#do you see the vision? do you fucking see it?

[cinnxmxngxrl]

can you do one where abby tortures reader instead of joel?

“Strong one”

Jackson!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist

Summary: What if it had been you Abby tortured, instead of Joel?

WC: 7k

Warnings/Tags: minors DNI, lots of fluff, violence, blood, smut, oral (f!receiving), dirty talk, fingering, unprotected piv, pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage, age gap, established relationship.

You came to slowly, pain throbbing at the back of your skull like a war drum. The world spun before it sharpened into something bitterly real—wood-paneled walls, the scent of wet earth, rot, and snow seeping through the cracked window.

You were feeling dizzy, unsure of your surroundings. Then you heard him—Tommy—groaning, maybe ten feet away, on his knees with a gun pressed to the back of his head. Someone had already worked him over—blood poured from his nose, one eye nearly swollen shut.

You shifted. A boot slammed into your ribs.

“She’s awake,” a voice said. One of the others.

You coughed, vision blurry. You turned your head—and there she was.

She stood a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes dark and unreadable. You saw the tension in her jaw. Rage, leashed just enough to keep her steady.

“So you’re the girlfriend then?” she asked.

Your throat was dry. “What?”

“Joel Miller.”

You didn’t answer fast enough. She strode forward and punched you—hard. Your head snapped back, stars exploding behind your eyes.

The force knocked the breath from your lungs, your vision swimming in bursts of light and shadow. Pain radiated from your jaw down to your neck like fire. You tried to steady yourself, but her fury was relentless.

Abby stepped back, breathing hard. “You think I came all this way to let it go? He killed my dad. And you—what? Played house with him? Helped him sleep at night?”

“Go to hell,” you spat, blood dribbling from your mouth.

“She had nothing to do with it,” Tommy growled. “You want revenge, take it out on—”

Abby cracked him across the face with the butt of her rifle.

The sharp crack echoed through the room like a gunshot. Tommy’s body jerked violently, a grunt of pain escaping his lips as he crumpled slightly. The air hung heavy with tension—no one dared to move.

“No. I want her.”

You tensed, the fear rising thick in your chest.

“You know what he did?” she asked, voice hollow. “He took everything from me. So I’m gonna take you from him. I’m gonna watch his whole world crumble first. And then, when he has nothing left, I’ll kill him.”

She stepped closer again, close enough you could smell the sweat on her skin, see the wild look in her eyes—untethered fury wrapped in flesh.

The golf club swung. Pain exploded in the back of your head—shattering, blinding. You screamed, the sound ripping through the walls.

Tommy shouted your name, but someone slammed him back down, held him there.

She didn’t stop. The club came down again. And again. You sobbed, gasped, tasted metal and blood.

A desperate, piercing shout.

“No—NO! Stop!”

The door slammed open, and Ellie stood frozen in the frame, eyes wild, breath ragged, gun trembling in her hands. Ellie’s voice rang out like a shot, desperate and breaking—but before her foot even fully crossed the threshold, someone was already on her. A blur of movement, and she went slamming to the floor, her gun clattering away as some guy pinned her down, his forearm crushing against her back.

“Ellie!” you tried to scream, but it came out broken, wet. Blood bubbled on your lips.

She struggled beneath him, snarling like an animal. “Get off me! GET THE FUCK OFF—”

But Abby didn’t flinch. Didn’t look up. She only adjusted her grip on the golf club.

You try to focus, but everything swirls.

Abby doesn’t hesitate.

“She’s mine,” Abby snarls, raising the club again. Her voice was shaking, but not from fear—from a rage that had fermented too long. “This isn’t for you,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “This is for him.”

And then—it came down again. A sickening crunch. The sound of bone breaking echoed like a gunshot, white-hot pain exploding through your shoulder and collarbone. Your scream tore from your throat, raw and desperate.

Your vision flashed white. Pain lanced through your shoulder, your collarbone—something cracked, and a scream tore its way out of your chest.

Ellie wailed. “Please—please stop! PLEASE!”

Abby paced around you, breathing heavily, blood spattered across her face now—your blood. Your arms were shaking, trying and failing to protect yourself.

You turned your face toward Ellie, teeth chattering. “It’s… okay,” you tried to say, voice mangled. “I’m okay.”

But you weren’t. Your chest was caving in with every breath, your limbs spasming from the shock. Your vision tunneled, shrinking to a pinprick where only Ellie’s terrified face remained.

“Let me go—fuck, let me go!” Tommy bellowed, fighting against his captors. “She didn’t do anything! GODDAMN YOU!”

The desperation in his voice was raw, filled with a furious helplessness. You wanted to tell him to stop, to be careful, but your own strength was fading fast.

Your vision blurs. Suddenly, a guttural howl slices through the silence—something not human.

A horde of runners burst through the windows and door, snarling.

The chaos was instant. Screams. Gunshots. Blood. The wet sound of teeth tearing flesh.

You hear Tommy cursing, hands ripping at your bindings.

“Come on, stay with me!” Ellie’s voice cuts through the haze.

You feel yourself being lifted—arms pulling, fingers fumbling at knots.

“Almost there…” Ellie breathes, her voice steady but strained.

You try to open your eyes but only see shifting shadows. The world tilts, then rights itself briefly.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Tommy grunts, his voice close.

The sounds around you—Ellie’s frantic movements, Tommy’s curses, the snarls of infected—fade in and out like distant thunder.

At one moment, you feel the snow cold against your cheek.

The next, warmth—Ellie holding you, whispering.

Then the world slips away again.

The door to the medical hall slammed open.

Joel didn’t wait to ask. He’d heard the shouting, the panic in the hallway, the word passed like wildfire:

“Let me see her. Now.” Joel’s voice was raw, trembling with a desperate edge as he pushed forward, eyes burning with frantic urgency.

“No. You can’t. Not yet.” Maria’s hand shot out, firm and unyielding, pressing heavily against his chest, stopping him in his tracks like a dam holding back a flood. Her face was pale, lips trembling.

Joel’s brow furrowed, nostrils flaring, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack. “Why the hell not? I need to see her. I have to.”

Maria’s voice wavered, almost breaking. “She’s unconscious. Joel… They barely made it back alive. If it weren’t for the runners—” Her throat tightened. She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to hold back tears. “I don’t think she would’ve—” Her voice cracked like fragile glass. “She’s in bad shape.”

Joel’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with a suffocating mix of fear and fury. He shoved past Maria’s hand, his movements rough, reckless, propelled by a force he couldn’t control. The nurses’ hurried footsteps echoed behind him, the sterile smell of antiseptic thick in the air.

His arm was wrapped in a ragged sling, blood darkening the fabric. His shirt was torn and dirt-smudged, his face drawn and weary. Tommy’s eyes lifted slowly, heavy with guilt and exhaustion. He didn’t say a word at first — just stepped back, silently making way.

Joel’s whole body shook. “Tommy.” His voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper.

Tommy’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything.”

The words landed with crushing weight, suffocating Joel’s lungs. His legs wobbled, his vision blurred for a moment, and he gripped the doorframe to steady himself.

“How bad?” Joel forced the words out through clenched teeth. “Just tell me.”

Maria swallowed painfully, eyes flicking between Joel and Tommy. “She wasn’t breathing when they got her out. Dislocated shoulder. Head trauma. Internal bleeding—probably more.”

Her voice softened, breaking the silence like a fragile thread. “But she’s alive, Joel. She’s still alive.”

The word hung in the air, trembling with hope and fragility. Joel’s hands trembled at his sides, fingers curling into fists as if trying to crush the impossible.

But it didn’t stop the images flooding in. He imagined your face bloodied, your eyes swollen shut, your body limp in Ellie’s arms. He imagined you calling for him—and him not being there.

“What the fuck happened,” he breathed, jaw tight, voice trembling.

Tommy’s voice cracked. “We were ambushed—It was a setup. They wanted information… about you.”

Joel’s eyes slowly lifted. “Me?”

Tommy nodded, broken. “A girl wanted revenge. Said she was…the daughter of the doctor you killed in Salt Lake City.”

Joel blinked. And then it hit him.

The Fireflies. The daughter of the surgeon he’d killed in Saint Mary’s hospital to keep Ellie alive.

Tommy’s voice was lower now. “They… they beat her to hell, Joel. We got lucky, a horde came through the woods. I don’t know how, but… it saved us. We wouldn’t’ve made it out otherwise.”

Joel stood straighter, his fists clenched so tight his nails dug into his palms.

“You saw who did it? What about the girl?” His voice was low, deadly calm.

Tommy hesitated. “Yeah. The girl… she got bit. Some of the others too. The rest ran.”

Suddenly, the door burst open, swinging wide.

Ellie and a nurse stepped out.

Ellie’s face was a mask of exhaustion and pain—her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, hands trembling like leaves in a storm. One sleeve torn and dirt-streaked. She stared at Joel, speechless.

You’d been a key part in trying to bring Joel and Ellie together.

You loved her, and Ellie loved you just as much. She was your favorite patrol partner—brilliant, brave, endlessly curious. She made the quiet hours pass with jokes and stories that veered wildly from tragic to hilarious. Somewhere along the way, she’d started treating you like some kind of strange hybrid—a big sister on good days, a stand-in mother on bad ones. You never asked which one she needed. You just gave what you could.

She trusted you. Which was why she didn’t push back too hard when you started nudging her toward Joel again. It had started small. Quiet comments like, “I think Joel’s trying, even if he sucks at showing it,” or “He asks about you, you know.”

Then it’d be dinner invitations—casual, no pressure. Making excuses to watch old movies together, trying to spark conversation. You’d sit between them on the couch like a buffer, nudging Ellie to ask Joel a question about some ancient actor, or joking with Joel until Ellie cracked the tiniest smile. Sometimes it felt like pulling teeth. Ellie would barely say a word. Joel would sit rigid, as if afraid even breathing too loud might piss her off.

But it was working. Slowly. Bit by bit.

Joel’s chest heaved with ragged breaths.

“Where is she? Let me see her,” he demanded, voice rough, desperate.

“Joel—” Ellie tried to stop him.

The nurse held up a hand, calm but firm. “She’s sedated. You can’t see her yet. But she’s stable. She’s going to pull through.”

Joel swallowed hard, the tightness in his chest deepening.

Then the nurse added quietly, “The baby’s okay too. It’s a miracle she didn’t lose it after all she went through. She’s a strong one.”

Silence slammed into Joel like a physical blow.

The word baby echoed through his mind, thunderous and impossible.

He blinked, voice barely audible. “What…? What baby?”

The nurse glanced at Ellie, then back to Joel. “You didn’t know?”

Joel shook his head, barely perceptible, voice breaking. “No. She—” His throat tightened, and a wave of guilt crashed through him. “She didn’t tell me.”

“She’s about ten, maybe eleven weeks along,” the nurse said softly. “We almost missed it. She lost so much blood. But we checked. The heartbeat is strong.”

Joel stared blankly, as if the words were foreign.

Baby.

The cold numbness in his limbs faded, replaced by a sudden, piercing ache.

Ellie moved to him before he could fall. She threw her arms around him, tight, clinging like she was the only thing tethering him to earth. Her small frame shook as she cried into his shoulder, her tears hot against the worn fabric of his jacket.

“She was protecting her stomach,” Ellie whispered, voice trembling. “They kept hitting her and she didn’t even cover her head, fuck— just kept pulling her arms down around her stomach like—like it was all that fucking mattered.”

Joel made a sound—half gasp, half sob—that barely escaped his throat. His arms wrapped around Ellie, squeezing her to him, grounding himself with the only comfort he had left. His chest heaved as his world tilted.

He’d thought he’d felt every kind of agony—guilt, rage, fear.

But this was different. This was everything.

He’d almost lost you.

And the child he never even knew.

“Please… can I see her?” His voice was so low it barely broke the silence.

The nurse hesitated, then nodded.

“Just for a moment.”

The room was dim, cast in the muted glow of a single amber lamp tucked into the far corner. Shadows stretched long across the sterile walls. The soft, rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound — a fragile, steady echo of your pulse.

Bandages wrapped your forearms, thick and clean against bruised skin. Dried blood streaked along your hairline, your temple swollen and marred. One eye was sealed shut with purple-black bruising, the other just barely fluttering beneath the weight of exhaustion.

And still… you looked too still.

Joel sat hunched at your bedside, the chair pulled close, knees spread wide, elbows braced atop them. His hands were clenched together so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He sat like if he let go of himself for even a second, he’d come apart at the seams.

He hadn’t spoken.

Not a word. Just stared.

Your face — bruised, bloodied, unfamiliar — was nearly unrecognizable. But it was you. He knew it was you. Knew it in the way something deep inside him cracked every time he looked at you and remembered that he hadn’t been there.

Hadn’t protected you.

His hand moved, slow and uncertain, until his trembling fingers brushed against the back of yours. The contact was featherlight — scared, reverent. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t stir. Just breathed.

That alone nearly brought him to his knees.

He cleared his throat — a harsh, raw sound that cracked in the stillness.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice rough as gravel, like it had been clawed from his chest. “I’m here.”

Silence answered. But it was deafening. Not peaceful. Not calm. It ached.

“I… I didn’t know. Bout the baby.” He rubbed his face, the gesture full of exhaustion and disbelief. “Jesus, sweetheart. Why didn’t you tell me?”

His voice trembled. So did his shoulders.

“I woulda—fuck, I woulda lost it. Yeah.” A strained laugh broke through his lips. But it was hollow. Pained. “But not ‘cause I didn’t want it. Not ‘cause I didn’t want you.”

He leaned in closer, his thumb brushing the unbruised edge of your knuckles — the only untouched part of your hand.

“You’re the strongest damn woman I’ve ever met,” he whispered. “But you didn’t have to do this alone.”

His gaze dropped to your stomach — now gently bandaged beneath the blanket. The rise and fall of your breathing was barely perceptible. But it was there. Alive.

“You saved that baby,” he rasped. “Even with your head cracked open and your body shattered, you still fought. For it. For us.”

“I shoulda been there.” His voice thickened, near breaking. “It shoulda been me they wanted. Not you. Never you.”

Your eyelids twitched.

A flicker. Barely there. Like a breeze brushing over dying embers.

Then again.

Slowly. Painfully.

You blinked.

Your eyes felt like they were glued shut, lashes sticky with dried tears and blood. But through the haze, shapes began to form. Blurred outlines. The dim lamp. The sterile white ceiling. The smell of antiseptic.

You turned your head — just barely. Every muscle screamed. But then you saw him.

Joel.

Slumped forward in the chair beside your bed, his forehead resting against the back of your hand like he was praying. Or begging. Or trying to breathe without breaking.

Your fingers twitched. Just a small movement — a whisper of touch. But it was enough.

Joel’s head snapped up, eyes wide and bloodshot, rimmed red with exhaustion. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Like he couldn’t believe it.

“…Baby?”

You blinked again. Your lips parted, cracked and dry. It took every ounce of strength, but a sound emerged.

“J…Joel.” Your voice was barely audible. A dry rasp, ragged and thin — but unmistakable. And at the sound of it, something inside him crumbled.

He was up in an instant — not rushing, not smothering you, just leaning in close, hands hovering over your face like he was afraid to hurt you with touch.

“Oh God. You’re—hey. Look at me.” His hand cradled your cheek, barely pressing against your bruised skin. “You’re okay. You’re awake. Jesus, sweetheart. I thought I lost you.”

You winced, your ribs flaring with pain. A soft whimper slipped out. In one moment, as your senses slowly began to crawl back to you through the haze of pain and exhaustion, your hand instinctively flew to your stomach.

“Is… is the ba—?”

Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper, your palm pressed against the soft curve of your belly like you could somehow feel for a heartbeat through skin and muscle. Like you could will the baby back into being with just a touch.

“Easy, easy.” Joel’s voice dropped again. “Don’t move too much.” His hands never left yours. “You’re banged up real bad. But you’re safe now. You hear me? You’re safe. The baby’s safe too. Breathin’.”

You blinked slowly, chest rising in shallow waves. “Hurts.”

“I know.” His thumb swept under your eye, brushing away nothing, but needing to touch you. “I know, baby. But you’re here. You’re okay. I gotcha.”

His gaze drifted down to your stomach, his hand resting there with reverence. Even with your skin bruised, your abdomen tender — he touched you like you were holy. Like you were the sun returning after a hundred winters.

“I was gonna tell you,” you murmured, voice cracked. “About the baby.”

Joel didn’t speak.

You looked away, ashamed. “I just… didn’t know how.”

He waited.

“It’s not like it was some big secret. I wanted to tell you. I just… I thought about what the world looks like now. About what it did to you. To Sarah.” Your voice wavered. “You’ve already lost so much, Joel. I didn’t want to put that weight on you again.”

Joel flinched. Slight. But enough.

“I didn’t want to give you one more thing to be afraid of. One more thing to lose.” You said, swallowing back tears.

He closed his eyes slowly. Like your words were knives carving across his heart.

“I thought maybe you’d think it was selfish. Or stupid. To bring life into this.” Your throat closed, voice nearly silent. “I didn’t know how you’d react. If you’d be angry. If you’d feel… trapped. You’ve carried so much, Joel. And I just��I didn’t want to throw a new baby at you and expect you to carry that weight again. Especially at your age.”

Joel exhaled — a sound like air rushing from a collapsing structure. “Thanks f’that.”

You gave him the faintest smile. “You know what I mean.”

He nodded slowly, leaning in. His eyes locked to yours, warm and full and broken. “A child with you… that’d never be a burden.”

He kissed your forehead. Then your temple. The corner of your mouth — so gently it barely registered as contact.

“I am scared,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “Shitless, if I’m honest. This world ain’t made for soft things anymore.”

His hand moved back to your stomach.

“But I’d fight tooth and nail to make room for one. For ours.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks.

“I want this. Not just the baby. You. All of it. The good. The bad. The ugly. Whatever’s comin’ next.”

“Good,” you whispered. “’Cause I don’t think I can get through this without you.”

He cupped your face again, more firmly now. Grounded. Real.

“You won’t have to,” he said. His voice didn’t shake this time. It was steady. A promise.

Your eyes fluttered shut again — not from pain this time, but peace.

Safety.

Joel pressed his lips to your forehead one last time, holding there.

“I gotcha, mama,” he murmured. “Rest now. I’ll be right here when you wake up again.”

Even after the conversation. Even after you’d drifted again for a short while. Joel stayed there — unmoving, unblinking — his fingers wrapped tight around yours like a man clinging to the edge of a cliff. Like if he loosened his grip for even a second, the earth might open up and swallow you whole.

You stirred softly.

Your eyelashes fluttered, lips parting on a shallow breath. The light above was dim now, flickering faintly, but enough to illuminate the slouched shape beside you.

Joel’s head was bowed, broad shoulders hunched like he was carrying the full weight of what had happened — and still carrying it badly. His brow was furrowed deep enough to carve a canyon, and his jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it hurt to breathe.

“Joel,” you whispered, voice paper-thin.

He lifted his head slowly. His eyes were red, glassy. But he didn’t wipe them.

“I need to say somethin’,” he said. His voice cracked mid-sentence, like something inside had finally split. “And I need you to let me say it all.”

You nodded. Barely. “Okay.”

Joel leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees again, his entire posture that of a man on trial — like he’d already found himself guilty and now just needed to speak the verdict out loud.

“’M sorry,” he said, voice low and thick and ragged. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”

You blinked slowly, pain thudding somewhere behind your eyes.

“I shoulda been there. I shoulda known.” His hands wrung together like he was trying to throttle the guilt out of his bones. “I’ll never forgive myself for you gettin’ dragged into the shit that was meant for me.”

His voice dropped, rough with self-loathing.

“You went through hell. And I wasn’t there to stop it. To protect you.”

You opened your mouth — your breath caught behind the ache in your throat — to tell him it wasn’t his fault. That it couldn’t have been. But he pushed through.

“I know you’re gonna say I couldn’t have known. That it ain’t my fault. But that doesn’t matter. I shoulda made damn sure nothing ever got that close to you. Not ever.”

His eyes found yours. And for a moment, it felt like he was trying to etch himself into your memory, like he needed you to see every drop of guilt in his soul.

“You were tortured,” he said, voice shaking. “F’me. And I wasn’t there. I wasn’t even close. And I don’t know how to live with that.”

Your bottom lip trembled. “Joel…”

He shook his head — firm, broken, desperate.

“You are the strongest person I’ve ever known,” he said, his voice rough but reverent, like it hurt to say it out loud — like it was sacred. “And if that little girl or boy grows up to have even half the heart you do…” He faltered. His throat worked around it. “They’ll be somethin’ fierce. Just like their mama.”

The tears came faster now — yours, not his. Hot streaks trailing down your cheeks, every drop a release of pain and love and everything in between.

Joel leaned in, kissed your hand — soft, reverent, like it was the only thing in the world that made sense.

“You didn’t just survive what they did.” His lips hovered above your skin. “You protected our child through it. You kept them safe. You held on — for both of you.”

He pulled back, just enough to look at you, thumb brushing a fresh tear from your cheek.

“You’re already a better mother than most ever get the chance to be.”

Your whole body trembled with a soft sob. Joel moved carefully, gently, sliding closer onto the bed. His arms came around you slow — cautious of every bruise, every bandage — and yet strong, anchoring, like he could hold you together with just his touch.

He cradled the back of your head and pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closed.

“‘M here now,” he whispered, the words more vow than comfort. “And I’m gonna spend the rest of my life makin’ sure you never have to go through somethin’ like that again.”

You buried your face into his neck, your fingers clutching weakly at his shirt. You could feel his pulse under your cheek — strong, steady, alive.

“I love you,” you breathed.

“I love you too,” Joel said, voice breaking again. “So damn much.”

The room had gone quiet again. You’d drifted off, the pain meds finally taking root, winding through your bloodstream like silk — pulling you into the kind of sleep that didn’t feel like surrender, but mercy.

Your breathing evened out, lashes resting soft against your cheeks. The pain still lingered in your features, but the fear was gone.

Joel didn’t move.

He stayed right there, one hand resting lightly on your belly — over the soft swell that now held more than bruises or wounds. It held hope. And something else entirely.

His hand was rough, weathered. It dwarfed the small curve beneath it, but trembled just slightly, like he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch something this fragile. This sacred.

He leaned down, close enough that his lips nearly brushed the blanket.

“Hey, little one,” he murmured. “Reckon we haven’t properly met yet. I’m your daddy.”

His thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle over your stomach.

“You don’t know it yet, but your mama… she’s the strongest damn person I’ve ever known. Carried you through somethin’ no one should have to survive. And she did it without ever lettin’ go of you.”

His voice hitched.

“She protected you. Even when I couldn’t protect her.”

He swallowed thickly, lips pressed tight.

“I don’t know what this world’s gonna look like when you’re old enough to see it for what it is. But I swear to you — I’ll make a place for you. I’ll fight for it. I’ll bleed for it. You and her… you’re it for me now. I’ll give everythin’ I got to make sure you get a chance at somethin’ better than what I had. Better than what Ellie had. Better than what Sarah had.”

Joel heard someone coming and turned quickly, rising from the bed instinctively—half-guarded, half-concerned—but relaxed when he saw Ellie standing in the doorway, hoodie sleeves bunched at her elbows, hands stiff at her sides. Her eyes were bloodshot, rimmed in bruised exhaustion, and dried blood still clung beneath her nails.

She looked shell-shocked. Frozen. Younger than usual. And older.

Joel rose, slow, careful.

“She’s asleep,” he said softly. “But stable. They said she’ll make it.”

Ellie’s eyes shifted to the bed. To the tubes and gauze and bruises that painted your body like a warzone. Her jaw clenched.

“I thought she was gonna die,” she whispered. Her voice broke on the word “die.”

Joel’s own face cracked.

“Me too.”

“She protected the baby. That’s… fucking insane.”

Joel didn’t look away from her.

“She’s always been brave,” he said. “You know that.”

Ellie’s throat bobbed with something unspoken. Then she nodded. Quietly.

Joel hesitated — then stepped back, nodding toward the chair beside you.

“She’ll want to see you when she wakes up.”

Ellie didn’t move at first.

Then, slow as a tide rolling in, she stepped forward and sank into the chair. Her hand reached out — hesitant, unsure — before closing around yours like she was afraid she might break you.

She pressed her forehead close to your arm, breathing shallow.

Joel watched them — the woman he’d almost lost and the girl who’d saved him from being lost long before that — and for the first time in days, maybe weeks, he let out a breath that didn’t shake.

And for just a moment, the weight didn’t feel so impossible to carry.

When you woke up the next morning, the harsh white light of the hospital room was already creeping in through the blinds. Your body ached in every part—every breath a reminder of what you’d been through. You blinked slowly, trying to focus, and realized Joel wasn’t there. Instead, the faint scrape of fabric caught your attention.

Ellie was there—collapsed into the chair beside you, her body folding into itself like she’d been there for hours. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion, the dark circles under them stark against her pale skin. Her hands rested limply on her lap, trembling just slightly.

You lifted your head just enough to meet her gaze, a weak but genuine smile touching your lips. “Hey, kid.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She just blinked at you, like she was trying to find the right thing, but the words got stuck somewhere deep.

Finally, she cleared her throat, voice rough and low. “Joel went to get a shower. He didn’t want to leave you, but I insisted.” She let out a humorless chuckle that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Told him he was gonna start stinking if he didn’t.”

You gave her a nod, your lips twitching into a half-smile that was more tired gratitude than amusement.

Ellie’s hands clenched tightly in her lap, knuckles turning white beneath her skin. Her voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

“I didn’t know if… I didn’t think you’d…” She swallowed hard, biting back a sob. “Shit.”

Your chest tightened as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “I’m here, Ellie,” you said softly, voice trembling. “I’m still here.”

Her gaze dropped to the worn hospital blanket covering your legs. Her jaw clenched so hard it looked painful, and when she finally spoke, it was with a rawness that broke your heart.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve—I should’ve stopped her. I should’ve done something.”

You reached out slowly with your good arm, your fingers trembling as they brushed against her wrist, grounding her. “Ellie, there was nothing you could’ve done. Nothing.”

She shook her head, her voice catching like she was swallowing a storm inside her.

“I was so scared. When we got here and they said you weren’t breathing… I didn’t know if I’d lost you.”

Your throat tightened, tears blurring your vision, but you forced the words out. “I’m fine. I’m here. You got me here.”

She swallowed again, voice barely above a whisper.

“And the baby—I didn’t… I didn’t know.” Her eyes flicked back up to yours, wide and shining. “Congratulations, by the way.”

A soft smile broke through your pain. “Thank you.”

“Can I…?” Ellie’s voice was hesitant, eyes flicking to your belly as she made a small, uncertain gesture.

“Sure,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

She moved her hands closer, like she was afraid to cause you even the smallest discomfort. When her hands finally reached your stomach, she placed them there with a tenderness that made your heart ache. You weren’t showing at all yet, but Ellie swore she felt something warm beneath her palms, a quiet pulse of life.

Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Congratulations. I’m… really happy for you. For both of you.”

A soft, tired laugh escaped your lips. “You should tell Joel too. He’s scared shitless of being a dad at fifty-eight.”

Ellie’s gaze lifted to meet yours, fierce and unwavering. “He’ll do good… And the baby… it’s lucky to have him as a dad.”

You reached up and squeezed her hands gently, letting the weight of her words settle between you.

Without another word, Ellie leaned her forehead gently against your arm. You felt the tremble in her breath, the tears soaking quietly into the hospital sheet beneath her. She stayed like that, silent, close, as if holding onto you would keep the world from falling apart.

The house was quiet.

For the first time in days, it was just you and Joel. The sunlight stretched across the wooden floorboards, casting slow, lazy warmth through the windows of your shared home in Jackson. The hum of distant voices outside was barely audible, muffled by thick walls and thick memories.

You sat on the edge of the bed, pulling your sweater down over your ribs — the bruises had faded to something yellowish now, the deeper aches dulling with each passing morning. You were walking fine. Breathing steady. Healing.

But Joel hadn’t touched you. Not really.

You’d noticed it first the night you got home. The way he helped you into bed like you were made of glass. The way his hands hovered near you instead of resting on your waist, how he kissed your forehead and not your lips. Every time you reached for him, he would pull away — gently, but completely.

And it was happening again now.

You stood in front of him as he folded laundry at the end of the bed. You stepped into his space, reached for his hands.

“Joel.”

At the sound of your voice, his shoulders twitched — a reflex he couldn’t hide — and slowly, he turned.

His features softened the moment he saw you.

“Hey, darlin’.”

“I’m fine,” you said, voice low but steady. “You know that, right?”

His jaw flexed. “Yeah. I know.”

But he didn’t sound like he believed it. Not really.

You slipped your fingers under his shirt, just a little, just enough to feel the heat of him.

He flinched. Not like you scared him — more like he was scared of himself. Of what touching you might do.

You looked up at him. “You haven’t kissed me in three days.”

“I kissed your forehead.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Silence fell like a weight between you, heavy and aching.

He didn’t answer.

You moved even closer, resting your palms on his chest now, over his heart. It was thudding. Fast and heavy, like he’d been running.

“I need you, Joel.”

He let out a breath, rough and shaky. “I know. I just—”

“You think I’ll break.”

His silence was your answer.

You stepped back a little, hurt stinging sharper than any wound.

“You won’t even look at my body anymore,” you said. “You won’t touch me like you used to. You see me like I’m something still bleeding.”

Joel turned away, hands gripping the edge of the dresser, knuckles white.

“You almost died,” he said. Voice low. “They could’ve killed you, and our baby.”

“But they didn’t.”

“I wasn’t there,” he snapped, then softened immediately. “I wasn’t there to stop it, and now I—now I don’t know how to touch you without seein’ what they did.”

Your chest cracked open.

“Joel…” you crossed to him, slowly this time, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. You pressed your cheek to his back, listened to the way his breath caught.

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” you whispered. “You’re the only place I feel safe.”

He exhaled through his nose, his hand covering yours where they rested on his stomach.

“I want you, Joel. I want to feel you close again. I want to feel like we’re still… us.”

You turned him gently, your eyes pleading as you reached up to brush a thumb over his jaw. His eyes flicked to your mouth.

Your lips brushed his — tentative, testing. And when he didn’t flinch this time, when his mouth moved with yours in something soft and real, the ache in your chest began to loosen.

He tasted like breath held too long. Like guilt. Like hunger starved for too many nights.

He held you close. Still careful, still trembling. But his mouth was hungry now. His hands buried in your hair. A low, desperate sound left his throat as he deepened the kiss, all that fear bleeding into the press of his lips.

“Christ, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “Missed you so bad it’s killin’ me.”

You broke apart just enough to breathe, forehead against his.

“You tell me if it’s too much. You promise me that.” He said.

“I promise,” you whispered.

He nodded, eyes dark with something deeper than lust. And then he started undoing your clothes.

Gently. Carefully.

He peeled off your shirt with trembling hands, eyes raking over every new scar and fading bruise with something like reverence. His fingertips brushed your skin like it was sacred.

“Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, voice thick. “They didn’t take this from me. They didn’t take you.”

When he kissed down your chest, his hands slid to your hips — not possessive, not greedy. Just needing to hold you, to feel you were real.

“Been dreamin’ about this,” he murmured. “Bout how you taste, how you sound when you cum on my tongue…”

Your breath hitched.

Joel moved down the bed, kneeling between your thighs as he gently helped you out of your underwear. His gaze was molten when he spread your legs — and fuck, the way he looked at you then, like you were a goddamn feast he’d been starving for.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, baby,” he muttered, eyes locked on your slick folds. “You’re drippin’ already. Missed this cunt so goddamn bad.”

You felt his breath against your core before he even touched you.

Then—

His tongue licked a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit, and your whole body arched.

“Joel—!”

He groaned like he’d just tasted heaven. “That’s it. Lemme hear ya.”

His grip on your thighs tightened, spreading you open with a possessive strength now. His tongue flicked your clit once, twice — then he flattened it, dragging it up with a wet, obscene sound that made your hips jerk.

He licked you again, slower this time, letting his tongue swirl around your clit before pulling it into his mouth with a soft suck.

You cried out, hands flying to his hair, hips twitching against his mouth. He moaned like you were his last meal, tongue working faster now, more insistent.

He buried his face in you, beard scraping your thighs, and the lewd sounds he made — wet slurps, groans vibrating against your pussy — made you flush all the way to your chest.

“You’re so fuckin’ sweet, darlin’,” he murmured between licks. “Could stay here all night…buried in this pussy.”

Your hips rolled against his mouth, and he moaned, sucking your clit harder as one thick finger slipped into you — so gentle, so damn careful.

“That feel okay, baby?”

“Y-Yeah,” you gasped. “More, please…”

Joel gave you what you wanted. He added a second finger, slow and deliberate, curling them just right until your back arched. His mouth never left your clit, his tongue lapping and sucking like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.

He fucked you slow with his fingers, tongue working your clit until you were shaking, thighs trembling around his head.

“Cum f’me,” he murmured. “Wanna taste you when you fall apart.”

You felt it building — white-hot pressure curling in your spine, your belly, your thighs. Your breath came in ragged little sobs.

Your orgasm hit like a damn freight train — you cried out, thighs clamping around his head, cunt pulsing around his fingers as he kept licking you through it, swallowing everything you gave him.

When he pulled back, his beard was soaked, eyes wild and tender all at once.

“You good?” he rasped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Need a second?”

“I need you now.”

That pulled a low growl from him.

He stripped quickly, climbing over you with a new kind of urgency. His cock was thick and heavy between you, flushed and aching, precum leaking through his tip, and when he finally slid it through your folds, he shuddered.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, rubbing the head through your soaked slit. “You’re so wet, makin’ a fuckin’ mess—gonna slide right in, yeah?”

“Joel—fuck, please—”

He pushed in slow, inch by inch, stretching you open so carefully it almost hurt with how tender it was.

“Shit,” he breathed, burying his face in your neck. “You’re still so tight, baby—fuck—so warm…”

You moaned as he bottomed out, your nails raking his back.

He trembled on top of you, hips stilled, letting you feel every inch. His voice was wrecked.

“I missed this… missed bein’ inside you. Thought I’d never get to feel this again.”

“Joel. Move, please—”

He started to thrust, slow but deep, grinding his hips into yours like he needed to feel every inch of you clench around him.

Each stroke was deliberate — filthy and reverent. His cock dragged along your walls, thick and stretching, making you moan into his mouth as he kissed you like a man starving.

“I gotcha,” he whispered. “I’m here. I ain’t ever lettin’ go again.”

You kissed him hard — sloppy, desperate — and he responded like he was drowning in you.

It was romantic. Filthy. Desperate.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Your heels dug into the small of his back, urging him closer, grinding his cock impossibly deep into your soaking cunt.

The slick sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, obscene and perfect. Each wet slap of his hips was a promise — I’m here, I’m yours, I’m not going anywhere.

“Shit—feel how you’re squeezin’ me?” he gasped, voice fraying. “Your little pussy’s so fuckin’ greedy, baby. She don’t wanna let me go.”

He panted into your ear, hips pistoning now, his balls slapping your ass as he fucked you harder, dirtier. His thrusts lost their rhythm, turning rough, frantic, like he needed to fuck the memory of almost losing you out of his bloodstream.

He hissed through his teeth. “Fuck—feel you milkin’ me, baby, you really missed this cock, didn’t ya? Feel your pussy clinging to it. Can’t hold— won’t last much longer…”

Your cunt fluttered around him, clenching, desperate — and when you came again, crying out his name like a prayer you’d almost forgotten, Joel broke with you.

“Oh fuck—fuck, baby—I’m comin’—” he groaned, voice wrecked, thick with relief and need.

Joel cursed and followed you over the edge, spilling inside you with a ragged groan, burying himself deep.

You could feel it — hot spurts of his release filling you, cock throbbing inside your cunt as he grunted into your neck. His whole body jerked with every pulse, like his soul was pouring into you along with his cum.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, forehead against your skin. “Fuckin’ needed that. Needed you.”

“I needed you even more.”

His body trembled over yours.

He didn’t move for a long time — just stayed there, forehead resting against yours, breathing hard. His hands cradled your face like you were the most precious thing in the world.

And maybe you were.

Because for the first time since that night, Joel didn’t feel like he was breaking.

He felt whole.

A/N: To the person who requested this—and to everyone else reading—I truly loved writing this, and I really hope you enjoyed it. Tysm for the request🩷🫶🏻

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

[crowlypoly]

I always think about how I couldnt live in places that are so open like this because I'm so used to being surrounded by forests it would be like reverse claustrophobia or something. But the downside is missing how incredible the storms are there BECAUSE it's so open, you can see the whole sky rip apart from one edge of your vision to the other that would be so incredible to witness. How is the sky even able to DO that?? So fucking cool

This was in Sioux Falls South Dakota! The green sky is caused by large hail stones within the storm refracting back green light to the observer.

[oldermenfucker]

everyone is talking about robby talking you through it? think you can maybe please write something around that?

Of course I can babe! Ask and you shall receive!!! It’s not long unfortunately but Robby has a MOUTH on him:)

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, robby has a filthy fucking mouth YAS🤭

You knew Robby was a man of words, you experienced it firsthand. He guided you through so many procedures, threw praise words around like candy, and made sure everyone knew how appreciated they were.

So it shouldn’t have been a shock when you found out he has a filthy fucking mouth on him, but it was, and worse, he knows what he is doing to you.

“I’m gonna put it in, yeah?”

You nod hurriedly, hands roaming his broad shoulders and back, practically vibrating with need as he taps the head of his cock on your clit twice before he lines himself up with your hole.

“Ah, good girl,” he groans as he pushes in smoothly, stretching you out with his fat cock, “Feels so good.”

Your lips part in a soft moan as he slowly begins to thrust into you, deep and intense, enough to make you arch your back.

“Look at you taking me so beautifully,” he cups your face, his pupils blown and widened as his hips slam into yours, his cock reaching deeper with each stroke, “You were made for me, fuck, yeah you were—“

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, nails digging into his broad shoulders as his grip tightens on your hips.

“There is my girl,” he doesn’t take his eyes off you, staring as your face twists in pleasure as he drives into your velvety walls, “Does it feel good, baby? Should I go faster?”

“Yes, yes— Mikey, please!”

“Anything for you,” he kisses the corner of your lips, chasing your tongue into your mouth while he fastens his pace, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust. He pulls back a little, panting above you as he angles your hips a bit up, “Want me to play with your clit? Cause I really want to, baby. Let me make you come—“

He doesn’t wait for your response, he just reaches between your bodies, thumb pressing down on your buzzing nerves as he begins to draw slow circles.

You squeeze your eyes shut as a new wave of pleasure begins to fill your veins, the knot in your stomach tightening with each second.

“Come for me, baby,” he gasps against your lips when your walls clamp down around him, making it much harder for him to keep himself composed, “There you go, want you to come for me. C’mon baby, go on, come for me, make a fucking mess—“

And you do, with such a force that has your vision going blank for a second, chest pushing upward as your body shakes, legs quivering around his hips as he rubs your swollen clit and fucks you through your peak.

“The prettiest girl, the world doesn’t deserve your beauty,” he groans, his face flushed as he watches you ride your high. “Fuckin’ hell, you must see yourself, you look like sin but feel like heaven—“

[inkyrainstorms]

the glass twins <333 nothing bad has ever happened to them, trust

@afkphorabit i drew Jekyll in too!! Hyde looks so much scrawnier and smaller, if he fixed his posture at least half of those difference would disappear (Hyde has no meat on his bones i fear) (consequence of being more-or-less on the run for nearly a decade) (< yes i am working on that Hyde pov fic why do you ask)

[lulunothulu]

“That’s what she said”

Robert “Bob” Floyd x Reader

Summary: A fic in which Bob has the opportunity to say “that’s what she said” and get something out of it 👀

Content: fluff, 18+ sexual innuendoes, some swearing, alluding to sex

Your callsign: Raven

“I have never seen a woman have half her pussy shaved and half of it a bush,” Hangman drawls from his seat by the pool table.

Bob’s eyes widened, falling to you. Only, you weren’t paying attention to him. No, you were drunkenly laughing at the idiot that was Jake “Hangman” Seresin.

“I’m sorry,” Rooster starts, blinking and shaking his head as he takes a seat beside Phoenix. “What the hell brought this up?”

“Raven asked Bagman if he’d ever seen that,” Phoenix tells him. “He responded as you were walking up.”

Bob is still mortified, blue eyes wide and rimmed with laughter at how uncontrollably giddy you were. Your head was tilted back, hand on your chest. Laughter and giggles still lingered on your lips.

Bob had decided he liked the vision your head back, mouth open. Maybe he liked it a bit too much because I finds himself staring at you.

Quickly, he turns away before anyone can notice he was staring, a blush creeping up his neck.

“What about you, Bobby boy?” Hangman directs his attention on him.

When he quirks his brows up and down at him, Bob feels like he’s about to melt into a puddle of flesh and glasses right there on his stool.

Only, he doesn’t get to because you’d sobered up and stopped laughing.

“Hey,” you start. “Don’t fuck with my boy Bobby here.”

“What? Only you get to fuck with him?” Hangman challenges.

“As a matter of fact I do.”

“That’s what she said.” Bob hears Coyote mutter, the blush turning hotter and darker.

Hangman scoffs, taking a swig of his beer. “He wishes.”

“You know what,” you start. “Yeah, Bob would be lucky to fuck me.”

“Why? You got a half shaved situation down there?” Hangman asks, winking at you.

You roll your eyes, turning your attention to Bob now.

Bob had never seen someone so beautiful in his life. You’re everything he could’ve ever wanted. Perfect eyes, perfect nose, perfect body. Hell, you were even funny as fuck with a great personality.

You were right, he would be lucky to fuck you.

“Why not take a ride on this cowboy?” Hangman drawls, his Texan accent a lot more prominent with the alcohol in his system.

“Because you’re too easy,” you respond. You barely make a move to look at him, eyes only on Bob, a playful smirk in your face. “Bobby on the other hand…he’d be hard.”

Bob doesn’t even know why he says what he says next. It just kind of rolls off his tongue before he can think twice.

“That’s what she said.”

There’s a beat of silence before the group begins to howl. Phoenix doubles over, Rooster’s practically crying, and you…you were speechless. Your eyes are wide, mouth slightly ajar in a dumbfounded smile.

“Innocent” Bob has made his first dirty-esque joke and you got be there to see it.

“Woah there Bob,” you start to joke. “Don’t make me ask just how hard it can get.”

Then again, Bob finds himself unable to keep his damn mouth shut. Because next thing he knows, his mouth is moving and more words (flirty words) are coming out of his mouth.

“Why don’t you come over here and see just how hard I can get?”

What. The fuck. Was. Happening??

You smirk, eyes becoming playfully wicked. “You think I don’t know my way around a hard—” You look up and down. “—Situation?”

Bob gulps, your eyes are playful but each one of your words are laced with challenge. Like you’re ready to take him right then and there.

“I think we’ve lost the plot,” Coyote says.

You and Bob don’t hear him, instead, you’re focused on each other. Chests rising in tandem, hearts probably beating at the same rhythm. You don’t even realize the group has moved to another side of the bar.

You can only focus on Bob and those dorky glasses that frame those navy eyes. When was the last time you’d gotten laid? When was the last time a man has looked at you the way Bob is now? Hungry and lust-filled. You didn’t remember and suddenly, maybe out of loneliness mixed with the crush you had on him, you find yourself crossing two steps to get to this man.

You place your arms around his neck, leaning in as far as he’ll allow you. Up close, you can see his pupils dilate, those navy eyes impossibly dark. It’s like the closer you get to him, the more you can feel that he wants to touch you.

So you lean into him, lips barely brushing the shell of his ear, and say, “What’s the matter, Bob? Scared you’ll get too…” And for emphasis, you grind your hips into his before adding the final word. “Hard?”

“Y/N,” he says, finding the courage deep within his stomach. “You wouldn’t be able to handle me if I were hard.”

Bob’s chest is on fire. The way your hips grid into his, the feel of the warmth on and around him is sending him into a frenzy. He finds himself wanting to kiss you, to shove your hands down his pants. He wants to feel your fingers curl around his—

“And what if I said I could?” You whisper back.

Holy shit. You were going to be the death of him.

Bob doesn’t waste any time. He’s standing, towering over you before he hoists you over his shoulder and carries you to the exit. Behind, you both hear the Dagger Squad whoop and scream profanities at you both.

Ignoring them, Bob keeps walking. Out the bar, to his car, and then into his driver’s seat once you’re buckled into the passenger side. He turns to you, chest heaving.

“Can I take you home?”

“As long you take me to yours,” you respond coolly.

When he squeezes your thigh, you let out a yelp. Suddenly, you were excited to see where your flirting is going to take you...hopefully somewhere hard and long.

That's what she (you) said later.

-----

This took so long to finish omg I'm so sorry that it did becasue this was so fun to type up.

[rueclfer]

hehehe happy 6000 million!!!!!!!!! okay so think coworker mechanic sero,,, absolute loser trying to flirt whilst covered in grease stains,,, are we seeing it. please tell me you’re seeing it

THE REVIVAL OF MECHANIC SERO THANK YOUUUUUUUU omg yes ofc i see the vision ive BEENNN seeing the vision omfg thank u -> can i plug my carguy sero smau here too

mechanic!sero // job fair

event m.list

“you stealing my regular?” you hear footsteps coming up from behind you.

you swivel around in your stool, slinging a dingy white towel over your shoulder.

“look who’s late and kept their client waiting,” you huff with your hands on your hips, “you’re lucky they decided to let me get them started instead of leaving you a shit review.”

from behind his back, he pulls out a yellow ticket in one hand, and a togo cup of coffee in the other.

“look who got a fucking ticket while picking up a treat for his needy coworker?”

your lips pressed together in a tight line as your cheeks puff up. you’re definitely guilty for that one.

sero walks over to you with a growing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. after plopping the drink in your hands, he squats down in front of your stool- going eye level with you. he grabs the corner of the towel over your shoulder and wets the fabric with his tongue before bringing it up to your cheek, wiping away grease residue.

“can’t be mad at a face like that. you know i like this look on you, but keep that pretty face clean, alright?” 

you roll your eyes, scoffing in his face.

“thanks for the coffee, babe, but you shouldn’t be speeding with a car like yours. that’s your own fault.” 

“sorry i was too excited to get back to you.”

you blink once. then twice, your eyes never leaving him.

“get the fuck out of my face.” you reach your hand out and shove his shoulder, making him fall back onto the ground, “so corny,” you mutter.

“like i was born on the cob.” he winks.

sero pushes himself off of the ground and folds the ticket into his back pocket. you try not to watch too deeply as he stretches his arms up over his head, tugging his grease stained white tank top up and revealing the end of a dark happy trail half covered by a utility belt.

“well!” you slap your hand down on your thigh and quickly stand up out of your seat, “i’ll leave you to finish off this mess.”

“what?” he whines, “you’re not gonna keep me company?”

“i have paperwork to do and have an appointment coming in soon.”

“why are you doing paperwork? don’t we have a desk guy for that?” he cocks his eyebrows, “and what if i need a hand?”

you chew at the straw, watching him pout and practically beg for you to stay with his puppy-dog eyes.

“you, hanta, need a hand? the hanta that swore he deserved the raise over me? the hanta that was so adamant on this garage not needing another mechanic when i first got hired? that hanta need a hand?”

his sheepish smile grows.

“yup. that hanta.”

[theseinfernalangels]

The Home of My Home - Garrick Tavis

Synopsis: After finally finding a way to break from your outpost in Montserrat, you make it to Aretia — much worse for wear.

Includes: Garrick and Cosette lore, injuries galore, protective Garrick “My Wife” Tavis, second signet reference, emotional support besties, stuff that I haven’t written yet because I’m saving it for Garrick Week, might do a part two with Aaric? Takes place during Iron Flame.

“Just a bit further, Ríoga. Hold on!”

Seachran’s voice rings through your ears, but you barely register it through the roaring of pain that floods through the worm bandages around your side. Your thighs flex a little, but it’s only the thick bands of magic from the seat that keep you from tumbling mid-air.

You didn’t think you’d make it, honestly; the flight from Montserrat to Aretia is just over a day, and with the extent of your previous injuries, it’s only a matter of time before you drop into unconsciousness. 

Seachran, though, has other ideas.

“No,” he declares, hurdling towards the silhouette of the city faster. “You will not fade. I have alerted the riot, and your friends will be waiting for us. Keep your eyes on the light, and do not dare to look down.”

The light? Ah. He means the blazing afternoon sun that’s currently beginning to set to the west, painting the sky in an orange that matches your restless dragon. It does wonders for your focus, actually — any black spots in your vision are quickly burned by the white light that soothes your nerves.

You slide to the left with a pained hiss as Seachran begins his descent, his enormous wings folding into a dive. To anyone watching, they’d probably see him and assume he was just a dragon on a nice joyflight. However, you know better; your dragon only flies like this in the thick of battle. You could even picture that now, if you just closed your eyes—

“No!” He yells, shooting a spike of uncharacteristic panic down your bond. “Do not sleep!”

“Trying,” you whisper, slumping forward in your seat. You can make it. You have to. You haven’t spent the last few months keeping the largest secret in history just to die by blood loss. You have a family to get back to. A husband.

Gods, you have a husband.

The thought puts a lazy smile on your face as Seachran finally dips into a landing, the figures of other dragons finally coming into view. Good gods, there‘s a lot. How did they manage to rally this many riders from their posts? Unless…Unless they’re not from posts at all. A massive black shape catches your eye, making you stiffen.

“Is that…fucking Tairn?”

“It is,” your dragon confirms, slowing a little. “Many of our allies are here.”

You jolt a little as the dragon comes to a complete stop. Out of habit, you swing your leg over his back to slide, but you pause as your vision starts going spotty again. 

“Shit,” you mumble; at the same time, Seachran lowers himself close enough for you to stumble off his back. Your feet meet solid ground for the first time in over a day, but the mass does nothing for your balance.

Seachran lets out a worried little rumble right as you hear pounding footsteps.

“What the hell…?”

“Holy shit— Camden?”

Your vision clears for a moment as your eyes meet panicked, familiar brown ones.

You grin sluggishly, exposing your bloodstained teeth. “Durran. Sucks that we have to be united like this.”

You don’t even hear his reply, his words washed away into a sea of nothingness as you slump into his arms. Everything starts moving in flashes:

You facing the sky as you’re lifted off your feet.

The familiar flash of bright orange scales.

Seachran’s wide green eyes fluttering with worry.

Or— No. Those aren’t Seachran’s. That’s—

No. There’s no way. He’s back at home, safe in the palace.

…You think?

Oh. The light is nice and warm and welcoming. You frown as your vision goes spotty again, and then let out a tiny sigh of exhausted disappointment — or is it contentment? — when it all goes black, encasing you in a world of cold darkness.

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Garrick thinks he’s hallucinating when he catches sight of a familiar orange dragon perched astray from the rest of the riot. For a moment, he assumes it’s just Glane — but Glane doesn’t have that golden shine down the back of her neck, nor does she have a Morningstartail.

That’s Seachran — which means you’re here. In Aretia. Back to him.

Chradh, bless his soul, catches on much quicker and jerks him out of his stupor.

“You are not walking from this seat,” he scolds. “How are you to see your mate if your head is broken in?”

Okay. Good point.

They make a quick landing by the front steps to Riorson House,  Garrick sliding off of Chradh at a speed impressive for even a distance wielder. Before he can make it to the entrance, though, he skids to a halt as Bodhi appears in front of him.

“Shit!” He stumbles a little. “Amari, Garrick. Calm the hell down before you bowl someone over, will you?”

Garrick side-steps him easily, shaking his head. “Excuse me for being made aware that my girl is here,” he scoffs. “I’ll do my best to tone it down for you. Do you know where she is?”

Bodhi blinks, as if remembering something important. “Garrick,” he says slowly. “Take a breather, yeah? She’s not going anywhere. You just got back.”

Instantly, that raises red flags in Garrick’s brain. His eyes narrow. “Don’t try to redirect the conversation. Where is she?”

The younger boy raises his hands innocently just as Imogen comes jogging behind him, obviously out of breath. 

“Tavis,” she huffs. “You’re fucking hard to track down. Riorson wants—“

“I don’t give a shit what he wants.” Garrick stares down at the both of them with that stern, cold look he usually saves for other lieutenants. He knows something is wrong; now that he thinks about it, Seachran did look absolutely exhausted from the edge of the riot. Basgiath was eighteen hours from Aretia, and you were coming from Montserrat…

Fuck.

Bodhi curls a hand over his shoulder, drawing him back an inch. “Look, Gare. She’s fine now. The healers put her under—“

“I didn’t ask if she was fine,” Garrick snarls, shoving the younger boy away. “Where the fuckis my wife, Durran?”

Imogen, thankfully, just rolls her eyes. “The infirmary, you stubborn ass,” she tells him. “Like he’s trying to say, she was brought in about an hour ago. She flew in with injuries. No one can see her right now, so you need to give it some time.”

Garrick grits his teeth, his hazel eyes turning stormy at the prospect of you laying alone and unconscious in a place you’ve never been before. Imogen’s face softens a little in understanding.

“Hey,” she says quietly. “She’ll be okay. Bodhi and Aaric brought her up, and Sawyer helped fill in all her information. She just needs time. She was pretty beat up.”

The older boy scrubs a tired hand over his face. “Do you know what happened to her?” He asks, his voice unusually small for someone of his stature. 

Bodhi shakes his head. “She was only half-conscious when Seachran landed, and bloody as can be. If I had to guess, her squadmates must’ve found out she was deserting and got to her before she could leave.”

A jolt of panic slams through Garrick, but not before Chradh’s easy timbre slides into his mind. 

“Seachran promises your mate will be okay,” he shares, sending a wave of warmth down their kaleidoscopic bond that instantly floods Garrick with a sense of relief. “She is weak, but lives.”

He takes in a shaky breath and counts to ten. Then, he shoots an apologetic look towards Bodhi, who just nods, his gaze falling to the floor. He has to get it, too. His girl isn’t here yet, either, but it’s more likely than not that she’ll be in a similar situation, especially since she’s marked, too.

His hands drop to his sides, slightly defeated. He can’t see you until the healers allow it, which won’t be for a while, at this rate. That’s not even considering the amount of things they have to be concerned about after you wake up — acquainting you with the province, finally explaining everything new in full for you, the whole deal with Aaric…Ugh. One wrong move, and things could get ugly, fast.

Imogen catches Bodhi’s gaze and shakes her head, turning to leave. The other boy just sighs and claps a hand on Garrick’s shoulder. “Let’s get you out of here, big guy. Selene almost got kicked from the Assembly because she insulted Xaden and called Violet a bare minimum, washed up cadet.”

Garrick groans. Wonderful.

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

You can’t see anything at first. 

It’s dark — incredibly dark, much to your chagrin. You swim in between streams of calls of your name, swirls of dizziness, and a need to just sleep.

But you can’t. Not now. You finally made it to Aretia, with the rest of the revolution. You’re a part of something bigger than yourself now. You have to at least open your eyes for it.

With great reluctance, you blink yourself awake. It’s night now…How long had you been unconscious? You flex one hand, huffing quietly at the soreness in your joints, before extending the fingers of your right hand.

That’s when you register the calloused hand lightly curled around your wrist. 

It’s a bit too dark to most to see normally, but luckily for you, you can feel just a bit of strength from your rest to pull from, igniting a small light by your ear. By your bedside, a broad shape curls over and rests their head on your legs, their curls tumbling into the sheets.

Garrick.

Without thinking, you try and sit up, immediately regretting it when pain blooms along your side and recoiling with a grunt. Almost instantly, Garrick’s head pops up from its place on the bed, his eyes wide with panic until they settle on you.

Watching. Searching. Longing.

“Lovely,” he breathes, sliding his fingers into yours and leaning up to press a long, sweet kiss to your mouth. You receive it with a hum, tilting your head back to deepen it as much as you can stand to. Garrick groans in response, and as if it pains him, he draws back a few steps to actually look at you.

“Gods,” he murmurs, his eyes trailing up and down your blanket-clad figure. “I was so worried. I— When they told me you were in here…”

You smile weakly. “It’s okay,” you try to reply, wincing at the dryness of your throat. “I’m better now. I’m a little beat up, of course, but nothing I can’t handle, right?”

A quiet, disbelieving laugh leaves him. “Smartass, unbelievable woman.”

He gently maneuvers you to sit up with an arm under your waist and fetches you some water, cooling the harsh burn in your throat. You sigh, relaxing in his hold and allowing him to fuss over you. Even if you didn’t want it to happen, you’re still too tired to complain, anyway.

“Scared the hell out of me,” he mumbles into the crown of your hair, his hands brushing gentle strokes on your shoulders. “No one would tell me where you were at first, and then Seachran looked wiped out, and then Bodhi and Imogen told me everything…”

Your hand comes up to cup the back of his neck, swiping up and down the bone. “Sorry,” you say faintly. “I got found out right as I was leaving. Got stabbed a few times. I’m surprised I didn’t bleed out completely.”

He lets out a shaky exhale and then drops to his knees, pulling your hand to him and pressing gentle kisses across your rough palm. “No apologies,” he orders. “More than anything, I’m just glad you’re here now.”

It’s been…What, three months since you’ve seen him? Since he fought for a weekend off and came to visit you, to make sure you were alive, to slide a small citrine-clad ring down your finger in exchange for a promise to return to him? Well, you kept your promise — even if it almost took out your vital organs.

You glance down. Sure enough, the little gem glows like honey in the faint light. Another light grabs at your attention — a matching ring with a smaller gem that sits on Garrick’s finger, inlaid in a black band. Despite the delicacy of the situation, you smile.

“I love you,” you confess softly, shifting against the pillows. “Even if it almost killed me, I’d rather be with you than fighting for cowards.”

Garrick rests his chin on your thigh. “I love you, too. I can hardly believe you’re here, though. Home. Well, home to me, at least. I hope it can grow to be yours too, though.”

You close your eyes and allow yourself to sink back into the mattress a little. Garrick studies you, his gaze narrowing into that cute little observing look that creases his eyes. “Tired?”

You hum in agreement. “We have a lot to talk about, though.”

“We can,” he replies. “But you should sleep first. I know it’s a lot.”

You stroke a hand through his hair. “You need to explain it all again, more thoroughly.”

“I will.”

“And I need to see the kids.”

“They’re fine. Sorrengail’s pretty beat up, but that’s nothing new.”

“Garrick?”

He pauses, leaning into your touch. “Hm?”

You quiet a little, your brow furrowing as you try to remember those weak flashes from before you passed out in Bodhi’s arms.

“I need you to be completely honest with me.”

His gaze meets yours. “Always.”

“Was…” Your voice trails off. “Did I really see my brother here earlier? Cam?”

Garrick inhales sharply before he sighs, his eyes leaving yours. “…Yes,” he says after a moment. “Although I didn’t know it was him until Xaden told me.”

The thought makes you a little sick. Cam. Your sweet, loyal, rebellious little Cam is a rider now. It would be hypocritical to freak out, seeing as your situation is similar, but having already lost one brother to the quadrant, you weren’t exactly thrilled — although Alic’s death didn’t bother you much anymore. 

Maybe he’s meant for it, though. He wouldn’t be king unless Halden was killed, and even then, he’d probably try to pass it on to you first before he could even consider the thought. That wasn’t right, though — of the two of you, he’d suit the royal role better, as much as it would pain him.

Did he know how Alic died? Did he know that you know and aren’t bothered in the slightest?

“Is he avoiding me?” You ask carefully, noting that he’s not even in proximity to the infirmary.

Garrick brushes his lips against your thigh. “I’m not sure. You know him better than I do.”

You frown. “I think I’d like to talk to him.”

“We can arrange that.”

“Not now, though,” you interject. “I don’t want him to see me like this. I probably already scared the shit out of him.”

He chuckles. “That you did, lovely. That you did.”

His fingers intertwine with yours again as he stands. “Rest. I won’t leave until they kick me out.”

You squeeze his hand. “Promise?”

His lips find yours easily. “Always,” he whispers against your mouth. “Always, and forever.”

Taglist: @wonderstruckbyyou, @jessicalee22likestowrite, @freezerbride18, @ineednewdaggers

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[fidogo]

follow up drabble to Ghost as a recently freed gladiator Warnings: mentions of sex

You're amused the next time you see him.

Ghost remains stony under his helmet, refusing to take your advice to stop wearing it.

What he’ll never tell you is that he tried; everyone still stared at him. It's to be expected. He's a huge lumbering thing, face and body littered with gruesome scars.

A coy smile graces your face. Fuck. Venus made flesh. (Ghost doesn’t give a flying fuck about insulting the Roman pantheon, they’re not originally Roman, and they’re certainly not his gods.)

Price greets whoever the fuck they're meeting right now. Either the editor or the master of ceremonies, Ghost thinks foggily. He's too stuck on what on earth are you doing here…

He gets a good look at you, standing among this man’s entourage. His mind flicks through possibilities, wife, whore, servant…

You’re dripping in expensive-looking silk; the cloying scent of perfumed oil fills the room. Surely it must be clinging to your skin. He has the thought of licking a combination of sweat and oil from the hollow of your throat.

Your skin looks so soft. Ghost wonders if some part of you would light up at his teeth sinking into your flesh, at your blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. Would you bite him back?

He pauses. There are splotches of color on your fancy silks. He frowns. Paint and powder ruining the vision. Interesting.

You haven't once looked away from him, and he can't tell how he feels about it. What are your mithful eyes seeking?

"...Right, Ghost?" Price is looking at him, eyebrow raised expectantly. Fuck.

Ghost grunts, unable to look away from you. It's good enough for Price to work with.

"Venceslaus, why don't we have a drink? Go over the details." Your master (that can't be right. You look leagues more regal than he does) nods his head, and gestures in a sweeping motion towards a door.

"Let us move to the atrium." Venceslaus eyes Ghost with obvious disdain. "And please, leave your dog here," he says, sending Ghost a withering look. And then they’re gone.

"Did you like the oil?"

Ghost stares at you from behind his mask. Up close he can see more of the odd white powder that dusts your skin and clothes.

He wants to tell you is was the most luxurious thing that's ever touched his skin, that he thought of you as he tugged his cock until it was raw.

"It was fine." You smile graciously and nod. He eyes your lips, wondering what the inside of your mouth would feel like...

"I told you I would see you again." Your smile morphs into something mischievous. A certain levity in your eyes that makes him uneasy. Ghost grunts, remembering how you had vanished after telling him that.

"Venceslaus is planning a large celebration for the emperor's birthday. He's allegedly concocted the bloodiest spectacle in his honor." There's something dry and biting in your voice. Something within Ghost rumbles with approval at your annoyance.

“I’m working on a sculpture in honor of it.” An artist, huh? That explains what a soft creature like yourself is doing with this crowd. Venceslaus is your patron. Ghost grunts in acknowledgement, letting himself indulge in finding your figure under your silks as they swish against the floor.

"You live here?" You shake you head, glancing around the vestibule.

"Venceslaus pays for my own private residence. So I can work in peace," you say, rolling your eyes at the last part. Ghost chuckles a little, no real humor or levity in it.

No, no, just a sick delight in knowing he’ll get to plow you in peace soon. 

[otsalezu]

okay so I got distracted and spent the entire day studying for my final instead but HERE. Writing under cut like always

Stan lay on his car seat, staring at the car ceiling as the sounds of the city roared around him. He wished he’d had a watch, but he guessed it was around five AM. It wouldn’t be long before a cop would come and knock on his window, and he’d have to book it. He needed to get up, get out before he was caught. He didn’t. His arms didn’t move as he continued to stare at the ceiling. It wouldn’t be long now, as lazy as the cops around here were they hated him more. Or maybe, in a twisted sense, they liked him. They liked having an excuse to look powerful, at least. He continued to stare. He really needed to get up now, before someone noticed. He didn’t. He found himself counting the stains at the top. It was starting to get lighter now, he really had to go before—Knock knock. He sighed, shutting his eyes tight. Fuck.

–

Stan lay on the couch, glasses frames digging into his palm. It was five AM according to Ford’s clock, meaning he’d been asleep for three hours. Three selfish, selfish hours. He could’ve spent those hours working on the portal, searching for Ford’s journals, even just practicing his brother’s mannerisms.And yet he’d stupidly laid down, stupidly let himself pass out. Speaking of, he should’ve gotten up by now. Why wasn’t he up? He squeezed the glasses harder, feeling the pinpricks of pain dance across his hand. Maybe if he put his body in enough pain, it would start listening to him. He tore his eyes away from the ceiling, staring into his hands as he jabbed the end of the glasses into his hand again and again. After what felt like half an hour, he threw the glasses across the room. Ford’s glasses. The glasses of the brother he’d killed, the brother he couldn’t even get back properly because he was too lazy to get up. He rolled over, turning his back on the room.

–

Stan lay on his bed, listening to the birds outside. By all means, it sounded like a beautiful morning. The blinking clock next to him signalled that it was five AM, the perfect time for him to get up and set up shop. Maybe even make a big breakfast for the kids! And yet, he simply lay there. The sheets on top of him felt like it was a hundred pounds, weighing him down to the bed. He grit his teeth. Forty years, and he still couldn’t do something as simple as get up on time. Get up, Stan. Get up. Get up get up get up. Come on. His body didn’t obey, and he continued to stare at the ceiling as shame crept over him.

–

Stan lay on the deck, staring at the ceiling as waves rocked the boat. He took a moment to glance at the clock. It was five AM, just an hour before Ford would wake up. He must have fallen asleep stargazing, he thought as he felt his back ache. Geez, he really should have set up a blanket or sleeping bag. He sighed as he stared up at the dark sky. This was going to be another one of those days, wasn’t it? He curled his hands into fists as he sighed. About an hour passed like this, listening to the gulls call as he stared at the moon. There was some ruffling, and Ford came out in his pajamas, staring down at him with weary curiosity.

“Were you out here all night?”

“Yeah, must’a fallen asleep lookin’ at the stars or something.”

“How long have you been awake?”

“‘Bout an hour.”

“...Ah.”

Stan turned onto his side, avoiding Ford’s cautious expression.

“It wasn’t anything you did, Sixer. Just a thing that happens with me.”

“I’d love to hear about it.”

He turned back onto his back, still not meeting Ford’s eyes.

“Started a while back. I just wake up, and…can’t get up.”

“Stanley, that’s—?!”

“Calm down, Ford. It’s not exactly physical. Just my messed up brain. Sometimes I can get up a few hours later. Sometimes I spend all day in bed. Just leave me to it, I don’t wanna get in the way of your science stuff.”

Ford disappeared from his vision, and Stan heard a rustling next to him. He turned, seeing Ford lay down right next to him. The man grimaced for a moment, rubbing his back before settling down.

“There we are. Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?”

“C’mon, I’m serious. You don’t have to deal with my stupid shit.”

“Humor me. Besides, we have all the time in the world.”

“That’s…yeah. I guess we kinda do.”

He relaxed, staring at the slowly lightening sky. The cool ocean breeze felt somehow warmer as he scooted closer to his brother. For once, he didn’t care if he was stuck for a few hours or a whole day. He felt he could stay like that forever.

Functional Freeze

[adorechris]

—using a vibrator on sub!chris

it started out as a joke.

you and chris went to a sex shop, not thinking much of it. kinda like a shits and giggles type of thing.

he joked about you using a vibrator on him, which you laughed it off. but what he doesn’t know is that you ordered one online.

one thing led to another and here chris is—his back leaned against the headboard of your bed, you sitting next to him. you’re dragging the vibrator slowly along his length. the toy is on the lowest level—level one out of five.

he’s biting back whimpers, his eyes locked on yours. his brows are knitted together, his pearly white teeth biting down on his bottom lip, his expression begging you to give him more. he whines repeatedly, quietly.

his hips buck without his control, to which you push on his lower belly to push him back down. “no, no chris,” you tut, “take what i give you.” he nods, his eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment before they open back up.

you turn the toy up to level two, continuously dragging it along dick, before focusing on his tip. you circle the vibrator along his slit. his lips part, and he lets out possibly the prettiest noise you’ve ever heard from him. his eyes squint as he looks at you, his vision hazy.

“f—fuck,” he whimpers, looking into your eyes. you smile so sweetly at him, and it’s then you flick the toy up to level three. chris cries out at the new intensity, his jaw falling agape. you drag the vibrator up and down his dick, making his eyes widen before squeezing shut, and he begins whimpering repeadly now, and his moans get louder. his brows are still drawn together, his face contorted in pleasure. the sight of him is beautiful yet so downright filthy.

as his moans get carelessly louder, his hips buck slightly. but you don’t stop him. you lean in slightly before placing your lips on his, the vibrations on his dick never stopping. it takes him a second before his lips sloppily kiss you back, his side of the kiss sloppy. his noises slip into your mouth, your own mouth barley muffling them.

you slowly pull away from the kiss, looking into his shut eyes. he slowly opens them and locks eyes with you once again.

“baby—s’good—it’s so—mppmmm—“ he cuts himself off with a loud moan, his head tilting against the headboard that his back is leaning against. you focus on his tip again, knowing it’s the most sensitive area. he cries out, his hips bucking as his eyes roll into the back of his head and flutter shut.

“you can take it, cmon chris, you’re doing so good for mama,” you practically coo at him. the pleasure becomes too much—tears of pleasure fall from his shut eyes, his brows knitting together.

he moans loudly, his hips bucking. you smile, though he can’t see you, and turn the vibrator up to level five. you drag it along his dick, the vibrations too intense but overwhelming—in the best way possible. he sobs.

“shit—m’cumming—fuck!!” chris whimpers, before his stomach caves in, his whole body tensing as he cums. his hips thrust to the toy sporadically before stilling, spurts of warm cum shooting out of his tip and landing on your hand. with every spurt of cum, he whimpers and his dick twitches.

you leave the vibrator on his dick for a bit and he whines at the overstimulation. he lets out a weak sob, his eyes still shut. he curls up, trying to escape the borderline overstimulation. you take the toy off of his dick, shutting it off and placing it on the nightstand.

“you did so good. you’re my good boy.” you praise, to which his eyes squint open and smiles.

a/n: if you guys have requests for anything lmk! also i’m trying a new layout i think it matches better with my theme lol

@cayleeuhithinknott

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT part seventeen, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, me lowkey working all day on this idc, readers thorn implants, rafe being traded off since y/n said no bc snows so fucked up, readers reaction to finding out that rafes being sold now, free my babies

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous

reader waking up post-procedure

the room is white. it’s not warm white or a soft white. but surgical white. it smells like bleach and chemicals and something just a little too sweet, like they tried to hide the violence in lavender.

you wake up to complete silence.

there’s no machines, no nurses, no soft beeping of a heart monitor to prove you’re still alive. there’s just the sterile hum of nothing. and the weight inside you.

at first, you can’t move. your body feels unfamiliar, like a borrowed shape. your throat is raw and your mouth tastes like metal. your skin feels too tight. your limbs float in that disjointed way they do after sedation. but it’s the weight that anchors you. it’s heavy, foreign, stretched along your back in a straight, cruel line.

you barely shift. just a twitch of your hand. and that’s all it takes.

the pain is immediate.

it slices down your spine like a wire pulled through flesh. your fingers dig into the pillow beneath you, but it does nothing. the agony blooms, and suddenly your whole body remembers how to hurt.

you stay still. you don't make a sound. you breathe through it in shallow, panicked breaths. there’s a silver tray beside the bed, and sitting on it is a mirror. your blood chills.

you stare at it for a long time. you already know. deep down, you know they did something to you. you don’t know what though, so you reach anyway, because you have to. your fingers tremble violently as they stretch toward it. they shake harder the closer they get. this isn’t bravery. this is desperation.

you drag the mirror toward you. tilt it. angle it.

you see your back.

then wish you hadn’t.

there’s a line of thorns. they’re sharp, jagged, unnatural. they’re not even resting on your skin. they’re breaking through it.

they rise from your spine in perfect, merciless symmetry, metallic and slick with blood. they shimmer under the light, some kind of alloy or bone, maybe both. you don’t know. you don’t want to know.

they’ve made you beautiful.

your stomach turns. your vision swims. your mouth opens but nothing comes out.

you sit up too fast. the pain tears through you again like a scream turned physical. you claw at your back instinctively, fingers slipping against the wetness, trying to tear them out, whatever they put in you. you don’t care if it bleeds. you want it gone.

you need it gone.

and then it hits you.

this is the punishment.

this is what they do when you say no.

you scream the first thing that comes to mind, “rafe!”

your voice cracks around the syllable. you scream his name like it’ll undo it all, like he can pull this out of you with his hands, like he’ll fix it.

the door slams open. his footsteps stutter against the floor. he stops in the doorway and just stands there, staring.

your gown is soaked. your back is glistening red and silver. you’re shaking, hunched, wild-eyed. your hands are covered in blood. his mouth parts, but nothing comes out at first.

“y/n,” he says, just once.

you try to stand, but you collapse. your knees hit the tile and you barely feel it. you’re crawling now. it’s pathetic, and you don’t care. you just need to be out.

rafe rushes forward.

“don’t— don’t touch me.”

he freezes, hands raised in the air like he’s scared of breaking you more.

“don’t look at me.” you shake your head. you’re crying now. you hadn’t noticed until your tears hit the floor.

“y/n—” he tries again.

“what did they do to me?”

it doesn’t feel like your voice. it’s guttural, hopeless. like a child.

you curl in on yourself. your hands press to your shoulders and you try to disappear. your palms sting. blood drips down your fingers. you didn’t even feel it when the thorns cut them.

rafe steps closer. his knees hit the floor, but he doesn’t reach out. he just lowers himself, until you’re eye level, and stares at you with something like horror in his face. horror and guilt.

he sees the blood, the metal, the fear. he sees the way you flinch at his presence. his eyes gloss over at the sight of you.

and still, gently, he whispers, “i didn’t know.”

that afternoon

you’re on your stomach, gown still pulled down your back, cheek pressed to a stiff pillow. the sheets are hospital thin. the world’s thinnest barrier between you and what was done.

the nurse moves quietly around you. she’s older, maybe late forties, with kind eyes and a clipboard she doesn’t seem to look at. she’s gentle, but the sting from the serum still makes your spine twitch every few seconds. still, you don’t react. you haven’t moved since they laid you here. you haven’t blinked in a while, either. you’re somewhere else, floating.

the pain is manageable. the disconnect isn’t.

rafe is sitting beside the bed in a chair that doesn’t stop creaking every time he shifts. he’s close. too close. his knee bumps the frame of the bed every few minutes like he forgets where he is. his hand is wrapped around yours, but even when he squeezes, you don’t respond. not the first time. not the third. not the fifth.

at some point he just stops trying. your hand is limp in his. your fingers don’t twitch, your breath doesn’t change. your face is slack and blank, eyes half-lidded and trained on the white wall ahead. you’ve left your body.

he knows that look.

he swallows hard, jaw clenched, and finally speaks, voice low from too much silence, “how long until she heals?”

the nurse doesn’t stop what she’s doing. she dabs a soft gauze pad around one of the thorns near your shoulder blade, soaking up a tiny line of blood that’s begun to trickle down your spine.

“i don’t know,” she says quietly.

rafe blinks. “you don’t—?”

“it’s the first time this has been done. there’s no chart. no protocol. no timeline.”

rafe’s brows furrow. he glances down at your face, your body still and unmoving, then back at her.

“yeah, obviously it’s her first time. she’s never— she hasn’t been punished like this before.”

the nurse stops. her eyes finally meet his. “no,” she says. “i mean the first time. ever. not just for her. for anyone.”

rafe stares at her like she just said the floor isn’t real.

“what?”

“the procedure,” she says, gesturing vaguely to your back, to the thorns, to the black stitching and the twisted metal threaded into your spine. “it was . . . conceptual. there were drafts, sketches. we got a briefing an hour before. no practice. no rehearsal. the doctors did what they were told. this was snow’s idea, not science.”

he leans back like the words physically hit him. “you’re saying—”

“we don’t know how her body will react. we’re treating symptoms as they appear. guessing and hoping.”

rafe’s hand tightens around yours. “so she might not get better.”

the nurse hesitates. “she might not fully heal. it’s possible the tissue never accepts the implants. it’s possible she’ll always be in pain. or that her system shuts down piece by piece. or she recovers. we don’t know. no one knows.”

he goes quiet again. his jaw clenches so tight it’s a wonder it doesn’t crack.

“what can i do?” he says finally. it’s not a plea. it’s a command he’s begging to be given.

the nurse wipes her hands, sets down the gauze. “keep her off her back. help with the bandage changes—saline rinse only. no direct pressure. she might not say when she’s in pain, so watch her eyes, watch her breathing. speak gently. warmth helps. comfort helps. the body listens when it feels safe.”

rafe nods, eyes glued to you. you still haven’t moved.

“so you guys experimented on her.”

the nurse stills. “it wasn’t my call.”

“she could’ve died, you know.”

her expression doesn’t change. “she didn’t.”

rafe’s mouth opens like he’s going to say something else, like yell maybe, or snap, or throw something, but the knock cuts him off.

he turns fast, and enobaria is in the doorway. she’s not even fully inside. just one foot in, one out, like she doesn’t want to see.

her arms are crossed, but her expression is all guilt. she barely glances at you before she drops her gaze.

“rafe,” she says quietly. “they need you outside.”

“i’m not leaving.”

“rafe.” her voice hardens. then she softens it again. “it’s not optional. just for a second.”

he opens his mouth to argue, but then he looks at you. your cheek is still pressed against the pillow. your hand is still limp in his. your eyes are still fixed on the wall like maybe it’ll open and pull you through.

you’re not here. and he can’t pull you back.

“i’ll be back, alright?” he murmurs to you. it’s a promise.

he lifts your hand and links your pinkies to be playful, like he wants to see if you’ll snap out of it just to smile. but you don’t. he just frowns and kisses the back of your hand, then your forehead. it’s quick, but careful. not for the nurse. not for the room. just for you.

he rises. the chair creaks beneath him. he doesn’t look at enobaria as he passes her. the door closes behind them.

the nurse stays at your bedside, her hands working on the final bits of dressing, more routine now, smoothing the gauze, taping the edges just right, but her attention starts to shift.

the window to the hallway is wide enough to catch the pieces of soundless conversation. she glances out through it, not too obviously, just enough to catch the movement of rafe stepping into view. he’s standing in front of snow.

snow’s surrounded by two peacekeepers. enobaria’s there too now. the nurse can’t hear what’s said, none of the words making it through the wall, but the emotions? they’re loud enough.

snow speaks first. he remains calm as ever, hands folded like he’s giving someone a pleasant lecture. something about what he says makes rafe’s head jolt back, like what the hell are you talking about? even without sound, it’s clear.

snow says something again, and this time enobaria leans in, half between the two of them, trying to either explain or defend rafe, this one’s hard to tell.

snow just shrugs in that quiet kind of confidence, like no matter what anyone says, he’ll have his way in the end. his hands remain neatly clasped in front of him. his smile doesn’t budge.

rafe, on the other hand, explodes.

he starts yelling, hands flying, body leaning forward as if sheer force could shove snow back into some kind of humanity. the nurse watches as a peacekeeper steps in to calm him, hand reaching out for his shoulder. rafe knocks it away hard, like the touch burns.

enobaria tries to get between again, stepping up fast, but another peacekeeper grabs her by the arm, muttering something as he holds her back. she hesitates for half a second before letting him pull her aside. she doesn’t look at rafe. maybe because it’s too hard.

snow backs up slightly, just enough to stay clear as two peacekeepers move in to restrain rafe. he fights them, tries elbowing one in the ribs, shoving another off him. one of them stumbles. a third rushes in. rafe throws a punch that lands.

but that’s it. that’s when it gets worse.

the numbers catch up with him. hands grab, arms twist, and he’s dragged back down the hallway, still shouting, still fighting. the nurse’s heart pounds in her ears as she watches him dig his heels in, desperate to turn around.

right before they pull him out of view, he looks back. his eyes land on the window. on you, still unmoving on the bed. not that you can see.

his mouth opens, yelling something the nurse can’t hear, but she sees the way his lips form your name.

then, just for a second, his eyes lock with hers. the nurse.

there’s panic in them. there’s fear.

and then he’s gone.

enobaria stands stiff beside snow, her face tight with something that looks a lot like guilt. snow turns to say something to her. she doesn’t answer, just stares straight ahead like her mouth’s wired shut.

and then snow looks through the window, straight at the nurse. he doesn’t smile this time. he just looks, like he’s reminding her that he sees everything. silence is survival. then he turns and walks away down the hall.

the nurse’s hands are shaking by the time she looks down at you again. your face is still slack against the pillow, your hand still cold in the crook of the sheet. you haven’t seen any of it.

you don’t know he’s gone.

and she’s never felt more useless, more scared, more ashamed. because the only reason this is happening is because you refused to be sold.

reader finds out rafes being sold now maybe (a bit short)

the house has never been this quiet. not the usual kind of quiet either.

you sit curled up on the couch in the dim living room, a blanket barely covering your legs, a bowl of berries half-eaten in your lap. the hologram tv plays in front of you, the flickering images from the capitol news casting soft blue light across your face. you don’t hear most of it. it’s just white noise now.

cassaline dropped by earlier. there were flowers, gifts, sealed letters, all from strangers who saw your pain and decided it was theirs to decorate. you only opened the ones from your parents. the others sit untouched on the coffee table.

and then the door opens.

you flinch at the sound, head turning fast. rafe walks in. the door locks behind him with a soft click. he looks . . . hollow. his eyes are dull, his jacket falls off his shoulders as he shrugs it off. he doesn’t come in further. he just stands there, fingers twitching at his sides, staring down at his hands like he doesn’t even know what they are.

“is everything okay?” you ask softly, trying not to sound worried, but it slips through anyway.

he startles like he forgot you were even there. he jerks his head toward you, eyes flicking back and forth too fast to land on you for more than a second.

“yeah,” he breathes. “i’m good. everything’s good.”

but it’s not. you feel it.

you push the blanket off, slowly rising from the couch with your arms around your ribs to keep your back from pulling too much. “i could start making something if you want,” you offer as you limp toward the kitchen.

he doesn’t answer, just murmurs something you can’t hear as he heads up the stairs. so you follow, not immediately. not until the silence gets louder that at this point you really are getting worried.

when you reach the bedroom, rafe’s already sitting on the edge of the bed, shoes kicked off, elbow on one knee and his head in his hand. he picks up the remote and flicks on the tv, trying to act casual.

but the moment the news flickers to life, he regrets it.

“today, a man of great prestige was found dead in district two. initial reports say it was a suicide, but—”

“—many are calling it cowardice.”

“—a traitor to the cause.”

a photo flashes on screen. a name you half-recognize. some elite from the capitol, you think, high-ranking. some kind of advisor or finance head, you’re not sure. the image is cold. the anchor’s voice colder.

you stop in the doorway, watching the way rafe gives in too fast, lifting his hand and pointing it to the screen like you’ll understand. it’s useless trying to keep it from you anyway.

“what?” you ask, brow furrowing. “what about it?”

he doesn’t look at you when he says it.

“that was me.”

you blink.

“what was?”

“that was me.”

your mouth goes dry. “you . . . like you mean you were there?”

he finally turns his head to face you, his eyes glassy. he doesn’t say it again. doesn’t need to.

you stand there, trying to assemble it all, but your brain doesn’t move fast enough to catch up. it can’t. your stomach’s in your throat, but your mind can’t process why. he’s freaking you out.

he wouldn’t kill for nothing. he never has. never without a reason.

“snow’s gonna kill me,” he mutters.

“for killing one person?” your voice is quiet, unsure.

he snaps his head toward you, eyes sharp now. “for killing a buyer, y/n.”

you flinch.

a buyer?

your lips part, no words forming. you try to speak, but nothing comes.

he looks away again with jaw clenched like he’s ashamed. he’s gripping his hands together, wringing them like he can squeeze the guilt out through his skin.

and suddenly it hits you. hard.

he’s—?

no.

your knees nearly buckle under you.

he’s being sold.

“no,” your voice is barely above a whisper, a sick feeling rising in your chest. this is some sick joke. “no, he— i told snow to leave you alone. at the ball. i told him—”

“doesn’t matter,” rafe mutters. it makes you falter. “he already had buyers lined up.”

you stare at him. the room feels too small now. your chest too tight. you don’t know whether to scream or cry or hit something. how long had this been going on? how long has rafe been carrying this by himself?

he still won’t meet your eyes.

and all you can think is this could be happening because you said no. this too? mutilating your body for snow’s satisfaction wasn’t enough?

it’s like your worst fears are coming to life.

there’s too much to think about, too much to swallow, and you feel it coming again. you feel sick to your stomach. this can’t be your life. it can’t be his. all because you said no.

and now he’s paying for it.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts ++

[morning-dew-drop]

• Ellie Helping Reader Sew Up a Wound •

A few warnings!! This is kinda grafic, so please skip this one if that is not your vibe! But if it is, I hope you enjoy!

This is so self-indulgent and not at all organized!

Please have a wonderful morning, afternoon, or evening!

xoxo,

S ♥

“Els, please be careful… I’m scared.” 

It happened so fast. One moment, you were laughing at something Ellie had said. God, you couldn't even remember what you were talking about now. The next thing you knew, you side had a gnarly gash in it from falling, with your entire body weight, back onto a fallen limb. At first, it did not seem that bad. Your brain was simply lagging behind your body. Ellie rushed over, dropping her gun on the ground, she needed to ensure you were okay. 

“Baby, gotta watch where you are going. Lemme see the damage.” To her credit, she did not think it was going to be this bad. She saw the torn fabric of your red flannel- the rich color hid the crimson blood seeping from the wound. Slowly, she lifted your shirt. The look on her face flickered, going from devastated back to a calm facade. That only made your anxiety spike. What was she looking at? You tried to take a peek at your side. The movement sent sharp shocks of pain up and down your body, causing you to yelp. 

“Ellie, why the fuck is wrong?” The pain in your side pounding with the beat of your heart. You should never have tried getting up. 

“Baby, you are cut up pretty bad. Gotta bear with me. You can't get back to Jackson like this. I’m going to have to take off your shirt. A’you good with that?” You nodded. The question was more of a courtesy than truly for permission purposes. Her quick fingers moved down the front of your blouse. You distantly thought about how difficult it was going to be to find a new one. 

Once the button-up was off, you were able to see the rich color your blood had stained it. You lifted your heavy hand and attempted to feel the wound. Maybe it was your imagination, or the shock, or the pain, or maybe a sick mix of everything, but the wound felt massive. 

“No, no, don’t touch it. That is only going to make things worse, my love. I'm going to get you up on your side, m’kay?” Gently, she tried to roll you over to allow the wound to be off of the ground. The pain was unbearable. 

“Fuck, Ellie!” you yelled. The pain whitening out the edges of your vision. “Oh my fucking God.” No matter how bad it is, that pain had to be worse. What did you do? 

“Gonna have to. I’m sorry.” On her last word, she flipped you up and over. Your left side was facing up. Pain ripped through your body. 

Groggy, you lifted your head to see Ellie digging in her pack. Her voice was reassuring herself.

“Fuck, Williams. Where is it? String can do the job. Where is it? Fuck, you got this. Think like Joel.” She whispered to herself. Finally, she pulled a little tin out of her pack. She opened it with the grace of a panda; the contents of the tin spilling out on the ground. 

She picked out a needle and the only string available. Baby blue. 

“You’re awake. Baby, you were out for a few minutes. I’m’gonna sew you up.” 

Licking the string, she looked down at you. Fear in her eyes. She fumbled through threading the needle. Her little monologue picked up again. 

“Okay, bite down on this.” She hands you a cloth. You do as you were told. Biting down into the fabric. The salty taste of the fabric hitting your tongue as the pain set in. The needle, the one you packed a few weeks ago to fix minor clothing tears while on patrol, stabbing, ripping through your skin. You had never gotten stitches before. Damn, they hurt. 

“Atta girl. Baby, only a few more.” 

“Hurry… up… please. Ellie!” you managed to mumble around the cloth. 

Ellie manages to sew up your side. The wound was a few centimeters deep and three inches long. There had been worse things, but the amount of blood you were losing was concerning. 

“This is going to be the worst part. I’m so sorry… so, so sorry.” Ellie rummaged behind her. You could hear the opening of a bottle. Then the sting started. 

“What the hell?” You shouted. The pain was unimaginable. Worse than anything before. Fuck the stiches. Compared to this, they were fun. 

“Alcohol. I had to ensure you are not going to get infected.” 

“Why the fuck do you have that?” It came out a little aggressive. The pain caused tears to finally pick at the edges of your eyes. 

“I thought maybe when we go to the lookout… never mind, it’s stupid.” She started to blush. That sappy motherfucker. She wanted to get lucky. That fucker. 

“You're so smooth.” You try to joke. She giggled, but knew that she needed to get you back to Jackson as soon as she could. 

[thewisewill80sbyers]

Going through the transcript of The First Shadow play:

SPOILERS FOR THE PLAY

This is all byler foreshadowing IMO

This is meta for the happy ending of the show which is going to be GAY instead of sad like the play (PAGE 14!!!) they wrote it in as A PLAY INSIDE A PLAY

This is the draft of the Byler confession, Will almost possessed that wants to protect Mike, Mike saying all of this... the word MISTAKE being used

Lights WILL explode when they kiss 100%

And then after the confession they go TO A BAR like the leaks of them being in a bar after the time jump

And kiss

And Joyce tells some ass to fuck off and let their gay son kiss his boyfriend

-------

This is Patty's dad seeing WILL in the future from season 5, he's not talking about Henry, he's talking about Will - if it's not literal it's metaphorical but seeing that there's probably going to be some time fuckery in S5 I think the principal Is having visions of Hawkins in 87

These are different scenes

And again, he has seen the future!!!

Whatever happened to Henry when he was 8 is the plot twist of season 5

I think he got possessed by Vecna that's gone back to the past, that's why he talks to his mom like he's an adult in this point.... You can't tell us what to do anymore... because he's grown up. It's a time loop!!!!

Making a second post because I can only use 10 pics here

[multi-fandom-imagine]

I also thought of these ideas for Bruno cause apparently I have no life.

So I'm gonna make a poll and let ya'll decide which I should write or if I should write them all

1. A Vision of Obsession (Breeding Kink / Possessiveness / Prophecy)

After Bruno receives a vision of you swollen with his child, he becomes obsessed with making it a reality. It starts soft, with whispered promises, but quickly turns intense—Bruno fucking you slow but deep, muttering in awe about how “perfect” you’ll look carrying his baby. His grip tightens every time you moan his name, breathless and desperate, as he keeps you close, panting, “I saw this… I need this.”

2. The Hidden Room (Voyeurism / Semi-Public / Tension)

You stumble into his vision cave, and after a heated argument over his secrecy, things explode. Bruno bends you over one of his sand-covered platforms, hissing your name as the echoes of your cries fill the empty room. He can’t help but glance at the glowing green fragments that flicker around you both—uncertain if they’re showing the past… or the future.

3. Midnight Madness (Dream Sharing / Prophetic Sex)

Bruno confesses he’s been dreaming of you—intimate, wild dreams he can’t explain. One night, you wake to find him at your door, trembling and breathless, saying he has to know if it feels the same awake. He takes you slowly, reverently, kissing every inch like it’s sacred, whispering that it’s better than he ever imagined.

4. Sanctuary (Soft Dom / Praise / Emotional Release)

You’re the first person to make Bruno feel safe and wanted. One night, he lets go. He pushes you against the candlelit walls of his room, his voice thick with awe as he tells you how beautiful you are, how he doesn’t deserve you. He makes love to you like he’s worshiping you—gentle, but insistent, needing to hear every moan, needing to give you everything.

5. Desperate Visions (Rough / Possessive / Mirror Play)

Bruno gets a vision of someone else trying to take you from him. It shakes him. The next time you’re alone, he’s rougher than usual—pulling your clothes off, dragging you to the nearest reflective surface so he can fuck you while making you watch. “You’re mine,” he growls against your throat, “say it.” And you do. Over and over again.

6. Candlelit Confessions (First Time / Shy / Tender)

It’s your first time together, and Bruno is shy—nervous hands, flushed cheeks, hesitant kisses. But once you guide him, his touch becomes confident, reverent. He moans your name like a prayer, taking his time to explore your body, savoring every sigh and gasp. When he finally sinks into you, it’s with a stuttering breath and wide, teary eyes—overwhelmed by how much he loves you.

7. Behind the Wall (Secret Tryst / Dangerous Setting)

During a family party, the tension becomes unbearable. Bruno sneaks you behind one of the moving walls in the Casita—panting, muttering “just a minute”—before lifting your skirt and sinking his cock into you with quiet desperation. Every creak of the shifting walls, every laugh from the party beyond, makes it riskier… and hotter.

8. Touched by Fate (Magic / Spiritual / Supernatural Lust)

When you touch one of Bruno’s glowing vision tablets, you accidentally see a glimpse of your future—naked and tangled in his arms, being fucked slowly in a swirl of golden sand and green light. The next time you see him, you’re both trembling. As the vision starts coming true, the lines between prophecy and passion blur completely.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM FINAL DESTINATION *  assorted dialogue from the 2000 film, adjust as necessary

in death, there are no accidents, no coincidences, no mishaps, and no escapes.

i'm moving on, [name].

[name], you dick!

let's go take a shit.

take a shit by yourself.

no, dude. listen, okay. listen.

we're about to board a seven hour flight.

you've already done that by walking off the plane.

now you have to figure out how and when it's coming back at you.

if you think you can get away with that?

remember the risk of cheating the plan.

you don't even want to fuck with that.

i'm never going to die.

i saw it. like. i don't know. i just saw it.

it was so real.

you must have fallen asleep.

stay below the speed limit.

wait a minute.

i'm having a vision here.

you're the next one man.

why'd you say something like that?

if you don't shut up, i'm gonna fucking kill you.

as far as i know, this shit can circle around and get us all again.

for right now, i'm the safest fucker in the world.

this gives me a rush.

it's gonna blow up.

because of you, i'm still alive.

so who's next?

why did they make him look like michael jackson?

don't talk to me. you scare the hell out of me.

what are you, god now?

that's a good sign.

i never thought anything could look worse than my yearbook photo.

how do you think i feel having to look at you all the time?

death is not the end.

you should be fucking dead.

you're the fucking devil!

that's right. you're next, [name].

i don't need it ever! get away from him!

i'm not dead!

i'll see you soon.

we're all on the same list.

you're paying for my trip.

i wish you were on that plane.

do you know what this is?

is there a problem, sir?

i fucking hated french class.

there's this pattern that's emerging.

nobody has control over life and death... unless they're taking life, causing death.

i can beat you.

well, we made it.

i got this feeling. a weird feeling.

i won't let it happen, okay?

it depends on which one of us is next.

you have a responsibility to tell me.

can you promise me that nobody else is going to die?

live it up, [name]. you got your whole life ahead of you.

i saw it happen.

you got this?

we'll go nuts if you start with this shit.

[msookyspooky]

plzzz tell me youve watched sinners!!

I DID THIS LAST SATURDAY!!! Ya know I'm a damn sucker for Western/Midwestern/Southern/Appalachian Vampires! (All the great sybolism for assimilation, racism, appropriation etc; I LOVE THE EYES SO MUCH IT'S LIKE A REFLECTIVE CAT EYE FOR NIGHT VISION AND SO MUCH BETTER THAN RED CONTACTS; FUCKIN GENUIS-)

And now, yall are getting Remmick and maybe some Stack content in ur future whether u like it or not.... Especially Remmick. I see a tragic unhinged vampire that looks similar to Bo Sinclair or Severen Van Sickle and I simp ♡ Like, I have A TYPE now! They got that face and lore and personality? I'm done for lol (I dont rlly crave Smoke and Sammie in a non PG way; they aren't my type. I like my messy loser boys and dangerously reckless charming men)

My Remmick HC:

To start...

- This is our man's energy he brings to the function

Yall have to accept this about him.

Spoilers ahead!!

- He thinks he's the funniest person ever. He just says shit to make himself giggle atp. The type to laugh at his own jokes before anyone else does

- More a hc of the vamps in general; like Near Dark vampires that after feeding they're euphoric. It's why he acts so unhinged everytime he just bit someone or is about to; It's not as much 'his true self' as much as 'that boy is high/drunk' and its so often it might as well be his real self lmfao

- Also thinks he's so suave, charming and cool like CLEARLY why WOULDN'T the Juke Joint catch his vibe and let him in? 😒🤔 (Pretty Fly for a White Guy ass vampire) He's the embodiment of a dorky cool loser in the best way because he's so bad it looks good.

- Wipes out all the time when he's landing from flying especially near sunrise. He just makes it look like it was 'on purpose' like 'Oh, I rolled because that looks neat'...No. He missed.

- Has a really old, dark, sadistic fucked up sense of humor

- My hc is he's Fae. Fae and vampires are actually pretty damn similar in a lot of folklore and so many Fae rules were in this movie! (Don't take gold, don't tell them your name, don't dance in a fairy ring/circle they create are just a few of the rules I saw broken in the film)...And that means he can't lie! Now, idk if this is Canon or just fun HC bc I highly highly doubt the Choctaw killed his wife (Unless he was truly being vague and if you pressed he'd have to admit 'English' rather than 'Choctaw' like he's trying to manipulate with...Like he's not lying just being so vague it is a lie.)

- If there ever WAS a wife with that ring he wears while human; he did love her and wears that ring to remember not only her but their heritage ♡ Might even have immense guilt over how she died.

- His most 'true' songs that are HIS were *Rocky Road to Dublin* and *Will ye go, Lassie go?*

- Hot-take: He did not want Sammie as solely a tool like I've seen so many say. He wanted Sammie as a forced friend with benefits to ancestor connection after so much loneliness. He wanted forced kinship both with his ancestors and other vampires. He says "I want your stories, I want your songs...And you gonna have mine." That's a union of two people even if it's toxic, power imbalanced, etc It's like a friend that's also using you while being friends. Man wanted VIP access to the spirit world/his ancestors and Sammie was the cool rockstar he wanted to be friends with.

- He doesn't do this for power. His whole shtick is he's lonely even if he goes about it wrong. For roughly 1300 years he's been utterly alone and separated from his heritage, culture, people and modern Irish don't count as we see with the 1911 ship incident. He did NOT create the Hivemind vampires for power. He truly wanted 'family' and failed over and over from the ship in 1911 with Irish Immigrants to God knows how many more times before and after.

- He is/was Pagan and they really do believe, especially during times of druids, in nature and spirits and love and unity. So again, he TRULY THINKS the hivemind is natural and all 'one love'...He says "They told stories of a God above and a devil below, and lies of a dominion of man over beast and Earth. We are Earth and beast of God. We are woman and man. We are connected, you and I, to everything."....Why? Because he's saying people and animals and nature are connected and no one race of man rules all. That man and woman are connected and all people are as well. He genuinely believes that his 'gift' is a way to bring people together how they 'should be'. That wasn't a lie. When a hivemind Mary says 'we're gon' kill every last one of you'...Well yes, because to die is to become them. It wasn't a threat but a fact. And Remmick even calls it 'sweet merciful death' or something along those lines....He's not killing them for fun or power even if it does come off that way. He's killing them to offer his 'gift' and to have a better world (He literally says this and I truly do not think he's lying there) even if that better world is just HIS world and he has a damn God Complex.

- His spit is toxic. It's thick af and venomous and probably will kill you, subdue you, or is part of the turning process (Bc there was no reason for it to be that goopey; I gagged lol)

- He code switches to get whatever he wants. Aka the fake Southern accent and using whatever words or stories will get him in (Switching from the Tribes proper name to the slur of the time bc he realized it's what that couple wanted to hear)....Not necessarily lies but definitely switching word useage or tone. We see him switch up to what he knew would gain sympathy from racist. (I mean it was that or be killed out in the sun lol)

-  Hot-Takeish: He's so old, from a time period where heritage was discriminated as much or more than skintone, that he is ignorant and gets mistaken for outright racist especially in the area and time he's in. Even by a modern lens take, when he really is not. Probably first learned American segregation and racism through skintone from the Klans couples minds as well as Smoke and them at the Juke Joint. Because he was in Europe UNTIL 1911: That's canon. So he wasn't here during Civil War era or the Height of Slavery and who knows how present he even was for over a millennia in Europe. That "Oh, because we're ✋🏻" while pointing to his skin was genuine; like a relic learning a modern take that probably dumbfounds him for a hot minute. (Then he sings his lil appropriated song and Smoke stops him before the slurs and now I'm wondering if he rolled with it so they'd come out to beat his ass bc he knew it would be irksome OR if he was just going by what the Couples minds knew and used it without context?)

- He HATES Christianity with a passion even if he reluctantly memorized verses!!! He might even be violent if he met an Irishman who was Catholic, or even worse, Protestant because for him it's like seeing the damage the opressors did and seeing your own ppl erase themselves. Would go into a passionate angry rant about Christianity like Lestat did at Louis house in IWTV. Eyes glowing, fangs lengthening, accent coming out-

- Drools easily. Like, maybe when his teeth lengthen it hurts the gums and he can't help it but...Turned on? Drool. Hungry? Drool. Angry? Drool. Excited? Drool. He's like a wet mouth dog istg

- He is the embodiment of nothing else to lose AND hurt people, hurt people. He feels lonely, rejected, isolated, for CENTURIES...Centuries. He hears Sammie play and he is one track minded and messy to get to see his ancestors/people no matter who it hurts

- Is 100% faking that southern accent and can fake most accents but his Irish brogue comes out at times

- Used Cantonese and the Travelin' song JUST to freak the living out bc he knew they'd know 'Hey, I'm so powerful I used Bo amd Stack's memory so you might as well join me'.

- His true form is similar to the bat form of Dracula's in the 1992 film...Some ppl swear they hear wings flapping in the final scene AND we see his ears pointing a tad, nails lengthening, teeth sharpening and as old and powerful as he is ESPECIALLY if he's based on Abhartach;....Oh yeah, that creature is grotesque under his boyish human face and we ALMOST saw it when Sammie hits him with the guitar

- Remmick shows he is musically inclined himself and it's my HC he himself was a Filídh as a human. Turned by being tricked by the Fae, turned by losing hope/being consumed with grief or turned by being bitten. And that Sammie, as a Griot, would've turned into a Remmick and not part of the hivemind OR one step above them somehow had he been bit.

- Can control who is part of the hivemind and who isn't. Joan and Bert? He had complete control with how much they had to put their prejudice aside to be near Black ppl. Oh yep, he had those two on one helluva tight leash. Bo? Pretty much complete or close to it control to lure Grace. Mary? Controlled but not completely because she still picked Stack on her own as her first victim (...Was that Remmick in Mary's mind riding Stack- 😦👀) Stack? I actually think he was the least controlled and that being turned really is like euphoria/drug that clouds the mind and he saw 'vision' / opportunity to use vampirism to their advantage. No different than opportunities they took in Chicago. And we saw Mary lost the hivemind over Annie's death so either he ONLY has control when they're freshly turned/young and weak willed against the venom in their veins OR he picks and chooses based on who bucks him the most.

- Can read minds, read moods, smell fear, smell death, smell disease, smell sex/horniness (FUCK...I would've died.) sees spirits, sees the thinning viel, see the past, might even see the future (Even if he missed ya know getting killed by the sun lol)

- Speaking of, he might sleep normal like Near Dark vampires, might burrow underground...Or he might sleep like The Lost Boy vampires by his batfeets from a ceiling 🦇

Romantic + Some NSFW HC:

- Wants to merge with you. Wants to be you and you him. Wants to become one soul to fuse and be chained to walk the Earth together forever. To move through the world as each others other halves...THERE IS NO HALF-ASSED COURTSHIP! Nope, if he truly wants you, he WILL move with conviction

- He is HORNY. Idc his offer to Grace was outta pocket lmfao he is down bad. He'd probably shudder violently and moan if you jerked him by the hair or slapped him

- Codependency and possessiveness soooo bad in a relationship...ANY RELATIONSHIP! Even platonic he seems like he'd be the 'we gotta do everything together' type

- He only dominates at first when you're still hesitant with him or if you want him to but at his darkened rotten heart he is obedient for his loves

- He is needy and clingy and desperate to please. He may act on top of things but if he thought someone he shared a connection with was mad or upset with him? Que the big blue (Red?) puppy eyes and doing anything to change their mind

- Would be a toxic ass and use his hivemind abilities on a vampiric partner to 'persuade them' to not be in a mood/angry/hurt. Just for minor annoyances/them ignoring him... Almost cheeky in a way even if his partner/mate glares afterwards similar to Jasper in New Moon with Bella in the hallway

- If you asked him not to control you? Done. I'm so serious, he really is not some egomaniac in my HC he's just so damn weird and use to rejection he forces things to be loved. Like, his ego is he thinks he's helping not that he's above anyone. He is so lonely and he'd be like a Gomez Addams to a partner. Just express discomfort with the idea of him controlling your mind before turning (or after maybe?) and he won't.

- Praise kink. Has dog energy like you tell him he's 'good' and his preening (might drool) like some dumb happy dog you just called a 'good boy'. Tell him he's good during sex and he moans loudly. Eager to please.

- Is a switch with a sub lean. If he doesn't love you; he'll dom you. He'll push your legs back, mock you, pound into you. If he adores you though it's over for that creature. He will let you do just about whatever you please so long as you love him

- Traditional old-fashioned courting. Even after you turn; flowers, poems, serenading you, getting you meals/blood.

- FREAK. Drooling freak that would lowkey get off on pain and most kinks.

- Nuzzling. Nuzzles more than he kisses; almost like a creature (Technically is one)

- Idk how he sleeps but you gotta be wrapped up in his arms.

- Is so protective of you it's borderline possessive and controlling in a mother-hen way. You're his only true person, hivemind or not, and he CANNOT live without you. If something happened to you he'd be devastated and he cannot lose his people twice. He just can't.

- Sings Gaeilge to you all the time. Letting your head rest in his lap after a long night. Running his clawed fingertips over your scalp after a feeding and sings a song only he knows in his old mother's tongue that brings you both comfort

- Your pleasure is his pleasure. He could give you sexual/physical pleasure and get nothing in return and still be satisfied seeing you unravel beneath him from oral to a massage; as long as your sated

- Purrs (It's more like a growling groan that vibrates his chest) when you run your fingers through his hair, scratch his back or massage his shoulders.

- Picks you up to fly short distances with you; even if sometimes that's grabbing you by the shirt or arm in an emergency and him complaining you're deadweight in that position (He made you hit multiple branches on the way lol)

- If you're turned, he shields you from the sun with his own body out of pure instinct. You're the first one he grabs and tries to find shelter for; his own hide be damned.

- Gives you humans to drink with a proud look of a provider and predator.

- If you're human, you won't be for long lets be real. But if you are? He's extremely careful with you. Going easy on you and drooling at how damn good you smell to him. (Might graze his fangs teasingly over your flesh as a 'things to come' type of gesture)