#echo plays: arise

[jinchuls]

I need him so bad my body hurts

[isaacathom]

an important thing to understand about me is that at any given moment i am thinking about my ocs. not coherently but i am thinking about them

[orcelito]

oh i also talked a lot about fire emblem today. specifically whether i was planning to buy Engage or not. verdict is: Probably, considering reviews say the tactics gameplay is really rich & that's like 80% of why i enjoy playing fire emblem. so yes i am not a fan of the character designs. but i will probably buy it. at some point.

i went to gamestop after work to see if i could find it but didnt see it and INSTEAD i saw 2 games for relatively cheap. so i got those instead.

[xshadowdelta]

FORMER MANAGER

PART 4: Like a tulip.

Kazuha x Male Reader (4K length)

Your hands were gripping the steering wheel of the car tightly, you were still in disbelief at everything that was happening, as if some divinity up there was playing with you for fun, and its enjoyment involved seeing you suffer every fucking moment of the day.

The red light of the traffic light forced you to brake and stop the car for a few seconds. You looked out of the corner of your eye towards the passenger seat, there she was, sitting looking out the window while the fingers of her hands played between them, showing a clear sign of nervousness. Kazuha Nakamura had become, without foreseeing it, the biggest headache of your entire life.

It's not that you had gotten used to sexual encounters with your former Iz*One members, but after what had happened in the last few days, you wouldn't have been surprised if a few more had arisen or even were going to arise in the future, since they seemed to be competing for you or something, something you hadn't been able to figure out yet.

But this totally escaped logic and compromised you enormously, you had in your car an idol whom you had never had under your tutelage, whom you did not know at all, and who had made you an irrational request, to say the least. 

“Can you have sex with me the same way you have sex with Chaewon unnie?”

That phrase kept echoing inside your head. Despite your attempt to hide that 'professional opinion' session, it seemed that Kazuha had perfectly realized what you had done in that practice room.

You didn't even have time to make an excuse or a lie, you had been hunted in such an obvious way that denying it would only complicate this situation even more.

Before you could realize it and without even having accepted her request, you were already leaving the Hybe compound, but with more company than the one you entered with, thanking the gods that your company vehicle had completely opaque window glass.

Neither of you had spoken a single word during the journey, which made the atmosphere feel even more tense and heavier than it would normally be. You wanted to start a conversation or ask a question, but the words just wouldn't come out of your mouth.

“Turn right on that street.” She commented, pointing her finger in the right direction.

And this was another big problem: your destination place. You had really gotten into the car without a fixed direction in your mind. Should you take an idol to your house? Was that right? And what would happen if someone saw you on the street and treacherously took a photo? Could it be camouflaged as part of a television program? Was a hotel suitable? You didn't believe it, but if so, it must be one suitable for celebrities, something you couldn't afford.

You parked the car, following another signal from the girl, in one of the free spots and got out, going around it to reach the passenger door, doing a complete sweep of the area, and opening the door once there was not a single living being. in your range of vision.

Kazuha quickly left and, taking some keys out of her bag, opened the door of one of the buildings, giving you way and successfully completing the first checkpoint.

He called the elevator, and you both went up, still in pure silence. You looked at her through the elevator mirror automatically, she looked back at you through the mirror and blushed, she quickly looked away.

She left in terror when the elevator opened its doors again, yes, taking one of your hands, practically dragging you after her. Your nerves increased when you felt the softness of her hand, wasn't it crazy? Now you were behaving as if you were still a teenager going through puberty.

You entered the interior of one of the apartments, which looked large and spacious from the inside despite only seeing the hall for the moment. "Where are we?” You heard your own voice for the first time in a long time, wondering why she had brought you to that place.

“It's LE SSERAFIM's bedroom.” She answered, taking off her shoes.

Knowing where you were scared you to death, you were in unstable territory. Stepping into that apartment had to be the closest you're going to get to a war camp, with too many people who could come and go at any moment and catch you in the middle of the action.

“The rest of the members are very busy and won't come until the evening, and our staff doesn't usually barge in without warning.” It was certainly relaxing to know that, but still, your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest at any moment. Kazuha unexpectedly took your hand again and dragged you down the main hallway of the apartment, passing by the living room and the kitchen until you entered one of the bedrooms.

The bedroom itself was quite simple, some large beds pushed together, a small desk with a chair decorated with clothes and various junk on top, and a closet built into the wall. You diverted your gaze to the corners and blind spots of the room in search of possible cameras, it wouldn't be the first time that after recording one of those home realities they forget to remove them.

The girl was quick to turn on the light in the room and close the window despite it being broad daylight, seeking to create a more intimate and safe environment.

You turned around, looking around at the entire bedroom, paying special attention to the pile of clothes scattered on the desk chair. She noticed this and, embarrassed, ran there to put all those clothes in the closet in a disorderly manner.

“Sorry, Chaewon unnie and I were a little late this morning.” Great, so this bedroom also belonged to Chaewon.

“Kazuha-ssi, I think you've rushed into all this, I... we shouldn't be here. I'm flattered, really, but I don't think you're aware of what this means."

She walked towards you and took your hands in hers, looking into your eyes with that look that begged you.

“I've wanted to do this for a long time, but I didn't know how. I'm too shy to approach some other random guy and propose this kind of thing out of the blue.” You laughed inside yourself, what she was saying had nothing to do with the spontaneous request she made to you. “I wanted to wait for the right moment and the right person.” Her fingers caressed the palms of your hands.

“I'm definitely not that person.” The expression on your face became more serious now. "You are!” She snapped loudly, making you step back in surprise. “I mean, I know Chaewon unnie very well. She wouldn't have done anything like that with you if she didn't have complete trust and deep respect for you, and that's more than enough for me.”

“But that's not how it should work, you shouldn't do this with some random guy you don't know at all like me, it should be with someone you love, someone you love from the bottom of your heart.” “You sound like the protagonist of a kdrama.” A small smile now graced her face. “Look, it's not that I'm a virgin, nor an expert, but I'm enough of an adult to know that I can have sex without commitment with whoever I want.”

The truth is that she was not wrong, perhaps you had seen too much fiction lately, after all, the vast majority of humans today had sexual relations guided more by vice and lust than by love.

You still had time to run out of there, you knew that she had nothing against you, she would never tell what she knew, and she loved Chaewon too much to harm her dear unnie. This was never about blackmail, just a favor, no one was forcing you to do anything.

That's what you told yourself internally over and over again.

‘This is not right.’

'Why don't my legs react?'

'I have to get out of here as soon as possible.'

'Fuck, she's beautiful.' Wait, what?

You stared at her for the first time in all this time, indeed, she was pretty and beautiful to look at, like a flower blooming in a beautiful meadow surrounded by huge green trees and a bright sun.

She was also attractive, you could see how well trained her body was. Her legs looked toned, and the lower part of her abdomen that did not cover her shirt was better worked than yours. She had an aura of tenderness and sensuality around her that was difficult to find.

Suddenly, in a burst of bravery, Kazuha raised her hands to your face, holding your cheeks to give you a small kiss on the lips. You wanted to resist, you really did, but who knows if, in order not to hurt her, you reciprocated that kiss by taking her waist with your hands.

“Everything you say is true, but also believe me when I say I want you to fuck me, oppa." She whispered against your lips.

"Kazuha, you're asking too much of me." Your lips were now moving unconsciously over hers.

"I don't think so." She chuckled, bringing one of her hands to your bulging crotch, gently caressing that area of your pants. She stood on her tiptoes to bring her mouth closer to your ear. "Don't you want to know how flexible I can be?” That whisper hit you squarely. It would have been a K.O. if we were in a boxing match. Your skin crawled just thinking and imagining certain scenarios, and the bulge in your crotch only grew under the touch of her delicate hand.

You let out a sigh, you sounded defeated, and you actually were. How could you be so fucking weak? Why were you trapped in a spiral of sex with gorgeous girls with beautiful bodies? And why were you martyring yourself for it when anyone would sign with their own blood to take your place? You didn't have the answer to any of those questions.

“Lie on the bed.” Despite your obvious annoyed tone, Kazuha's smile did not fade but rather widened, and she followed your instructions.

Immediately the Japanese idol was lying on her back, with her legs dangling from the edge of the bed, undoing the button on her jeans and slowly lowering them to your delight.

You knelt on the floor right in front of the bed, between her legs, starting to touch her thighs and going down her legs at the same time as her pants were going down.

You noticed how her skin stood on end under your hands, it burned, and you verified it with your own lips when you leaned your head over Kazuha's body, spreading a few kisses on the part of her abdomen that the shirt did not cover.

Her toned abs contracted as she felt your lips on them, your hands joined hers on either side of her legs, finishing off her pants in a single pull.

Your kisses marked a downward path towards the girl's panties while your hands took the opposite route, going from her legs to her hips, moving upwards slowly caressing every centimeter of skin.

A new piece of clothing was recognized as the next enemy, as your hands fisted the hem of her shirt. She understood quickly, and with an agile and quick movement, she slid the garment over her head and threw it away, landing somewhere on the floor of the room.

You kissed her pussy over the fabric of her panties making her moan, and then your tongue began to create lines of saliva before starting to move as if it were a normal cunnilingus.

Even though the panties continued to act as a barrier between your tongue and her pussy, the caresses you provided were felt on her body in a remarkable way, proof of this were the moans that Kazuha expelled from her mouth.

Her pussy was getting wetter due to the excitement, starting to leak down her thighs and even going through her panties, as your tongue began to enjoy the taste of the girl's intimacy.

You sat up a little and jumped on the bed, being careful with her delicate body so as not to hurt her, remaining on top of her, and going directly to kiss and lick her neck as an attack.

Her moans became noticeable again, with an increase in volume and much closer to your ears. However, she was a fighter, and although she seemed to be completely under your control, she managed to take off your shirt and expose your torso, which she did not hesitate to touch and caress.

You ceased the attack on her neck, moving back a little, allowing her to kiss your bare skin, causing you to sigh occasionally. You crouched over her again, kissing her lips deeply, taking her cheeks in your hands.

“Condoms?” You asked the instant the kiss broke.

She pointed out the nightstand next to the bed, and you jumped out of the bed again to approach the designated piece of furniture, opening it and finding a box of condoms still sealed.

You were opening it as you walked back, placing yourself in the starting position, facing her between her legs. You looked up and could see that there was no longer a trace of her panties.

You smiled, finally opening the package of condoms, taking one between your fingers, and placing it on the mattress. You needed both hands free to finish undressing completely. 

Kazuha sat up slightly on the bed so she could look directly at your now-naked cock, opening her mouth shocked by its size and almost reflexively opening her legs wider, giving you a much better view of her wet and shiny entrance.

You placed one knee on the bed, bringing your penis closer to her vagina, one hand holding your dick firmly and the other gripping one of the young girl's pale thighs.

"Wait! The condom…OH!” Her words were interrupted by a violent moan.

She was right, you hadn't put on the condom yet, but you didn't need it for the idea you had in mind, which consisted of rubbing the folds of her pussy with your cock over and over again without actually inserting it inside.

That game seemed to take its toll on Kazuha, who was now trying to silence her sounds by putting both hands over her mouth and allowing you to play with her intimate area to your pleasure.

Your penis soon became well lubricated after being rubbed mercilessly by the wetness of the Japanese pussy, at which point you decided that it was now possible to start the real action.

Now you wrapped your penis in the latex of the condom to bring it closer to the female entrance again, this time with the intention of entering her. You looked one last time into Kazuha's eyes, waiting for one last step back that never came, quite the opposite in fact.

She placed her hands on her thighs, separating her legs as much as she could, leaving you amazed at her incredible flexibility and increasing your excitement as you witnessed that move.

The tip of your penis made contact with her vagina, making you both moan slightly, moans that increased as more inches entered her cavity.

As you expected, Kazuha's insides felt tight, although you had to admit that it was less than you had originally imagined, because the truth is that most of your cock entered without any problem. You gave her a few seconds for her insides to adjust to your size before you started moving.

You started to move slowly, moving in and out slowly and careful not to hurt her, but she seemed to be enjoying it.

“God, you're stretching me so much... It feels so good.”

That gave you the green light to increase the pace, your hips moved faster, introducing you deeper into her. At this point, her pussy was already able to swallow the entire length of your penis without problems.

Kazuha's moans quickly turned into pleas, letting her get carried away by excitement and asking you to go even further.

“AH! Please…more… AH…MORE!”

She raised one of her legs to your shoulder, leaving her foot at the height of your head, leaving the other still resting on the bed. That only deepened your attacks against her even more.

You wrapped your closest hand around the thigh of her leg that was hanging from you, and your other hand went behind her head, grabbing the back of her neck, bending over her, and moving at a hard and incessant pace.

Kazuha's intense moans were only stopped when your lips joined hers in a kiss, just as intense as the clash between your hips. Everything was so intense that tiredness immediately began to appear in you.

After a few more minutes of fun, you wanted to change positions, now lying on your back on the bed, motioning to the girl to sit on your lap with her back to you.

You kissed the back of her neck and her back as she got into position, turning her head for a moment and demanding another kiss on the lips that you didn't deny her.

She raised her body enough so that in one quick movement your cock entered deeply inside her again, causing a sensation of incredible pleasure in both of you.

The girl placed both hands on your thighs to begin jumping on your penis, again and again, without stopping and emitting sweet and erotic moans for each thrust that your cock gave her as it lowered her body.

You wrapped your arms around her waist and pulled her back, causing a small cry of surprise from her and causing her back to collide with your chest.

You once again had control of the situation, you once again imposed the rhythm of the penetrations to your liking and what was best for you.

From this position, you were once again able to attack Kazuha's neck at will, which for some reason had become one of your favorite regions of her body, and she seemed to love it too.

Your bodies were totally immersed in the heat of the moment, eager for each other's contact, roaring for sex, and sweating from the furious action, the temperature of the room had risen some degrees since you entered through the door.

Once again the idol raised her legs, surrounding them with her own arms, preventing them from falling, thus making your attacks clean and direct against her pussy, which you began to notice how it contracted, squeezing your cock against its walls, making you moan louder.

“Shit, Kazuha, your pussy...”

“Please don't stop now! I’m so close!”

Listening to the girl's request and with the aim of releasing yourselves sexually as soon as possible, you gave everything you had left, placing your hands on her butt and attacking her frantically, feeling how after some hard thrust you came brutally, filling the condom with your cum.

“AH! YES! OH GOD! AAAAAAAAAH!”

That liberating scream was followed by her body arching over yours, your hands quickly rising to her hips, pressing her against your body again, and leaving both of you gasping noticeably trying to recover from the intense orgasms.

Kazuha leaned her head back with her body resting on top of yours, trying to compose herself from the tremendous ecstasy you had made her feel. She turned her head to look into your eyes, just inches from your face.

“Now I can understand Chaewon unnie.” She murmured, offering you a soft smile, trying to hide her tired expression.

You, on the other hand, did not hide it at all, you continued searching for air almost desperately, and the fact of having her on top of you did not help, but the truth is that you were not going to complain about it.

“You are definitely very flexible.” You spoke, making her laugh softly, and then kissed her lips, passing your arms around her stomach area, surrounding and hugging her, lying there for a few minutes.

.

.

.

You left the group's apartment after making sure that Kazuha was in good condition. She said goodbye to you very happily, with her eyes giving off a special shine and giving you a small kiss on the cheek, making you both blush.

You drove back to your own house, a little rest wouldn't hurt to clarify all your ideas, but with a firm decision. You had to end your sexual encounters with idols immediately. That was obvious, but would you be able to cut it short? You assumed only the future would know for sure.

You entered your apartment, tired, extremely tired, but you still managed to find the energy to move your butt to the bathroom and get into the bathtub for a long half hour that left you almost as good as new.

You were now wearing your two-piece pajama with a shirt and pants, walking around the living room while drying your damp hair with a towel. You heard the sound of the doorbell, it seemed that the delivery man you had contacted had arrived to deliver your dinner. You put the towel aside, and with your hair still a little wet and messy that fell on your forehead, you approached the door.

You opened the door, but, to your surprise, the person on the other side was not who you expected. A young girl with black hair tied up in a bun, somewhat taller than average and with a slim but very elegant figure.

That girl seemed very familiar to you, the fact that she was wearing sunglasses late at night made it a little more difficult for you to recognize her, but you quickly realized it.

“Wonyoung…”

The sudden sound of a slap echoed throughout the house, silencing you. Your left cheek turned a reddish color at the same time as a burning sensation began to sting. Your face was now looking to the side due to the unexpected slap that the young woman had given you.

You took a step back, trying to stabilize your body so as not to fall, and directed one of your hands to the affected area of your face. Your eyes were wide open, as was your mouth, you didn't know what was happening, unable to understand anything.

When you returned to this world, you looked towards the door again, finding yourself facing the wall of the hallway.

You ran out of your apartment, finding Wonyoung a few meters later walking towards the exit of the building.

"Hey! Jang Wonyoung! What the hell do you think..."

You grabbed her arm, applying some force, without excess, to make her turn towards you, but your words fell into the void when you glimpsed her red face and how some tears formed a path from her eyes, hidden behind those sunglasses until they ended up on her chin.

She didn't say anything, you could only hear her weak crying and sobs that penetrated your soul and stabbed directly into your heart.

Still confused, you loosened your grip on her arm, and with that she got rid of you, setting off on her way again, but this time you didn't follow her, you stayed there, absorbed, with no other possibility than to see her back moving further and further away.

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 02. LOST IN TIME AND SPACE

a/n: logan angst with this fic is all i've been thinking about. mainly because he's the kind of man to swallow all of his feelings until it eventually kills him. so that's super fun to work with. and that scenario is basically this entire chapter. so please root for him, but also know he's not even close to dealing with his trauma. also the x-men timeline remains convoluted as fuck, so if the past of the logan who died doesn't make sense it is what it is. this is fanfic and we're all here to fuck him.

summary: the past is a thing he couldn't ignore. yet he still tried. and when the opportunity to spend a day with you utterly alone arises, he realizes that perhaps he doesn't want to forget about what brought him here.

word count: 6.6k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, angsty as fuck, some fluff, grieving a past he can never have back, logan goes through it, kissing, he's horny, me slightly abusing my literature degree, heartache, panic attacks.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Logan never liked when the city fell silent. He hated the city in general. It unnerved him; scratched angrily against his chest until he couldn't find the peace he strived for. The city at night was filled with small noises—bangs in the distance, shouts of drunks wasted in the streets, and people finally turning in for the night.

They reminded him of the wars, the echoey expanse of nothing. Where every sound set his teeth on edge.

The cheap leather fabric of the couch stuck to his skin as he turned. He shoved his body into a standing position—his hands curling into fists. His skin remained sticky with a thin layer of sweat which only served to incense him further. Given the apartment's shitty air system, he'd be struggling through this for most of the summer. A fact he tried his best to ignore in the hopes that the fall weather would reveal itself sooner.

With a groan, he stripped himself of the thin tank top that clung to his skin. It didn't help to ease the humidity that hung in the air. It barely helped to cool off his body. But he'd take what he could get when what he could get was so little.

Wade's snoring echoed through the thin walls as he stood there, his body begging for a bit of sleep. Even if his mind refused to shut off. Images of you played through his head on a loop. The past was shadowed in pain, memories dipped in a venom he once wished would kill him eventually. Yet seeing you yesterday—a version that remained untouched by the depravity of what already happened—launched him back into a time that never seemed to be very far behind.

"You weren't there! And they needed you."

Silver ebbed from his knuckles as he faced the window—eyes shut and chest heaving. There was no question the sweat came from the humidity in the air. The cold chill along his spine however stemmed from you.

"You're not the Wolverine Logan. You're just a disappointment."

He fought the snarl that worked its way up his throat. A heavy pounding began to form at the front of his head. A drum he couldn't escape.

"Live with that."

If he opened his eyes. If he refused to give the memories even an inch of space in his mind. He'd have caught you standing there rummaging in the kitchen. A mug of tea forgotten on the counter the second you caught a glimpse of him getting up from the couch. You tugged at your sleep shorts as you stumbled towards the window—eyes heavy with sleep that simply wouldn't come.

Most nights it was easy. Long days at work left you utterly exhausted. To a point where staying awake felt odd and incomplete.

Tonight felt like hell.

No matter how many times you tossed and turned, you couldn't get the thoughts to settle. And all of them seemed to filter their way back to the man who currently faced you—his eyes shut and fists adorned with silver claws that slowly slid their way to freedom. You nearly dropped your kettle when he tore off his shirt, revealing sweat slicked skin lit up by the streetlights outside.

If you were braver you'd ask him to come over, join you in a sleepless night. But he had yet to see you standing there and you weren't one to draw attention to yourself.

So you stood and watched as he fought with whatever must have woken him up so late in the night. You witnessed his battle and wished you could be the one helping him. Maybe then he'd finally fall asleep soundlessly. His mind clear—body free of phantom aches from injuries that still haunted him. He may heal incredibly fast, but the mind...that took far too long to piece itself back together.

Before you could turn away, back to your now cold mug of tea, his eyes opened. Fixating immediately on your form in the window.

Few people in his life were able to calm the thunderous storms he weathered in his own mind. Jean and Charles did what they could. They brought back what he once thought was lost forever. Even you attempted to ease him from what he lived through—what he endured.

But that seemed to be the one thing your variant self was unable to comprehend.

He didn't need someone to fix him. He wanted someone to see him. To understand that there was no cure for a person this broken, no easy way out when things got this bad. He stood before you as a man riddled with far too much—scars that you'd never be able to see—yet he could see no hesitation in your eyes.

Something pulled at his stomach at the sight of you in small shorts and a tank top. Your skin exposed to the city as you watched him carefully. You analyzed him in a way that didn't make him want to put up a facade. And he found he liked it when you looked at him like this; with a burning need to know more clear in your gaze.

Your eyes trailed up his stomach, lingering on the hair that dipped down into his sweats. He wanted you to be here. Or him to be there. The location didn't matter as long as he could reach out and touch you—feel the warmth of your skin beneath his palm.

Minutes passed before your gaze found his face and Logan felt an itch in his body at the notion that you were fascinated by him. That even in a different universe with completely different memories, you couldn't help but be drawn to the man he was.

The horror of destroying another version of you should have made him want to turn away from the window.

Then you smiled.

A slow sleepy grin that lit up your face. You probably didn't think anything of it—simply a small offer of kindness in your shared sleepless night. Logan however swallowed it down as if you'd given him the best tasting whiskey on this planet. His chest tightened, head dazed as you stood there looking with enough reverence to kill him.

If only he could see the way your insides melted at the sight of him smiling back. The thoughts of lust and like racing through your mind the longer you stood there.

Eventually the sun would come up, you'd be called to work, and this would become a brief passing memory you'd both hold onto down the road.

Until that moment though you remained in this spot. Fighting the drowsiness for a chance to watch him a bit longer. To trace your eyes along his body and soak in the expressions that played across his weary face.

You could feel the prick of sleep in your eyes, your body dizzy as it begged for you to finally give in and crawl back into bed. Yet how could you leave him there? How could you walk away?

He seemed to catch the way you bit back a yawn and chuckled. Pressing his hand to the warm window, he nodded at you. To anyone else on the street it might look nonsensical—comical even. To you his message was loud and clear: Go to bed and I'll be here in the morning. I promise.

Reluctance yanked at your heart when he nodded again, his hand falling back to his side. Yet no matter how hard you tried to keep yourself awake—if only to steal another second of his gaze on your body—you knew it was futile. Fighting sleep never went well in the morning when coffee was your only salvation. With another smile, you waved slightly—pressing your hand to the window briefly as if to respond to his silence with some of your own.

Sleep well. I'll find you in the morning. I promise.

Logan woke up to the blaring horn of a taxi right outside. The shout of a man bounced off the buildings, cussing about traffic and for someone to get the fuck out of his way. He groaned, turning to his side in the hopes of catching another thirty minutes. But the city was alive and thrumming with its own heart beat.

To others the echo might have been familiar—peaceful.

To Logan it was like nails being dragged along a chalkboard.

"I fuckin' hate this city," he growled, getting to his feet and snatching his tank top from where he'd left it last night.

Surprisingly the apartment rang out with a sound he had yet to experience in this place. Silence. He peeked in the bedrooms briefly, expecting to find Wade still passed out. An empty room was all that greeted him—the fucking stuffed unicorn propped up perfectly on a surprisingly made bed. There was only one reason Wade tidied up his room.

Vanessa.

She was coming by here or Wade was going with her. Either way Logan didn't want to be around to hear what came next. He'd been privy to one too many nights of Wade reconciling his differences with Vanessa and all of them ended with Logan's head beneath a pillow. That or he snuck out to wander the city at night until he finally returned to a quiet apartment.

For a brief moment he wondered if he could find you at your place; his eyes settled on the view of your window across the one way street. The lights looked off, the living room empty. And he craved to know where in this city you disappeared to during the day. Where did you work?

Would you mind if he visited you there? If he took some time to hear your voice, see your smile.

He grabbed the shitty coffee bag that was tossed on the counter. No doubt due to Wade making some this morning. The machine was old, nearly broken, but it would make do for the time being. A neon yellow sticky note was stuck to the top—the scrawl of Wade's handwriting familiar.

Good morning peanut! Coffee is hot like you. Don't call me. Don't beep me. Because you don't need to reach me today. If you do, I'm at Ness's scoring for tens all across the board. I'm talking the head—

Logan groaned, crumpling the note and tossing it on the counter. Knowing information that Wade would probably tell him anyways wasn't how he wanted to start his afternoon. The cabinet creaked as he opened it, the plain blue mug he claimed as his sat in the front.

Another yellow sticky attached to it.

OF CHAMPIONS. I knew you wouldn't finish reading the note you gorgeous Canadian/Australian bastard.

P.S. Sweet angel's number. I was told to give it to you.

P.P.S. GET. SOME. (For the both of us.)

A crude drawing of Deadpool fucking the air was scribbled in the corner. The details were far too graphic for him to look at longer than a few seconds. Logan would have tossed the entire mug in the trash, but your number enticed him to stick it to the fridge as he made coffee strong enough to make the hair stand up on his arms. He glanced at it every few minutes, tracing the numbers as he considered what this meant.

Was this you telling him in simple terms that you wanted to get to know him? That his past and whatever he buried was something you wanted to learn.

His gaze burned a hole into the yellow paper as he drank his coffee, his mind racing at the possibility of speaking to you today. Some cash was stowed in the trunk Laura dragged from the previous Logan's home. Her claim was that he deserved to have it. Since he might have understood what it meant more than she did.

From what he could tell this universe's Logan was saving up for something—the wad of cash in the bottom of the trunk remained enough for him to get by until he found a stable place to set up a home. Somewhere near the mansion that still existed. He wasn't prepared to be a part of that life again just yet, but that remained the only spot that felt like home to him.

Even in a different universe.

Snatching the note off the fridge he grabbed his flannel, boots, and enough cash to last through the day. He had no location in mind. But knowing you wanted to spend time with him became the motivator he needed to actually leave the apartment.

The city was bursting with life—sounds filling the air as if it would replace the oxygen they consumed. He did what he could to ignore it. Slipping past people with ease, his eyes fixed on the small store that sat on the corner. He debated on ordering from the cafe across the street, wondering if you liked the place. If you came here for coffee and breakfast on days off.

He made a note to ask.

Thankfully the shop wasn't crowded with people—a shitty pop song blasted over the speakers. One he knew Wade would play to piss off your next door neighbors. Whether or not you actually liked Wade's music taste never crossed his mind. Or did you go along with it? Willing to do what it took to make them suffer.

"Just this," he grunted, tossing enough cash down to cover the bill and then some.

The burner phone was small in his palm as he yanked it out of the box and flipped it on. He didn't bother with getting an actual phone. What the fuck did he need that for? But this...he could do to make you entering his life a bit easier.

Every part of him screamed to push you away—make you hate him—but for the first time in his life, Logan didn't listen.

The shop door swung shut behind him as he dug out the sticky note, punching your number in carefully to not miss a single digit. Somehow in the midst of chaos, he was able to shut off the city noise when the phone began to ring. Half of him expected you not to answer. It was the middle of the day, you were at work, and this was probably more a hindrance than anything else.

Your voice filtering through the small speaker put his worries at ease within seconds.

"Hello?"

His heart jumped as he exhaled. "I hear you gave Wade directions this morning."

"Logan?" you asked, voice louder than before. The echo of someone shushing you came through, making him smile.

"Hey Honey."

A shaky breath left your lips. Logan felt his stomach clench at the realization you liked when he called you that.

"I didn't know you had a phone," you replied, much softer than before. "Wade told me you were too old for technology."

"Don't listen to anything that mouth tells you."

You laughed, breathy and cute, and he bit back a groan at the sound. "I'm glad he was wrong."

"He normally is."

"Where are you today?" Shuffling and a door shutting caught his attention as your voice rose in volume again.

A horn went off beside him, piercing his hearing. "Standin' on the street."

"Near our places?"

Oh he liked the sound of that. "Mhm." Another soft breath reached his ears; he felt his body go warm. "Where are you today honey?"

"Work." If he could see through the call, he'd catch you smiling. How your teeth dug into your bottom lip to stop the embarrassing giggle that nearly spilled free. "Do you...um...do you want to see it?"

The words slammed into his chest like a truck. The innuendo nearly enough to make him drop to one knee here in the middle of the street. And suddenly Wade's note came back to his mind. The crude drawing flaring to life as he pictured you saying those exact words in an entirely different situation. If he was a better man his jeans wouldn't have tightened. If he was a better man he'd have ignored it altogether.

Logan wished he was a better man. You longed for him not to be.

He cleared his throat, his grip tightening around the phone. "Where?"

"New York Public Library."

Vaguely the directions came back to him from decades past. He wondered if the building sat in the same spot on this universe as his own. In a rush of words, you gave him some instruction. He agreed to be there as soon as he could.

"See you soon Logan." The excitement wasn't hard to pick from your voice. That still didn't stop him from trying.

"Wait–"

"Yes?"

He turned. "Rosemary's? You like their coffee?"

Another laugh escaped you in a breath and Logan felt the walls around his heart chip. "Love."

Twenty minutes later you were greeting him on the side of the building with a smile he felt down to his adamantium bones. A warm coffee was pressed into your hand, a sandwich tucked safely into a small paper bag in the other. For the entire afternoon he formulated things to say to you, stories to tell. Yet all that came now was an awkward smile and a greeting that made his chest burn uncomfortably.

You thought nothing of it. Even as you led him inside and asked him about his morning. The sight of him holding coffee and wearing a grin was enough for you to lose it a little. The breath knocking from your lungs, warmth spilling into your stomach.

"I didn't know what you wanted–"

Taking another sip, you grinned at the glimpse of red that dusted the tips of his ears. "I don't mind what you got."

A stain of soft pink remained on the cup; Logan's eyes attached to it within seconds. You could see the way his pupils dilated slightly—his throat bobbing at the sight of something so small and delicate. That didn't help the way your heart flipped whenever he was near. As if he'd taken control of all your emotions—all the baseline wants that you could normally ignore.

"What do you do here?" he rasped, focusing on the way you watched him. Though the glaze of sleep was gone from your eyes, the way you analyzed him still remained.

"Archives."

Unlocking another door, you led him down a flight of stairs. The elevator would have been the easier route, but he didn't possess a badge nor a library card. You were pretty sure he wouldn't have gotten one either way. So sneaking him in was the way to go until you could convince him otherwise. What you didn't know was that you could have asked anything of him—anything you wanted—and he'd agree without hesitation.

He followed close behind, unwilling to let you get a few feet away. As if he was drawn to you in ways that didn't seem possible.

"I work on making sure things are properly placed in the correct spot. Older books, newspapers from decades ago, stuff like that."

Humming, he watched as you opened the final door—letting him see the grand room that lay below filled with an infinite row of bookcases. Boxes that had yet to be gone through, files not placed properly, and piles of books that stacked on rows of tables. Each one contained a certain label of where they belonged.

"So a librarian?"

Laughing, you shut the door behind him with a soft click. "Kind of. I'm not working upstairs and handing out books like the actual librarians do. We hermits down in the basement prefer the term archivist."

"Hermits," he huffed. "You don't look like a hermit to me."

"Looks can be deceiving Logan."

That was a fact he knew too well. One that kept him up at night, replayed in his dreams without end. Oftentimes he wondered if he'd been the one to deceive. If his persona and reluctance to help gave others the impression that he was the man to turn to. The hero they needed. He never asked to be seen that way—never wanted it—yet when the time came...he couldn't run away from the truth.

The idea of telling you all this came to him last night as he watched you walk back to your room.

What stopped him was the image of the other you, grief stricken and horrified as he stumbled home from the bar.

"I have some questions for you." Your voice pulled him from his thoughts.

The small table in the back was free of books and you took a seat, pulling your sandwich from the paper. He took the chair across from you, his legs bumping into yours as he tried to cram them in the small space. The apology was quick to land on his tongue. Although your smile and the feel of your ankle curving around his leg killed it instantaneously.

"I'm hoping you have some answers."

He swallowed thickly, ignoring the way you shifted—your knee brushing his. "Now that depends."

"On?"

"Are they easy questions?" He grinned at the way you spoke around your mouthful of food—intrigue lighting up your eyes.

You slid half the sandwich towards him, not pretending to see the way he tried to refuse. He took a bite when your foot jammed in his calf. A pointed look crossing your face as if to say: eat because I know you haven't.

"What am I like?"

He nearly choked on the bread. "Do you mean..."

With a nod, you grabbed another bite, oblivious to the way his tongue swiped along his bottom lip. His eyes fixed on the way your teeth sunk into the meal and oil spread at the corner of your mouth. Tearing the sandwich in half would have been the better option. Biting where he mouth was seemed to be what you liked better.

His insides stirred deliciously, heat forming at the way your lashes fluttered at the taste.

"The other me," you mumbled, giving him the rest. "You said we were friends." When he didn't respond you kept going. "Wade alluded that we might have been...more than friends."

Fucking Wade Wilson.

Logan leaned back, his hand curling into fists in his lap as he once again fought the urge to take off. "He sure likes to run his goddamn mouth."

Anxiety sparked in your chest and you fell silent. Perhaps it wasn't the right time to bring it up. Or even something to bring up. Yet curiosity always ate you alive—the idea of not knowing the full truth. And when Wade briefly said Logan was still pining over a version of you that didn't exist on this Earth, you tried not to let it consume you.

You fought against your baser instincts in the hopes that one day he'd tell you himself.

Then he showed up. Offering you coffee and friendship and possibly more.

How could you ignore it then?

You knew he was watching you, could feel the burn of his eyes along the side of your face. Silence echoed loudly in the room as the old wooden bookshelves creaked and the chatter of people upstairs began to filter down below.

"I'm sorry," you uttered, doing what you could to move past whatever this was. "I shouldn't have asked. We can go look at some stuff if you want. I have newspapers from the seventies you might want to see–"

"I loved you."

You froze, head whipping around to meet his solemn gaze.

"On my Earth you were mine." With a sigh, he leaned forward. "And I fucked it all up. No I didn't just fuck it up. I ruined you."

"Logan..." you breathed. "I'm not them."

"I know." Sorrow flooded his hazel eyes—the grief playing across his face like a film you shouldn't be watching. And for the first time...you saw the man Wade spoke about. The broken version of a Logan that was found in a bar wallowing on his own world. "But I can't do that to you again. I won't."

This wasn't an omission of the truth. Nor a confession of his greatest sins. This was a promise lined with the guilt of his past. Memories of a time you'd never witness played out in his mind and he longed to show them to you.

To give you a piece of what he once had with a version of you that loathed his existence now.

But that isn't why he happened upon you on this Earth. History would remain exactly as it was. He couldn't change that. However, this—whatever he shared with you now—he could keep safe. The promise he made so long ago might finally be shown the respect he never thought to give it before.

"Come with me," you said softly, standing with a hand outstretched for him to take.

With a hesitant breath, he wrapped his calloused palm around yours and let you take the lead.

Past bookshelves and rows of boxes stacked nearly to the ceiling, you stopped at a shelf marked with words he'd seen a thousand times before. X-MEN. You tugged a box free and carried it to the table behind you—the top flipping open with ease as he caught sight of the pile of papers within. A list was taped to the side of what this might contain. Names he knew, people that might still exist on this Earth.

"This is all we know about the Logan in this universe." You pulled out a file, a picture of his variant clipped on top. He was rugged—aged.  "It's not much, but it shows a bit of his past."

"Why are you showing me this?"

"So you can see what others see."

You handed him a photo of the X-Men. Jean and Scott stood on either side of Charles. Logan was off to the side, a cigar in his mouth and a cocksure grin on his lips. He hated the man before he knew him. Always hearing how fucking wonderful he was; how great a hero he used to be.

He selfishly wanted to be everything this version of himself was.

He wanted to be the hero he could never amount to.

"What happened to 'em?"

You glanced at the image, pulling another file out. The name punched the breath from his lungs as you flipped it open. JEAN GREY: ALIAS - PHOENIX. An image of her smiling at a lecture was pulled free—her hair red and down to her waist.

"I don't know much, because well Charles Xavier never disclosed information about the X-Men lightly. But...something happened to her. From what we know...Logan was the one to kill her."

The file fell on the table, his heart twisting violently in his chest as the words flooded his mind. He killed her. He killed Jean. The woman he once loved before you came into his life. Something severed in his body, the breath in his lungs was suddenly hard to come by. But the touch of your hand on his kept him from completely falling into that dark pit he fought to climb out of.

"He–" Logan sucked in a breath and shut his eyes to the image of Jean. "He killed her?"

You nodded, silent while he processed the information. Showing this to him wasn't an act of malice—he knew that. You didn't want him to suffer. You simply wanted to prove that the Logan that once existed wasn't the greatest to have ever lived. He was simply a man suffering the plight of guilt the universe handed him.

He had his own cross to bear. His own nightmares to fight through.

In some ways...they weren't so different.

"You're not the worst Logan," you admitted, letting him lean into you. "And he wasn't the best Logan." Your hand pressed to his cheek, eyes soft and warm. "He was just a man who was offered a terrible hand in life."

Logan huffed, his forehead finding yours as he breathed in your scent. "So you're sayin' I'm just a man?"

"I'm saying that the James Howlett in this universe probably thought he was the worst Logan too."

The words shouldn't have struck him the way they did. Their truth, louder than anything in this building. But the blunt and hardened reality stared him in the fucking face, and he had no choice but to meet it's gaze. The Logan of this world wasn't perfect. He fucked up. He ruined things. Yet he found a way to fix them. Put the pieces back together in order to obtain something that resembled the image of his life.

As much as he fought to claim he wasn't anything like the Logan that once walked this Earth.

He was finding it hard to see where they differed.

"Show me somethin' happy honey," he replied gruffly, his hand finding your hip with ease. "Show me somethin' you like."

The smile you rewarded him with placed some breath back into his chest. "What like books?"

"If that's what you love."

"I don't think we have enough time."

His hold on your hip tightened. "'M here all day."

"Yeah?" Turning away from him, you dug through the box. Down to the very bottom. "They found these at what they think is his grave."

Silver flashed in his vision before you were pressing a pair of dog tags into his hand. The name WOLVERINE was etched into the metal—its cold touch practically burned the skin of his palm. For years he thought he'd never see these again. A piece of his past he couldn't bring with him.

"I thought you'd want to have them."

"They're his," he croaked.

"And you're the Wolverine. They're as much yours as they were his."

Fingers closed around them as the chains dangled from his hand, and Logan felt his heart place another bit back into the correct spot. He never believed he belonged with people. Never wanted to hurt them. Yet life continued to surprise him. The metal was familiar to his touch. Years of toying with them, of having their comfort on his chest, kept him sane at some points. It helped to remind him of who he was.

Without even realizing it...you gave that back to him.

He wanted to tell you how much this meant. How grateful he felt. But he was never good with words.

So he pressed his lips to your cheek and let them linger there as heat pulsed in your body. The race of your heart made him grin. Simply knowing you liked him hiked up his ego in ways he didn't need at a time like this. But like the Logan that came before...he was a sucker when it came to resisting the aspect of love.

"Show me around bub."

You slid your hand into his, your lips nearly brushing as you turned to catch his gaze. "Okay."

"Why work there?"

The city at night exuded a different kind of energy that you frequently craved during the day. A fun lightness that normally hit when the clock struck six p.m. and people were finally out of work. You were allowed to leave earlier than expected due to a birthday gathering of coworkers going on downtown.

An invitation was offered. Until they saw Logan standing behind you and your plans for the night became clear.

"I love history." He offered to walk you home. You accepted on the single condition that he'd stay for dinner. "How humanity went from one thing to the next and so on."

He scoffed and wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you out of the way of someone barreling by. "You don't have to explain that part to me bub. You're lookin' at a man who lived it."

"Did you?" The look you gave him had the feelings of want he pushed down earlier rearing their head. "Actually live through it?"

"I was born in 1832."

With a gasp, you clutched his arm. "Were you really?" you exclaimed. "That means you saw so much of history. Things we might not have written down."

And suddenly within moments...there you were from his world. Bright and beautiful and in love with the past. At first he believed it was due to your abilities; now he understood that's just who you were deep down. Always in love with what you couldn't fully figure out—the past you could see if you managed to travel back far enough.

"You have to let me pick your brain for facts."

He tugged you closer, stopping off to the side of the busy street, until you were stuck in his hold with nowhere to look but up at him. "Picking my brain ain't gonna be fun honey."

Your eyes were wide, lips parted slightly. "I disagree."

"You forget. Different universe. The history I know might be different from the one you know."

No matter how hard you tried, you could never hide the disappointment that flooded your eyes. "I'm sure it's not that different."

"Hm." He pressed a thumb to the top of your cheekbone, struck by how soft your skin felt beneath his. "Why don't you tell me yours. And then maybe I'll tell you mine."

The double entendre was layered in the lust that clouded his vision—the need that burned in his stomach. Logan hoped you understood it. Could see how much he ached for you. How you affected him since he first caught a glimpse of you yesterday. And seeing your pupils dilate, your chest heaving slightly, made his swell with pride. Saliva filled his mouth at the thought of one day getting a taste of you, but the sound of a horn going off behind him shattered the moment.

You stepped back with a deep inhale, your hand still in his. Which only served to prove Logan's point.

He fucking hated the city.

"Dinner?" you breathed, voice raspy with that feeling you tried to fight against.

Logan managed to turn you inside out. Pulling exactly where he needed to expose your heart. That alone should have terrified you. Yet the thrill of knowing him, of seeing where this might lead, kept you enamored and wanting for more.

"Lead the way."

What plans you created and meal you planned to order were lost the second you ascended the stairs to your apartment and stood in front of your door. The silence of the building was deafening compared to the noise outside. So much so that every breath you took echoed loud against the shitty yellow stained walls. Logan could hear the thump of your heart as it rammed within your chest. Quickening the closer he stepped towards you.

You turned, your back to the door and eyes dazed—unfocused. "I can order something."

His nostrils flared as your familiar scent began to deepen, mix with the arousal that seeped through your body. "That could work."

"What do you like to eat?"

The smile he gave you could only be described as canine. Near feral. "Dangerous question honey."

"What do you–" Shock flashed in your eyes, heat spilling into your face as the words finally processed. "Oh."

Logan wasn't hungry in a way that might seem normal to you. He didn't want to taste you, he wanted to devour. To feel you in ways that would scare you shitless. He craved you potently—viscerally. And perhaps it would scare you off.

Although something told him it wouldn't.

Silence no longer felt all consuming and horrid when he took one more step, crowding you against your door. You should have kept the conversation going. Laughed it off with a flippant smile and an offer of real food. Though neither of you could give a shit about dinner. That fact became evident the second he cupped the back of your neck and slotted his lips against yours.

A moan of surprise tore from your throat and Logan let out a growl to match. He kissed you fervently. Lips pressed hard and hot against yours, tongue sliding along your teeth, and somehow it never felt like enough. He'd dreamed of this for years. For the taste of you again, the gentle grip of your hands that dug into his hair and pulled.

That alone sent a groan echoing down the hallway, his body colliding with yours as your back hit the door. Your teeth found his bottom lip while his hands slid down to your ass, gripping and tugging until you could feel the prominent bulge through the denim of his jeans.

"Logan," you gasped, your tongue meeting his with another sharp tug on hair.

He slammed a hand against the door beside your head, his hips rutting down as you met the movement with one of your own. You wanted to drag him inside. Needed to feel his bare skin on yours. But something pulled tight against your chest as he stuttered into the kiss. The unfamiliar sound of his claws sliding out and puncturing the wood of your door made you jump.

"Sorry," he muttered, sliding his lips down your throat—teeth nipping the vein. "Happens."

"You owe me a door." You sounded breathless.

He brought his lips back to yours with a fury you'd never experienced before. "I'll buy you a new one." Your hips dragged along his, nails digging into the hot skin on the back of his neck. "I’ll fuckin’ make you one," he snarled.

The thought of someone passing by, seeing you nearly held up against your door by a man who's claws were embedded in it, was laughable. Yet you couldn't stop wondering what would happen if you let this go further. If you allowed him to take you right here out in the open.

Logan could smell the way you dripped for him and it drove him fucking insane. His body begged him to keep going. To slam open the door and bury himself in you right there on your kitchen floor. The way you whined into his mouth, rubbing yourself along his crotch, told him you wanted the same.

And he might have done just that.

If they hadn't started.

They're dead because of you!

Memories flashed in his mind with a rage unlike the past few times. Your face, tear stained and rageful. The way you used your powers against him. Tried to kill him for what happened. It all came rushing back with a lungful of air that burned.

I hate you!

"Logan?" You pulled back slightly, hands cupping his face with enough care he could feel the sting of tears start to build. "Are you okay?"

It should've been you that died Logan. Not them.

He sucked in a breath, ripping himself away from and stumbling a few steps back. Fighting against the past wasn't new to him. He'd been broken by it before. But now he couldn't even enjoy the sight of you with swollen lips and ruffled clothes, because all he saw when he closed his eyes was the other you.

The one he broke.

"I'm fine." His voice was raspy as he choked out the words.

A need to help him rang through your body and Logan could see it. He knew how badly you wanted to come to him—to hold him. This simply wasn't your battle to fight. He refused to change that in any way.

Standing up straight, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. An apology for the actions he was about to take.

He only hoped you wouldn't hate him for it afterwards.

"We'll do dinner another night, honey."

"Logan–"

"Goodnight." Walking away from you felt as if he'd ripped a hole in his chest with an adamantium bullet. One that wouldn't heal like before.

The dog tags were now wrapped around his neck, choking him like a collar he couldn't free himself from. A reminder that even the Logan of this world was unable to stop himself from destroying the one he loved. That was the plight they carried.

Their greatest grief. The one thing they had in common.

This...he could accept.

[joelsrose]

Guns and Roses: Chapter 5

Masterlist

Summary: You wanted nothing to do with Joel, determined to keep your distance after everything that had happened. But when a new threat to Jackson arises, you're forced to put aside your anger and work together. What starts as a reluctant alliance quickly becomes a test of survival, pushing both of you to your limits and uncovering feelings that are impossible to ignore.

TW: swearing, blood, fighting, broken bones, mentions of death, insinuation of s***** abuse, knives, guns, being tied up and gagged, physical violence, blood

also in this story the dining hall has a bar in it to avoid confusion lmaoo - ALSO to everyone who hates joel i understand he is evil sometimes and reader will not forgive him easily i swear some of yall never want her to forgive him but this is a slow burn!! So pls accept some affection ok ily enjoy

13k words i know im crazy - enjoy

The cool night air hit your skin as you stumbled out into the darkness, but it did nothing to soothe the searing ache in your chest. Each breath came in ragged gasps, your cheeks slick with the tears that refused to stop. The world around you blurred, Jackson's streetlights turning into hazy, shimmering halos as you half-ran, half-staggered your way home. But no amount of distance could drown out the sound of Joel’s voice echoing in your mind—sharp, cutting, merciless: Always in the way. I could never be with someone like that.

The words played over and over, slicing deeper each time, as if trying to carve out whatever fragile hope you had let yourself hold onto. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, as though the pressure alone could stop the hurt from swallowing you whole, but it was a losing battle. The more you tried to suppress it, the more it surged, threatening to burst out in uncontrollable sobs.

Why did I ever let myself believe things could be different? you wondered bitterly, swiping at your tear-streaked cheeks with trembling hands, the frustration twisting inside you like a knife.

Why did I let myself get close to him, let my guard down again?

You had clung to the small moments—his lingering gaze at the lake, the unexpected warmth in his touch—as if they meant something, as if he had really cared. But it was all an illusion, shattered in a single breath, a single sentence that now echoed like a cruel taunt.

The walk to your house seemed to stretch on forever, each step a reminder of how foolish you’d been, each breath another blow to your already bruised heart. It was embarrassing, too—knowing that Maria and Tommy had witnessed everything, that the entire bar had seen you storm out with tears streaking down your cheeks. You thought you’d grown past this—past letting anyone reduce you to a mess of trembling hands and tear-stained eyes. But here you were, crumbling under the weight of rejection, your mind spinning with a relentless torrent of what-ifs and should-haves.

Why did I ever think I could be more to him? You chastised yourself, your thoughts spiraling. Why did I let him in at all?

You reached your front door, your vision so blurred with tears that it took you several tries to fit the key into the lock. When the door finally gave way, you stumbled inside and shut it behind you, the latch clicking into place with a finality that only seemed to deepen the loneliness pressing down on you. Sliding down to the floor, you hugged your knees to your chest, burying your face as the sobs wracked your body. It was as if all the pain you'd been fighting to keep at bay had come crashing down at once, and now there was no holding back.

You cried until there were no more tears left to fall, until the ache in your chest was replaced by a hollow numbness.

Yet one thought remained, circling endlessly in your mind:

Why did I ever think I could be enough for him?

It wasn't just the pain of rejection—it was the devastation of having let yourself hope, only to be reminded of how small and insignificant you felt in the eyes of the person you had dared to let your guard down for. And that, more than anything, was a wound that cut too deep to heal.

•••

“What the hell was that, Joel?” Tommy’s voice cut through the lingering tension like a knife, sharper and angrier than Joel had heard in a long time. He took a step closer, his entire body rigid with fury. The broken glass still lay scattered across the floor, the beer pooling around the jagged shards, a stark reminder of what had just happened.

Joel rubbed a hand over his face, his voice rough and low as he spoke. “I didn’t know she was there,” he muttered, his gaze darting to the door you had fled through, as if he could will you back to explain himself. But he couldn’t meet Tommy's eyes; shame had already begun to settle like a heavy stone in his chest.

Tommy threw his hands up, the gesture dripping with exasperation. “Well, she was,” he snapped, his voice climbing with each word. “Jesus, Joel, when did you turn into such a goddamn asshole?” He raked his fingers through his hair, the frustration etched in every line of his face. “She didn’t deserve that—none of it—especially after everything.” His voice faltered at the end, the anger breaking, revealing a raw edge of something deeper, something more personal.

Joel’s frustration flared, his hands curling into fists. “You kept pushin' me on it, Tommy!” he shot back, his tone edged with defensiveness. “I didn’t—”

“Stop,” Maria interjected sharply, stepping forward with a look that was equal parts anger and disappointment. Her gaze flicked down to the shattered glass at their feet before locking onto Joel, her voice hardening. “That’s not an excuse, Joel. You didn’t just hurt her—you broke her.” The word hung in the air, sharp as a knife, cutting through the tension and daring him to look away.

Joel's jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he searched for any justification, any explanation that could make sense of what he’d just done. But the words wouldn’t come. The truth was lodged too deep, tangled in a place he didn’t know how to reach without tearing himself open. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, the weight of Maria's words landing like a blow. “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he said quietly, his voice raw and unsteady. “I just—” But even as he spoke, the rest of the sentence seemed to slip away, lost in the silence that followed.

“Then why did you?” Maria's voice softened, though the disappointment still lingered in her eyes. She tilted her head, studying his face as if searching for answers in the lines of his furrowed brow and the shadows beneath his eyes. “What is your problem with her, Joel? Because from where I’m standing, your words and your actions don’t add up.” Her gaze deepened, probing further as his head hung low, the weight of guilt pulling him down. “I saw you at the lake today—whatever’s going on between you two, it’s not nothing. But you keep pushin’ her away, like you’re scared of what’ll happen if you don’t.”

Joel's mind raced, the weight of his mistake pressing down harder with every breath. His hands dropped to his sides, clenching and unclenching in a futile search for something solid to grasp, but they felt heavy and useless. His gaze stayed fixed on the broken glass scattered at his feet, but all he could see was the look on your face, replaying in his mind like a wound that refused to close. He had to physically squeeze his eyes shut, as if trying to block out the image that had seared itself into his memory.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Tommy’s voice broke through the tense silence, softer now but edged with a grim finality. “You better figure your shit out, Joel,” he said, his tone carrying a weight that made the words hit harder. His finger pointed sharply, underscoring the gravity of what he was saying. “Find a way to make this right, because if you don’t, you’re not just losin’ her. You’re losin’ us, too.” There was a quiet threat woven into his words, an ultimatum that laid bare all the bridges Joel was dangerously close to burning.

Tommy's words landed like a punch to the gut, leaving Joel reeling. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his thoughts churning with a mix of regret and something that twisted in his stomach, making him feel sick. But as his gaze fell back to the mess of shattered glass and spilled beer, a grim determination took hold. One thing was certain: he had to find a way to fix this, no matter what it took.

•••

You couldn’t say how long it had been since that night at the Tipsy Bison. The days bled into one another, a blurry procession of empty hours, each blending seamlessly into the next. The only sign that time was still moving was the growing pile of empty cups and plates cluttering your side table—a silent testament to how deeply you’d withdrawn from the world outside. You ignored the calls, the handwritten notes Maria slipped under your door, and even the bowl of fruit Ellie had left on your porch, topped with a cartoon dinosaur exclaiming, “Get up, ya fossil!” It had made you smile, if only for a fleeting second, before the familiar heaviness sank back in. Ellie, blissfully unaware of the events that had unfolded between you and Joel.

You knew you shouldn’t have shut them out. Maria, Tommy, Ellie—they hadn’t done anything wrong. They were your family, the closest people you had in this place. But you couldn’t bring yourself to respond, couldn’t summon the strength to open the door and face their concern. Because if you did, you might have to admit that you weren’t okay.

And the truth was, you weren’t.

You hadn’t left the house in days. The thought of stepping outside, of running into him, twisted your stomach into knots. Some might call it pathetic, and maybe it was—maybe you were hiding from a problem that you should have confronted head-on. But every time you even thought about walking out that door, the memory of Joel’s voice—his cold, dismissive tone—resonated in your mind like a bitter echo, sending you spiraling back into the hurt you’d been trying so hard to avoid.

How could you face the world when his words were still fresh in your ears, like open wounds you couldn’t heal? Always in the way. I could never be with someone like that. They looped in your mind, over and over, until the doubt became something almost tangible, wrapping around your heart like a vine, squeezing the life out of it. You had started to wonder if he was right—if you were a burden, someone who didn’t belong.

So you stayed inside, pacing the small space until you knew every creaking floorboard by heart, staring out the windows as the sunlight shifted across the room, bringing with it the constant reminder that life outside was moving on without you.

Maria had left notes, her handwriting slanted and rushed, as if written between tasks. “We miss you, please call,” one had read. You’d crumpled it in your fist the day you found it, but hadn’t been able to throw it away. It still sat on the table, a small, wrinkled reminder of the people who were trying to reach you. Tommy had come by too, knocking softly and calling your name, his voice gentle. You hadn’t answered. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you couldn’t bear the thought of opening the door and seeing pity in his eyes.

But despite all of their gestures—Maria’s notes, Tommy’s knocks, Ellie’s quirky little gifts—he hadn’t come to see the mess he’d made. Joel Miller hadn’t made any effort to check on you, to face the aftermath of the hurt he had caused. That, in some twisted way, almost made it worse. It was like you weren’t even worth the apology, as if your hurt didn’t matter. The silence from him was deafening, each day that passed without so much as a word deepened the wound.

It felt deliberate. Like he’d said what he needed to say, like he’d hurt you on purpose, and then walked away, leaving you to pick up the pieces alone.

You were angry—no, furious—not just at him, but at how thoroughly he had managed to upend your entire life. Before Joel, things made sense. You had your place here; Jackson was a sanctuary, a place where you could heal, and Tommy and Maria were the family you had chosen. But now, because of him, everything felt off-balance, as if the ground had shifted beneath your feet. Ever since you met him, the way you saw yourself had completely changed, and you hated it. You couldn’t even face the people you loved, not when the thought of running into him hung over every decision like a dark cloud, suffocating any sense of normalcy you’d tried to hold onto.

The worst part wasn’t just that he had dismissed you so easily—it was that you had allowed him to get close enough to hurt you in the first place. You had let down your guard, let yourself almost believe in him, and in doing so, you’d given him just enough space to break you. Now, you were paying the price for that mistake, and it was a steep one. It felt as if he’d reached inside your chest and torn out the part of you that still dared to hope for something more, leaving behind a hollow ache where that hope used to live.

You had decided you were done with Joel Miller.

Done with his gruff indifference, done with trying to make sense of the rare, fleeting moments when he seemed to care, only for him to snatch it all away the next moment. You couldn’t keep going back and forth, couldn’t keep letting yourself hope for something that was never going to happen.

You were done giving him the chance to hurt you again.

•••

It was almost as if they had planned an intervention. Tommy and Maria knocked on your door, and even though you didn’t answer, it didn’t stop them. They knew you too well; knew you wouldn’t let them in, but they came prepared.

The sound of the door creaking open downstairs carried up to your room, followed by Maria’s voice—playful yet edged with firmness. “You shouldn’t leave a pregnant woman waiting,” she called out, her footsteps echoing in the quiet as they made their way through the house, up the stairs, and down the hall to where you lay.

You were sprawled out on your bed, the blinds shut tight, casting a dim, muted glow over the room. It was stifling, the air thick with your despair. When Tommy and Maria entered, they took in the sight of you: hair unkempt, eyes shadowed with exhaustion, the same clothes you’d been wearing for days clinging to you. The blankets were tangled around you, a pile of untouched books and empty mugs crowding your bedside table. You hadn’t even bothered to pick up the crumpled note Maria had slipped under the door days ago, which now lay discarded on the floor.

Tommy’s gaze swept over you, his expression hardening with concern. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, his voice just loud enough for you to hear. He stepped closer, kneeling by the bed as if he could physically draw you out of whatever dark place you had sunk into. “Hey, kid,” he said, his voice softer now, but heavy with worry. “How are you?”

You didn’t respond at first, your eyes flicking up to meet his before dropping away again. “What are you guys doing here?” you mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself as if it could shield you from their concern.

Maria hovered in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, her brow creased with worry. She took in the state of the room—the mess, the dimness, the weight of defeat hanging over you—and sighed. “Just checking up on you,” she said gently, her voice laced with that familiar warmth. “We’re worried.”

Tommy nodded, exchanging a quick glance with Maria before turning back to you. “How about we go out tonight, huh?” he suggested, his tone striving for lightness even as the concern slipped through. “Just dinner—nothing fancy, I promise. But you need to get some fresh air.” His brow furrowed slightly, the worry deepening in his eyes. “Have you been eating?”

“Yeah, let’s get you out for a bit,” Maria added, stepping closer to your bedside and gently brushing a few strands of hair from your face. “It’ll be good to get some fresh air, get out of this dark room for a while.” She tried to offer an encouraging smile, but there was a quiet plea in her eyes, a silent insistence that told you they weren’t leaving without you.

You hugged your knees to your chest, turning your face away from their worried expressions. The thought of going out felt overwhelming, like stepping back into a world you weren’t ready to face. It wasn’t just about Joel anymore; it was about everything—the quiet hurt that had seeped into the cracks, the loneliness that had settled over you like a heavy fog these past weeks. It felt easier to stay in the safety of this dark room than to confront everything waiting for you on the other side of the door.

“I don’t know…” You trailed off, the words catching in your throat.

Tommy leaned in a little closer, his voice soft but resolute. “Come on, kid. Just one dinner, that’s all we’re asking,” he coaxed, his tone carrying a gentle insistence. “You don’t have to say a word if you don’t feel like it. We just miss you, that’s all.” There was a quiet sincerity in his eyes, a warmth that reached out to you even as you pulled further inward.

You didn’t need to ask if Joel would be there; you already knew he wouldn’t. They wouldn’t put you through that—not after everything that had happened. But as you hesitated, the anxiety was clear in your eyes, and they noticed the way your fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket, clinging to it like a lifeline.

Tommy cleared his throat, a reassuring tone creeping into his voice. “He’s on patrol,” he said, as if that settled the matter, not even needing to mention Joel’s name for you to know exactly who he meant. “He won’t be around tonight. You don’t have to worry.” His words hung in the air, offering a small measure of comfort, a quiet assurance that at least one thing would be a little easier to face.

You nodded slowly, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest loosening just a little. The thought of facing Joel was still too raw, too close to the surface, but maybe—just maybe—you could manage to face Tommy and Maria. They were trying to help you, reaching out with open hands to pull you out of this darkness, and it wasn’t fair to keep shutting them out. They didn’t deserve to be kept at arm’s length when all they’d done was care.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Just dinner.”

Maria's relief was palpable as she gave you a small, reassuring smile, squeezing your hand gently. “Just us tonight,” she promised. “No surprises.”

It should have comforted you, and in a way, it did. But even as you nodded, a shadow of doubt clung to you, the world beyond your door still seeming too bright, too unforgiving. No matter how hard you tried to push it away, the ghost of Joel Miller lingered in the corners of your mind, a reminder of everything you were trying to forget.

But maybe tonight, you could let it go—even if just for a little while.

•••

Dinner was at the dining hall, where the familiar buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses filled the air. You sat at a small wooden table, dimly lit by the flickering glow of candlelight that cast soft shadows across the room. You didn’t say much, and that seemed fine by Tommy and Maria, who carried the conversation with an easy rhythm, filling the silence for you.

The meal was simple but comforting: steaming bowls of hearty stew with a side of freshly baked bread. Tommy and Maria seemed content just to see you eating, casting the occasional glance your way as you slowly picked at your food. Tommy's grin widened as he spoke about the baby, his excitement palpable even though it was still too early for Maria to be showing. His hand rested lightly on her arm, and he beamed like a proud father already, talking about all the things he couldn’t wait to teach their child—fishing, horseback riding, even passing on his collection of bad jokes that made Maria roll her eyes but secretly smile.

You found yourself quietly listening, letting their warmth and hope wrap around you like a safety net, offering a small reprieve from the heaviness that had been weighing you down. For just a moment, you allowed yourself to sink into their joy, let the sound of their voices ease the ache in your chest. You could almost feel the tension slipping away, replaced by the comfort of their laughter and lighthearted banter. Just for a moment, you allowed yourself to forget—forget about the heaviness pressing on your heart, forget about Joel and all the hurt that came with him.

But then, the door to the dining hall swung open, and the moment shattered.

There he was—Joel. He looked awful, with dark circles under his eyes that suggested he hadn’t slept in days, and his hair was a mess, sticking out in uneven tufts as though he’d been raking his fingers through it in frustration. His beard was thicker and more unruly than usual, as if he’d stopped bothering to trim it, letting it grow out in uneven patches.

The mere sight of him sent your heart plummeting to the floor. He hadn’t seen you yet, hadn’t even glanced in your direction as he stood at the bar, his broad shoulders and familiar figure casting a long shadow over the room. He was nursing a whiskey, his back turned to you, and there was something about the way he stood—his frame tense and hunched, as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders—that made it impossible to look away. The sight of him was a punch to the gut, stirring up everything you’d tried so hard to bury.

Your hand trembled, and the fork slipped from your grasp, clattering onto the plate with a loud clink that seemed to echo through the room. Maria’s eyes darted toward you, concern flickering across her face as she followed your gaze. Slowly, she turned until her eyes landed on Joel, standing alone at the bar, his back still turned.

“Tommy…” Maria whispered, her voice tense and low, a quiet urgency in the way she said his name.

Tommy, who had been caught up in the conversation, turned in his seat to look over his shoulder. His easy smile faded the second he spotted Joel. His brow furrowed as he watched the scene, and he shifted in his seat, angling himself to block your view as if to shield you from the sight.

Maria leaned in close, her voice soft and urgent. “We can leave, honey,” she murmured. “He hasn’t seen us yet. We can duck out before he notices.” Her hand rested lightly on your arm, ready to guide you away, offering a quiet escape from the situation unraveling before you.

Tommy nodded in agreement, his voice gentle but edged with concern. “Yeah, we can head somewhere else. Go back to ours, maybe?” He kept his gaze on you, ready to leave at a moment’s notice, his worry evident in the way he searched your face for any sign of what you needed.

But you shook your head, swallowing hard against the lump forming in your throat. “No,” you said, the word coming out firmer than you’d expected. “I’m not letting him ruin our night.” There was a defiance in your voice, a spark that flared up despite the heaviness in your chest. You weren’t going to let Joel take this from you, not when you’d finally managed to step outside and try to find some normalcy again.

Maria’s hand tightened around yours, and she exchanged a worried glance with Tommy, but neither of them pushed further. You tried to focus on your meal, but your appetite had long since disappeared, the bitter sting of seeing Joel even from across the room making it impossible to ignore the knot tightening in your chest.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to swallow the flood of emotions threatening to rise. “I’ll be fine,” you whispered, more to reassure yourself than them. But even as you said the words, you couldn’t help but feel the undeniable truth that Joel Miller had already changed everything—and you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to forgive him for it.

As the night wore on, you found yourself glancing over at the bar again, despite your best efforts to focus on anything else. Joel had turned slightly, his profile now visible. His expression was a mix of exhaustion and something else you couldn’t quite place.

It was infuriating—how he could be there, so close yet so distant, as if nothing had happened, as if you weren’t sitting just a few feet away, struggling to hold yourself together. The sight of him drinking alone, looking every bit the picture of the gruff, haunted man he always seemed to be, made your heart clench with a confusing mix of anger and something else you weren’t ready to name.

You turned back to Tommy and Maria, who were watching you closely, their faces etched with concern. You forced a smile, tried to push the emotions back down, and focused on the easy conversation again. But even as you pretended not to care, you couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how hard you tried, Joel Miller had already woven himself into your life, and there was no going back.

“I’m full,” you said, pushing your plate aside with a dismissive gesture.

Then, a determined edge crept into your voice. “Let’s get drunk.”

It was as if you were daring the night to offer you something else to focus on, something to drown out the thoughts swirling in your mind. Maria and Tommy shared a brief, uncertain look, but they didn’t argue. Maria gave a small nod, and Tommy signaled for another round, silently agreeing to let you decide how the rest of the night would go.

•••

The alcohol dulled the sharp edges of the hurt that had lingered for weeks, numbing the ache in your chest and quieting the voice in your head that kept replaying his words. Deep down, you knew it wasn’t the healthiest way to cope, but right now, you didn’t care. It was working, and that was all that mattered.

Yet, every time you caught sight of Joel—alone in the corner, nursing his drink with a distant look in his eyes—it sent a fresh wave of anger and hurt crashing through you. He hadn’t seen you yet, oblivious to your presence, which somehow made it worse. It wasn’t fair that he could sit there as if nothing had happened, like he hadn’t shattered your heart and left you to pick up the pieces. It wasn’t fair that he seemed so at ease while you were struggling to keep yourself from falling apart, each breath feeling like a battle you weren’t sure you were winning.

You threw yourself into the night—into the drinks, the laughter, and the comforting noise that filled the bar. As you scanned the room, your gaze landed on a familiar face: Sam, one of the residents Tommy had tried to set you up with a few months ago. You hadn’t given him a chance back then, though it wasn’t because he wasn’t attractive. He was—tall and lean, with dark hair that fell messily across his forehead, a boyish grin, and a dusting of freckles that stretched across his cheeks like a constellation. His crooked smile had a way of lighting up his entire face when he laughed, giving him an easy charm that was hard to ignore.

Back then, you’d been too fragile, nursing wounds that hadn’t even started to heal. The idea of dating felt impossible, even unfair—like dragging someone else into the mess of your heartache. So when Tommy had suggested introducing you to Sam, you’d politely declined, knowing deep down that you weren’t ready to let anyone in.

But now, seeing Joel across the bar—his presence stirring up the hurt you were barely managing to keep at bay—awoke something reckless inside you. You wanted him to notice you, to see you with someone else, to know that his words hadn’t broken you. Even if he didn’t want you, you wanted to show him that someone did, that you weren’t just the damaged person he’d left behind - broken and bruised.

The dim lighting of the bar and the haze of alcohol softened the edges of Sam’s face, giving his eyes a darker, more inviting warmth. There was a quiet confidence about him, an easy charm that almost dared you to take a chance on something new. In that moment, all you wanted was to feel desired—by someone who didn’t see you as a burden. Maybe it was impulsive, maybe it was even a little spiteful, but you couldn’t shake the need for Joel to see it.

You leaned closer to Tommy, doing your best to keep your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “Hey,” you said, nodding subtly in Sam’s direction. “See that guy over there?”

Tommy followed your gaze, his eyebrows lifting in surprise when he spotted Sam. “Sam?” he asked, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, that’s him. What about it?”

You shrugged, aiming for casual even as your pulse raced. “Think you could introduce me?”

Tommy’s surprise gave way to a slow, knowing smile. “Well, well,” he chuckled, the amusement clear in his tone. “Looks like you’ve had a change of heart.”

“Maybe,” you replied, forcing a playful smile to your lips. “Figured it’s worth a shot.”

Without missing a beat, Tommy waved Sam over, and you watched as he navigated his way through the crowd toward your table. Your heart pounded with a mix of nerves and anticipation—not just because you were about to meet Sam, but because you were keenly aware that at some point, Joel’s gaze would inevitably land on the two of you. There was a certain thrill in that thought, a defiance simmering just beneath the surface. You wanted him to see this, to see you moving on from his words, even if it was just for show.

As Sam approached, you straightened in your seat, a more confident smile spreading across your lips.

For once, you wanted to be the one in control, to be the one who chose to walk away on your own terms.

•••

Sam was kind, cute, and effortlessly charming—the kind of guy who could put anyone at ease. As he settled into the chair across from you, his crooked grin and playful eyes made slipping into the rhythm of conversation almost too easy. He had a way of making you laugh, keeping the mood light and flirty, even as the drinks you’d had earlier started to blur the edges of the night. But beneath the surface, something was missing. You could sense it, a faint tug deep inside, reminding you that despite his charm, you didn’t feel anything real. It was as though you were going through the motions, trying to convince yourself of a spark that simply wasn’t there.

“So,” Sam said, raising his drink with a playful glint in his eye, “Tommy tells me you’re quite the rider. I guess I’ll have to see for myself one of these days.”

You shrugged, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “I’m alright,” you replied, your tone carrying a hint of challenge. “But I’m not exactly volunteering to give you any lessons.”

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his gaze sweeping over you with a clear spark of interest. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to earn that, then,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, adding a quiet heat to his words that lingered in the air between you.

It was obvious he was into you.

His hand lingered on your arm, his eyes glinting with something more than casual interest, and his attention never wavered from you. A part of you welcomed it—the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room. It felt good to be seen, to be desired, even if only for a night.

You wished his words had an effect on you, wished they stirred the butterflies caged in your stomach. But the flutter never came, and you could only feel the emptiness where that spark was supposed to ignite. There was a hollowness there, an emptiness that no amount of attention from Sam could fill. The ache inside you hadn’t faded; it had merely dulled to a hum in the background.

You glanced away from Sam, and your eyes found Joel once more. He was still at the bar, in the same spot he'd occupied for what felt like hours, nursing a whiskey. But now, he wasn’t alone. A blonde woman—pretty, with an easy smile—had appeared beside him, leaning in close, her hand lightly resting on his arm as she spoke. The sight sent a pang through your chest, a sharp reminder of how everything had unraveled. It wasn’t quite jealousy—it was something darker, a bitter realization that while you were struggling to pick up the pieces, he seemed to be doing just fine.

Maybe that was the type of woman Joel preferred. What did it matter? You told yourself it didn’t, but the truth was painfully clear—it did. The thought twisted in your chest, pushing you to act.

“Let’s dance,” you said abruptly, shoving back your chair and reaching for Sam’s hand, desperate to be anywhere but sitting still, anywhere that would let you forget, even if just for a moment.

Sam grinned, springing to his feet as if he’d been waiting for you to make the first move. He followed you onto the small dance floor, where only a handful of others swayed to the music. His hands settled on your hips, pulling you closer as the beat pulsed through the dimly lit room. For a few moments, you let yourself get lost in the rhythm, the thrum of the music, and the warmth of the liquor coursing through your veins. Sam guided you, his body pressing closer with each sway, his breath warm against your cheek as he leaned in.

As you spun around, the world blurred, but through the haze of lights and music, you caught sight of Joel across the bar. Everything else seemed to fall away. His gaze was locked on you, dark and unflinching, with an intensity that sent a jolt through your veins. It wasn’t the indifferent, dismissive look you’d grown used to; it was raw and unguarded, as though he couldn’t quite mask whatever was simmering just beneath the surface. Anger, jealousy, hurt—you couldn’t tell, but the emotion was unmistakable, etched in the hard line of his jaw and the darkness of his eyes. It reached across the room, pulling you into its grip, and a shiver raced down your spine, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

For a moment, the room around you seemed to dissolve, leaving just the two of you locked in a silent, electric exchange. Joel's gaze seared into you, and your pulse quickened, a volatile mix of defiance and something far more tangled swelling in your chest. You didn’t even know what you were hoping to find in his eyes—regret, maybe, or longing—but there was something there, something that made it hard to breathe.

Without thinking, you turned and grabbed Sam, pulling him into a kiss. He hesitated, surprised for a heartbeat, but then leaned into it, his hands tightening around your waist as if he’d been waiting for this all night.

When you finally broke away, your gaze flicked back to Joel, and for a heartbeat too long, you held his stare. He had seen everything—every movement, every breath—and you knew he hadn’t missed the way you had thrown yourself into Sam's arms, as if trying to prove something. To him, to yourself—you weren’t sure.

And then, just like that, Joel was gone, slipping through the back door and vanishing into the night before you could fully register the emptiness left in his wake.

Sam’s voice broke through your thoughts, concern softening his tone. “Everything okay?” he asked, leaning in closer to catch your eye.

You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as brittle as it felt. “Yeah,” you lied. “I’m fine. Let’s keep dancing.”

You kept dancing with Sam, but the moment Joel disappeared from the bar, the illusion of control you had clung to crumbled, leaving you feeling hollow. The music pulsed around you, Sam's hands gripped your waist, and yet it felt all wrong—like you were trying to use him as a lifeline, but the rope had already frayed. You needed air, needed to escape the suffocating haze that seemed to cling to you.

“Let’s go outside for a bit,” you said abruptly, pulling away from Sam.

“Sure,” he replied, his eyes glinting with anticipation, as if he thought this was the moment things would get interesting.

You stumbled into the cool night air, your head heavy from the alcohol and the heat of the bar. You scanned the surroundings, your gaze flicking around for Joel—pathetic as it was, some part of you couldn’t stop searching for him. But he wasn’t there, and you weren’t sure whether that made it better or worse. The sharp breeze did little to soothe the chaos roiling inside you.

Sam was close behind, his footsteps crunching on the gravel. Before you could say anything, he was already there, his hands gripping your waist as he pressed himself closer.

“Let’s find somewhere private,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear as his fingers tightened around you.

Your body tensed, a cold dread slithering down your spine. “Sam… wait,” you said, your voice barely a breath. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He chuckled, a rough, dismissive sound that sent a shiver down your spine, making your skin prickle with unease. His grip tightened as he shoved you back against the wall, the cold surface pressing into your shoulders. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice hardening with a dangerous edge. “You’ve been all over me tonight. Hell, you just kissed me. Don’t act like you’re not asking for this.” The words dripped with entitlement, twisting the air around you into something dark and suffocating.

Your thoughts swam, disoriented by the alcohol and the sudden, unsettling shift in his tone. It was like a jolt of ice water spilling over you—the stark realization that he wasn’t the charming, kind guy you’d thought he was. His hands moved lower, rougher, pinning you against the wall as panic clawed its way up your throat. You struggled to gather your bearings, but the situation seemed to close in around you, suffocating and dark. Where the hell was Tommy? you thought desperately, your pulse thundering in your ears.

“Stop it, Sam,” you pleaded, your voice trembling with fear. “I said no.”

But he didn’t stop. His mouth grazed your neck, and his grip tightened painfully, digging into your skin as he leaned in closer. “God, you’re all the same,” he sneered, his breath hot and foul against your ear. “Act all innocent, but deep down—”

This can’t be happening. Panic surged through you as you tried to push him away, but your arms felt like lead, your mind clouded and sluggish.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

The voice sliced through the night like a blade, low and vibrating with barely contained fury. Before you could even process what was happening, Sam was wrenched away from you, his body hitting the ground with a brutal thud.

Joel.

He loomed over Sam, his chest heaving, every muscle tense with rage. His fists were already clenched, knuckles white under the dim light. “She told you to back off,” Joel growled, his voice a dangerous rumble that seemed to shake the very air around you. His eyes burned with a fury so raw it was almost terrifying.

Sam scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with a volatile mix of anger and fear. “What the hell is your problem, old man?” he spat, stumbling back as he tried to regain his footing. His lip curled into a sneer, a flash of defiance in his gaze. “Go to hell,” he snarled, and without a second thought, he swung his fist at Joel.

The punch connected, snapping Joel’s head to the side, but he barely flinched. In an instant, he surged forward, seizing Sam by the collar and driving him down onto the gravel with a bone-rattling force. The crack of Sam’s head against the ground echoed sharply in the still night air.

Joel didn’t hesitate.

He dropped to his knees, pinning Sam beneath him as he unleashed a barrage of brutal blows—once, twice—the sickening thud of bone meeting flesh reverberating through the darkness. Blood sprayed across the gravel, and Sam’s body began to go limp, his resistance fading under the relentless, punishing force of Joel’s fists. But Joel didn’t let up, a feral rage burning in his eyes as each strike landed with merciless precision, as if he were trying to erase the very memory of Sam's touch.

“Joel, stop!” you screamed, your voice desperate and raw, but it was as if he didn’t hear you. His rage had taken over, his eyes dark and wild, completely consumed.

At last, Joel grabbed a fistful of Sam's shirt, yanking him up until their faces were mere inches apart.

“If you ever come near her again,” he snarled, his voice low and rough with barely restrained fury, “I swear to God, I will fuckin' kill you.” His words dripped with venom, a promise as much as a threat. Then he shoved Sam away, letting him crumple back onto the gravel in a limp, trembling heap.

Panting heavily, Joel straightened, the fury that had consumed him moments ago ebbing away as his gaze fell on you. The sight of you—pressed against the wall, cheeks streaked with tears, your entire body trembling—seemed to drain the fight out of him in an instant.

Concern flashed in his eyes, raw and unguarded, chased swiftly by regret. His hands, bloodied and still shaking at his sides, hung there uselessly, as if unsure of what to do. All he wanted was to reach out and cradle your face in his hands, to wipe away the tears and assure himself that you were okay. But he stayed rooted where he was, afraid to cross the distance, afraid he might break whatever fragile thing existed between you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and rough with emotion, a jarring contrast to the violence that had just shattered the night. The tenderness in his tone was almost painful, as though each word scraped against something deeper that he couldn’t quite bring himself to say. His eyes searched yours with a desperation he couldn’t hide, needing to know that you weren’t as broken as he felt.

But the space between you seemed to grow, an unspoken divide filled with all the things left unsaid—the reckless rage, the bruised history, and the unbearable longing he could never quite put into words. His hands trembled with the urge to reach for you, to close the gap, but instead, he stayed frozen, the ache in his chest echoing in the silence between you both.

The question hit you like a blow. How dare he act like he cared now, after everything he’d put you through? The ghost of Sam’s touch still clung to your skin, making your stomach twist with revulsion, and the adrenaline surged bitterly in your throat.

“Fuck off, Joel,” you snapped, your voice cracking as you scrubbed at your tear-streaked cheeks. “I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t need you to save me.” The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t care. Anger burned behind every syllable, masking the pain that roiled beneath.

Joel’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching as a flicker of hurt crossed his eyes before he could bury it. “He was gonna—” he started, his voice rough, as if he was struggling to explain himself.

“I don’t care,” you cut him off, your voice trembling with fury and something deeper, something you refused to name. “You don’t get to just swoop in and play the hero after treating me like I was nothing.” Your breath hitched, words breaking apart like shattered glass. “You don’t get to decide when I need saving, or when I need anything from you.” Each word tasted bitter on your tongue, leaving a raw ache in your throat as they spilled out.

Joel’s face tightened, frustration simmering just below the surface. “You’re drunk,” he said quietly, almost like he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” you shot back, your voice cracking. The tremor in your hands betrayed you, giving away the storm raging inside as you struggled to hold back the tears. “Just like you knew what you were doing when you said those things.” The sob that escaped your throat made the words rough and ragged, but you forced yourself to keep going.

“You can’t treat me like garbage one day and then show up the next, acting like you give a damn.” Your breath shuddered, your voice breaking again.

“I don’t need your pity, Joel. I don’t need anything from you.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving, and you saw the way they hit him by the way his expression faltered, his eyes narrowing as if he were bracing himself against the blow. But he didn’t fight back, didn’t offer a single word in his defense. He just stood there, his breath heavy and uneven, the night swallowing up whatever he might have said. The look in his eyes was haunted, as though he knew he deserved every bit of your anger and more.

You didn’t wait for him to recover. Without another glance, you turned on your heel, stumbling toward the entrance of the dining hall. Each step felt unsteady, the warm night air doing nothing to clear the fog in your mind. It was as if the world had narrowed down to just you and the echo of your own ragged breaths, the silence growing louder and louder the further you walked from him.

Something had broken between you and Joel—something fragile that had barely held together to begin with. It splintered under the weight of all the hurt, leaving shards you weren’t sure could ever be mended. And as you walked away, a voice whispered in the back of your mind, small and bitter: Was there ever anything worth salvaging at all? The question lingered, twisting painfully in your chest, as the distance between you and Joel stretched wider with each faltering step.

•••

A few days had passed since the night outside of the dining hall—since Joel had saved you, yet again. But the anger hadn’t faded; if anything, it had deepened, festering like an open wound that refused to heal. You replayed the events over and over in your mind—the shame, the fear, the helplessness.

It was a vicious cycle, one that left you feeling more fractured with each passing day.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the sharp ring of the phone. You snatched it up, the tension already twisting in your gut. The voice on the other end was laced with urgency.

"Hey, we got a big problem," Tommy’s voice crackled through the line, sounding uncharacteristically frazzled.

Your stomach dropped. “What is it, Tommy?”

“Some of our patrol didn’t make it back.” His voice was grim, a heavy silence hanging in the air. “They’re hours overdue, and we haven’t been able to reach them on the radio.”

There was a pause on the line, a faint crackle filling the gap. “Could be raiders,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Could be worse. We don’t know what’s out there.”

He took a breath, the sound faint but telling. “Whatever it is, it’s getting close to Jackson’s perimeter.”

His tone sharpened, urgency seeping through. “We need to head out today and figure out what the hell is going on,” he said, his words heavy with the weight of the unknown. “We can’t afford to wait any longer.”

Your pulse quickened at the thought of the community—your home—being in danger. The idea of losing more people, of watching the fragile safety of Jackson unravel, filled you with a dread that settled like a stone in your chest.

“When are we leaving?” you asked, already moving to pack your bag. You grabbed your rifle from its place by the door, the familiar weight of it a small comfort as you slung it over your shoulder.

•••

By the time you reached the stables, Tommy and Maria were already there, saddling the horses with grim determination etched into their faces. Joel was there too, cinching the strap on his saddle, and the sight of him stoked the simmering anger you’d been harboring. But now wasn’t the time to dwell on it—there was too much at stake. A few of the other men stood nearby, their expressions tense as they readied their own mounts. The atmosphere was thick with urgency and unspoken fear; everyone understood what was at risk.

“I’m coming with you,” Maria said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument as she adjusted the strap on her saddle.

Tommy turned to her, his face drawn with worry. “Maria, you can’t go. Not in your condition.”

She shot him a stubborn look, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m pregnant, Tommy, not helpless,” she snapped.

The concern in Tommy’s eyes was unmistakable, and you could see the conflict written all over his face. Maria was strong, no doubt about it, but the risk was too great, and he wasn’t about to put her or the baby in harm's way.

“Maria,” you said gently, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “Stay here. You’re needed more in Jackson, with the baby—and with Ellie. The rest of us can handle this.”

At the mention of Ellie, Joel’s head snapped up, a reaction you caught from the corner of your eye.

Maria’s gaze met yours, her expression hardening for a moment as though she was ready to argue. But beneath the defiance, you could see the worry—the fear of what might happen out there. After a tense pause, her shoulders sagged, and she let out a resigned breath. “Fine,” she whispered, her voice tight with strain. “But you all better come back in one piece. I swear to God if anything happens to you, I'll finish the job myself.”

You gave her arm a squeeze before turning back to the horses, a sense of urgency propelling you forward. As you swung up into the saddle, you could feel Joel's gaze still lingering on you, but you refused to meet it.

As you rode away from the safety of Jackson, a knot of unease tightened in your stomach, growing with each step your horse took. It wasn’t just the threat looming out there in the woods—it was the unsettling reality that once again, you were heading into danger with Joel by your side.

But this time, it was more than just your life hanging in the balance; it was the lives of people you cared about, people who depended on you to make it back safely. The weight of that responsibility pressed down on you, and the thought of having to trust Joel when so much was at stake sent a bitter taste to the back of your throat. Yet there was no turning back now. Whatever lay ahead, you’d have to face it—and face him—whether you were ready or not.

•••

The silence between your group was unsettling, broken only by the soft clop of hooves on the dirt path and the whisper of leaves rustling overhead. The tension hung in the air, thick and stifling, like the oppressive heat that lingers before a storm. This wasn’t just another patrol; it was a dangerous mission, and you could feel it in the way everyone gripped their reins a little tighter, their weapons kept close at hand.

Your rifle rested against your shoulder, its weight both a comfort and a constant reminder of the stakes. You kept your focus on the path ahead, doing your best to ignore the occasional glances Joel sent your way. His gaze was hard to miss, like a heat at your back, but you refused to acknowledge it, steering your horse closer to Tommy’s for a semblance of reassurance.

As the path began to curve, Tommy raised his hand, signaling everyone to slow. The horses came to a cautious halt, hooves shifting restlessly in the dirt. Up ahead, just beyond a small ridge, you spotted the outline of a structure—a dilapidated farmhouse with boarded-up windows and a sagging barn beside it, both looking as though a strong wind could knock them over.

But there was movement around the buildings. Flickers of shadows, a brief glint of metal in the fading light. Your heart sank as the realization hit you like a cold wave.

“Shit, there’s a bunch of them,” you breathed, your voice low and tense. The words hung in the heavy air as the reality of the situation settled in—there was no turning back, and whatever waited beyond the ridge was about to test every ounce of resolve you had left.

“Could be more,” Tommy muttered, his eyes scanning the area. “Shit, we need a plan.” He glanced over his shoulder at Joel, who had edged his horse closer, positioning himself beside Tommy.

Joel’s voice was steady, despite the tension simmering in the air. “We’ve gotta be smart about this. Can’t just go in guns blazing. If our people are in there, we risk hitting them by mistake.” His gaze swept over the group, calculating the best course of action. “Here’s what we’ll do. The three of us”—he gestured to you, Tommy, and himself—“will circle around to the west and try to get a look inside. The rest of you, keep a lookout here and be ready to provide cover if things go south. Understood?”

The others nodded in silent agreement, the urgency clear on their faces. Without wasting another second, you adjusted your grip on the reins and urged your horse forward, following Joel and Tommy as they led the way toward the ridge. Your pulse quickened, each step drawing you closer to the farmhouse and whatever waited beyond. There was no room for hesitation now; you could only hope that the plan would hold, and that you’d find your people alive.

You dismounted and quickly tied the horses out of sight, then followed Tommy and Joel on foot, moving silently under the cover of the trees. As you approached the farmhouse, the three of you ducked low, creeping closer to the building’s side.

“Jesus Christ,” Tommy breathed, his voice barely a whisper as he peered inside through a crack in the boarded-up window. You crouched beside him, your pulse thundering in your ears, and saw what had caused his reaction.

The familiar sight of your men lay before you—bound and bloodied, their faces pale and bruised. The dim light inside the farmhouse revealed them slumped against the wall, barely conscious, while armed figures paced nearby, rifles slung over their shoulders. Your heart clenched at the sight, a mix of dread and anger surging through you.

Tommy turned to you and Joel, his expression grim. “Alright, here’s the plan,” he whispered, his eyes darting back to the captured men inside. “We split up. Joel, you head around back and take out the guard by the barn. You,” he nodded to you, “stay here and keep an eye on the entrance. If anyone makes a move, you take the shot. I’ll go in through that side door, see if I can get to our guys and cut them loose.”

Joel gave a curt nod, his jaw clenched tight. “Be quick about it,” he said, already shifting towards the barn.

Here's a revised version to heighten the build-up and emphasize the tension:

Tommy glanced at you, his voice low and urgent. “Don’t engage unless you have to,” he warned, his gaze flickering to the farmhouse. “We need the element of surprise.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry, and nodded. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, as you positioned yourself by the corner of the building. Every breath seemed louder than it should have been, and the seconds stretched into what felt like an eternity. You watched Joel vanish around the back, his silhouette blending into the shadows, while Tommy crept toward the side door, his steps deliberate and noiseless.

You gripped your rifle tighter, the slickness of sweat coating your palms. The plan seemed simple enough, but as the silence dragged on, a chill of doubt began to coil in your chest. What if this was a trap? What if they were waiting for you?

Just as Tommy reached for the door, a sudden crash exploded from inside the farmhouse, followed by the chaotic sound of shouts. Your pulse surged, panic seizing your chest as you saw a figure lunge toward the entrance, rifle raised. Instinct took over—you swung your weapon up, finger tightening on the trigger, and fired. The crack of the shot shattered the silence, and the man crumpled to the ground, but the noise had blown your cover.

The night erupted in chaos. Shouts filled the air, followed by the staccato of gunfire. Two figures burst from the back of the barn, weapons blazing. You fired again, catching one of them in the chest, but the other dove behind a stack of crates, unloading his clip in your direction. You pressed yourself against the wall, heart pounding in your ears as bullets tore through the wooden boards just inches from your head.

But then everything went terribly wrong. As you fended off one of the advancing men, swinging your rifle like a club to knock him off balance, you didn’t notice the other sneaking up behind you until it was too late.

A cold blade pressed against your throat, the sharp edge biting into your skin just enough to draw a thin line of blood. Panic surged through you as you froze, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“Drop your gun!” the voice snarled, his breath hot and foul against your ear, his arm clamped around your waist, trapping you against his chest.

In an instant, Joel whirled around, his gun snapping up, aiming squarely at the raider's head. His eyes were wide, and you could see the fear flashing there, a stark contrast to the deadly calm in his voice. His heart must have been pounding in his chest as fiercely as yours, but his grip on the gun remained steady.

“Let her go,” he growled, the roughness in his voice betraying a hint of desperation, sounding more like a plea than a command. His gaze burned with an intensity that could cut through steel, and you caught the subtle movement of his finger inching closer to the trigger. The tension in his stance was palpable, like a coiled spring ready to snap.

The man sneered, the cold steel of the blade biting into your skin as he pressed it harder against your throat, a sharp sting radiating out from where the edge threatened to break the surface. “What’s the matter? She your girlfriend or somethin’?” he taunted, his breath hot and foul against your ear. His gaze drifted over you with a lewd grin that made your skin crawl, a sickening wave of revulsion twisting in your gut. “She’s a pretty one… bet she’d be real nice to take for a spin.” His voice dropped to a menacing murmur. “Maybe I’ll do you a favor and—”

“Don’t,” Joel cut him off, the word like a whip crack in the night, edged with a barely restrained fury. His voice was a dangerous growl, but you could see it—the hesitation flickering behind his eyes. He couldn’t shoot. Not like this. The risk of hitting you was too great, and the weight of that possibility hung heavy in the air.

"Joel, it's okay," you began, reaching out to reassure him. But before the words could leave your lips, a sudden, searing pain shot through Joel’s leg. One of the other men had crept up from behind, driving a knife deep into his thigh and twisting it viciously. Joel cried out, collapsing to one knee as the world blurred around him. He tried to raise his weapon, but the agony ripped through him, and his grip slackened, the gun slipping from his fingers. His strength was ebbing fast, and darkness crept in at the edges of his vision.

“Joel!” you screamed, your voice raw with panic as you struggled against the hold of the raider dragging you away. You kicked and twisted, desperate to break free, but it was no use. The grip around your arms tightened, pulling you backward as the chaos of the moment swallowed you whole.

The last thing you saw before everything went black was Joel crumpling to the ground, blood spreading like a dark stain beneath him, his eyes flickering shut as he lost consciousness. Then the darkness took you, too.

•••

Joel awoke sometime later, his clothes clinging to him, soaked with sweat and blood, his skin clammy and pale. The cold, uneven ground pressed against his back, and a dull, throbbing pain pulsed from his leg, radiating up his spine. His head pounded as he struggled to piece together where he was, each breath ragged and shallow.

Through the haze of confusion, a voice broke through—Tommy’s. Joel blinked, his vision swimming as he saw his brother crouched beside him, his hands stained red as he frantically wrapped a torn piece of cloth around Joel’s leg, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding.

“Tommy…” Joel’s voice was barely more than a rasp, rough and broken. He tried to push himself up, but his strength failed him, and he collapsed back onto the ground, his pulse racing with a sickening dread. “Where is she?” The words escaped in a desperate whisper, as if they were being torn from his chest. He didn’t need to say your name; the urgency in his voice made it painfully clear who he was asking about.

Tommy’s face was a mask of grim resolve, but his eyes betrayed the pain lurking just beneath the surface. The set of his jaw tightened, his gaze flickering away from Joel’s as though he couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. “They took her,” he murmured, his voice rough and edged with a helpless anger. “I couldn’t—I couldn’t get to her in time.”

The words slammed into Joel like a blow, the breath leaving his lungs in a ragged gasp. For a moment, everything else seemed to fall away—the throbbing in his leg, the cold chill of the air—it all became secondary to the suffocating realization that you were gone. Taken. His stomach twisted with a raw, gnawing fear that was almost unbearable, and a cold sweat broke out across his skin.

“I have to find her,” Joel choked out, his voice splintering with a desperation he couldn’t contain. He tried to push himself up again, his hands trembling as he braced against the ground, but the agony in his leg sent a white-hot burst of pain through him, forcing him back down.

Tommy placed a firm hand on Joel’s shoulder, his grip steady but trembling slightly from the adrenaline coursing through him. His voice was low and urgent. “You can’t move, Joel. You’re losing too much blood.” His fingers tightened, pressing down as if to keep Joel anchored in place. “If we don’t get that leg treated, you’re not gonna make it.”

“I don’t care,” Joel growled, his voice fierce despite the weakness seeping into his limbs. His chest heaved with the effort to draw breath, each inhale laced with panic and fury. “I’m not leaving her out there with them. I’m not—” His voice cracked, the weight of his own helplessness crashing down around him.

But Joel's mind was already spiraling, his worst nightmare unfolding right before his eyes. This was why he’d kept you at arm’s length—why he’d pushed you away with harsh words and cold distance. He’d done it because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, of failing to protect you when it mattered most. And now, despite everything he’d done to keep you away, the very thing he feared was happening.

Regret twisted in his gut, more excruciating than the searing pain in his leg, as the truth crashed over him: keeping you at a distance hadn’t saved you. It hadn’t saved either of you. Because now, you were out there—alone, vulnerable, and for all he knew, lost forever. The thought tore him apart, knowing you might never hear the words he’d kept buried deep, the truth behind every harsh word and cold gesture.

He wanted to hold you in his arms, to tell you everything—about Sarah, about Tess, names he couldn’t utter without his insides twisting painfully, without feeling the weight of all that he’d failed to protect. He wanted you to understand how the scars of his past had shaped the man he was, and why he’d been so terrified of letting you in. But more than anything, he wanted to promise you, right there in that moment, that he would never lose you. That if he could just get to you, he’d fight with every last breath to keep you safe.

•••

When you came to, the world felt cold and unforgiving. The rough texture of rope dug painfully into your wrists, and the taste of cloth filled your mouth, stifling your breath and choking off any cry for help. Your hands and ankles were bound tight, leaving you utterly helpless, and each small movement only seemed to tighten the knots, rubbing your skin raw as you struggled in vain.

Then, the pain slammed into you—sharp and all-consuming. As you glanced down, you saw the unnatural angle of your leg; it was unmistakably shattered. The sight made your stomach twist, and the agony radiating from the broken bone was so intense it seemed to pulse through every nerve, setting your whole body alight with a searing, relentless pain that left you gasping for air.

The dimly lit room reeked of damp wood, sweat, and something sour that twisted your stomach. The rough-hewn walls around you suggested this wasn’t a makeshift hideout—it was an old cabin, likely seized by the raiders as a base. The faint light filtering through a cracked window was just enough to cast long, menacing shadows that seemed to close in on you.

You could hear them outside, talking in low, guttural voices. Their laughter was harsh and cruel, mingled with lewd comments that made your skin crawl.

“She’ll fetch a good price,” one of them drawled, his voice raspy and bitter, like gravel scraping against metal.

“Not sure I wanna sell her just yet,” another one added with a twisted chuckle. “Could have some fun first.”

Their words pierced through you like ice, chilling you to the bone. Panic clawed at your throat, and you bit down hard on the gag to stifle a sob, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. You forced yourself to breathe slowly, fighting the wave of dread that threatened to overwhelm you. There had to be a way out—there had to be—but as you tested the bindings, they only seemed to tighten, the rope digging deeper into your skin.

You were trapped, surrounded by men who saw you as nothing more than an object, a bargaining chip, or worse. The reality of your situation crashed over you, heavy and suffocating. All you could do was lie there, helpless, and wait. Wait and hope.

In the back of your mind, a tiny flicker of hope struggled to stay alive, like a candle flame sputtering in the dark. It was irrational, fragile, but you clung to it desperately. You didn’t know if it was because you believed Joel would come for you, or if it was because the thought of never seeing him again without knowing how he really felt was too unbearable. The last real words between you hung in the air, unresolved and sharp, a bitter reminder of everything you hadn’t said.

The memory of Joel’s fierce gaze, the raw desperation in his voice when he had called your name, played over and over in your mind. You didn’t know if he was hurt, or if he was even alive. But the thought of him out there, somewhere, fighting his way to you, was the only thing keeping that flicker of hope alive. It trembled and threatened to die out, but it persisted, just as you did, lying there in the dark, bound and helpless.

You swallowed against the gag, forcing the tears back, and stared at the crack of light in the cabin’s wall. You didn’t know if rescue was coming, but if there was even the smallest chance, you had to hold on. You had to believe that somewhere, out in the night, someone was coming for you. Because if you didn’t hold onto that hope, the darkness would swallow you whole.

•••

The night was pitch-black as Tommy and Joel reached the outskirts of the cabin. They had followed a grim trail—blood droplets and trampled footprints in the mud—that led them deeper into the woods, the sight of it all turning Joel’s stomach with a sickening dread. Each step brought a mounting urgency that tightened around his chest like a noose, pulling tighter with every breath. Time stretched unbearably; each passing minute felt like an hour, and every crack of a branch underfoot was a cruel taunt from the darkness, as if mocking their desperation.

The cabin loomed ahead, its silhouette jagged and menacing against the night sky. Joel’s pulse hammered in his ears, the sound blending with the whispering wind as it rustled through the trees. His focus narrowed to a single, driving need: to find you and get you out alive. He could feel the weight of that need pressing down on him, pushing him forward even as his body screamed from exhaustion and pain. Nothing else mattered. Not the throbbing agony in his leg, not the icy chill seeping into his bones—only the thought of you, somewhere inside that cabin, waiting to be saved.

The pain in his leg throbbed with every step, searing up through his thigh and making his movements stiff and uneven. His face was pale and clammy from blood loss, sweat trickling down his temples, but he ignored it, gritting his teeth against the pain. Tommy had tried to convince him to turn back, to get medical help before it was too late, but Joel had barely listened. Nothing short of being dragged unconscious would have kept him from coming after you.

“Joel, you’re in no shape to do this,” Tommy whispered harshly, grabbing his arm as Joel stumbled over a root. “You can barely walk.”

“Don’t matter,” Joel growled, jerking his arm free. His voice was hoarse, raw with a desperation he couldn’t disguise. “I’m not leaving her.” His eyes burned with a fierce determination, a reckless glint that bordered on madness. It wasn’t just the thought of you in danger that drove him—it was the thought of failing you, of being too late. The idea of losing you tightened in his chest like a vice, suffocating and unrelenting.

Tommy shot him a worried glance, his jaw clenched. “Alright,” he conceded reluctantly, “but we’ve got to do this smart. We go in quiet, no mistakes.”

Joel nodded, his grip tightening on the handle of his knife as they crept closer to the cabin. The faint murmur of voices drifted through the still night air, each muffled word stoking the fire that burned deep in his chest. His hands trembled—not from the cold breeze or the blood loss, but from the sheer, uncontrollable fury that coursed through him, mingled with a fear so deep it threatened to tear him apart. He forced himself to focus, to push down the panic rising inside him. He couldn’t afford to think about what might be happening to you in that cabin. He had to believe you were still alive, still fighting—because the alternative was unthinkable.

Guilt gnawed at him, the weight of his own words echoing in his mind. This was his plan. If you were hurt—or worse—it would be his fault. The things he'd said, the way he'd pushed you away, only made the guilt press harder against his chest.

But there wasn’t time to drown in that regret. Not now.

Shoving those thoughts aside, Joel clung to one truth: he would tear through anyone standing between him and you. There was no room for doubt, no space for hesitation.

As they neared the cabin, Joel crouched low, his breaths coming fast and shallow. The voices were clearer now—gruff, laughing, too casual, as though this was just another night for them. The sound of it made his skin crawl, and a cold rage swept over him. He edged closer, peering through a narrow gap in the boarded-up window.

Tommy laid a steadying hand on Joel’s shoulder, grounding him, pulling him back from the edge. “Looks like there’s six of them,” he whispered, his voice low and urgent. “Three each. Can’t see her—they must have her deeper inside. And who knows, there might be more.”

Joel gave a tight nod, his jaw clenched so hard it sent a dull ache up to his temples. The muscles in his neck tightened, his pulse a relentless drumbeat as his gaze shifted back toward the cabin. Even without seeing you, he could picture you in there—vulnerable, surrounded by danger. The image ignited something primal and ferocious inside him, a raw need that burned hotter than the pain tearing through his leg or the exhaustion weighing down his limbs.

It wasn’t just the instinct to protect; it was a deeper, darker desperation—a refusal to let anything happen to you, to let anyone touch you or harm you. The thought of you in the hands of those men made his blood boil and his vision blur with a barely restrained fury. There was no room for hesitation, no space for anything but the resolve to get to you, to tear apart anyone who stood in his way.

He whispered a silent promise to you there in the darkness—I’m coming for you. Just hold on. I won’t fail you like I did them.

Joel took a breath to steady himself, the burn of his leg wound fading into the background as the raw determination surged through him. With a final nod to Tommy, they moved like shadows, slipping around opposite sides of the cabin. The night was silent but for the faint murmur of voices inside—voices that would soon be silenced.

Tommy signaled from the far side, his fingers held up in a countdown. Three, two, one—

They burst through the doors simultaneously, weapons raised. Joel’s first shot hit the nearest raider square in the chest, dropping him before he even had a chance to react. The others spun around, scrambling for cover, but Joel was already moving, firing with ruthless precision. The cabin erupted in chaos, gunfire cracking through the air, splintering wood and shattering glass.

A raider lunged at Joel with a knife, and he met the attack with a vicious swing of his own blade, slashing across the man’s throat before shoving him to the ground. Blood splattered his hands, but he didn’t flinch—didn’t even slow.

“Joel!” Tommy’s voice called from the other side of the room as he grappled with a raider, slamming the man’s head against the wall until he went limp. “I think she’s in there!” He pointed toward a heavy wooden door at the back of the cabin, reinforced with a rusted padlock.

Joel's heart pounded as he shoved his way past the last raider, slamming him against a wooden beam before rushing to the door. He fired a round into the lock, the metal shattering as the door swung open.

The sight before him made Joel’s blood run cold. There you were, lying on the floor, bound and gagged, your face pale and streaked with blood. Your leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, the bone jutting grotesquely beneath the skin—a broken, mangled mess. The sheer fragility of you in that moment, so helpless and shattered, knocked the breath from his lungs and sent a cold terror coursing through him.

“Jesus Christ…” Joel breathed, rushing to your side and dropping to his knees. His hands trembled violently as he fumbled to cut the ropes binding your wrists and ankles. His movements were frantic, desperate, and when the last knot fell away, he ripped the gag from your mouth, tossing it aside like it had burned him.

“Hey, hey, it’s me,” he whispered, his voice rough and ragged, trembling as he reached for you. He cradled your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over the grime and blood on your cheeks. “You’re okay now. I’m here. I’m not leaving you.” But the words felt hollow, even to him.

How could he say you were okay when you looked so broken, when your body was crumpled like a discarded doll?

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed and unfocused, and a soft, pained moan escaped your lips. The sound tore at Joel’s chest, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt, narrowing to the hollow ache in your voice. He could feel the panic clawing at the edges of his composure, but he forced himself to stay steady, his hands cupping your face as though he could will some of his strength into you.

“You’re gonna be alright,” he murmured, the words barely holding together as he stroked your hair. “I’m gonna get you out of here.” But there was a crack in his voice, a desperation that slipped through despite his best efforts. He couldn’t stop looking at the jagged break in your leg, the sight of it making his gut twist with guilt.

I should’ve been here sooner. I should’ve protected her.

He tore his gaze away from you just long enough to shout over his shoulder, “Tommy! We need to get outta here, now!” His voice was raw, urgent, echoing through the cabin like a desperate plea. He looked back at you, and his eyes held a fierce, unspoken promise. “Just hold on for me, alright? Stay with me.”

But he could see you slipping—the way your eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open, the life in your gaze dimming with each passing second. Panic clawed at his chest as he reached for you, as if his touch alone could keep you tethered to him.

Tommy’s footsteps pounded closer, his voice tight with concern as he entered the room. “Jesus, Joel, she’s in bad shape. We need to move now.”

Joel nodded, his jaw clenched with grim determination. “I know. Help me lift her,” he said, his voice barely steady. His hands were gentle but firm as he slid them beneath you, his touch trembling with the effort to keep his emotions in check. “We’re gonna get you somewhere safe,” he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve got you, baby.”

The word slipped out, raw and unguarded, a reflex that seemed to rise from some deep, unspoken part of him. It hung in the air for a moment, catching Joel off guard even as it left his lips. He didn’t dare look at Tommy, but he felt his brother’s gaze shift, a flicker of surprise that didn’t go unnoticed.

But Joel didn’t care. The word was out there now, and it carried with it a truth he couldn’t take back—a truth that had lingered in the space between you for far too long. His grip on you tightened, his breath hitching as he looked down at you, his expression fierce with a mix of tenderness and desperation. “I’ve got you,” he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. “I got you, darlin’. I promise.”

And as he and Tommy lifted you, Joel’s heart hammered in his chest, the realization settling in with a weight that was both terrifying and undeniable. He had called you baby—and, deep down, he knew he had meant it.

You couldn’t speak; you could only manage a weak nod, the effort draining what little strength you had left. Your throat felt parched, each breath rasping in your chest, and the pain in your leg was a deep, throbbing agony that made it hard to think, hard to even breathe.

Joel’s gaze dropped to your leg, and his stomach clenched at the sight. The bone was badly broken, a jagged protrusion pressing against your skin, and blood had pooled beneath you, soaking into the floorboards. Your skin was cold and clammy to the touch, a chill that seemed to seep into his bones as he realized the full extent of your injuries. He’d have to be careful—one wrong move could make everything so much worse.

“Easy, now,” Joel murmured, his voice low and strained as he and Tommy prepared to lift you. He slid his arms beneath your shoulders, supporting your upper body while Tommy carefully took hold of your legs. The instant they moved you, a sharp cry of pain escaped your lips, and Joel’s heart cracked at the sound, a deep ache settling in his chest.

“I know, I know,” he whispered, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. “I’m sorry, darlin’. We’re gonna get you out of here. Just hold on for me.” His voice was rough with emotion, each word like a plea.

As they stumbled back through the forest, Joel felt his strength waning, the pain in his leg growing sharper with every step, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. He would carry you all the way back to Jackson if that’s what it took.

Tommy’s words echoed in the darkness, but Joel barely heard them; he was too focused on you, on the way your body felt so small and fragile in his arms. It wasn’t lost on Tommy—the desperation in Joel's voice, the raw fear etched across his face. It reminded him of a time long ago, a grief and terror that Joel had carried through the years. And now, as they pushed forward, stumbling over roots and through the underbrush, Tommy saw that same haunted look in his brother’s eyes, the kind that spoke of loss too deep to name.

"Stay with me, darlin’," Joel whispered, the words coming out like a plea as he felt your head loll weakly against his chest. It wasn’t just a command—it was a desperate promise, a vow that he would get you to safety no matter what. Each step through the forest felt like a mile, and the sharp pang in his leg was nothing compared to the fear twisting in his gut.

By the time they reached Jackson, you were barely conscious, slipping in and out of awareness. Your breathing was shallow, your skin clammy to the touch, and Joel had to grit his teeth to keep his own body upright as they carried you into the clinic. The warm glow of the lights felt harsh against the night’s darkness, and the doctor rushed in, barking orders and asking questions, the chaos swallowing him whole.

But even as the people swarmed around you, Joel refused to let go of your hand. He stayed by your side, gripping your fingers tightly as though you might slip away if he loosened his hold for even a second. When Tommy tried to pull him aside, insisting that Joel get his own wound looked at, he shook his head fiercely. “I’m not leavin’ her Tommy,” he said, his voice rough with exhaustion and emotion. “Not for a damn second.”

Tommy didn’t argue. He had seen the look in Joel’s eyes, the raw desperation and guilt that burned there—a reflection of a promise too deep to break. So he stayed silent, watching his brother hold onto you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the world, knowing full well that in some ways, you were.

Tag List:

@valkyreally @ccmoonshine @dlwrish @immyowndefender @babygals-world @zenrobbins0021 @malfoycassimalfoy @damneddamsy @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @frogjumps-world @dendulinka6 @orcasoul @whirlwindrider29 @lol-im-done

@somedayheaven @ohdearvalentine @keseqna @kulekehe

@darkheartgatita @ickearmn @spacegirl-3 @mystickittytaco

@sukunnayuuji @jasminedragoon @merm4id5lut @ickearmn

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[sanakimohara]

My friend just introduced me to a new thing

Bully I.N, he’s just super mean to you, pushes you around, pulls your hair, slaps and gropes you. But then when people are around he’s super nice and the compete opposite of what he just did to you.

And he’s only mean to you, no one else. He’d just randomly slap you or when sitting down just puts his hands in your pants, and duh don’t forget the degrading.

I think it plays into people seeing him as innocent and nice when in reality he’s kinky and fucked up

Just an idea for you if you want 🧡🥰

“TEAR YOU APART” Y. J.

You and your friend are masterminds, love. 🖤 Now I want to do a series based on this idea! :) but I’ll settle with writing a snippet prequel for the time being… 🖤

[ MDNI ]

++++++

Bully Jeongin starts his campaign against you with name calling -and not the cliche creative kind that people can laugh at. No, he prefers to label you with his own perversions. Taking every chance he can get to whisper in your ear, “How’s my little bitch doing today, hm?..” “Is my slut sad already?…” “You’re such an attention whore. It’s pathetic..” “Where do you think you’re going dumb bunny…” At first you snap back insults but overtime his consistent belittling makes you less angry and increasingly compliant. You’d never admit to him that your resentment was slowly twisting into a form of pining. Your pride wouldn’t allow it…

Bully Jeongin elevates to blackmailing you when the opportunity arises. Pictures and videos of you changing, texts or risqué pictures between you and your previous crush that he’s miraculously gotten his hands on, and maybe even a voice note of you touching yourself that he coerced you into making as ‘punishment’ for even thinking about another guy. “You wouldn’t want him to find out about all these inappropriate pictures you took for me, right?” He had you cornered, faking concern as he held up his phone for you to see. You face paled as pictures of you undressing showed on the screen. How’d he even get those? Why did he have them? “J-Jeongin I never took those! N-not for you, anyway…and you know that!” You try to defend yourself but panic starts to set in as you consider what Jeongin would do to keep you under his heel. He grins, shutting his phone off before slipping it into his pocket as he leans in closer to you. His eyes bare into yours, swirling with mischief as he taunts you, “Who do you think people will believe? Me? Or some whiny little slut who can’t keep her legs closed?…” Your heart sinks as his threat echoes in your brain. “You wouldn’t…” “Oh, you know I would. Don’t act so surprised dumb bunny…”

Bully Jeongin knows you go to your classes/meetings early, follows you there when he can, and uses every minute alone with you to do his worst. No one thinks to come check on you. No one even considers the notion that you’re being groped and slapped around endlessly -up against a wall, on his lap, or bent over a desk. You try to scream or cry but Jeongin learns how to silence you rather quickly. Sinking his fingers into your mouth works best in his opinion, but he’s a fan of gagging you with your own panties too. Either way you’re left panting and nearly in tears as he takes advantage of you. He’s careful not to slap you hard enough to leave a noticeable mark, all the while cooing vulgar praises in your ear as you whine from the stinging pain that sears your cheek, and inevitably your ass gets the same treatment. “What’d I tell you about wearing anything under your skirt, little slut?” He slaps your backside again, harder than before, and you whine into his hand that’s clasped over your mouth, shivering as he snakes his free hand under your skirt to rip the lace fabric off your lower half. The cold air hitting your dripping cunt makes you groan softly and you pray he doesn’t notice the effect his torture has on you, but Jeongin knows…he’s known for a while. That’s why he has no remorse for what he does to you, feels no sympathy as he tucks your panties into his pocket, and is all smiles when he finally lets you go the moment people gradually start to fill the room.

Bully Jeongin is incredibly sweet to everyone but you. Greeting them with the kindest smile -one you’ve never experienced in earnest. His charm resonates through each interaction he has with the staff and close friends. It amazes you how cruel he can be behind closed doors but deep down you wait for those moments….secretly craving them. In those fleeting pockets of time he’s true to his darkest tendencies, fully himself, and in some sick way you begin to believe he only feels comfortable around you to be just that….his truest self. That’s the cynical logic keeping you from snapping, admitting defeat, and openly confessing your crush on him. He’d probably laugh at your stupidity if you did…

Bully Jeongin claims you’re one of his ‘sweetest’ friends when someone asks about your connection to him. He’ll flash a smile your way, placing a firm hand on your lower back to bring you close to his side, and stare down into your soul. He’s daring you to tell the truth, playing with your psyche without even trying, and he’ll win the game so easily that it makes your head spin. Everybody loves him, wants to be with him, but little do they know he’s got you to play with. Why would he pay any mind to anyone else when you were such a familiar, willing, and easy target? You don’t deny him when slips a hand into your panties under the desk/table. You stand obediently when he reaches between your thighs to cup your mound, playing with your soaked folds as you try to focus on doing your job/homework. You moan so timidly into his ear every-time he ruts his hardened cock against your ass, which unconsciously pushes back into him for more, and he’ll let you until you’re interrupted or he comes undone in his pants. The push and pull between you two is finite. He likes it that way and so it’ll stay that way.

Bully Jeongin gets paired/assigned with you for projects/comeback prep more often than you think is possible. You can’t fathom how you end up partners on almost every project/task. Even if you are assigned to work with someone else/another member he still weasels his way in. Sometimes you’re sure he threatens/bribes your current partners off to have your full attention -which is true but you don’t need to know that, now do you…Jeongin surprisingly has morals when it comes to anyone else speaking badly about you. He hates it and will put a stop to it as soon as it starts. Why? He’s the only one allowed to treat you the way he does. That’s why. “….don’t say another fucking word about Y/n. She’s mine. Understand?”

Bully Jeongin loves to make you ride his thigh when you’re supposed to be studying/working. He doesn’t care that someone might hear or see you. He cares even less that you’d rather focus without being horny. “I didn’t ask what you preferred to do…” he mumbles against your lips, one hand on your hip to control how fast you pass your bare cunt over his leg, and the other keeping his phone steady as he records the whole time. You beg him not to, blushing in embarrassment as you hear his camera shutter, “Jeongin….d-don’t..” you half whine half moan as he snaps another picture. “I’ll do what I want. You just keep riding me like a good cumslut…” “M’ not…a cumslut…” you scowl in disapproval at the pet name but the expression fades to a dazed one as his hand on your hips travels down to your ass. He grasps it tight, giving the tender flesh a harsh slap in response to your defiance, “It’s cute that you think that. If you weren’t you wouldn’t be making a mess on my thigh right now and moaning like one..” his smile doesn’t match the darkness in his tone and you swallow a whimper at the contrasting factors. The heat in your core begins to unravel with every disgusting insult his gentle voice spills. “Getting off like this is all you deserve dumb bunny.” “Feels so much better than touching yourself, doesn’t it?” “Why don’t you smile at the camera when you cum. Yeah, just like that. Show ‘em’ how bad you want my cock..” He laughs softly as his words bring tears to your eyes, little droplets trickling down your cheeks as you come undone on his thigh, and try your best to smile through the riveting sensation.

‘click’ he snaps another picture of you, making sure to play with your clit to drag out your high as he does, and your smile morphs into the perfect expression of pleasure.

“Look at you being such a pretty whore for me…” Jeongin smirks, rubbing your clit faster to draw more reactions from you, and succeeding much to your dismay.

‘click’

“Picture perfect slut…”

++++++++

This was quick and sweet but like I said…I’m considering making it into a mini series. 🖤 (I literally have like 4 currently going on rn…omg…)

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

I wanna lick the longest, sloppiest, sluttiest stripe up his abs/tummy. Like the urge is so real rn… 🖤 Credits to creator 🖤

[phantomwithbreakfast]

~ Danny Phantom ~

“What does it feel like? To be terrified of yourself—of what you are becoming? The future looms not like an open road but a trap, a dark inevitability. You’re not waiting for it, not watching for it. You’re running. Trying to ignore the whispers in your head, lying to yourself that it’s fine, that it’ll always be fine.”

When the sun goes under the line called a horizon, the night sky comes to life. A silvery moon’s light bathing the eerie glow of an aura, catching the shadow out of the black.

The darkness surrounded him, with little sparks of hope. Stars that couldn’t catch him, neither he could catch.

His veins flowing with cold fire, tingling skin feeling intangible. A mind that’s filled with hollow, yet spiraling in chaos. Split into divergent, until down and dusk.

Why are you doing this to me? You leave me standing here, can’t you see. I was lost in your eyes, this was never meant to arise. You were my hero, always to be. But now you’ve vanished, you’re no longer with me.

We tried to carry on, but it wasn’t right. Forever burned in memory, like a song in the night.

Why does this hurt, hurt so much. It was never meant to be, as such. You gave me strength to stand alone, but now I cry when I’m on my own. Drowning inside, lost in a sea, why are you doing this to me? It makes me weak, a strange kind of ache, you’ll never understand the pain I take.

The memories keep running on, of how it used to be, before you were gone. The hero you were is no longer here, you flew away, so light, like a feather near. Don’t do this to me, please come back.

I still wonder why it had to be this way, so much potential, yet it all went astray. You went a different path, never to be seen, this wasn’t meant to happen, it was too obscene.

It lingers like a song, etched in my mind, it should have brought us joy, a love so kind. Like a song, will you ever return?

When will you be here again? I miss you more with every grain. Forever chained within my heart, I bring you to life through every art. In my memory, you’ll always remain, and beside you, I’ll forever stand.

“I want to cry, I want to scream, but I can’t. I mustn’t.”

The storm raged on, tearing through the night. Shadows of fear and regret clung to her like chains.

“Take my hand,” Danny said, his voice calm, cutting through the chaos.

“Why? So you can watch me crumble? So I can drag you down with me?”

His eyes softened, but his hand never wavered. “If you crumble, I’ll catch you, I’ll follow. Just trust me.”

“You… don’t understand.”

“I don’t need to understand,” he said softly. “I’ll carry you, no matter what happens, I’ll never let you fall.”

Slowly and with a trembling hand, she reached for him. Their fingers met, and his grip was strong, cold but alive—everything she thought she’d lost.

The chaos began to still, and she felt the faint echo of something she thought was gone.

Hope.

Those were random texts I wrote through the years of my own existence.

———————

You can read my Phan Fics on FanFiction.net. PhantomWithBreakfast

———————

Note to myself again…

About the drawings, I was just playing (practicing) with lighting, shading, etc…

Expressions, mouths... Yeah, still working on that. I was too lazy to shade the hair, lol.

Still hate drawing hands.

And the funny thing is, just because I’m drawing every day, I’ll always find new ways to try to improve my art (duh). Because I’m never happy when I’ve ‘finished’ one.

[maxzinn]

FOUND FAMILY TROPE

⇀ tags ; fem!reader, developing relationships, found family, reader is yanqing's mom, jing yuan being a bit emo, slight angst, fluff, happy endings!

⇀ note: here's part 2, sorry it took a while sdjhfjh

part 1

jing yuan never liked the quiet, but he doesn't hate it as well.

sometimes, to him, it's peaceful. the gentle rays of sunlight slowly making its home in his abode, the gentle rustle of the wind, curtains fluttering from the gentle breeze, and the chirping of those tiny little finches that seemingly found comfort in his windows.

but sometimes, it's unsettling. his abode is far too huge for his liking. far too big that despite his huge stature... it makes him feel so small. the quiet seems to haunt him, its silence deafening. The halls are way too quiet, every nook and cranny - every room he barely used...

he was never used to the quiet, never ever got used to it. to jingyuan, the silence was a hard pill to swallow - one that haunted him, one that enables the lonely thoughts and regrets he has in his head. to him, it's a terrifying gamble. one that he doesn't risk, and a risk he doesn't want to take.

yet, he doesn't like the noise either. not when the screams and cries of his people fills the air, not when his friends mourn for their lost friend, not when the final verdict was placed, and not when their hatred and vengeance spoke louder that it drowned the voices of their joyful laughter.

not when chingzu scolds him for the nth time for setting his duties aside, not when fu xuan complains about his sleepiness, and not when another trouble arises in the luofu.

but then suddenly... the noise doesn't seem to be as unbearable as before. when he met you, as cheesy as it sounds.

"yanqing! don't run too fast!" you scolded as yanqing continued to run away from you, laughing and giggling as he played in the general's garden. you sighed in defeat and placed your hands on your waist.

the general chuckled, "it's fine y/n, let the little man play to his heart's content. I don't mind at all"

"you spoil him a bit too much, general. i'm afraid he'll get more and more demanding" you let out a small laugh.

the quiet was slowly filled with noise, ones that came from you and your son... ones that echoed through his oh so empty halls, ones that vibrated through his walls, ones that filled his abode with the color of your tone, ones that replaced the seemingly monochromatic energy of his own home... and ones that he always looked forward to hear in the mornings, afternoons, and nights.

the way you and yanqing would greet him with a sweet "good morning, general!" was something that brought warmth and comfort to his lonely heart. something that gives him peace as you began to serve breakfast on the table with yanqing helping you set up the table...

the way you would sing your lullabies to lull your son to sleep, the way you would hum as you cook in the kitchen, the way you would read yanqing bed time stories, and the way you keep him entertained with your company by telling random stories and tales about yourself...

these are the moments and memories he forever wants to keep - ones that he never intends to sacrifice. one that he will forever engrave and etch on his heart and mind, body and soul.

but then suddenly, the silence doesn't seem to be as unbearable as before. as he watches you and yanqing sleep.

the corner of his lips twitched upwards and turned into a warm smile as he observes the mother and son duo sleeping about in the garden without a single care in the world. your forms are relaxed, the children's book in your hand slipping out of your grasp, your arms wrapped around yanqing as he sleeps on your chest, and the soft snores you both let out wasn't something he was able to miss.

and suddenly, jing yuan hated to not hear the quiet.

"general, you've done enough for me and yanqing throughout my whole recovery. i'm truly grateful for your kindness and care, which is why I think it would be best not to further burden you anymore with our situation as I have recovered” you said with an almost disappointed and apologetic smile, and jing yuan froze in place.

“I already told you, I don’t mind at all as long as you have fully recovered. that would be the only favor I ask of you in return” he said, trying to convince you while trying to mask his desperation

“you’re too kind general, truly. I can’t thank you enough for letting us stay just because of my son’s insistence and tantrums…”

jing yuan could have left you both to the care of the healers of the alchemy commission after he had rescued you and yanqing… but the little man’s cries of fear and worry over his mother made it hard for him to leave. so he held him close, and chose to look after him until you wake up because yanqing who found comfort in the general’s presence - doesn’t want to part with him.

jing yuan could have agreed without any hesitation to your offer, he could have allowed for you to leave his home… but he got so used of your presence that it made it hard for him to agree. those moments where he feels himself truly relax in his abode, the fact that he have someone to come home to… for him to keep on bearing the burden and weight on his shoulders, for everything to be much more bearable than before…

he couldn’t bear coming home to an empty house anymore, where only silence and noise greets him in mockery.

and suddenly, jing yuan hated to silence the noise

as you filled the empty rooms and spaces in his abode, leaving your mark on every corner of his home… driving away the silence that haunts him as he hears your skittering and humming in the kitchen while making dinner, as you read your bedtime stories to your son, as you sing while taking your sweet time in the shower…

for once, jing yuan felt fear.

for once, he lets himself be selfish.

“…I plan to take yanqing as my apprentice” your jaw drops.

“g-general? what are you- that’s too much to ask of you!” you exclaimed.

“the little man wants to become a cloud knight does he not? I don’t see the problem with that” he said with his familiar smug and relaxed demeanor.

“but yanqing has not made any feats worthy of him being your apprentice! general, I ask you to please reconsider”

“I disagree, I see great potential in him and I have no doubts he will reach great heights and perform great feats… I only wish to nurture his talent at a young age” he stepped towards you.

“there are plenty of spare rooms for us to make use of… and I don’t mind you using them. so fret not.”

maybe, this is his way of asking you both to stay. as you look in his eyes, he looks at you with such gentleness… desperation… and longing. for once, the general looked truly lonely, but he couldn’t be anymore sincere of his feelings.

and maybe, just maybe… you might give in to his wishes too.

sksjdh finally complete, sorry it took so long 😭 I don’t know if I did well in writing part 2 but this is the best that my brain could think of 🥹

should I do a part 3 as well??

[thatonegreekgodwrites]

“ECHOES OF ELYSIUM”

Odysseus x Fem!Reader

warnings. sexual assault, slavery, a greek retelling, eventual smut, war/gore, this won’t have a happy ending

pairing. odysseus x fem! reader (inspired by epic:the musical)

in the heart of troy, amidst the towering walls and architecture, the city bustled with the vibrant energy of its people. the market squares were filled with the sounds of merchants haggling and children playing, unaware of the shadow of war creeping ever closer. within the palace, the air was different—heavier with the scent of incense and the hum of anticipation.

you, a young slave girl with kind eyes and calloused hands, moved silently through the halls. your life was one of routine and quiet obedience, your existence almost invisible among the grandeur of the palace. today, however, was a day of celebration, and even you could not escape the excitement that seemed to permeate the very stones of troy.

the reason for the festivities was the birth of the heir, the firstborn son of prince hector and his beloved wife, andromache. the birth of the child promised new hope and joy, a symbol of strength and continuity. their legacy now secured if the gods favored them so. the celebration was to be grand, with nobles and warriors alike gathering to honor the new prince and his family.

you had been tasked with pouring wine for the guests. it was a simple task, yet it required precision and grace—qualities that had been drilled into you from a young age. you carried a large jug, the cool red liquid sloshing gently inside, as you made your way to the grand hall.

as you entered the hall, you were struck by the sight before you. the room was adorned with rich tapestries and garlands of flowers. the tables were laden with food and drink, and the air was filled with the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. at the center of it all was prince hector, his tall frame and noble bearing making him easily recognizable. beside him stood andromache, cradling their newborn son, both of them beaming with pride and joy.

you approached the head table with a steady gait, careful not to draw too much attention to yourself. you dipped your head respectfully, eyes fixed on the ground. you could feel the weight of the guests' gazes on you, but you remained focused, constantly reminding yourself to not make a mistake in your mind as you were known to be a bit clumsy.

"wine, my lord?" you asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

hector turned to you, his expression warm and kind. "yes, thank you," he said, gesturing to the goblet before him.

you carefully poured the wine, the liquid catching the light and sparkling as it filled the goblet. moving down the table, you repeated the process for andromache and the other guests. as you worked, you couldn't help but steal glances at the infant in andromache's arms. the baby boy, unaware of the significance of his birth, slept peacefully, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath.

the celebration continued, the sounds of music and laughter filling the hall. you retreated to the edges of the room, task completed only for the moment. you watched the scene unfold, a mixture of longing and contentment in your heart. despite your status, you found joy in the happiness of others, even if it was a distant joy.

the night wore on and you remained vigilant, ready to attend to any needs that might arise. you and everyone else were unaware of the storm brewing beyond the walls of troy, the consequences of paris' actions casting a long shadow over the kingdom that would consume them in darkness in due time. for now, in this moment of peace, the future seemed bright and full of promise.

but you knew, as did everyone in troy, that peace was a fragile thing, easily shattered by the whims of fate. and as you stood in the grand hall, the echoes of the past and the whispers of the future intertwined, creating a tapestry of uncertainty that would shape the destiny of troy and all who lived within its walls.

lingering on the edges of the grand hall, your eyes scanning the room for any sign that you might be needed. the celebration for the birth of hector's son was still going even as night fell, the hall being brought alive with music and laughter.

suddenly, the room seemed to tilt as a hand gripped your shoulder, pulling you roughly into the light.

you turned to see hector's younger brother, prince deiphobus, his face flushed with wine and his eyes glazed with a drunken haze. he was known for his roguish charm, but tonight, it was more than evident that he had indulged too much.

"well, well, what do we have here?" he slurred, his hand wandering from your shoulder down your arm, lingering in a way that made your skin crawl. "a pretty little dove in the midst of all these hawks."

you stiffened, your pulse quickening as you bit your tongue, swallowing the surge of disgust that rose within you. you were a servant—a slave, and he was a prince. to resist would mean severe punishment, which meant you had no choice but to endure.

"my lord, can i get you some water?" you offered, hoping to distract him, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

deiphobus laughed, a sound that was more menacing than mirthful. "water? no, i have something else in mind." his hand moved to your waist, drawing you closer as his breath was hot and reeking of alcohol against your ear. "tell me, does a slave like you know how to have fun?"

you forced a smile, the muscles in your face straining with the effort. "i am here to serve, my lord, in whatever way pleases you."

he grinned, his hand sliding lower. "good girl," he murmured, fingers tracing the curve of your hip. "i knew you would understand."

every fiber of your being screamed to pull away, but you remained still, eyes fixed on the ground. you could feel the weight of the guests' gazes on you, some watching with curiosity, others with indifference—after all, your plight meant nothing to them.

"why don't we find a quieter place, hmm?" deiphobus suggested, his tone laced with a dangerous edge.

"deiphobus," helenus called out from next to them, raising his goblet to his lips as he quirked a brow, voice calm but commanding. "leave her be."

deiphobus turned, a drunken sneer on his face. "ah, helenus. always the serious one. why don't you go back to your scrolls and leave the fun to me?"

helenus' eyes narrowed. "surely you can go one night without tainting another servant. find entertainment elsewhere and by the gods, remember that you're a prince, have some decorum."

deiphobus scoffed, but the firmness in helenus's voice gave him pause. he let go of you with a rough shove, making you stumble back. "fine, fine," he muttered, turning away with a dismissive wave. "always spoiling the fun."

helenus watched him go, his expression unchanging until deiphobus disappeared into the crowd. then, he turned to you, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "next time you ought to remember i won't be able to stop him, i suggest you find a way to keep your hands busy."

you nodded with a tug inside your chest. "yes, my lord, thank you."

with that, he looked away, drowning the conversation of the people around him as his own servants served him grapes. you took a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly as you took helenus' advice, moving around the large room to keep yourself occupied and out of the sight of deiphobus.

you felt the fragility of peace hanging in the air, a feeling of knowing that the celebration of new life was shadowed by the impending storm. yet, within the confines of your role, you found a flicker of strength, a resolve to endure whatever fate the gods had in store for you.

author’s note. comment your thoughts, if this does well I’ll continue it over on here and might put more effort into the account. you can find this story also on my wattpad account. thanks for reading!

[cece693]

Stupid Crush (Nico di Angelo x Son of Poseidon)

This was something that suddenly came to mind and I couldn't help myself :) Hope you enjoy it.

Summary: It wasn't just the fact that Nico had to reveal his crush on Percy in front of Cupid, but when your boyfriend, the twin brother of said boy, was also in attendance, Nico's life was destroyed.

tags: Nico confesses his crush on Percy, however he's dating you, reader is Percy's twin brother, things get angsty 😈

Nico’s heart pounded in his chest as Cupid’s mocking voice echoed around them, his magic coiling around Nico's soul like a noose. Jason stood on one side, his blue eyes wide with concern, while you—Percy’s twin brother and Nico’s boyfriend—were on the other. Cupid’s voice dripped with cruel amusement, cutting through the silence like a knife. "The truth, Nico di Angelo. Tell them who once held your heart."

Nico’s throat closed up, his worst nightmare unraveling before his eyes. This was the moment he had fought so hard to avoid—the truth he had buried deep within himself, even from you. But there was no escape now. Cupid’s magic tightened, pulling the confession from his lips like a venomous secret. "I…" Nico’s voice cracked, his fists trembling as he clenched them at his sides. "Percy Jackson."

The air in the room shifted. Your breath hitched, but Nico couldn’t bring himself to look at you. He knew what he would see—shock, hurt, betrayal, the crumbling of the trust you'd built together. The pain he’d been dreading. "What?" Your voice came out in a cold, broken whisper.

Nico swallowed hard, staring at the floor. "It was before I met you, before Percy got with Annabeth. I thought—" He stopped, the words turning to ash in his mouth.

But you could read between the lines. Now everything made sense, how Nico easily allowed you to befriend him; you weren't special, just a boy who shared the same face as someone Nico loved. Loves. "So, let me get this straight. You're only with me because my brother didn't return your feelings? Am I just your consolation prize?"

Nico’s head snapped up, panic swelling in his chest. "No! No, it’s not like that!"

Your eyes narrowed, fury replacing the initial shock. "Really?" you spat, taking a step toward him. "Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you settled for me when you couldn’t have Percy."

Nico’s voice wavered as he pleaded, desperate to make you understand. "I didn’t settle! I chose you because I love you. That crush…it was stupid. It doesn’t mean anything anymore!"

But Cupid’s laughter echoed again, cruel and jagged like shattered glass. "Ah, but old feelings never truly die, do they, son of Hades?" The god’s voice teased, his presence hanging over them like a storm. "You can hide it, bury it, but the truth always has a way of surfacing." Nico had never wanted to strike down a god as much as he did now. "Now that the truth is out," Cupid continued, his mocking tone fading as his presence disappeared, "I'll leave you to deal with the consequences."

Silence fell, but the weight of Cupid’s words lingered like a blade pressed against Nico’s throat.

"You played me." Your voice, thick with unshed tears, barely above a whisper but laced with so much pain that it felt like a physical blow. "You say you love me, but if Percy hadn't chosen Annabeth…if he had even shown the slightest interest in you, would you still have ended up with me?"

Nico froze, the question like a dagger to his chest. He wanted to deny it, to say that nothing would have changed the way he felt about you. Perhaps your friendship did arise from some misguided crush on Percy, but as time progressed, Nico fell in love with you. You. But even then it took time for him to distance who you and Percy were, sometimes it even stunned him how much you were alike, so if Percy did magically return his feelings, would Nico fall for you? His silence seemed to confirm your suspicions as your expression hardened.

"That’s what I thought."

Jason stepped forward, trying to break the tension. "Guys, come on. Maybe we should—"

"Stay out of it!" You snapped, your voice sharp enough to make him flinch. Jason took a step back, helplessly looking between you both, understanding that this was something beyond his control.

Nico reached out, desperate to grab your hand, to stop you from slipping further away, but you recoiled. "Don’t." Your voice was quiet but firm, the finality in that one word shattering the last bit of hope Nico had. "Just…don’t."

Nico could only watch as you turned away, disappearing into the shadows. Jason hesitated for a moment before following after you, leaving Nico alone in the cold, empty chamber, the weight of what he had just lost settling deep in his bones.

When the three of you returned to the Argo II, the change in atmosphere was immediate. Gone was your usual bright demeanor, replaced by hollow eyes and the kind of blank expression that spoke of barely contained pain. Nico, too, was different. His usual quiet presence had shifted into something darker—his shoulders slumped under the weight of regret, his face pale as if he were just moments away from breaking.

The others exchanged worried glances but said nothing as you silently headed toward your cabin. The slam of the door reverberated through the ship, causing everyone to flinch, even Nico, whose eyes lingered on the door as if willing it to open and for everything to go back to how it had been. But it wouldn’t.

Hazel was the first to break the silence. "What happened?" she asked, her voice soft, her gaze fixed on Nico. When he didn’t respond, avoiding her eyes, she looked to Jason, who merely shook his head, pity etched across his features. "Nico," Hazel pressed gently, her worry growing. "You can talk to us."

But Nico didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped back, letting the shadows around him rise, and within moments, he was gone—leaving the others standing in silence.

Days had passed, but to Nico, each one felt like an eternity. Every hour that dragged on without your voice, without your gaze meeting his, was a torment he hadn’t anticipated. The coldness that had settled between you was suffocating. Whenever Nico approached, even just to be in the same room, you’d find some excuse to leave. He could sense it, the way you tensed whenever he was nearby, the way you averted your gaze, as if looking at him was too painful. And that hurt more than anything—knowing he was the cause of it.

The others noticed the growing distance between you two. The worried glances exchanged over meals, the whispers behind his back. Jason and Hazel, in particular, kept trying to reach out, but Nico had shut himself off. What could he say? How could he explain the rift when the mere thought of it made his chest ache? Even Leo, who usually cracked jokes at the dinner table, had grown more subdued, as if the tension in the air had smothered his usual cheer.

Nico couldn’t bear it anymore. He had to fix this—he had to at least try. He couldn’t stand the silence, the void that had replaced the closeness they once shared. So, one night, when the Argo II drifted quietly through the sky and everyone had retreated to their cabins, Nico ventured out onto the deck. The night was cool, the stars twinkling above like distant, indifferent observers to his misery. But that wasn’t what caught his eye.

You were there—alone, standing at the edge of the ship, staring out into the horizon. For a moment, Nico just watched you, his heart aching at how much he missed simply being near you. He could almost imagine everything was fine—that you were waiting for him, that you’d smile when he approached, kiss his forehead, and mention how he needed to take better care of himself.

Gathering his courage, Nico stepped forward, his footsteps soft against the deck. "Can we talk?"

You stiffened at his voice, but didn’t turn around. For a few agonizing moments, there was nothing but silence. Then, with a sigh, you spoke, your voice devoid of the warmth Nico so desperately missed. "I don’t know what there is left to say."

Nico’s heart sank, but he pressed on. "Please, just let me explain."

At that, you turned to face him, and Nico saw the exhaustion in your eyes. The sleepless nights, the weight of betrayal, all of it etched into your features. "Explain what, Nico?" Your voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a coldness that made his chest tighten. "That you were in love with my brother? That you settled for me? That I wasn't your first choice? Do you think words are going to fix this?"

"No," Nico whispered, stepping closer, his voice strained with the weight of everything he wanted to say. "No, I don’t think words can fix it. But I never meant to hurt you. I—" He paused, swallowing hard, trying to find the right words. "It was a crush. A stupid, meaningless crush. I didn’t choose you because of Percy. I chose you because of you."

Your eyes flickered with something—anger, hurt, betrayal—but you didn’t waver. "Then why didn’t you deny it when I asked you? Why didn’t you just say that nothing could have changed how you felt about me? Why did you hesitate?"

Nico opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. He hadn’t known what to say back then, and even now, he was at a loss. How could he explain that moment of doubt without sounding like the worst kind of person?

"You see?" You shook your head, your expression hardening. "You couldn’t. You couldn’t tell me that I wasn’t just second best. But, do you know what hurts the most? It’s not just that you had feelings for Percy. It’s that a god had to force you to tell the truth. If Cupid hadn’t intervened…how long would you have strung me along? How long would I have been in the dark while you carried this secret? Were you ever going to tell me?"

"I—" Nico started, his voice faltering. "I didn’t mean to hide it from you. I didn’t want you to get hurt. It was just a crush. Something stupid. And I thought I’d gotten over it, I swear." He took a step closer, his eyes pleading with you to understand. "I grew a crush on Percy when we were younger—when I first came to camp. He was the hero. Brave, kind...everything I wasn’t. And I thought, maybe if I could be near him, maybe I’d feel like I belonged."

Nico’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he remembered those days, the confusion, the hope, and the loneliness that had followed. "But it wasn’t real. Not like what I feel for you. Percy was this…this idea in my head, someone I admired from afar. But you—" His voice broke, his eyes locking onto yours with desperation. "You were real. You saw me for who I am, all the broken parts, and still cared. What I feel for you isn’t some crush or fantasy. It’s love. I love you."

You shook your head, your face twisted with both anger and pain. "But how am I supposed to believe that, Nico? After everything? How do I know you aren’t still lying to yourself or to me? You say it’s love, but how do I trust that?"

Nico felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him. He couldn’t lose you—he couldn’t. "I’m not lying," he insisted. "I swear it. On the River Styx, on my mother, on Bianca—on everything I hold dear—I love you. I don’t care about Percy anymore. What I had for him was nothing compared to what I feel for you."

The solemn weight of Nico’s oath filled the air, the magic of the River Styx sealing his words, making them unbreakable. The sky seemed to darken for a moment, a rumble of thunder far in the distance, confirming the binding nature of his vow.

But you didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. Your eyes, once filled with love, now only reflected the deep wounds left behind. "Maybe you believe that, Nico," you said softly, but the coldness in your voice made it clear that something between you had shifted, something that could never be undone. "But I can’t anymore. I can’t keep going, wondering if I’ll ever fully have your heart. Because that shadow—the one you said lingered over you—it’ll always be there, won’t it?"

Nico’s breath hitched, the weight of your words crushing him. He wanted to scream, to beg, to prove that you were wrong. That there was no shadow, no lingering doubt in his heart. But his silence, that hesitation back in Cupid’s lair, had already broken something vital between you. And now, no matter what he swore on, no matter how much he begged, you didn’t believe him anymore.

Tears pricked at Nico’s eyes as he realized that he was losing you, that you had already made up your mind. "Please…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Please don’t go."

You looked at him for a long, painful moment, and Nico thought—hoped—that maybe there was still a chance. But then, you shook your head, and turned away, leaving him standing there, the solemn weight of his oath ringing hollow in the night air. Nico felt the cold wind biting at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness that had settled deep within him as he watched you walk away. Alone, once again.

[jinchuls]

this game is not good for my health

[oozedninjas]

Snap call

Summary: You send him nudes while he is on patrol, and Raph isn't quite happy about it.

A/N: I've been working on this for a couple of days! Hope you like it :) To that person who's been asking for Nightwatcher smut, wink, wink

Warnings: 18+ /NDNI / Breeding / sending nudes / Nightwatcher!Raph / Raph is around his early 30's / super brief ass-eating / dirty talking/dom!Raph

It is past midnight when he slips through the narrow window of your apartment’s room, still wearing his vigilante armor. His labored breaths rumble within the helmet, delivering them with a metallic tint that makes you tingle.

"Do you think you're funny, sending dirty pics all night while I'm on patrol?" He says, his voice raw as he approaches. It only takes him a few swift strides to stand beside you. The metallic clang of his boots on the floor sends a shiver down your spine, building anticipation. “Strip, now.”

A grin threatens to arise at the sight of him in this state, burning for you, but you bite it back, ditching the thin fabric of your pajamas in a heartbeat. The moment the last strand of clothing falls off your body, Raphael grips your arms, forcing you to turn around, back to his front. He closes the space between you. The icy metal of the Nightwatcher’s armor to your bare skin makes you gasp.

The cool of his gloves scrapes against your heated skin as his palms trail a path from your shoulders to your arms to dance lower, dipping across your abdomen and up from there. His grip tightened around your breasts. You catch your breath. 

Expert fingers pinch your nipples, pulling, rolling them just enough for a soft moan to leave your lips. Raphael growls, enjoying the sound. His voice echoes through the metal helmet.

"Look at my little whore, too desperate to have me filling you up that you can't even wait for me to finish patrol?" he teases, as he keeps playing with them.

"I've been wanting this the whole evening..." you mutter, voice trembling.

"And you're not even sorry! Fucking cheeky of you," he chuckles, it's dark and sexy. "Let's fix that."

Raphael lifts the helmet from his head, placing it carefully on the bedside table. Under the room's dim illumination, the metal surface becomes a hazy, distorted mirror. He pushes you to the bed, barely giving you time to adjust on all fours before he licks a strip from your cunt to your ass. Your mouth gapes, and a whine puffs off.

"Mmm, so fucking tasty," 

His voice makes your blood run hot. Raphael sinks his face into you with not even a hint of shame as he starts fucking you with his tongue, wet and warm, impossibly soft against your pussy. He'd slide it over your clit from time to time, granting it the tiniest of attention.

You whine, pushing yourself to him, but Raph bites the inside of your thigh adequately hard to make you yelp. His hand fists your hair, pulling just enough to tingle your scalp. "Don't be greedy," he murmurs in your ear from behind. You can make out the scene of the reflection on the helmet.

 "Tell me, what do you want?"

His hot breath tickles your ear. Everything he'd just done left your pussy a complete mess. You could feel the dampness dripping. God, you wanted him to fuck you stupid, nothing more. But the fear of another bite from a direct answer keeps your lips sealed.

"What’s the matter? Can't my doll think straight?" Raphael says, pushing a metal finger inside your cunt, dreadfully slow. 

"Please— " your voice weak and desperate.

He smirks. "Yeah, that's more like it. But, please what?" he says, rubbing the tip of his finger on that sweet spot inside as he keeps you still by the hair. "Please stop?" 

"No!" it came out so desperate you cringed. His soft chuckle soothed you a bit. "Please fuck me," 

He withdraws, emptying you. You want to jerk back to chase the delicious feeling of being full, but he halts you. 

"Yeah? How bad do you want it?" 

"Very— please," you whisper. His grip on your hair burns so fine, "Please, I'll be good... I'll be good."

"Fuck yes, you will," Raphael says, thrusting inside in one motion. It janks your breath off. He reaches deep, just the right spot. You can't help the lewd moan that follows.

"Look at that drunk-like smile," he tells you, letting go of your hair as he brings you up to embrace you against him. This shift has you on your knees, back resisting against his torso. The cold armor soothes the fire of your skin. Raph holds your face toward the reflection on the helmet, forcing you to watch your blissful expression. "You're such a good little slut for me. Gonna make you feel good, you want that?" 

"Yes," you breathe, desperately holding his hands where they rest over your body,  clenching and unclenching around his shaft.

He mutters praise in your ear, but you can't make it out as he starts pounding in and out, rhythmically, building a pace that makes your head fall back, mouth gaping while loud moans along with the filth of skin slapping fill the air.

He curses under his breath, you're tight, he says. You feel good, he's going crazy. "Touch yourself, let me see you," Raph takes your hand to drive it down to your front. You reach your clit, not losing detail of his dark gaze reflecting on the helmet, absorbing the whole scene.

It takes you a few seconds to pair his thrust with the circles over your soft nub, but once you do, it feels fucking heavenly. You make it last for as long as you can, right there where pleasure lingers strongly right before the peak. Your orgasm crashes over you, numbing everything. 

"Fuck, yes, just like that- t- that's a good fucking girl," 

The pulsations of your high around his cock trigger his own, and he comes loud and long. The hot loads filling you up weaken your knees.

He holds your ground before gently placing you on the mattress, allowing his weight over you as he rests. 

"Remind me to send you nudes more often," you say, once you catch your breath.

A raspy laugh pours into your ear, tickling. 

[anyca786]

"YOU'RE A MENACE, DAEMON TARGARYEN"

Daemon Targaryen x sister!Targaryen

WARNINGS: canon typical incest/targcest (brother & sister), angst (smut warning: fingering) Daemon being Daemon.

Series

The rocky shores of Dragonstone were transformed into a somber gathering place for the funeral of Queen Aemma and Prince Baelon. The two were laid to rest on pyres, wrapped in white cloth.

Syrax, Rhaenyra's dragon, perched atop a hill overlooking the field, her eyes filled with sadness. Daenys approached her niece, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Daemon joined them, whispering in Rhaenyra's ear, "They're waiting for you."

Rhaenyra spoke in High Valyrian. "I wonder if, during those few hours my brother lived, my father finally found happiness."

Daenys' heart ached at her niece's words.

Daemon replied, "Your father needs you more now than he ever has."

Rhaenyra shook her head. "I will never be a son."

After a moment, Rhaenyra stepped forward bravely, her hand clutching Daenys' tightly. Syrax watched as Rhaenyra attempted to speak, but the words caught in her throat. She glanced back at her father, who did not return her gaze. Then she looked at Daenys, who nodded.

"Dracarys," she finally said.

Syrax crawled forward, her breath scorching the air as she ignited the funeral pyres.

Rhaenyra, unable to bear the sight of her mother's body burning, found solace in Daenys' arms. She buried her face in Daenys' chest, sobbing silently. Daenys stroked her hair gently, watching the flames with a heavy heart.

Daemon mourned for his brother and niece, but the look on Daenys' face was a dagger to his heart. He had never seen her so heartbroken.

While Daenys spent rest of the day comforting her niece, Daemon turned himself to the Brothel, surrounded by gold cloaks and sex workers engaged in various sexual activities. Words were sent that Daemon chose to celebrate his own rise.

After Viserys banished him for the stunt he pulled at the Brothel, Daemon stood at the doorway of Daenys' dimly lit bedchamber, his face etched with anger. He hesitated for a moment before entering, his footsteps echoing in the quiet room.

Daenys was lying in bed, wearing only her nightgown. The soft flames from the candles luminating her body. She looked up as Daemon entered, her expression neutral. "Daenys," Daemon began, his voice low.

Daenys closed her book. "What is it?" she asked, her tone expectant.

Daemon took a deep breath. "Viserys is sending me back"

Daenys' eyebrows raised. "Of course he did," she replied, her voice laced with sarcasm. "What did you expect?"

Daemon's jaw clenched. "Daenys, I-"

"You insulted Viserys' dead son, Daemon!" Daenys interrupted. "You played a dangerous game and lost. It's your own fault."

"It was a jest," Daemon retorted, his tone equally harsh. "A harmless jest."

"Harmless?" Daenys scoffed. "You're a menace, Daemon Targaryen."

Daemon's anger flared. "How dare you speak to me like that?" he growled.

Daenys replied, her voice rising, "You're selfish, arrogant, and cruel. You care about nothing but yourself."

She arises from her bed and stands in front of him.

Daemon stepped closer, his eyes filled with fury. "I care about you," he said, his voice low.

Daenys laughed bitterly. "You're a fool, Daemon." she said.

Daemon grabbed Daenys by her shoulders, "Don't you dare call me a fool," he shouts.

Daenys looked at him defiantly. "I will call you whatever I want," she said.

Daemon inched dangerously closer to her. 'Daemon, what-" She didn't even finish the sentence as he slammed her body the against the table. Daenys let out a whimper as loud as the thud of her back hitting the white wood.

"What-" He interrupted her again, "This little body deserves to be fucked until you're crying my name. I want to break you so harshly you feel me for days after for being disrepectful to me. Every time you sit down or walk, you'll remember me," He lifted her up in one swift movement and then setting her on top of the table.

She tries to hop off it but Daemon kept her pinned with a hand on her hip, with his other hand he pull riped the thin layer of the nightgown. He groaned when her soft round breast were set free.

"Dirty girl, wearing these,' He murmured, making her shiver. "Are you wet, princess?" He whispers in her ear.

She squeaks in response, "Daemon, no...we can't," she pleads half-heartedly.

"That's not what your body says, princess,"' he said as his hand brushes up her thigh to her clit, gathering her wetness and circling it slowly.

"Seems you're soaked, babysister," He smirked, "Is this for me?"

She doesn't respond, throwing her head back with a whimper as Daemon pinch her clit softly.

Sinking down, He kisses up her thigh before latching his mouth to her core, his tastebuds exploding with the sweet taste of her.

She moans as he circles her clit with his tongue, pressing a finger into her as well.

"Daemom, please,' she cries out breathlessly but he ignores her, adding another finger into her. He work her clit, inducing a string of moans from her as she tries to wiggle away from him.

"Daemon," she whispers, making him move his mouth away. He rise to his feet again, keeping his fingers inside her.

"What do you want, Princess?" He asks her, tilting his head mischievously, "Do you want me to stop?"

She bites her lip as he changes his angle and pace, stroking her insides deeper than before, "Tell me you want me to stop," He whispered while kissing her soft silky breasts,"Beg me." He starts biting and sucking her nipples hungrily.

She stays quiet, another moan escaping her lips. He increases the pace, making her pant as her walls begin to flutter against his fingers, "What do you want, Princess?" He ask her again as her orgasm threatens.

'I- I want," she drifts off, biting her lip to stop a scream as he adds a third finger. 'You want what?" He taunts her, knowing exactly what she wants from the way her core was throbbing.

"Make me come, Daemon. I-I want y-you" she chokes out in a sob as he increases the pace, sending her body into overdrive. "Your wish is my command, sister," he smirked, sinking down again, licking her clit. She cries out as her orgasm washes over her, her walls squeezing the life out of his fingers as she falls over the edge.

Daemon works her through it, not relenting until she is a panting mess. Standing to his full height, he encapsulate her lips in a harsh kiss, wanting her to taste herself on his lips. "What do you say?" He tilts his head with my eyebrows raised.

She gulps, her eyes wide again with innocence "Sorry,"' she whispers, her face flushing red. Daemon chuckled.

She helps herself off the table, and he watches her as she tries to cover herself with her hands. Before she could do it, He grabbed her hand.

"We're not done, yet," He warned her.

A/N : Double update. Cause I'm ovulating.

[st4rtar0t]

Describing your first kiss with your future lover as a writer 🙈

Pick a picture

Picture one

The music plays softly in the background as you lean in, the air crackles with an anticipation only found in that moment before lips meet. The kiss promises comfort, a reassurance in the warmth that envelops both of you. Your partner's embrace offers a sanctuary, a safe space amidst the chaotic world. Passion ignites as your lips connect, a fiery dance born of unspoken desires. The kiss speaks of a raw, intense longing, drawing upon the depth of emotion shared between you. It's not just a meeting of mouths; it's a convergence of souls, each expressing an unyielding ardor that sets your heart ablaze. Yet, amidst this fervor, there's an undeniable strength, a sense of unwavering determination felt in the way your partner holds you close. It's a silent declaration that no matter what challenges arise, together, you can conquer them. The kiss is a testament to resilience, an affirmation of unity in the face of any storm. In the exchange, there's also a note of caution, a tender awareness that each touch is a precious gift. It's as if the kiss acknowledges the fragile nature of the heart, proceeding with a gentle reverence for the vulnerability you both share. The kiss lingers, not just in the meeting of lips but in the emotional resonance it leaves behind—the promise of support, the depth of desire, the fortitude of unity, and the delicate balance of tender caution.

Key words: passion, a little sprinkle of obsession, caring, fearing they would break you, meeting after longing for eachother.

Picture two

As you stand there, your heart races with an amalgamation of emotions, a fusion of fear and love, almost tangible in the charged air. Your eyes lock onto theirs, drawn in by an overwhelming sense of connection, a powerful ideation stirring within. The atmosphere around you seems to glow with an ethereal illumination, as if the universe itself is rooting for this moment to happen. Your trembling hand reaches out, tentatively seeking theirs, fingers entwining like the interlocking of a complex puzzle, signaling the unspoken courage that blossoms from deep within. The touch ignites a cascade of sensations, an inexplicable energy coursing through your veins, merging fear with a newfound strength, propelling you forward. The close proximity sends a surge of anticipation through both of you, the unspoken desire palpable. Your breaths synchronize in a symphony of shared emotion, a dance of hesitant yet eager hearts. The moment hangs suspended, almost frozen in time, a poignant pause before the inevitable. And then, with a tender yet determined closeness, your lips meet, a convergence of feelings that surpasses words. It's a kiss that serves as a sanctuary, a moment of cleansing where doubts and worries dissipate, replaced by a flood of pure emotion. In that timeless embrace, fears melt away, overcome by the gentle, reassuring strength of the shared affection. The kiss lingers, neither hurried nor prolonged, a gentle exploration of each other's soul, each second deepening the bond between you. It's a delicate dance, a silent conversation of passion and understanding, each movement, each sensation revealing a layer of vulnerability, a layer of trust. As you pull away, a sense of peace settles within, akin to the stillness after a storm. The kiss, an exquisite manifestation of love, lingers in the air, a testament to the courage to face fears, the strength to surrender to love, and the realization that in each other's arms, there exists a sanctuary where the mind finds solace and the heart finds its true home.

Keywords: opposite attract, roses, mixed race , hazel eyes , red spider lily, Japan, dark skin, formal attire.

Picture three

The moon shone brightly seemingly proud of your union , the air is filled with an electric tension, echoing the love that binds your souls. The world that has rejected your love long forgotten. The soft breeze carries whispers of determination, as both of you lean in, hearts pounding in unison, ready to embark on this intimate moment. Your eyes meet, reflecting the abundance of emotion, a reservoir overflowing with passion and devotion. With a gentle yet resolute touch, your hands intertwine, a symbolic gesture of success and unity. As your lips finally meet, there's a seamless flow between you, a dance of affectionate exchange that mirrors the synchronized rhythm of your hearts. The kiss holds the essence of intuition, each movement guided by an unspoken understanding, a silent language known only to the two of you. It's not just a meeting of two souls; it's a fusion of dreams and desires. Your courage to express your love intertwines with the richness of emotions, creating a moment that transcends time. In this shared embrace, the world fades away, leaving only the intensity of the present, where your love knows no boundaries and your hearts beat as one.

Keywords: you are written into the song of my soul, messages, divine feminine, leo, 02:02, 2323, libra.

[rizsu]

you're married to geto suguru, yet you plan to kill him. interesting, right? truth be told; you despise suguru. you loathe his touch, hate his voice, detest his entire person as a whole. you never loved him — it was simply just toleration.

suguru... he's a decent husband, at most. he gives you money — which is most important — he buys you gifts, he's home, at least. suguru gives you everything but himself. you cried for his touch, he never gave it. you begged for his presence, he said he had pressing business to attend to. he's the best but worst fucking husband ever.

it's not only his negligence, it's him slowly replacing you with someone else. slowly, but surely, you've noticed that another person has been consuming your presence, wringing you dry of the little authority you had within the geto residence. at first, it bothered you to the core. every time you spoke to suguru about these concerns, your voice echoed through the walls like a broken record. in one ear and out the other; heard but not listened.

your tears dropped, yet to him it did nothing but cause a wet mess. he'd always sigh, feeling guilty to leave you spiraling in your emotions. "don't cry, love," he'd say, whispering sweet nothings in your head. he'd bring you to his chest, completely swallowing you in his hold. his fingers would caress your body, reminding you that you're a geto, you're apart of him now. you're not alone. only the foolish marionette will melt in its master's dull words. once the marionette was you, twice is what it won't be.

the honeymoon phase wilted, what's left is nothing short of two adults tied together by a piece of paper. a liar is what you refuse to be. if anyone may ask, you will not lie. it's true, your heart feels heavy. you miss the suguru you met as naive teenagers, you miss the suguru who loved you from the moon and back. unfortunately, what comes must go. you've grown tired of being the sole one who reminds him about anniversaries and birthdays.

his effort to maintain the marriage no longer exists. his attraction to the mistress heightens every week. it hurts, yes, but you're numb to it. hell be damned you've become the forgotten wife but never will you ever be the wife who allows her cheating husband to be.

no, never. they won't get a laugh out of you — they won't get the last say. the blame glazes over both, yet it soaks suguru more. as a married man, he should've known better than to entertain a mere lady's lust to him. now comes his price to pay, and soon she will pay hers. a circus that walks together, dies together.

it's never easy planning a murder. you don't want to get caught — prison isn't somewhere you'd want to be. the easiest and most effiecent way to ensure suguru's death will be poisoning. not just any poisoning, however. a poison that kills naturally; something that'll make his death appear natural.

suguru's always been a healthy man, using an excuse such as "he fell ill," won't work. he doesn't have much enemies. his peers loved him. a death by food poisoning seems much more acceptable. food poisoning occurs in many ways: for example, if the food has been left out for too long, boom, food poisoning. it's not unusual for one to die by it, so the plan sets sail.

──

one: errands.

as usual, your role of playing the forgotten wife will remain the same. running your ‘errands’ will be as easy as flipping a page, suguru pays you no attention. today it'll be the same. the only obstacle would be to find the energy to arise off of the bed.

the subtle sunlight grants the room a warming aura, giving the perfect contrast together with the air conditioner. like always, suguru's gone. the only trace of him being here would be your memory of him sneaking in last night. at least he has enough manners to not wake you.

same old, same old. you'll only waste your energy worrying about him, let's just finish the morning routine.

"morning," out of habit, you greet the empty house. coming out of slumber to be greeted by an empty home used to do numbers to you. now, it doesn't. its merely a house cosplaying as a home.

the oh-so fluttering dreams of a married life with suguru have dusted away. if only you can go back in time and stop your lovesick self. whatever, no use dwelling on it now. there's a plan to layout.

a single toasted slice of bread, your bottle of water, a handbag, and the car keys are all you took out the door with you. the house keys are attached together with the car keys so it's not a worry. not like you'll be back before suguru anyway.

the drive feels silent. although the radio's on, it feels empty. maybe it's the effects of your clouded mind, or maybe it's you attempting to clear your mind. either way, it's nothing but trivial matters. at this very moment you most likely have to stitch up a lie believable enough to obtain the poison.

chilly, is what you think. you're at the destination; it's an apartment complex that was in the makings but was abandoned. it's dirty, puddles of water decorate the floor, and its filled with dealers and criminals alike. can't blame them, it's the perfect place for a hideout. coming here alone as a woman is something you'd never do... without a weapon that is. you don't own a gun, but you do own a pocket knife.

"psst," someone calls out. they must be calling another person. let's just continue walking.

"you, woman," they call again. surely it's not you. let's just speed up the pace.

"oi, rude bitch 'm talking to you," they specify and surely enough they aren't calling you a bitch, right?

"you're not talking to me with that attitude," you turn around, raising an eyebrow at the man — or lady, you don't know. their face is covered and their clothes are baggy.

the stranger walks you to, and you walk backwards. okay, it's kinda getting creepy.

"any — any reason why you're coming to me?" you questioned, trying to mask your obvious worries.

"aren't you the one who's here for the poison, missy?" they stop walking, reaching into their pockets before bringing a small, white tube in view.

oops, you're caught off guard. if this is who you agreed to meet with you only hope they don't run with the poison.

"oh — yes, that's me! how'd you know?"

"have my ways. ain't a dealer if i don't know my clients — even if they're a one timer," they speak, handing you the tube. "name's siren. just an alias, don't question it."

you carefully take the tube, in return you quickly place the envelope in their hand. ready to get out of there, you ramble out your words, "okay, thank you! the money is in there, bye! see you never!"

siren watches your frame scatter away from them, the sounds of your low heels clicking the floor making them chuckle. crazy woman, they think, returning their focus back on the money.

you're back in the car safe and sound. you know what, it's time to go back. you lock your doors, hide the tube in your handbag, and turn up the radio. now that the errand's over, you probably won't go outside for two days.

ah, home. nothing beats being home. except suguru's car is parked so that means he's here. the home is now back to the house. inhaling a deep breath, you mentally prepare yourself to have any interaction with him. you have your doubts but something inside you screams that he's going to talk.

"where have you been?"

well, that was quick. you only managed to take your heels off. talk about an impatient man.

"out for a breather, why?" you return the question, walking into the living room without glancing at him.

"all right," he says, not continuing the conversation.

ladies and gentlemen, never get married. suguru no longer cares to hold conversations. you can tell the ugliest lies to him and he wouldn't care. as long as you're back, it's okay. you're used to it, yet a silent voice in you wished that he would've asked more questions.

you continue on without glancing at him, making your way to the shared bedroom. it's a little after noon, you'll take this time to relax.

──

two: weird individual(s).

it's hot — you feel hot. a burning sensation engulfs your head. this wasn't supposed to happen. you were making dinner, casually sipping on your glass of wine as you go along. suguru, for some reason, finally showed himself for the day. without a word, he seated himself near the counter, pouring himself a glass of wine and keeping his eyes on you.

to say you're not uncomfortable would be a severe understatement. his eyes create holes in your back — it's annoying. say something if you want to, asshole, you complained in your mind but truly, you yourself weren't going to say anything.

and so, you carried on. dinner being cooked and suguru being weird. it got even more weird when he stood up. you're at the sink, cleaning as you go along. suguru's finished with his glass, so it's not out of the ordinary for him to stand behind you, trapping you with both arms as he washes his glass, right? yeah, it's pretty weird.

"uh, do you mind?" you softly spoke, which was also weird. why is everything just weird tonight?

suguru stays in that position, humming to a tune you're not familiar with.

"is it wrong to be near my wife?"

oh, now i'm his wife.

"not at all, suguru. it's just that i'm busy at the moment," you told half the truth. you are busy, but you don't want him near you.

"is that so?" he spoke, removing one hand only to place it on your hip. slowly, he begins to squeeze the flesh, lowering his head into the junction of your neck and shoulder. his voice, though muffled, can be heard with a low, seductive tone, "missed you all day, why not busy yourself with me?"

bullshit, but it's not bad. you can do with some physical destressing.

"not in the kitchen."

"sure."

and that's how you found yourself tangled on top of him on the sofa. sloppily making out with him, hands found freedom in his hair, and his hands found home on your hips. it's a hot mess, and you're kind of liking it. suguru may be a bitch, but he sure knows your body. it's been five years, after all.

"wait—" you broke the kiss, placing your hands on his chest. "let's st—stop," you spoke, stuttering as suguru leans his head to bite your neck.

"why?" he asks, curious at your sudden choice. you never stopped him before.

"i.. don't feel good, sorry suguru," you lied again. suguru isn't and is the problem. you'd love to go deeper with him but the realization that he's touched another woman like this disgusts you. it's no wonder you plan on killing him.

suguru doesn't speak. instead, he moves you off of him. "it's okay," he says, leaning in to give you a kiss on the cheek. it doesn't take long for him to leave you alone again. now you're feeling a pinch of guilt. i'm not wrong, right? he's the one who abandoned me.

you sigh, lifting yourself off the sofa. there's a dinner to indulge in and trust, you will enjoy it. you made it with your blood, sweat, tears, and some wine.

──

three: poison attempt day.

surprisingly, you felt energized today. as if someone charged six-hundred volts of energy to a dead battery. today's the day, hopefully. the man who cosplays himself as a husband is absent per usual. it's up to you to cook lunch.

you're already preparing; there's no time to waste. every minute needs your utmost attention — the kind of attention a predator gives its prey before hunting them. the one downside to this would be the poison's taste. it's not an overwhelming one, but it's there. anything with a strong scent comes with a strong taste, they say. you haven't put it to the test — no way, you're not suicidal — but the safer side's always better.

ginger, you think, ginger and onions overpower everything. bingo. a minute¹ change to the recipe's ingredients but it's nothing to fret over. trivial matters again. within an hour, lunch was finished with a cherry on top — except the cherry holds the uneven balance between suguru's life and death.

you removed your apron, flicked off the water from your hands after you washed it, and then threw yourself face-first onto the longer sofa. exhaustion massages your body, encouraging you to fall into its depths. its opponent, emotional drain, creeps up. your body's the platform, and they're the contestants. a battle of who will dominate you begins; a useless battle for the woman whose tears dried up long ago.

a heavy sigh escapes, i'm tired, you think. sliding your hands under your head, you use it to cushion the side of your face. it's quiet like always but you're left to your thoughts this time. it may just crown itself for being the first time you gave yourself leeway to part and understand your tangled emotions. it's like a ball of tangled wires: scattered yet neat. roads to untangle it are visible, yet its many wires frighten the person.

what you feel is nothing short of some doll who replaces her face to satisfy the owner. the marionette you once were and refuse to be again. she who shows you, you who show yourself, who is the real you? perhaps, it's all. everything is you, everything has become you. many versions of yourself dance around the stage, all moving towards to same goal: killing the one who drained them.

the clock ticks, each sounded second rips your skin apart. it's torturous, but soon it'll all be over. i think i need a nap, your last voice echoes away in your mind as you succumb to exhaustion. who knew planning a murder against your once beloved could've been this draining.

─

suguru lazily enters, slackening his tie. his eyes focus on the lunch decorating the dining table. soon, his eyes travel to your resting figure. after all, you're in his usual position. she's sleeping, he thinks of the obvious, deciding to keep a low profile as to not wake you.

however, being a man means that you're prone to making mistakes... especially loud ones. from the cup connecting with the floor to the fork clanging as it fell, it's been a rather loud attempt at serving himself some lunch.

he's sure that you're awake. well, not entirely awake, but conscious enough to hear everything around you. the blame is his to own, again.

"it's untouched..." suguru whispers, confused at the perfectly untouched food that lies before his eyes. maybe you got a change of eating routine.

lies, of course. you'd be nothing but a joker if you were to consume the same food you poisoned. suguru doesn't know this, however. he's picked his path and the path hides its true face; wicked and heartless, like a haunted house pretending to be a normal house to lure in its victims.

it's been a few minutes later and you're now fully awake. you haven't moved an inch to expose yourself — just mindlessly gazing into the void of your shared house. you're aware that he's home, aware that he's found himself lunch, and aware that the clock's ticking sound has gotten louder. almost as if it knows its counting down someone's death day.

"is he eating?" you whispered, peeking from the sofa's backrest. "oh, he is."

suguru's at the dining table, scrolling on his phone as he shoves a vegetable in his mouth. his actions fill you with guilt, excitement, and fear. for a reason only god knows, you don't want him eating anymore. may it be due to loving him half of your life, or may it be due to the guilt of killing someone who mattered to others. whatever, who cares. no one — no one will, you chant in your mind, attempting to convince yourself.

"wait, suguru—" you acted out of your own will, cutting your speech short when you regained yourself. what the fuck? you're leaning over the sofa's backrest, reaching an arm out to suguru. eyes wide open, you try to piece together a reasonable follow-up response.

"hm? something wrong?" suguru asks, mouth filled with food. he places his phone face down and tilts his head. he looks innocent, as if he's not a cheating, neglecting bastard of a husband. well, that's the way life goes. the evil masks themselves as the innocent, basking in those who are more innocent than themselves, slowly consuming their energy for their own. selfish, selfish people.

"ah," you begin, awkwardly lowering your hand. "is the food okay? i tried a new recipe."

i don't want to kill him.

"yeah, it's good," he responds, taking a sip of whatever he's drinking.

he's wronged me.

you walk towards the dining table, pulling out a chair to seat yourself in front of him. "i see... how was your morning?" you questioned, swallowing hard. your legs are shaking, you don't know why. your heart races, you can't answer why.

"boring, same old stuff. i met with my client though, she's fun to be around," suguru tells, poking the food with his fork to get a good bite.

i fucking hate him.

you don't speak after that. instead, you bite at the skin of your lower lip. your emotions try to join together, yet they won't. it's like a lava lamp, they'll never truly connect. every time you're away from suguru, your hatred tames. every time he's back, it heightens. it doesn't take much more than his voice to fuel your restless anger. you observe him, watching the way his throat bobs each swallow. something feels off.

the two of you continue in silence, simply observing each other. suguru takes it upon himself to do the dishes, you remain put in the chair. his phone remained with you, face down yet dings with notifications. you've always wondered what it's like to have him text you every day. once it was a memory of the teenage years... now it's a sour dream.

──

four: night, night.

it's the same night, you're in bed with suguru. both of you are under the same covers, yet you're both at the extreme ends of the bed. a large, empty space separates you two. neither are asleep nor do they wish to be awake. a heavy feeling rains over their shared room. the tension's strong enough to break the strongest thread.

suguru's the first to turn, rolling himself over to you. he extends an arm to secure over your waist; this brings you skin-to-skin with his torso and your back. his head lowers to yours, resting his chin on your head. you give no reaction except stiffing your body. what's he up to?

his extended arm caresses you lightly, mimicking patterns on your delicate skin. he takes a deep breath before exhaling.

"my love, i know you're planning to kill me," he softly speaks, waiting for you to respond.

your heart drops. what? he knows? it's probably a bluff. you opt for remaining the way you currently are. if you continue pretending, he'll most likely continue speaking the truth.

"i've been watching you. i don't blame you, dear. i've neglected you for quite some time. i've cheated on you with someone temporary. if i were you, i would've killed me sooner. however, i won't lie and say i'm not hurt. if my wife were to kill me, i'd prefer it to be in an easy, quick way. you've chosen your part and i can't change that, but promise me: on my deathbed, you'll be there. it's not a request to mock you, but a request of seeing you one last time," suguru empties himself out, pouring onto you a bucket of words that hold the truth. the ugly truth you've avoided.

literally fuck off. it means nothing now, you think, judging suguru's words.

"i've been horrible and nothing can change that. i will not beg for forgiveness, nor will i beg for your love. it's already been done. but please, my dear... let me say sorry," his voice quiets to the end and the caressing stops. his hand remains firm, waiting for you to come out of your fake shell. "i know you're not asleep. answer me, please."

caught red-handed.

"i don't care for your fucking apology. it's a bit too late," you spit your venom out, thanking the gods that your back is what's facing him. "matter of fact, i hope you die soon. do as you wish, though. your time is limited."

suguru doesn't answer yet. his arm around you tightens. his breathing's getting uneven — you can hear it. it's shaking, the same way your eyes are shaking to prevent any tears — or as you call it, the pity tears.

he takes in a deep breathe, verbally exhaling a shaky one in return, "then, i'll apologize. i'm sorry."

that's it, huh, you think, almost voicing out your thoughts.

"it means nothing to apologize for actions i could've prevented a long time ago. so, i'm sorry. sorry that i've wronged you to the point you plot my death," he finishes, not having any more to say.

you wriggle out of his grasp, turning to face him. it's dark yet you can see his sadness. isn't that just too bad? the bar of the love you still feel for suguru exists, yet its overpowered by the hatred you've accumulated for him. it stings that he's going like this, but you rather it be by your own arms instead of another's.

"i don't have anything to say," you quietly speak, looking at suguru in the eyes. "if it doesn't work, then i hope you recover in the worst way. if it works and you die, i'll kiss you a merciful death."

the conversation ends. what's left are two adults staring into each other's eyes. there's nothing but empty voids facing each other. voids they once filled, voids they once created. it's too late; too late for anything. suguru's a petty liar if he says he's not afraid. who isn't afraid of death? he doesn't want to die, but what's done cannot be undone. he cannot turn the clock anti-clockwise and fix his actions. you won't be switching lanes, and it's set what the outcome will be.

minute¹ — pronounced my·new·tuh. meaning: extremely small. two synonyms: tiny, little.