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skhv67 · 2 days ago

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age gap hyun-ju

wc: 2,4k

cw: age gap (hyun ju is in her late 30s-early 40s and reader is in their early-mid 20s), smut with just enough plot to set the scene, fingering, oral (reader receiving), reader is afab and wears a dress and make up, low-key voyeurism? and tiniest mention of post-op Hyun-ju

a/n: this was gonna be a drabble but i got carried away 💀anyway im beyond OBSESSED w her

Hyun-ju has strong morals, and she's always stuck to her ideals fiercely. Her years in the military plus her innate composure have always made it so easy for her to have control over her desires.

That is until you come around and test her so well-trained auto discipline.

She first sees you carrying some huge boxes to the apartment next to hers. She notices how beautifully your hair frames your face, and how weirdly cute your face scrunches due to the weight of the box... And she also notices you're terribly younger than her.

She should've looked away by now, but for some reason her body is not cooperating with her brain. There was something so inexplicably alluring about you, and she's only known of your existence for a minute.

Once you let the box down in front of your door you look at her, still short on breath, and smile awkwardly at the staring woman. Her attention goes down to your glistening chest for a second, but she corrects herself quickly before you notice.

She must compose herself, did you say hi? She'd swear you greeted her while she was distracted but she wouldn't swear on it. Did she imagine it?

Panic was quickly replaced by confusion. Why was she overthinking something like that? It wasn't like her to be so dense. Whether she said it or not, it's just polite saying hello anyway.

The polite smile on your awaiting face grew when she greeted you back. Hyun-ju couldn't help but stare at you again, as if to take a mental note of everything she was seeing. The wrinkles near your eyes, your sweet smile, the drops of sweat falling down your neck...

"Do you need help with that?"

"Oh, sure, if you don't mind"

That day she rejects your kind offer to invite her to a cup of tea in gratitude for her help. She couldn't bear to be in your presence any longer, the turmoil in her mind was driving her crazy. She felt disappointed in herself for the thoughts she was allowing herself to have, knowing she was about twenty years your senior made a sense of guilt sit on her heart. She knew she wasn’t like this, it wasn’t like her to deviate like this from her principles.

She played the polite neighbor for months, pretending she wasn't going crazy whenever you brought someone home late at night and had to sleep with her TV on to drown out the sounds of some useless dude being where she'd die to be in.

She'd have a few conversations with you here and there and you had even been over at each other's houses a couple of times to talk about trivial stuff. All without completely shaking off that feeling she tried her best to repress. All the times she has had to stop herself from flirting with you when the perfect occasion was given or having to play dumb when she said something a bit too intimate for your surface level relationship.

Despite her moments of weakness, her discipline proved to be efficient enough to keep herself in line. She had no business with someone like you, her morality winning even during the nights she hears you pleasuring yourself, pretty moans reverberating against the walls of her room like a punishment.

But after all, she prevails.

One fateful night she found you in the hallway when she came back late at night from a long, tiring shift. You were just staring at your door, without the intention of opening it, and you looked so exasperated that you didn’t even notice her presence. But more than the strange situation, what really caught her attention was the skimpy dress you had on. She assumed you had gone to the club, but it was too soon to have come back.

"Hey" your voice brought her roaming eyes back to your face, which had softened when you saw her.

You told her that you were going out tonight, but it was cut short when your friend found someone to spend the night with, and she'd ask you for your apartment for some... Privacy.

"I don't want to bother you, you seem tired, but could you spare me your couch for tonight?" the sight of your frail smile melted her tired heart.

Much to your surprise, she didn’t even need too much convincing to let you into her house. No further questions were asked, nor any other alternatives were brought up, she just seemed eager to offer you her help, which made you feel a sudden tingle deep in the pit of your stomach.

Unbeknownst to you, the little dress you were wearing quite helped your case — or quite much just clouded her better judgement and self-restraint.

She offered you tea and some treats as well as a nice conversation. It was hard to ignore how easy it was to talk to her; she was so interesting and such a great listener. You watched enchanted as she spoke, her voice was so soft and honeyed, you couldn't help yourself when your mind drifted to how she'd sound talking you through it. She looked so patient and careful, the type to take her sweet time with someone...

Your thighs closed tighter, subtly trying to relieve the sudden ache between your legs. And you were so distracted, you didn't notice the way her eyes drifted down to your thighs, the movement not going unnoticed to her cautious eyes. She had been trying all this time to avoid your exposed legs, but she had realized a long time ago she was way too weak for whatever spell you have on her.

Repressing her ongoing thoughts, she cut the conversation early by offering you her bed to sleep, pointing out how tired you looked. She felt dirty masking her lust with kindness, but that'd be a battle for another day.

You had been around Hyun-ju for long enough to notice her so self-sacrificing and kind heart. But you just couldn't accept her bed without a fight. After what seemed like a never-ending back and forth you offered to share it. You weren't going to settle for leaving her on an uncomfortable couch under any conditions, but especially after a long shift and her generous help.

Seeing her prepare for bed felt so intimate, and you had to repress your excitement when she brought you some comfortable clothes to change into. On her part, she was still planning on sneaking on the couch when you fell asleep, unsure if she'd get any sleep knowing you were just some centimeters away from her. Not after seeing so much of you tonight, not while being so exhausted to fight her own desires.

You stared at her through the mirror in her bedroom as she took off her earrings, realizing how beautiful she looked on her work attire. It was just a basic knee-length skirt and a white blouse but she still managed to look like an angel. Her hair was down and fell on her shoulders so gracefully, you just couldn’t stop staring mesmerized.

You didn't know what had gotten into you, it could've been that you were sensitive tonight, or that the faint sounds of your friend's "private time" through the wall of the bedroom were driving you insane, but you felt ridiculously attracted to the older woman. Not that you weren't usually, but there was something in the air tonight.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked, tone slightly worried, as she stared back at you through the mirror.

"I-" the words threatened to leave your mouth, but you were too scared of her rejection, of having to hear her politely decline and have her smile awkwardly at you.

Her eyes didn't leave you for a second. You fell quiet but she still stared at you intrigued. Her eyes only looked away from yours when they noticed you shifting uncomfortably on the bed, her eyes roaming around your fidgety body for way too long. Or at least long enough for you to finally notice.

A small bit of confidence bloomed on your chest at her stare. Carefully you left the bed and slowly walked towards her slightly bending frame, eyes locked on hers through the mirror. She hurriedly took her other earring off and stood straight, but she wasn't as subtle hiding her nervousness as before.

"Have you ever heard me?"

She quickly turned around to face you, unfortunately making it easier for you to get closer to her. A puzzled expression on her face as she tried to understand what you meant.

"The walls seem thin," a low chuckle blurted out of your lips.

Realization washed over her face like a bucket of cold water. She could now hear the vague sounds through the wall and the implication of your comment flustered her.

Her eyes looked at you disapprovingly, stern, as if she was scolding you without actually addressing the situation. Your name left her lips with a sigh, advising you not to go that way.

"Have you?" you insisted despite her warnings.

"Quit it."

Her stern tone made you reevaluate the situation, thinking you might've misunderstood the signs, but her ragged breath and the poorly hidden lust in her eyes gave her true intentions away.

Bringing a hand up to her cheek, you caressed her soft skin gently, as if trying to calm her down, but she knew it was a mere tease. You were poking fun at her awful attempts to keep control of herself. It was terribly adorable in your eyes.

"Don't you wanna touch me?"

Your thumb rubbed the gloss on her plump lips, which just fell open at your words. Her frown dissipated, too caught off guard by your words to keep up the façade. The ghost of an answer hung on her agape mouth, the battle on her mind was painfully evident and you were relishing yourself watching her struggle to not give in. Your question felt like venom in her veins despite your irresistibly sweet tone.

"Because I really wanna touch you," you purred, every breathy syllable blown against her lips felt warm, tantalizing.

In a second your feet stopped touching the floor. Hyun-ju picked you up like you weighed nothing and quickly threw you on top of her bed. Her polished black nails gripped your thighs tight, forcing them open to stand between them. Before you know it, she crashed her lips firmly against yours, her gloss and your lipstick making a beautiful mess on each other's faces.

Your desperate attempts to deepen the kiss were quickly corrected by a tight hold of your head, warning you to follow her pace. Her hold on your thigh tightened when she heard you whine in protest against her lips.

She left you unbutton her shirt as a reward for obeying despite your cries, and ran her tongue across your bottom lip, finally allowing herself to taste you. A moan threatened to leave her mouth when she felt your warm hands touching her exposed chest and she got back at you pressing her knee against your core. You break the kiss with a broken moan as you start grinding against her.

"Yes," Hyun-ju breathes against your neck, leaving open mouth kisses along the curve of your throat. "I heard you."

As she stood up to take off her skirt, she couldn't stop herself from pausing to stare at your mesmerizing form for a second. You were still panting, your make-up was all smudged and your dress was up to your waist, giving her an amazing view of your soaked panties.

She helped you out of your dress and wasted no time kissing her way down to your legs, where she positioned herself between your thighs, not without giving them the proper care and kisses first.

After putting her hair up in a ponytail, she slide your panties out of the way to finally taste what she had been forbidding herself all these long, agonizing months. But her eagerness didn't stop her from admiring and confirming how beautiful you were all over before starting to give you teasing licks.

She noticed the difference between the moans she was hearing and when she heard you through her wall and she felt a pride flourish in her chest, as well as shame for the indecency of her thoughts in contrast with the sweet moment she was enjoying.

"C'mon, please" the ache in your voice destroyed any intentions she had of teasing.

A moment later she was devouring you with an expertise you have never had before. Just a few seconds in and your legs were already jelly against her hold.

Tears began to form on the corner of your eyes and threatened to spill when you felt the semi-sharp end of her nail on your entrance. Your worried look was returned with a soothing gaze, she assured you she'd be careful. And she was, the slow pace of her finger combined with the work of her tongue on your clit had your legs nearly shaking.

Hyun-ju felt your walls clenching around her finger, and she sped up the ministrations of her mouth on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Are you holding it in?" she questioned, breathe fanning over your clit tauntingly. "You can let go, baby"

Your teary eyes locked with hers and she could feel herself clenching around nothing at the sight.

"Fuck- 's too soon" your trembling voice felt like music to her hears.

"Just let go" there was again that stern voice so uncharacteristic of the sweet, soft-spoken woman you know.

Offering no resistance you cum around her fingers and you swear you see stars before you let your head fall to her lavender scented pillow. You don't notice yourself dozing off for a bit until you feel a wet cloth against your sensitive core. You fight to open your eyes to see Hyun-ju cleaning you up and you try to get up despite your exhaustion.

"No, wait! I wanna touch you too" you whine pushing her hand away.

"Maybe in the morning after you rest" she lets out a soft giggle at your antics and resumes her work.

She carefully wiped your mascara smudged cheeks before placing a small peck on the corner of your lips before tangling herself to your side to get her well-deserved rest too.

#squid game #squid game oneshot #squid game x reader #squid game smut #squid game fanfic #hyun ju squid game #hyunju #hyun ju #hyun ju x reader #hyunju x reader #cho hyunju #cho hyun ju #cho hyun ju x reader #little silent hill 2 reference #writer got too tired to write the part giving hyunju head

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thatonegrimm · 2 days ago

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✨50 Follower Special 2k✨

💍Accidental Marriage Pact💍

Summary: You were just messing around with a summoning circle you found online—red eyeliner, half-burnt candles, some fake Latin—and accidentally proposed to a demon. Now one of the Saja Boys is magically soul-bonded to you. The underworld thinks you’re married. The rest of the boys? Absolutely losing it.

Pairing: Saja Boys x Reader (Romance-focused)

--------------------------------------

You only meant to do it as a joke.

It had been a weird week. Your ex posted a sappy engagement announcement, your boss rescheduled your review for the fourth time, and your microwave caught fire trying to reheat soup. So yeah—you might’ve cracked a little. You’d spent the evening scrolling through cursed forums, laughing at summoning memes until you found one tagged: “💍DEMON HUSBAND BINDING CIRCLE (REAL??)” with 372 upvotes and one terrifyingly enthusiastic comment.

The summoning circle was drawn in red eyeliner, the candles were half-melted from last year’s Halloween decor, and the chant was... well, more vibes than Latin. You didn’t even pronounce half the syllables correctly. You were laughing when you said it. Mostly.

It was supposed to be funny.

So when the air in your apartment shifted—really shifted, like pressure dropping before a storm—and a circle of pale red sigils burned into your floor, your first instinct wasn’t fear.

It was: oh no.

And then: my landlord’s gonna kill me.

--------------------------------------------

The smoke cleared with a sharp crack, like static jumping across glass.

And standing in the middle of your living room—very tall, very glowing, and very shirtless—was a man who absolutely did not exist thirty seconds ago.

Your brain short-circuited. First at the glow. Then at the abs. Then at the expression on his face: half-curious, half-amused, like he'd been woken up for something both annoying and interesting.

“Whoa,” he said, blinking slowly like he was surfacing from a dream. “Did you just propose to me?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. “No?! I think?!”

He tilted his head. His eyes were too gold. Too bright. Like sunlight bent the wrong way through stained glass. “Because I felt a soul-bond click. Which is usually what happens when someone proposes in the language of blood.”

“I got it from Reddit!”

He stepped out of the summoning circle like it meant absolutely nothing to him. It probably didn’t.

“Cute,” he said, smiling with far too many teeth. “You’re mine now.”

“WHAT.”

-----------------------------------

The front door kicked open with enough force to rattle the hinges.

Jinu stormed into the apartment like a one-man emergency response team—panting, shirt rumpled, glowing blue sigil already pulsing against his chest like a warning beacon. His eyes scanned the room once before locking onto the summoning circle and the tall shirtless demon currently looming over you like he owned the place.

“I told you not to mess with sigil tags!” he snapped, voice already climbing. “Who gave you the blood-ink packet?!”

You pointed at Romance with zero hesitation. “He proposed to me!”

“She proposed to me,” Romance corrected smoothly, wrapping a casual arm around your shoulder like this was a sitcom. “Very romantic. Her soul whispered to mine.”

Your mouth opened in sheer betrayal. “I was quoting a Taylor Swift lyric!”

Romance smirked, unbothered. “She said, ‘I’d marry you in another life.’ But turns out, this life works fine too.”

You considered screaming. Or setting something on fire. Maybe both.

You tried to back away, but Romance had already slung his arm around your shoulder like you were at prom. His palm was warm—unreasonably so—and a faint red glow pulsed from the center of his chest.

Jinu noticed it instantly. “Is that a flame-mark?”

Romance grinned. “Mmhm.”

“You soul-marked her?”

“It’s not my fault!” you yelled. “I didn’t even say it seriously!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jinu groaned. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a joke or a karaoke lyric. If you say it in binding tongue and your intent is even slightly sincere—”

“I liked his face! That’s not the same as marriage!”

-----------------------------------

A gust of flame burst in through the open window. Derpy landed first, blue tail curling in the air like smoke.

Abby followed a second later, pulling himself over the balcony with the ease of someone who could bench-press a fridge, his face was creased with concern. He clocked the sigils on the floor, the mark glowing on Romance’s chest—and your very frozen, very cursed expression.

“…Are you okay?” he asked you gently, stepping forward.

“No,” you said. “No, I am absolutely not.”

Romance held up your hand like a trophy. “Actually, we’re married now.”

Abby paused. His brow furrowed. “Is this... real married or weird spell married?”

“Both,” Romance offered cheerfully.

There was a flicker in the hallway mirror. Mystery emerged without a word. He looked at you. Then at Romance. Then slowly blinked, reaching into his hoodie. A tarot card fluttered out and landed at your feet.

The Lovers.

You stared. “Why is it wet?!”

“It bled,” he said, and promptly walked through the kitchen wall.

You were still processing that when Baby wandered in, expression unreadable, eyes already scanning the room like he was calculating threat levels.

He looked at the soul mark. Then at Romance. Then at you.

“…You got soul-bound to him?” he said flatly, popping a chip into his mouth. “Huh.”

“I didn’t mean to!” you shouted.

Baby shrugged. “Sure, but you still did it.”

But it was no use. The mark was real. The sigils had already burned into the underworld registry. You had, somehow, accidentally married a demon boyband member.

Romance leaned in again, brushing his nose against your temple like it was nothing. “You know... I’m free next week. We could do a honeymoon thing. I hear Jeju’s nice.”

“You are not taking her to Jeju!” Jinu snapped. “We are breaking the bond and restoring her human status. Tonight.”

Romance sighed, clearly bored already. “Typical bureaucratic interference.”

“I can hear you,” Jinu growled.

---------------------------------------

The living room had become a disaster zone of magical debris, demonic bureaucracy, and emotional denial. A perfect storm.

Abby lit a cinnamon candle “for energy” and set it gently next to the toaster, which Mystery had brought back unprompted and placed in the middle of the salt circle like it belonged there. It wasn’t plugged in. You weren’t sure it could be.

No one asked.

Jinu muttered under his breath as he sketched out a perfect pentagram on the carpet in glowing chalk, occasionally scowling at the scorch marks Romance had left in the floor.

You sat on the couch, clutching a throw pillow like it could protect you from your new life choices, watching Baby test the structural limits of your ceiling fan by hanging upside down from it like a very muscular gargoyle.

“I thought marriage came with a registry,” you mumbled. “Towels. Gift cards. Not hellflame and legal consequences.”

“You married Romance,” Jinu snapped. “This is the lightweight version.”

Romance, still lounging beside you with all the grace of a smug cat who knew exactly what he'd done, let his hand rest lightly on your knee. His thumb moved in slow, lazy circles, like he had every right to touch you like this.

“For the record,” he said, voice dropping just enough to lose the joking edge, “I’d pick you again. Even without the binding tongue.”

You turned your head toward him, searching for the usual teasing glint in his eyes—but it wasn’t there. Not entirely, anyway. Something softer lurked beneath the flirtation. Something quieter.

“You met me thirty minutes ago,” you said, trying to steady your voice. “You don’t even know my last name.”

“And it was the best thirty minutes of my very long afterlife,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You don’t need a last name to know when something fits.”

Your heart stuttered. Just a little.

You buried your face in your hands. “Someone sedate him.”

“I can knock him out,” Baby offered without looking up.

“No one is knocking me out,” Romance said calmly, brushing his thumb farther down your thigh. “Especially not my adorable spouse’s little attack chihuahua.”

Baby growled. Literally. Deep and guttural.

Mystery wandered past and dropped a new tarot card on the table with deliberate slowness. This one read Judgement, and it was still faintly smoking.

------------------------------

Eventually, the circle was ready.

Jinu triple-checked the sigils, muttering under his breath like a man on the verge of a breakdown. Abby stood nearby with salt and bandages. Mystery lit one of the cinnamon candles again. Baby leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.

You and Romance stood across from each other inside the glowing pentagram, your palms just inches apart. Not touching. That had been a rule.

Romance frowned. “Do we have to hold hands? We held hands during the ritual.”

“We don’t,” you said too fast, your voice slightly higher than usual.

“Shame,” he murmured, but didn’t press.

Jinu began to chant. The air thickened almost immediately—magic spiraling like pressure before a storm. You felt it coiling around your ankles, wrapping up your spine, humming in your teeth. The soul-mark on Romance’s chest began to dim.

It was working.

And that’s when he looked at you. Really looked.

His voice cut through the thick air, low and clear: “Do you want it undone?”

You blinked. You hadn’t expected a question. A choice.

This was a joke. A mistake. A curse that needed undoing. Right?

Right?

“I…” The words caught on your tongue like ash.

Romance tilted his head, golden demon eyes slit and steady. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t smiling. Just watching. Waiting.

And gods help you—some part of you liked it. The mark. The madness. The idea that in all this chaos…

Someone had picked you.

---------------------------------

You stared at Romance, heart thudding in time with the energy pulsing between you.

“I don’t know yet,” you whispered. The words came out raw, quieter than you meant, but somehow louder than everything else. “But... I think I’d like the option to choose.”

To choose love. Or connection. Or chaos, maybe. But to choose it on your own terms—not because you messed up a Reddit chant in red eyeliner. Not because your soul said yes before your brain did.

Romance didn’t smile. Not yet. But something softened in him—like the tension in his chest had finally uncoiled. Like your answer had been enough.

The soul-thread shimmered once, a brief glow between you, then... settled. Dimmed but not gone.

Jinu blinked. “The bond isn’t breaking. It’s... stabilizing.”

Romance exhaled a soft, quiet laugh. “Told you. Meant to be.”

Jinu cursed in three languages. Abby clapped politely. Baby muttered, “I’m still gonna kill him if he cheats.”

Mystery held up one last tarot card from the couch.

The Star.

It glowed.

-----------------------------------

You let out a long, tired sigh and stepped out of the circle. The magical hum began to fade, leaving the room buzzing faintly like it had just exhaled.

Romance reached for your hand again—no fanfare, no flourish. Just open fingers and the smallest curve of a smile.

This time, you didn’t pull away.

His hand was still too warm. His soul-mark still faintly glowed against his chest. But his grip was steady, not possessive. Like a promise, not a chain.

“Fine,” you muttered, voice dry. “But we’re doing this slow. I want ground rules. Normal dating. And you’re helping me pay for the carpet.”

He brightened like you’d said something romantic. “Deal, wife.”

You rolled your eyes and punched him in the shoulder, half-strength. He barely reacted, except to look so smug you nearly reconsidered.

But his fingers didn’t let go.

And for once, the underworld was quiet.

------------------------------------

✧ BONUS SCENE: The Underworld Registry

Somewhere deep in the seventh tier of the Underworld, in an office carved from molten obsidian and bureaucratic despair, a paperwork demon clicked his pen and sighed.

The nameplate on his desk read: AZRAN, SOUL-BOND PROCESSING, THIRD CIRCLE, UNHOLY MATRIMONIAL DIVISION.

Stacks of parchment hovered around him in a lazy circle, each one bound with a ribbon of glowing thread. Marriage pacts, eternal contracts, soul-melds, blood-bound vows—he’d seen it all. He was dead inside. That helped with the job.

He reached for the next file. A thin red thread glowed faintly along the edge.

Azran narrowed his eyes.

Case #AB-77391: Initiator: HUMAN, FEMALE, MORTAL PLANE Target: ROMANCE, DEMON CLASS III Catalyst: Improvised ritual using red eyeliner, spoiled tea candles, partial Latin, and Taylor Swift lyrics Bond Status: ACTIVE – UNINTENTIONALLY MUTUAL

Azran exhaled through his nose.

“…Not again.”

He stamped the contract with a flaming sigil, shoved it in a drawer labeled ‘ROMANCE-RELATED INCIDENTS’, and scribbled a note to file an alert with Soulbond Oversight.

Then he wrote in all caps: “THIS IS WHY WE DON’T LET CHARMING DEMONS DATE UNSUPERVISED.”

The drawer smoked. Azran popped a headache candy and reached for the next file.

-----------------------------

M-List

AN: Jinu is stressed, Mystery is judgmentally spooky, Baby is showing his feral side, Abby just wants everyone to hydrate, and Romance is one ceremony away from printing matching shirts. Reader absolutely did not mean to summon a husband, but here we are. Shoutout to the toaster, who played a vital role in the spellwork despite not being plugged in.

#kpdh x reader #saja boys x reader #abby x reader #baby x reader #jinu x reader #mystery x reader #romance x reader #kpop demon hunters #kpdh #follower special

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eveningcherryblossoms · 1 day ago

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It's A Beta Life, Not A Better Life | Part 6

A platonic yandere Batfam x neglected beta reader story

Unlike Bruce and Dick, Jason had never known your mother. As a matter of fact, he hadn't even known of your mother's existence until news of her death destroyed Bruce in one blow and you came to live at the manor.

Jason was thirteen then, scarcely a year off the street. Even to this day the past still haunted him–trying to ignore pangs of hunger as he dug through the dumpster, huddling by a fire in an oil drum with other street kids, stealing whatever valuables he could get his hands on. Then there were the Batmobile tires and suddenly he was removed from all that to the home of literally the richest pack in Gotham. Suddenly three meals a day, a comfortable bed, hot showers, brand-new clothes, medicine for sicknesses, even school were no longer a dream he'd had to give up on after his mother's death.

Then suddenly, you arrived.

You, Bruce's biological child with the omega he loved. Versus him, a street rat Bruce adopted on what he wouldn't have been surprised to be but the whim of an eccentric rich man–even if said man was also secretly the vigilante of Gotham, whom he'd been assisting as Robin. It should be obvious who was more important between you and him.

Jason would take the truth to his second grave, but the truth was he unintentionally acted like a two-faced omega antagonist in one of those cliche brainless novels. What was the Chinese term for it again, white lotus? Green tea bitch?

One might argue that him presenting without warning so close to your arrival was something beyond his control, as was his heat-addled self rambling of insecurity and inferiority to Bruce. Jason could not help wincing in secondhand embarrassment whenever he remembered his own actions back then anyway.

His young omega self even acted so obviously scared of you then. Like he was at your mercy, like with one word from you Bruce would cast you off back into the street. Why the fuck did he act like that again? It wasn't deliberate; Jason would've sooner beat himself up than act like a victim and villify a pup to secure the love of said pup's father.

But he still did that. Deliberate or not, his going omega self did keep acting scared around you. He also did keep hanging out with Bruce, Dick, and Alfred without mentioning you–sometimes because he genuinely forgot to, but some other times because he actively decided not to say a word.

When Joker killed him in that warehouse, Jason thought it was divine retribution.

Then, inexplicably, he came back to life. He got taken by Talia to the League of Assassins and dipped in the Lazarus Pit, coming out even more inexplicably an alpha. Full of power and rage and craving for vengeance. Any thought of you was set aside after that.

By the time Jason realized it, you had grown up. An alpha pup, still newly presented. But already daring to bark and strut around Crime Alley like you owned it.

(You really didn't. You just walked there normally to and from school.)

Had Jason remained an omega... Well, who knew how he would've treated you. As things were, he merely instructed his lieutenants to keep an eye out. He had given you a warning, so if you dared mess around in his Crime Alley Jason wouldn't hesitate to scruff you all the way back to Daddy Bat.

Jason scoffed to himself. That would be his way to make amends for his omega self's actions, without losing his dignity as Red Hood–leaving your discipline to your pack alpha.

Another goddamn alpha in this goddamn pack, Jason thought, exasperated. If you were a beta...

He paused. Blinked. Imagined a world where you did present as a beta. Grinned to himself.

Hah, yeah. No way. If you were a beta and dared go about his territory like that... Jason wouldn't hesitate to claim you for himself and the pack.

Who told an unclaimed beta to wander by their self?

As you hit another bullseye, you marked down two months.

Currently, you were in one of your late mother's properties. Your mother had used most of her inheritance to purchase properties around the world and had them rented out–all but the ones in Gotham, like this one. You had known about it from the start, and for about nearly two months you'd been using the Gotham properties to train or research in under the guise of checking them out.

People who knew you were doing so would only assume you were scouting for a den or nest out of the Wayne pack. It was a common practice for the 'elites' to have their private place as soon as they presented, and even without the Waynes being connected to you, you still could pass as one thanks to your mother.

You reloaded the gun in your hand, used a hand mirror to check the corner, then darted down the path once you saw the path was clear. When two opponents suddenly stepped from either side of the intersections, you ducked and took down the one closest to you with a sweeping kick, dodging the other's bullet by the skin of your teeth. You aimed and hit the shooter between the eyes, then turned around and threw your whole weight into the first attacker that had quietly gotten up intending to ambush you.

You shot them as well. As the first attacker fell back with blood spraying from the forehead, a holographic notification appeared before you:

STAGE CLEARED.

Satisfied, you shut down the VR and took off your headset. That wasn't bad at all–you had improved steadily these two months. Hardly enough to take down a real pack yet, moreover to make you feel safe. Oh well, baby steps.

Your faint smile morphed into a frown when you recollected yesterday's event. For once in his life Dick seemed to have meant his latest promise–to help you as an omega. He still didn't fulfill the promise, citing an emergency in Bludhaven, but did thrust a pile of blankets and hoodies soaked with his scent into your arms before leaving.

That was... unexpected. You couldn't afford anything unexpected at this stage.

You slowly tapped a forefinger to your other arm. An 'emergency in Bludhaven' kept Dick away and inadvertently rescued you from being discovered by him. You remembered many more occasions where emergencies kept him in the neighboring city.

Could you maybe, probably, arrange for something to keep him there longer?

me the first time writing Jason's pov: Oh no he's too kind here gotta rewrite

me the second time: ...have I maligned your character, Jason?

Taglist: @randomlyappearingartist @bellethesleepypotato @nirvanaxx1942 @tenswife @galaxypurplerose @shycreatorreview @cupid73 @time-shardz @mikusamsan @simpingpandas @kore-of-the-underworld @elmichi0 @mirabilis-polaris @farsketch @altumsomnum @hai-there-how-are-you @vanessa-boo @ashjade19 @yandere-enthusiast @a-lurking-fae @hyperfixatedcatlover @leeiasure @luckynemi @lowkeyjarrr @lunoorbonoor @deathbynarcisstick @tacendxx @staarflowerr @anonlikesfics @magical-panda2 @whognuthis @arwenyukiamoto @hon3ydewcaram3l @lilyalone @jazzyspaceghost @teabutnerdy @bunbunbread @darktrashpoetry @conqcakes @sleepdeprivedcrappywriter @unrelatedlily @ciatin @ratchetprime211 @mybones537 @anonasatoruu

#platonic yandere #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batfam x reader #x reader #x neglected reader #neglected reader #gender neutral reader #beta reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #betaverse #batman #jason todd

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heliophile-oxon · 3 days ago

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There's plenty in the notes already about how utterly batshit and indeed downright evil this flavour of theology is, so imma just add something I think is an amusing titbit instead:

so, as many folks on tumblr will know,

The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman - a novel by Laurence Sterne, published in nine volumes from 1759 to 1767 -

discourses in humorous vein about a hell of a lot of things (while reputedly being, famously, the first example of stream-of-consciousness writing in the English language).

Now among those many things there is a scene featuring the discussion amongst some very learned men - while a difficult birth is going on in the room next door, if I remember rightly - about how dreadful it is that complications and mishaps at birth might lead to a soul going to hell because baptism didn't happen in time. So these men learnedly and seriously propose that this could be remedied by baptising the foetus while still in the womb, "by means of a little squirt" (describing a device a bit like an oil-can with a long nozzle). (what this does in practice to the woman is completely absent from their thoughts and discussion, obviously) (this is a notion actually in existance that Sterne is putting into the novel here, though I have no idea how widespread it was)

But these learned men also know very well, of course that - as was absolutely seriously believed - a baby grows from a homunculus: a tiny complete human (this is prior to the invention of the microscope) and women are mere incubators; the whole of the baby's being comes solely from the father ...

So Sterne, 100% poker-faced, earnest and Very Serious about it, proposes that really, the logical solution to all these problems is to baptise all the homunculi. Before intercourse. "By means of a little squirt" (which would of course have to be inserted well up the appropriate channel ...)

the weirdly vengeful and petty tones aborted babies take in pro-life propaganda images are so funny like this passive aggressive "was it worth it mommy?" and "it's a shame you can't join me in heaven mommy 😔" like do you ever wonder if you were aborted for a reason you little bitch ass baby

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slutty4jk · 1 day ago

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KISS ME! | JJK › PART 1

Summary: You and Jungkook have known each other your whole lives. Childhood best friends turned almost something more. He’s charming, popular, and scared of commitment. You’re ambitious, guarded, and tired of being a maybe.

After one kiss changes everything, you realize wanting him isn’t enough if he won’t choose you back. But walking away is easier said than done.

University brings distance, jealousy, and new people. You’re ready to move on. He’s finally starting to realize he can’t. Not when it’s always been you.

pairing: childhoodbestfriend!jungkook x (fem) reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, kinda toxic but delicious, mutual pining, fluff & eventual smut

rating: 18+ (mdni!!)

word count: 3.4k 💌

warnings: emotional whiplash, jealousy, possessive behavior, fear of commitment, unresolved tension, mutual obsession, brief mentions of sex, hurt/comfort, pining, lots of yearning

A/N: I finally hit post!!!! AAAAAAAA I’ve always been anxious about sharing anything I create, so I really hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it hehe. This is my first fic (kinda), so please be gentle with me. I’m also lowkey new to Tumblr, so I’m just going off what I’ve seen other fanfic creators do, hopefully I’m doing this right. I don’t have too many solid plans for this story yet, but I truly hope you stick around. Also hope this lives up to the hype the teaser got heheh 🤓 Happy reading! - Ivy ₍^. .^₎Ⳋ

Taglist: @akirawhore @amarawayne @jahnaviii @crazyovayou @niniythv @dollyunjinz @yungies @caaally @aestheticalime @flaneuseonthestreets @goldenko-97 @lachimolalajeon @buckylov3r @labbbaaa @bts123746 @chxiosworld @amarawayne @qu3t @littlecherri @alessiamargaux @lokislittlemouse-library @enchantingeagleengineer @jeoncasino @minnie-mouser22 @tinytangerineangel @yourlittleslutcums @httpjeonlicious @uaremyserene @intro-bts @glossyxiaoting @cdllevantae

please like, reblog, follow & scream into the void for more! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

KISSME!MOODBOARD | KISSME!PLAYLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST ⭑.ᐟ

(One Year Ago)

You’ve known Jeon Jungkook since the day he was born. Your moms were best friends before either of you even existed, girls who grew up together, fell in love with life side by side, and then raised their kids side by side too. You were born in February, and just like fate, Jungkook followed in September, just six months behind you, and from that moment on, it was the two of you. Always.

You were inseparable. Friends before you even understood what friendship meant. Sleepovers, scraped knees, shared snacks, birthday candles blown out together, all of it.

And then high school happened.

You drifted. Slowly, painfully. The way people sometimes do when the world starts asking more of them.

You went to a top-ranked all-girls private school, the kind with uniforms pressed to perfection, essays that weighed as much as bricks, and girls who competed to see who could have the best grades. Jungkook ended up at the local public school. It was louder, messier, freer. His parents wanted him to have a social circle outside of the snooty prep school one.

You started moving in different circles, living different lives. And somewhere along the way, your daily texts became weekly, then monthly, and then… nothing at all.

So when he invited you to a house party at his friend’s place, you were shocked. And maybe a little bit hopeful. Maybe this meant something. A bridge being rebuilt.

You dressed carefully that night. A pale pink tweed dress with gold buttons, white stockings, and shiny Mary Janes. Definitely overdressed for a house party, but you didn’t care. You wanted to look good. Maybe even wanted him to notice.

He didn’t.

He barely looked at you when you got in his car. Just a casual nod. No compliment. No hug. No "I missed you.” Or just a simple “How’s life?” To catch up.

It stung.

You quickly realized the only reason you were even invited was because his mom insisted he bring someone she trusted in order for him to go, and that someone was you.

As soon as you got there, he ditched you, disappearing in the crowd. You stood awkwardly by the drinks table, sipping a Coke Zero, the cold fizz sharp on your tongue. You didn’t know anyone. Everyone else seemed to know everyone. Loud laughter, inside jokes, bodies swaying to the beat.

You felt overdressed, overlooked, and completely out of place. People stared. Girls whispered. But you held your head high like your mom taught you.

You searched the crowd for Jungkook and when you found him, your heart sank.

He was on the couch, some girl straddling his lap, his hands gripping her waist, her fingers tangled in his hair. Mouths moving like they were starving. Oblivious to everyone else in the room.

Your stomach twisted so hard it felt like it was trying to fold in on itself. A bitter sting crawled up your throat, sharp and sour, like you’d swallowed regret.

Suddenly, the air felt too thick. You weren’t supposed to be here. You should’ve said no. You just wanted to spend time with him.

That’s all.

You pushed the patio door open, letting the cool night air wash over you. Arms wrapped tightly around yourself, fighting off the chill and the burn in your chest. It felt like stepping into a different world, darker, quieter, with the distant thump of bass bleeding from inside. You leaned against the railing, trying to relax a bit.

“Hey,” a voice said behind you, soft but close. You jumped, your spine going stiff as you turned.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” the guy said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. His lips quirked up, amused. “Though… I’m starting to think you scare easy.”

You startled and turned fast, your pulse kicking up.

“You’re real smooth,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

He grinned. “Smooth’s better than sleazy, right?”

“You always approach girls like that?”

“Only the ones standing alone in expensive shoes.”

You glanced down at your Mary Janes.

“And what if I’m just lost?”

“Then I guess I’m lucky.”

You tried not to smile, but failed.

“What’s your name?” He was handsome and looked like the type that would break your heart. Why not let him entertain you for a while?

“Eunwoo,” he said, shifting closer. “And you’re…?”

“Y/N.”

“Pretty name,” he said, leaning one elbow against the railing beside you. “Let me guess. St. Michael’s?”

You blinked. “How’d you know?”

“You’ve got that energy,” he said. “Put together. Fancy. But kind of annoyed to be here.”

You let out a dry laugh. “That obvious?”

“Only to someone who’s also pretending to have fun.”

You smiled. He was disarming, in that effortlessly flirty way that made you want to roll your eyes and lean in closer.

“You don’t seem like the house party type either,” you said.

“Not when half the people here still think fart jokes are peak comedy,” he replied but you could tell he only says that to impress you.

You let out a soft laugh, for real this time. “You’re not wrong.”

He tilted his head at you. “So, what’s your deal? You here with someone?”

You hesitated. “I got ditched the second we got here.”

His expression flickered, just for a second. “Ah. That makes sense.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

“Because you’re way too pretty to be standing out here alone if you weren’t.” The compliment caught you off guard.

“Do you always flirt like this?” you asked, half teasing.

“Only when I mean it. I can keep you company, if you want.”

You hesitated, then smiled faintly. “I’d like that.” You were done feeling lonely at this dumb party.

You chatted for a while, nothing too deep. Just a little bit of distraction from the ache in your chest as you sipped on your drink.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” he asked suddenly, eyes searching your face.

You shook your head. “No.” You could have but going to an all girls school made that kind of social circle a bit more difficult.

“Really? That’s hard to believe.”

You laughed softly. “I’m not interested in that sort of thing right now.”

He tilted his head. “Interesting.” He just wanted to know if you were single or not.

You looked up at him. “What about you? Do you have anyone special in your life?”

“Got dumped this morning.” He admits.

You look surprised as he says that, you would have never guessed with the way he was talking to you right now.

“Oh. Sorry.” Your tone is a bit regretful. You hadn’t expected him to respond with… that.

He shrugged. “We didn’t click. Guess I was meant to be alone.”

You echoed his earlier words. “I can keep you company, if you want.”

He grinned. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“And how would you do that?”

You didn’t know what came over you, but you said it anyway.

“What if I said you could kiss me?”

He blinked, then smirked. “I'd ask if you were serious.”

“Does it look like I’m joking?” You lean in.

He leaned in, slow, deliberate. “You’re trouble,” he murmured.

You tilted your chin up. “Do you like trouble?”

“Depends on the kind.” he murmurs and then he kissed you.

He kissed you. Gentle at first, then hungrier. You kissed him back, maybe out of loneliness, maybe out of spite. You weren’t sure. But for a brief moment, it felt nice to be wanted.

You didn’t notice the group of boys by the pool bar watching.

Didn’t see the money exchanging hands.

Didn’t see Jungkook stepping out on the patio.

Jungkook stepped outside just in time to see it. The way your hands clung to Eunwoo’s collar, how his fingers were brushing the hem of your dress lowering to your ass like he had every right to. The kiss was already too far gone. His pace slowed down, eyes narrowing.

A group of his friends stood nearby, some grinning, some groaning, throwing bills into a baseball cap at the poolside bar. His gaze flicked to the hat full of crumpled bills.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asked, his voice low, guarded.

Mingi didn’t even look up. “We bet Eunwoo he wouldn’t be able to kiss the rich girl in under an hour.” They were watching as if to see what would happen next, ready to add more money into the hat.

“He did it in 45 minutes, he a real sweet talker,” Mingyu added with a chuckle, popping a chip in his mouth like it was just another Friday night. "I wonder if she'll sleep with him.." he thinks out loud.

Jungkook’s nostrils flared.

They made a bet for a kiss and now he might take you to bed?

His eyes flicked back to the hat stuffed with cash, to the smug look on Eunwoo’s face, to your soft smile, the one you used to give him when you were kids.

It reminded him of summers in your neighbourhood, you in your silly sandals and ribboned braids, waiting for him on the porch with two popsicles, always saving one for him.

That smile used to be his.

He remembered it like a favourite song, sweet, familiar. But now? Now you were smiling like that at someone else. And it burned.

You weren’t the girl on the porch anymore; you were all grown up, and now someone completely new got to see that side of you. Someone else got to make you laugh like that. And it made his chest tighten in a way he hated.

He felt something shift in his chest, like his heart had just dropped straight into his stomach. Was it jealousy? Was it disgust? At them or at himself? For leaving you alone? For bringing you here in the first place?

He couldn’t even name what it was, but it felt wrong.

He was moving before he even realized it.

He stormed across the patio, clearing his throat loud enough to slice through the moment.

You broke the kiss first, startled. Eunwoo smirked, the kind of lazy, satisfied grin that made your skin crawl. He knew exactly what he’d done. He had gotten under Jungkook’s skin. He had won the bet, he kissed the girl.

“Y/N,” Jungkook snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut through the noise. He’s standing stiffly just a few feet away, strong arms crossed over his chest. "Let's go."

You blink at him, lips still parted, confused by his sudden intrusion. “What? I was just starting to have fun.” You grumble like a child.

His jaw tightens. “Kissing strangers is fun?” There’s something biting in his tone. Not just judgment, jealousy, too. Thinly veiled and barely contained.

You scoff, heat rising to your cheeks. “You do it.” You just saw him. That girl on his lap, his hands all over her. You didn’t know if they had history or if they were dating but he never mentioned her to you, he never even brought up having a crush.

He’s one to talk.

His eyes flash. “No, I don’t.” It’s not a lie, not exactly. But the way he says it, quiet and defensive, you know he means something else.

“Remind me. Was that your girlfriend or just your entertainment for the night?” Your voice is cold, sharp as glass. You're not just asking. You're accusing.

He knows exactly who and what you're talking about. You saw him back there. Hands all over her like you weren’t even there.

His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t even look surprised. “Trust me,” he mutters, voice tight. “I know her.”

You laughed bitterly. “Yeah. That makes it better.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out.

“Can you just leave me alone?” you muttered, voice tight as you brought your arms up around Eunwoo’s neck. Maybe out of spite, maybe out of pain.

If Jungkook could ditch you for some random girl, then why shouldn’t you do the same thing to him?

“No.” Jungkook grabbed your shoulder, firm, pulling you back to face him again.

Eunwoo chimed in lazily, “She’s fine with me, man.” His hands slid to your lower back, hands lowering a little too low for Jungkook's liking.

That did it.

Jungkook’s jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened as he stepped forward, closing the space between them. “Get your fucking hands off her,” he growled.

One arm moved around you, yanking you out of Eunwoo’s grasp and behind him like you were something to protect and to claim.

Eunwoo smirked. He liked this. Getting under Jungkook’s skin like it was part of the game. As if he knew Jungkook had the hots for you.

But wasn’t it already obvious?

“Stop,” you snapped, louder this time, your voice cutting between them. “Both of you.” You didn’t want to cause a scene. Especially since you already stood out in this crowd.

Jungkook turned to you, jaw tight. “Y/N. Go to the car.”

It wasn't a suggestion, it was a command. He was pissed.

You didn’t argue this time. You were tired. You wanted to leave anyway. You turned, heading out to the driveway without sparing a glance at either of them. You probably wouldn’t see Eunwoo ever again, so you didn’t even bother saying goodbye or give him a chance to ask you for your number.

Once you were out of earshot, Jungkook took one threatening step closer to Eunwoo, voice low and sharp. “If I ever catch you making bets about her again, I’ll break both your fucking legs. Got it?”

Eunwoo rolled his eyes and lifted his hands like he was innocent. But the message was clear.

He didn’t move. His fists stayed clenched, like holding on could stop everything else from slipping. He was angry. At Eunwoo. At you. Maybe at himself.

But beneath it all, shame was twisting in his gut.

And something else he didn’t want to name.

Something that felt a lot like heartbreak.

Jungkook found you outside, standing by his car with your arms wrapped around yourself, the cool night air brushing against your legs.

That dress, as pretty as it was, wasn’t built for cold air, or this party.

But you already knew that.

And now someone else had touched you. Kissed you.

His stomach turned.

What the hell were you thinking? Letting some stranger put his hands on you like that? Letting him taste you like it meant nothing?

You weren’t like that. At least… you never used to be.

You weren’t just some girl. You were his best friend. Or… you had been.

So why did it feel like he was already losing something he never even got the chance to have?

You didn’t look at him when he approached.

“What was that about?” he asked, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.

You shrugged, eyes fixed on the pavement. “What?”

“Kissing that guy?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, voice quiet. “Maybe I just wanted to have fun.” Your tone was sarcastic.

He let out a sharp breath, stepping in closer. “Eunwoo’s not a good guy. He cheated on his last girlfriend like six times.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” You grumble, hugging yourself from the cold.

Jungkook scoffed. “Well, he’s not. They were making a bet to see if Eunwoo could kiss you and probably take you to bed right after! Are you that easy, Y/N?”

His voice was laced with anger, sharp and bitter, the words cutting before he could stop them.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Wow. So now I’m easy? Is that what you think of me? Just some spoiled girl who jumps at the first guy who calls her pretty?”

He clenched his jaw. “Well, it seems like it, doesn’t it?”

You took a step back, your voice rising. “What’s your problem? Why are you getting so mad that I kissed some guy? I don’t care if it was a bet, I was having fun. I wasn’t even supposed to be here, was I? Your mom needed me to keep an eye on you, huh?”

His eyes widened slightly.

You hit a nerve. You read him like an open book.

You turned away, angry, pulling at the handle of the locked car door.

He exhaled, voice lower now. “You weren’t supposed to come… but I brought you anyway, didn’t I? You were supposed to hang around me. Not those other guys, you don’t know what their intentions are.” He scolds you.

That made you snap your head toward him. “With you?” you repeated. “You invited me, then ditched me the second we walked in. I didn’t know anyone. You knew that!” You exclaim angrily.

“I didn’t think—”

“Exactly,” you cut him off. “You didn’t think.”

You blinked at him, heat rushing up your throat. “I looked for you. And I found you with some girl practically dry-humping you in the middle of the living room.”

He dropped his gaze, jaw clenched.

You shook your head, laugh bitter. “I felt so stupid. I thought maybe you invited me because you wanted to see me. Like maybe we’d talk. Catch up. I dressed up and everything—”

He interrupted you. “I noticed.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did, Y/N.” His voice was quiet, but the weight behind it made your breath catch. “You look beautiful.”

Your arms dropped from around yourself. “Then why didn’t you say anything?” you huff, your voice vulnerable.

It wasn't about the compliment. It was about him acknowledging you, him making a stupid comment about how you were overdressed just like he would before.

Jungkook looked at you then, really looked. And there it was.

That flicker in his eyes. That quiet ache.

The one that said everything he didn’t know how to say.

You shook your head, voice softer now. “I felt like you didn’t even want me there. Like you were embarrassed to be around me.”

He stepped in. “That’s not true.”

“Then what is?” you say, staring at him, waiting for him to say something, anything. He didn’t answer, though. Instead, his hand reached for your arm, just lightly, just enough to ground you both.

You let out a breath. “We used to be best friends.”

Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head. “We’re not little kids anymore, Y/N. That whole best friends thing? It doesn’t work like that.”

Your jaw tightened. “No, it does… you just stopped knowing how to be one.” Your words hung in the air, sharp and defensive.

“You’re the prettiest girl here,” he added, softer now, like that would change the ache between you. Even he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. He said it suddenly, quietly… like it slipped out before he could stop it. Like he was only just realizing it himself.

You scoffed, stepping back. Your voice rose, raw. “Pretty? Please. Is this a bet too? You invite me out here, ditch me, get pissed when someone else kisses me like it matters, and now you call me pretty like that makes it okay?”

He flinched. Your words hit harder than you knew, because he’d already asked himself those same questions. What the hell was he doing? Why was he so mad when he was the one who messed up first?

Your voice cracked, and your hands shoved at his chest. “Tell me, Jungkook. Are you doing this just to see if I’m really that easy? Or do you mean it? Do you really care about me?”

You hit his chest again. Once. Twice. You hit him again, and he didn't stop you, not until the ache in his chest became unbearable. Then, gently, he caught your wrists. His touch wasn’t rough. It was careful but cautious.

He swallowed, his jaw tight. His heart was pounding so hard it hurt. And then, when your eyes finally met his… it hit him all at once.

The fear. The guilt. The jealousy. The truth.

He was afraid of this… of you, of what this could mean, but more than anything, he was afraid he’d already lost you.

His gaze dropped, unable to hold yours.

His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.

“I mean it.”

It wasn’t slick or charming or sure of itself. It was broken open and vulnerable, scraped raw and trembling with something too big to name.

You froze.

Something in you shifted.

He lifted his eyes again, slowly, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the boy who had always been your best friend. The boy who still cared, the look on his face stole the breath from your lungs.

Regret. Longing. Fear. Hope.

All tangled in one unbearable glance.

And then, like everything in the world had been building to this, he kissed you. Not like a mistake. Not like a dare. Like a promise he was too scared to speak out loud.

And you kissed him back because despite everything, part of you had been waiting for this your whole life. It was sudden and deep, full of everything neither of you had the guts to say.

His hands cradled your jaw, warm and trembling slightly, like he was afraid you'd vanish if he let go. His lips tasted faintly like spearmint gum and bad decisions, and your knees nearly buckled.

When you pulled away, lips tingling, you whispered, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to kiss random boys.” You teased.

Jungkook leaned in again, his forehead pressed to yours. “You know damn well I’m not a random boy.”

The second kiss was messier. Needy, deep, slow, desperate. Familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

One moment you were in the driveway, the next, in the backseat of his car. Your heart was racing. His touch was careful but confident, his fingers memorizing every line of you like a secret only he got to know.

And even though it scared you, how fast it was happening, how much it meant, it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt like the beginning of something you didn’t quite understand yet. But it was yours. His, too.

That night, in the backseat of his car, under the streetlight glow and distant hum of a party you didn’t belong to, you gave yourself to him for the first time. The windows fogged. The car rocked gently. And for a while, nothing else mattered except the quiet gasps, the whispered names, the fingers grasping for something real.

And for a moment, just one, it felt like maybe he belonged to you too.

Or at least… you hoped he did.

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presepohne · 3 days ago

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SOFT BABY, BE AFRAID // ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ SIMON GHOST RILEY

single dad simon, no smut, softness and inner monologue, i'm not really proud of this.

It's strange, the way you'd smile and make his chest hurt. A small pit in his stomach as he watches you cradle his baby, in your arms, rocking back and forth murmuring a lullaby that sounds awfully familiar to his mother's.

You have been here with them for a while. Long enough for his heart to soften for you, when he finds you in his line of view or realises that you're near, long enough for his heart to go unsteady with your presence in the room. He was a soldier, still has that demeanour around him, the scary bloody monster he is.

But you aren't scared, you aren't even afraid to tell him he was wrong, in many things.

And it makes his stomach feel queasy. He thinks he could break a bone or few for you, let you live under his skin, in his heart. He could make a room for you too. You are not cruel like the world is.

You feel like the fresh breath of air during spring, the soft smell of blush pink roses wafting in the air, that kind of softness that resided in someone who has always seen love in everything, everyone— you were not scared, not cruel, not even deranged like him.

He found it amazing how you were the only person who could pry his heart open and hold the bleeding, beating organ in your palms, getting yourself dirty with his existence and still smiling at him like he is worth the whole universe.

He can't tell you that yet, that he loves you.

Mary, his child; his baby girl sleeps peacefully in your arms.

It's different with Mary. She has known him, and him only ever since she saw the first light of her life. In his arms, all warm and sighs, small and safe. She has known him as her first softness, as her first love for the world. Simon doubts he's lovable, but his little bird has other opinions.

Head not know softness, not until Mary. Until he held this small bundle of breath and baby yawns in his arms, so tenderly that he might not be able to hold her; the nurse told him otherwise. He held her like something sacred, something you receive after penance— age long suffering subliming in one breath that Mary took.

And just like that Simon Riley was a changed man.

But it took months to come on a single decision, the hardest of it all. Her mother was not ready for responsibility, not like she and Simon shared something sacred with her, it was just an accident— Simon knew he wasn't made for love, not the one where he could share a home, act like a righteous man without losing patience, but he was different for Mary.

Built himself differently for her.

Rebuild his own heart, soul and brain, even if it was not possible. Some took a vow to be a changed man, all for his little one with dirty blond curls and bright blue eyes.

And they never failed to make his heart thud in his chest, never failed to make this warmth spread through every cell of his body, never failed to make him feel worth something.

So when you came along with your smiles and warmth, it made his stomach churn at first. Badly. Made the bole rise to his throat at the thought of an apple outsider prying their life open and making a home for themselves.

That's what he thought.

Now looking at you, here in his flat, lulling Mary to sleep like her own mother— a soft yet painful thought crossed his mind. What if you were his? What if you could be his?

Mary was six months old when he retired. Told Price that his bones ache and knees cracked when he tried to get up, but the smell of baby powder and formula that he reeked of gave him away. John Price was a seasoned man with eight years of marriage and two kids— he knew a new father when he saw one.

John patted his lieutenant’s back, murmuring a soft If you need any help son, let me know, and accepted his retirement.

Simon , ever grateful towards his team, for the small support system they had built around each other— invited them over, to meet Mary. Of Course he could bring his babygirl to the base but he didn't want anyone else to know about his private life.

A fine Monday, in the small but cozy flat Simon brought in Manchester, the air stale with moisture, he was visited by his team.

It was a nice start to new life, with no goodbyes, just good wishes he didn't believe in, just fate he wouldn't believe was ever real.

When Simon first got custody of his daughter, her mother cutting them off totally from their life, he didn't mind. He was relieved, a little scared of life. A lot more scared of what was going to come.

There were things he didn't know, things that made the blood in his veins run cold, things that made him halt, pause a breath and look around him. Being a civilian was hard, being normal, trying to live a life he was never made for, trying and trying and trying until his body gave up, until his mind started to spiral in debt to be normal for his baby.

The long nights where Mary wouldn't sleep but wail as he rocked her in his arms, bought books about how to take care of a baby, how to raise them correct, how to— Simon Riley forgot he was ever a Ghost, he was just a human as everyone when it came to taking care of his baby.

Accidentally heating the milk too much, changing nappy even when it wasn't required, strapping Mary by his chest when he went grocery shopping and very awkwardly asking the teenage worker there what food would be good for an eight month old.

Simon was a mess, a good mess, fatherly mess. Baby powder reeking off lotions and milk vomit slicking to his skin at five in the morning while he took the first sip of his coffee to start the day, with an hour's sleep.

Losing sleep wasn't new, it was something practiced.

Sometimes pills helped, sometimes they didn't work, but sleep never came to him naturally. Never, even if he was bone deep tired, holding Mary and rocking her, trying to serenade her— he was alert, as he was on field.

Because old habits die hard and he was a man made of steel and duty once, even if he's trying to rebuild him of softness and baby breaths now.

Fatherhood had suited him well one could say, he would spend his whole day with Mary. Took her to a sprint with him in her stroller. She enjoyed being out, interacting with others, babbling away her days to him as he responded with softest words and smiles and coos.

Fate eroded his jagged pieces, gave him a chance to turn into something soft, something malleable for his tiny baby girl.

It was one of those days where he took Mary for a stroll and he stumbled upon you. A good day, the neighbour that lives three apartments down the hallway, who smelled too much like sweet pink flowers and candy.

You lingered, asked him if you could hold Mary, and he had grunted a yes. It was difficult— saying yes, he was a paranoid soldier. One who didn't know how to trust people, didn't know if he could.

But he was trying to be better, he was a father now; a fear ticked off his list to become someone good. The second was being a good human, a good civilian that wouldn't scare people away.

So he tried to hold back the frown that started to form over his forehead, whilst you lifted Mary into your lap and cooed.

It was a tender moment, the sun cascading down your hair whilst you played with the babe in your arms. Simon wasn't the one to fall in love, neither appreciate nature— but this one moment where your eyes looked up at him, face unflinching even with his scars and mildly disfigured face, to the soft twinkle and tenderness that your eyes held made his breath hitch.

Physically.

Simon wasn't in love.

He was in awe.

“You should come over with her for dinner this weekend, you're always working yourself” you had smiled, a soft thing that Simon unconsciously tucked inside the pocket of his heart before grumbling a thank you.

That was the first time Simon felt his heart melt because of some random strangers' soft words and gaze.

The first time Simon felt seen.

He did come for dinner, Mary strapped to his chest, hands holding a basket full of fruits and other holding flowers. A simple courtesy of a man, he reminded himself. Be nice, be interactive, don't scare her.

Simon was a soldier and father. He was made for battle grounds, blood, guns and wars; but he had also made himself for milk bottles, soft baby powder, strawberry shampoo and Mary's babbling; he could try to be civil for once.

You reminded him of Beth, his brother's wife. The kind smile that wrapped around your lips as you let him in, apologising about how messy your place is. It was a cosy apartment, a bunch of big cushions around the corner draped with blankets, beugie fur carpet, plants. Lots of them.

Your place smelled like coffee and cakes andSimon found himself acting like a creepy man, inhaling a deep breath in, the scent calming his nerves in a way he didn't realise. The tension from his shoulders left as he rocked Mary, an old habit that now became an instinct.

“You know you can put her down and she can play around?” you smiled, taking the basket and the flowers, yellow daffodils, “These are beautiful”

Simon didn't say much, he couldn't physically.

He felt like a teenager with a crush, a silly crush albeit. He was nearing forties, of course it's absolute bollocks for him to feel giddy over a woman, that's doesn't suit him, that's not his personality—

Aye Lt. treat her kindly

Johnny's voice rang in his ears, an hour ago from the call.

Ye sound like a kid having his first crush

Shut up sergeant

But Simon's heart thudded in his ears, blood rushed to his cheeks, light and unnoticeable, just warming his face up as he unstrapped Mary and sat her on the couch.

“How old is she?”

“Nine months”

“You're a single dad?”

“Yes”

“I didn't mean to be rude”

“She was just an acquaintance”

You blinked up at him, scarred face and brown eyes, too distant yet warm at the same time. Again, a smirk curled up your lips as you headed to the kitchen. The sun just set down a while ago. “I hope you like Chinese” you laughed, plating the food.

“As long as it's food love”

That was the awkward beginning of Simon's pinning towards you, and your softness towards him. Maybe, at the beginning he was annoyed a little, in fact he was very annoyed— at himself. Letting a stranger intrude, but then again you had the same charm as Mary. Those same cheeks, the same innocent smile, carefree look that everything good comes down to you.

If Simon had to confess to himself, he liked you a bit. Four months in and with Mary now thirteen months old, you had been the greatest support.

I'll take care of her, you'd say gently prying her off his arms, God bless him he looked so tired. You ask him to take a bath and sleep, the dark circles around his eyes making your heart ache. Some better days you'd cook three meals and send it in so that he didn't have to do much work.

Perhaps he had grown on you. Maybe right into your heart, his brown eyes in your heart pockets.

There were days where you'd simply stay the night and look after Mary, forcing him to take meds and knock himself out, and he took the offer generously, always.

Letting you in their life was like opening a passage to a secret garden.

Slowly, you things started to appear in the crooks and cranny of his apartment, or Mary's toys and clothes at yours, maybe his forgotten hoodie. Some Days it was just Tupperwares and sometimes it was just a shared cup of coffee or books.

Whatever this was, it felt awfully close to love.

But Simon wasn't ready to name this as love. He was ready to crave your name into his ribs, make a home out of them for you— but love.

He thinks he would never be capable of loving a sweetheart like you.

It's not until you're holding Mary, at this current moment, a year and a half after meeting you that he thinks that he might love you. That he might be capable of taking care of your heart as he did with Mary's. That you leave him, like Mary.

There are things he would never talk about, thinks about his father never treating his mother right. Things about his mother not being able to love. Just ignored, dismissed, unloved by her husband, by the only man she ever trusted.

Simon didn't want to turn into such, he would not.

Not when he has you, not when he has seen how to learn towards him without fear, not when he has seen how you don't flinch at the sight of his face, the way you'd pull him out of his apartment because you insisted Mary needed enrichment.

And mostly because he forgot the voices in his head when he heard yours.

Mostly because his mind was always on you.

Mostly because Simon Riley had fallen head over heels for you irrevocably.

So when he saw you holding his baby girl in your arms, lulling you to sleep, his first thought was what if you both had a family. How would you be? As a mother? How would it be if you were his?

He was afraid to name whatever you both had, whatever this electric pull between you both ways.

“Thank you” he whispered, kissing you cheek and taking Mary away from your arms gently.

365 notes · View notes

daosies · 2 days ago

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when you get stood up by your date

xavier, sylus, rafayel ♡ gn!reader

warnings: not proofread, pre-established relationship, petnames ("sweetie" from sylus, "cutie" from rafayel), reader is the protagonist but gender neutral, reader gets stood up by some random dude

notes: THE WAY THIS IDEA HAS BEEN MARINATING IN MY MIND YET I NVR ACTED UNTIL THIS ONE MANIC SITTING WHER EI WORTE EVERYTHING 💔😭

You’re going on a date.

(“Okay,” Xavier had responded, ignoring the curl of his fingers, the grating sear of his chest, his heart spasming within the confines of his ribs. You smiled. Sweetly. He wondered if whoever you were going to see would bear witness to this smile; the thought made his heart sour further, shriveling, greying like mold. Xavier shoved the thought away and he turned around.)

His key struggles to find the lock, his hands clumsier than usual. You’re going on a date. You smiled, sweetly. Xavier wonders if you’re going to keep smiling like that, teeth and all, eyes crinkling and irrevocable. Again, his heart sours.

Will you smile like that? (Xavier finally twists the key, turning the door open.) Will you smile like that at someone else? (Xavier wonders what it’d be like if you weren’t going on a date, if you would, for just a moment—or two, or three—consider him. Your partner. Your one-floor-above neighbor.) Will someone else make you happy?

(Xavier wonders what it’d be like if it could be him; if you smiled, teeth and all, eyes crinkling and irrevocable, not because of anything in particular—like the flowers you adore so lovingly, or the sunsets you always stop to take photos of—but because of him.)

Enough of this. Xavier is going to go to sleep. It’s late, after all.

(You’re going on a date with someone at this hour? It’s dangerous to walk home alone. He should have offered to pick you up—so he could take a good look at this damned bastard (wait, that’s not right)—so he could ensure your safety, and he could ask you how it went, and—)

Enough of this. Xavier is going to go to sleep. He’s tired, and he needs to recuperate after a long day of doing hunter-like things since he’s a hunter (just like you! Really, the two of you have just so many things in common, the bastard you’re going on a date with probably can’t even compare).

Xavier curls into bed, the fabric familiar, the silence palpable. It weighs on his figure like a heavy burden, the unfathomable peering over him like some fantastical creature. What if it were him? What if it were him? (Why couldn’t it be him?)

He closes his eyes. Usually sleep finds him by now, its presence accompanied by the darkness, its existence defying the light which emanates from his being. But he stirs.

Xavier wonders what it’d be like, if it could be not just him, but, most presumptuously, him and you, together. Together.

And you’d smile, (teeth and all!) and you’d tilt your head (and your eyes would crinkle!) and you’d laugh and you’d lean in and you’d tell him, most wonderfully—

His phone rings. Xavier isn’t a light sleeper; he’d sleep through an earthquake, a hurricane, and a flood if it came down to it. But one buzz is enough for him to reach for the device, unfazed as light fills the dim room, the silence weighing on him like a heavy burden as he notices the caller’s name.

You.

Thump-thump.

He picks up immediately, his heart lurching forward, desperate to split the cavities of his chest and to reach through the phone. You. Thump-thump. You.

“Hello?” he says, his voice remaining steady. “Did you need something?”

Silence. It’s palpable, like a heavy burden, the unfathomable peering over him like some fantastical creature. What if it were him? Silence. Then, most terribly, a sniffle. Xavier jolts up, clutching the phone closer to his ear as if it could bring him closer to you.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his tone clipped, devoid of the gentle timbre which always presents itself to you. “What happened?”

“I—uh, sorry…” you trail off, the sound becoming distant as you hiccup. Xavier stirs from the sheets, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, phone never once parting from his ear.

“Tell me,” he says. “Tell me where you are.”

“I’m at,”—a sniffle, a hiccup—“the restaurant.”

Still? Xavier thinks, lowering the phone from his head, materializing behind your hunched figure, noticing the darkness which seeps in from the flickering lamplights.

(“We’re going to meet at this restaurant!” you exclaimed, pointing at some measly diner that your date had chosen. “And after, we’re going to walk around the park. I’ll let you know how it goes, Xavier!”)

You didn’t even make it to the park. Xavier steps in front of you, crouching down to meet your shrunken form, expression knitted as his brows furrow violently, bottom lip caught in between his teeth. His eyes widen upon taking in the sight of your face, eyes glossed over, skin dried with tears.

“Xavier,” you say, oblivious to the way the sound from your lips is enough to satiate the organ, the name reborn from your voice. “Xavier, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t,”—you cover your face, wiping your eyes with the back of your arm—“I didn’t know who to call. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Xavier states simply, hands reaching up to pry your arms away, thumbs drawing circles into the bone of your cheek as he gently swipes away your tears, his touch featherlight, his frown only worsening.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you called me. We’re partners, right?”

Partners. Xavier is your partner. He’d like to be your partner in more ways than one, though. He’d like to be your partner when it comes to dining at restaurants, and going for walks around the park, and responding to calls whenever you find yourself in a pinch.

Xavier is your partner. He’d be your partner forever if you’d let him.

“Yeah,” you say, barely managing a smile—teeth and all, but your eyes don’t crinkle—before coughing out a hoarse laugh. “Thanks, Xavier.”

And you’re so beautiful, he thinks, your clothes more formal than what he’s used to seeing, your eyes particularly pretty under the light (which, with his presence, no longer flickers).

And you’re so beautiful, he thinks, heart spilling from his tightening ribs, the arteries constricting—That bastard, is all he can muster. He bites back his words with the gnaw of his bottom lip. That bastard made you wait, that bastard left you here, that bastard—

“Xavier,” you suddenly say, glancing down. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” he asks, genuinely confused. “That bastard—I mean, that guy should be sorry.”

“Yeah,” you respond, laughing slightly, taking note of the way Xavier’s expression is utterly serious upon announcing his verdict. “Yeah, that guy should be sorry. I, I waited for an hour! Like, I could’ve done so many things during that time, and—”

“An hour?” Xavier mutters, his gaze devoid of light, his lips drawn into a thin line. “You waited here for an hour?”

“Ugh,” you say, burying your face into your hands. “Stupid, right?”

What’s an hour in the face of two-hundred years? What’s an hour in the face of an entire universe, an alternate galaxy, an estranged planet?

To Xavier, it’s not much. But Xavier is used to waiting, and he would much rather be the one who waits than the one who is waited for. His hand finds yours and, firmly, his fingers interlace into the gaps of your own, the space perfect, the puzzle piece complete. Whole.

You’ll never wait. An hour is too much. You should never wait.

“Let’s go,” Xavier says, helping you up, one hand resting on the small of your back while the other remains intertwined with yours, threaded.

“What? Where?” you ask, stringing after him still.

(What if it were him?)

“Hotpot,” he says. “And afterwards, let’s go walk around the park. It’s a date.”

You laugh. Xavier looks back—two-hundred springs, thousands of Protocores, an alternate, estranged planet; it was all worth it—and you’re smiling, teeth and all, eyes crinkling. Xavier mirrors your look, your image long etched into his pupils, shifting in accordance to the incarnation. You. Thump-thump. You.

The most wondrous, fantastical being of all. The home of a star, the center of its plasma, the reason for its glow. You.

“Okay,” you say, “let’s go!”

(It will be him.)

(“Don’t bother me,” you told Sylus, wagging your finger in front of him as if he were some pet. “I’m going on a date this Friday. Don’t text me, don’t message me, and, most importantly, don’t reserve the entire restaurant so it’s unbookable!”)

(“Alright then, Sweetie,” Sylus had said simply, his smirk remaining traced onto his lips, head tilted slightly to the side as he rested his face on his fisted hand, legs crossed. “Have fun on your date.”)

It’s Friday.

(“Boss man!” Luke had called, lounging leisurely on one of the wooden tables of the estate, legs swinging restlessly off the side. “Boss man, just say the word, and Kieran and I will have dealt with [Name]’s date, and—”)

(“Lay off, boys,” Sylus responded, waving his hand dismissively. “There’s no need. And besides,”—his head cranes slightly towards the side, the projection of Mephisto’s gaze etched onto the wall, his crimson eyes made to perceive you—“who am I to bother them, when they asked me so kindly not to?”)

It’s Friday. The day of your date. Sylus’s schedule has been clear from the moment your date began, a sort of coincidence that, really, falls too easily in his favor. Thirty minutes, he thinks, eyeing the clock on his wall, leaning back on the chair of his office, desk scattered with information regarding your date. Mephisto’s projection continues to relay your movements.

Thirty minutes, he thinks, eyes finding the projection and never leaving your form, your figure slowly shrinking as you wander aimlessly outside, head craning to and fro.

Eventually, you sit down on the curb, an action which Sylus is sure you chose out of a lack of options; You’d never ruin your clothes like that, he thinks, index finger coming to tap methodically against the side of his tilted face. Never.

Sylus is not a person who’s willing to wait. Two more minutes pass and he’s done, no longer entertained by Mephisto’s projection, the crimson rubies clearly relaying the downcast expression which sweeps over your face—Didn’t I tell you? he thinks, swinging his coat over his shoulders. You don’t deserve to frown—before Luke and Kieran materialize behind him instantly, awaiting his command.

“Prepare their favorites,” Sylus says, reaching for the helmet of his motorcycle, his pace quick as he swings a leg over the seat. “Don’t forget the CD player, so they can play their little heartbreak songs.”

“Yes, boss!” both Luke and Kieran exclaim, splitting off into their respective roles. Kieran gathers the chefs, your favorite dishes long memorized by them. Luke arranges your favorite breakup albums; you always listen to the same ones whenever you’re mildly inconvenienced.

Sylus knows you.

He knows you’re going to continue sitting on that curb, thinking that your date may have forgotten, or that something bad happened—Sometimes, Sylus thinks, speeding through the unmarked streets, crossing the barrier between the N109 Zone and Linkon, I wish you’d be a little crueler—and you’d wait until the wind would force you away.

Your clothes are too thin for this weather, Sylus thinks, too beautiful and too much for someone as unworthy as your date. He’ll send the twins a message later, telling them to turn on the heat in his estate.

Sylus rounds the final corner, the address of your arranged date long burned into his memory, accompanying the meadows of flowers and the hills which rolled endlessly. He lifts his helmet up, taking in your sorry state with his bare eyes, his smirk remaining with him still.

“Did you have fun on your date, Sweetie?” Sylus asks, parting from his bike to shrug his coat off his shoulders, laying it over yours.

“I thought I told you not to bother me,” you mumble, unable to contain the sniffle which follows thereafter, the way you instinctively huddle into the remnants of his warmth.

Sylus notices this—how could he not?—and, despite the satisfaction which swells from his heart, he cannot help but feel the familiar fury, the unbridled rage which brews beneath his skin. Sylus is a creature of vengeance, of bindings and of vows.

To think someone would dare to stand you up is audacious.

But—Sylus crouches down towards you, meeting your figure on the curb—that is not what’s important right now. You’re right here. He reaches his hand out, your face tangible, his thumb pressing into the skin below your eyes, wiping away the faintest hints of tears as his smirk falters ever so slightly.

You’re right here. Tangible. The most important person in the world.

“You told me not to bother you during your date,” Sylus states simply, continuing to brush away at your face, his voice impossibly tender. “But, it seems to me as if your date is over. Or would you like to keep waiting, Sweetie?”

“No way,” you mutter. “I’m done.”

He chuckles, parting from you for but a moment, handing you a helmet which he only ever carries for one purpose. The most important person in the world.

“Good,” he says. His hand is outstretched, his palm facing up, the outlines of calluses allowed to be perceived by only one purpose. The most important person in the world.

You reach for his hand and Sylus pulls you up, unable to contain the smirk which stretches across his face once you bump into his figure, cursing at the magnitude of his strength.

“You did that on purpose!” you mutter into his button-up (terribly formal, considering his schedule has been completely clear), feigning ignorance to the way he rubs circles into your back, pressing you closer towards him as if you could sink in.

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

The most important person in the world. Sylus will tell Luke and Kieran to deal with the most important thing in the world later—the asshole who stood you up.

For now, however, this is enough. Your arms wrap around Sylus’s waist, your head digging into the fabric which covers his back, your grip tight as you lean in towards him, safe. Tangible.

Sylus starts the engine and the two of you take off, roaring down the unmarked streets, chasing a home which is no longer his, but rather, is yours.

The heartbreak music (Sylus has come to realize that the tune is so catchy, he instinctively hums it while working), and your favorite dishes (the chefs have long memorized your order; so has Sylus, who finds himself craving it more often than you do). Home.

You lean into his back and Sylus thinks that this is it. This is enough. Home.

Rafayel is about to come out with his magnum opus.

It’ll be titled: Uh, Abandoned Again! And he’ll credit you as the inspiration, the ruthless, careless Hunter who always tears through each of his lives with the same determined, sickening resolve.

Are you happy now? Are you glad that you’re leaving such a beautiful man to rot in exchange for going on a date with some good-for-nothing dude who looks like he snuck onto Earth? Are you feeling rejuvenated? Joyous, even?!

Well, whatever it is you feel, Rafayel certainly does not care. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t care less! His painting is turning out wonderfully (after all, the more emotionally charged an artist is, the better the art emerges), and, well, he couldn’t care less about what you’re doing with that stupid fucking idiot! He is Rafayel, after all! The enigmatic artist, the literal Sea God, the—

His phone buzzes. Rafayel nearly falls from his stool, scrambling towards the device like some starved creature. A message flashes across the screen. It’s from you. You’re the only one who can bypass Rafayel’s eternal Do Not Disturb mode, after all.

“So,” the message reads. “I think I was stood up.”

Rafayel responds, “Puh-lease! That’s what you get. Do you think I’m going to feel bad for you? Well, I don’t!”

Immediately after sending that text, Rafayel stomps begrudgingly (well, that’s what he’d like to believe—really, he was a little too eager to leave) out of his studio, muttering some mindless little nothings as he gets into his car.

He arrives at your location five minutes later. He broke a few laws in the process. So it goes.

“Hey, cutie,” Rafayel says, rolling the window down, having the gall to rest his arm nonchalantly on top of the door, sparing you a smirk as if he’s your savior. “Get in.”

“Rafayel?” you mutter, flabbergasted. Rafayel’s sunset eyes drink in your sorry state. Your clothes are wrinkled, your expression is noticeably downcast, your bottom lip wobbling as you’re unable to meet his gaze.

Pathetic. Rafayel steps out of his car and he grabs your hand, dragging you to the passenger seat, opening the door and ushering you in.

“Next time,” Rafayel states, getting into the car, slamming the door with a little more force than necessary, “you should just stay at home. Or, at the very least, come to my studio.”

You sniffle. Rafayel’s head whips around.

“Cutie?” he calls again, leaning over to your seat, eyes wide as he traces his gaze over your features, long acquainted with the lines—the bridge of your nose, the curl of your lips—yet, devouring them as if it were the first time.

This frown doesn’t suit you, he thinks. You look much better when you’re arguing with him about what flavor of ice cream is the best, or when you’re cursing him out for missing another one of his exhibits.

“Cutie,” he says again, his finger reaching for your chin, turning you towards him as you shy away from his gaze. You’re crying. You’re crying because of that good-for-nothing-stupid-fucking idiot. You’re crying. Rafayel furrows his brows and cups your face in between his hands, thumbs tracing over the sides, lips jutted into a pout.

“Oh, no, no,” he says, resisting the urge to just kiss you right now. “Cutie, don’t cry. Not for some scumbag like him.”

You hiccup. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, either. Why don’t we go get some food, hm? You can pick. We can even get a sweet treat afterwards.”

In between your tears and sniffles, you muster out the faintest of laughs, the sound staying with Rafayel long after it’s gone. “Is this to make me feel better, or you, Raf?”

He just huffs. “Who do you think I am, huh?!”

You.

Rafayel thumbs at your tears and he blows a faint wind lightly onto your eyes, cooling down the skin as it burns, drinking in your features like a starved creature, a Lemurian who has only ever known love. His heart pulsates, the warmth unfathomable. You.

It has always been for you.

“That scumbag didn’t deserve you,” Rafayel mutters, reacquainting himself with the glimmer of your eyes, the flutter of your lashes as he cools your skin with the faint wind of his breath, retracing over the ridge of your brows with his thumbs, felt with the intention of capturing onto a canvas later. “Why don’t we just run away together, cutie? You and me?”

“Run away and go where?” you respond, entertaining the idea, not realizing the truth which is laced into his words, the idea of an escape sounding so sweet on his lips. One hand lowers from your face in search of your hands, his deft fingers massaging at yours, the pattern meticulous, tender.

“Anywhere you want. How does the beach sound?”

You laugh again. The sound is like a wild tune, a faint call from the land to the sea, beckoning him from the surface, the air clinging at his soaked skin.

“Are you saying this just ‘cause you want to go to the beach, Raf?”

“Ugh! Again, who do you take me for?!”

You. His hands trace over yours, finding your ring finger, the skin terribly empty. Once, long ago, this hand was his, and his yours. And once, long ago, his heart—pulsating now, swelling and glowing and mad—was yours. You.

(Still, it is yours. Still, it has always been for you.)

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #xavier x reader #sylus x reader #rafayel x reader #lnds xavier #sylus love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lads

316 notes · View notes

methodwriting · 11 hours ago

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as a teacher i would really like to know what the solution to this could be? it’s simply not possible to can AI back into non-existence or non-relevance -it might do it itself as it increasingly becomes more paywalled but for now… believe me we’ve tried. my state even banned all cellphones an devices inside schools but as you’ve exemplified with sparknotes, when there’s a will there’s a way. while this certainly makes my work harder, i don’t have much of a choice. teachers are not cops i cannot and will not spend my time pursuing “AI offenders”. i know that it is also my job that they learn something so something must be done. i admit the question was loaded because you’ve given an answer to it already in that i’m pretty sure someone had to teach you how to use sparknotes they way you did, be it a teacher, a classmate, or the internet but this is not some innate knowledge or else we wouldn’t have had students trying to hand copy-pasted sparknotes analysis on the regular back in my (our?) day -arguably enough so to have to implement anti-plagiarism tools on university campuses.

i think the middle ground here could be exactly that. to literally teach kids how to critically use a tool that yes it’s controversial but they are going to be using it anyway because rationally why wouldn’t you help yourself if school is giving you a hard or a boring time? i don’t think it’s productive to demonize this from a cognitive perspective as it corrals us in a sum zero game of “well if you can’t make people stop using it then all is lost” which i don’t think is true even.

that said i believe part of this fear with AI is more about how it’s exposing deeper flaws in our education systems that we refuse to address so it’s easier to go: big tech bad. which is reductionist at best and incredibly harmful for teachers and educators. students use AI because school is not meaningful and it is not meaningful because the incentive-reward system is no longer working, which it was never going to be because a prison-like monolith turned investor venture (private education) is not sustainable on the long run. i have so much more to say on that front but i just refuse to waste my time and energy fighting windmills when the board of investors refusing to let teachers unionize, continuously pressing to defund public education so they can and raise the cost of tuition while at the same time cutting my and my coworkers’ hours to maximize profits, is right there.

Whenever I think about students using AI, I think about an essay I did in high school. Now see, we were reading The Grapes of Wrath, and I just couldn't do it. I got 25 pages in and my brain refused to read any more. I hated it. And its not like I hate the classics, I loved English class and I loved reading. I had even enjoyed Of Mice and Men, which I had read for fun. For some reason though, I absolutely could NOT read The Grapes of Wrath.

And it turned out I also couldn't watch the movie. I fell asleep in class both days we were watching it.

This, of course, meant I had to cheat on my essay.

And I got an A.

The essay was to compare the book and the movie and discuss the changes and how that affected the story.

Well it turned out Sparknotes had an entire section devoted to comparing and contrasting the book and the movie. Using that, and flipping to pages mentioned in Sparknotes to read sections of the book, I was able to bullshit an A paper.

But see the thing is, that this kind of 'cheating' still takes skills, you still learn things.

I had to know how to find the information I needed, I needed to be able to comprehend what sparknotes was saying and the analysis they did, I needed to know how to USE the information I read there to write an essay, I needed to know how to make sure none of it was marked as plagerized. I had to form an opinion on the sparknotes analysis so I could express my own opinions in the essay.

Was it cheating? Yeah, I didn't read the book or watch the movie. I used Sparknotes. It was a lot less work than if I had read the book and watched the movie and done it all myself.

The thing is though, I still had to use my fucking brain. Being able to bullshit an essay like that is a skill in and of itself that is useful. I exercised important skills, and even if it wasnt the intended way I still learned.

ChatGTP and other AI do not give that experience to people, people have to do nothing and gain nothing from it.

Using AI is absolutely different from other ways students have cheated in the past, and I stand by my opinion that its making students dumber, more helpless, and less capable.

However you feel about higher education, I think its undeniable that students using chatgtp is to their detriment. And by extension a detriment to anyone they work with or anyone who has to rely on them for something.

#i mean this truly with no malice op. i think you have a point and i just wanted to complement it from where i’m standing #ai discourse

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demonic0angel · 3 days ago

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Possessed AU: Danny and Dani Edition

Similar to this possessed AU and the OG possessed AU, where Batfamily members are possessed by the Phantoms, except make it Danny and Dani! (Click for clarity)

I’ve mentioned it before, but I feel as tho the other possessed AUs probably wouldn’t exist in the same world due to the crazy backstories, but with Danny and Dani, I think there could be a chance?

Notes:

+ Cass is possessed by Danny, and it resulted after his body was destroyed in a fight. In a panic, he chose the nearest person who could handle him overshadowing them, but his raw power was too much for a human body to handle. As such, Cass’ body is deteriorating as she hosts him.

+ Cass has accepted the fact that her body is wasting away from Danny’s powers. In her mind, it’s better for her to be hurt than an innocent civilian. I imagine that they’re strangers prior to this, and Danny is distraught over the fact that she’s willing to sacrifice herself. Danny is constantly trying to leave her body, but Cass stubbornly keeps him in order to avoid killing other people, since she’s stronger than most. He can’t leave until his body heals or there’s a better host anyways.

+ Danny’s possession of Cass causes internal bleeding and for her to bleed from the orifices of her face. Nosebleeds, migraines, and coughing up blood is common.

+ Stephanie is possessed by Dani, and I imagine it occurred in a freak accident of some sort? Possibly a curse, where Dani had to flee and find somewhere to hide while she was vulnerable. She accidentally found Steph and although they freaked out at first, Steph eventually accepted Dani’s presence.

+ Steph thinks of Dani as a little sister, despite it being a very strange roommate-parasite situation. Both have become quick friends and Dani likes telling her gossip and secrets that she’s picked up.

+ There have been no irreversible negative effects on Steph from Dani’s possession, but she has gained a slight reputation for talking to herself and giggling at the air lmao.

+ Dani barely has the ability to take over Steph. Steph has a strong will and Dani is a rather weak ghost. As such, she just attaches herself to Stephanie and is visible as a misty area.

+ Unlike Jazz, Danny does not need permission from his host to take over the body. It’s similar to the situation between Dan and Dick’s dead body, and Cass cannot resist against Danny’s overshadowing. Danny barely takes over tho, due to how guilty and sad he feels.

+ Danny and Cass communicate via dreams. Dani and Steph communicate normally, but Dani sounds like a voice in her ear.

+ I’m not sure what outcome I want from this, but eventually, the Batfam gets wind of Cass’ possession since she tries to hide it. A solution is quickly found for Danny’s situation, but until then, they both suffer as one involuntarily hurts the other and the other just takes it. No one really finds out about Dani and Steph situation until much, much later when Dani is revealed in the middle of a fight.

+ While Cass is literally dying and decaying from Danny’s powers, Steph is having the time of her life with a new friend 💀

+ You may be wondering why I chose these characters specifically and not Tim or something. That is bc in my mind, there is something very deliciously angsty about Tim and Damian being the only ones left, forced to watch their older siblings be possessed by strangers while working together to find a solution despite their differences. I want to see them struggle as they stare at the people wearing their big siblings’ faces while only having each other :)

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stylesispunk · 1 day ago

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The days of you and I | part 4

Jackson!Joel Miller x fem! reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: you wake up after your fall, feeling broken and guilty about the things you have done and hidden. Joel came back home and you must face each other.

w.c: 12k.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of trauma, fluff. No proofreading, I'm stupid.

A/N: I'm excited about this chapter because it will have a bit of fluff amid all the angst. BUT don't get used to it. I took off a thing from this chapter, but it will be added to the other one. I hope you like it, and please let me know your thoughts!

AO3 account

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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The softest giggle you had ever heard wake up you up, delicate, soothing the skin of your face like the wind.

“Mommy… mommy, wake up!”

Tiny hands pressed against your shoulder, shaking you carefully. The world around you was golden for the first time in two decades.

The air covered in the scent of coffee.

You opened your eyes slowly to meet the most beautiful little girl you had ever seen. A tiny girl, around five, hair falling into soft waves of brown color. She was the exactly mixture of you and Joel. Soft dark brown eyes, his eyes, and a face that was like the fire gold glow of dawn, staring back at you with so much love inside her eyes.

“Daddy’s making breakfast,” she grinned, leaning closer so her face nearly brushed yours. “He’s gonna burn the waffles again if we don’t hurry.”

You sat up, your heart pounding in your chest, confused by the warmth of the room, by the way sunlight danced across old floorboards you didn’t recognize.

“Baby…” your voice cracked as you reached out, fingers trembling, needing, aching to feel the softness of her skin, to cup that perfect face you’d only met in your dreams.

But just as your fingertips brushed her cheek, the world began to tear apart.

The golden light fractured into shards. The giggle faded, turning into the faraway howl of the wind reeking like death.

Your felt your head spinning and you came back to your home, a home that never existed.

Opening your eyes, your felt the world going back and forth from home to Jackson. To him, to her until you were surrounded by the four walls of the room in the hospital. Pain irradiating from the right side of your body.

You blinked three times, adjusting your gaze to the pale light of the room. You felt the blanket on your body, distant sound around, and the dull ache in your skull from where you’d hit the ground.

Yes, you remembered the fall.

“Oh” you heard a voiced exclaiming so glad to see you awake

“Thank god you’re awake”, Nick walked towards your bed, smiling with relief all over his face. “I thought you weren’t going to wake up this soon.”

“How long?” you rasped, your throat dry and raw, the words tasting like dust and grief.

Nick let out a shaky breath, crouching down beside your bed, relief bleeding into his voice.

“Two days,” he said quietly. “You hit your head pretty bad. Dislocated your shoulder too. Scared me a lot.”

You could see the exhaustion in his face, the strain in his young eyes that made him look older than he ought to. Dirt smudged his jawline and his hair stuck to his forehead like he hadn’t left your side during these two days.

“I—” you tried to say something else, but your voice cracked, and the ache in your chest made it too hard to push out the rest.

“Why did you do it?” He asked, “It felt like you wanted to get yourself killed on purpose.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him. And for a second you hated how well he could see through you at this very moment. Your lips parted, but you didn’t have to say it. The look in your eyes, the way your gaze faltered, was enough. A silent confirmation.

Nick’s expression crumpled, his shoulders sagging.

“Oh,” he breathed. He dropped his gaze, scrubbing a hand down his face, and for a moment there was nothing but the sound of your breathing, the distant clatter of someone dropping a tray down the hall.

But you didn’t allow him to interrogate you. “Joel?”

Nick met your eyes again “Tommy had to tell him about you. He was a mess.” He sighed, not knowing where to look at, “Tommy brought him to see you last night.”

Your breath hitched. “He was here?” you rasped, the words tasting strange and sharp on your tongue. Like hope you weren’t ready to feel.

Nick nodded slowly; his gaze wary but gentle. “Yes, he didn’t want to leave. Not until Mara made him. He wanted to make sure you weren’t cold.”

You turned your head away, staring at the ceiling, at the water stain in the corner that looked like a twisted halo. Your chest ached, from the fall, from the grief you had been bearing, from meeting your daughter in your dreams and having her taking away from you.

“Why did you let him stay?” you whispered.

Nick huffed a bitter little laugh. “Because I know you would want that.” He exhaled, voice softening. “Besides he was scared.”

You closed your eyes, a tear slipping free.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured.

Nick stepped closer, dropping his hand over yours where it lay limp on the blanket. “Just don’t make me dig you grave.”

You looked down at his hand over you and deep down you were thankful of his company.

You didn’t hear the door open just the soft creak of the hinges, and then the quiet thud of boots on the floorboards. When you turned your head, Tommy was standing there.

A small, tired smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when your eyes met his. “Well, look who finally decided to wake up,” he said softly, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Hey, Tommy,” you managed, your voice hoarse and thin.

He pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room, crouching by your bedside. His hand landed gently over yours, warm and solid. Just were nick’s were before.

“You scared us.” he murmured. “Ellie was a pain in the ass. Joel…” His voice faltered, his jaw tightening.

You swallowed, heart twisting. “Is he okay?”

Tommy let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “He is.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles absently. “You two sure know how to tear each other apart, huh?”

A fragile, bitter smile ghosted your lips. “It’s what we’re good at.”

Tommy shook his head, his expression softening. “He is going back home tomorrow.” A beat passed. “If you need to move out…Maria and I will open our house for you.”

You stared down at your hand in his. You thought about the way Joel used to brush his thumb over it without thinking, about the way your name sounded in his mouth when you found peace settling.

Your throat tightened. “I won’t.” You didn’t look up, but your voice was steady. “I’m not leaving the house.”

Tommy exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. His hand squeezed yours tighter, a rough kind of tenderness.

“Okay.” He nodded, his eyes glinting just a little.

“We need to fix the room downstairs for him to stay.” You spoke.

“I took care of it” Tommy said. “Now, when it comes to you…No more patrols, rest. Just rest.”

You gave him the faintest ghost of a nod, your body too worn to argue, your heart too bruised to care and it wasn’t going anywhere for now. You knew that. But for now, you clung to the only thing you could.

Staying even when Joel didn’t allow it.

“Thank you, Tommy,” you managed, the words cutting your throat.

He gave a small, crooked smile, a flicker of warmth beneath the exhaustion. “Don’t thank me. You’re family. And you always will be.”

You didn’t realize a tear had slipped down your cheek until Tommy reached out, thumb brushing it away the same way Joel used to.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured, already walking outside the room.

You didn’t trust yourself to answer. You just watched him leave, the door closing quietly behind him. The room felt too big and too quiet with only Nick and you inside. You laid back down, clutching the blanket, the memory of your daughter’s voice still echoing in your head.

Daddy’s making breakfast.

You shut your eyes, wishing you could fall back into that dream.

The next morning, the first light crept through misty windows of the room Joel had been staying for the last three months. Daisies had begun to push their heads through the earth, though a lingering chill clung to the air, a reminder that winter wasn’t so far behind somehow.

Like somehow timed had stopped that cold winter day.

Inside the hospital, Mara knelt in front of Joel, fastening the last strap of the brace around his most wounded leg. His face was pale, lined, but the flick of hope on there was undeniable, a man who was about to see the face of the woman who had brought him back to life.

“Alright, big guy,” Mara said softly. “Let’s get you home.”

Joel grunted. His eyes drifted to the window where the world was alive with the promise of spring, of a new beginning, and it almost made him ache more.

Tommy stood at the ready, looking relieved and exhausted, while Ellie lingered near the doorway, arms crossed, a sour look twisting her mouth.

“You don’t need to fuss over him like he’s a baby” Ellie shot toward Mara; her voice sharp.

Mara looked up, a tightness in her jaw. “It’s my job, Ellie.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve stick to be more professional around him,” Ellie muttered, loud enough to cut through the air like a knife. Her voice carried that raw, protective edge, and Tommy’s warning glance wasn’t enough to cool it.

Joel closed his eyes for a second, letting the sound of the wind outside bleed through the cracks in the room. “Ellie.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried warning, and it made the kid swallow her words, though her glare didn’t ease. He didn’t want more problems.

“It’s fine,” Mara said stiffly, moving behind the wheelchair. “Let’s just get him home.”

Meanwhile, back at the house, you were working.

The windows were cracked open, letting in scent of new blossoms. It felt wrong, how beautiful the world was, how soft the air felt against your skin while your chest ached like it was splitting open.

You’d dragged in one of the older armchairs from the upstairs bedroom, set his old flannel blanket across the back of it. A shelf with his favorite records. the ones Ellie didn’t steal. You placed two frame pictures of him with his girls on the nightstand. One with Sarah, the other one with Ellie, but the ones where it was you and Joel were left behind.

Next to it, you placed a plate with waffles on it,

Didn’t burn the waffles.

You wrote but you didn’t sign.

Once you were done with it, ready to leave the house. You heard the wheels of the chair before outside the door. You heard Tommy mutter a curse as they struggled over the uneven boards at the front step. Heard Joel’s sharp breath.

Tommy muttering, “Careful, watch that step.”

Your hand froze on the counter.

Spring was here, and so was Joel.

You stayed frozen by the counter; fingers still curled loosely around the edge of the table. The smell of spring clung to Joel’s clothes as Tommy wheeled him through the door, and though the room was quiet, it felt deafening in your head.

When his eyes found you. You saw the flicker of it, the hitch in his chest, the lines between his eyebrows tightening when he took in the fading bruise along your cheekbone, the healing cut near your temple. But it wasn’t just that. It was you standing in front of him.

His gaze traveled over you like he was afraid you might disappear before his eyes if he blinked.

“Hi,” Joel rasped, his voice hoarse, lower than you remembered, but still his.

Your throat threatened to close, but somehow you managed it.

“Hey,” you whispered back, a small nod.

It hung there, brittle and fragile like a spring branch weighed down by frost.

“Alright, let’s get you settled, Joel,” Mara cut in briskly, stepping around Tommy and taking the handles of the chair like it was hers to steer. “We’ve got pain meds ready for you and some exercises to do.”

You flinched, something inside you bristling at her interruption.

Joel’s head tilted toward you, his brow pulling as if he meant to protest, to stop her, to say something, but the weight of it all kept him in that chair.

And before anyone else could speak, you cleared your throat.

“I’ll get out of the way,” you murmured, voice tight, passing by him to the door.

You heard Ellie mutter something sharp under her breath. Tommy let out a sigh like it hurt him to watch it all happen again, to watch you both walk the edges of a world neither of you knew how to fix anymore.

But fingers curled around your wrist. Not forceful, but gently.

You froze, your heart stuttering painfully against your ribs. His hand was rough, calloused like it always was, but his touch was hesitant now, like he wasn’t sure he had the right.

Your breath caught as you turned your head, eyes meeting his.

Joel’s gaze was raw and tired, his face hollowed by pain and everything the last time had carved out of him.

“Don’t,” he rasped, barely above a whisper, like it was costing him to say it.

You felt it in the way his thumb ghosted over your skin, in the quiet, aching grief sitting between you.

Mara shifted in the background, her voice a taut line. “Joel, we need to get you—”

Your voice was such a fragile thing when you finally spoke, your hand still caught in his.

"It's good to see you alright," you whispered, and then gently, carefully, you pulled your wrist free.

The words hung in the air between you like a ghost of something you both used to be. Joel’s mouth opened like he might say something back, but you didn’t give him the chance. You turned and walked out of the house, your steps quick, your chest tight, the familiar sting behind your eyes already there waiting slip free.

Ellie muttered something under her breath again, but it sounded more like heartbreak this time than anger. How the three of you had come from a family to this.

Joel kept looking after you, his throat working around words that wouldn’t come, his hand still half-raised like it could call you back.

Tommy cleared his throat gently. "Come on, brother. Let’s get you settled."

They wheeled him slowly toward the downstairs room, spring sunlight spilling through the windows, making everything look softer.

When Joel crossed the threshold of the room, he stopped, the ache in his chest catching. The bed was freshly made, soft blankets folded at the foot. The room smelled like cedar and clean linen.

“God.” Joel muttered, voice breaking just a little.

Ellie, standing awkwardly near the door, shoved her hands into her jeans’ pockets.

“Thanks, kid,” Joel managed, trying to gather himself.

Ellie’s brow furrowed. She shook her head. “This wasn’t me.”

Joel’s gaze snapped to her. She shrugged, looking at him like he was an idiot for not knowing.

And in his chest, something cracked painfully open, because of course it was you.

Of course, it was you.

You made your way to the stables, the air still holding that crisp spring scent wildflowers, and woodsmoke drifting from distant chimneys. The sun was shining, painting the mountains in strokes of soft gold and light blue.

Nick was there, brushing down one of the chestnut mares, his sleeves rolled up, hair a mess, a streak of dirt on his cheek. When he caught sight of you standing by the entrance, his face lit up at the sight of you.

“Hey,” he grinned, setting the brush down and giving the mare a pat. “Thought you were supposed to be resting.”

You tried to smile, but it came out crooked.

“I was,” you said softly, your hand trailing over the rough wooden doorway. “I just needed air.”

Nick wiped his hands on a rag and came over, his grin faltered as he really looked at you, the bruise still shadowing your cheek, the way exhaustion clung to your eyes. The months you hadn’t took a rest were taking a tool on you.

“He made it home okay?” Nick asked carefully.

You nodded. “Yeah. The room looks good. Tommy did a nice job.”

Nick raised a brow but didn’t call you out on it. He knew better.

“You did his room, didn’t you?” he asked with a small, knowing smirk.

You shrugged, lips twitching. “Didn’t do much.”

“Yeah, okay.” Nick leaned against the stall beside you, his voice gentler now. “Did you see him?”

You hesitated, staring past him to where the light caught on the manes of the horses, dust hanging in the air like glitter.

“I did.” you whispered.

Nick, just gave a nod, a crooked grin, and said, “So…”

“So what?”

“What it felt like?” he asked, meeting you glance as if you hadn’t quite idea of what to answer, how to gather your thoughts.

“I don’t know how to feel about him.” You began, “I’m so glad he is alive but looking at him hurts because I know I’m losing him.”

“You’re not losing him.” He reassured without thinking, as if he was sure of his words, “He could have gone anywhere in this town. He could have gone with Tommy, but he chose to come back to you. You’re his home.”

“The last time we spoke he told me he wasn’t sure if he loved me.” You confessed; the thought alone made you ashamed.

“He is a man.” He said, simply.”

You chuckled, “That’s an excuse?”

Nick grinned faintly at your chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“Of course, it’s not an excuse,” he went on, brushing a hand through his hair. “But it means… sometimes we say shit we don’t even mean when we’re scared or when our ego is hurt. When we’re hurting. And Joel, well, I don’t think he is the exception.”

You swallowed, your throat tight, trying to make a sense of those words.

“It’s not just what he said, Nick. It’s how it felt. What I did.”

Nick leaned closer, resting his elbows on the fence rail between you, voice lower.”

“If it was over, you wouldn’t be in his head like you are. You wouldn’t be the reason he survived to that attack.” He nudged your shoulder. “You know I don’t talk pretty like other people do. But anyone with eyes can see it. You and him, you don’t find that two times in this life, specially no in this kind of life.

The ache in your chest loosened, just a little, and you looked down at your hands, fingers curling against each other. “I feel he won’t stop seeing me as—”

“As what?”

“As a monster.” You replied, avoiding Nick’s eyes.

“Why? Because you killed the people who were beaten him to death?”

You met his eyes.

“I don’t know what Joel did in the past, but no one deserved that.”

Your eyes stung, shoulders trembling. " I took them all down by myself. I didn't feel it. The punches, the pain. Nothing. I didn't feel human."

Nick’s face softened, he took a step closer, lowering his voice like he was speaking to a wounded person.

“You didn’t feel human because you weren’t meant to in that moment.” His gaze didn’t leave yours, steady as stone. “You felt what you needed to feel to keep him alive. That’s not being a monster. That’s being someone who loves someone enough to burn the whole world down for them.”

Your throat worked around a knot that wouldn’t budge, eyes stinging so badly you had to look away.

“You don’t come back from things like that, Nick.” Your voice broke, raw. “I don’t even know who I am after that night.”

Nick hesitated at first, then without asking, he pulled you into a one-armed hug, the solid kind of embrace. Familiar. Like the earth under your feet when the world’s gone to hell.

“You’re still you,” he murmured near your temple. “You’re still the girl who softened when she arrived at this place. And you’re also the woman who saved the man she loves.”

He let go, but his hand stayed on your shoulder.

“Stop waiting for him to call you a monster. He’s not gonna do it. No one who makes it in this world’s got clean hands. Not him. Not you. Not me.”

You wiped at your face, the ghost of a bitter smile tugging at your lips.

“You always make it sound so damn simple.”

“It is.” Nick shrugged. “This life is hard. Loving someone is simple.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice rough but steady.

Nick gave a lopsided grin, nudging your shoulder again. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m still making you clean out the stalls this week.”

A laugh escaped you, small, broken around the edges, but real. It felt foreign and familiar after all this time.

You ran a hand through your hair, glancing toward the stable doors where the sun was starting to dip lower, streaking the sky with soft pinks and oranges. You hadn’t noticed how much time you had spent with him. Spring was hanging in the air, bringing sweetness in the wind that promised things could bloom even after a long, brutal winter.

“I should head back,” you said quietly, your voice soft but lighter somehow. “See how… see how he’s settling in.”

Nick’s brow lifted. “Are you sure?”

You hesitated, heart thudding painfully against your ribs. “No. But I’ll never be sure if I don’t go. Besides that’s my home I have to go back somehow.”

He gave a small nod, as if he understood more than you were saying.

The warmth of the house hit you the moment you opened the door — soft light spilling from the living room, the faint scent of something cooking, the low sound of Joel’s laugh cutting through everything like a knife.

It was a sound you hadn’t heard in months.

And it wasn’t meant for you.

There he was, sitting in his chair, one leg stretched awkwardly out while Mara knelt beside him, guiding his foot along a little wooden slider board you’d left near the couch earlier. She said something you couldn’t quite hear, and Joel chuckled — a tired, worn sound, but it was real. It was his. And it wasn’t yours anymore.

Your stomach twisted, and before either of them could notice you standing there like some ghost in your own home, you turned on your heel and quietly stepped back outside.

The door shut with a soft click behind you.

You sat on the porch, elbows on your knees, eyes on the empty street where the last of the daylight clung to the edges of the earth. The ache in your chest pulsed, bone-deep and old as the world.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, fingers idly toying with a loose thread on your sleeve, breathing through the hurt because you were so damn used to it by now.

The door creaked open.

You didn’t have to look to know it was her. You felt it.

“Hey,” Mara greeted softly.

You glanced up, giving her a tight smile, you didn’t mean.

She shifted awkwardly on the porch step, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. “I’m heading out. He’s tired anyway.”

“Good,” you murmured, standing as she reached the steps. You forced your mouth into a smirk you barely felt. “I hope you don’t get used to spending too much time at my house.”

Mara blinked, surprised. Then she laughed, like she thought you were joking, but she knew the meaning behind that statement.

“You know I refused to him coming back here. I actually thought he would be better at my place.” She confessed, no taking her eyes from you, “I think he is fragile and you aren’t good for his recovery.”

“Me? His wife?” you challenged, not out of claiming but because you ad Joel had walked through different kind of hells to let this woman try pushing you away from his life.

“Yes,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “His wife.” She let the word hang there between you, like a reminder, like a weight.

Your jaw clenched.

“Do you think all of this will scare me off? I was the one who brought him back from that place. The one who saved him.”

Mara’s expression softened, but not kindly, pity, perhaps jealousy. “By killing people? How brave of you?”

Tear welled up in your eyes, your voice cracked, raw and splintering against the weight of it all. “You weren’t there!” your voice, loose from somewhere deep in your chest. “You didn’t see what they did to him.”

Mara’s face shifted, but she didn’t stop to speak or understand you, but you saw the way her jaw tightened, how her fingers curled tighter around the strap of her bag.

��I didn’t hesitate,” you went on, your throat tight with the taste of tears and blood “I didn’t stop to think if it was correct or if it would make me a monster.” Your voice dropped, trembling. “I was ready to die for him. I still am.”

Mara didn’t flinch, “But you are holding to some version of him that doesn’t exist anymore. “She said, voice low, almost apologetic in the way a liar is when they want you to believe the worst about yourself. “You are not ready for this version of him. He’s hurt. And you don’t always know how to leave things alone when you should.”

You took a step forward, your voice steady, tight around the edges. “What does that mean?”

“You should try and let him go.” She said, no hesitation in her voice, she didn’t care if her words were cruel, mean. Your chest felt like it caved in, like her words were hands trying to rip pieces of your heart apart. But you didn’t step back. You didn’t drop your gaze.

“Let him go?” you repeated, voice low and sharp as cut glass. “After everything we’ve survived, after everything he’s fought to come back from?

Mara’s lips parted, but you didn’t give her the chance.

“I know he’s hurt,” you said, your heart beating, roaring in your ears. “I know he’s not the same man he was before and I don’t always leave things alone when I should, but that’s the reason why he is still breathing. That’s why he’s here.”

You stepped closer, not needing to raise your voice now, your words sinking like a knife between ribs. “And if you think I’m afraid of the pieces left of him, you don’t know a damn thing about me.”

You lifted your finger at her, “If you ever say something like this again, you’re not stepping inside this house again.”

She didn’t smile this time. Didn’t laugh like before. She just gave a slow, shallow nod, her gaze dropping for the first time. “Goodbye” she said, passing by you down the steps.

Leaving you with a heavy heart.

But you stepped back inside the house, the floorboards groaning softly under your steps. The air felt different now, like light had come back to this house, air was clearer somehow, like the kind of day after a storm when the earth still smells of rain and something in you aches to breathe it in.

You didn’t mean to, but your feet carried you down the hallway, past the room where you knew Joel was.

you reached his door and paused.

Joel was sitting there, half-lit by the dying light of evening filtering through the window. His shoulders hunched forward slightly, one hand resting on his leg, the other gripping the arm of the chair. But it was the look in his eyes that stopped you cold.

He was staring at the door, not at the window, he wasn’t lost in thought. He was looking at the doorway, like he’d been waiting for you.

Neither of you spoke. For a moment, it was just the sound of the wind outside, and the house settling around you.

Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. His lips parted, but no words came, like whatever he meant to say wasn’t enough for what lived in that space between you and his hand twitched on the arm of the chair, and for a second you thought he might stand up and reach for you. But he didn’t. He just sat there, looking at you as if you were the only person that exist.

You cleared your throat, your voice softer than you meant it to be. “Do you need anything?”

Joel blinked, like the question startled him. His voice was hoarse when it finally came. “Now, I don’t”

Now, I don’t as if no, I have everything I need right in front of me.

You lingered at the doorway a second longer, hand on the frame, and before you could stop yourself, your voice broke the quiet.

“Where’s Ellie?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but it came out rough around the edges.

Joel’s gaze didn’t leave yours as he answered. “She went to have dinner with Dina. Said she’d be back soon.”

His voice was low, scratchy from disuse or maybe from whatever emotion sat thick in the room between you.

You nodded, glancing down at the floor, your fingers tightening around the doorframe for a beat.

“Okay.” you murmured. “Are you hungry?”

Joel’s mouth twitched, just barely, not quite a smile, but the closest thing to one you’d seen in his face since that day.

He nodded, slow and tired. “Yeah… think I could eat something.”

You forced a breath past the knot in your throat and gave a small, lopsided smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’ll get you a plate.”

You turned, starting down the hallway toward the kitchen, but his voice stopped you. “Hey.”

You glanced back over your shoulder. Joel’s eyes met yours, something vulnerable in them.

“Thanks… for what you did with this room.” It hit deeper than you expected, that he knew, that he’d noticed every detail you’d made, every quiet attempt to make him feel safe again in a world that had taken so much from him.

You gave a small nod. “I couldn’t let you wake up staring at those ugly curtains.”

A faint huff of air left him, the ghost of a real laugh, and it felt like a drop of rain in a drought. And you couldn’t explain what it did to your heart, to hear him laugh at something you had said.

“I’ll come back in a second.” you murmured, offering him one more glance, the air between you wasn’t quite as heavy, like you both remembered how to breathe in the same room again.

Joel just nodded, watching you like maybe he didn’t quite trust you’d mean it, but hoping you did anyway.

You made your way to the kitchen, your hands shaking a little as you grabbed a plate, putting together what you could find. Vegetables someone had left from the market, some bread Tommy must’ve dropped off. Simple things, things Joel used to grumble about, calling them rabbit food but you figured it was better than nothing.

Your chest ached, remembering how many times you’d done this before. Bringing him food after long patrols, long nights. The quiet ways you looked after each other.

And now here you were again under different circumstances, but without knowing where you stood.

When the plate was ready, you grabbed a glass of water, steadying yourself before heading back down the hall. The house was still, late afternoon light slipping through the windows, casting soft golden patterns along the floor.

You stepped into the doorway of his room. He was still there, sitting up a little better now, eyes on the door like he’d been counting the seconds for your return.

You cleared your throat. “I didn’t take too long, did I?”

You’d been running for what it felt like hours, legs burning, breath ragged in your throat. The evening air reeked of smoke, decay and blood, to death. The distant screams of the infected chasing you through the woods terrified you. You’d lost your group to them, two hours ago, your rifle long out of bullets. The knife you clutched slick with blood and nearly useless against the mass of them.

This was where your life met the end.

One of them, a runner, faster than you could manage, had tackled you, knocking you into the dirty grass. Its snarling face inches from yours, the stink of death and rot smothering you. You fought it off with the knife, but your arms were weak, your body heavier than it had ever felt.

Bang.

The infected’s head snapped back, blood misting the air, and the weight of its corpse fell limp over you.

You gasped for air, chest heaving. The sound of your pulse in your ears so loud it was all you could hear.

And then a hand appeared in front of your face. Rough, calloused, reaching for you.

You looked up, blinking past sweat and grime, and saw a man,

“Come on,” a voice barked, low and annoyed. “Get up.”

You grabbed the hand without thinking, your palm slick with sweat, dirt and blood you didn’t know who belonged to. He helped you to your feet in one clean pull, stronger than you expected, and for a second you just stood there staring at him. This man, at all the details on his face, he was a bit older than you thought, hair already streaked with some gray, dark eyes sharp and assessing as they swept over you for injuries.

“Are you bitten?” he demanded; his voice wasn’t soft.

You shook your head, your throat raw, your voice barely a rasp. “No. No, I—”

“Then move,” he cut you off, already turning to scan the path behind him, his rifle raised. The horde wasn’t far off. You could hear them, the shrieks and howls carried on the wind.

“This way,” he said, jerking his head toward the woods.

You hesitated for half a second, you didn’t even know his name, but then you followed. What choice did you have?

You ran after him, your chest aching, your legs weak and burning. The world around you was crumbling, but you stayed close to him.

At one point, you stumbled, your knee giving out beneath you, exhaustion, fear, the cut on your thigh bleeding down into your boot. And before you hit the ground, his hand was on your arm, steadying you again.

“You’re not dying today,”he muttered, pulling you forward.

Night had fallen heavy over Jackson, the town was quiet, only the sound of what brought filling the air. You lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the blankets tangled around your legs. Hours had passed. The clock on the wall ticked steady and slow, mocking you with every second you failed to fall asleep.

You turned on your side. Then your back again. The ache in your chest wouldn’t settle. Every time you closed your eyes, your body knew Joel was closer to you than he had ever been since he pushed you away.

You let out a shaky breath and finally, exhaustion dragged you under.

But it wasn’t rest that came for you. It wasn’t a sweet made-up life you could pretend you have far away from the cruel reality of death, of what this world was.

It was the cold gray light of the storm in the cruelest winter you had lived. It was the crimson read splattering on the snow; it was Joel’s ragged breathing.

It was them.

That woman, with her face twisted in fury and hate her hands tangled in your hair. She yanked you down to your knees, forcing your face forward

“Look at him,” she spat in your ear. “Look at what we’ve done.”

Your arms thrashed, heart shattered, your throat raw from screaming, but they held you down, bodies pinning yours to the frozen ground. You couldn’t reach him. You couldn’t move.

Joel lay there, his face bloodied, his chest still, eyes lifeless.

“No,” you choked out, your voice breaking as his eyes that used to meet yours with softness weren’t alive.

You screamed. You felt your voice tear out of your throat, but no one heard you.

“This is what happens,” the woman hissed, kicking you on the stomach “This is what you cause.”

And the worst part, some small, cruel corner of your mind believed it.

You bolted upright in bed with a cry, your body soaked in sweat, your heart hammering against your ribs. The room was dark, moonlight pooling faintly on the floorboards. You could hear your ragged breathing, the sound of it too loud in the quiet house.

You threw the blankets off, your skin clammy and cold, needing to move, to do something else before the darkness swallowed you whole.

Your hands still shook as you pushed yourself out of bed, bare feet hitting the cool floorboards. The house was silent, it felt suffocating.

You reached the bathroom, and you opened the drawer with trembling fingers, rifling past some bandages, a razor, a cracked comb, until your hand closed around the metal handles of a pair of scissors.

You stared at them for a long moment. Your reflection in the mirror looked like a ghost, pale, sweat-damp hair sticking to your face, eyes rimmed red from tears you didn’t remember shedding.

You felt her fingers on your hair, grabbing you forcefully.

You gripped a lock of your hair and without a second thought, you raised the scissors and cut.

Piece by piece, you sheared it off, watching dark strands fall into the sink. Some stuck to your skin, others clung to your lashes. It was uneven. But you kept going, until what was left barely brushed your shoulders.

Your breath came faster now, but the weight of her grip was gone.

You dropped the scissors into the sink, leaning both hands on the counter, staring at your reflection. The woman looking back wasn’t quite you.

Softer in some ways. Harder in others.

But she was you.

You thought about Joel and moved down the stairs like a shadow, the uneven ends of your newly cut hair brushing your jaw. You didn’t bother with a light. The dark was safer, quieter, kinder to you at this time.

Joel’s bedroom door was cracked open, and you pushed it gently with your fingertips.

Inside, the faint glow of the moon poured through the window, falling in pale strips across the room. Joel was asleep, or as close to it as he managed these days, his broad frame turned slightly on his side, one hand resting on his stomach, his face drawn but still. The even rise and fall of his chest was enough to ease something in you, something that had been raw and bleeding since that day. As the day he woke up after three weeks.

You stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click.

The armchair you’d dragged inside sitting in the corner, a blanket still tossed over the back. You sank into it, pulling your legs up beneath you. For a long time, you didn’t take your eyes off him.

It was the only time you felt safe enough to let your guard down. Not when people were around, not when words could scrape old wounds raw. He was the living proof that you could let yourself be fragile.

His face looked different in sleep. Not younger, not softer, but it looks like he had free himself from something.

You leaned your head back against the chair. Your eyes stung, and before you even realized it, your eyes slipped closed.

The soft creak of the mattress shifting pulled you from the shallow edge of sleep. You didn’t startle, years of instinct keeping you poised between waking and rest.

“Hey,” a low, gravel-thick voice murmured, cutting through your sleepy haze.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the dim light. Joel was awake, his face half-shadowed by the moonlight spilling through the curtains. His brow was furrowed, eyes fixed on you, a mixture of confusion and something gentler you couldn’t quite name.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice rough with sleep, like it scraped against his throat just to speak.

You pushed up on your elbow, realizing you’d fallen asleep in the chair, a stiff ache creeping into your neck.

“Yeah,” you whispered, clearing your throat. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His gaze flicked to your hair, shorter, jagged, still messy from where you’d cut it, and then back to your face. His expression tightened, something dark and guilty in the way his mouth pressed into a line.

But he didn’t ask.

“Nightmare?” he asked, though you could tell he already knew the answer.

You shrugged, looking down at your hands in your lap. “I couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d… just sit for a while.”

Joel shifted, his hand moving to grip the edge of the blanket covering him, knuckles pale in the moonlight.

“Here?”

And that simple question made you angry because who was him to ask you that, knowing what you were, what you share, knowing that he was your safest place.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said quietly. “Sit up watching me like I’m about to disappear.”

The words hit harder than you expected, and your throat tightened.

“Sorry for still being afraid of losing you.”

He was speechless. He was aware that his demons and pain didn’t come alone. There was you, your fears, your trauma, your wounds.

“This was the reason why I wanted to free you from me.” He confessed, meeting your now shiny eyes, “I’m the reason—”

“That’s bullshit.” You interrupted.

"What you did," he began, "I would have done it for you in a heartbeat. No thinking. No hesitation. I would have done it worse."

You closed your eyes at his words. Tears threatened to spill.

"And I would have followed you..." He continued, "To death."

You snapped your eyes, meeting his now glassed eyes.

"Do you really think I could breathe without you?" He questioned.

"Stop it."

"Because—"

"Stop it, joel. Stop it!" You shouted you felt almost the whole town could have heard you. "Stop saying that when you already told me looking at me right into my eyes that you doubted your love for me." You turned around from him, the moonlight crept into the room, bathing you in a new kind of glow, giving you strength.

"I have dreams about them coming for me." You confessed, "but tonight was different, Joel," you turned back to face him, this time his cheeks were wet from tears, "And of course the first thing that came to my mind was you."

"I fucking love you, Joel. Perhaps even more than myself.”

He didn’t try to speak at first. His throat worked around a wordless sound, the kind of broken gasp a man makes when he realizes he’s spent too long running from the one thing he needed to face.

“You shouldn’t”Joel whispered hoarsely, his voice cracked and uneven.

“You always have the same fucking answer for everything.” You choked out, “Like what I did to bring you back wasn’t enough, like losing—” you sobbed when you realized what you were about to say.

“Lose what?” he asked, eyes widened.

Your chest heaved, the sob catching painfully in your throat. You tried to swallow it down, but it was too late, the words were already pushing their way out, trembling and jagged.

“Like losing myself in the process didn’t mean anything thing to you.” You lied.

Joel’s face crumpled, his expression breaking open in a way you’d never seen, not when he was hurt, not when he was bleeding, not even when he first came back from the brink of death.

He would never know about the baby.

“Don’t say that,” he rasped, shaking his head. “Don’t you dare say that, baby.”

“Why not?” you snapped, voice shaking. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? I gave up pieces of myself to keep you breathing, Joel. To bring you back. And you… you looked me in the eye and told me you doubted your love for me.”

You stared at him, your heart splitting down the center, because you’d never loved anyone the way you loved him, and you hated him for how badly it hurt.

“Coming down here was a mistake.”

“Don’t go, baby”

But you were already out the door and the space between you two had splinted open again.

You hadn’t quite slept after Joel’s words, after he had almost broke through you.

But time didn’t forget, and the morning light came, slipping through the worn curtains of the house. Yes, because the sun still rose, indifferent to broken hearts and bruised souls.

You padded down the stairs barefoot, only your socks separated you from the cool wood creaking under your weight.

Ellie was at the table, hunched over a chipped mug, drinking the tea you had found for her, her face half-buried in her arm. She looked up when she heard you, her expression scrunching like she wasn’t entirely awake yet. Then, when her gaze landed on you properly, she froze.

“Holy shit,” Ellie blurted, straightening. “You—” she gestured wildly at your head. “You cut your hair.”

You blinked, self-conscious for a minute, your hand automatically coming up to brush the uneven ends at your shoulders.

“Yeah,” you murmured, grabbing a mug and pouring yourself some water on it. “Needed a change.”

Ellie’s brow furrowed, eyes narrowing like she could see something else written on your face — because she always could. She didn’t ask why do had done it, not directly. But she tilted her head.

“It looks… pretty good,” she said finally, softer. “It suits you, you know?”

A small, genuine huff of laughter escaped you. “Thanks, Ellie bellie.”

Ellie picked at the edge of the table. “Does Joel know?”

“Is he awake?” you asked, glancing at Ellie.

She nodded, fiddling with the string of her hoodie. “Yeah. Tommy was helping him with his dressing duties.” A hint of a grin tugged at her mouth when she said it, like it was some kind of inside joke.

You gave a small nod, your jaw tightening just a little. You didn’t let yourself dwell on it. “Good,” you murmured, cracking eggs into a pan.

The sizzle filled the silence, and Ellie watched you for a moment, like she wanted to say something but hadn’t quite figured out what.

“You don’t have to… you know,” she started awkwardly, her words clumsy in a way that was unmistakably Ellie. “Wait on him like this.”

You didn’t turn, just kept your eyes on the pan as you flipped the eggs. “I’m not.”

Ellie huffed a quiet breath. “Yes, you are.”

You glanced over your shoulder then, your expression soft but steady. “He is still my person, Ellie.” You shrugged, a ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. “I won’t ’stop caring about him.”

She stared at you for a long moment, then gave a tiny nod and turned back to her mug.

You plated the food, eggs, toast, a little bit of fruit from what you could spare, and grabbed a fork, the scent of warm bread and coffee filling the air.

“I’ll take this up to him,” you said quietly.

Ellie didn’t stop you. Just muttered, “Tell him he owes me a game of cards later.”

And for a moment, just a brief, flickering second, it felt like home again.

You balanced the plate carefully in your hands as you nudged Joel’s door open with your shoulder. The room smelled faintly of cedar and clean linen, sunlight slanting through the half-open curtains.

Tommy was there, crouched by Joel’s side as he finished adjusting a brace around his knee. He looked up at the sound of the door, his eyes landing on you, and then, very pointedly, on your hair.

“Well, shit,” Tommy muttered, standing up and giving a low whistle. He tried to play it light, a crooked grin tugging at his face.

You didn’t react much, just raised an eyebrow at him as you stepped further in, holding the plate in your hands.

“It just a haircut,” you said, your voice even.

Tommy nodded like he understood. Perhaps he did but he didn’t insist on getting on your neves.

“It looks good,” he added softly, glancing between you and Joel before giving Joel’s shoulder a pat. “I’m gonna head out, have a nice morning.”

Joel didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at Tommy. His eyes were on you, had been since the second you walked in. You felt the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable, like it always got when there was too much between you both and not enough air in the room.

When Tommy left, the door clicking shut behind him, it was just the two of you.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him, the plate still warm in your hands. You held it out for him, but Joel didn’t move, didn’t reach for it. His gaze stayed fixed on you, not your hair exactly, but somewhere in the space where it used to fall.

When it became clear he wasn’t going to take the plate, you sighed softly and set it on the bedside table. The clink of the fork against the plate sounded too loud in the quiet room.

A long beat of silence passed between you, the kind thick enough to drown in.

Then, it came his voice, low, careful “Why did you really do it?”

You knew what he meant. It wasn’t about the hair. Not really.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, your fingers fidgeting in your lap. Stared at a spot on the floor before you spoke.

“I had a dream last night,” you admitted, voice a little hoarse. “One of them. We were back there again… except this time, they grabbed me by my hair. Made me watch.”

Joel’s face tightened; his jaw clenching so hard you saw the muscle jump in his cheek.

“I woke up feeling it,” you went on, your voice barely above a whisper now. “Like I could still feel her hands in it. I… I couldn’t leave it.” You gave a short, brittle laugh. “I thought if there was nothing for them to grab, I would sleep better.”

Joel’s hand lifted, slowly, like he was afraid you might flinch at his touch, His rough fingers brushed against the ends of your newly cut hair, catching a lock between them, feeling its uneven edge. Then his palm cupped your cheek, you closed your eyes at the feeling of his callused thumb skimming gently over the tender bruise where your face had hit the ground during the fall. His touch was so careful and gentle it made your heart ache.

You didn’t move, you just let him touch you like that, like you were made for him, as if your face fitted completely right under his palm.

His gaze stayed locked on yours, his hand still cradling your cheek, and when he spoke, it was barely a whisper, words dragged from someplace deep and buried.

“I got them too.”

Your stomach twisted. You almost felt selfish. You had never stopped thinking about the scars and wounds he was also carrying with all of this. You swallowed, feeling something hot and sharp press behind your eyes.

“Nightmares?” you asked, though you already knew.

Joel gave a small, grim nod. “But it’s you instead of me.” His voice cracked on the last word, like it physically hurt him to say it. “I see them grabbing you. I hear you calling my name, and I—” He cut himself off, his jaw working hard.

Your hand reached up, covering his where it rested against your cheek. His skin was rough, scarred in places, but it was warm and it felt right on yours.

“But you’re right here.” He finished, brushing over the corner of your mouth with his thumb, and for a moment neither of you spoke.

You closed your eyes, just for a second, there was so much tender on this gesture. His touch, his voice, the weight of everything you’d both been too scared to face. The warmth of his palm against your skin felt like the only thing saving you from the darkness, like if you opened your eyes, it might all disappear.

“Joel.”

The voice cut through the moment like a blade. Sharp. Your eyes snapped open, breaking the haze.

Mara stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, her gaze darting between the two of you. Her expression unreadable, something flickering between surprise and some disgust,

Joel’s hand dropped from your face like it had burned him.

He cleared his throat, straightened a little in the chair. “Yeah?” His voice was rough, lower than before.

Mara’s lips pressed into a thin line, and you knew before she even spoke that whatever she had to say didn’t matter. Not compared to this.

“I came for the exercises” she said, eyes narrowing briefly on you, then back to Joel. “You need them still.”

“I’ll go,” you murmured, forcing your voice steady as you pushed yourself up from the edge of the bed. “I’ll come back later, okay?”

You meant for it to be light, casual. But your voice cracked just slightly at the end. Not being able to get closer to Joel, it completely broke you.

Joel reached for your hand before you could step away, his calloused fingers curling around yours, holding tight, holding like it meant something. His thumb brushed over the back of your knuckles, and for a second it was just the two of you again, like she wasn’t even there.

His eyes met yours, speaking a secret language only the both of you knew how to speak.

You squeezed his hand back, your fingertips lingering against his palm until he finally let you go, slower than he should’ve.

You turned toward the door, giving Mara one last glance, and this time, you let your chin lift, meeting her narrowed eyes without flinching.

Then you left the room, leaving behind the warmth of his hand, the ache of what you weren’t sure either of you were brave enough to be again.

You found Nick out by the old shed near the edge of town, fixing a busted latch on the storage door, as usual, doing the jobs he could do. He was always working on something, always pretending like keeping his hands busy could fix what went wrong in people’s hearts.

He looked up when he heard your footsteps, his brow furrowing at first, then his gaze snagged on your hair.

“Well, shit,” Nick muttered, straightening up, wiping his hands on a rag.

You gave a weak, humorless smile. “Pretty much the same reaction as everyone.”

He studied you for a beat longer, then jerked his chin toward the stump by the fence. “Sit down. You look like hell.”

You did as he asked, and for a long moment neither of you spoke. Just the wind moving through the trees, the faint sound of the town waking up.

“I had a dream last night,” you said, staring down at your hands. “About thar group and Joel.”

Nick sighed softly, crouching down in front of you. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

And you did. You told him about the hands in your hair, about waking up with the phantom pain of it. About cutting it all off because you couldn’t stand the thought of being grabbed like that again.

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Joel told me he has them, too.” You said, “Everything I saw in him was a broken man, Nick.” And then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“I was pregnant.” Nick’s head shot up, eyes wide.

“And the day of the attack, when we brought Joel back,” you whispered. “I was bleeding. Knew something wasn’t right, but… I couldn’t stop it. By the time we got back, it was gone.”

Your voice broke at the end, and you hated how small you sounded, how raw.

“I never told him. Only Tommy, Maria and Ellie know.”

Nick’s face crumpled in a way you’d never seen before, like something deep inside him cracked too.

“Jesus,” he rasped, reaching for your hand. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

You shrugged, blinking fast. “He made it and after all… what was one more piece of me gone, right?”

Nick shook his head fiercely. “It mattered. It matters.”

You let out a jagged breath, leaning your head against his shoulder for a moment, and you let yourself cry. “It would break Joel, to know the truth. I can’t let him carry with this pain too.”

Nick’s arm came around your shoulders, steady and solid in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. His voice was rough, low near your ear.

“You been carrying it this whole time.”

You gave a small, broken nod against his shoulder.

“I know him,” Nick went on carefully. “Joel is the strongest man I’ve ever known, but you? You’re the one thing in this world that keeps him standing. And yes… it’ll wreck him to know. But it’d kill him worse if he found out from anyone else.”

You pulled back a little, wiping at your face with the sleeve of your blouse. “I don’t even know if he wants me around anymore, Nick. Some days it feels like I’m just… in the way.”

Nick gave a sharp exhale, gripping your hand tight. You looked down, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “I’m scared. Not for me. For him.”

“I know you are,” Nick murmured. “But you love that man. And whether you believe it or not right now, he loves you. Always has. It’s in the way he looks at you and he deserve to know what it cost you to save him.”

A long silence settled between you. The wind tugged at your hair, now short and uneven against your jaw.

“What If I break him?” you whispered.

Nick squeezed your hand one last time. “You won’t. Just be honest. Then, you both will heal properly.”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

The house was quieter than it had been all morning. Ellie sat in the corner, her legs pulled up to her chest, fiddling with the string of a worn bracelet on her wrist while Joel sat by the window, staring out at nothing. Mara was hovering too close, under the pretense of checking on his bandages, his exercises, his pulse, whatever excuse she could manage to stay nearby.

Joel didn’t say much. Hadn’t, since you left. But Ellie watched him like a hawk, noticed the way his eyes kept flicking to the door every couple of minutes.

“Joel,” Mara started, brushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear, “I think you should rest more. You’ll wear yourself out.”

“I’m fine,” Joel muttered.

She hesitated a beat too long. “I could grab those supplies you asked Tommy about. The ones upstairs.”

Joel gave a noncommittal grunt, then waved a hand. “Yeah. Top drawer in the bedroom. Just don’t touch nothing else.”

Mara offered a stiff smile, already halfway up the stairs before he finished speaking.

The second she stepped inside the bedroom, your bedroom; her polite mask cracked. Her eyes darted toward the dresser, but it wasn’t curiosity about supplies that drove her. It was the need to know, to pick apart the things you left behind, to find something raw and sharp to press her fingers against.

She opened the top drawer, found nothing but a box of ammo, a folded old photo of you and Joel, and a pocketknife. Supplies, sure. But she didn’t stop there.

She moved to the second drawer. Clothes. Then the small tin box half-buried beneath a shirt.

Mara’s fingers closed around it, lifting the lid. A flicker of something in her expression, triumph? satisfaction? It was hard to say. Inside were a handful of small, meaningless things: a button, a folded note, a cracked necklace chain.

And beneath them, there was a pregnancy test. It was positive.

Mara’s lips curled into a slow, cold smile as she turned the thing over in her hand. “Well, well,” she murmured to herself. “Looks like you’ve been keeping secrets, sweetheart.”

She put the test inside her pocket, grabbing some of the supplies and then she descended the stairs quietly, reached the bottom, walking to the room, just as Joel shifted in his chair, his face tired, his gaze still flicking every so often to the door like he expected you to walk back in at any moment.

Ellie was nowhere in sight now. Gone to grab food, or maybe to give Joel space, either way, the room was empty but for the two of them.

“Here,” Mara said, her voice softer than before as she set the supplies down on the small table beside him. She moved closer, standing just within reach. “Found what you needed.”

Joel grunted his thanks, not really looking at her, his focus distant.

Mara’s fingers ghosted over the edge of the table before she sat down across from him. A beat passed in silence. Then another.

“You know,” she started casually, tilting her head, “it’s strange. I went to grab the stuff you asked for, but I found something else.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, his jaw tensing. “Didn’t I tell you not to touch anything?”

Her lips twitched into a thin, humorless smile. “I couldn’t help it. And maybe you should know what kind of surprises your wife had been hiding from you.”

His gaze snapped to hers now, sharp and warning. “Mara—”

She reached into her jacket pocket and placed the pregnancy test on the table between them.

Joel stared at it. Everything in him went still. His body froze.

Mara leaned forward, resting her arms on the table, watching him with pity “It strange she is pregnant when she hadn’t been with you during these months.”

A long, loaded silence filled the room. Joel’s hand reached out, fingers brushing over the plastic, as if confirming it was real. His throat worked around a thick, heavy swallow.

“How long you think she’s been lying about this?” Mara pushed; voice soft but cold. “Weeks? She isn’t even showing.”

Joel’s jaw clenched so tight it ached. He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His mind was already spinning, rewinding through every conversation, every time you looked away, every time every single person had told him how much you lost.

And suddenly, all the pieces started falling into place. Joel looked up at her, eyes glassy, his whole chest feeling like it was about to split open.

“Out.” He said, Mara blinked, her smirk faltering for the first time.

“Joel—”

“I said out.” His hand curled into a fist against the table, his entire body coiled like a wire about to snap. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

A long, heavy silence settled between them. She stared at him a moment longer, searching for any softness left to twist, but there was none. The look in Joel’s eyes was carved from something broken.

Without another word, Mara stood. Her jaw set, shoulders stiff as she grabbed her jacket from the chair, shooting him a glance.

You stepped through the doorway just as Mara was leaving, her face with anger. She didn’t say a word as she brushed past you, not even sparing a glance, just slipped out the door like smoke curling from a dying fire.

But you felt it. There was something wrong. Your stomach twisted.

You turned toward the living room, walking towards the room, and found Joel there, the lines in his face deeper than they’d ever looked, his hand still curled into a fist against the table, his chest rising and falling like he’d just fought a war. His eyes lifted to meet yours, and the moment they did, your heart stuttered.

His gaze was glassy, broken.

“Joel?” you whispered, stepping closer.

He didn’t speak. He just swallowed hard like it hurt, and his voice finally came, low and cracked.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your breath hitched. You felt your knees weaken, your hand instinctively reaching for the back of a chair to steady yourself.

“Where did you find that?” you asked, shoulder shaking.

Joel’s jaw worked, his throat bobbing as he tried to get the words out. His gaze didn’t leave yours, it couldn’t. He looked like a man caught between fury and heartbreak, and it was tearing him apart.

“Mara found it,” he rasped, voice rough, thick with something like betrayal. “Upstairs. In your drawer.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. A cold, hollow ache opened in your chest. Of course, she did. Of course, she went through your things. And of course, she took the one thing you couldn’t bear to explain.

"She wasn't…she…. she wasn't supposed to tell you that! It was me!” you cried out, no bearing to look at Joel right into his eyes. “I—I—”

Your breath came into short breaths. Your whole world slipping under your feet.

“I had the right to know” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

His hand fell to his side, and you could see the war happening behind his eyes, grief.

“I know,” you whispered, your voice raw, wrecked. “I know you did.”

Your fingers trembled as you gripped the back of the chair, the pressure grounding you when your body wanted to collapse.

“I would have loved that baby—” his face broke, “I would have loved that baby because it would have been a piece of you. I would have got them a room, a crib, clothes. If you had told me I wouldn't have left that day.”

“Are you blaming me?” you asked, voice broken.

Joel’s face crumpled at that, like your words had pulled the last thread holding him together.

“I’m not blaming you,” he said again, hoarse, his voice frayed at the edges. “God, I could never.”

He ran a shaking hand over his face, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, raw. “If you hadn’t saved me—”

"They would have found you anyway." You said, “They would have found a way and you would had left the baby behind too.”

“But you wouldn’t be going through this,” he said, and the way his voice cracked on this made your chest ache like something physical.

You shook your head, tears spilling freely now. You turned away from him not to face him, “Joel, do you think I’d trade it? Do you think I wouldn’t do it again, a hundred times over, if it meant you were still here?”

His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw tightening “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it.”

"Mara implied that you had cheated.”

"Did you believe her?”

"Why would I believe some other women’s words before trusting my wife’s words?”

You closed your eyes, tightening them shut to prevent the tears from falling. You had faced so many wounds and battles to prevent him finding out this truth, from him not to put the blame on him. You still couldn’t face him, fully shaking.

“I’ve done a lotta things wrong in my life,” he went on, his voice rough, “but the one thing I never doubted had been you.”

A sob clawed its way up your throat, and you pressed a trembling hand over your mouth.

“I thought I was sparing you,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “I thought if you didn’t know, you wouldn’t have to carry it as another scar.”

Your whole body was shaking, you couldn't pay attention to the details, to the sounds around you. Until an arm wrapped around your waist, making your eyes open.

“Joel, you can walk…” Your voice cracked around his name, disbelieving, your hand hovering over his chest, not believing this.

His other hand came up, cupping the back of your neck, drawing your forehead to his, and for a moment you could only feel his breath mingling with yours, warm and uneven. Faces wet.

“I’d crawl to you if I had to,” he rasped. “Do you think a couple of broken bones were going to keep me from you right now?”

A sob slipped free before you could stop it, your body buckling into his hold. He caught you, his arms pulling you tight against him, one around your waist, the other cradling your head. You clung to him like a lifeline.

You had missed having him this close. Missing the warmth, he only could provide, his heartbeat of his heart under your skin. You pressed your face into the hollow of his neck, breathing him in, that familiar scent denim, cedar, and Joel. Just Joel, the man who had saved you and given another chance to live.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, the words breaking loose in a hoarse whisper. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how. I was scared, Joel. Scared it would break you.”

His hand moved slowly against your back, grounding you. “It broke me anyway,” he murmured, voice rough, full of grief, and truth. “But not because of what happened but because you were carrying it alone.”

Your throat tightened, your fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt like you never wanted to let him go again from your touch. “I didn’t want to see that look in your eyes,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “The one you’re giving me now.” You sobbed, “You resent me because I saved you and now—”

“At that moment...” he began, “When I realized what was about to happen to me. I made my peace with it. I knew it I was going to die and I knew that I deserved it.” He closed his eyes, breathing you in, “But I was going to die with the memory of you….When you appeared there I felt terrified to let myself go. I didn’t want my last picture of you in my head to be you in danger.”

Your breath caught, your entire body trembling as his words sank into you, you pulled away to take a look of his face. Aching under the light.

“I was so mad at you when I saw you,” he whispered, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “I wasn’t strong enough to stop you. And I was so goddamn scared. Scared you’d die for me, and I’d have to watch it happen.”

His voice cracked then, his forehead pressing harder against yours like he needed the contact to keep from breaking.

“But you lived,” he rasped. “You saved me. And all this time you’ve been carrying this weight alone, and I hate myself for not seeing it. For not being there to take half of it from you.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling as you cupped his face between your trembling hands. “I never wanted you to hate yourself for it,” you whispered, voice frayed.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your forehead in a trembling, lingering kiss.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

You found Gail outside her house, sitting on the front steps with a cup of coffee that smelled burnt and strong. She didn’t say anything when you sat down beside her, just passed you the cup like she already knew you need it.

For a long while, you both just watched the empty road, the world as still as it ever got now.

Then she spoke, voice soft, a rasp like gravel and warmth all at once. “What are you afraid of now?”

Your fingers tightened around the mug. You didn’t look at her. “I don’t know if I killed them all.”

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#fic: the days of you and I #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller angst #pedro pascal #tlou spoilers

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