a chill running down your spine.

"You'll take what I give you. Such a whiny little thing," Masky purred. He rubbed the skin he had slapped, admiring your flesh turning a deep red. The pain he delivered was gratifying, your core throbbing with a different desire. An ache you had never craved before. You turned around, throwing yourself to the ground. "What do we have here? A cock hungry whore?" Masky mused. You yanked at his belt, before undoing his jeans. Masky couldn't deny you, his desire for you too much to ignore any longer. You brought his cock into your mouth without a second thought, your doe eyes staring up at him. You hollowed out your cheeks, taking his cock down to the base.

"Do- Do you want me to face fuck you?" Masky asked unsurely. You nodded as best as you could with his length down your throat, the sight setting Masky's body on fire. He grabbed your hand, putting it in a neat ponytail. "Your wish is my command princess. Why don't you touch that pretty cunt of yours?" He suggested. You slithered one of your hands down to your cunt, rubbing circles around your clit as Masky moved his hips. His cock hit the back of your throat slowly, his eyes gleaming with pride as you took him in stride. You whined around his cock as your core ignited with a familiar flame. The vibrations made Masky moan your name, his grip on your hair now tightening.

"How did I ever think of leaving? Fuck!" Masky moaned. His hips began to move faster, his cock abusing your throat as it pleased. You gagged around his thick shaft, saliva dripping down the sides of your mouth. Humiliatingly it dripped down your chin, a small puddle of it forming on the floor. You circled your clit faster, gagging on Masky as he shoved himself down your throat. "Such a good slut for me. So fucking good. Fucking hell," Masky grunted. Tears flooded your waterline again, this time the sight satisfying to the brunette standing above you. He enjoyed seeing you so hungry for his cock. So desperate to get off that you'd let him throat fuck you as you played with yourself.

You could feel yourself getting close again, this time your eyes pleading as they looked at Masky. "Can I cum?" You asked, your words muffled by his shaft. Masky pulled himself out of your throat, a thick string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. "Look at you. Asking me to cum like a good girl," Masky praised. You continued to circle your clit, the brunette crouching down to your level. He grabbed your chin roughly, planting a sloppy kiss to your lips. "That's too fucking bad that you need to cum already. You're only allowed to cum on my cock," Masky spat. He grabbed a handful of your hair, pushing you towards the floor. You held your ass high in the air, whimpering as you forced yourself to disconnect your fingers from your clit.

Masky made his way behind you, pressing down on your back for a better arch. "You need to cum on a real mans dick princess. Lucky for you i'm here," Masy huffed. He slapped his tip on your drenched folds, the slightest sensation making you squirm. He pushed himself inside of you, both of you groaning in unison. "You're so lucky i'm here. If Tim was doing this he'd hold your hand. But that's not what you want. Is it?" He asked mockingly. He grabbed your wrist, pinning them behind your back as he bottomed out inside of you. "You want to be degraded and be a whore, don't you?" Masky tsked. You squeezed his shaft, then attempting to wiggle your helps so the brunette would move. "I'm not a whore!" You protested weakly. Masky grinned devilishly, pushing your head to the ground.

Your face was an inch away from your previously fallen saliva, your eyes widening. "Lick it up or I won't fuck you," Masky threatened calmly. You hesitated, his hand roughly grabbing your hair, guiding you over to the pool of saliva. "I don't think I stuttered princess," He growled. Humiliated, you stuck out your tongue, deciding to lick the saliva off of the floor. "Only whores do this kind of shit to get fucked. Guess that makes you a whore," Masky chuckled darkly. He began to move his hips, moans escaping your lips as you licked the wood below you. "You're my whore though, don't you ever forget it," Masky rambled. He snapped his hips into yours, his cock abusing your g spot with ease.

Your body shook as Masky pounded into you, his fingers gripping your waist so hard your sinful noises were a mixture of pain and pleasure. You couldn’t control the sounds you made, Masky’s cock pounding into you mercilessly. You felt the cord inside of you tighten again, Masky’s thrust alone enough to send you over the edge. “My fucking whore. C’mere,” Masky snarled. He released your wrist, grabbing you by your hair and yanking you towards him. Your back hit his back as he thrust up into you, your thighs beginning to tremble. Roughly he brought his hand to your throat, squeezing it harshly.

“Go on. I know you’re dying to cum on my cock,” Masky grunted. His breath was hot against your ear, his grip on your neck only tightening. “Just know once you do i’m going to cum deep inside of you,” Masky informed you. You whimpered, your body being forced closer and closer to the edge. “Awe you like that idea, don’t you princess? I can feel you squeezing me. You like the idea of me breeding you,” Masky snickered. It was then your vision went white, your breath shallow as you came around his cock. Your walls milked Masky as you rode out your orgasm, the brunette behind you grunting as he came inside of you.

Dazed, you felt Masky’s hand slip away from your neck. Slowly he pulled out of you, his cum dripping down your thighs and traveling onto the floor. You slumped onto the floor, Masky’s strong hands preventing you from fully falling over. “Let’s get you tucked in princess,” Masky mumbled. You allowed your eyes to flutter close, entrusting the man with a mask with take care of your limp body.

“Hey Masky?”

“Yeah?”

“You guys are staying, right?”

Masky hesitated, clearing his throat before answering, “Yes we are.”

“Can I keep the fifty grand too?”

—> next chapter

[confused-wanderer]

As much as I love Dick and Damian’s relation, no way in HELL would Dick actually be that soft on him- like excusing his actions or favouring him over the rest of his siblings.

You wanna tell me Dick’ll immediately accept him and start showing him love. PLEASE. The man would take one look at the angry child craving revenge and immediately get flashbacks to his original days as Robin. He earns newfound respect for Bruce as he realises just how much of a chaotic gremlin he was.

But he can’t use empathy. Because while Dick was mad and wanted revenge for his parents, Damian doesn’t know any better and quite frankly even kills just to be petty. You can’t tell me Dick doesn’t pull out the logic stops and parallels Bruce training him.

The way he grills Damian harder, trains him to be faster and makes him spar knowing Damian would always lose. Because sure, it may not have always worked for Dick but it was perfect for humbling Damian.

When Dick finds out Damian tried killing Tim, you can’t tell me he won’t see red. He won’t allow another brother to die or get hurt, not on his watch. He’d give Damian a final line, a line he won’t hesitate to fire back with all he’s got if Damian crosses it. Dick would try to be empathetic, but not this far.

He’d divide his time, trying to figure out Damian and how to encourage him to choose his own path, while maintaining a strict code Damian has to follow to prevent him doing down the wrong one.

If Damian commits murder that is justified, or crimes that serve a greater good, he’ll dump Damian in Jason’s care to help him understand how grey areas work, but sometimes black and white does exist.

If Damian demands logical reasoning, Dick’ll escort him to Tim so the two can have an intellectual battle (if Tim agrees that is, but the chance to put the brat in his place is always too good for Tim to pass up)

Maybe Damian sees the warmth Dick has for his brothers, how they care for him in their own way and it helps him recognise how he can change too, in his own way.

All I’m saying- They may be close, but Dick wouldn’t have blatant favouritism, nor would he try and exclude his brothers or brush them off in favour of Damian. Dick knows how to be a team player, and utilise his team to complete missions too. Damian needed balance in all areas, and Dick knows he can’t do it alone.

Dick would help Damian, pay more attention to listen to his arguments to the others as Damian doesn’t have much of a reliable data to cross reference or emotional triggers or morals that Dick knows about, so he can’t “know” the person- therefore all his advice will be taken with a grain of salt.

But it does not make him excuse Damian actions, instead he’d be strict Batman style parent who won’t hesitate to take his brothers’ side over Damian if he’s wrong, and will strike back if he crosses certain lines.

[avis-writeshq]

02 — haunted

summary: “something’s gone terribly wrong, you’re all i wanted.”/“you’re not gone, you can’t be gone.” pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst warnings: rated 16+ for alcohol, religious talk (inaccurate portrayal of Christianity), vomit, INCREDIBLY CANON COMPLIANT ‼️IF YOU WERE TRIGGERED BY S2 EP15 REVELATIONS IN CRIMINAL MINDS, DO NOT READ THIS‼️ wc: 10.1k a/n: another special mention to @astrophileous for beta reading and hyping me up!! love you loads zahra 🤎 (she's also doing an AMAZING derek morgan series that i have the honour in beta-in so if you have time please do check it out!! it is an absolute work of art) SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

There is never a dull day when working at the BAU. After weeks of cases and paperwork, a night out was exactly what everyone needed. A place to get drunk, have fun and unwind– and O'Keefe's was the exact place to do just that.

“You know, you can at least try to look like you’re having fun,” Emily muses, nudging your shoulder. 

Emily joined the team soon after Elle had resigned, and as much as you missed your friend, you enjoyed Emily’s company. She’s too observant for her own good; grinning at you from across the room whenever you have the slightest interaction with certain people. She’s a brilliant addition to the team, much to your chagrin, but you know it’s all in good fun. Well, all in good fun for her.

You shoot her a playful glare, sipping on your drink. “I am having fun!”

“Liar,” Emily says instantly, grinning at you. “C’mon, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you deny, “I’m just tired. Things have been… busy to say the least. I’m just glad that the team is getting some R&R. Well deserved, might I add. How are you? You know, with joining the team and all that.”

She smiles in your direction before downing a shot and shrugging. “It’s been good! Yeah, everyone is so… welcoming. It’s nice.”

“Different to a desk job?” You ask with a teasing lilt in your voice. 

Emily laughs softly. “Yeah, totally.”

Your gaze shifts to where Spencer is sitting, for once enjoying himself in such a crowded area. He’s talking to two strangers at a table, his hands gesticulating as he explains something and the two people seem thoroughly amused. 

“So… Spencer, huh?”

You frown. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Emily laughs, “You’re staring at him with heart eyes. Anyone can tell. Except for him, apparently.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“For a profiler, you’re a horrible liar.”

You let out something that sounds akin to a dying cow, turning your attention back to your drink. Your attention wavers and it shifts back to Spencer who is enthusiastically talking about something to the two amused guests. He grins at them as they drink, his own cup still full. Derek is thoroughly enjoying himself as he dances with a group of girls, and you can see Aaron and Haley dancing together on the floor as well. It’s wholesome, seeing everyone in their casual wear and just having fun.  

“You should talk to him,” Emily tries again, nudging you. “I’ll buy you a drink if you do.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re bribing me to talk to my best friend?”

“I’m bribing you to give me entertainment,” she corrects, laughing.

“You’re horrible,” you tell her, smiling, as you walk past her in Spencer’s direction. “I expect that drink to be delivered to me.”

“Deal!” She calls after you, downing a shot as she watches you. 

Spencer smiles when he sees you make your way over to him, shuffling his chair to the side to give you more room. 

“Hi,” he murmurs, pulling your seat closer to him. “Having fun?”

“I should be asking that to you,” you respond, smiling. The two people he was once talking to take their leave, giggling about something you couldn’t quite make out. “I didn’t mean to scare away your company.”

He immediately shakes his head at your words. “I’d rather talk to you anyway.”

You can’t help the silly grin that spreads across your face or the way your cheeks heat up and you cough. “Well, I hope I can live up to your expectations.”

Spencer laughs, his hand gravitating to your knee and he squeezes good-naturedly. “You exceed them.”

You think he’s trying to kill you and you swear you stop breathing as you choke out, “I’m glad.”

It isn’t long before Emily makes good on her promise, and a waiter appears on your left. He presents a drink to your table, the glass adorned with a lemon rind and a raspberry, and you eagerly take a gulp. 

Spencer frowns a little as he watches you drink. “Aren’t you going to question who it’s from?”

“I know who it’s from,” you respond cheerfully, letting out a contented sigh. You offer the drink to him, moving the straw so that it’s pointing in his direction. “Want some?”

He eyes the pink drink suspiciously. “What is it?”

“It’s a Pink Bikini!” You chirp, sipping the drink again. “Like… coconut rum, raspberries, and lemonade. It’s good, Spence, you can barely taste the alcohol.”

His nose scrunches at the idea of coconut rum. “I dunno.”

“You’re not gonna get drunk from one sip,” you protest happily, a little tipsy. “It’s good! Besides, how do you know you’re not going to like it if you never try it?”

“You’re literally drunk right now!” He points out, laughing a little and moving the drink out of your reach. “Give it to me.”

“That’s only because I had a couple drinks earlier,” you argue, lunging for the glass. You’re quick but Spencer is quicker (and taller), and he chugs the drink before slamming it back onto the table. “Spencer!”

He grins at you, smacking his lips as he plays with the paper straw. “I’m protecting you, (Y/N). Who knows what you would’ve done if you drank any more.”

“You’re insufferable,” you chastise half-heartedly, “I was thirsty.”

“I have water,” he says, fishing a plastic bottle out of his satchel. He cracks the lid open, taking a sip himself before passing it to you. “Drinking even moderate amounts of alcohol can lead to dehydration. Drinking water slows down this effect, allowing the liver to metabolise the alcohol that was already consumed. This also means you won’t have as bad a hangover tomorrow morning.”

You beam at him, taking tentative sips from his water bottle. The fact that you’re drinking from the same bottle as him is not lost on you, nor the fact that he finished your drink by using your straw– your lipgloss stained straw– and he didn’t even bat an eye. 

“What would I do without you?” You croon, handing his bottle back. 

“Probably die of dehydration,” he responds, taking one last gulp of water, before returning the bottle back to his bag. 

“Ah, yes, that’s right,” you laugh again, beaming at him. You’re not sure if it’s from the drinks, but you can feel your cheeks begin to flush. Did it get hotter in here?

“Hey, sorry to be the bearer of bad news but we have a case,” JJ pats your shoulder sympathetically, frowning. “Horrible timing, but it’s urgent.”

You all but whine. “But I’m tipsy.”

“I’ve got aspirin in my bag,” JJ says, “you’ll be fine.”

“Stupid serial killer,” you huff, getting up from your seat. “They owe me a day off.”

*** 

“You know it never fails. Just as I’m getting my groove thang going, bam! We’re back at the BAU,” Derek says, pouring himself a much needed cup of coffee and sitting at the roundtable.

Spencer shrugs. “You know, statistically, a case doesn’t come in with any more frequency if you’re at a party or gathering than if you aren’t. It’s a… trick of the mind. We merely remember the ones that came in that way more.”

“Besides, how long does it take for you to get your ‘groove thang’ going anyway?” You tease, sipping from your own cup of coffee, and Emily cackles from beside you. 

“Only when he’s sleeping,” Gideon comments, walking into the conference room and taking off his coat. 

Hotch’s brows raise in a mixture of surprise and concern. “Where were you tonight?”

“I told you, I went to the Smithsonian,” he grunts as he sits into his chair.

“You missed a good time,” Emily insists, smiling.

“I had a good time,” Gideon responds, his attention turning back to the screen where JJ was getting ready to present the latest case. 

“Well, that’s definitely over,” she says, flicking the screen on. “Georgia. The Kyles– Dennis and Lacy– were murdered an hour ago in the suburban Atlanta home.”

Hotch’s brows raise in surprise. “An hour ago?”

JJ nods. “Police were on the scene unusually fast.”

“Why?” Derek asks, leaning over the table.

“One of the UnSubs called them and told them that the other was about to murder the victims.”

You huff out a laugh in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“From inside the house.” JJ purses her lips, gesturing to the transcript that was printed out in their files. “According to the dispatcher, the first male sounded terrified and begged them to get there before the other, who they both identified as Raphael, was about to kill the sinners that lived there.”

“‘Sinners’?” Hotch echoes.

JJ nods again, a grimace painted over her features. “The 911 centre is going to send Garcia the tape.”

“How fast was the police response time?” Spencer asks, glancing at the screen.

“Four minutes, twenty-six seconds. During which time Raphael was able to do…” JJ clicks a button on the remote and an array of gruesome crime scene photos popped up onto the screen. “This.”

“In four and a half minutes?” Emily asks incredulously, frowning. 

Garcia immediately turns away from the screen, clutching her mug closer to her chest. You can’t help but cringe as well from the violence presented in the photos: blood everywhere, smeared across the walls and floors of the house, and the victims lifeless. 

“Mr. Kyle is a dot-com millionaire. His company is one of the largest employers in the community. There’s going to be media coverage. Also, when they arrived, the police found this displayed prominently on the bed.”

Another image appears on the screen, this time a page of the Bible placed into a plastic evidence bag with a certain section highlighted. 

“Revelation, Chapter 6, Verse 8,” Hotch reads for the rest of the team.

Derek can’t help but scoff. “They’re killing sinners.” 

“These guys are on a mission. And mission-based killers will not stop killing,” Spencer says with a wince. 

“‘And I looked, and behold, a pale horse, and his name that sat upon him was Death,” Hotch begins, eyes trained on the Bible page.

Gideon continues, his voice quiet and grim, “And Hell followed with him.”

*** 

You sigh tiredly as you slump into the seat beside Spencer, playing with the cap of your water bottle. The sky outside is painted in oranges and purples as the sun begins to rise, and you try to hold back the frustrated groan when you see the blaring ‘4:22AM’ flash on your watch. 

“Is everything okay?” Spencer asks quietly, looking over at you.

You shake your head, running your fingers through your hair. “I just… I have a bad feeling about this case. There’s something… off about it.”

He hums in thought, “we’ve dealt with religious motives before, though.”

“I know but just–” you huff, leaning against the headrest. “It’s just weird. I mean, usually if one of the UnSubs were partnered with someone who was a liability, they’d eliminate them. But that’s just not happening here.”

“Don’t think about the case,” Spencer says gently, resting the palm of his hand flat against your knee. “It’ll be fine, trust me.”

When you don’t respond, he pokes your cheek gently shooting you a lopsided smile. “Hey. It’ll be okay.”

“I hope it will be,” you respond quietly, moving so that your cheek is pressed against his shoulder. “But you saw those images; what the UnSubs can do in less than five minutes. I know it’s nothing we haven’t seen before but–”

“(Y/N).” He squeezes your knee again and you flush as he continues to speak. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be back home before you know it. Trust me.”

You nod, although you can’t shake this feeling off. “Promise you’ll be safe?”

Spencer smiles at you. “Promise.”

*** 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” you mutter, turning away as the video of Mr. Kyle being murdered plays on repeat. Your stomach churns at the mere mental image that pops up in your mind, and a chill run downs your spine. 

The case is a lot more gruesome than you expected it to be, especially when it came to the team’s attention that a video of the murder was circulating the internet. The video was currently being played on loop, with the voice of the UnSubs playing out of the computer. You thought you saw it all but this was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. 

That is, until Spencer stood from his seat. 

“Agent Franks?” He whispers, looking towards the lead detective. “Does this building have wireless internet?”

Agent Franks nods. “Yeah. Why?”

Spencer swallows, gesturing to the computer. “That camera’s on right now. The computer has connected itself to the internet; it’s streaming a video feed somewhere.”

Hotch’s concern only deepens, along with the frown on his face. “Can we trace the stream to the destination?”

“If we keep it open, Garcia might be able to–” Spencer begins, only to be cut off by a beeping from the computer.

In bright red lettering, the words: ‘THE ARMIES OF SATAN SHALL NOT PREVAIL’ flash against the black screen before turning off.

“So, they’re controlling it remotely?” Hotch asks, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Is that even possible?” Emily asks in disbelief. 

“Yeah, you can totally access someone’s computer remotely. It’s actually done a lot today when a mortal calls for tech support. Instead of giving you instructions the tech can work on your computer from wherever she is,” Garcia explains through the phone. 

“And they maintain the access even after the work is done?” Hotch asks.

“They’re not supposed to, but I suppose you could install a Trojan horse.”

Spencer turns to Gideon. “Something left in the computer to be turned on later. It’s the same way that websites get pop-up ads onto your computer.”

“Garcia can you check the Kyles’ phone records and see if they called tech support in the last six months?” Hotch requests as he flips through the Kyle family’s folder. 

“Right-o. Oh, and if you get me the laptop I can search the drive for anything implanted there.”

Hotch nods. “As fast as we can.”

“By the way, this video? It’s gone crazy viral.”

Gideon frowns. “What does that mean?”

“That means it’s the most downloaded video on the entire Internet. Worldwide. And judging by the responses people seem to think it’s pretty cool.”

“Call us if you find anything on the Kyles’ computer,” Hotch mutters, before the phone hangs up.

“Honestly, they probably don’t even realise that the video is real,” you say quietly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I mean, you see a video on the internet. The last thing you’d think is that it’s actual people being murdered.”

“They probably think that it’s marketing for a horror film or something,” JJ adds on, but the look on her face is just as disgusted.

“Well, the UnSubs were right about one thing,” Derek mutters, nodding grimly. “The world is pretty screwed up.”

*** 

After hours of going through files and trying to find a paper trail, you’re left with a mountain of paperwork in front of you and sore eyes. You press the pads of your fingers against the corner of your eyes, slumping over the table. 

“Hey.” 

Spencer’s voice brings you out of your thoughts and you peek a look at him. “Hm?”

A takeaway cup of coffee is placed in front of you and you immediately perk up. He chuckles softly, patting your head. “You looked like you needed it.”

You spy the name written across the paper cup and frown. “It’s your coffee.”

“You need it more than me,” he says honestly, smiling. “Besides, I’m okay.”

You take a tentative sip of the drink, the sweetness of the sugar overwhelming the bitter taste of the coffee but you don’t mind it. Instead, you didn’t actually mind it; especially because it’s from him. 

“Thank you,” you murmur. “We can share it if you want.”

He shakes his head ‘no’, turning back to the files on the page. “Where did you get up to?”

“Nowhere special. Agent Franks is right; there’s nothing in any of the files relating to knife fights that are remotely similar to the case,” you say, slumping against the table and leaning your head on your arm. “I’ve got six or so left to go through but I’m not getting much luck anyway.”

At that moment, JJ enters the room, holding another cream coloured file. “What if we were looking at this the wrong way?”

Hotch turns to her. “What do you mean?”

“I looked for unsolved home invasions. Three months ago there was a prowler called in directly outside of the Kyles’ house.”

Your brows knit together at her words and look up at her. “A prowler?”

JJ nods. “The witness was walking his dog in a nearby park. Going back to his car, he saw a man in dark clothing go over the back wall and start sneaking up to the house. By the time the police got there, the prowler was gone.”

“Only one man?” Hotch asks. 

“Apparently.”

“Was the witness able to describe the man?” Spencer questions.

JJ looks into the papers before shaking her head. “If he did, it’s not in this case file.

Hotch looks at JJ then back at the corkboard. “Is there a name and address to the witness?”

“Tobias Hankel,” JJ reads. “Lives about an hour from here.”

Hotch lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his eyes. “It’s a long shot, but he might be able to give us a description. Why don’t you and Reid go out there, see if you can find Mr Hankel, and see if he remembers anything.”

You immediately frown, perking up at his words. “I can go too, sir. There’s a safety in numbers.”

“You’re exhausted and we need you here,” Hotch says, immediately shutting your suggestion down. “We don’t need three people to talk to a witness.”

Your face falls and your stomach churns. “I understand that, sir, but it’s late and wouldn’t it be safer if more people go?”

“We’ll be fine,” Spencer reassures, squeezing your arm. “We’ll be armed and we’ve got our phones.”

A small breath escapes you and you nod slowly, chewing your bottom lip. “Okay. Be safe.”

He smiles. “I will.”

JJ snickers lightly, turning to Hotch. “Be safe,” she echoes, grinning.

Hotch can’t help but chuckle as he returns with, “I’ll be so safe.”

“Oh shut up,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “I’m gonna kill you.”

JJ grins. “But how will that keep us safe?”

You throw an eraser at her shoulder in response and she laughs loudly, walking out of the room. Spencer squeezes your arm again, rubbing your shoulder through the fabric of his jumper before following after her. 

It isn’t long before the lead detective rushes into the room, his words flying out of his mouth. “Agent Hotchner, we got another murder.”

*** 

“Tobias Hankel is the UnSub.”

Five words is all it takes for your world to come crashing down around you. Hankel? The UnSub? Your mouth is dry as the head detective explains about the dogs and you think you’re going to throw up. Your mind spins and your chest pounds with anxiety because oh God, what’s going to happen to the others? 

“We sent Spencer and JJ there,” you whisper, your throat closing up. You tug desperately at your collar, trying to breathe. “Oh my God, we sent them there. We sent them there.”

“Hey, hey,” Derek is quick to ground you, gripping your shoulders firmly. “They’ll be okay. It’s Spencer Genius Reid and Jennifer Bad-ass Jareau. They’ll be okay.”

You shake your head firmly, pulling away from his grasp and clutching your head. “I should be there with them. I should have gone with them. We don’t know what Tobias is capable of, Morgan, something could have happened to them.”

“We’re dispatching police now,” the detective says, getting off the phone. 

Tears spill from the corners of your eyes and you try to keep your breathing steady. It doesn’t work. The room is spinning and you can’t see straight. The words your team are trying to get through to you fades into background noise and you let out a choked sob. 

“They could be–” Your words don’t make it off your tongue and you turn, gesturing to the black screen that was once playing the video of the woman and the dogs. “Oh my God.”

“(Y/N),” Emily holds your shoulders tightly, her words a mixture of firmness and care as she tries to snap you out of it. “They’re going to be okay. We have to go there now.”

“They can’t be gone. Spencer can’t be gone,” you say, more to yourself than anything. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s go. We have to find them.”

The others don’t need to be told twice. You get into the passenger seat with Emily, trying to calm your breathing. One hour is too long. Why does Tobias have to live so far away? You press the palm of your hand to your mouth, the lump in your throat getting bigger. Hot tears fall down your cheeks as the world becomes a blur of flashing lights and you try not to cry. It’s your fault. You should have been there with him. There’s safety in numbers. Why didn’t you trust your gut?

“Don’t do that,” Emily says sternly, gripping the wheel tighter. 

You can’t bring yourself to respond, merely shaking your head adamantly. 

“Stop blaming yourself,” Emily tries again, glancing at you for a second before turning her attention back to the road. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should be there with them.” Your voice cracks pathetically and you wipe furiously at your eyes.

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have.”

She looks at you again. “Stop. You couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault.”

The rest of the car ride is silent. You’ve learned that this is the hardest part of the job: losing someone. Losing someone because of a job. It seems ridiculous, considering that it’s something so miniscule in the grand scheme of things, and yet it is the most common factor in divorces. A lack of commitment. Instead of committing to something that actually matters and can’t be replaced, their attention turns to something so lacklustre. If Spencer were here he would tell you the exact statistics. If Spencer were here, you wouldn’t even need to think about the statistics. 

The sound of sirens echo through the once quiet country area and the police officers file out of their cars. You fasten your Kevlar vest over your chest hastily, fumbling with the clasps as you jump out of the car. 

“John, Bobby, take the house with Hotch, Gideon and (L/N),” the captain orders, pointing towards the house. 

Your stomach lurches as Hotch busts the door open, and you move upstairs with your gun pointed out. 

“Clear!” You yell, rendezvousing with Hotch and Gideon soon after. 

“Downstairs is clear,” Hotch says, nodding towards you. 

“Then where the hell is he?” Gideon mutters, looking around the rooms of the house.

The blood rushes to your ears and the air grows thick. You can’t breathe. The house is unmaintained with mould growing in the corners of the rooms and dust gathering on the shelves, the paint on the walls cracking from water damage. Your eyes sting as the air pricks at your skin, and your legs carry you down the stairs and out the house.

“JJ,” you breathe, your eyes wide as you meet the blonde sitting at the back of an ambulance. You pull her into a hug. “You’re okay.”

It’s a different JJ to what you’re used to. She’s always been put together with not a hair out of place. She’s usually so full of life and mirth, bringing a sense of serenity and security when you need it most but this… 

Her blue eyes are red and puffy from crying and she’s shaking miserably against your body. She scratches at her wrists and picks at the bandages, her bottom lip trembling. Her gun is set beside her, not in the holster she usually carries it in.

“(Y/N),” she sobs, her voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?” You demand. “Where’s Spencer?”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, shaking her head. “I tried–”

“Where is he, Jennifer?” You ask, pulling away from her like she burned you. “Where is he?”

She sobs again, clutching her head. “I don’t know, we separated–”

“What do you mean you separated?!” You’re trying not to scream. Your thoughts are running a million miles an hour. Spencer is gone. He’s gone. “Why would you do that?”

Jennifer lets out a wail, trying to explain herself through broken words. “We didn’t– he said– I’m sorry I’m sorry–”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t bring him here, does it?” The words are harsh and low, and you tug at your collar again. “He’s not here, Jennifer! Does that mean nothing to you?!”

“(L/N), that’s enough.”

Hotch’s voice makes you snap your head in his direction and you see red. 

“I told you I should have gone with them,” you snap, and it doesn’t even occur to you that this man is your boss. “If I went with them, Spencer would still be here right now!”

“(L/N).”

“No.” You glare at him menacingly, too deep in your anger to even comprehend anything else. “He should be here right now! He should– he should be spouting out statistics or coming up with some theory! He should be here and he’s not!”

“We’ll find him. Trust me.”

“I did!” You yell, your voice fervent. “I trusted your judgement! And look where that got us. Spencer is gone. He’s not here, Hotch, because I trusted you!”

“(Y/N), enough.” Hotch is firm and he stares you down. “That is enough, do I need to remind you who you are speaking to?”

In an instant you stop, your heart lurching and you quiver. “... This is my fault.”

He immediately shakes his head no. “It’s not your fault.”

“I should have gone with him. I should have– it’s my fault. It’s my fault.” Your eyes well with tears and you tug at your hair erratically. “He can’t be gone. He’s not gone. He’ll figure something out. Why didn’t I do something? I should have–”

“Stop it. (Y/N), stop.” Hotch grips your shoulders squarely, bending down so that he’s eye level with you. “Take deep breaths.”

Your lungs burn as you try to breathe, hot ragged breaths leaving your lips shakily as you cover your face with the palms of your hands. Tears fall down your cheeks and gather in your hands as you make a desperate attempt to calm yourself down. It’s all too much. The sky is pitch black and the feeling of cold rain stings and bites your skin. The sounds of sirens fade away and for a moment it’s just quiet. Quiet, except for the words and the voices that swirl in your mind. 

“A man that matches Hankel’s description was spotted in the next town over.”

Derek’s words bring you out of your thoughts and you manage a soft, “What?”

“Alright,” Hotch nods, before turning back to you. “Go back to the police department.”

“What?” Your ears are ringing. You must have heard wrong. “No. No, no, I can’t– no, Hotch, I’m not going back to the police department. Spencer is missing.”

“You’re too close to the case.”

A humourless laugh leaves your lips as you stare at him. “We’re all too close to the case, Hotch. Look around!”

“You attacked JJ and you raised your voice at me. I want you to go back to the police department and work the case from there.” He speaks to you as if he were speaking to a child and it makes you feel sick.  

“Oh, so you’re punishing me?”

“No, I’m using you,” he says firmly, and then his voice softens. “It won’t do you any good to be here, (Y/N), you know that.”

“Aaron,” you try again, your voice wavering. “Please, don’t do this to me.”

“Go back and find us something that we can use.” He turns to one of the policemen. “Make sure she gets there.”

The policeman nods, tipping his hat, and gesturing for you to follow him. 

“Wait I– let me talk to JJ. I need– just, please,” you say quickly, clearing your throat. “Sir.”

He’s sceptical before nodding. “Go ahead.”

You don’t need to be told twice. In moments you turn back to the ambulance, letting out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry.”

JJ shakes her head adamantly. “No, you’re right. It was my fault.”

“It’s not,” you say quietly. “I know Spencer and I know you. It was… probably his idea to split up.”

She smiles wryly, fiddling at the bandage on her arm. 

“It’s not your fault,” you say again. You’re not sure who you’re trying to convince anymore. “You went through something too and I ignored that and that wasn’t right of me. I’m sorry.”

JJ sniffles, pursing her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you respond quietly, patting her arm. “I need to go. Um, Hotch wants me off the case, or something.”

She nods. “Okay.”

You look at her again, the guilt building like bile in your stomach. “I really am sorry.”

“I know,” she whispers, wiping the tears away from her eyes. “We’ll find him.”

You don’t respond.

*** 

Everything hurts. His head is pounding and he can feel the sticky blood drip from the side of his head and against his cheek. His feet hurt from each thwack of wood, and his wrists hurt from the handcuffs. It’s cold. So, so cold, and he feels so weak. No amount of knowledge or training could have prepared him for this.

Spencer’s throat throbs from crying. No matter how many times he tries to convince whatever personality is taking over Tobias, it never seems to work. What’s the point of being a profiler if he can’t even save himself?

The creaking of the door brings him out of his thoughts and he jolts. Tobias, at least who appears to be Tobias, enters the room carrying a slaughtered animal. A shiver runs down Spencer’s spine and all he can do is watch. 

“You need to eat,” the man says, his voice strangely soft and oddly calm. 

“What’s your name?” Spencer asks, his voice small.

The man looks back at him. “Tobias.”

“Tobias, who was here before?” The fear is obvious in his voice and Spencer just wishes for an ounce of Hotch’s stoicism or Derek’s bravery. 

Tobias chuckles weakly. “It was probably my father. I’m sorry if he hurt you.”

Before he could comprehend his movements, Tobias takes off his belt and walks over to him. Spencer fears the worst. Did Tobias’s father take over again? He tries to inch away, struggling against the restraints as best he could.

“W-What are you doing?” Spencer asks shakily, trying to pull away from him.

Tobias doesn’t respond, slipping one end of the belt above his elbow. Everything begins to click.

“No, no. Don’t. Please, please don’t.” He resorts to begging. 

In this moment, Spencer hates the way his mind works because he doesn’t need to know the statistics. He doesn’t need to know that 75% of drug abusers started out using pain killers. His head swirls with what Tobias could be using. Codeine? Heroin? Opium? The list goes on and he tries to keep his breathing steady.

“It helps,” Tobias says, ignoring the way Spencer trembles and shakes his head adamantly. “Don’t tell my father. He doesn’t know they’re here.”

Tobias takes the syringe and the bottle out of his pocket and Spencer sobs even harder. He tries to appease him again, shrinking away as best he could in his chair. 

“Please,” he tries again, his chest heaving and tears wetting his waterline. “Please, I don’t want it, I don’t want it.”

“Trust me. I know.”

“Please,” he begs, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Don’t.”

Tobias doesn’t listen. 

The effects are far too quick for codeine, heroin or opium and Spencer can feel it hit. He knows it’s wrong. He can go on for hours about the statistics about it but the feeling so euphoric that he can’t help it. And then he sees it. 

“We have another recruit as well. Came in a couple weeks ago,” Derek told him, walking him through the halls of the BAU headquarters. “She’s part of the academy Honours program. Top of the class, apparently.”

“Oh.” Spencer nodded slowly, fidgeting with the zip of his bag.

Derek grinned. “Relax, kid. You still have the most impressive résumé. She’s just an intern; doing paperwork, mainly.”

“I wasn’t– I wasn’t worried about that,” Spencer stammered, wetting his bottom lip. “I mean– not that I think she isn’t smart or anything. I just meant–”

“Kid, I mean it when you have to relax,” Derek snorted as he opens up the door to the bullpen “Meet the rest of the team.”

He walked through the doors, ready to make his mark. He’s spent so long believing that he was nothing but now… he took another step, meeting Hotch’s gaze and– he didn’t get very far when something catapulted into his side. There was a flurry of paper work and cream coloured files, case details splayed all over the floor. Spencer grunted a little, tumbling to the ground like a house of cards. 

“Oh, my God, I am– I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going and I was running and I am not used to office attire! I am so sorry!” 

The ramblings of a girl– she couldn’t be older than him, at least, not by much– filled Spencer’s ears and he grimaces. “No, it’s– it’s okay. Don’t– uh– don’t worry about it.”

“(Y/N)...” JJ huffed out a quiet laugh, helping the other girl to her feet. “Are you guys okay?”

“I’m okay,” Spencer said, slowly getting to his feet. 

The girl didn’t do the same, instead scrambling to pick up the multitude of papers that litter the floor. “I’m fine! Just– great. Great. Brilliant.”

Spencer immediately started to reach for the papers, trying his best not crumple them up anymore than they already were. “You’re… the intern?”

“Is it that obvious?” You ask, breathless. “I’m still getting used to all…” You gesture wildly to the interior of the bullpen. “... this.”

“(Y/N), meet Doctor Spencer Reid. He’s the youngest addition to the team. Reid, meet (Y/N) (L/N). She’s part of the Academy Honours Program,” Gideon introduces, peering at the two of you from behind his glasses. 

“Hi,” you said meekly, stretching out your hand.

His words hitched in his throat because once he’s gotten past the flying papers and the fact that you literally ran into him, he realises just how beautiful you are. You were right there in front of him, close enough to touch but–

“I don’t shake hands,” he said quietly, the anxiety gnawing at his stomach. His fingers twitch at his sides and he moves them to grip the handle of his satchel. “Sorry.”

You smile at him and his heart thunders in his chest. Is this how Romeo felt when he met Juliet? Or how Charles Bingley felt when he met Jane Bennett? 

“It’s okay,” you told him, tucking the papers under your arm. “Don’t worry about it. So, you’re a doctor? That’s really cool!”

“Reid here got accepted into the BAU without even taking a physical exam,” Derek chimed in, practically bragging about Spencer’s intellectual prowess. “Isn’t that right, kid?”

“I’m not an athletic person,” Spencer said awkwardly, his worries dissipating when he heard you laugh good-naturedly. Regardless, he felt the urge to defend himself. “I’m not weak.”

JJ laughed along. “We know, Spencer.”

“I’m not weak… I’m not weak…”

“I don’t give a damn whether you’re weak or strong.” 

Spencer barely manages to blink his eyes open as he hears the familiar timbre of Tobias’s father’s voice fill the room. He’s slowly coming down from the high of the drugs and the room spins as he does. 

“Yell all you want boy,” Tobias sneers, bending down so that he’s eye level with Spencer. “Ain’t no one gonna hear you where you are.”

As if to prove his point, he begins to scream. Deep and rumbly, and it jolts Spencer back to reality. He wishes he was careful. He wishes he was with you.

*** 

“Tobias has dissociative identity disorder,” Garcia explains to you through the phone, and you slap a hand to your forehead. 

“That makes so much sense,” You mutter to yourself, pacing around the room of the police department. “I should have seen it. It was right there in front of me and I missed it.”

Penelope hums, her voice tense with worry. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. No one knew until we started digging into the journals and cross-checking dates.”

“I know but–” You rub your eyes, cringing as stars litter your vision– “it was just so obvious. What else have you gotten?”

It has been a little over ten hours since Hotch sent you back to the police department and you haven’t gotten much sleep. You tried, you swear you tried, but every time you see the terrified face of Spencer and it makes you sick. The whiteboard in front of you is littered with different evidence files and profiles. Profiles on Tobias, profiles on the victims, geographical profiles… the list goes on. 

“We know that Tobias is an addict,” Emily says. “He picked dilaudid as his poison.”

“For someone so hellbent on following the Bible, he’s incredibly hypocritical,” You say, jotting down the words onto the whiteboard. 

“His personality is split into that of his father, Charles, and Raphael,” Emily continues, and you can hear the frown in her voice. 

You’re about to say something when Garcia’s voice raises by an octave. 

“Oh God,” she squeaks, and you can hear the clicking of keys in the background. “Morgan? Emily, get the others, oh my God!”

“What’s going on?” You demand urgently, gripping the phone tighter. “Garcia, what’s going on?”

“It’s Spencer,” her voice is hushed and far from the speaker, and your heart sinks to your stomach.

“What happened? Penelope, what happened?”

“We have to go,” she says hurriedly, and the sound of footsteps from the rest of the team fill the speaker.

“No! Wait, don’t hang—“

The sound of the prolonged dial tone echoes in your ears and you resist the urge to scream. You press the pads of your fingers to your eyes, hot tears wetting your skin. Crying will get you nowhere and you know that. You know that Spencer is holding on. He’s relying on the BAU to save him. 

You gather all the available files on Charles Hankel, spreading them around the table. There’s not much to read; he’s lived a relatively quiet life. He was a farmer, his wife left him… dead end. Again. You’re at your wit’s end and you grab your keys. 

“John, want to work on a federal case?” You ask, shaking your keys. The younger policeman nods eagerly and you point to the door. “Great. Let’s go.”

It’s a small country town in Atlanta. Someone has to know something, especially if Tobias was a drug abuser. 

“We’re going to a few Narcotics Anonymous groups,” You explain to John who looks a little too excited to be sitting in a federal car. “Ask questions on Tobias Hankel and Charles Hankel. Someone has to know something.”

“All due respect, um, ma’am,” John stammers, and you raise an eyebrow amusedly. He coughs before continuing, “why aren’t you with the rest of the team?”

You falter, turning your attention back to the road. “They need me to work it from here. It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

Two miserable hours pass by with not much luck. Two hours that could have been used for something more meaningful than asking a bunch of drugged up assholes about the UnSub. Anxiety claws at your chest again as you flick through the answers. It’s nothing you didn’t already know. 

“I got something,” John says a little breathlessly, jogging back over to you. 

“Yes?” You need something. Anything. 

“A few sheep were stolen off of a farmer’s property,” he says, flipping through the notebook and reading off his scrawny handwriting. “Wasn’t Charles a farmer?”

“What does that have to do with–” You feel your mouth go dry and you turn to him. “Which farm?”

“Which– um…” He swallows. “Mcallister? Shawn Mcallister.”

In seconds you’re dialling Garcia again and she picks up with a trembling, “hello?”

“Is Spencer alive?” You ask firmly, slamming the car door. 

“Y-Yes. He’s– it’s not good, (Y/N),” she whimpers, clicking on the keyboard. “There was another murder. Spencer had to– he had to– he had to choose who to save. The UnSub fed a video to us, (Y/N), it’s horrible.”

There was another murder? John seizes up beside you and you grimace. You keep forgetting that John is practically a kid, barely twenty-one, and he hasn’t even seen the horrors of the world yet. 

“But he came back, right? To Spencer?” You ask, gripping the steering wheel tighter in an effort to keep yourself steady. “Penelope, Tobias posted a video of the latest murder, right? When was it posted?”

“9:23,” she says woefully, typing away.

“Okay, and…” you check the police radio, biting your lip nervously. “Okay, it says that the call for the murder came in at 9:04.”

There’s a little static in the background along with some shuffling before she responds. “Um… okay?”

“John, I need a map. Where’s– goddamn it– where’s the map of the area, John?!”

He fumbles, spreading the paper open. “Here!”

“That road– it’s 60 miles an hour, right? That means he needs to be–” you scribble across the map, frowning. “That’s within seventeen miles of the crime scene. There’s a farm, uh, poaching or something. Mcallister farm?”

“We’ll find something,” Penelope says quietly. “I’ll try find the farm area. He is going to be okay, I promise.”

You let out a heavy breath. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

*** 

The guilt alone is enough to kill him. Spencer knows that he is not at fault for this; Gideon said so. Regardless, he can’t get their faces out of his head. They were happy. What if they had kids? They were good people; they didn’t deserve to die the way they did. Spencer’s head pounds as he slumps against the chair, his breath quickening when he realises that Tobias is right there.

“Sorry, I had to leave for a while,” Tobias, the real Tobias, says quietly, strapping the belt to Spencer’s arm again.

He’s felt this so many times now. The high, and then the inevitable low. There’s no point fighting it, Spencer tries to justify, it’s biology. 

“You can leave again,” he says softly, “and you can take me with you.”

“My father would be angry,” Tobias says, drawing the liquid up the syringe.

“Not if he can’t find us.”

Tobias scoffs. “He always finds me.”

“If you tell me where we are, my friends will come and they’ll save us,” Spencer pleads, trying to look him in the eye.

“We can’t be saved,” he says dismissively, flicking the syringe. 

Spencer sniffles, and for a split second he feels the fear course through his veins. “We can. We can, I promise, if you tell me where we are I’ll save us both.”

“Listen to me. It’s not worth fighting.” Tobias pauses, readying the syringe. “Tell me it doesn't make it better.”

The silence that follows is humiliating. He hates the way that he isn’t fighting anymore but he can’t. It’s almost as if his body doesn’t even want to listen to him. Tobias doesn’t waste another moment and the familiar feeling of artificial ecstasy floods Spencer’s mind.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

The phrase was so unfamiliar and Spencer’s brows furrowed as he looked at you. It has been a couple weeks since you were officially indoctrinated into the BAU and he couldn’t be any happier. It felt nice to talk to someone who was his age, especially because he never really knew anyone of his age back in Las Vegas. 

“What do you mean?” He asked. 

You laughed and his heart fluttered in his chest. He remembered the feeling distinctly; how could he forget? The feeling is still the same now.

“I mean… tell me something not a lot of people know about you. Like… okay, I’ll go first. Um… my favourite flowers are hydrangeas. The purple ones.” 

He committed that information to memory. Every year for your birthday he would buy you a new pot of hydrangeas for your apartment or something flower related like an automatic waterer or a replacement sun lamp. 

“Hydrangea macrophylla,” Spencer said slowly, his cheeks flushed. “It means… gratitude, grace, and beauty. It’s fitting.”

He relished in the way your eyes lit up and the way you smiled at him. “Okay, your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“Um… my middle name is Walter?” He chuckled awkwardly, wetting his bottom lip. “No one really calls me that, though.”

You typed something on your computer, reading out loud, “The name Walter is Germanic in origin and means ‘commander of the army’.”

His cheeks burned in embarrassment and he nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“I like it.” You grinned at him. “Walter.”

Spencer choked a little, the hairs on his neck standing on end and heat crawling up his cheeks. “You– you don’t have to call me that.”

“I won’t if you don’t like it,” you told him. 

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” he said quickly, his eyes widening. “I’m just not used to it.”

He remembers the way you beamed at him and the way he felt knowing that he made you happy. 

“Well then,” You began, meeting his gaze, “I guess that means I just have to call you that more often.”

Tobias’s yelling brings him back and all he can do is stare as he watches him slam on the keyboard angrily. A bright red pop up is flashing on his computer, and Tobias turns to Spencer with a murderous scowl. 

“They’re trying to silence my message.”

“I can’t control what they do,” Spencer defends tearfully, his voice wavering. “I’m not with them, I’m with you.”

Tobias scoffs again. “Really?”

He types something onto the keyboard and Gideon’s face show’s up on the screen. He’s leaning towards the camera, his words a mantra that Spencer repeats in his mind. 

“Reid,” the crackly audio sounds with Gideon’s voice, “if you’re watching, you’re not responsible for this, understand me? He’s perverting God to justify murder. You are stronger than him. He cannot break you.”

Tobias slams the computer off, walking back to him. “You think you can defy me?”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about–”

“You’re a liar!”

Spencer can only grimace in response, the words caught in his throat. Tobias must have been able to see something and the fear creeps into his heart again as the man lunges for his arm. Tobias forces Spencer’s sleeve up and the guilt crashes like waves. 

“You’re pitiful,” Tobias sneers, “Just like my son.”

Spencer wracks out a sob, silent pleas of mercy never leaving his lips. Maybe he does deserve this. Maybe, in some sick and twisted way, the universe is out to get him for all his shortcomings. Maybe, he thinks to himself as he watches Tobias turn the camera on, maybe he does deserve to die this way.

“This ends now,” Tobias snarls. “Confess your sins.”

“No,” he whimpers. 

Tobias’s fist collides with the side of Spencer’s face with a resounding slap. 

“Confess!”

“I haven’t done anything…”

His fist meets Spencer’s cheek again and all he can do is recoil in his chair.

“Tobias, help me,” he manages, but his plea is shut down almost instantly. 

“He can’t help you, he’s weak. Confess!” He hits him again and the pain is almost too much to bear. “Confess your sins.”

Spencer sobs. “No…”

In a fit of anger, Tobias throws Spencer to the ground. It hurts. Everything hurts as he feels the back of his head meet the cold musty ground. He can’t breathe. He feels like he’s underwater. Have to breathe, he needs to breathe, why can’t he breathe? He needs to see you again. He can’t die like this. He can’t, he can’t, he needs to breathe. He tries to take a breath of air but it’s like his mouth is full of water. And just when he thinks he reached the surface, he’s pulled under once again. 

Warmth. The feeling of his blood pumping to his ears is the first thing Spencer feels and his fingers twitch. He’s alive. There’s only one reason why that must have happened. 

“I was given CPR,” he rasps out, Tobias’s words swirling in his head. 

“There are no accidents,” Tobias says slowly. “How many members are in your team?”

Spencer can barely whisper the word. “Eight.”

“Seven, not including you. ‘The seven angels who had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound. The first sounding followed hail and they were thrown to Earth’.” He hoists Spencer’s chair upright, standing before him. “Tell me who you serve.”

“I serve you.”

“Then choose one to die.”

Spencer blanches, looking up at him. “What?”

“Your team members. Choose one to die.”

He doesn’t need to think when he responds, “kill me.”

Tobias jeers. “You said you weren’t one of them.”

“I lied.”

“Your team has seven other members. Tell me who dies.”

Spencer breathes in as if it were his last. “No.”

Tobias pulls out a revolver from his jacket pocket, spinning the cylinder before aiming it for Spencer’s head. “Choose, and prove you’ll do God’s will.”

“No.”

Tobias clicks the trigger and nothing happens so he repeats, “choose.”

“I won’t do it.”

The trigger clicks again and nothing happens. “Life is a choice.”

“No.” 

Spencer’s mind is racing. His first thought goes to you. He knows you would understand any and all references he throws in your direction, but it makes him sick just thinking about putting your life on the line. He needs something. He needs to think. 

“Choose.”

“I choose…” his voice stammers and he can barely see straight. “Aaron Hotchner.”

*** 

“We got him.”

The words echo in your mind as you pace up and down your hotel room, chewing on your destroyed nailbeds. It’s nearing two in the morning and you can’t sleep. The rest of the team are awake. Why should you be given the privilege of rest when none of them were able to? Why should you be given the privilege of rest when Spencer is out there fighting for his life? It’s not fair. Life isn’t fair.

When you hear the sirens outside you run out the door. Blood is pulsing in your ears and you’re still wearing the thin hotel slippers but it doesn’t matter. How could anything else matter? The car door clicks open and Emily helps Spencer out of the car. She whispers something to him and he looks in your direction. Those big hazel eyes stare at you with so much hurt and you can’t contain it anymore. 

“Spencer.”

His arms wrap around your waist, his nose pressing against your neck as he holds you, breathing in the smell of your vanilla perfume. He almost doesn’t believe you’re real. He pulls you impossibly closer, sniffling, and he can feel your fingers run through his hair. 

“You’re okay,” you whisper, trying to be reassuring, but he can hear the way your voice cracks. “You’re okay.”

“I should have listened to you,” He whimpers, feeling the cold wet rain soak through his shirt. “I should have– I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be, Walter.”

The moment he hears that name spill from your lips he begins to cry. He’s okay. He’s with you now. You’re right here. 

“I thought–”

You shush him for the first and last time, squeezing his arms. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

He wonders how a person could be so warm. Even in the cold Atlanta weather you’re still so warm. 

“Hotch wouldn’t let me work the case from the house,” you tell him quietly as you sit beside him on the bed. “Understandable. I screamed at him.”

He chuckles a little, flinching when you gently pull the bandage off the side of his face. He feels a lot better now that he’s clean, the shower more than necessary and he savours the feeling of warm water on his skin. The gash on his head is oozing sticky blood and you dispose of it accordingly, reaching into the first aid kit. 

“It’s gonna sting a little,” you tell him, pressing a damp cloth to the wound. 

He hisses at the contact, gripping your arm and he tries to change the subject. “Why did you scream at Hotch?”

You hum, continuing to clean the blood off his head. “I was mad at him.”

“It wasn’t his fault.”

“I know.”

You smile at him, applying a new bandage to his head. “It’s okay. I was able to help the case from here, anyway.”

“Stay with me,” he whispers, squeezing your hand. “Please?”

Your gaze softens. “Of course, Walter.”

He curls into your side, an arm wrapped around your middle and he breathes in the scent of your strawberry and honey shampoo. Your fingers curl in his hair, untangling the knots when your eyes flicker to your desk, the letter of resignation tucked inside your bag. He doesn’t need to know that. At least, not yet.

*** 

You knock at the door of Hotch’s office, chewing on your bottom lip. You remember being in this office for the first time four years ago when you were an intern; the way you shook with nerves and anticipation as you handed in your résumé for the honours program and then again when you were hoping to take the job full time. It’s ironic that you’re back at his office again, but for a very different reason. 

“Come in.”

The breath that leaves your lips is shaky and you take a seat in front of his desk. “Hotch.”

“(Y/N).”

You place the pristine white envelope onto the desk,watching the way his face shifts from stoic to surprised.

“You don’t have to do this,” He says, not touching the envelope. “The situation at hand was stressful. No one blames you for reacting the way you did.”

“It’s not just because of that,” you say slowly. “You were right. I was too involved.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” you say quickly, a humourless laugh slipping at your words. “I would have killed him.”

Hotch looks at you, his eyes meeting yours. “You wouldn’t have.”

“I would have,” you say surely. “After what he did to Spencer, if I had found him I would have killed him. And I would have– I would have slept well. I love this team, Hotch, but I can’t separate those feelings when I’m on the field no matter how hard I try.”

He’s quiet for a moment before nodding, rising from his seat. “I’m assuming it’s a two-week’s notice?”

You nod, also getting up from your chair. “Yeah. I– I don’t want to just leave, you know?”

“We’re going to miss you,” he says, walking with you to the door, “but this will be good for you.”

“I know.” You can feel the stares of the rest of the team through the glass and you can’t help but smile. “They’re horrible at being nonchalant.”

“They’re profilers,” Aaron chuckles. “Can you blame them?”

“I guess not,” you muse, pulling the door open. “Thank you, Aaron.”

“You always have a place here, (Y/N),” he says gently as you walk back down to the bullpen. 

It doesn’t take long before the overflowing dam of questions burst and in moments Emily is crossing the room and sitting next to you. 

“You’re leaving the BAU?”

You look at her with wide eyes before laughing a little. “You… are very good at your job, huh?”

“Oh…” Penelope tackles you in a hug, her arms tight around your frame. “We’re going to miss you.”

JJ sniffles a little, joining the hug. “Don’t forget us.”

“As if I ever could.” A bittersweet smile rests on your lips. 

Derek hugs you as well, his chin on the top of your head. “Look after yourself, kid. We’ll make these last two weeks the best you’ve ever had.”

“If you ever need anything…” Emily begins slowly, squeezing your hands. “I’m here, okay?”

Gideon pats your shoulder lightly, a sad smile on his face. “You’re a good person. Never forget that.”

You nod, trying to blink away the tears that fill your eyes. “I know. Thanks, you guys.”

The opening and shutting of the BAU doors brings you out of your thoughts and the familiar head of brown hair stalking away makes your face fall. Gideon meets your gaze, gesturing towards the door. That’s all you need to run out of the bullpen. 

“Spencer– Spencer, wait, please.” You tug on his arm desperately. “Please–”

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” He asks, his voice cracking. It has only been a few days since the incident and he looks a little better. The scratches on his face are still visible, but they’re fading slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I–” you falter, flinching at the pain and hostility in his voice. “It was never a good time.”

He scoffs quietly, rubbing at his arm. “You should have told me.”

“I couldn’t just randomly tell you,” you say, frowning. “How would that be fair?”

Spencer rubs his eyes, the dark bags beneath them even more prominent. “Why are you leaving?”

“I have to,” you say gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I love this job but I can’t do it anymore–”

“Why not?!”

“Because–!” You exhale, trying to calm yourself down. “Because I swore an oath when I took this job that I will put this country above myself. And I can do that. I would die for this country to protect the people in it, I will hunt down the people who make this country so unsafe and I will sacrifice myself willingly, but you? I can’t– I can’t lose you. If I had to choose between catching the UnSub and saving you, I would save you in a heartbeat. Even if that meant letting a bad guy go. Even if that meant more people would get hurt I would still choose you and I can’t let that happen.”

Your words deem him speechless and he shifts his weight on his feet. For a moment, all he can do is stare at you as your reasoning sinks in. It makes sense. He hates that it makes sense. 

“So that’s it?” He asks quietly, finally looking you in the eye. “You’re actually leaving?”

“Not for another two weeks,” you tell him truthfully. “Besides, you can still text me. And call me. You know where I live so you can always visit.”

He bites the inside of his cheek anxiously, teetering on his feet before hugging you tightly, burying his nose into your hair. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I’m going to miss you too.”

His grip is tight around you and if you paid attention you could feel him tremble. “I can’t do this job without you.”

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You can, Walter. You’re stronger than you think you are.”

There are so many things he wishes he could tell you. You’re right here. He doesn’t have to yearn for your touch anymore because you’re right here in his arms. He wants to tell you so many things. Like how he adores the colour of your eyes, or the way you smile, or the way your hair falls. He wants to tell you how much he likes spending time with you and how he feels so good with you but he can’t. The words are at the tip of his tongue so how can he not say anything?

“I–” love you– “I’m really going to miss you.”

“Me too,” you whisper. “Me too.”

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full work

reblogs are always appreciated!

[blackiron11]

Be careful what you wish for

Pairing: reader x rio vidal

Trigger warning: body shamming, self harm, suicide attempt, hate self (if you find more, pls let me know)

English is not my first language, etc etc etc. I don't know how to write romance very well either, but I tried. besides, I'm sure I exaggerated the amount of "you" written. I hope you like the story

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

You are tired of the daily humiliations and an unhappy life, you want to die. Luckily, a certain Lady Death has a few things to say about your life.

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

You come home tired every day. Tired of the humiliations at work, of having to report every mistake made by employees, of your boss yelling at you, all for a mere minimum wage.

You even asked for a salary increase, but he laughed in your face. A promotion would mean that you would have to present yourself to the shareholders and he couldn't allow that, you know why; to get ahead in life, you need to have the right weight and the right face. You don't have that. You know it, your parents know it and your boss knows it, because he looks you up and down, while denying all your dreams.

"But you are a good employee, who knows next year?" he says before you leave. You feel the humiliation run through your veins.

Yes, next year. If your size "L" becomes "XS", if you put on contact lenses and don't wear glasses, if you do facial harmonization. Yes, you have a chance.

Your colleagues don't like you either. They focus on your appearance and the fact that you're too shy and introverted. They've never invited you to Happy Hour after work, or to one of their birthdays either; you don't like drinking, but you've always wanted to fit in.

You decide you don't care. But the truth is that you care so much that it's hurt so bad, and you need to do something to stop this pain.

You also get tired of your parents asking for money or wanting to get a boyfriend to you, never asking how you are or coming to visit you. You get tired of not having friends, or anyone to lean on. You get tired of life.

You sigh as you change your clothes. You always wear long-sleeved shirts and jeans. You don't want anyone to see how ugly you are... inside and out.

You look at yourself in the mirror, only in your underwear. You analyze the cuts on your skin, everywhere you can reach, you made a lot of cuts, especially on your arms and thighs; some are older, most are recent, leaving blood stains on the clothes you wore.

Your reflection stares back at you, looking amused. You hug yourself, trying to hide from your own gaze, but to no avail. You feel dirty, your sagging skin falling apart in tour hands.

In a world where there are Avengers, supreme wizards, witches, heroes and villains, you feel like nothing. You are nobody.

With no desire at all, you take a shower, using a sponge forcefully on your body, as if that would wash away all the extra pounds. Your hard movement causes the fresh cuts to reopen and you see blood going down the drain along with the soap and water. You are numb.

You remember the ways to calm down your therapist taught you, but they don't work. They never did.

When you see your sleeping pills, you decide that this suffering is no longer worth it. You are not worth it. This will be the first and last time you put yourself first.

You won't leave any letters or explanations, it's not necessary. No one will miss you.

You gather all the medicines you can find and put them in the blender along with the alcohol, there's no going back. You know won't be, you don't want to go back.

No amount of stomach pumping will solve it, in case some gossipy neighbor decides to help you. You've made sure of that.

You need peace. If what's necessary for that is for you to face death, you'll do it with a smile on your face.

You put on the first pajamas you find and drink the entire contents of the glass, grimacing and choking as the liquid burns your throat.

Finally, you lie down on your bed one last time, ready for a dreamless sleep, and then, never to wake up again.

-----------

You opened your eyes, still groggy, and found a vision. A woman in a black robe stared at you. You just thought she was beautiful.

Y/N doesn't believe in God; But if there is an afterlife, you always thought you would be punished for killing yourself. At the very least, you are at the Valley of Suicides, and would suffer in mourning for ages. Either that, or you would go to hell.

However, looking at this woman in front of you, you thought you were in paradise.

The figure softened her expression, smiling a little bit, as if she had heard your thoughts, but soon closed herself off.

"Why did you do that?" she asked you, worried.

Y/N couldn't understand where she was or who that woman was... Maybe she was a neighbor? She thinks she's never seen you in her life, but her vision betrays you, completely blurred.

"I didn't mean to," you answered automatically, not used to someone talking to you for more than five minutes.

The woman didn't believe you. Rio saw your arms and the scarred cuts, but chose not to comment; she didn't want to scare you.

It wasn't the first time Rio had been called to a death by suicide and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but you were intriguing. Usually the others had someone by their side, but you were alone. She didn't want to leave you like this, not when you looked so fragile.

"Who are you?" Your conscience was leaving you, but you wanted to understand.

"I'm Lady Death , my dear." Rio approached you. "I'm here, because you called me."

Was that supposed to make sense? No coherent thought was going through your mind, the various medicines you had swallowed doing their job.

"Am I still alive?" You asked rhetorically, before your body shut down from the pressure.

Rio sighed, wondering where she had gotten herself into.

As the natural order of all things, she could simply heal you and leave, but that wouldn't solve anything. Death can't heal someone's psyche; and once your senses returned, you would try to kill yourself again. Rio couldn't let that happen. She would help you, even if it meant saving you from yourself.

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

For weeks, Rio healed your stomach and your injuries a little at a time, and you were getting better, with no more risk of complications because of it in the future.

She would make you food, wake you up and help you to eat, staying with you until you fell asleep again, your body still very weak.

She started to notice you more, how you slept peacefully, the dimples that formed on your face when you smiled, or how your eyes looked at her curiously, even though you couldn't hold a coherent conversation for long.

You don't remember any of this. Your consciousness came and gone the whole time.

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

Until one day, you woke up completely lucid. On autopilot, you went to get ready for work and saw yourself in the mirror. You were horrified when you remembered...

You...were alive? You're not even good enough to kill yourself, my God! How is that possible?

You wanted to scream, throw yourself off the building, hit your head hard against the wall until blood came out, anything. You were confused, your mind was all jumbled up. You had planned everything!! Did someone save you??? Why would someone do this?

You were going to puke. You ran to the bathroom, trying to hold on to the walls, shaking. You needed to calm down. You needed to understand what was happening.

The easiest thing to calm you down was your old friend; but when you made the first cut, you noticed that all the others were missing.

No. No. NO!

This can't be happening. It's a nightmare, right? A medication-induced nightmare. Soon it will all pass and you will be dead. Just as it should be.

Meanwhile, you made all the cuts you could, your hand shaking more and more. It didn't work, you hadn't calmed down.

You got up with unsteady steps and went to the kitchen, looking for a knife. You couldn't find one. You also didn't notice the presence behind you, until she spoke to you, her tone mild.

"You need to stop this, Y/N."

Rio was collecting some bodies from the other side of the world, when she felt a tug towards you. You needed her. She hoped it wasn't too late.

"Leave me alone," you shouted, feeling your eyes water. Rio tried to get closer to you, but you backed away. It took you a while to remember who she was, but the clothes she was wearing helped. Death... you almost didn't believe it. You felt betrayed. The only being you thought would truly welcome you with open arms took everything you had; including your reminders.

"You... You saved me," you accused her. Rio had the decency to look guilty. "You took away my free will, you healed me without my permission! You hurt me more than anyone else, you took everything I had." Y/N cried freely now. Tears blurred her vision.

Rio knew what you were talking about. It hurt her that you felt that way. She never wanted to hurt you, only to help you. Lady Death wished she had permission to kill everyone who hurt you throughout your life.

"You don't need them, Y/N." Rio still spoke softly, you could barely hear her.

"Why do you care?"

"I... I fell in love with you." Rio admitted what she had been thinking for days. At some point while taking care of you, she fell in love. Death had never loved anyone before.

Y/N stared at her, motionless. Then, she laughed.

"Is this some kind of joke?" she asked when she caught her breath. Rio shook her head. "Some kind of dirty game between the cosmic entities to attract the weak human's attention?" Rio shook her head once more.

"Seriously, look at me," you shouted, not understanding.

And Rio looked at you. Even with your face red from crying so much, even with the fresh cuts and so much self-loathing, Death found you beautiful.

"I'm looking at," Rio whispered. His heart heavy with your suffering.

"No!" Y/N thought Rio didn't understand. "Look at me!," you shouted with contempt this time. "How can someone like you fall for something like this?" you pointed to yourself.

Rio saw you, she understood you more than you remember. You talked a few times, even with the loose and incoherent words, Death heard you. And she was saddened by every word you said. With the self-loathing that society forced upon you at every step of your life.

Vidal didn't know how to calm you down, so she did the only thing that came to her mind at the moment. She ran to you, grabbed your face and kissed you on the mouth.

It was just a light brush of lips. Rio wanted to show you that she liked you, but you hadn't stopped talking. She wanted you to listen now.

"I see you, S/N" the woman in front of you tried to wipe away your tears, in vain. They kept coming freely. "I see you and I understand you" you found yourself relaxing your face towards the hand that caressed you. "I want to kill all those idiots who once hurt you, because you, Y/N Y/S, are an incredible woman. And not a "it thing", I am sure".

You wanted to complain, but Rio didn't let you. She wasn't finished.

"S/N, you're so sweet, so selfless, you have such a good heart" Rio continued. "Never believe anyone who tells you otherwise, because you are beautiful. Beautiful inside and out. Your life is worth living" by the look she gave you, you saw the truth in her eyes. She truly believed the words she said, even if you didn't. "I think you are the prettiest girl in the world, and The Death doesn't lies, sweetie".

Y/N couldn't answer, your body gave out and you passed out. Rio caught you before you fell and carried you to your bed.

"It's okay, my love" Rio whispered, kissing you on the forehead "I can be strong for both of us, until you make it"

-------

You woke up completely healed. Rio would leave you alone now, if you wish. It would break her heart, but she wanted you happy.

You didn't need to look around to know she was still there.

"Are you ever going to leave?" You stood up, sitting up.

"Only if you want to" Rio approached you, this time you didn't back away, but you didn't answer her.

With the physical healing, you began to remember the previous weeks and found yourself enjoying her presence; the moments you spent together. A smile escaped your lips and it did not go unnoticed by Rio.

"May I?" Vidal pointed to the space next to you and you nodded. You felt the bed sink with the new weight, and you looked down at your hands; you were suddenly embarrassed, very aware of yesterday's closeness.

"Thank you," you thanked, realizing that the cuts from yesterday were still present on your skin.

Rio nodded. "I apologize for before, I shouldn't have done that without your permission, if they were important to you."

Rio didn't apologize for saving your life. That, she didn't regret it for a second. She would do it again if she had to, but Rio really hoped it was the first and last time.

Y/N didn't answer, instead asking another question.

"Do you really like me?" You were afraid of the answer, both the "yes" and the "no."

"Yes, I do." That simple sentence made Y/N look into Vidal's soft eyes. You saw the same thing as yesterday: Unconditional love. You still.don't know how it's possible for Death to fall in love with someone like you, "And I want to be with you."

You opened your mouth, but quickly closed it. Everything that had happened to you flashed through your mind.

"The heart doesn't choose who it falls in love with, Y/N." Rio realized that you were afraid of getting hurt again, maybe it would be better to leave you alone.

"You don't have to answer, dear. I won't take up any more of your time." Death stood up, ready to leave and never see you again, if that was what you wanted.

"Wait..." you asked, your voice barely louder than a whisper, "stay." You grabbed her hand and squeezed it lightly.

Rio turned around and listened carefully.

"I... I like your company." you continued.

The "I like you too" was still stuck in your throat. You couldn't say it yet, it was too early. Fortunately, Death is a patient being.

"And from what I remember these past few weeks, I had a lot of fun with you," you sighed. "But I can't return your love." You looked at the floor, embarrassed. "I don't know how to love someone or be loved, I don't even know how to love myself."

Rio was silent for a few minutes. Y/N was sure she had lost her chance at happiness.

"Oh, darling," Rio knelt in front of you and caressed your face, softly. You could get used to this every day. "I can teach you to love yourself, like I love you...if you let me. I want to spend my eternity by your side."

Her eyes were so beautiful and bright, you could get lost in their immensity. You could love her over time, you know that. You just have to let yourself.

You nodded slightly and Rio smiled, moving closer.

"May I?" She asked for the second time that day, but this time it was to kiss you. You smiled, taking the initiative now.

It would be a long journey for the two of you, with some ups and downs, but Y/N would never feel hated again. Rio Vidal would kill everyone before they had the chance to hurt you.

[wardenparker]

For Her

Joel Miller x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Mature Word Count: 10k Warnings: Cursing, food, panic attack, references to unplanned pregnancy, past pregnancy, mentions of Sarah, general post-outbreak mood. Summary: Low on supplies and needing rest, Joel and Ellie stop in a colony he has heard about to restock on their journey west, but Joel finds far more than be bargained for within the city walls. Notes: We are so, so excited to debut our first Joel fic! We’ve been looking forward to this for ages and can’t wait to explore with the character some more!

There aren't many things that are better now than they used to be. Most comforts are gone and there hasn't been any such thing as safety in twenty years, but Lake Erie is more beautiful than ever and sunrises over the water do have a certain amount of appeal that they lacked before now. You had come here on camping trips with your family as a kid and can't remember it ever being this pretty. Not that sunrise is typically your favourite time of day, but the little bundle wrapped in blankets in your arms seems to love it, and she coos happily now at the rising pinks and oranges in the sky while she wiggles her little fist in the air. Everything is better now that she's here, and you press a kiss to her coffee-brown curls. The rest of the world may be in shambles, but you're going to keep this little bundle safe and sound.

******

Joel's eyes are wary, watchful as he looks around. The rifle in his hand lowered, but still ready to lift and fire, the safety switched off and his finger on the trigger guard. "How much we got?" He demands, peeling his eyes away from the surroundings to glance down at Ellie where she has the supplies scattered out, taking count after a bag had been lost during the last run in with a group of clickers.

"Not much." Ellie frowns at the spread, realizing that the pack they'd lost was the one with most of their food. "We have a couple of days here, at best."

"Shit." Joel hisses, tapping his hand on the guard as he thinks. Trying to decide the best course of action. "Gimme the map." He huffs after a second, holding his hand out so he can look at it.

"Here." Joel's map is marked out in codes and colors that Ellie still hasn't figured out yet, but she's been trying ever since they left Boston. She hands over the map now and starts repacking their supplies. "We just crossed the border into Pennsylvania."

"No shit we crossed the border into Pennsylvania." Joel grumbles at her, aware that the moss covered sign they had passed thirty minutes ago proudly proclaimed them to be inside the boarders of the old state. He shuffles the rifle onto his back and starts studying the map, trying to remember where she had told him there was a colony the last time he left the Boston QZ.

"Cranky." Ellie rolls her eyes as she ties up the drawstring on the bag and shoves it into her backpack.

"Shut up." He grunts, running his finger along the road that the two of them are on. Tracing it up to a small town on the edge of Lake Erie. "Lake City." He taps the map as he remembers her smile as she talked about it, making it seem like it was a haven. "I know a place." He decides, folding the map back up and holding it out to the girl. "They should have supplies."

"A lake?" That perks Ellie up, and thoughts of an actual bath in the fresh water and clean clothes are suddenly at the forefront of her mind. "Fuck it. Let's go."

She hikes her pack up higher on her back and steps past him like she's eager to get there. Making him look after her for a moment before he huffs in amusement and starts to follow. "Hey kid, wait up." He orders, not wanting her to get too far ahead of him.

"You got longer legs than me, old man." She throws the taunt behind her with a smirk, not bothering to turn around and look at Joel. "Catch up."

******

It takes nearly three days to get to Lake City. Joel had to keep the girl in a warehouse for an extra six hours when a group of clickers had come by, huddled down and silent as they wandered through. His finger on the trigger and his body in front of her to protect her if necessary. By the time the tall, cobbled together walls come into view, he can barely see twenty feet in front of his own face. It would have been better to have found a place to bunk down for the night, but the supplies were gone and the girl's stomach had been growling for hours.

The watch lights on the catwalk at the top of the walls outside Lake City aren't exactly anything fancy. There's no FEDRA presence here and therefore no Fireflies. No one waving their gun around or murmuring codes around alley corners. The community of Lake City takes care of itself - self-sufficient and self-supporting in every way they can manage from crops and farming to security and back again. There are two people on the catwalk tonight, carrying two of the only guns in the colony to make sure that no clickers come near the gates. They aren't expecting to see anything, and are chatting between themselves about some gossip or other when one of them stands straight up and points the barrel of his rifle down at the two figures approaching the gate. They don't have the movement patterns of any clickers he's seen, but no one takes chances anymore. "STOP!"

"We're alive!" Joel calls out, lifting one hand up and holding the rifle securely with the other as the two of them slowly approach the light. Squinting at the spotlight that is aimed towards them and he moves his hand to shield his eyes from most of the harsh light.

"I can see that." The voice calls out from the top of the wall. "Put down your gun and stay where you are!" The other figure on top of the wall moves out of sight, presumably to come down and inspect the new arrivals.

"I ain't dropping my gun." Joel calls back, not willing to unarm himself. "Not a chance."

"Hold it out. Finger off the trigger. Stay where you are." The voice from the wall instructs. Down below, the much smaller city door swings open, revealing a smaller figure clad in mismatched armor with a gun directed at the new arrivals. "Stand down." The smaller figure orders from behind their helmet.

Joel holds the rifle out, finger lifted into the air but his eyes are watchful, making sure that no one makes a sudden move. He doesn't trust anyone.

It's not until the figure gets closer that they stop, standing stark still in the open field in front of the gates. They don't speak and Ellie keeps herself from fidgeting. She just keeps her eyes moving between Joel and the person in armor until they nod and turn back to the wall. "Let them in!" The figure calls, without testing or checking or finding out anything.

Your eyes widen when you recognize Joel, grateful for the visor that keeps him from seeing your face and potentially recognizing you as well. Although maybe he wouldn't even remember you, you don't know. It was one night well over a year ago, when you were coming down through what used to be New England and ran into him on the road. The idea of sharing supplies and safety in numbers for one night had ended up with the two of you tearing each other’s clothes off and spending all your frustrations in passion. A night that has ended up being far more consequential for you than it ever could be for him.

Joel frowns, standing straight and immediately moving towards Ellie. The protective stance easy for anyone to see as he eyes them. It's unusual that anyone would let people into their colony without questions or testing. Even without the FEDRA influence. "Thank you." He nods towards the figure who is seemingly giving the orders. "We're just passin' through. Need supplies."

“When was the last time she ate?” Deflecting more than slightly, you nod toward the girl, wondering if she’s his. If you aren’t the first woman that had a night with him and ended up living with the consequences.

"Yesterday." Joel answers, making Ellie cut her eyes up at him.

"She can answer for herself." She blows out and looks back at the figure dressed in tactical gear. "Yesterday." She repeats without a hint of irony.

"Then we'll get you something to eat." You nod back to the gate and start walking, knowing that no one left in the world would be dumb enough not to follow. There's shelter, food, and safety on offer for them inside the colony walls. It's literally what they came here for.

Joel looks at Ellie, nodding towards the figure that is retreating. "Well?" He huffs, "better follow." He readjusts his rifle and starts out after the gear covered leader, frowning slightly as he watches their gait. Something seems familiar about it, although he doubts he will run into you here. You had told him that you were planning on going west.

"This place is weird," Ellie mutters, though she follows at the promise of food. "No test and no interrogation? Weird." Inside the gates, the third member of night watch usually doesn't do much. They're there for support, and to keep the rotation going so the people on top of the wall are always alert. Tonight, though, he looks completely appalled that you're opening the gates for new arrivals. "They need food," you tell him, keeping your helmet and visor in place so no one can see how poorly you're dealing with him appearing out of nowhere. "And someplace to sleep. They'll be gone again in no time."

"Keep your eyes open." Joel watches the person's back warily and cuts his eyes around. "Stick by my side. I don't know what's going on, but I don't trust 'em." If this place is half as lax with security as they seem, it's a wonder that it's still standing. Although it seems a lot cleaner than the FEDRA Boston QZ. Hard to see in the dark, but he imagines it's as picturesque as you had described it.

"Shiiit." On the other side of the gate, Ellie stays at Joel's elbow as they follow the guard through to another room. An empty table and a few chairs standby but not much else, and they stand apart from the furniture when you turn to nod to them. "Someone will bring you food and show you where you can sleep. And they'll lock the gates behind you when you leave tomorrow." You have no expectation that he'll stay here, and even though you had dreamt plenty of times of this man coming to find you - and all the tenderness that that might bring with it - you aren't going to say a word. Not when you have your own secret.

"That's it?" Joel shifts slightly, eyes narrowing as he glances around the room suspiciously. "You're just gonna...let us stay?" His tone is disbelieving and it should be, nothing is free in this world since the Outbreak day. "What's really goin' on here?"

Your head drops a little, and you hate him for being so cautious that he can’t just accept the proverbial gift horse he’s being given. “You want to be turned away? Kicked out for asking questions? Fine.” You point to the door. “Get out.”

Joel doesn't move, just stands there watching. Rocking his jaw for a second before he purses his lips. "Lift your visor." He demands, his gut telling him that he knows why he was just let in. "Show me your face."

You could say no. It would be easy. Two letters. One syllable. But you hesitate. “Put down the gun,” you bargain instead. At the very least you don’t want him blowing you away the second he’s confronted with his past.

Instead of putting it down, he takes his finger off the guard, simply holding it by the pistol grip and he lowers it towards the ground in a relaxed position. "As good as it's gonna get." He tells you simply.

It draws another sigh from your lips, but since the Joel you knew was as thorough a son of a bitch in every way as you had ever met, you know he won’t let it go. If you try to retreat he’ll just follow you and pull the helmet right off your head. “I’m not looking for trouble,” you tell him honestly, but pull up the visor on your helmet with two fingers anyway.

Joel's slight scowl immediately softens into a mixture of confusion and satisfaction at being right. Your name comes off his lips in a soft whisper as he takes half a step back in surprise. "You're— you were supposed to be going west." He mumbles, looking you up and down as if what you were wearing would tell him the story of the last year.

Astonished but quietly glad that he actually remembers you, you shrug your shoulders as nonchalantly as humanly possible and take your helmet clean off. No use hiding now. “Circumstances change.” Motioning to the girl beside him, you try not to look to curious or affected by it at all. If he had a wife that he was stepping out in, you don’t want to make waves. “For you, too.”

"Who, her? Joel points at Ellie and shakes his head. "No, she's cargo." He huffs, not wanting you to believe that this girl is his. "Transporting her." He doesn't want to admit it, but you look good, softer - even with the harsh tactical gear.

“Well…I’m sure you’re not aching to rehash old times.” Although now that he’s seen your face, you have to admit that you are. “I’ll go get your food.”

"Wait." Joel steps forward almost instinctively, not wanting you to leave right away. He's wondered about you since that night, no matter how he's tried to just forget about it. Wondering if you had gone west like you planned and he wonders what had kept you here.

"Well, that's interesting." Ellie huffs, making him turn around and glare at her.

"Unless you need to go." Joel adds, feeling foolish.

“I’ll see if Zach can take over on the catwalk for me.” As much as you’re trying to guard yourself, you do want to talk to him again. You’ve literally dreamt of seeing him. Of a night or day just like this when he would come walking up to the colony gates looking for you. Except he wasn’t actually looking for you. He’s just hungry and transporting some teenager. “Sit with you for a little?”

Joel nods, slightly relieved that you aren't just walking away. "Yeah." He rasps out. "That'll be good." You turn around and walk away, leaving him with a smug Ellie, smirking at him like she knows something he doesn't. "What?" He demands harshly, sending her a glare that would make other men piss themselves but she just smirks harder.

“Who’s your pretty lady friend?” Ellie snickers, enjoying the hell out of Joel’s discomfort. He doesn’t show his cards often, but she loves it when he does.

"None of your fuckin' business." He grumbles, relaxing a bit now that he knows you're here. He sets the rifle down and shuffles the back off his back, relishing the relief from the weight. "I don't ask you about your life."

“It means something,” she argues, taking his relaxation as a signal that it’s safe to plop down in one of the folding chairs at the table that takes up most of the room. “You’ve fucking slept with your finger on the trigger. Now she’s here and you’re all trusting? It’s worth asking questions about.”

"It means I've met her before." Joel counters, shucking his jacket and rolling it up to tie to his pack. He wishes he had known you were here. He would have tried - well, there was nothing he could have done if he had known. It wasn't like he was going to pick you flowers and bring them to you like a beau coming to court you. You had one unforgettable night and for all he knows, you've got someone in your life.

“Yeah,” Ellie laughs. “From old times.”

"Aren't you like 13?" He rolls his eyes and pulls out a chair to sit down, groaning slightly at how good it feels on his back. "A year is old times to you, kiddo." It's shocking sometimes how much she can remind him of Sarah. The sass is a little sharper, but the smart mouth of the teenager has made him snort several times when she wasn't paying attention.

“So you knew her a year ago?” Ellie has been quick to pick up on his dropped facts, realizing he does it when something scratches at a particular thought or memory.

Joel narrows his eyes at her in warning but she just raises her brow at him. "Last time I was outside the walls." He admits, reaching up and rubbing his jaw with his hand. "She told me about this place."

“So she’s why we’re here?” Interesting that Joel actually listened to someone long enough to even absorb what they were saying. He’s not exactly chatty.

"No." Joel shakes his head, looking around the room. "We're here for the four-star accommodations." He jokes, knowing the girl doesn't have a clue what he is talking about.

“And for dinner.” Appearing in the doorway with three bowls of soup, some bread, and glasses of clean water, you carefully balance the tray until you can get close enough to the table to set it down. Luckily you’ve been in and out of this room enough times that you know exactly how many steps it takes to get from the door to the table. Six.

Joel leans forward and takes one of the glasses of water but he doesn't touch the soup or the bread. He trusts you, but that's not why he isn't eating. Instead he moves a bowl and a large portion of the food in front of the kid and nods to her. "Eat."

Ellie doesn’t have to be told twice, applying herself to the meal that’s available to her enthusiastically in the hopes that Joel will forget she’s in the room and talk freely. Gossip is the best she can do for entertainment half the time.

“You too.” The second bowl of soup and the last of the bread is set down for Joel, and you take the third bowl off the tray for yourself before handing out spoons.

"After the kid eats her share." Joel takes a sip of his water, knowing that he won't eat a bite until she is full. He hadn't eaten yesterday so she could have more. He could do without.

“Joel.” You would roll your eyes but you know what it is to be hungry. “There’s more in the kitchen. There’s plenty. Please, eat.”

He watches you for a moment before he nods, pulling the bowl towards him and immediately starts eating with the same tenacity as the kid.

You have to wonder how long they've been out in the wilds. It's a long way from the Boston QZ and they had said yesterday was their last meal, but you aren't sure it wasn't longer ago than that. Instead of asking questions you just have your own bowl, letting the silence be filled by nothing more than the sound of eating for now.

Joel is a fast eater. Has always been one. Oftentimes swallowing down meals to beat a timed clock to get to work on time, or to have a few minutes to rest before the lunch break was over on a job site. So he's the first one that is pushing the bowl away, not completely satisfied but the hollow ache is gone for now.

"There's more," you remind him, not trying to push but wanting - for your own reasons - for him to be taken care of.

"Maybe in a few minutes." Joel nods his head towards the girl. "Don't want her to throw it all up. Waste of food."

The girl grumbles and makes a face, but doesn't say anything, and you nod for now. "So...you're headed through? On your way from Boston to wherever?" For some reason you just can't bring yourself to ask if he would stay, which is what you really want to know. Even for a single day.

Joel looks at the door and then at Ellie for a moment before he looks back at you. "Got to get the kid to the Fireflies." He tells you quietly. "Just left Pittsburg and had a little trouble there." He admits, the run in on the road making them abandon the car when it crashed into the bookstore.

"Shit." Your shoulders fall a little, finding out that he's been in danger, but you don't reach for his hand like you want to. "Do you need to lay low for a little bit? How much trouble is a little trouble?"

"It wouldn't hurt." Joel acknowledges, knowing that he had pushed the kid hard for the past week, wanting to put as much distance between them and the city. "Be even better if you had a car we could have."

"I can ask around." A few people have pieces they've been cleaning up to sell to travelers exactly like him, but you had sold yours before the baby was born to get formula powder, diapers, and the other necessities that came with raising a child. "There's...there's room at my place but..." When you exhale you shudder slightly, suddenly terrified at having to actually tell him what happened. Never having thought this day would actually come, you hadn't exactly prepared a speech. "There's something you should know first."

Joel tenses immediately, knowing that news is never good. This time he is expecting to hear that you have some man in your life. That you don't need him bringing up the past. "You don't have to worry about it." He tells you immediately. "Won't say anything about it." He doesn't want you to think that will say anything if you hadn't been free to have him touch you like he assumed.

"What?" It takes you a second, but your mind catches up to his defensiveness relatively quickly. "No, no...that's not...that's not it at all. It's actually...kind of the opposite of that." Glancing at the girl he's got with him, you swallow a solid ball of nerves and try not to grimace. "Not sure what you're okay with me saying..."

"Well if it's something to do with where we're stayin' she's gonna find out." He frowns, trying to figure out what the hell has you so flustered. "Might as well tell 'er now."

"That's fair." But it still makes you blow out a slow, anxious breath and look down at your hands in your lap instead of even trying to look him in the eye. "It's just...if either of you has an issue with being around a baby...I'll find you somewhere else to sleep."

"A baby?" Joel's eyes widen and he frowns. "You found a baby out here?"

"Not quite." Found isn't really the word you would use. "I..." Your fingernails bite into your palms, nerves making you close in on yourself. With no idea how Joel will react, you just dive in headfirst. "She's seven months old. A-and her name is Caroline."

It doesn't take long for Joel to put the pieces together. You look like you're about to shit a brick and twisting your hands together nervously. Seven months old plus the eight—nine months carrying her. Puts her conception right at the time where he had been outside the walls and met up with you for one night. Joel's chair scrapes the floor as he pushes it back abruptly and turns to stalk out of the room, needing fresh air before he passes out.

"Oh fuck," Ellie murmurs, eyes going wide as she looks between you. Whatever gossip she thought she was going to get, this is way better. "It's not like I could just call you." Immediately ready to defend yourself, you're also ready to collapse inwardly from the anger and hurt on his face. "Show up to a FERPA QZ unauthorized and they hang you, so it's not like I could go to Boston, either." Calling the baby Caroline had been your nod to the city where her father supposedly lived, and she's had Sweet Caroline sung to her as a lullaby every night of her very short life.

Your words stop him from leaving, his back turned to you and he tries to breathe but all he can see Sarah's lifeless eyes, unable to protect her. "I-I need— to go-out-outside." Joel chokes, out, stumbling for the door.

"Joel!" Turning to follow him right away, you pause only for a second to point a finger at the girl. "Stay here," you tell her firmly before going after the man who has no idea how to navigate the colony he's about to be ambling around blindly.

Joel hits the door, stumbling into the colder night air, stumbling off to the side and bends over as he tries to suck in lungfuls of air and put his head between his knees at the same time. Blind panic taking over as all he can hear is the rapid, panicked breaths of his dying daughter's last breaths, not realizing it's actually his own breathing.

"Joel." Shooting after him, you find him hyperventilating against a tree in the courtyard beyond the gate. This isn't the first time you've ever seen somebody have a panic attack - it's a regular occurrence to a certain extent - but since it's the first time you've ever had to tell a man that you gave birth to his child, you're a little shaken. "Joel, you gotta breathe, okay?" You kneel down beside him and gently put your hands on his shoulders, trying to figure out if touching him will be soothing or just spook him more. "Deep breaths. Long, steady exhales."

"I c-can't – you— you— ba-bab-baby—" Joel closes his eyes and stops breathing at one point before he starts to drop down to his knees in the dirt. Inhaling roughly and sounding like a man starved of oxygen finally getting a breath. Trying not to pass out from the rush of oxygen to his brain and he clenches his fists on his thighs.

"I don't want anything from you." What the hell could you even ask for? Child support? That's fucking laughable in the world you live in now. Dropping to your knees in the dirt next to him, one hand is one his back but you're trying to search his face for some kind of reaction beyond panic. "Caroline and I are as good as anybody can be with the way the world is, okay? You just concentrate on deep, looong breaths."

"I don't— I can't—" Joel chokes out a sob and his hand wraps around his watch. The last thing he has from his daughter. "Sarah." He manages, trying to steady his breathing.

"Sarah doesn't need to know." Finding out he does have someone waiting for him is a disappointing twist to your gut, but you can't be focusing on yourself right now.

He shakes his head, shoulders slumping down and he takes a moment before he manages to take an even steady breath. "Not—" He stops himself and reaches for your hand. "She's okay?" He asks. "You're okay?"

"Yeah." You nod and squeeze his hand, wondering what the hell is going through his mind. "Yeah, Joel. We're okay. One of my friends is watching her while I'm on night shift, but we're good. She's...she's my angel."

Joel closes his eyes and absorbs the news that once again - twenty years later - he's a father. He nods, squeezing your hand back before he opens his eyes, more in control of himself than he had been minutes before. "Okay." He rasps out.

"You don't owe us anything, and I'm not asking for anything." He hasn't taken his hand back and you're shamefully glad about it, enjoying the warmth of him again after so long. "You just...you deserve to know she's yours."

He doesn't think that you would lie about something like that. You weren't that type of person. "I— Ellie—" He twists his head around to find the girl outside and staring at him with wide eyes.

"You guys are safe here." Whoever this girl is she's more than just cargo, but you're not going to ask questions. You always got the feeling that Joel was into far more dangerous shit than you could ever stomach, and while that was part of the sex appeal it did also mean you weren't going to stick your nose in his business.

"You shoulda stayed inside." Joel manages to sound like himself when he addresses Ellie but the girl just shrugs.

"But I didn't." She counters back with a smirk. "I wanted to see you freak out over having a baby. Old fart."

"Accidents happen in the world." Shit happens, you know that, and while Caroline was unplanned you wouldn't trade her for the world. "We all process shit differently, Ellie."

"He doesn't." She mutters, some of her joy fading as Joel stumbles to his feet and turns to her.

"Take your time." Your hand on Joel's arm is solid and would be comforting if it weren't for the situation at hand. "I'll take Ellie back inside. Give you...ya know...time to absorb."

"No." Joel shakes his head, the same calm that he normally shows settling back over him. "I'm good." He looks towards Ellie and grimaces. "Can the kid get a bath?" He asks, knowing it's been a while. "Some clean clothes?"

"Yeah, of course." Anything he needs is his, you know yourself well enough to know that you'll give him anything you can without sacrificing what Caroline needs. "A bath, clean clothes, food, place to sleep, whatever. I meant it, you can stay with me as long as you need to."

The invitation to stay shouldn't be appealing, but it is. Right now, Joel just wants to see this daughter of his and get some sleep. He's exhausted and now that his stomach isn't growling, he wants to rest. "Okay."

"Go grab your packs from the room," you urge them both, glad to see Joel looking a little more like himself again. "I'll go check in with Zach and then I'll show you where you're staying."

Joel is quiet as the two of them collect their things, ignoring the obvious looks from Ellie as she tries to catch his eye so she can grill him. He can't do that right now. Meeting you back out front and Joel holds the rifle loosely in his hand. "Lead the way."

******

The small house you've been living in is one of the lakefront cottages that some rich family once upon a time must have used for vacations. It's a little thing with just enough room for you and Caroline and your friend who drops in a few times a week to look after the baby so you can relax or work your night shift for the security team. A lot of your time is spent with the other mothers in the colony anyway, giving a whole lot of proof to the phrase 'it takes a village'. "This is it." A half mile from the gates, you point out the little house that once had white paint and blue shutters, and now looks exactly like the windswept relic that it is. "Home sweet home."

It's the closest that he's seen to normal since the outbreak. His face relaxing even more, and he gives a small half smile as he looks at it. "You sure you want us in your space?"

"You have more right to it than anyone else." The shrug you offer him is a little lax, but it's the best you can do. "And Ellie here needs a good night's sleep."

"I'd fucking kill for a pillow." Ellie moans, her eyes fluttering in at the idea of it. "Hey." Joel bumps her shoulder and frowns at her.

"No, it's alright." You wave him off, not wanting him to worry about propriety when you pull the front door open. "There's a spare bedroom with a whole bed with blankets and pillows and everything for when my friend stays over." Nothing is exactly high quality, but at least it's there. The glancing look you give Joel, though, is cautious. "I can sleep on the couch so you can have a bed. It's okay."

“I’m not takin’ your bed.” Joel huffs. “I’ve slept in worse places than a couch.” He’s not going to kick you out of your bed, not when you’ve got a baby to take care of. “Keep your bed, honey.”

What you really want is to offer to share it, but you're not sure if that would be weird to say in front of the teen. "Kitchen and living room down here, bedrooms and bathroom upstairs." You lead the way into the house with your voice lowered and point down the left side of the hallway. "That's the guest room and the bathroom, Ellie. Knock yourself out. There's a towel in the cupboard after you're done and I'll find something of mine you can wear for pajamas. We'll wash your clothes at the lake tomorrow."

“I get a bed to myself?” Ellie’s eyes are wide and she’s not too interested in a bath but she knows she will feel better. “For real?”

"It's not big, but it's all yours." You nod and watch her disappear down the hall at top speed. "She's sweet. Mouth of a sailor, but sweet."

“She’s a pain in my ass.” Joel corrects you, even as he smirks listening to her squeal of delight and the heavy stomping of her feet since she knows she’s safe.

"Do you..." Motioning toward your bedroom door lamely, you can hear your friend on the other side murmuring softly. "Do you want to meet your daughter?"

Joel takes a deep breath and after a moment, he nods. Just one short tilt of his head. Exhaling slowly so he doesn’t freak out again.

When you open the door two sets of eyes find you immediately. Your friend Emma is confused, obviously, but Caroline's little face lights up and she starts babbling happily the second you appear. "Home early tonight," you explain, offering both girls a smile and reaching for the little bundle in Emma's arms. "How's mama's little angel tonight? Did she wake up wanting snuggles again?"

A baby. It’s been nearly thirty-five goddamn years since Joel has interacted with a baby. Unable to do anything but watch as a little human, a miniature version of you - thank God - coos and babbles at her mommy. Hands grabbing and an occasional squeal coming out of her tiny, yet forceful, mouth.

"She got a little fussy a half hour ago," Emma tells you. Her eyes never leave Joel, though, regardless of the fact that she's talking to you. "One a.m. like clockwork." Bundling Caroline up in your arms is easy. It's like the most natural thing in the world despite how scared you had been to bring a baby into this insanity of this world around you. "Well, I got news for you, baby girl," you coo at her and bounce her softly in for your arms. "You have somebody extra special to meet." Stepping just barely to the side, you nod to Joel and smile. "Emma, this is Joel." The introduction is simple, but that's because your friend knows exactly who Joel is to you. Why he's so important. "Caroline, baby," you press a kiss to her forehead. "You wanna meet your daddy?"

Joel can't even spare a glance for the girl once he sees the kid. Fear, joy, bone deep sorrow and relief that she looks healthy all bloom in his chest at the same time. Eyes focused on her, absorbing every minute movement as you interact with his daughter. He moves forward, barely an inch, without even realizing it. Leaning in so he can see her better. See the child that he had created with you even though he had pulled out and thought that he had been fast enough. He knows that's not foolproof, and the evidence is right in front of him.

“Do you want to hold her?” Not knowing anything about Joel’s life before the Outbreak, you have no idea if this is the first time he’s held a baby or the millionth. He might hate them for all you know. Some people do, after all.

“No.” Joel rocks back and shakes his head immediately. “I’m— I’m dirty. I shouldn’t. I’ve been outside and who knows what I’ve picked up.” The idea of infecting this innocent baby makes his heart pound. “I— no.”

“Okay.” The panic on his face is unexpected, and surprisingly disappointing, but you nod and continue to bounce Caroline gently. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…you don’t have to be her father. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s not—” Joel cuts himself off and sighs. “I’ve been traveling for weeks. And had to— the clickers….” He mumbles, looking down at his filthy hands. “I need to clean up.”

“I’m gonna go.” Emma murmurs, grabbing her sweater from the old rocking chair and eyeing the two of you awkwardly. “Come by tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” You nod, reaching to squeeze her shoulder with one hand in silent thanks for everything she does to help you. “Thanks, Em.”

Joel listens as she goes down the stairs and out the door. Alone with you after over a year and there’s this baby in your arms. Taking him back to his early twenties, reminding him of when Sarah was that size. He clears his throat. “I— can I clean up?” He asks, knowing you might not have clothes for him to wear but it would be good to scrub the filth from his body.

“Y-yeah, of course.” You have your own bathroom, attached to your bedroom, and you know for a damn fact that if you hadn’t repaired this place yourself when you got to Lake City you’d be sharing it with at least one or two other families. But you put your foot down and you leaned on the pregnancy sympathy and you got it for you. Or really, for Caroline. “Through that door. I’m not sure if I have clothes you can wear, but I’ll look.”

“Thank you.” With one last look at the baby, Joel strides into the bathroom and closes the door. Amazed that there is a private space for you, that he’s got a baby he helped create. The mirror above the sink is old, the silver coating peeling but he looks into it and wonders when the hell he got so many grays in his hair.

Caroline frowns heavily when Joel disappears from her limited line of sight, and you coo at her quietly while he cleans himself up. “It’s okay, sweet Caroline,” you murmur, cradling her close. “Everything’s okay. He’ll be right back, baby girl. Don’t be sad.”

In the bathroom, Joel strips down, eager to be clean for the first time in who knows how long. The water isn’t warm but it’s fresh. Making him groan under the spray and watch as swirls of dirt and filth rush down the drain.

The sound of the shower running only lasts a few minutes, but you knock on the door when he’s done and call his name quietly. “Joel? I’ve got some things that might fit you. I’ll leave them in the bed for you while I get Caroline a snack, ok?”

“Thank you.” Joel calls out, stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist. It’s the cleanest he’s felt in a long time and the lure of clean clothes is hard to resist.

******

You’re downstairs with a happily babbling little girl thoroughly enjoying her applesauce when Joel appears in the doorway, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. He looks like an entirely new man - fresh and clean like he just washed up after work and it’s a completely normal day in a completely normal world. If not for the peeling paint and candlelight, you could almost pretend the Outbreak had never happened. That this is just life with your baby and the man who gave her to you.

"Hey, uh..." Joel frowns slightly, feeling awkward and not wanting to overstep in any way when you have been so kind to him. "I left my clothes in the bathroom. Didn't— they need to be washed." He explains, lifting a hand to run it through his squeaky-clean hair.

“I’ll take them to the lake tomorrow when I do Ellie’s.” You offer, assuming they’ve been traveling hard and will need to rest. Joel isn’t a gentle kind of guy.

"I can wash our clothes." Joel tells you. "You don't need to add more to your plate for us. You already have enough." His eyes turn back towards the baby and he is still startled by the large dark eyes watching him. Reminding him again of Sarah as a baby.

“Then we’ll go together.” That’s fine with you, it’s an excuse to spend more time with him. “This one keeps things plenty messy.” You grin and blow Caroline a kiss. “Don’t you, sweetie?”

Joel nods and licks his lips slightly as he watches the girl react to it. Waving her hands and grinning at her mother. She's getting sleepy, her eyes starting to drift closed before she wakes herself up and waves her arms around with a squeal. It makes Joel smile, just a tiny one, but he does.

“Looks like it’s bedtime.” There aren’t baby monitors or fancy cell phones to use as video equipment anymore, but you have Caroline’s bassinet set up in the corner of your bedroom and that’s all you need, putting her in her basket-turned-carrier anytime you leave the house together. “If you’re tired, we can talk tomorrow?” There hadn’t been much talking with Joel a year ago. It was fast and needy and amazing, but it certainly wasn’t romantic dinners or dates strolling through the park philosophizing about life. Wanting to know him now is just because of Caroline, you tell yourself, even though you know that’s a lie. You hadn’t ever stopped thinking about this man. “If you want, I mean.”

He wants to talk to you but he's also knows that you need to sleep and so does the baby. "Yeah." He nods, shuffling slightly. "We can talk in the morning. Go put the baby to bed and get some rest." He suggests, not hearing Ellie upstairs and he knows she's probably passed out.

“Sure.” You nod, hoisting Caroline up in your arms and picking up the hat of applesauce to put it back in the barely functioning refrigerator. “Just, um…” A smile cracks your tired face when you look at him, you just can’t help it. “It’s good to see you, Joel.”

"It's good to see you too, honey." He remembers calling you that during that one night. It wasn't like he didn't remember every single second of that night after he had left you. He isn't in love with you, that would be foolish, but you had stayed in his mind and now he's seeing you again.

“There’s blankets and extra pillows on the couch.” You want so badly to have just the casual intimacy that would allow you to kiss his cheek, but that night was a long time ago and things are different now. Or at least you tell yourself that they are, because it makes you behave yourself. “Good night.” You turn for the stairs, gently patting Caroline’s back as you go, wanting her to settle in and sleep through as much of the night as possible. You don’t know if you’ll sleep, with Joel so near, but she should be able to have wonderful dreams.

******

Joel, when he's not popped any pills, is a light sleeper. Not sure when it is, but the sun is still down, jerking awake and listening for a moment for what had pulled him out of restless dreams of Sarah when she was a baby. Then he hears it again. A small cry. Not loud enough to really upset the household but the first unhappy sounds of a baby. Grunting, Joel rolls off the couch and stands. Starting to slowly make his way up the stairs. Expecting to hear your voice as he goes, but he still just hears the kid. Until he pushes the cracked door open and sees the small light, the baby moving in her bed in a corner and Joel looks over to see you sprawled out, still asleep. Another small grunt makes his head snap back towards the cradle and he moves towards it slowly.

She looks up at him with curiosity - not scared of him or disliking the look of him, apparently - just upset that in this exact moment there is no one holding her. Whatever the reason, whether it was a bad dream or an upset stomach or general discomfort, little Caroline reaches up her arms to ask to be held as another small cry escapes her trembling lips.

He doesn't hesitate more than a second, watching her as he reaches down and picks up the small girl. Instantly flashing back to when he routinely carried around another baby. He cradles his daughter in his arms and cuddles her close. "Hey baby girl." He croons softly, not wanting to wake you up but happy that she isn't crying now that he's holding her.

It’s sometime after that, that the nightmare starts. You’re oblivious to the world while you sleep heavily in your bed, and the nightmares come out of nowhere. Memories of the Outbreak mix with Caroline’s birth, with terrifying thoughts of losing her or seeing her turned as a child or even a full grown woman. Fear of infection grows in you exactly like the fungus the whole world has grown to fear, and you wake up in a panic that has you covered in sweat. Only to see Joel sitting in the rocking chair under the window with Caroline against his chest like nothing in the world has ever gone wrong in the first place.

"You woulda liked her." His hand is firm on her back, the warmth from her little body against his skin keeps him grounded. "Or she woulda loved you. She woulda fussed and cooed over you like you were the most precious thing." He thinks Caroline likes the rumble of his voice, the vibration from his chest. "She always wanted to be a big sister."

“Wha—what?” You can hear Joel talking but can’t quite make it out. Digging your way out of the mire of nightmares is like slogging through mud. “Is everything okay?”

Joel startles slightly, not enough to disturb Caroline, but he turns his head towards you. "I didn't wake you, did I?" He asks, frowning slightly at the thought. "Didn't mean to."

"No." Wiping one hand down your face, you shift to sit up in bed and get a better look at Caroline in his arms. "No, I, um...nightmare." You shrug one shoulder lamely.

"I was tryin' to let you sleep." Joel looks back down at Caroline and then back at you. "She got a little fussy but she was good as soon as I picked her up."

"I don't normally sleep so deeply." Damn nightmares kept you from hearing Caroline, which you hate, and you scrub both palms down your face in dismay. "I'm sorry she woke you up."

"Don't worry about that." Joel can't help but lean his head over, running his nose over her soft head and down her cheek. "I was just talkin' to her. Tellin' her about things."

"What kind of things?" Instantly you wish he was sitting on the couch or in bed with you so you could cuddle up together. A domestic thought that makes you wish you were a family.

Joel rubs her back gently when she squeals and then settles back down against his shoulder, chuckling softly. “I was tellin’ her about…Sarah.”

"Who is Sarah?" He had said the name earlier, but you weren't about to interrogate him in the middle of a panic attack.

He closes his eyes and nuzzles the baby again, remembering how soft and sweet they could smell when they are clean and sleepy. “She…she was my daughter.”

You don't miss the was in the sentence, and you suck in a cautious breath. "I'm sorry." Now that you have Caroline, you can't imagine the pain of losing her. No wonder he panicked when you told him he had another.

“It was a long time ago.” Joel mutters softly, his eyes opening and finding yours, seeing the sorrow in them. “She woulda been 32, laughing her ass off at her old man finally givin’ her the sister she asked for for Christmas every year.”

Before the Outbreak. You swallow, nodding as you absorb this new information. “If she was anything like you, she’d rib you mercilessly.” What little you do know of him, Joel teases as a sign of affection.

“Endlessly.” Joel knows what it’s like being a single parent, he hasn’t forgotten. “Her mother…left us when Sarah was three months old.” He decides he owes you this, you are connected with him in a way that fundamentally changes things. “I raised her, she had a...a way that just made me marvel at how smart she was. Quick witted.” His foot pushes off the floor and rocks the chair gently. “Until….”

“You don’t have to tell me if I’m you don’t want to.” If it will hurt you. The last thing you want is to hurt him in any way. Not when…when you feel about him like you do, and when he’s given you something as incredible as Caroline.

The baby squirms, capturing his attention for a moment and he rubs her back soothingly. “It’s okay. She— the day it happened – ‘Outbreak Day’ – it was my birthday.”

“Shit.” Shifting forward in your bed, you instinctively reach out to touch his knee. “I’m so sorry.”

“You know how it was.” Joel grunts. “Chaos. A plans crashed and the truck we were in flipped.” He can see it, plain as day. “Her ankle was hurt so I carried her and the Army— they—” He closes his eyes and squeezes them tight. “They shot us.”

“Assumed infected.” You sigh, looking down at your hand on his knee before realizing it’s probably an overstep and recoiling. “The Army took at least one person from all of us. People who could have survived. Who were fine.”

“They killed a twelve-year-old girl.” Joel hisses. “My baby girl.”

“And they killed my seventeen-year-old sister.” He’s not the only one who lost someone, but it’s obvious that his loss is still as fresh as the day Sarah was shot. “I-I’m sorry, Joel. I am.”

“I’m sorry about your loss.” He rumbles out softly. “We’ve all lost people.”

“We have.” You can agree to that without hesitation. “But…we also gained someone. Tiny and fussy and she’s got the best laugh in the whole world. I’m just…I’m glad you got to meet her.”

“I’m sorry.” Joel shakes his head, even as he cuddles her closer. “I didn’t mean to – I shoulda pulled out sooner, I guess.” He knows that he could have gotten you pregnant from precum but he still feels guilty.

“I appreciate that, but…now that’s she’s here? I wouldn’t trade her for the world.” The times of being angry with him for what happened are far behind you at this point. You knew the risk you were taking having unprotected sex - you had just wanted Joel too desperately to care.

“I never expected to see you again.” He admits quietly. “Thought you would be out west somewhere. Thought about it some.”

“You thought about me?” You probably sound more surprised than you should, considering how often you think about him, but you had assumed he would have forgotten about you fairly quickly. He had nothing like your reason to remember.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Joel frowns slightly and tilts his head at you. “Thought we had a good night. Conversation…what happened after.” He smirks slightly.

“I thought we had a fantastic night.” And you hadn’t wanted to let yourself be overly sentimental in dreaming that he might still think about you sometimes. “I just didn’t know what you were going back to, so I kind of…didn’t want to let myself get sentimental, ya know?”

Joel snorts and shakes his head. “Some things you just don’t do.” He murmurs. “End of the world or not.” He and Tess hadn’t been exclusive, hell – she hadn’t even really been in his bed for a month before he had met you. Not that it matters now.

"Doesn't mean you couldn't have met somebody else since." There had been a million different ways that you had talked yourself out of getting maudlin over his memory or overly attached to fantasies of him, and you shrug a little while you watch him rock your now sleeping baby. "It was easier not to let myself dream about you."

“Naw… nothing—” He clears his throat. “Nothing that actually matters now.”

"I'm not expecting you to drop everything because of her." That's not something you would have asked of him even in the time before, and you're certainly not going to ask it of him now. The world has changed, even if people are fundamentally the same. "But we won't say no to visits now and then if you're still traveling."

He’s quiet for a minute, stewing as he contemplates what to do. “I’ve got to go.” He admits after a long moment. “Get the girl to the Fireflies.”

"Yeah, you said." It hurts more than you want to admit, because you want him to drop everything and stay with you. To be with you and Caroline. It's such a juvenile fantasy in some ways, but the way you've felt about Joel for the last almost year and a half is undeniable. "But like I said...if you ever came back this way...we would be glad to see you."

He can hear it in your voice, twisting his head so that he can look at you. “She’s important.” He tells you quietly, hoping that he can trust you. “Special.” He adds meaningfully.

“She seems like a good kid.” A little foul-mouthed maybe, but you had been too, at her age. And that was without the world collapsed around you. “I just want you to know you’re welcome here, that’s all. Caroline is…she’s your blood. And if you want to know her, you should be able to.”

He should be grateful that you are telling him that. That he can live his life and not worry about the baby he’s fathered. But it irritates him. “You aren’t goin’ west anymore? You could.”

“I can’t protect her on my own.” It’s something that you struggled with. The change to your plans to go west and find what remained of your family had been abandoned when you figured out that your sickness was pregnancy and not any of the thousand other things it could be. “I stayed and worked on the house so she could be safe. I have no business going west anymore.” As much as it hurts you, you really can’t. Caroline instantly became and will always be your first priority. “Not until she’s older, anyway. A lot older. And by then who knows what will have happened.”

“I’ve got to get to Jackson. My brother Tommy, he’s missing’ and that’s where he was last.” Joel shuffles Caroline so that she’s cradled in the curve of his arm.

“Wyoming?” He said west, not south, so it’s an informed guess. And an ironic coincidence, if it’s true. “I…I used to have people out there. I don’t know if they’re still there or still alive, but they were in Jackson last I heard.”

Joel nods, confirming he meant Wyoming. The idea of traveling with a baby isn’t a pleasant one. It makes things hundreds of times more complicated, but he also knows that he doesn’t want to leave the two of you, wondering what would happen to you.

“Could I send a letter with you, maybe?” Just being able to tell your surviving family that you’re okay - safe and with a baby - would be such a relief. “If you don’t run into them or can’t find them, that’s fine. But just in case?”

Joel is quiet for a long minute, mulling over everything. “If we had a car, we could go. All of us.” Joel murmurs quietly, unsure of your willingness to travel with Caroline.

“You want us to go with you?” It honestly wasn’t something you had expected. If anything, you would have been ecstatic to have him come back to you when everything was over.

“Only if you think you can handle it.” Joel tells you quickly. “It’s not going to be stroll. It’ll be dangerous. And the baby will need to be protected.”

“I’ve been out there before,” you remind him. It’s how you met, after all. Or at least it’s where you met. Out in the wilds. “It’s how I know I can’t do it alone. But two of us? That’s…that’s different.”

Joel looks at you, “how much can we get?” He asks, wanting to know about supplies. A car, horses, whatever could be had here.

“A lot of people want this house.” A safe place to live is invaluable, and this one has the benefit of the small garden Emma helped you start. “I’ve got good food stores and medical supplies. Clothes, soap, a knife and an axe.” You had built up this house to be where you raised your daughter, so you had stocked up supplies, too. “We could trade the house for a car and whatever else we need.”

“If you’re wantin’ to stay here, I won’t blame you.” Joel strokes the baby’s face gently and smiles when she reaches up and grabs his finger while she sleeps. “It’s a nice life you have here and it – it’ll be hard out there.”

“This is as good a life as we can hope for anymore.” That’s true, and it makes a part of you ache that you actually aren’t very happy here. You have everything you need, Caroline is safe, and there’s less violence than in a lot of other places - but you feel isolated regardless. Even the friends you’ve made feel like placeholders compared to your family. “But I really don’t know.” Is it worth giving up security for happiness? How will you know which will make Caroline happier?

“If you want to go, I’ll get you there.” Joel promises you, serious about that. He will do anything to protect you and the baby. Ellie too. “I promise.”

“I miss my family.” It comes out small, more ashamed than you’d like, as you watch Joel cradle your daughter in his arm. “I think I’d give anything to have my family back. Anything but Caroline.”

“Nothing wrong with missing family, baby.” Joel hums quietly, thinking about Tommy….and Sarah. “Sometime the only reason to go on if for people we care about.”

“Do you keep going for Tommy?” It’s an intensely personal question, but the connection you share with him now just as intensely personal as you could have with another person.

“I did.” Joel admits, his brother the most important person in the world to him until recently. Or tonight.

“Did?” You ask, your eyebrows knitting together, wondering why he’s talking like his brother is dead when he just said he was going to find him.

“Did.” Joel murmurs softly, leaning down and pressing his lips to Caroline’s forehead. “Now I’ll keep going for her.” He tells you, looking up when he pulls away from his daughter.

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