#give another man a chance. it will be okay to cut someone out of your life if they suck

[talkingontheinternet]

notes

sorry since realizing my gender i have zero tolerance for the whole “man hating” angle of being queer i hate i hate it i hate you. stop. you are hurting people.

[obxsummer]

leave me again ii // rafe cameron

pairing: rafe cameron x routledge!reader (she/her), ex!jj maybank x reader

summary: you left the cut with nowhere to go. it’s rafe cameron that finds you and shows you the life you deserved to live

warnings: sorry jj lovers, that man does not get our girl back so sad jj and probably ooc rafe but i love it when that man is soft

navigation || part one

--

Six months.

It had been six months since any of the Pogues had seen you. No social media, no sight of you around town, no letters. Nothing.

The past six months left you to do a lot of reevaluations. You’d walked aimlessly after the group had left for the dive with nothing but your backpack and phone, no destination in mind. Until you found one.

“Lost or something?”

“Fuck off, Rafe,” Your response was instant as you continued to walk without sparing him a look. The car shifted into a different gear, you guessed by the noise, before Rafe was hopping out to approach you.

“Are you okay?” When you didn’t answer, he moved in closer and grabbed your shoulder before turning you to face him. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

You stared at him with the knowledge that you probably looked like a mess with the tear streaks across your cheeks. While Rafe had a lot of issues with your friends and brother, he usually stayed clear of you. Whether that was because you were close with Sarah, or what, you didn't know.

Twisting your fingers together, you dropped your gaze as tears started to build again. “You ever watch someone you love choose someone else over you, every single time?”

The question felt like a punch in the gut to Rafe. He had. His whole life he watched his dad choose Sarah. Watched his mom choose another family over him. Watched Wheezie choose another sibling over him.

“Get in, I’ve got somewhere to take you.”

Six months ago, you hopped in Rafe Cameron’s Range Rover and left The Cut behind. You didn’t question the decision, knowing you’d worry about everyone else before taking care of yourself, and that clearly didn’t work in the past. You felt horribly guilty about leaving John B with no indication whether you were okay or not, but you knew if one of them found out, JJ would be busting down the door to Rafe’s bedroom before you had a chance to say no. 

While you weren’t sure what the original intentions had been, Rafe was so different with you after bringing you back to his new house. One he’d bought after selling Tannyhill, free from the haunting of his father and the screams that echoed off the walls, he had turned it into a safe space for himself and anyone he invited in.

Things blossomed quickly and you realized the Rafe in front of you was not the bully, coke-head addict you’d once known. He was such a gentle person, and so much more attentive to you than JJ had ever been. Whether it was making you breakfast in bed before you left for the day, or prepping a warm (actually warm, like hot water you’d hadn’t had in forever) candle lit bath, or popping an expensive bottle of wine just for you to taste, he was there in ways nobody had been. You were his girl, his only girl, and you never once had to question that.

Rafe had even invited you to sit in on his investment meetings and he was slowly pulling your name into his business so you’d have a professional background to grow into. You were steadily becoming an educated little couple in his home, something he was so proud and grateful for. He had someone to lean on for advice and give him fresh eyes on new projects with no judgment or fear of anger. The two of you soaked up your bubble of peace for as long as you could before shit hit the fan. 

Little did you know, on the other side of the island with your brother, there had been absolutely no peace. John B and JJ barely spoke, everything ending in an argument when they did. Pope was sick of playing mediator, and Kie had more of less shut down out of guilt. Sarah was still searching for you, but you’d gone ghost. Cleo was treading lightly with the knowledge that everything would explode eventually. 

So, they did what they could, and dove into treasure hunting. When JJ pulled the amulet out of his pocket in the back of the Twinkie, John B’s emotions were mixed. Sure, he was stoked that he’d found the object the group was looking for, but he wished you were here. It was your birthday, and John B was inches away from losing his shit without you.

“Dude, are you okay?” Pope asked as the group stood in the office area of the house, trying to find more information on the amulet’s inscription.

John B tossed the heavy object on the desk in frustration. “No, I’m not okay! We can find decades old treasure like it’s the easiest thing ever, but we can’t find jack shit about my sister? That’s bullshit, Pope. And you know it.”

Pope knew things would be sensitive today. Even JJ woke up grouchy, which John B told him was deserved since he caused your absence in the first place. The lack of your presence weighed heavy on the group, so Pope suggested going to visit one of your favorite beach spots. 

Little did he know what he was getting himself into.

--

“Rafe!” The house was filled with your laughter as Rafe twirled you in the kitchen lighting, your favorite song playing from the interactive speaker on the counter. The two of you had spent the day together, visiting the country club for lunch before Rafe took you shopping for something to wear tonight.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Lemme love on you, it’s your birthday” He mumbled as he pressed soft kisses into your neck, hands squeezing your hips teasingly. The soft fabric of the dress he’d picked out covered your frame, the color matching your skin perfectly. 

You hummed in content, fingers holding his biceps tightly as if your knees would give out any second. “You loved on me a lot this morning.”

“Can’t help it.” Rafe’s thumb traced your bottom lip before he kissed you softly. “You make it so easy.”

The two of you got lost in each other for a few more moments, soaking up the quiet as the orange sunset started casting through the windows. Today had been the best day you’d had in so long and you were so grateful of Rafe for giving you so much patience and love.

It had taken time for you to adjust to this kind of life. You walked in here with three outfits to your name, a busted cell phone, and a stuffed animal John B won you at the town festival as kids. And Rafe embraced every bit of it, let you keep your Pogue pieces while building you a life around it that was filled with items you needed but would never ask for, all while loving you so gently.

You climbed out of his car (technically the one he’d bought you but you refused to acknowledge that), and stepped down into the soft sand below. This was your spot, the spot you came to whenever you needed to clear your head or take a moment alone. You’d shared it with Rafe shortly after everything changed, and now, it was a shared spot that you both considered special.

Rafe moved around the car to grab your hand and guide you toward the area he had organized for the two of you. A small white table had been set up with your favorite snacks and two glasses of wine, surrounded by the fluffiest blanket and pillows you’d seen. 

“Did you do this?” You squeezed his hand tighter, tears in your eyes at how sweet and thoughtful the gesture was. Your jaw dropped as the two of you walked closer; everything was thought out down to the tiny forks you loved so much being there to pick up the appetizers. 

“Course I did, baby.” Rafe kissed your temple softly and grabbed one of the glasses to hand to you before taking hold of his own. You clinked your glass against his, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him deeply in appreciation.

And then everything went to shit.

“What the fuck?”

Rafe’s hand tightened against your lower back, both of you looking over to see the handful of figures standing a few feet away. Your heart went to your throat went you made eye contact with your brother, whose hand was wrapped in Sarah’s. JJ stood behind him along with Kiara, Pope, and Cleo, all of them looking at you expectantly.

“Shit,” You whispered and took a step back from Rafe, eyes meeting his in dread. His expression had hardened at the sight of JJ, all the anger rushing back when he thought about how you’d been treated in the relationship, how unfair everything had been. You clocked the frustration in his gaze and placed your fingers on his cheek to redirect his focus back to you. “Don’t. I’ll handle it.”

Rafe’s jaw ticked but he didn’t argue as you slipped your wine glass back into his hand and left his side to approach the group standing in front of you. You weren’t even worried about JJ or Kie, you were worried about John B more than anything.

“Hi,” The greeting was so quiet you almost didn’t hear yourself. How do you talk to people you disappeared on six months ago?

John B’s only response was to pull you into the tightest hug he had ever given. You stumbled with the force of his body colliding with you before regaining your balance and returning the embrace. 

“You’re okay,” He repeated the words to himself as if convincing his mind that they were true before stepping back and holding your cheeks in his hands. The smile on his face was huge, and you were so so confused. “Holy shit.”

“Hi,” You laughed quietly, placing your hands on top of his. “I’m so sorry.”

John B shook his head, his thumb brushing the random tear from your cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I told you to take a break, yeah? And you did.”

You glanced back to where Rafe was surprisingly conversing with Sarah with no anger in sight. The pit in your stomach slowly disappeared as you took them in and turned your attention back to John B. “I um… there’s a lot to catch you up on, and I want to tell you. I wanna tell you all of it, JB, but-”

“And I wanna hear it,” He reassured softly. “But someone put a lot of effort into your night and I don’t wanna steal any of it.”

You were so goddamn grateful for your brother. Pulling John B into another hug, you spared the look over his shoulder to see Kiara stomping away from the beach. You tried to keep a smirk off your face but it definitely made its way through. 

Stepping back from John B, you shared hugs with Cleo and Pope, promising that you would see them soon before you were face to face with the reason you made it here in the first place. JJ looked rough. His hair was chaotic, arms thinner than you remembered, and he just looked tired.

“I don’t want your apology,” You spoke as he opened his mouth. “And it looks like you have a girlfriend to go find anyway.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” JJ replied quickly as he stared at you. “Not anymore.”

You pulled your lips in and shrugged. “Okay. I’ll see you around, JJ.”

He reached a hand out toward you when you moved to walk away. You paused just out of his reach and looked back. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

You nodded. “I know. I should be thanking you actually, because if you had said it back to me that day, I wouldn’t have found something so much better.”

And with that, you walked away from JJ and the empty promises he had always given, walked away straight into the arms of someone who would give you the world and more, if you just so much as asked.

--

navigation 

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter one ♡

Summary: Joel Miller has been your best friend for four years, and your trust in him is as solid as ever. However, things go awry one night after a heated argument, and you find yourself in a position you never thought you'd be in: naked, underneath him, with his eyes devouring you like there's no tomorrow. And when you wake up the next morning, you know it right away, reality piercing your chest; things will never be the same again.

Word count: 9.4K

A/N: Okay, I was planning for the first chapter to be 4K words MAX, but my imagination went crazy with this lol I really hope you like it. I really enjoyed writing this <3 warning: ANGST! don't forget to leave feedback, tell me what you think!

If you want to be on the tag list, let me know too.

You met him on the night of your twenty-second birthday, at the small party Cassie had put together for you in her dimly lit apartment. You hadn’t wanted much of a celebration, nothing bigger than a few close friends, and certainly not a group of strangers. But when Brianna swept in, holding hands with a man you didn’t know, and introduced him as her boyfriend, you felt a vague flicker of annoyance, the kind that accompanies unmet expectations.

"I thought it was just going to be us," you mumbled to Cassie, catching her in the kitchen as she poured herself another glass of wine.

She looked at you, her cheeks already flushed, eyes bright. "They're a few of my friends, too; they’re nice—you’ll like them if you give it a chance." She smiled, urging you to relax, as though she could tease you out of your mood. "It’s your birthday; don’t be so sullen."

"I didn’t know Brianna was bringing her boyfriend," you said quietly, as Cassie started back to the living room.

She paused, giving you a half-smile over her shoulder. "Neither did I, actually," she admitted, lowering her voice. "Apparently, they've been together for about a month. She’s really into him."

And she was. Brianna clung to him all night, her laughter spilling out freely, unrestrained and buoyant from the wine. It wasn’t long before someone suggested karaoke, and as voices rang out in the next room, you slipped quietly back into the kitchen, craving a moment of solitude. You were surprised to find Brianna’s boyfriend there, leaning against the counter, scrolling absently through his phone with a glass of water in hand.

He looked up, straightened, and offered you a tentative smile. “Oh, hi. Happy birthday,” he said, his voice warm but reserved. “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier…”

“No worries,” you replied, your tone reassuring. “Thanks.”

He hesitated, as though weighing what to say next. “Are you having a good time?”

You gave a slight shrug. “It’s…” but before you could finish, he cut in with a knowing smile.

“It’s okay. I don’t love my birthday either.” His eyes glinted in the soft kitchen light, and you felt a small smile tugging at your own lips.

You looked at him then, really looked at him, allowing yourself the indulgence. “I didn’t want to admit it,” you said, feeling the faintest hint of heat rising to your cheeks. “What was your name again?”

“Joel,” he answered, his gaze drifting briefly back to his phone. “Sorry, I’m a little on edge tonight. Left my daughter with a new babysitter. I think she’s having a rough time.”

Your eyebrows rose in mild surprise; you hadn’t pegged him as a dad. You moved closer, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice and asked, “How old is she?”

“Four. Her name’s Sarah.” He ran a hand through his hair, and you could tell he was tense. “It’s only the second time she’s been with this sitter, and apparently, she’s been crying all evening.”

“Oh, poor thing,” you murmured sympathetically. “She’s little. Changes like that must be hard on her.”

He sighed, his gaze drifting to the side as he typed something quickly on his phone. “I should probably get going. Brianna won’t love that idea; we’d planned to stay out…” He paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours, worry etched across his face. “You think she’ll be too mad?”

“No,” you assured him, though you knew Brianna wouldn’t be pleased. “Go be with your daughter. She’s little; she needs you. Brianna will understand.”

A grateful smile spread across Joel’s face, and for the first time, you noticed the faint dimple on his cheek. For a fleeting second, you wanted to reach out, trace it with your thumb.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on you in a way that felt unintentional, yet steady. “I hope your night gets better once karaoke is over,” he added with a quiet laugh. "Wish me luck."

You chuckled, meeting his gaze. “Good luck, Joel.”

He left with that same soft smile, and you watched him go, his warm brown eyes leaving an odd impression, like an unclaimed memory. And, as expected, Brianna didn’t understand. She spent the rest of the night sulking, casting sharp words at Joel through her bitterness.

“You knew he had a daughter when you got with him, this was bound to happen at some point,” Cassie told her, fed up with the other's complaints.

You didn't hear the answer, as you were distracted by watching the colorful pictures someone had put on the television.

You heard nothing more from Joel for a couple of weeks, until Cassie blurted out the gossip one morning while you were having lunch at her house.

“He broke up with her,” she began to tell you. “He told her she wasn't being empathetic and that he couldn't drop everything to party with her as if they had no responsibilities.”

It was no surprise. Brianna was a woman who lived at night; she was twenty-three years old and enjoyed it with the freedom that was rightfully hers. You couldn't blame her for wanting to have fun with her boyfriend. But Joel lived a very different reality than she did; at twenty-eight, he had a daughter to take care of, routines to follow, and a lot of work to do.

Although you thought it would take her longer to get over him, it wasn't long before she met a guy at her gym and got into it with him, outgrowing Joel in a matter of days. But for some reason, Joel’s warm, steady gaze stayed with you, like a whisper that hadn’t fully faded.

Years passed quietly, slipping through your fingers like sand until, suddenly, it was your twenty-sixth birthday. This time, the scene was different: you’d moved into your own place just two days earlier, and there was little thought of celebrating. Instead, the weekend found you alone, arranging your things and attempting to bring order to the chaos of a new home.

It was a crisp Saturday morning, and you stood in your front yard with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice in hand, humming along to some eighties tune drifting in from the living room. The song—one of those upbeat ones that made even housework feel light—had lifted your spirits, and you moved rhythmically as you pushed plastic flowers into the dirt along the front path, sending little puffs of air to make the petals flutter.

You were lost in your task when you heard soft footsteps behind you, instinctively making you turn.

“Oh, hello,” you said, quickly masking the slight surprise the girl’s sudden appearance had given you.

She looked at you with wide, curious eyes, seemingly unfazed by her solo adventure.

“Hi. What’s your name? Do you live here?” she asked, her gaze shifting from your face to the flowers in your hands.

Glancing around for any sign of her parents, you noted her relaxed stance, like she’d been coming here all her life. Smiling, you nodded and gave her your name. “Yep, I just moved in.”

She looked unimpressed. “This house was empty for a while. I didn’t like the kid who lived here before. He was a pain in the ass—”

“Sarah!” came a sharp voice from behind, making you jump slightly. Heavy footsteps approached, and you squinted against the sun to see a figure striding toward you, his features obscured by the bright morning light.

When he stepped closer, his face came into focus, and your breath caught. You knew him.

“Sarah, you can’t just leave the house like that,” he said sternly, a furrow in his brow, his tone more parental than reproachful.

He turned to you, and the scowl softened as recognition dawned.

“Joel,” you murmured, the name slipping out before you even meant to say it aloud.

His expression shifted into a surprised smile, and that was all it took to break the ice between you. You explained that you’d just moved in and were still settling. Joel offered to help with anything you needed, including taking a look around the house to ensure everything was in order. He formally introduced you to Sarah, now eight years old, who had nearly scared him to death by sneaking out. She had his same lively spark in her eyes, a brightness that seemed familiar.

That evening, Sarah invited you to dinner with them, leaving Joel with little choice but to agree. And one dinner became many, as evenings blurred into weekends, and you found Joel’s presence in your life weaving into something inseparable from your routine. He started popping by to help with small projects, fixing kitchen cabinets or adjusting the wobbly front steps, visits stretching into movie marathons or lazy conversations with cold beer in hand. Days flowed into evenings of chatting over the meals you cooked to share with Sarah, and sometimes her uncle Tommy. Though Joel claimed he was no cook, his barbecues were legendary, and you couldn’t deny you looked forward to them most of all. And soon enough, he was there for everything, from driving you to doctor’s appointments to accompanying you on those grocery runs he pretended to hate. He even started showing up early on days he knew you’d need a ride. Over time, he became the best friend you’d ever had, a safe place, someone who felt like family. With everyone else scattered—Cassie overseas, old friends moved away—Joel became your rock.

It wasn’t something you dared to admit to yourself often, but you couldn’t imagine your life without him. And maybe that’s why you never allowed yourself to voice those little fleeting thoughts, the ones that flitted through your mind every now and then: how safe you felt whenever he threw his arm around your shoulders, or how good he looked reclining on his couch after a long day. Or how perfect it felt when the three of you—Sarah dozing on his lap, you leaning into his shoulder—sat together in the warm silence of a Sunday afternoon. There was an ache, too, a quiet pang whenever he mentioned another woman. Thankfully, that was rare; Joel once told you, with a shrug, that he “wasn’t really looking for that sort of thing.”

Sometimes, you watched him carefully as you talked about your own dates, hoping to catch a glimmer of jealousy in his gaze, some subtle cue that maybe he felt the same way. But there was never anything you wanted to see, and you always felt silly for looking. So, you buried it all. The risk of ruining things with Joel wasn’t worth the confession.

One afternoon, however, your emotions almost escaped your eyes when, while preparing Joel's birthday cake, Sarah dropped a piece of news that caught you off guard. She told you, with her usual nonchalance, that Joel had gone out the night before with someone new.

“Yeah, it’s like… the third time they’ve gone out,” Sarah mentioned while spreading cream on the sponge cake. “I don’t know her name or anything, just that he met her in line at the bank,” a laugh choked in her throat, amused at imagining her father flirting with some woman in a public space.

You forced a smile, laughing along like it was funny.

"And who stayed with you last night?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

Not that Sarah was necessarily a baby; she was already twelve and extremely independent. But Joel never left her alone if he went out for the night, he knew how much she loved spending time with you watching movies and eating junk food. Then, when he arrived, you would pester him with gossipy questions and he would pretend to get angry and then answer every one of them.

“Uncle Tommy," she said, eyeing her work with satisfaction. “We had fun, but I kinda wished you’d come too. Hey, what do you think?” she fingered the cream neatly arranged with the angled knife.

“It's perfect,” you smiled at her, not waiting too long to ask the question you wanted so badly. “Why didn't you call me then?”

Sarah started sprinkling colorful sprinkles on top of the cream and looked at you for a second when she noticed the tone in your voice at the last word. She didn't seem to think much of it.

“You were busy, weren't you? Dad said you had something to do.”

Her answer hit you like a small weight to the chest. Joel had purposefully left you out. He’d even made an excuse for Sarah’s benefit. So, there had been three dates—three times he’d kept this woman a secret. A small knot formed in your stomach as you forced yourself to smile, still watching Sarah as she concentrated on the last of the sprinkles.

In the kitchen, you were running your hand through the steam from the beef stew on the stove—Joel’s favorite—when the door opened. His footsteps grew louder, approaching, and you nervously adjusted the dress you’d chosen, one you knew he liked, though he’d never said it. It was your favorite too, a cream-colored sundress with delicate shoulder ties.

Sarah sprang forward, covering his eyes. “Don’t look, the table’s not ready.”

You hurried to set the glasses in their places, your hands a little shaky as you moved, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush creeping up your cheeks.

“I don’t need to see it—I can smell it, and it smells incredible,” Joel grinned beneath Sarah’s tiny hands, which she’d plastered over his eyes, half to keep him from sneaking a glance, half just because she could.

“Too bad you don’t smell incredible,” Sarah retorted with a smirk, wrinkling her nose. "Go take a shower!"

You laughed, catching Joel’s raised brow at her.

“You’ve got five minutes,” you said, placing the lid on the simmering pot.

Joel snorted, brushing Sarah’s hands away from his face.

“That’s the smell of a hardworking man,” he replied, feigning offense as he turned for the stairs. “Y’all oughtta know.”

*

Later, the three of you sat around the table, and Joel took his first bite of the stew, eyes widening, a kind of bliss washing over his face. He tossed his head back and groaned.

“Sweet Glory,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Thank you for this.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, though part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something between irritation and flattery. “You say that every time I cook for you.”

He shook his head, smiling as he chewed, then spoke softly, his gaze slipping downward.

“I’m not exaggerating—I love everything you do.” A pause, and then a quick, awkward clarification. “I mean, everything you cook.”

The clarification was like a line drawn in the sand, a boundary etched by his voice alone.

You smiled weakly and inwardly thankful when Sarah spoke, telling you about something that had happened at her school that week and distracting you from the question that was spellbinding your tongue. You were dying to ask it, to look him in the eye and ask: who did you go out with last night? Why didn't you tell me? Is it someone I know? Is that it?... But you didn't, you stayed quiet and participated in the pleasant conversation, celebrating his birthday as he deserved. After all, no matter how much it angered you that he kept things from you, it was still his special day.

After dinner, Sarah forced Joel to sit in front of his cake, two lit number candles glowing in front of him. You turned out the lights, watching as the light from the flames reflected beautifully in your best friend's dark pupils.

Joel was wearing a black T-shirt and dark jeans, his hair was still barely damp from the shower he'd taken before, and his sun-kissed tan face looked smooth, decorated by the beard and mustache you loved so much. Behind him, his shadow vibrated and spread across the wall with grandeur.

“Make a wish!” Sarah cheered, bouncing with excitement as she placed her small hands on his shoulders.

Joel smiled, closed his eyes, and blew out the candles. In the dimness, you leaned in and kissed his cheek softly.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you whispered, your hand resting gently on his neck.

He reached for your hand, pressing a warm, lingering kiss into your palm. “I’m not that old,” he muttered with a mock frown.

Sarah giggled, holding a knife to cut the cake and licking a dab of frosting from her thumb. “You’ll be forty in four years,” she teased, catching your amused expression.

Joel scoffed, scratching his stomach as he stood back up, turning to you with a smile that made you forget, just for a moment, all the questions you were holding back. There was only Joel, his rumbling laugh, Sarah’s delighted giggles. It felt like home.

Sarah gave him his gift first: a copy of Curtis and Viper 2 with the deleted scenes and a mystery box. When he opened it, a smile formed on his lips.

He pulled out a weathered wristwatch, broken for months, now polished and repaired.

“I took it in to be fixed. Do you like it?” Sarah asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

Joel nodded, eyes softening as he extended his wrist for her to put it on. “It’s perfect, baby.”

“Let's watch the movie later,” Sarah said. “You can't fall asleep.”

“Let's see which one of us falls asleep first,” you joked, and you were right. Joel had been working all afternoon and Sarah had been yawning for hours.

You turned and picked up the box resting beside your feet, handing it to him. When he opened it, Joel pulled out a black cloth garment and a paper envelope. He tugged at the cloth, revealing a thick, soft jacket. He read the label and a smile appeared on his lips.

“I saw it and thought of you,” you said, mimicking his gesture.

“How much did you pay for this?”

“Don't worry about it, it had to be yours,” you noted as you stood up and took it from his hand. “Here, stand up. Let's see how it fits you.”

“And what if it doesn't fit? Do we have to travel to Rome to exchange it?”

You laughed, then helped him slide it over his shoulders, a comfortable, familiar movement.

“I know you by heart, I couldn't be wrong.”

“So?” he asked, smiling coquettishly. Your stomach tingled and you decided to ignore it.

“Lookin’ good, Dad,” Sarah chimed in, her innocent smile lighting up the moment. “Bet someone special will love it, too.”

Joel smiled weakly, as if he was trying to tell her something with his eyes, and for a second you hated the thought of your gift being enjoyed by someone else. You imagined him getting ready to go out with her -whoever she was-, running his hand through his hair and perfuming his neck as he did from time to time whenever he went out with someone. You knew that perfume perfectly, you'd recognize it anywhere, though you were sure it wouldn't smell the same on anyone else. Joel added his own scent to it, and you loved it.

“Okay, now, open the envelope,” you urged, your voice unintentionally sharper than you meant.

Joel sat back down and opened the blue paper envelope. He read the note carefully and when he looked up, you and Sarah were looking at him excitedly.

“Sunshine, did you pay for this?” he asked you, a soft disbelief in his tone.

Inside were three plane tickets. Sarah had helped you pick the destination—somewhere none of you had been but would love.

When you nodded, he let out a soft sigh. “Let me cover part of it.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “It’s my birthday gift to you, Joel. It’s all settled. You need a vacation, and we certainly do too, don't we?”

“That's right,” Sarah confirmed, smiling complicitly.

He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re too good to me.”

But he smiled, tucking the tickets back into the envelope.

Time with Joel and Sarah was easy. When you were with them, hours slipped away, and the heaviness of everything else seemed to dissolve. You felt at home, and sometimes it left you wondering about Sarah’s mother, about how anyone could have left them. Didn’t she see how extraordinary they were? Didn’t she realize what she’d lost?

You thought about this as you relaxed on the couch beside Joel, Sarah curled up with her head on your shoulder. Her breathing had slowed, and you smiled, realizing she’d fallen asleep. Three glasses sat on the coffee table: the wine Joel had opened just before dinner—a bottle you’d brought back from your last trip to Italy—and Sarah’s lemon soda. Joel snorted softly, glancing at his daughter with a smirk, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Fallen soldier,” he whispered, smiling.

You laughed, brushing a hand over Sarah’s hair. “She’s tired. She was up all afternoon making your cake, you know? Tried the cream three times before she got it right.”

Joel sighed, an apologetic note in his voice. “I know, sorry I was late. I know she wanted me here sooner.”

Curtis and Viper 2 was halfway through on the TV, forgotten in the background. Joel straightened, signaling he’d take Sarah to bed, and you shifted to make room as he lifted her, carrying her toward the stairs. You watched him disappear down the hallway, and as the house fell into a quiet lull, that familiar disappointment stirred in your chest. Now, without Sarah’s chatter, you’d have to keep pretending that nothing was wrong.

You took a long sip of your wine, finishing off the glass just as Joel returned. He sat down heavily beside you, causing the cushions to sink as he let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes before giving you a grateful look.

“Thanks for today, I had a great time. Sarah was very happy,” he said quietly, a warm smile appearing on his lips.

“I'm glad, hun. Although the credit goes to her, I just made dinner.”

“Doesn’t matter. You helped her, and I’m grateful. I mean that. For today, and for… all these years.” His voice softened, almost reverent.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you whispered, feeling your pulse pick up as he leaned closer, his brown eyes unreadable but soft. “You’re my family, both of you. Really, I’m the one who owes you thanks.”

He shook his head and leaned back, taking another sip of his wine.

“Not at all,” he replied, leaning back again.

You watched him for a moment, turning the weight of your question over in your mind. If you said something, he’d make an excuse. If you kept silent, the doubt would eat at you. You tried to fix your gaze on the TV, on anything other than his profile in the dim room. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“So, what did you do last night?”

He tensed beside you, so subtly that only you could’ve noticed. “What?”

You tried to keep your tone even, hoping you didn’t sound like you’d spent all day thinking about it. “I just… didn’t see your truck out there, thought maybe you were gone or something.” It was a lie; you had fallen asleep on your couch last night, you hadn't even noticed Joel was gone.

Joel seemed to measure his words carefully. “Oh. Yeah… I just went out for a beer with Tommy,” he answered, his tone a little too casual.

Heat crept up your face, disbelief taking root. He really was holding out on you for some reason, wasn't he? The man was lying to you, and not very cleverly. Tommy had been with Sarah, what if you had seen him, hadn't he thought of that? Apparently not. 

It took a moment before you could bring yourself to say anything, watching as he glanced at you with an uneasy smile, waiting for you to believe him.

“Joel,” you murmured, not quite able to keep the accusation out of your voice. “You’re lying to me.”

He gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, but you didn’t let him off so easily. Before he could say anything, you spoke again.

“Tommy was with Sarah last night, here,” you pointed out, your voice firmer this time. His silence told you everything, his face drawn and uncertain as he realized you’d caught him.

After a long pause, he looked down, his voice unusually flat. “Alright, yeah. I know.”

The admission was so casual it took you by surprise, but you shook your head, feeling the ache of frustration and betrayal creep in.

“Why would you lie to me?” you pressed. “We’re friends. Why wouldn’t you tell me you’re seeing someone?”

Joel sighed, avoiding your gaze, his eyes instead locked somewhere in the distance. “It’s… it’s nothing serious,” he mumbled. “Just getting to know her. Don't make such a fuss out of it.”

“What? what you're saying doesn't make sense. You’ve kept it hidden, avoided every chance to be honest about it. Why?” you asked, trying not to let the hurt seep into your voice.

“It’s not like that,” he insisted, but his voice sounded unsure.

“So if I call Tommy right now, he’ll tell me the truth? Or did you ask him to keep this from me too?”

Finally, he met your gaze, his eyes scanning your face, reading the frustration and hurt you’d tried to keep buried. You could see it in his eyes, that familiar tug of defiance, a flash of something deeper than guilt or secrecy.

“What if I did?” His voice was almost philosophical, his gaze intense and challenging. “This is my private life. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone, not even you. Do I?”

You drew in a sharp breath. His words struck like a slap, but you steadied yourself. “You’re right, Joel. You don’t owe me explanations. But you don’t have to lie to me, either.” You looked down, feeling your voice start to waver. “You’ve never hidden your relationships from me before.”

He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and slumping back against the couch.

After a few seconds, he finally looked at you, a look of exasperation crossing his face.

“Because of this.” He gestured between you, his tone gentle but firm. “This reaction, right here, is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

What Joel was saying didn’t make sense. Your frustration wasn’t over him seeing someone else; it was something else entirely, something more fundamental.

“Oh, just stop,” you snapped, voice sharp. “I’m not mad because you’re dating someone, Joel. I’m mad that you lied to me. They’re two completely different things.”

He took a breath, settling back on the couch, and turned to face you, a guarded expression crossing his face. “No, it’s always the same thing. Remember the last time I was seeing someone?”

And you did, briefly. A year ago, one of his friends had introduced him to his cousin—a woman who had just moved to town. She was polite enough, but her smiles had a brittle quality to them, and when she met Sarah, her warmth never extended beyond a single, dismissive greeting. The indifference was obvious, at least to you, and maybe you’d let that show a little too openly. Joel had caught on quickly, and after that, things with her fizzled out.

“That was different,” you argued, exasperated. “She wasn’t nice, Joel. She had zero interest in Sarah.”

He gave a bitter, half-smile. “Maybe, but it wasn’t your job to manage that. I can handle my own relationships. But you always—” he paused, thumping his chest with a finger, “you always step in. Always get defensive.”

“That’s not true!” Your voice rose as anger crept in, heating your face. “You’re just making excuses. Date whoever you want, Joel, I don’t care. But don’t lie to me, don’t insult me with these flimsy excuses. Or if you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing.”

He clenched his jaw, his gaze hardening, something fierce sparking in his eyes. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice low and measured, the words hanging between you like a dare.

“Sure about what?” Your brow creased in confusion, the pulse in your chest picking up, a flurry of anger and… something else you couldn’t place, mingling with the haze of the wine.

His eyes narrowed, holding yours, unflinching. “That you don’t care. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Because I know you, i know you to well to know you’re just jealous.”

Jealous. He thought you were jealous.

He had missed the point completely. Your feelings for him were complex, that much was true. But you had learned, or thought you had learned, to carry them quietly. Your friendship with him had come to feel like a sturdy house you could live inside without having to ask too much of it. Having him in your life was enough.

But now, you felt that house shift, cracks spreading through the walls. His inability to trust you hurt more deeply than you’d expected. The openness you’d once trusted was fracturing. You felt the sting of tears prick at your eyes, the words he’d thrown out so casually cutting to the quick.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you muttered, standing abruptly, storming to the door and slamming it shut behind you. You barely heard him call your name as you left, fury driving you down the front steps, the cool night air biting at your cheeks.

Honestly, he could go fuck himself.

Just as your hand reached your front door, his footsteps closed in behind you, his strides fast enough to catch up. You tried to close the door before he could reach you, but his hand caught it just in time, his voice heavy with irritation.

“Just go away, Joel,” you said, barely glancing at him. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” His voice was calm, almost pleading.

You stepped back, reluctantly letting him into the foyer. He’d have come in anyway.

“I mean it, God. Go home,” you insisted, your voice wavering, betraying the anger mixed with something else.

He shook his head, taking a few steps closer, his jaw tight. “Can we just talk?”

“Talk?” you repeated incredulously. “Talk about what? About how wrong you are?”

He didn’t flinch, but his eyes darkened. “Don’t act like what I said was crazy,” he said, voice steady but a little sharper now.

You scoffed, throwing your hands up. “Oh, so now I’m jealous, is that it? Then, by your logic, you must’ve been jealous too, right? Like last month, when Travis asked me out. Because if that’s the case, then we’re having the same conversation, aren’t we?”

Joel clicked his tongue, tilting his head with an exaggerated sigh. “No, Travis is just a jerk. And I don’t like him, plain and simple.”

Travis Dunn, your neighbor, had moved in a few months after you did. Handsome, tall, and friendly, everyone on the street adored him—everyone except Joel. He couldn’t seem to stand him, though Travis was always polite to him.

Last month, when Travis had asked you out, Joel had practically laughed in your face when you told him about it, muttering something dismissive as if the very idea was absurd. You’d told Travis you were busy, though deep down you knew the real reason you hadn’t accepted was because of Joel’s disapproval.

You shook your head, exasperated. “Travis isn’t a jerk, Joel, you just don’t like him. He’s nice, honestly, much nicer than some people, if we’re being honest here. Everyone loves him; you’re the only one who has a problem with him.”

“Then everyone’s as much of an idiot as he is, sunshine.”

“Oh, really? Or maybe… you’re jealous of him?” Your tone was teasing, but you felt the shift as soon as you said it.

Joel’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. He ran his tongue over his lips, shaking his head slowly, twice.

“Don’t turn this on me,” he said. “This isn’t about Travis or me.”

“No?” you shot back, voice edged with challenge. “So if I go tomorrow and say yes to him, that wouldn’t bother you at all, right?”

He stepped closer to you, his eyes dark with something you’d never seen in him before. The air seemed to thicken, his presence so intense it felt as though it wrapped around you. He leaned in, his face close enough that his words brushed your skin.

“You can do whatever you want, baby. It’s your fucking life.”

“And you can do whatever you want too, Joel. That’s the fucking point!” you nearly shouted, hands pushing against his shoulders, shoving him away. “I don’t care what you do! It’s already clear you don’t get it, you don’t get anything, ANYTHING!”

Joel staggered back for a split second, but it wasn’t long before he closed the distance again, though he didn’t get as close this time.

His voice was lower, a thread of something hard in his tone. “If you’re so insulted by the idea of being jealous, maybe that’s something for you to think about. Ever thought of doing a little introspection?”

“Are you drunk, Joel?” you asked, eyes narrowed, softening your voice a fraction. The argument was exhausting you, and the anger left you feeling hollow.

He laughed, an odd, choked sound. “Oh, c'mon, you know one bottle of wine ain't enough to get me drunk.”

“Yeah, but you’re tired, and you’re not exactly young, Joel,” you said, brushing past him, his gaze glued to you the entire time. “Alcohol hits you differently now. Just go home, leave me alone.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone, and maybe then you can run across the street and fuck Travis Dunn, if you want it so badly,” he shot back, impatience tinging his voice as he turned toward the still-open door.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, the anger washing over you in a wave. Before you could think twice, you rushed up to him, gripping his arm tightly to force him to turn and look at you.

“What the hell did you just say, Joel?” you hissed, grabbing his shirt, fingers bunching in the fabric as you backed him up until his shoulders hit the wall by the door. “Go on, say it again!”

Your breaths came fast, chest rising and falling as the rush of anger pushed tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe he’d actually spoken to you like that, cutting right through to something raw and vulnerable. He’d never spoken to you like that before. Maybe he was a little drunk, or maybe he was losing his mind.

But there was no softness in his gaze, no hint of the Joel you knew. His stare was sharp, almost wild with something simmering underneath, something you didn’t understand. To you, this whole argument made no sense, at least not his reaction.

Joel’s grip on your wrist was firm, almost grounding, as he pulled you closer, pressing your palm against his chest. “I can’t stand that asshole, but go ahead and fuck him if you want,” he spat, voice laced with frustration. “Go fuck the whole neighborhood while you’re at it. I really don’t care anymore.”

His words were harsh, designed to cut, but they only drew a laugh from you—sharp and derisive. A tear slipped down your cheek, uninvited.

“What, did you ever care?” you asked, your voice trembling on the last syllable, thick with emotion.

But Joel didn’t respond, and the silence ignited a fire in you, something that swirled beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

“Do you know why we’re friends, Joel?” Your pulse quickened, each beat like a drum in your ears. “Because it just works between us. There are no ulterior motives. You know why? Because I don’t like you like that. You’re not even my type, and you never will be. And no, I’m not jealous that you’re dating some woman you’ll probably dump in less than a month, so get the fuck over it and leave me the fuck alone!”

You watched as his gaze flickered between your eyes, uncertainty warring with something darker. Suddenly, with an unexpected strength, Joel tightened his grip on your wrist and pushed you back hard against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as your back hit the unforgiving surface.

His expression had transformed, those deep, dark eyes piercing you like arrows. His breath quickened, crashing against your face, and you could feel your lower lip tremble as he pressed even closer, pinning you against the wall.

“You don’t know how to lie,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing against your cheek.

The sensation was unbearable; his body pressed against yours, heat radiating off him and melting you inside. You could feel the edge of something primal, something that could tip either way. But suddenly, clarity surged through you. With a burst of strength, you pushed him away, breaking free from his grasp, forcing him to pull back just enough for you to gasp for air.

But the distance felt worse. In his eyes, you recognized something you’d never seen before—desire, raw and unfiltered. It clawed at you, igniting an inexplicable need. A sigh escaped your lips, and like a match struck in a dark room, it was enough to set off an explosion. In an instant, Joel lunged at you, and you found yourself wrapped around him, mouths colliding in a desperate kiss filled with moans and the urgency of your racing hearts.

With a loud thud, Joel kicked the front door shut, his hands moving feverishly down your body, fingers skimming your thighs, slipping beneath your dress. He caressed your skin before squeezing your ass hard, drawing a moan from your lips that echoed in the small space between you. You clung to him tighter, his hands fitting around you as if they were made for this very moment.

He pulled back for a breath, the sound wet and chaotic against the walls of your home, and then his lips descended down your neck, unraveling what little sanity you had left. A moan rumbled in his throat as your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently to tilt your head back, giving him better access to the tender spot just below your ear, your blood pulsing beneath his hungry mouth.

Joel seemed to want to devour you whole; his hands roamed erratically, trembling as his mouth kissed and bit your jaw, pressing your bodies together in a way that felt impossibly intimate. When you lifted your right leg and wrapped it around his side, he was quick to respond, hands securing your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto his hips, burying his face against your chest.

Another moan escaped you, and he pulled you down just enough to find your lips again. “Joel,” you whispered, breathless as you parted from him, pressing your forehead against his, eyes searching his.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he said, his voice low, almost broken, each word laced with a vulnerability you’d never heard from him before. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you replied in a small, desperate cry, feeling the heat radiating from him, the thin fabric of your underwear igniting a fire deep within you.

You were dying of thirst, and he had just asked you if you would refuse a sip of water. Was he mad? You wanted to drink it all. 

No sooner had you answered than Joel pulled you off the wall, striding toward the stairs with a confident grace. You lowered your legs cautiously, meeting his lips again in a frantic, wet kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with urgency.

You walked to your room with the agility of one who knows where to step, and once inside, you grabbed the shirt you had angrily grabbed earlier and lifted it up his body in a desperate attempt to rip it off. Joel raised his arms, letting the fabric pass over both of you and then fall to the floor, and as quickly as your hands returned to his chest, he kissed your neck again, desperate, pressing his fingers into the tender flesh of your waist, seeking a physically impossible closeness. 

His hands found your thighs once more, fingers gripping and kneading with a measured intensity that sent electric shivers through you. As he moved lower, his fingertips brushed the thin fabric of your underwear, inching closer to where you ached for him, squeezing you tighter as if to draw you in.

In a single, decisive motion, he grasped the hem of your dress and pulled it upward, the fabric sliding along your skin as he lifted it away, tossing it aside with a casual disregard that only heightened the tension in the air. He took a step back, his gaze roaming over you, from the soft curve of your face down to the tips of your toes, a look of hunger that felt almost consuming.

You weren't wearing a bra (your dress didn't require it) and your breasts fell beautifully in front of him, hard nipples and soft skin. Your chest flushed with warmth, a rosy hue creeping into your cheeks as you swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable yet exhilarated when he stepped closer.

“I’ve always loved that dress,” he said, his voice trembling with an emotion that was both reverent and raw.

“I know,” you replied, a smile curling at the corners of your lips, the moment igniting an intimacy that made your heart race.

His eyes swept down your body again, glittering with an unmistakable lust, and when he closed the distance, standing right before you, your breath caught in your throat.

His hands slid around your waist, firm yet tender, pulling you into him with a deftness that sent a thrill coursing through you. In one seamless motion, he lifted you off the ground, your feet barely grazing the floor as you instinctively stood on your tiptoes, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Joel’s eyes darkened with a hunger that left you breathless, and he leaned in, his lips finding one of your breasts with a soft kiss that felt both electrifying and reverent. The warmth of his mouth sent a rush of heat through your body, and before you could gather your thoughts, he nipped your nipple gently, a teasing bite that sent chills racing across your skin.

His teeth grazed you just enough to elicit a gasp, a shuddering reaction that echoed in the space between you. But he didn’t linger on the sharpness of that moment; he quickly replaced the sensation with the soothing warmth of his lips, enveloping you entirely.

He sank to one knee, lowering himself until his lips brushed your stomach, the warm sensation sending ripples of desire coursing through you. His face lingered dangerously close to where you needed him most.

Joel placed his hands on your hips, fingers gripping the elastic of your underwear, his gaze locking onto yours for a moment that stretched into eternity before he slowly began to lower it, the fabric sliding down your legs and pooling at your feet. You felt his breath hitch at the sight of your now bare center, the anticipation thickening the air between you as he inched closer, finally brushing his lips against your mons pubis.

“Precious,” he murmured, and the warmth of his breath washed over you like a caress, drawing a small, needy moan from your lips. His hands parted your legs slightly, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

You cupped his face gently, as if afraid you might break him, and then, without warning, Joel licked his lips and plunged forward, his mouth connecting with you in a surprise that made your eyes flutter shut. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer as he devoured you, his tongue working its magic as he sucked and kissed you whole, with an urgency that left you breathless.

He growled into you, the sound reverberating through your body, and you felt weakness seep into your legs, trembling under the weight of his relentless attention. Joel was eating you like a hungry man, tasting you and soaking in your juices with a fervor that felt primal, kissing you as if his life depended on it.

“Fuck,” you gasped, feeling every muscle in your body tighten as a building pressure coiled inside you.

He pulled away for just a moment, his eyes darkened with lust, a playful smile creeping onto his lips before he returned to you, closing his mouth around your clit, sucking and licking with a skill that made your head spin.

“Ah—Joel, I’m going to—I’m going to—” You struggled to articulate the intensity of what was building within you, your words stumbling over the tide of pleasure washing over you.

His voice vibrated through you, trailing off into a soft, “Mhm.”

You pulled at his hair, tugging harder as a wrenching moan escaped your throat. The world around you faded as his movements grew more frantic, his tongue flicking at you with a desperate fervor. One of his hands released your thigh, and a low groan escaped his lips as his finger found your entrance, sliding inside with an ease that made you gasp.

“Fuck me, you’re so wet,” he murmured, pausing for a moment to take in the sight of you—your cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with lust. A satisfied smile broke across his face, and you thought he had never looked so gorgeous.

From your point of view, he looked beautiful. His bright eyes worshipped you intently, his mouth and mustache glistened bathed in you, his hair tossed by your hands mingled in all directions. Joel Miller had never looked so good.

Another finger joined the first, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the sensation as he curled them just right, hitting that sweet spot that made you gasp for air. You gripped his hair again, pulling him closer, and he let out a throaty laugh, clearly reveling in the sight of you completely undone.

You felt his mouth on you again, the warmth of his lips kissing and sucking with an insatiable hunger that left you breathless. The sound of it was utterly obscene, echoing around the room like a carnal symphony, and it drove you to the brink of madness, your mind spinning in a dizzying haze of pleasure.

His movements grew more intense, a rhythm building that sent waves of ecstasy rippling through your body. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your hips moving in desperate undulations, surrendering to the climax that Joel savored with unrelenting focus. Your fingers clenched around him, digging in perhaps a bit too hard, but he welcomed it, desperate to drink in every last drop of what you were offering, to savor you whole.

With a low grunt, he squeezed your hips before pulling away, the wet sound of his departure from you hanging heavy in the air. You barely registered his rise from the floor, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure, your eyes still closed as the vibrations coursed through you. It wasn’t until his hands gripped your waist that you finally blinked awake, lifting your eyelids to find him gazing down at you, his face mere inches from yours.

He leaned in, capturing your mouth again, a kiss that was both desperate and tender, igniting a fire deep within you. You could taste yourself on his tongue.

Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss. As the intensity built, you let your fingers drift down his chest, trailing lightly until they found the leather of his belt, the sensation sending shivers through you as you tugged him closer.

Joel vibrated against you, a low growl escaping as he nipped at your lower lip while you fumbled with his steel buckle, the sound of it being released becoming your new favorite melody. You unzipped his pants, your heart racing as you slipped your hand inside, finally touching him for the first time.

Your pulse quickened as you wrapped your fingers around him, feeling the heat radiating from his velvet soft skin; big, hot and throbbing in your palm. A rush of desire flooded you, and you pulled away from his lips, dropping to your knees before him, your eyes wide as you took in his form. 

There he stood, beautiful and swollen with need, and your mouth watered at the sight. You cupped him gently, drawing him closer to your lips, placing a soft kiss on the tip. Joel closed his eyes at the sensation, surrendering to the moment completely, and you traced your tongue over him, tasting the salty sweetness of his pre cum that made your insides tighten with longing.

With a hint of effort, you attempted to take him fully into your mouth, but he was too large, stretching you in ways you hadn’t expected. Joel lowered his gaze to you, his fingers caressing your jaw as you struggled to adjust.

“Slow, baby,” he urged, his voice silky yet strained, and it sent another rush of need through you. "I know you can do it."

You matched your hand to your mouth, stroking him where you couldn’t quite reach, while your other hand gently caressed his balls, moving in a synchronized rhythm. Joel tensed beneath your touch, his fingers shifting from your face to tangle in your hair, guiding you as he reveled in the pleasure you were giving him.

The sounds in the room became a symphony of pleasure, every moan and gasp echoing off the walls, and you watched as Joel's pleasure climbed. The image was enough to drive him over the edge; your pink, swollen lips covered him and his cock glistened with your saliva, dripping from your chin with every move you made. Your teary eyes looked up at him desirously, and he could take no more; his gaze was filled with a primal hunger that threatened to unravel him. He finally withdrew from your mouth with great reluctance when he felt his stomach tighten, a low complaint escaping your throat in protest.

His breathing was heavy, and a flush colored his cheeks as he lifted you effortlessly, holding you at the waist, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. In one swift motion, he laid you back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he moved closer; Joel kneeling and settling between your legs which you instinctively opened for him. 

You needed him, you needed him to fill you whole. You had never needed anything as much as you needed him at that moment. And as if he was reading your thoughts - or maybe he needed you as much as you needed him - he leaned in, taking your mouth with his once more, his moans blending with yours as he lost himself in you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss, the taste of him igniting a fire in your veins. You felt him positioning himself at your entrance, his heat pulsing against you, and an intense sigh shot through your chest as Joel entered you in one thrust, burning and stretching you around him. 

“Oh God,” he groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. His right hand traveled to your left leg, lifting it and resting it high on his shoulder, while without hesitation, his other hand mirrored the movement with your right leg, bringing you into a position that felt both intimate and vulnerable. You were completely folded under him.

A cry escaped your lips as Joel began to move on top of you, his face hovering just inches above yours, the heat between you palpable. No one had ever penetrated you so deeply; it felt as though he was everywhere, filling you completely, every inch of you alive with sensation.

Joel's right hand gently squeezed your neck, seeking your mouth for a kiss as his movements took on a more urgent pace. The rhythmic collision of his hips against your buttocks created a beautiful sound that echoed off the walls, each thrust punctuated by the soft, desperate gasps that slipped from his mouth. Your own cries mingled with his as your body tightened again, your hands moving frantically up and down his back, your nails digging into his flesh, leaving little marks that he would surely wear like badges of pleasure. 

A broken sound escaped from Joel, raw and primal, as he sank his face into the crook of your neck once more, increasing his thrusts with a fervor that felt animalistic, as if the world outside had fallen away and this moment was all that mattered. He fucked you into the mattress with an intensity that left you breathless, as though he were trying to ground you both in this fleeting reality, where nothing else existed except for the two of you entwined together.

You melted around him, your juices mixing with his as you enveloped him completely, and just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he lifted his head, your forehead resting against yours, his wide eyes locking into yours. You had never seen them so dark, so filled with intensity and strength.

And then it hit you: It was Joel, your Joel, the one who had been your best friend for four years, and here he was, fucking the life out of you like no one ever had before. What could possibly come after an experience like this?

“I thought you didn't like me,” he said, his voice choppy, strained with effort. A smirk played at the corners of his swollen lips. “Such a bad liar, baby, look at you.”

You growled in response, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him towards you with a mix of force and anger. Your lips found his in a kiss that was anything but patient, igniting a spark between you. You felt him tense above you, one of his hands quickly moving to your center, exerting immense pressure as he leaned his weight on his other arm, holding you captive beneath him.

His fingers found your clit, tracing gentle circles that made your back arch involuntarily, another wave of pleasure building inside you. Your mouth was still on his, consuming him completely, when your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. You felt your insides tighten around him, squeezing him with a ferocity that pulled him closer to his own climax.

Joel gasped into your mouth, and the intensity of it sent your vision spiraling into darkness for a brief moment, the sensation so strong it felt as if the world had collapsed around you. When your breathing finally steadied, you found his hot body pressed against yours, moving in tiny tremors, quickened breaths brushing against your jaw.

He stayed inside you for a few moments longer, savoring the closeness, your hands continuing to caress his back, each touch a silent promise. Then, slowly, he pulled out of you, leaving you feeling achingly empty, his cum trickling from your entrance.

He fell limply beside you, his body slick with sweat, and pulled you close to him, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His breaths, still heaving, crashed against your damp skin, wrapping you in warmth. Unable to muster the energy to move, you let your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to a deep, exhausted sleep that you would not remember when you woke up...

No, you didn't remember any dream, Because when you opened your eyes the next morning, you stirred in place and your muscles ached pleasantly, reminding you of the night before. And as you stretched your arms across the bed, your fingers grazed the sheets, feeling an emptiness beside you.

When you looked to your sides, the realization hit you hard.

Joel was gone.

taglist: @orcasoul

[cutebat]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected, but Defiant Reader

The First Page

Warning(s): Neglect, emotional abuse, physical abuse, mind break (There are no yandere themes yet, but will be in another chapter)

(This chapter is basically the first part of the prologue and some things fixed)

~~~~~

10 years old.

You were only 10 years old when the Gotham's billionaire, Bruce Wayne, entered through the doors of the orphanage that you lived under of.

You could remember the owner holding your hand as she lead you to the man who is going to be your father.

You remember when he placed his hand on your head as he introduced himself to you and promised that he'll give you a great life.

You remember when you came to the manor as he introduced you to your new family that consists of four new older brothers, one new older sister, and a butler.

You remember when everyone would talk to you and welcome you with loving embraces.

You also remember a few days foward when Bruce gave you a costume that resembled a white dress with pink details, which earned you the title of Batgirl.

And after all of that, it's like it never happened.

~~~~~

You are now being ignored by everyone.

Nobody gave you a glance, made excuses, and basically beat the shit out of you. Well, not exactly.

For example, there was one day when you came up to Bruce with a flyer in your hand.

"Um, hi, Bruce... I know you're busy right now, but... I'm going to have a school play and I got the main role. So... I hope you can stop by and watch."

You tell him in the nicest way possible.

However, Bruce was so focused on his paperwork that he didn't give you a glance. All he said was...

"Hm? Yeah, I'll go check it out if I finish all of this."

And suprise, suprise, he never showed up.

This resulted in you crying in the girl's restroom all alone in your costume.

~~~~~

There was also a time when you felt like you needed to train more, so you did it by going up to Dick who seems to be training with Damian.

"Um, guys? Can I join you two?"

You ask as you smile awkwardly as your two older brothers turned to you.

Which is why you became surprised when Dick smiles.

"Sure! But, do you mind if you wait until me and Damian are done with this sparring session? It won't take too long."

He said with a chuckle as Damian looked like he was glaring at his little sister.

You didn't want to be rude, which is why you just nodded before you went over to the corner and watched your brothers train.

As an hour passed, Dick and Damian stopped, which made you take the chance to finally train with them.

However, you seemed confused when you saw the two turning around and walking out of the batcave.

"He-Hey, Dick? I thought you and Damian were going to train with me."

You speak up in a timid tone, which the two clearly heard.

"Oh, about that. Sorry, (name), but we were already planning to go to the cafe for a break. Maybe tomorrow, okay?"

Dick said with an 'apologetic' expression before he leaves with Damian.

Because of this, you never asked him to train with you again.

~~~~~

These were all easily common, but there were some moments when it scarred you.

One time, Tim was basically forced to bring you to a mission along with his friends.

As the patrol went on, you seemed to get distracted a bit when you spotted Conner having some trouble.

Because of this, you left the scene and quickly dived in and fought alongside the teenage Kryptonian. Thanks to you, everything was handled.

Conner thanked you before someone yelled out your name. This made you jolt as you turned to see an angry Tim storming over to you.

Before you can say anything, he cuts you in.

"What on earth were you doing?! I told you to stay where you are, and you just had to ignore everything I say, don't you?!"

He yells as if someone murdered his close family member.

This made you so shocked as Conner was stunned. When Cassie and Bart came over to the spot, they were both shocked to see their friend, yelling at his little sister.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Calm down, Tim. (name) didn't do anything wrong. I was the one who called her over to help me."

Conner defends you, but of course, Tim doesn't listen.

"Don't even try to defend her! She knows what she did! Oh, I am SO going to report this to Batman, so don't even try to cover yourself up!"

Tim said in a frustrated and angry tone towards you before he used his grappling hook and swooped down, leaving you behind with his friends.

"Hey, what the hell, asshole!"

Conner shouts out at his friend as he was shocked to him this angry.

He lets out a sigh before he looks over to see Cassie and Bart, comforting you as you are crying in their arms.

~~~~~

Yelling wasn't the only thing that you had to endure.

You even went through moments when things got a little too... physical.

It all happened when you were just trying to help someone in need.

You were walking down the hallway during the night as you just wanted a cup of water. As you were wandering down the hallway, you noticed some voices from someone's bedroom.

Jason's bedroom.

This made you curious as you got close to the door to hear Jason talking amongst himself as he sat on the edge of his bed.

He kept muttering stuff out of his mouth, which made you worried.

That is when you made a mistake by going inside.

"Jason...? Are you okay?"

You ask in a timid voice.

At that moment, Jason snaps his head towards you before everything starts to go blur. All you remember is him grabbing something like a pole type object before it was brought down towards your head.

And then, you woke up in your own bedroom, except you have a bandage wrapped around your head.

When you sat up, all you saw was Alfred, the family's loyal butler. No sign of your other family around, concerning about you.

Luckily, you recovered, and the wound went away after a month.

And, of course, Jason never apologized for what he did to you.

~~~~~

A few months was in, and no improvement has been made. You were always ignored. They made excuses of not wanting to spend time with you, and some of them actually hit you a few times.

All of that happened to your ten year old self.

But, did you give up on that spot? Nope.

You discovered on the internet what you can do to please your family to gain their attention. There were a lot of results, but the one that kept popping up the most was trying to reach your best achievements, which would result in them showing you more support from them.

And that's what you did.

You started to join in many after-school activities and studied all your might. It was tiring, and you almost passed out from exhaustion, but you kept going because you wanted at least your family to notice you.

The problem is that they never did.

They never congratulated you, celebrated on your accomplishment, and most of all, they didn't even give you a glance when you showed off.

All of that for nothing. Damn.

~~~~~

The breaking point wasn't because of all that. It was when someone else entered the family.

Duke Thomas.

A metahuman teenager whose parents died from the Joker Venom.

You thought that they might treat him the same way that they had treated you.

But, nothing.

Duke was showered with love, attention, and even praise.

The things that you never got when you came here.

Whenever you pass by whatever event that they're holding, you will always see them together. Being all happy, chatting, and laughing with one another.

They never do that when they're around you. Even on your birthdays. Actually, when was the last time they all celebrated your birthday?

At that moment, something inside you just snapped. Like, a loud crack echoes through your head that makes a loud ringing sound, kind of like a wake-up call.

Then, it all clicked.

They never cared about you.

They never even liked you.

The only reason why Bruce adopted you is because nobody wanted to.

~~~~~

The thoughts kept running through your head as you walked into an alleyway with a trash bag in hand.

Earlier today at school, you dropped out the clubs that you absolutely hated and pretty much just purposely laid back in your classes.

You feel empty.

When you finally reach the dumpster, you got on top of some stacked boxes because of your height and open the large lid.

You could only stare inside that had a lot of black colored trash bags. Your eyes were blank as you stared down inside.

That's when you muttered out.

"Why even bother...?"

With that, you tossed the trash bag that you were holding on into the dumpster.

After what it felt like hours, you finally got off of the boxes that you were standing on top of before you walked out of the alleyway.

As you walked away, something fell out of the trash bag that you threw out.

It was a white bat eared helmet.

The accessory that once matched with your costume.

That's right.

You were no longer Batgirl.

You never were, anyway.

•

•

•

Taglist: @somebodyrandom-613 @delias-stuff @endism @ragdol-666 @snowy-violet @sleepydhanie @missikkj @k1ttys-w0rld @box-of-kinderjoy @thetreefairypersonalblog @thelibraryofdeez @animegoddess15

(If you want to be on the taglist, let me know!)

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Hi! First let me just say I love all of your writing, it’s so amazing and you capture the characters perfectly! I was wondering if I could rq a little headcanon/story/whatever about pre portal (and pre Bill) Ford and Reader who are exploring the mysteries of Gravity falls together. They come back after a rough encounter with a monster, cue patching up each others wounds that leads into love confession and first kiss! 🤭 Totally up to you whether to end it there or go further. Thank you!

A/n: 👏👏Ford is such a cutie and this would have been a whole lot better if tumblr didn't delete half of it.

It wasn't supposed to get this out of hand, some town's folk mentioned of seeing something in the woods. Curious you and Ford decided to look for said creature. You never in your life would have thought was a bunch of gnomes trying to find someone to marry, though it became worse when the leader picked you to be his bride.

Something that Ford wasn't to keen about, then one messy battle later you and the man limped back towards his little house.

Wincing, Ford gritted his teeth as you applied alcohol to his cheek to clean the cuts as he held one hand holding his side. "I am sorry for dragging you in on this...I should have realized it was a bunch of nomes harassing people."

Biting back a snort, you shook your head as you gave him a teasing grin. "It's fine Ford...I mean at least someone find's me desirable."

Parting his lips, Ford grasped your hand as he gave it a squeeze. A hiss escaping his lips, his extra finger giving you some comfort in this situation. "Don't say that!"

He did his best to not sutter out a protest, cheeks now a deep red. "Y-You're wonderful, smart." He paused giving you a shy smile. "And I like you." His voice weak as his free hand fixed his glasses.

Eye's going wide after Ford's confession, your body relaxed as you gave his hand a squeeze resting your head against his. You felt warmth creep up your neck as you tried to ignore your heart pounding in your chest. "I...I like you too Ford."

"You do?! I."

You never got the chance to answer Ford as his lips pressed against yours. It was far from perfect, nothing like in the book's you read about but you still enjoyed it because it was with Ford.

It was with the one you cared most about.

Breaking the kiss, Ford took a deep breath in as he rested his head against your own. "I would like to do more...once I recover because I think one of those Gnomes broke my ribs." He hissed in pain as you helped him stand.

Letting out a soft laugh, you placed a kiss to his sleep as you helped him to the couch. "I would like that, get some rest okay." Leaning in you placed a kiss to his then another one against his lips. "And thank you for saving me Ford."

"Anything for you."

[justauthoring]

a life like mine.

because you may think you're nothing, but gojo thinks you're the whole world (modern au).

a/n -> goooojjjjjjooooooooooooo

pairing -> gojo satoru x f!reader

tw. -> you're a prositute, implied sexual content, physical abuse (not by gojo), dubious content (not by gojo) also, not spell-checked :)

he'd noticed it as you were clasping your bra on.

a large, weltering bruise; the size of his hand and black and blue and everything nasty. something uncomfortable twists in his chest, face falling as he pushes himself up to rest on the crook of his elbow. when his hand touches your back, you jump despite how soft his touch is, head turning over your shoulder and frowning when you realize what he's staring at.

"it's nothing," you dismiss instantly. you brush his worry away and stand, putting extra care into stepping away from him as you slip your panties on; a matchy lilac lacy pair to go with your bra.

gojo isn't so easily distracted though. "who did it to you?"

and he watches, always aware of you and your emotions, as your face twists; there's a flash of fear that appears in your eyes but you blink it away as fast as it came. "a client," you say eventually, short and sweet. to the point. it's clear you don't want him to ask more questions.

gojo just stares back at you.

you huff. "some dude that came in yester—no, two days ago." there's a pause, body stilling, and then you're brushing out your hair. "it's fine."

but that uncomfortable feeling still weighs heavy in gojo's chest. he sits up, moving to the edge of the bed as he watches you clean and fix yourself. the reality of the situation weighs heavily on his shoulders—in a minute you'll walk out that door, put a bright smile on your lips and you'll do what you just did with him to another man.

"i've been thinking," gojo speaks up, eyes still stuck on that bruise.

"yeah?" you call out, distracted, "what about?"

"you and me."

everything stills then. the tense air thickens into something else entirely as your eyes snap to his. you stand there before him with a dark look in your eyes, practically willing him not to finish what he's threatening to start.

"sato—"

"no, just—just listen to me, okay?" he's pushing himself to his feet, crossing the distance over to you in seconds. his hands fall on your arms so as not to let you pull away, tugging you towards him as he smiles down at you; as if he's got the solution to everything. "we work well together—you and me. you—i like you. a lot. and not just for the sex. i like your spirit... i love how you laugh and the jokes you make. i like when you give me shit and i love when i get to see that sparkle in your eye."

you're shaking your head, lips parting but gojo doesn't give you the chance.

"it leaves the second you walk out that door, y/n." gojo breathes, voice desperate, "the second you're out there you're someone else. someone you're forced to be. and i know you need the money but i can give you that money. you don't need to... to—"

"—to what?" you cut in, voice sharp, eyes narrowing. "whore myself out?"

gojo's huffs. "i didn't say that."

"but that's what you meant," you shrug. "the second i go out there i'm not myself? that's what you believe?" you raise a brow, pulling away from his grasp. gojo attempts to stop you and you slap his hands away. "the second i'm out there, satoru, i'm not longer the girl you want me to be. that's the truth."

"y/n—

"no, you listen to me," you hiss, pushing him back by his chest. "i like you, it's true. we get along. you're nice to me... but don't think you're any different from any one of those men out there." your arm shoots back sharply to gesture towards the door; to the other side that is blasting music and filled with lights and occupied by men waiting for their pick of women like you.

lips left parted, gojo watches as you kneel down, grabbing his jeans off the floor and reach into his front pocket. a second later there's a wad of cash in your hands. "you pay me. just like them. you think you're better because you're some son of some rich daddy? because your inheritance is some big corporation?"

and gojo notices it then—the tears welling in your eyes.

"you're not. you may be prettier, smarter... whatever. but you come in here and you pay me for my body just like them. and anything we do or the way i act is because that's my job. to satisfy men by being the type of women they want."

you throw the money at him and gojo catches it, watching as you move to leave the room.

just as your hand falls on the door, he speaks up; "is it your job to let them hit you?"

and he knows it's a cruel thing to say. he knows it's mean and horrible and the worst possible thing he could say to you in that moment. but he's angry and his feelings are hurt, so he says it all the same.

your eyes meet his fiercely, shining with pure hatred.

"not everyone gets to choose the life they live, satoru," you whisper and something about it scares gojo cold. "so don't you dare judge me for living mine."

-

gojo had started visiting you four months ago.

he'd walked into the club one night, surrounded by a bunch of his friends; they'd walked in with their heads held high and the clear confidence that they knew they were better than every other person in that room.

your boss had dropped everything to greet them. shaking and honestly pitiful, he'd dined and served on them for whatever they wanted.

you remember thinking that it was odd such high-class men had come to your club. gross, old and fat men came to your club; not young, attractive men like him and his friends.

that didn't mean you expected him to act any different.

he was though. so different. sure, he'd been cocky and it was clear he was quite high on himself. he still threw flirts your way and eyed you, but it was different than how it had been with any of the other men that had before him. his teases were genuine flirts, could even be considered sweet. he didn't eye you like a peace of meat and when he finally had you alone, he'd been just as attentive on you as you were on him.

he'd paid extra and had smiled at you so sweetly you were unable to deny the flutters it gave you.

he returned two weeks later. then, four days later. and then, he just... kept coming.

three weeks ago, your boss had been replaced. it wasn't that you particularly loved your boss before, but he was nice enough and he was extra careful about making sure you and none of the girls were ever harmed outside of any kinks in the bedroom.

he was decent enough for the club you worked at.

this new guy didn't give a shit. not about you, or any of the other girls—all he cared about was money. and with him brought scarier clients. the first time you'd seen one of the girls with a black eye, you'd went to tell him and he'd told you to fuck off.

when you pushed, he'd slapped you and told you if you didn't shut up, he'd do worse.

the next night a man had chosen you and almost immediately he had unnerved you. the way he looked at you was nothing good; cruel and like he couldn't wait to get his hands on you. across the room, you'd seen your new boss looking at you and the glare on his face had been clear.

don't screw up.

that man, some big CEO of some big company, had kept you all night. hours and hours. it wasn't the sex that bothered you—you'd had rough sex before, especially considering your job. it was... the way he'd held you, the way he choked you so hard you'd blacked out. it's the way he'd hit you when you tried to fight back.

it was the things he called you and the things he'd said to you.

a week later was when gojo had came in and that was the last you'd seen him since.

clearly, his talk of 'you and him' had been nothing.

that man, haruto ito was his name, came back two days after. and four after that, and he'd come back tonight too. each and everytime he requested you and each and everytime he got more and more violent.

"—stupid bitch, are you listening to me?"

you're pulled from your thoughts as a sharp pain radiates from your cheek. you blink, stunned, only to find a pair of narrowed, harsh eyes staring back at you. it's haruto, and he looks less than pleased.

"s-sorry, sir," you apologize, ignoring the hurt of your cheek as you step towards him. you right yourself quickly, knowing it'd be worse if you didn't, and make sure to swing your hips as you saunter towards him, hands falling on his shoulders to straddle his waist. "now, where were we? i—"

he pushes you off him, without a care for you, as you slam into the carpetted floor with a cry. hand sprawled out behind you to catch yourself, you stare up at him in surprise.

"what—"

"i want to try something different tonight," he leers, not a care in the world that he'd just hurt you, smiling brightly at your pain.

your stomach twists, fear blooming through you.

"sir, i—"

"no more 'sir'," he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "i think 'master' would be more appropriate, no?"

swallowing thickly, you let out a shaky breath. "i, um, m-master, i don't understand—"

"just shut up and do what i tell you," he brushes off with a wave of his hand. "first, i want you to lick my boot."

he extends his foot out towards you, and your eyes fall on it, puzzled.

"sir—master," you speak hesitantly, "wouldn't you rather if i—"

"do it. now."

hands left curled in your lap, something horrible twists in you. it was one thing to degrade yourself for the pleasure of these men; to have sex with them or suck them off or anything of that sort... but to... lick his boot?

it felt... worse.

dehumanizing.

"i-i don't... i mean, this isn't what we're supposed to do. i don—"

"i paid for you," he hisses, reaching forward to grab a handful of your hair. he tugs, hard, a cry leaving your lips as you're forced to bend your body awkwardly to relieve the strain. "so you'll do whatever the fuck i tell you to."

"p-please, i—!"

he slaps you across the face, this time harder, before he uses that hand to grip your jaw, pinching, squeezing until your mouth is forced open and his face is right in front of yours.

his eyes are blazing and you realize that you're terrified.

"lick. my. boot."

he lets go then, dropping you as you sink into yourself, shaking and crying as a sob wretches from your throat. he pushes his foot in front of your face, lightly kicking you with it, and you dig your nails into the palm of your hand as you force your mouth apart and move to lick.

just as you do, you hear the distinct voice of your boss and pounding footsteps.

"—sir! she is with a client!"

"i don't care. get out of my way!"

your head snaps over your shoulder in the direction of the door. that was—

"what are you doing?" haruto hisses, grabbing you by the arms as he tugs you back towards him. his grip is pinching and you yelp in response, turning back only to see him pulling his hand back and your eyes fall shut, trying to steady yourself for the pain you know will come.

except, it never does.

in the midst of everything, you hadn't heard the door slam open. it isn't until, a moment later, that you flicker your eyes open in confusion, only to see gojo looming beside you, his hand gripping haruto's wrist in his own.

and his face—it's the angriest he's ever seen it.

"what the hell is—" haruto attempts to call, moving to stand, but gojo cuts in.

"is that how you let your client treat your own employees?" gojo asks, murderous eyes focused in on your boss. you glance back at him and it's the first time you've seen your boss look so afraid. "beat them? and you." he spins to haruto, and you watch as he cries out, gojo's grip turning painful. "you like hitting defenceless girls?"

you're shaking, you realize. shaking and crying. your heart is bounding against your chest and it's then you realize you're still naked. as your hands move to cover yourself, you miss the way gojo's eyes fall on you.

something warm falls over your shoulders then. it's gojo's jacket.

meeting his eyes, the concern in them, a fresh wave of tears fall down your cheeks.

gojo let's go of haruto, and before either him or your boss can say anything, his arms are slipping underneath your back and knees and he's lifting you to his chest. he turns, pushing your boss out of the way and walks right out the door.

a second later, your boss comes running out. "wh-where do you think you're taking her? she's still one of my girls!"

a group of your coworkers, other girls who'd heard the commotion, are standing by the bar watching. there's concerned looks on their faces, especially when some of them see the state of you, and there's confusion.

gojo stops right by the door leading outside.

"consider this her quitting."

-

gojo hadn't said a word.

he'd been silent in the car ride, having tucked you into the passenger seat, making sure his jacket was still wrapped around you tightly. you don't know how long you drove, all you could focus on was the sobs that refused to stop.

when you reached what you assume was his house (mansion more like it) the tears finally stopped. he refused to let you walk, opting to carry you and didn't set you down until you reach a bedroom. his bedroom.

he'd grabbed a shirt and some sweats, both which were too big, but helped you dress into them before tucking you into bed. he'd then left, only to return with a glass of water, a clothe and a first aid kit.

all without saying a word.

now, having just finished cleaning your words, you were desperate for him to say something.

"i'm sorry," you whisper, unable to handle the silence. "i'm so, so sorry."

and that makes gojo still. he freezes on the seat next to you, body tensing as his eyes slowly flicker to meet your own and then he's shaking his head. "why are you apologizing?"

the tears well again even if you desperately try to hold them back. "because of what i said to you..." you whisper, hugging yourself as your lip trembles. "you're nothing like them. and... and i should've listened to you."

gojo's silent for a long moment. it drifts, carries on and leaves you tense and unsure. and then, finally, he speaks.

"it's not your fault."

and his voice is firm, leaving no room for any arguments as he shakes his head at you. "i should've tried to be more sensitive to you."

nodding numbly, you glance at your lap. "how'd you know?"

"one of my friends visited," gojo starts. "said he saw your boss hit one of the girls. i remembered the bruise and i was there before i even realized it."

your eyes widen then. "the other girls!" you hadn't thought about it in the moment; scared and desperate to get away. but your boss would surely be angry about what had happened with you and that meant— "they'll be punished! my boss, he'll—!"

gojo's hand falls on your own, soft and warm, gentle. "don't worry about that, baby. my guys are there. they'll help them."

lips parting, you turn to gojo. "really?"

he smiles. "i promise."

eased at that, you nod. silence follows then, echoes for a few moments.

gojo is the first to break it. "i meant what i said even if i said it wrong."

you turn to him, confused.

"you and me," he clarifies and you blink. "i never went to you just for the sex. maybe at first, but never after that. i... i can't explain it but i could never stop thinking about you. you were on my mind all the time. and it pained me to see you stuck in a place you hated so much."

squeezing your hand, gojo shifts, leaning closer to you.

"i mean it. you don't have to go back, ever. i... you can stay with me."

your heart warms but you hesitate. "what about money? i... i don't have any to give you."

"i don't need it. you could live here forever and never work and i wouldn't care," he professes and something about the way he says it tells you he means it. "i have more than enough money in the world. but... but if you want something, i can help you get a job. something better. something safer."

biting your lip, you sniffle. "i... i always wanted to work with kids."

gojo smiles then; "then you'll work for kids."

you stare at him, stunned that a man like him would do so much for a girl like you. "why?" you ask, shakign your head. "why do all this for me?"

"because..." and he hesitates, inhaling sharply as he thinks over his words. but the resolution comes with ease and gojo's words are heartfelt and meaningful as he answers. "because i love you."

your lips part, stunned.

"you don't have to love me back," he assures with a shake of his head. "i know i used you the same as all those other men. but please know i never meant it that way."

you shake your head. "it never felt that way to me. i didn't mean what i said before."

gojo seems eased at that, smiling. "i'm glad."

"and... and," you start slowly, inhaling sharply. "i don't know if i love you... yet. but i trust you," you confess, meeting his eyes. "and you make me happy. and i think i could learn to love you."

gojo just smiles.

"that's all i could ask for."

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Leaving Me Behind (Jason Todd)

Summary: you question why Jason left you all alone.

Warnings: Angst

WC: 940ish

Read on Ao3!

-

The night air was cold, biting at your skin as you stood on the rooftop of the old safehouse. The city of Gotham stretched out below you, alive with its usual chaos, but for the first time in a long time, the chaos wasn’t your focus. Jason stood across from you, his helmet discarded on the ground between you, revealing his dark, disheveled hair and those piercing blue eyes that always seemed to pull you in no matter how hard you tried to resist.

But not tonight.

Tonight, you were angry. Confused. Heartbroken.

He had come back—after weeks, months even—without a word. No messages, no sign of him. He was just gone. And now he was standing here, like nothing had happened, like you were supposed to pick up right where you left off.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said quietly, his voice almost swallowed by the wind whipping around the building. His expression was serious, a mix of guilt and something else, something he was trying to hide.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest as the words bubbled up before you could stop them.

“If you’re sorry, why did you leave me?” you asked, your voice cracking at the end.

Jason flinched at the question, his eyes dropping to the ground. For a moment, he looked as lost as you felt. His hands curled into fists at his sides, and he let out a deep breath.

“I—” He started, but he stopped himself, shaking his head like he didn’t know where to begin.

“No, Jay,” you cut in, stepping forward. “You don’t get to walk back into my life after all this time, say you’re sorry, and think that fixes things. You left. You disappeared without a word, and I had no idea if you were alive or dead.”

“I know,” Jason said, his voice strained. “I know, and I hate myself for it.”

“Then why?” The pain in your voice was clear now, the anger giving way to the hurt you had been carrying since the day he vanished. “Why did you leave me?”

Jason’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he looked up at you, his eyes filled with something raw and unfiltered.

“Because I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “I didn’t want you to get caught up in my mess. I thought if I left, you’d be safer. That you could move on, live a normal life without worrying if I’d come back in a body bag one day.”

You blinked, shocked by his words. Of all the reasons, you hadn’t expected that.

“So, what?” you scoffed, shaking your head. “You thought leaving without a goodbye was better than letting me choose? You thought breaking my heart would protect me?”

Jason winced, the guilt in his eyes deepening. “I didn’t think it through, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want you to spend your life waiting for someone who might not make it back.”

“I didn’t care about that,” you said, stepping closer, the tears burning in your eyes now. “I didn’t care if it was dangerous, or if I had to wait. I just wanted you, Jason. I just wanted you to stay. To trust me enough to let me be part of your life. But you didn’t even give me that chance.”

Jason ran a hand over his face, his shoulders sagging as the weight of your words hit him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible now. “I thought I was doing it for you. But I was wrong. I was scared.”

You swallowed hard, your anger fading as the truth of his words settled in. Jason Todd—the Red Hood, the man who faced death and worse—was scared. Not of dying or fighting, but of losing you, of letting you in.

“Jay,” you said softly, taking another step toward him, your voice trembling. “I get it. I do. But you should have talked to me. You should have trusted me to make that choice with you.”

“I know,” Jason said, his voice cracking with regret. He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours, desperate. “I’m sorry. I don’t deserve you, I know that. But I came back because... because I couldn’t stay away. I tried, but I can’t. I need you.”

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his voice. He wasn’t just apologizing—he was pleading for another chance. And despite everything, despite the hurt and the months of wondering if he was gone for good, you still loved him. You always had.

You took one more step toward him, close enough now to reach out. Slowly, you lifted your hand to his cheek, your fingers brushing against the rough stubble on his jaw. Jason leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a brief moment like he was savoring it, like he was afraid it would disappear.

“I’m still mad at you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “But I love you, Jay. I always will. Just… don’t leave me again. Not like that.”

Jason opened his eyes, and they were filled with so much emotion it took your breath away. “I won’t,” he promised, his voice hoarse. “I swear, I won’t.”

He wrapped his arms around you then, pulling you into his chest. The warmth of his embrace was familiar, comforting, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt at peace.

“I’m here,” Jason whispered against your hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for now, that was enough.

-

want to be tagged in my work?

EVERYTHING PERM: @nekoannie-chan @kjs-s @notyourtypicalrose @mistressofallthingsgeeky

DCEU PERM TAGS: @other-fandom-reblogs

[hees-mine]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟔 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫! - 𝐋.𝐡𝐬

𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠 ⚥ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: smut, unprotected sex, crying, angst, love making, alcohol consumption, fluff cause kinktober isn’t my strong suit💀

“Let me guess, the usual?” The bartender asks with a knowing smirk while he uses the white towel on his hip to clean yet another beer mug.

“You know me so well.” You tilt your head a slight smile just barely reaching your lips.

“Strawberry margarita coming right up.” he clicks his tongue and winks at you before starting your drink. “So, how bad was it?” He asks after a moment of silence.

Turning your attention away from your phone to look at the familiar face of your bartender, you respond. “Excuse me?”

“The breakup, you know.” Within a flash, your drink is sitting in front of you, and you still can’t understand how he always gets it ready so fast. Little did you know he always tried a little harder when it came to your order than the rest of his customers. What can he say? He had a little thing for you.

“How did-“ he quickly cuts you off.

“I know,” he smiles, taking the words right out of your mouth. “Lucky guess,” he shrugs.

“Very lucky, guess.” You eye him, taking a sip of your drink and staring into his eyes over the rim of your glass.

“Want me to be honest?” He wipes down the counter and leans his elbows onto it, meeting your curious gaze as you give him a nod to continue. “Well, I've never seen you before, but just recently, you started to frequent here.” he pauses for a second. “And tell me if I’m wrong, but the puffy eyes the off into space look, and though you’ve been coming here for a whole month, I have yet to see you genuinely smile.”

How the fuck did he know that? or maybe you were just that obvious who knows. “Well, maybe I just lost a family member or a friend.” you throw out other ideas.

“Hmm, possibly.” he taps the counter with his index finger. “But I’ve worked here a long time, and your eyes say heartbroken. Other people who lost family have this almost glazed-over look in their eyes, and no matter how deep you look, there’s still nothing but sorrow.”

So was he a fucking empath or a bartender?

“Okay, or I’m just taking it better than some people.” You don’t know why, but something about someone knowing the exact reason why you frequent the bar late at night was embarrassing. You felt like a typical girl crying over a piece of shit man that never cared about you in the first place.

“You’re good at throwing people off, I give you that,” he smiles. “Thing is, I can see that you want to smile. I can see that beyond those beautiful sparkling eyes of yours, that there’s so much more to you than downing more margaritas than I can count on my hands and feet.” your eyes shift away from his as you sip from your cup to avoid his intimidating gaze. “I can see that you’re broken.” your breath hitches that same annoying prickly feeling in your eyes, making itself known as a single tear rolled down your cheek. “But you can be repaired.” he strokes your cheek, a soft smile on his face while you stare at him helplessly. You just want the pain to go away, anything to distract you from the heartbreak because it’s been eating you from the inside out, and your bartender’s right, you are broken, but in your eyes, you feel broken beyond repair.

“No.” A shaky breath leaves your lips as you lean into his soft yet caring touch.

“One chance. I know it’s so random, but one chance.” he tucks your hair behind your ear, his thumb now lightly tracing your lipline in case you didn’t already know what he meant. “All I’m asking,” he whispers with a heavy heart.

He doesn’t know why, but the first day he laid eyes on you in the bar with mascara running down your cheeks and your quiet, broken sobs while you drowned yourself in alcohol, the only thing he ever wanted was to just see you smile.

And tonight might just be his lucky night.

Opening your eyes to meet his, you sniffle softly and mutter a small. “Okay,” and even though it’s small and barely there, he feels his heart race a million times faster when he sees the tiniest little smile on your face, but it wasn’t forced like the others you gave him in the past to try and make it seem like you were okay no this was real and if you gave him a chance he’d make you smile like that every morning.

𐃯 𐃯 𐃯

It was well past midnight by the time you both left the bar. heeseung drove you home since you had been drinking well, only one margarita but no drinking and driving on his watch.

You had both already entered your home, and you silently led him to your bedroom after taking off your shoes at the door.

He closed your bedroom door behind him, quickly zeroing in on your frame so delicate, fragile, and almost standoffish. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers as he wraps his arms around your midsection, pressing his back against yours softly as he kisses your exposed shoulder, making you shiver cause it’s been a while since you felt a man’s touch.

Trailing his hands upward, he grips the straps of your dress, pulling them down your shoulders and kissing the expanse of your soft neck. “He never called me beautiful,” you whisper as you tilt your head, allowing him to reach even more of your skin.

“He was blind,” he says, slowly pulling down the zipper on the back of your dress. “So blind.” his kisses leave little tingles all over your skin.

Rolling your dress down your waist, he lets it pool around your feet, and his hands immediately find the warmth of your waist. Trailing his hand up, he cups your exposed breast with his left hand, smoothing his thumb over your nipple and kissing the shell of your ear.

The faint sound of moans fills his ears, and he smiles to himself cause he’s the one who’s behind them.

He switched to the other side of your neck, his right hand moving from your waist to your stomach, caressing your smooth skin. “So soft.” he takes his time with you, going slowly cause he knows it’s been a while for you, and he could say the same cause he also had been heartbroken before. That’s why the look in your eyes was so easy for him to detect.

While working his lips on your neck, he pulls his hands away from you to unbutton his dress shirt, letting it hit the floor before back hugging you, letting you feel his warm chest pressed against your naked back. He felt so broad. Just his hold on you made you feel safe as you relaxed further and further into his warm embrace.

Ever so slowly, he drops his palm between your legs, rubbing you through the silky material of your underwear. “Heeseung,” you gasp, feeling the heat of his palm stroking your core.

He moans the moment he feels just how wet you’ve gotten for him, and his kisses on your neck grow needy the longer he hears you moaning for him. “Y/n, I’m right here” he caresses your thigh softly, right hand still rubbing your clit through your panties. “Can I?” He slightly tugs on the crotch part of your panties, and he feels you nod against his shoulder. Without a second passing after your approval, he slips his fingers inside your underwear, running them delicately through your folds. “Y/n,” he whines just below your ear, relishing in the way you feel just on his fingers, and hasn’t even been inside you yet.

“Heeseung, please,” you whimper, legs already giving out from his gentle touch.

The hint is not hard to understand, he knows exactly what you’re asking for, and he turns you around, pressing his lips on yours, finally getting a taste of you and your strawberry daiquiri as he replaces his hands on your lower back while yours play with his belt until it’s undone and his pants drop to his feet.

He gently pulled away from the kiss, picking you up carefully and slowly placing you onto the middle of your bed, seamlessly laying between your legs and dragging the material of your panties down slightly. “This okay?” He checks with you just to make, and you confirm, making him to continue his actions until you’re completely bare in front of him.

You jolted in place the moment you felt his breath hitting your core. His kisses and soft caresses on your thighs made you feel like you were so delicate and precious to him, and you were so so special to him, and you didn’t even know it yet, but when this night ended, you’d definitely know. “Heeseung,” you cry out loud in pleasure when his tongue meets your outer lips. You were in complete shock because you’ve never felt anything like this before.

He stops when he hears just how loud you are, thinking he might have scraped you with his teeth. “I'm sorry, you okay?” He kissed your mound, hands still continuously rubbing soft circles on your legs.

“Yeah, I just never..” you trailed off, and now that you think about it, the idea that your boyfriend never even did what a stranger was doing for you made you feel even more terrible about your relationship with that piece of shit.

Heeseung swears he misheard you cause what type of fucking idiot wouldn’t want to pleasure a sweet, beautiful woman like you? “He missed out.” he starts out using his finger to collect your arousal and slowly pushes it in. “Cause you’re the sweetest thing my tongue ever tasted” Without missing a beat, his mouth hovers over your core, softly licking your hooded clit as he works his finger in deeper and deeper.

Gripping onto the sheets with one hand, your other goes to pet his hair, rubbing your fingers over his scalp, making his eyes flutter shut while he savors every last drop of you.

Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to indulge in a new type of pleasure, one that you enjoy beyond words. You fall so deep into bliss you don’t even notice his second finger going in alongside his other, that is, until he starts curling them up, hitting your spot and making you see literal stars.

The tighter you grip his fingers, he knows the closer you’re getting, and he can’t wait to give you the orgasms that your precious body deserves.

When you pant, his name breathless and needy, he feels the repeated clench, and he sucks on your clit just a bit harder to heighten the pleasure of your high, still carefully working his fingers deep inside you, he moans into your heat when your hold on his hair gets a bit rougher, but he doesn’t mind he loves your raw reaction to the pleasure he gives you.

Humming at your taste, he slowly pulls his fingers out of your soaked core, replacing them with his tongue so he can swallow your juices, giving you the full experience and showing you what a real man does for a woman when he really loves and appreciates her.

When your moans turned to soft whimpers, and your body shook ever so slightly, he pulled away from you but not before placing a soft few kisses on the delicious, delicate area.

Seconds later, your sounds are ones of sadness. Your moans turn into quiet sobs, and he immediately hovers over you, scanning your face with worry. “Did I do something wrong?” He asks, worried as he calmly strokes your cheek, and he looks like he’s seconds away from crying, too.

You cry even harder than before because he was worried over something he didn’t even do. You were so overwhelmed by pleasure, but you could still feel the pain in the deepest part of you because your own boyfriend never treated you half as good as heeseung did.

“Y/n? I can g-go if you want me to,” he starts getting ready to get off the bed, feeling his heart drop at the thought of leaving you like this, but if he made you uncomfortable in any way, he didn’t want to stay.

“No,” you quickly grab his biceps, holding him in place.

“Please tell me what’s wrong.” he strokes your tears away with his thumb, only for new ones to quickly replace them as tears well in his own eyes. He hated seeing you cry. He saw it every night for the past month, and it hurt him just a little bit more every time.

“I promise it’s not you.” you rubbed his biceps softly, calming his nerves a little. “It’s just I’m not used to this,” you say, referring to how he was treating you. “My ex neve-“

“Shh,” he shushes you and shakes his head back and forth softly. He wasn’t gonna let you go another night crying over some fucking asshole that didn’t deserve you or your tears. “Forget about him and focus on me.” he stares into your eyes, hoping you can see the anger towards your ex, the sadness for you, but most importantly, the care that they held for you. “I’ll make you forget, I promise.” he kissed your forehead softly. “Take all your tears away.” he kissed your temple and finally kissed your lips as he whispered. “Let me show you what it’s like to be loved. Let me repair you, and you can repair me.” A single tear falls from his eyes, and you quickly wipe it away to press your lips against his.

“Repair me.” that’s all he needed to hear before leaning up to take his underwear off, bearing everything to you like you did with him, being vulnerable with you just like you were with him.

“Thank you,” he whispers on your lips as his hands roam your sides, your hips, your chest, your legs. He was touching you all over, replacing every last inch of your skin with his handprint and his marks of love, as do you, with him, your dainty fingers strumming his chest, back, and thighs, pulling him closer to your body with want, need, and desire.

His bulge brushes against your core over and over again. As he circles his hips, your face grows hot, and a thin layer of sweat forms between you two, sticking you both together as breathless moans are exchanged between one another.

Your hand shimmed down below his waistline at the same time as his. You both chuckled softly, and his heart felt so full hearing you genuinely laugh.

“Ready?” He exhaled a long breath, touching his forehead with yours. A low hum of approval was all he needed to slowly ease his way inside, guiding his tip past your prepped walls and finally indulging in the blissful feeling that you’ve both been waiting for.

His mouth parts open in a gasp-like moan, as does yours. Both of you are too overwhelmed to speak. All that comes out are quick little breaths and pleasurable gasps.

Your face twists in pleasure, and your hands cling to his waist as he cards his fingers through your hair and cups your cheek. “Y/n,” he moans deeply, and it’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard.

He makes more than a hundred different facial expressions. Just with the slightest thrust, he can feel every single nerve ending, and it makes him feel so drunk off you.

“Heeseung,” you breathe into his mouth, heart racing in your chest from the fullness you felt as he bottomed out, reaching the deepest part of you, overtaking that empty feeling and replacing it with absolute pleasure.

Hooking your legs around his waist, you grip him for support because you feel like you’re slipping when he gets lost in your silky walls.

With every thrust, he watches your face, and as he speeds up, he can’t help but grow flustered at the sounds your conjoined bodies make, and you’re not much better off the both of you shyly hiding in the crooks of each other’s necks.

“You’re so perfect.” he barely gets the words out before he’s whimpering in your ear.

The words he says make it feel as if time has stopped, and in that moment, it’s just you and him alone in the safeness of your bedroom with nothing but the feeling of hurt, passion, and longing for something more.

Every stroke brings you closer and makes you forget. And every tight squeeze rids his mind of nothing but you and this moment.

You’re both getting close, and his hand goes down to your clit, massaging it in perfect circles while both of you moan continuously at the feeling of each other.

Safe, connectedness and love are what you both felt before tipping over that beautiful edge of pleasure and allowing yourselves to get lost in the sea of blissfulness.

You both hold tightly onto one another, making each other your safe place where you can let everything go.

Heads still clouded and full with contentment, heeseung attaches his lips to yours in a soft, delicate kiss, and when he pulls away from you to look into your soft eyes, he feels all the shattered parts of his broken heart piecing back together, and he blinds you with a beautiful bright beaming smile.

“Thank you,” you whisper as you both stroke each other's face adoringly. “For repairing me.”

Thanks for reading please reblog and leave feedback!

[cultofdixon]

A little pain with your pleasure

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Adrenaline is a crazy natural drug and you’re driving them crazy with how calm you are • SFW/Small Angst • TW: Stab wounds

Requested by: Anon

“What you got there?”

Glenn’s voice not only startled the poor guy but even cut through Daryl’s thoughts that he forgot for a split second what he had in his hand.

“A Walkman. Found one on a past run”

“Oh, neat. Did you find some cassettes for it? I think there’s like a box of them in the warden’s office but those could also be confessional tapes and I don’t think I wanna know about why a prisoner ended up in prison”

“Me neither. It’s for Y/N. I found some cassettes with it when I found it. Queen, Elton John,…I think there was a Micheal Jackson one. I don’t know.” Daryl scratches the side of his face as he thought about another cassette before shrugging it off. “It was broken when I found it and Sasha helped me fix it for her.”

“Well ain’t that awful sweet of you” Glenn smirks bringing himself to sit across from him on the picnic table. Daryl instantly glaring at the man knowing where he could be going. “I wanna be there when you give it to her. I know she’ll be super excited getting that from you”

“The fuck you mean by that?” Daryl snapped slightly as Glenn shrugged with a smirk. “Speaking of Y/N. Have you seen her?”

“I was actually gonna ask you the same thing. She said if she decided on a 3-Day run that she would help me with the south fence repair when she came back” Glenn sighs running his hand through his hair. “Think she’s out for a week?”

“Mm. Better not. She promised me she’d help with the snares”

“Oh she promised you but didn’t promise me? Obviously she likes a certain someone more than me” He really didn’t catch the hint that Daryl hated the teasing and the glare made him realize he should stop before he’s tossed into a walker. “Okay fine. Mind helping me with the fence and I’ll help you with the snares”

Daryl sighs, nodding picking up the Walkman and going to put it away before helping Glenn with the fence.

After a while, the fence was done, and the two split into the nearby woods to check the snares at a faster pace compared to doing it together. Even if Daryl would’ve spent hours in the woods if it meant being with Y/N.

Daryl made his way toward the snares closer to the front gates, liking to go from the furthest to the closest snares so he could head right in when he’s done. But he was also going to check Glenn’s work on setting up the traps back up. He suddenly halted when he heard footsteps, causing him to ready his crossbow for a walker but relaxed when the bloodied dirty figure came into view.

“Jesus Christ”

“What?” Y/N laughs nervously. “Is there something on my face?”

“Yeah blood and dirt” Daryl scoffs bringing himself close, resting his hand on her cheek brushing off some of the dirt from her cheek. “The fuck happen on your run?”

“Oh that’s a great story so—-“

“Y/N!” Glenn shouted her name while also making it clear of his presence coming up behind Daryl and eventually to his side. “What took you so long getting back?!”

“Well it’s uh a short story—-“

“Glenn I just asked them about the run. Did yea finish the snares on your side?”

“Yeah I did, now Y/N?”

“Yeah…how was the run?”

“Well I got stabbed in the back” Her expression tensed watching the two start their lines of questioning. But every chance she tried to correct she kept getting cut off.

“What do you mean you got stabbed in the back?”

“Let me start with how it hap—“

“Where is this guy? I thought you went on the run alone”

“I did go alone Im trying—-“

“This guy is dead meat if he tries to come after yea. Plenty of fighters here” Daryl stated as Glenn nods in agreement.

“Who would turn on you? Maybe it was—-“

“SHUT UP!�� Y/N shouted, resulting in a wince that definitely confused the two. But her face returned to the discomfort it had before running into Daryl. “I got literally stabbed in the damn back” she turned to show the two the knife that was embedded deep in her shoulder.

No more words were said. All Daryl did was smack Glenn forcing him in the direction of the gates to get them opened. Y/N frowns watching him bring himself to her back to feel around the wound before, without warning, rip her flannel open and forced her to take it off.

“You owe me!”

“Just wait til we get inside. Hershel is gonna want to see it and he’s gonna have to cut your shirt anyway”

“Doesn’t mean you had to rip my favorite flannel!” Y/N shouted as Daryl watched her back tense and the knife shift.

“Stop shouting and let’s get yea inside” Daryl scoffs taking her pack from her and directing her back to the prison.

While Hershel stitched her up, Y/N was telling them the story of how it happened. How this stranger that passed the 3 questions decided to just turn on her and try to kill her for her stuff. It wasn’t a pretty scene and given how Y/N felt about killing people, she was only late in her return because she didn’t want to come back feeling the way that she did. That part she didn’t tell them. She just fibbed by saying she lost the car she had. After being patched up, Y/N made her way back to her cell in need of clean clothes and a shirt that isn’t in pieces.

“Hey”

Y/N stopped right before her cell to acknowledge Daryl. “Hey”

“Your back feelin’ any better?”

“Having stitches suck” She laughs it off, no longer wincing from her back. “Maybe next time I’ll bring you on the run”

“I’ll keep yea safe” Daryl murmurs, leaning against the metal doors as Y/N brought herself close leaning with him.

“Next time the knife will be in your back” She jokes receiving a breathy chuckle in response. “You know I’m kidding…I’ll always have your back out there Dar” she whispers as she brought her lips to his cheek keeping her hand planted on his chest. “Thanks for worrying about me”

Before she pulled away too far, Daryl gently grabbed her waist pulling her into him. He admired her features for a moment then planted his lips firmly onto hers. Y/N was taken back but relaxed almost instantly, bringing her arms around his neck keeping him close.

When they parted, Daryl pulled away a little while taking the torn shirt from her hands.

“I’ve got a surprise for yea. But I also have a shirt…we just. Need to go to my cell for both”

Y/N couldn’t contain her smile as she took his free hand. “Lead the way Dixon”

[princessbrunette]

i'd just like to say a violent jayj threatening to rip someone's face off or anything of that sort would make me wet. thank u. - 🍓

⊹ . ⁺ 🍦🤍⋅˚₊𐙚

you knew the random ass kook at the beach bar was in trouble the second he’d started talking to you.

jj had stepped away for a moment, just a moment — to take a call from john b, always feeling the need to answer just incase the boy had gotten himself into another inescapable shenanigan that he needed jj to dig him out of. you were leaning your elbows against the bar under the warm outdoor lighting, skin balmy and glowy as you take your time reading the menu stapled to the counter top, wondering what cocktail you’d go for.

“you seem like a cosmo kind of girl.” the kook slides up beside you, blinding white teeth and a polo shirt — the kook side of the islands very own uniform. you chuckle politely, diverting your eyes back to the menu attempting to kindly show your disinterest.

“oh, maybe.” you shrug evasively — hoping he’d get the hint and wander off to bother someone else. he didn’t.

“wait no, let me guess. something stronger? on second glance you kind of strike me as a party girl.” the man grins and you have to hold back a sigh. you were always on the shyer side unlike your boyfriend, never having the nerve to tell people to cut it out or leave you alone the way he would. jj tried to teach you, put his hands on your shoulders, look you in the eyes and say ‘if anyone ever bothers you, you look ‘em in the face and tell them that your boyfriend stays strapped. alright?’ of course, that didn’t seem appropriate. or like a good idea in general.

“nope.” your lips press together with a smile that begged him to leave you be, head even swivelling around theatrically to look for jj who had wandered off to take the call somewhere more quiet, now nowhere to be seen.

“c’mon, you think i don’t know your type? you seem all cold now, but get a couple of drinks in you and you’re ready to go. here, lemme get it for you.” he pulls out his card and nudges right up next to you, a hand sliding over your lower back. you shudder, pulling away— trying hard to be stern despite your shyness.

“really, i’m okay.” you frown, heart thundering when his expression drops, irritation reaching his eyes. he goes to speak, but a familiar voice immediately spawns from behind you.

“yeah i think she said she was okay, so you can walk away now.” jj shrugs, giving this guy a chance. the kooks eyes, narrow in on the blonde and scoffs, unimpressed.

“and who the hell are you? her knight in shining armor?” he glares, the malicious grin on jj’s face not faltering. from knowing jj, you knew this grin in itself was a threat. the calm before the storm. you brace for the chaos, moving back behind your boyfriend.

“try boyfriend, and i’m actually doin’ you a solid here brother. i really suggest you just walk away, right now.”

“or what?” the kook challenges, and jj’s venomous grin melted into merely having his teeth grit, bared like a dog as his patience runs thin.

“or i’ll rip your fuckin’ face off for talking to my girl. walk,” he shoves him back by the chest. “away, dude.” and once again, the man stumbling a little as a few eyes draw to the scene. locking stares with the security guard, the kook decides it’s better off he doesn’t get his ass beat, or get kicked out of the beach bar — so he trips over, walking away.

“you’re a psycho, pogue.” he accuses as he disappears and jj shakes himself off, blowing out an exhale as he turns back to you, fixing his hat.

“thats what i thought.” he rolls his shoulders before attending to you. “hey, i— i know you wanted just a chill night. i probably shouldn’t have caused a scene, just didn’t want him disrespecting my girl, you know?” his face falls, misreading the dazed expression on your face.

you glance around, looking for any remaining eyes on you and you move closer, whispering to him pathetically.

“i’m wet.” it comes out so quiet, he thinks he’s making it up.

“you’re — what now?” his head bobs forward in disbelief, eyes wide.

“i’m wet, jayj. take me home?” you mewl and he blinks a couple of times.

“from… that? me like… defending your honour n’shit?”

“yeah.” you giggle and a slow grin fades onto his once angry expression.

“oh you’re crazy. you’re my kind of crazy though — let’s go.” he grabs your hand, leading you briskly away.

⊹ . ⁺ 🍦🤍⋅˚₊𐙚

[pupyuqi]

⭑ yes, miss. : kim minnie x f!reader.

— “ ‘yes what?’ ‘.. yes, miss.’ ”

🚬 warnings : slight power imbalance. bodyguard!minnie. from this request. use of substances. a bit of manipulation from reader’s part. bratty!reader. somewhat heated makeout session. men dni. a bit of groping. writing under cut.

word count : 1,534 words ⭑

“miss kang.. i don’t think your dad would approve of you using substances, especially in your room of all places.” minnie tried to pitch in as she watched the girl take another puff of her joint. yn looked at her body guard, maybe it was the lighting, or maybe it was the weed but something about the thai girl intrigued her tonight.

yn strutted towards her, her hand playing with her necktie before tugging it slightly, making the girl wince a bit as she bent down slightly to yn’s height. “.. that’s why you’re not gonna tell him,” she said with a small grin. “you wouldn’t snitch on me, would you nini?” she cooed.

yn already knew the answer.

minnie wouldn’t snitch, no matter how serious she tried to be when it came to the brat—she always made sure to keep her mouth shut.

“.. no, miss.” “good.”

–

it was 2 months ago when yn’s father hired that body guard for her—minnie remembered the first time she saw yn like it was yesterday.

“Kang Yn.” The girl’s father called from the hall, yn stepped out of her room, an annoyed look on her face as she looked at her dad. “Yes, daddy? what is it?” she said in a sarcastic voice before looking at the unfamiliar woman who stood besides her father.

the suit, the seriousness in her expression, her overall demeanor.. yn already knew what was happening, and she wasn’t amused. “Nicha, this is yn, my daughter. yn, this is Nicha, your new bodyguard.” The kang’s father said in a stern voice.

“Good afternoon, miss kang.” minnie said with a slight bow. yn simply nodded, giving her a small smile as she spoke. “Good afternoon to you too. may you excuse us real quick? i need to have a word with my father.” The thai looked at the man who had hired her then at the girl who she was assigned to before nodding and exiting.

Yn’s father took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes a bit. “Yn—” “Okay dad, what the fuck. You said you weren’t gonna hire another one!” yn whispered though her tone was filled with edge, sharp enough to make a kitchen knife look like plastic.

“Well yes i did say that but that was before i caught you sneaking off with some— some hustler in her car under a bridge smoking or whatever you were doing.” he spoke with a frustrated tone—despite putting ber daughter in therapy, it seemed like her habits of smoking and using other substances weren’t gonna go away anytime soon.

yn couldn’t help but scoff slightly, arms crossed over her chest as she looked off to the side. “.. at least we weren’t dead inside,” she murmured making her father’s already running patience vanish. “would you rather i find you dead somewhere than have someone who can protect you?”

yn wanted to retort, to say something—but she fell silent once she saw the frustration and a bit of concern in her father’s hard eyes. “yn.. i’m getting old—i can’t protect you as much as i want to.” the girl let out sigh, already knowing where her father was going with this.

“you’re my only daughter, and you getting hurt is the last thing i’d want to happen. So, please.. just give nicha a chance? for dad?” he asked, holding his daughter’s shoulders as he held her gaze. yn couldn’t stop the guilt that pit her stomach as she heard her father’s tone. “.. okay daddy.” she said softly, makinf her father smile slightly.

“thank you, yn.” his daughter simply nodded.

—

“..” yn stayed silent as she felt the thai girl’s siren-like eyes on her. if yn hadn’t known better, she wouldve thought the girl was trying to intimidate her. “.. are you just gonna stand there and stare at me all day?”

she finally said, breaking the awkward silence that had unfortunately filled her room. “That’s what your father told me to do, so yes.” minnie spoke in a flat tone, yn couldn’t help but roll her eyes at that. “of course he did.” she grumbled.

sensing the kang’s frustration and slight awkwardness, minnie spoke once more. “.. well what do you suppose i do, miss kang?” yn cocked her brow at the thai’s words, her lips curving into a small grin as she sat up in her bed. “come here,”

minnie stood still for a few more seconds before going over to her bed, hesitating for a few moments before sitting down. now it was yn’s turn to eye the girl, observing her closely as she took note of some things.

her siren eyes, the mole under her eye..

“.. miss,” minnie said as yn hummed in response. “do you smoke?” yn suddenly asked. minnie looked at her for a couple of seconds before shaking her head no. “well, do you wanna try?

Minnie thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t think your father would apprecia—” “can you stop talking about my father? it’s not like he’ll find out.”

she said with a slight eye roll. “.. plus, it’s not like you’d tell him,“ yn whispered, hand trailing down her bodyguards chest, her fingers trailed the shape of her necktie before tugging at it, making minnie yelp ever so slightly. “right, nini?”

minnie felt like she was being hypnotized, the way the girl called her nini—it made her breath hitch; almost as if on instinct, she shook her head. “.. no.” “no what?” yn leaned in a bit more, practically straddling her body guard’s lap. “.. no, miss.” “atta girl.”

.

minnie’s tidy uniform had become loose, disheveled in appearance as she felt the kang place her joint to her lips, encouraging her to take a hit. “c’mon.. don’t be shy.” she whispered, her other hand cupped nicha’s jaw as she tilted her head up to look at her.

yn watched as her bodyguard obeyed, taking hit after hit as she did her best to keep her head straight. “see.. feels good, right?” she whispered. all minnie could do was nod her head.

the kang laughed at the sight of her usually stoic bodyguard now all woozy and light. “lay down,” she said with an amused grin. minnie followed, laying down on her protectee’s bed but not without pulling the girl down with her.

this caught yn off guard. one second she was laughing at her guard and the next second she was laying on top of her. yn scoffed, her hands on either side of the thai girl’s head as she got up slightly. “idiot.. i didn’t say to pull me down with you.”

she murmured before the joint from nicha’s lips and taking a slow drag. if it weren’t for her father not being home and her windows being open—her room would have definitely been filled up with smoke by now.

yn looked down at her guard, noticing the half lidded gaze minnie was using to look at her. “what? you want more?” she teased, tone slightly condescending. minnie simply brought her gloved hand up to touch the girl’s face, thumb brushing against her soft cheeks before rubbing at her bottom lip.

now this, yn didn’t expect. she felt her breath hirch a bit at the thai’s actions, unsure of what to do or say so she simply just leaned into her guard’s touch. nicha hummed, using her elbow to sit up as she continued to look at the person whom she was supposed to simply protect.

“.. you’re beautiful.” she whispered. “i know.” yn said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. “y’know what’d look pretty on you?” yn shook her head, before she could say anything she suddenly felt a soft pair of lips on hers.

it took her a couple seconds before she melted into the girl’s touch, her hands going to minnie’s shoulders as she pushed her back down onto her bed. nicha was relentless, not letting yn pull back even when she felt her breath grow heavy, only when she felt her urgently tapping on her shoulder did she pull back, and even then—it was only for a few seconds as she quickly pulled her back in.

minnie’s slender fingers trailed to the hem of yn’s top as their lips connected once more, her hand moved beneath her delicate clothing, feeling the girl’s surprisingly toned stomach before she reached her soft breasts. minnie gave one of them a gentle squeeze, lightly fondling it—making yn groan against her lips. nicha took her time with each one as she handled her protectee’s body with gentleness.

just as minnie began to tug on yn’s shirt to ask her to take it off, they heard a knock on the door. “.. Miss Kang,” said one of her father’s many helpers.

yn let out another groan, though this time it was out of annoyance. she grumbled slightly before reluctantly getting off atop her guard, nicha’s hand slipping out of her shirt. “.. we’ll continue this later.” she whispered to the thai who just looked at her, her pupils dialated.

“.. yes miss.” she whispered, making yn smile like a proud owner. “good.” with one last kiss to her guard’s soft lips, she got up and answered the door.

[lilozzzyo3569]

Ari Levinson x Nurse Reader

Summary: "Maybe I won't get hurt so much if you just go out with me." Warnings: MDNI, female reader is smaller then Ari (duh man is MASSIVE), I don't own this man (but I guess I wasn't meant to be happy), General fluff, Ari is persistent, slight suggestive fluff, Ari is love sick and this whole fic is based off of this one gif

You had started yet another shift at the ER, and had just finished your first (third) cup of coffee. When you got a page that you were needed in op 3. So of course you ran over to find him.

"Well well well if it isn't my favorite little ER RN" Ari was smiling waiting for you on the exam table. You chuckled as you closed the door behind you as you lean against the door with your clipboard held across your chest as Ari made no attempt to pretend he wasn't undressing you with his eyes as he always did. "Ya know we might need to a punch card or something with how often you come here." you respond walking over to check his vitals again. He simply puts his arm out and opens his mouth, as you get his blood pressure and his temperature. "Do you guys do that because that would make it a lot easier for me." You giggle as you sarcastically say "No Ari Emergency Rooms don't actually have punch cards, so what is it this time Ari, another pulled muscle, headache, paper cut oh or is it another strange tired feeling." He takes the opportunity to respond with a chuckle, "well you see I wouldn't have to come here so much if someone would just go out with me." Ari winked at you making you blush. "Ugh we have been over this Ari, I am not interested in dating" you shrug before turning around and looking at his chart. "Seriously Ari, a broken heart?"

Ari stands and looks down on you cornering you against the desk before giving you a sultry look, "I wouldn't have a broken heart if someone would just let me take her out for dinner some time, what do you say beautiful? You'd be saving me the cost of having to come here all the time to see my gorgeous little angel." Ari lifts your chin with his massive finger making you feel even tinier that he already made you feel. "What do you say baby?" Ari had the gall to wink at you making your cheeks heat up under his lust filled gaze. You bite your lip as you look up at him "Ugh fine, one dinner, and you stop stalking me at my hospital" you say smiling up at him. Ari claps his hands and gets excited saying "Done, me, you and that new ramen shop, say yes princess." Still biting our lip, you look up at him as the hand holding up your chin moves down your throat and down your sides, and down to crest of your breasts. His gaze moving from your eyes to your lips and down to your breasts before moving his hands down to holding your hips. You clutch onto your clipboard for dear lip as Ari's gaze roams back up to your eyes. "Ari-" His eyes roll back before groaning in the back of his throat, the sound grumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest. "I love the way my name sounds coming out of that pretty little mouth of yours, and I promise if you just give me a chance, I swear to make it worth your while" he says seductively against your lips making you gasp. "Now tell daddy yes." Too lost in his darken gaze, his manly scent, and the feeling of his large warm hands squeezing your hips all you can do is nod, making him grin down at you like the cat the caught the canary. "Good girl" he says against your lips before kissing your forehead and sauntering out of the room.

Okay so I have been a ghost lately and I am sorry but life was kicking my a$$, but I love Ari with all my heart and wanted to try my hand at writing some suggestive fluff. Thank you also for all of the love and support on my work so far, and I am open to suggestions

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

You're the Only Girl for Me - Chapter 14

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

All OC Characters belong to me

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @christinabae @southerngirl41 @reci1996 @jeyusos-girl @jeyusosgirl @melaninsugababy @bemybabiibish @jstarr86 @baconeggndcheez @nbanenefrmdao @purplehairgawdess @arination99 @m3llowww @alyyaanna @harmshake @jeysbae @empressdede @theninthwonder @badbitchcentralinc @bluesole16 @leaderofthebadbitchbrigade @bebesobrielo @venusesworld  @babysyhsyh

if your name is bold, tumblr won’t let me tag you

February 6th 2021

AIRIELLEJONES

liked by: trinity_fatu , raymondwwe and 193,000 others

AirielleJones: could u imagine fumbling me? ✌🏽💋

view all comments:

user:@ uceyjucey damn bro how u fumble?

user: so now we got a chance

uceyjucey: can't fumble something thats still mine.

yasmine_jones: oop user: @ uceyjucey so yall still together? uceyjucey: most def.

raymondwwe: wouldn't even dream of fumbling you (❤️ by author)

yasmine_jones: double oop trinity_fatu: @yasmine_jones : girlll..... lol

Yasmine shook her head with a slight smirk on her face as she put her phone down and looked at Airielle. “You better stop playing with that man.” Airielle shrugged. 

“Girl you gon’ make that man pop a blood vessel” Trinity said as the three of them watched Airielle’s phone light up again with another phone call from Josh that she let go to voicemail. 

“Listen, he lied and I'm supposed to be okay with it.” Airiell rolled her eyes and took a sip of her wine. She, Trinity and Yasmine were having a girls night and decided to visit one of Airielle’s favorite restaurants in Pensacola. 

“Girl.” Trinity stressed. “I like you a whole lot, so i’m not saying this because he’s my brother-in-law but, from what I can remember they been separated since August right before the twins birthday.” Airielle sighed and cut her eyes at Trinity. “Don’t let Tracy get in your head, I don’t know what her goal was but what she did was weird as hell.”  Yas nodded in agreement. 

“I mean, why would he have you around his ex-wife if he was lying about something like that?” Airielle sighed and looked down at her plate knowing they were right. 

“Okay so let's say when you got with Jon and his ex said some shit like that and his response was ‘let me explain’ how would have you reacted?” Trinity bit her lip as she thought about the question. 

“Honestly, I probably would have reacted the same way you are, but I would also hear him out to see what he had to say.” Airielle let out a deep sigh and decided to change the topic. She was tired of talking about Josh. 

After the three girls finished eating, they were headed out to the parking lot, towards Airielle’s Jeep when something - or someone stopped them. The three of them stopped in the tracks at the sight of Josh leaning against the drivers side door, staring directly at them. 

Trin and Yasmine shared a knowing glance before Yas took the keys out of Airielle’s hands. “We’ll be in the car.” She said and smiled at Josh before she and Trinity entered the car giggling. Airielle rolled her eyes at the two of them before crossing her arms over her chest. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked, scoffing as Josh’s eyes traveled along her body before he finally made eye contact with her. 

 “If you didn’t want me to find you, you shoulda waited until you got home to post those pictures.” She rolled her eyes again in response. “You been ignoring all my calls and messages -” 

“So you decide to stalk me and block me from entering my vehicle.” She cut him off with a scoff and another eye roll.  Josh chuckled and stepped away from the door. 

“If you wanna leave, go ahead.” He smirked when she made no move to enter the car. He nodded his head towards his F-150 that was parked right next to her car. “Get in.” When she didn’t move he sighed. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere. I just wanna talk Airi.”  Airielle nodded and muttered a quiet ‘thank you’  when he opened the passenger door for her. 

When he got in the car he said nothing for a minute or two, he just sat there admiring her beauty. He cleared his throat and reached into the backseat pulling out a manilla envelope that had JAMES V. FATU - DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS written on the front. “I told you when we first started dating that I was never gon lie to you or do any of that fuck shit your ex did.” He started, keeping his eyes on her. “I wanted to explain why Tracy said that shit bout done slapped the taste out my mouth and stormed off.” 

Airielle looked down at her lap and he grabbed her chin, making her look back at him.  “Early October, we tried to work things out, you know for the sake of our children but I found out she was also seeing this other guy that she’d been seeing since before the separation. So I dipped. I told her she could have the house and I moved back down here with my brother and Trin and then I met you. There was no two-timing involved. All the proof is in that envelope just look at it. I wouldn’t lie to you Airielle.” 

February 12th 2021 - Tropicana Field

AIRIELLEJONES

liked by raymondwwe, trinity_fatu and 192,000 others

AirielleJones: 🖤

comments on this post have been disabled

Airielle had been avoiding Josh since he popped up on her at the restaurant last Saturday. She had read everything in the envelope and saw that he actually wasn’t lying about he and Tracy not being together around the time he and Airielle went on their first date, so she was happy about that. 

The problem now was.. the problem was still Tracy. Airielle thought she was okay with Josh having an ex-wife but everything that went down last week proved that she was not ready to deal with any of that. 

When she was with Christopher, his baby mom was a godsend and never gave Airielle any problems and Airielle knew if she continued her relationship with Josh, Tracy would be the complete opposite and she was certain that was something she did not want to deal with at all. 

She groaned as her phone went off again, knowing it wasn’t anybody but Josh. 

Airielle smiled at the text message despite how she was feeling. She needed to make a decision about her relationship with Josh and she needed to do it ASAP. 

I'm happy with the direction i'm going w/ this story. I hope you all are too. ❤️

Can't believe I was able to get two chapters posted back to back 🤭

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

[housethemd]

One Life For Another

(What if Amber had been the one to survive the bus crash instead of House? Snapshots of Wilson’s life after House. Wilson/Amber, eventual House/Wilson. Just read and you’ll understand.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Where’s House?”

Amber asks, shortly after her eyes open. Wilson smooths back her hair, thinking she’s just confused, concussed.

“Shh, you were in a bus crash. You’ve been unconscious for nearly 24 hours. You’re going to be okay though.” He reassures her, kissing her forehead.

“Where’s House?” She repeats.

That’s how they find out House was in that crash too. He’d forgotten his wallet at the bar, so he’d been taken to Princeton General as a John Doe. That’s why Wilson only got the call about Amber.

When Wilson gets there, House only has a few hours left. The damage is too extensive. He’d need multiple organ transplants to save him, and he qualifies for none of them because of his addiction. Conceptually, Wilson knows that House would be unlikely to survive regardless.

Amber checks herself out of PPTH AMA, refusing not to be at her boyfriend's side. House is in and out of consciousness, the high doses of Morphine he’s being given make him drowsy.

It’s 3am when House wakes up for the last time. He’s surprisingly lucid, and Wilson knows what that means. He’s seen it time and time again in his patients. It’s like the universe grants them one last chance to say their goodbyes, to make their peace.

“Always knew I’d go first.” House’s voice is rough and quiet. Wilson has to lean in close to hear him.

“Me too, I didn’t think it would be quite so soon though.” Wilson laughs through his tears.

“On the contrary, I think I’ve lived longer than I was supposed to.” House says.

Wilson knows he’s talking about the infarction. He always knew House felt he should have died then, but Wilson always tried to reassure him that it obviously wasn’t his time, and besides, misanthropic bastards are supposed to live forever, aren’t they?

“Oh Greg.” Wilson is starting to shake as he fights the urge to break down.

“S’okay Jimmy.” He soothes.

“Cut throat bitch.” He addresses Amber now.

“Yeah House?” She’s wiping her own tears away, watching someone die is always hard, especially when it’s someone your loved one loves so much.

“Take care of Jimmy for me, okay?”

She finds she can only nod.

They all know it’s time. No one wants to say it, but they all know.

“I love you, Greg.” Wilson says, squeezing House’s hand and leaning close.

“Love you too, Jimmy. You’ve been the bestest friend a fucked up guy like could have asked for.”

Wilson can’t respond through the sobs. House’s eyes are glassy and unfocused. Wilson leans his face on House’s shoulder. His friend is dying.

“See ya, boy wonder.” The words are drawn out and slow, as House says them with his last breaths.

The monitors alarm as House flatlines. Amber rubs circles on Wilson’s back as he sobs loudly into his dead best friend's shoulder.

———————

Wilson gives the eulogy at House’s funeral. It's an open casket. House’s parents had his body dressed in a dark gray suit with a white shirt and a black tie. Wilson hates that they put House in a tie. House always hated ties. They should have put him in a blue shirt, not a white one. He always looked best in blue, it brought out his eyes. Not that you can see his eyes now.

He talks about how House was a healer, how many lives he’d saved that no one else could. How he cared about people, but only when no one was looking. How much he’ll miss, how much he misses him.

He sobs quietly as they lower the casket into the ground. He doesn’t want to make a scene, but if he’s leaning heavily on Foreman, no one says anything about it. Amber never lets go of his hand.

Blythe comes up to him and thanks him, “For being such a good friend to Greg.” He thanks her, tells her that her son was a very special man. He doesn’t know how to tell her that for everything he did for House, House did just as much for him.

——————

A year goes by.

Amber encourages James to talk about House. She knows how important that relationship was to him, and she never wants him to feel as though she’s forgotten. She doesn’t want him to think she expects him to forget.

They buy a house in the suburbs. It has three bedrooms, a large backyard, and a massive living room. It’s perfect for housing a baby grand piano. Despite the fact neither of them can play it, James keeps it.

He kept all of House’s instruments, they were all incredibly important to House and James couldn’t bear to see them go; there was so little that was truly important to House. But while the guitars get put away in cases and stored, James wants the piano displayed. After the movers had left, James just stared at it for a while. Eventually he said,

“He used to play for me when I’d ask. He was quite talented. It was… nice.” Before he went back to unpacking boxes.

Three months after they move into their home, they go out for a night on the town and James gets down on one knee. She says yes, but also says she won’t change her name. No way will she be the fourth Mrs. Wilson.

That night she wakes at 3:30am to an empty bed and the occasional sound of piano keys. She pulls on the shirt James discarded when they tumbled into bed before she creeps just far enough down the stairs to be able to hear him without being seen.

“I missed you a lot today. I asked Amber to marry me. She said yes, but she’s keeping her name. Thinks ‘Mrs. Wilson’ is cursed or something. I know you’d agree with her.”

There is the sound of piano keys being played randomly.

“It won’t be the same. Getting married without you there. I know it’s silly, I’ve done this three times before, but it’s a big day and I wish I could have my best friend by my side.”

Amber creeps back up the stairs. She’s happy James talks to House. She knows his therapist suggested it, and she’s glad to see he’s listening.

——————

Their wedding is small. They end up not doing wedding parties because James can’t bring himself to have anyone but House as his best man. Amber doesn’t mind. At the reception they light a candle “for those who couldn’t be with us” but it’s really just for House.

———————

Eighteen months after their wedding Wilson is standing in one of the PPTH delivery rooms.

“It’s a boy!” The doctor doing the delivery announces.

As Amber dozes that night, Wilson cradles the small bundle that is his son. He looks down at him with awe. The birth certificate sits next to him on the side table, signed by both him and Amber. It reads:

Michael Gregory Wilson-Volkais

He’d been worried about asking Amber to name their son after House. But she’d only smiled at him, and said she thought Gregory made a lovely middle name.

———————-

“Dad, who’s that with you in all the pictures?”

Michael is ten, and they are flipping through a photo album Amber just completed. She insisted they include pictures from before they met, because she was in her mid thirties and he was in his early 40’s when they met, meaning they both had a hell of a lot of life before each other.

“That’s your Uncle Greg.” Wilson answers, as they all stare down at a collage of images of himself and Greg.

“But I thought you only had two brothers, Uncle David and Uncle Danny.” Michael says, confused.

“Greg wasn’t my brother. We met at a medical conference when I was 28, and after that he was my best friend.”

“If he’s your best friend, why haven’t I ever met him?” Michael questions.

Wilson lets out a deep sigh, putting his arm around his son.

“Because he died, Buddy. Before you were born.”

“Oh.” Michael hangs his head, clearly feeling bad. The boy was cursed with his father’s empathy.

“It’s okay. It’s nice to talk about him. Did you know you’re named after him? Your middle name ‘Gregory’ is after your Uncle Greg. Gregory was his full first name.” Wilson tells him.

Michael thinks that’s pretty cool, and they move on to other pictures in the album. That night however, Wilson sits down with a glass of scotch and the album. He sips his drink and reminisces about the moment each picture captures, and all ones that weren’t captured on film.

———————-

At sixty-five Wilson lies in a hospital bed. His wife of twenty-three years is on one side of him, and his twenty-one year old son is on the other. Dying of cancer isn’t how he pictured his life ending, but having family around him makes it somewhat bearable, or maybe that’s the morphine.

He hates to leave his son so early, but that’s the danger of having kids later in life he supposes. Michael is only in his last year of his undergraduate degree - premed. He wants to be an oncologist like his old man. Wilson wonders if watching him die of cancer will change his mind.

He’s said his goodbyes, and slowly light and sound fades away. Strangely, or maybe not, his last thought is not of his wife or son, but of Greg House.

See you soon, old friend.

———————

“Wasn’t expecting to see you for another twenty years at least.”

He recognizes that voice. As he slowly opens his eyes he realizes he recognizes his surroundings too. It’s a forest in upstate New York. He and House used to go backpacking here. They’d spend weekends camped out, cooking everything over their campfire and sleeping side by side in sleeping bags in a two person tent.

He finds the source of the voice seated on a tree stump, and there he is.

“House.” Is the only word he manages.

“In the flesh. Well not really, but you know what I mean.” House smiles and laughs.

He looks like he did the night they met, dark hair and unshaven face. Jeans and a band t-shirt under a leather jacket. Wilson looks down at himself and realizes he’s similarly dressed, his own jeans and McGil sweatshirt. He touches his face and realizes he’s also back to the age he was that night.

“I missed you.” He tells House. It’s true. He didn’t realize how much until right now.

“Come on Jimmy, walk with me.”

House takes him down a narrow path that leads them to a small lake. Wilson remembers it from their camping trips. The only difference is now there is a small cottage next to it.

“So, what have you been up to?” House asks. Like they aren’t dead, like this isn’t some strange afterlife they find themselves occupying.

“Not much. Married Amber. Had a son. Named him Michael Gregory, after you.”

They stare at each other for a moment before bursting out into stomach aching laughter. After they finally stop they wrap their arms around each other in a tight hug. They never hugged much when they were alive, but now it feels right.

“What got you?” House asks softly in his ear.

“Cancer.” Wilson tells him.

“Wow. That’s… ironic.” House says as they pull away.

“Yeah. Yeah it is.”

They make their way into the cottage. House will give him a tour of it, and when the sun begins to set in their version of heaven they’ll lay down together in one bed without question.

In life they never seemed to get things right, and then their time together was cut short.

In death they’ll get it right.

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 28 - Denial

title: just one bite

fandom: secret life smp

cw: violence/gore, very unsafe/gross food practices, vomiting

~

Jimmy’s barely stepped out of the Cherry Blossoms’ Nether portal when—

“What? Hey—!”

Someone jumps on him from behind, shoving him almost to the ground. He staggers forward several steps, trying to toss them off—he catches a glimpse of red hair swinging in his face—

“Gem—” Jimmy grunts, shoving her backward against the edge of the portal. “Get—off—”

She growls in his ear, tearing at his shoulder (between his neck and his armor, a small patch covered by his shirt and usually his jacket, which he had shucked for his trip to the Nether) with her teeth, both hands occupied by holding onto him.

Her weight is heavy on his back, too heavy with how he’s still out of breath from dodging a ghast on his way to the portal, and he shoves back again and this time her grip loosens.

“Someone, help!” he shouts out of frustration, glancing around for anyone as he bucks, finally throwing Gem to the ground.

She scrambles up almost immediately, and for a moment, Jimmy’s certain she’ll jump him again (there’s a glint in her eye, something red that he really doesn’t like), but Scott comes sprinting out of a building, and Impulse comes down the hill from their tower, and Gem backs off, slowly wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

“Everything okay?” Scott asks, stopping at a safe distance away, keeping a suspicious eye on Gem. Gem moves closer to Impulse, and the two of them have some moment of communication—she nods toward Jimmy, gives Impulse a significant look. He nods back.

Jimmy huffs, clutching his chest. “Jeez, Gem, give a man a heart attack! She jumped me  on my way out of the portal!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have come through our portal,” Impulse suggests, voice . . . flat, less joke-y than Jimmy would have expected.

Right.

“Well, I’ll just be going,” Jimmy says loudly, backing away toward the stairs—

Only to get bumped into by another person, sprinting on past like they didn’t even notice him.

Bdubs makes a beeline for Gem, where he stops and she . . . nods, again, at Jimmy.

He looks back.

Bdubs is Red, now, Jimmy saw that pop up on his communicator, but when did he throw in with Gem?

And why is the look he’s giving Jimmy almost . . . hungry?

Jimmy doesn’t like this.

He doesn’t like this one bit.

“Sorry, Jimmy,” Gem says, thoroughly unconvincingly, her voice devoid of emotion. “We’ll see you soon.”

And, erm.

That was.

“That was ominous,” Scott laughs nervously, and Jimmy has to agree.

Then he leaves, not quite turning his back on them.

There’s something strange going on there, no doubt. Probably best to let it be and focus on his own task.

When Jimmy gets back to Baxter (not back-to-back at Baxter, Martyn isn’t there and he really isn’t sure that he trusts Martyn, anyways, as the man is now the only Red and Jimmy thinks he might jump at the chance to make them both Red), he strips off his armor to replace his jacket and notices the tear in the shoulder of his shirt.

He frowns, tugs down the collar of his shirt, checks out his back in the tiny mirror that Martyn had found.

Okay, not bad. Where Gem had gotten him through his shirt, his skin is a little red, some small bruises sure to bloom soon enough. There’s a bit of blood with the fading imprint of Gem’s teeth, only two or three of them deep enough to actually pierce his skin.

Why on earth did Gem bite him? He can’t taste that good. What kind of task would she, a Yellow, have that would make her attack (and bite?) another Yellow?

Weird. It’s all weird.

Well, he has a minute, and he’s already at Baxter, so Jimmy pulls off his shirt and sets to fixing it up real quick, messy stitches pulling the hole closed.

That’s life. Sometimes your friends ambush you and bite your shoulder. Usually it’s their dog that bites you, of course, but sometimes they need to cut out the middle-man.

So really, Jimmy doesn’t pay it much mind. It doesn’t feel strange compared to some of the things he’s done in the past, honestly. Not normal, not necessarily, but not weird.

What possible bad effects could it even have, anyway?

-

“Timmy! Get in here!”

It’s that evening, and Jimmy was just stopping by the Roomies’ base to ask for a trade (his pickaxe just broke, he’s short one diamond to make another) only to find the place seemingly abandoned. He’d wandered around for a bit, knocking on doors and glancing about, but he’d finally assumed that nobody was home and decided to go try Pearl instead (though she did die earlier today, and he isn’t sure how amenable she’d be to trading).

But right as he was about to head out, a whispered shout got his attention.

Jimmy looks around again, frowning.

“Grian?” he asks uncertainly. “Are you here?”

A long sigh, and a couple of meters away, a trapdoor pops open, hidden by surrounding grass. Grian’s head pokes out, and he frantically waves Jimmy toward it.

“This isn’t suspicious at all,” Jimmy says. “Is this part of your task?”

“Forget the tasks, get in!”

Which is very unlike Grian.

So Jimmy lowers himself through the trapdoor, follows Grian down a ladder and then a thin, rough-hewn tunnel, then up another ladder until they come out . . . in the Roomies’ base.

“Why couldn’t we use the front door?”

“Trapped,” Cleo says shortly, coming down the stairs, Etho right behind her. “Grian? I thought you said that we weren’t letting anyone in?”

“It’s just Tim,” Grian waves her off. “We need someone we can use as bait.”

“Bait?!” Jimmy sputters, taking a careful step away from Grian. “I’m—I’m not bait! Bait for what?”

What’s with people and having tasks that seem to directly harm him?

Grian, Etho, and Cleo all make dark eye contact. Eye contact that Jimmy doesn’t trust, not one bit.

The front door’s trapped. He can try to go back the way he came, but he can’t get down a ladder faster than someone can drive a sword through him. His pick broke, so he can’t mine out.

“Have you noticed anything . . . weird . . . going on?” Grian asks after a moment, and Jimmy scoffs.

“Weird? Other than you luring me here to use as bait?”

“They’re zombies, Jimmy,” Etho says ominously, and Jimmy blinks.

“What’s zombies?” he asks, assuming they aren’t talking about normal zombies. Everybody knows that.

“The others,” says Grian. “Gem, Bdubs, Impulse, Pearl. We think it started with Gem—she killed Bdubs, right? Then Impulse. But—”

“She killed Pearl,” Cleo interrupts. “And I saw it. Tore her apart with her teeth.”

Jimmy’s stomach turns.

He’s not the biggest fan of violence, but he can get his hands dirty. Figuratively. He usually has to be at least a sword’s length from any death he causes, because he really isn’t a fan of blood and flesh and all that! It makes him queasy just to kill from a distance.

To imagine Gem, literally tearing into Pearl with her own teeth, blood and viscera dripping everywhere until Pearl eventually died in her arms?

Traumatizing.

Jimmy actually wants to vomit just thinking about it. He really doesn’t like gore.

The injury on his shoulder aches, just a little. He rubs it absently, trying to shake the horrible image from his mind. “So—so what makes them zombies?”

“They’re hunting,” Grian says. “Bdubs wasn’t allies with Gem, but now he won’t leave her side. Same with Pearl and Impulse. They’re all together, hunting every Green and Yellow left. They were after Scar, last I saw.”

“They look wrong,” Cleo frowns. “They’re stiff, and their eyes are . . . off.”

“They’re zombies,” Grian repeats, and Jimmy. . . .

Jimmy still doesn’t really believe them. Why—how would there be zombies?

“Sure,” he says, glancing back to the trapdoor. “Can I go now? I have a task, right, and—”

“It isn’t safe—”

“If you don’t want—”

“We need to find other people,” Etho says reasonably, silencing the other two. “Maybe Jimmy can go get Joel?”

“Or he can be bait,” Grian suggests again. Cleo nods.

“Well, now I don’t want to leave,” Jimmy mutters. “Prove that they’re zombies.”

“Right. Come with me,” Cleo says, pushing past Jimmy to head down the ladder.

Which is how Jimmy witnesses the hunt.

Cleo leads him across the map to the Secret Keeper, where they hide behind one of the boulders, poking their heads over just enough to see what happens. They make it there just in time for the hunt to cross past them.

It’s . . . disconcerting, if he says so himself. Four Players on horseback, chasing after Scar, who runs by, panting and exhausted, his hair damp with sweat. Scar climbs up the boulder they’re sheltering behind, shoots a couple of arrows at the pack that has stopped, waiting.

“C’mon, Scar,” Gem calls, and Jimmy hears it again. That odd emotionless quality, the feeling that, perhaps, she prefers not to speak. “You, of all people, will love it.”

“It’s right up your alley, Scar,” Pearl entices, and maybe it’s a trick of his ears, but she sounds the same way. Still Pearl, but . . . not-quite-right.

“No! No thanks!” Scar yells, voice jumpy and panicked and downright terrified. “I don’t want to join your little murder cult, thanks!”

He ducks as an arrow whizzes over his head, and Scar shrieks before running away again.

The pack follows.

Cleo stays frozen for another moment, head tilted slightly as she listens, presumably ensuring that they’ll be safe.

That. . . .

That wasn’t right. Like, Jimmy’s sure that he can justify it with relatively few mental gymnastics, but it wasn’t normal behavior.

“I need to get some stuff from my base,” he whispers, and Cleo shushes him, but doesn’t tell him no, so Jimmy scrambles down from the boulder and makes a break for Baxter.

What does he need? Some food, probably. A note for Martyn—hey M, zombies!!! bye -J—enough iron to craft up an iron pick if he never gets another diamond, a change of clothes, some other necessary survival-y things.

And when he leaves Baxter, he finds Cleo with Scar again, over at the Heart Foundation.

“Scar,” Cleo’s saying, looking down at him from a horse (when had she gotten a horse?) that seems to be very skittish around the quite new fire spreading up to the heart. That hadn’t been happening when he left. “Scar, the ones chasing you—”

It’s out of nowhere that Pearl and Gem ambush Scar, shooting at him as the man jumps away, fear fresh on his face—

Then Pearl leaps off her horse and sprints, faster than should be possible, diving into Scar and knocking him to the ground. Jimmy winces as the arrow in Scar’s back get twisted under her weight, but he barely has a moment to notice it before Pearl buries her teeth into Scar’s upper arm.

Scar screams, flailing, and Pearl pulls back, stringy flesh snapping free in a burst of blood, and goodness gracious Jimmy might throw up, his legs are trembling and his palms are all clammy—

Gem dives to Scar as well, and her teeth dig into his cheek—

A hand grabs the back of Jimmy’s shirt and he panics, kicking out blindly, he doesn’t want to die like that—but it’s just Cleo; she sits him in front of her on the horse and snaps the reins and off they ride.

Jimmy doesn’t watch. He doesn’t watch, but he can’t cover his ears. He can’t not-hear Scar’s warbling pleas for help, his agonized screams, the slow trail-off.

His communicator buzzes.

He doesn’t have to check it to know.

“I told you,” Cleo reminds him, and Jimmy swallows several times.

“I’m gonna throw up,” Jimmy manages.

“Not on me.”

-

That night, back in the new housing arrangement, Jimmy’s hand brushes against his own shoulder while changing and his breath vanishes from his chest.

No.

No.

If the zombies is a real thing, and Gem’s the one who started it—

Jimmy doesn’t look at the bite. He can’t. Well, he can—Grian has a mirror, but he won’t. He won’t look and see if it’s progressed.

His skin is a bit warm under his touch, though.

Probably just because he’s had his hand on it for so long. He just warmed up his skin, is all. He’s fine.

It still hurts. It still twinges when he presses on it, his shoulder aching just a bit, through and through.

He’ll be fine. They probably have to kill him, right? He’s fine.

Jimmy pulls on his nightshirt, careful that the collar doesn’t slide down in the back, and opens the door to the bedroom, before pulling the rough wool blanket off Grian’s bed and laying it out on the floor, where he’s decided to spend the night.

Goodness gracious. He didn’t expect this to happen this week.

“There’s five of them, then,” Grian says, walking in and stripping off his sweater, left in his white undershirt. He stretches, briefly flexes his muscles (defined by the hard work that comes with joining a new server) in the mirror before throwing himself onto the bed. “Great. I really wanted to have to worry about a zombie apocalypse on top of all my other problems, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy chuckles. “I’ve got a task to do, dude!”

“I’m just surprised they haven’t got you, yet. You’ve cheated death way too many times already.”

Jimmy doesn’t touch his shoulder. He doesn’t even think about it. “Yeah. Guess I’m stuck with you, huh?”

Grian groans. “Tim, I really don’t want to babysit you this week. I’ve already got a dishwasher to keep an eye on, I don’t need two responsibilities.” “You won’t even notice I’m here.”

“Right. You’d better not betray me after this. I gave up space in my bedroom for you.”

Jimmy would never betray him.

He hopes.

-

It’s day two, and Jimmy’s feeling . . . fine.

Which is a relief, honestly. He skips breakfast to go on a walk, the early morning fog not-quite-cleared, around the back of the base and up the hill, where he stops on the bed monument and sits, the sheets a bit damp from dew.

He slips off his pack, massages his shoulder as he looks out.

He’s not spent much time on this part of the map. It’s nice, different from where he’s set up. It’s very green here, plenty of trees and scurrying animals and whatnot. If he looks to the left, he can see a bit of the mesa, and he briefly hopes that Martyn’s doing all right.

Who is he kidding? Of course Martyn’s doing all right! It’s Martyn, he’s been Red for ages and fine the whole time. And it isn’t like he could even become a zombie—he’d just be out of the game, wouldn’t he?

Facing forward, he can see the Heart Foundation, a grey drab of smoke still hanging over the remains of their heart. Jimmy can see them down there, Tango cooking something up in their open-air kitchen, Skizz feeding their horses.

It’s quiet, this morning.

Jimmy likes the quiet. He really, truly does. He complains about it sometimes, and he’ll be the first to admit that he can get a little loud, but some of his favorite moments in the Southlands had been those nights on watch, just him looking out over the wall at the rest of the world, thinking fondly of the friends who trusted him to protect them.

They should set up a watch, shouldn’t they? Sure, they’ve trapped the entrance, but that won’t stop a dedicated Player by any means. Especially not a team of five of them.

Has Scott been recruited?

(By which he means, of course, has Gem pinned down her closest ally, tearing chunks out of his face as he begs and screams for mercy, her loyal zombies descending upon him like a pack of hungry wolves.)

He left his communicator inside, hasn’t checked it since last night.

Scott could be down. Joel could be. BigB. Not Tango or Skizz, he can see them. Not Martyn, Red as he is. Not Grian, Cleo, or Etho. Not him.

Not him.

Jimmy scrubs a hand down the stubble on his cheek, resolutely ignoring the soreness in his shoulder.

This is just a task. A task that's turning a concerning amount of people Red, but a task nonetheless. If the aim of the task is to change everyone into a zombie, then they'll either achieve it or the time will run out.

They have to survive a week, all told.

They can do that. Jimmy isn't great at surviving in the best of times, but he refuses to let himself die.

He refuses to become a zombie. It makes him want to vomit, even as he pushes his imagination away from the idea of biting down on one of his friends, chewing dripping mouthfuls of—

Jimmy swallows. Twice. He won't throw up.

Then, from behind—the crunching of bramble, footsteps through the woods—

Jimmy spins around, and Joel freezes, sword raised.

“Are you—?” Joel manages, voice rough. He doesn't finish his question. He doesn't need to.

Joel looks like he's been living in a nightmare. His hair is unbrushed, leaves and twigs stuck in it. His hoodie is missing, shirt is torn and fraying at the edges, one long thread trailing down to his mud-stained knees. The shadows under his eyes are deep and oily, his eyes just the tiniest bit red around the rims.

Jimmy shakes his head. “A—a zombie? No, I—are you—?”

Quick as a flash, Joel launches into him. Jimmy barely has time to put his hands up, to do anything, he didn’t bring a weapon with him like an idiot and now he’s going to die—

Joel knocks them both to the ground (Jimmy’s shoulder lands on a stone and a whimper of pain escapes his lips), entirely on top of him, his sword thrown to the side, and Jimmy doesn’t have time to protest because he knows with sickening certainty that Joel’s teeth are about to rip out his throat and it’ll be so gross.

Joel’s face is right in front of his, suddenly, and Jimmy swallows. His wide eyes are fixed on him, unable to leave his face.

Joel is very close. Far too close. Jimmy doesn’t struggle, terrified as he is (though his face warms, blood rushing to it).

Joel’s breath is hot against his nose, his chest heaving against Jimmy’s chest, and Joel grins, teeth shining with saliva, and leans in even further.

“Me neither,” he whispers, lips practically touching Jimmy’s cheek, before rolling off of Jimmy and onto the dirt.

Jimmy swallows again.

“You should’ve seen your face,” Joel laughs, sheathing his sword. “You absolutely thought I was going to eat you, didn’t you?”

Jimmy shakes his head (less as an answer, more as a way to dispel the embarrassing lack of thoughts). “I just—well, anyone could be—”

Joel just laughs again, then starts picking his way down the hill. “Is Etho all right, then? I imagine you wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t someone here already.”

Jimmy rolls onto his side. He’d had bread in his backpack; hopefully it hasn’t been squished by his sudden slam to the ground.

He did not expect to get pinned by Joel when he woke up this morning.

And—not pinned, not—even if that’s what happened, it isn’t—

Right. No more thinking.

Jimmy rubs his shoulder, then follows Joel in.

-

It’s day three, and Jimmy definitely isn’t feeling quite right.

He’s fine, of course. He’s doing well, even. It’s really just the pressure of everything terrible that’s stopping him from feeling entirely perfect, and nothing else.

Martyn shows up around seven in the evening, and he stands outside of the barricaded wall built around the base with crossed arms as Grian looks down disdainfully from the top of the hill.

“I was Red last week, and you let me in,” Martyn shouts up at him. “It’s not fair! You can’t discriminate against me, just because I’m Red! I’ll file a report with . . . with somewhere, I’ll get you canceled!”

“The rules are clear,” Cleo calls down, standing beside Grian. Jimmy, up on the wall, grimaces an apology to Martyn. “No Reds.”

Martyn does the best impression of a kicked puppy that Jimmy’s ever seen, eyes huge and lip trembling.

“Please?” he asks, voice wavering. “I won’t do anything bad, promise!” “He’ll pee on everything,” Jimmy tells Etho beside him.

Etho raises an eyebrow.

Martyn ignores them. “Security wasn’t near this strict before,” he says, voice smoothly segueing into conspiratorial. “What’s with all the extra care? A couple of Yellows are feeling insecure?”

Cleo and Grian exchange a look. Joel, still working on reinforcing the wall, glances over.

“You . . . you know there’s zombies, right?” Grian asks slowly.

Martyn shrugs. “I mean, yeah? Every night. There always have been, I don’t know why this is news to you lot.”

“Other zombies,” Cleo clarifies. “There are. They’re becoming zombies.”

Martyn’s head tilts in confusion. “What’s becoming zombies? The horses? I thought that was established already.”

“No, it’s—it isn’t—”

“Is this someone’s task? Something to do with not seeing a single zombie all week?”

“Just let him believe that,” Grian says tiredly, as Cleo tries to continue explaining. “He’s immune, anyways. No real use trying.”

“Sorry,” Jimmy says, leaning over the wall.

Martyn clicks his tongue. “Timmy. What happened to the Big Dogs, huh?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure you were gonna kill me this week. . . .”

“I would ne—well, I would do that, actually, can’t really blame you. Still, Baxter’s missing you. He gets lonely, up on that hill all by himself.”

Jimmy shrugs. “Sorry,” he says. Then, because he does feel a little bad about abandoning Martyn with barely any warning, adds, “I’ll be back next week, okay? It’s . . . part of my task.”

“Oh,” Martyn nods knowingly. “Infiltrate another alliance. All right, Tim, see you around!” He skips off, whistling a high-pitched tune, and Etho shakes his head and clambers down from the wall.

Cleo and Grian leave the hill, go inside through the secret tunnel, and Joel finishes up the part of the wall that he’s been working on and follows Etho in, and Jimmy’s alone on the wall, staring out after Martyn as he leaves.

He’s fine.

His hands are shaking.

“Jimmy, come get dinner,” Joel calls from inside the base, and Jimmy shouts back some sort of response but he doesn’t move.

They have to die to become a zombie, don’t they? His—it doesn’t count. He’s still alive, he’s still Yellow.

The aching pain in his shoulder doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a bruise. It’s a bruise that is taking a little too long to heal and that’s okay. It’s probably a bone bruise, honestly. That’s why it’s healing slowly. Bone bruises take forever.

He really, really doesn’t want to be a zombie. He hasn’t done anything for his task all week because all he can think about is this awful apocalypse. How on earth Grian’s managing to do whatever it is he’s doing with that Magma Cube is far beyond Jimmy.

He can’t die. If he dies, he might become one of them. Even if he only has the tiniest bit of zombie infection in his shoulder. If that’s even true. Which it isn’t. More likely, it’s just a normal injury that’s part and parcel of these games.

“Oh, Jimmy!”

Jimmy’s heart freezes in his chest.

At some point, his eyes had drifted down to his shoes, scuffed and dirty, but now he looks back up, dread sinking down his throat.

Scar, coming into view down the path, twirling a shining knife around (one that Jimmy knows, with horrid certainty, he won’t use). His voice is oddly flat, his pace somewhat jolting as he skips his way toward the wall. Behind him, on horseback, are Gem and Pearl. Impulse and Bdubs are nowhere to be seen—that gives them something of a better chance, at least.

But before Jimmy can feel any sort of relief over that, another group catches his eye—Tango, Skizz, BigB, all headed around the side toward the base.

Oh no.

No, they’re being flanked, aren’t they?

“Come on, Jimmy!” Gem yells. “You know you need to, let’s just hurry things up a bit!”

His tongue feels stuck to the roof of his mouth, his feet welded to the ground. They’re here, and this is going to prove once and for all that their defenses don’t work and then it’ll be a bloodbath and goodness gracious he wants to vomit just thinking about it—

“Hey! Leave them alone!” That’s Skizz’s voice, loud and spitting fire, storming over to stand between the zombies and the wall, and oh so they haven’t been turned, that makes things quite a bit better.

“H-Help!” Jimmy manages, given strength by the Heart Foundation’s stance, and they’re human and he can’t just abandon them, can he? “Grian! Joel! They’re here, help!”

He fumbles for his bow, leaning on the wall of the parapet—but his fingers feel weak and can’t quite grasp the string. He drops his arrow before he can fire it, and is he even allowed to fire it? He’s still on Yellow, after all—can he fire it?

His moral quandary is brought to an abrupt halt as Grian pops up from the tunnel, scaling the wall in a matter of seconds. He frowns down at the opposing groups below, then whistles sharply.

“BigB,” he says, and BigB, now beside Skizz, glances up.

“Oh, hey, G.”

Scar grins, his eyes glinting, and Jimmy takes a step back.

“What’s going on?”

Joel has shown up, pushing himself out of the ground, and Etho follows him, both already drawing weapons.

“They’re here,” says Grian grimly. Etho shrugs, stretches.

“Guess we’d better face them, then,” he says, resigned in an almost upbeat way.

“Is Scott with them?” Cleo asks, rolling out of the hole and onto the ground.

Grian hums. “Don’t see him.”

“We aren’t here for a little chat,” Impulse calls up to them. Pearl hums, practically drooling. “We’re hungry. You all get it, don’t you?”

Jimmy swallows. He does feel hungry—just a bit, in the pit of his stomach. But it’s probably because he only had a piece of bread for lunch and he hasn’t eaten anything for dinner yet. It isn’t—it’s not the same kind of hunger.

“Plenty of food on the server,” Grian says evenly. “If you wanted a lunch invite, you should’ve just asked.”

“Oh my gosh, they smell so good,” Scar stage-whispers, loud enough that Jimmy can clearly hear. “Can we please just go for them? I really want to sink my teeth into Etho.”

“Nobody move,” Grian throws behind himself, digging in his satchel. He turns his attention back to the intruders. “You’re out of luck, fellas! Nothing to see here. Nobody’s home, even!”

“Hey, uh, Grian?” Tango asks nervously. “You mind letting us in?”

“Don’t let Tango in!” objects Etho, striding toward the gate to get the man in his line of sight. “He died earlier, he’s one of them.”

“I—what? No, I’m—”

“Come on,” Pearl drawls, then everything is thrown into chaos.

Skizz lunges at the zombies, sword drawn, forcing Gem’s horse to stumble back and Pearl to slide down from her saddle, pulling out her axe. At the same time, Grian finds what he’s looking for and throws it at Scar—an Enderman spawn egg that cracks on the ground next to Scar, an Enderman folding up out of it.

And Etho, sudden panic choking his voice, says, “Oh—Grian, I looked at it—”

The Enderman vanishes with a vwoop, then reappears in the base, arms reaching out toward Etho—

Etho runs, shoving out the gate and across the thinning woods, Scar whoops and takes chase, Tango darts in through the now-open gate, and Jimmy leaps down from the wall and follows after Etho, the screaming Enderman, and Scar.

He isn’t sure what he intends to do—kill the Enderman? Stop Scar?—but he follows, struggling to get his sword out of its sheath.

“Get him, Scar!” Gem encourages, far too close, and Jimmy glances to his left to see her loping along on her horse, keeping easy pace with the train of runners.

She could kill him, no problem. She would just have to divert her course a little bit, slam an arrow into his chest, swing her sword as she galloped by.

The fact that she doesn’t is more disconcerting than anything.

Jimmy just keeps running, feet pounding against the ground, backpack bouncing on his back, air coming in gasps.

Etho is having a worse time of it—he’s dodging and weaving to try and keep away from the Enderman, but his detours mean that Scar is quickly closing the distance between them, his sword poised to strike.

Can Jimmy attack him if he tries to kill Etho?

Does he dare?

He can hear Etho’s heaving breaths, the stones on the beach of the lake scattering under his feet, and Etho’s sword clatters against those same stones as he tosses it to the side and splashes into the water, immediately slowed by the drag of water against his legs. Scar continues in after him, slashing out—the sword cuts across Etho’s arm, just missing his armor, and Etho grunts but keeps pushing until the water becomes deep enough to swim.

Jimmy slows to a stop as he approaches the beach, the burned Heart Foundation base a dark shape over the murky water. Etho’s trying to make it there, the water chopping loudly under his windmilling arms, but Scar strikes—

“Don’t—” Etho cries out, the sound half-drowned as his head sinks under the water—

And again—

And Scar takes a weakly struggling Etho and drags him up onto the Heart Foundation, ignoring his waterlogged coughs to straddle his legs and bite into his chest.

Jimmy does vomit this time.

He really, finally does, he falls to his knees on the rocks and just turns his insides out, hacking and coughing and trying not to hear Etho’s screams over his retches.

He fails.

He hears the flesh tearing from bone, squelches and creaks and horrible gurgling, and what’s even worse is that he can smell the blood.

He can smell Etho’s blood from here, where the stones dig into his knees and his vomit paints the ground—he can practically taste the coppery viscousness floating over on the air. It rests heavy on the back of his bile-flooded tongue; Jimmy bites the taste back (not swallowing it, not devouring it) and pushes himself to his feet, even as the last of Etho’s cries fall silent.

He couldn’t save him.

When Jimmy looks up, Gem is still there. Sitting on her horse, watching him.

She’s going to kill him, now. She’s going to lick her lips and leap for him, and Jimmy’s too shaky from puking to even think about defending himself.

She doesn’t move, though. She stays, and offers him a humorless smile, and raises an eyebrow.

“Ready?” she asks, and Jimmy isn’t sure how to respond.

Instead, he picks up Etho’s sword in the hand that isn’t holding his own and sprints back toward the base.

-

“I’ll be fine,” Joel reassures Grian, hitching his backpack higher up on his back. “They know I’m here, they’d never think I’d go back to my base.”

It’s the fourth day, and Joel is leaving for supplies.

Jimmy’s feeling. . . .

Well, he wouldn’t say that he’s doing well.

His entire arm is burning. All the way down to his fingertips, buzzy and painful and nauseating. He hasn’t eaten anything, his stomach churning near-constantly.

He’s been ignoring it for too long, but he doesn’t dare look at his shoulder in the mirror. He can feel it, feel the heat that radiates from it, how swollen it’s become.

He’s fine.

He’s fine, and he’s hungry, and he’s fine.

(He’s hungry, but the food that Grian cooks tastes like ash in his mouth, and his stomach is constantly rebelling, so he usually only manages a couple of mouthfuls before feeding the rest of the plate to Cleo’s dogs.)

(And Jimmy watches Joel go, and something in the pit of his stomach growls at the sight of his friend.)

Grian’s certain that the zombie curse is Gem’s task, that she has to turn everyone she can. If he’s right, then it should wear off when the new week starts.

Jimmy’s already made it four days. That’s over halfway through. He can do three more.

Joel, apparently, can’t.

It’s after lunch that day that their communicators buzz with a dreaded message. Joel’s fallen to Gem, which means he’s joined the zombie crew.

That leaves so few of them. Grian, Cleo. Skizz, Tango, BigB. Scott, presumably.

Jimmy.

Jimmy spends most of the day away from the others, gathering food in the surrounding woods. There isn’t much to scavenge, at this point—he finds some berries, an apple tree (nothing that looks remotely appealing). One of Cleo’s traps has a rabbit in it, but he doesn’t touch it.

The bloody fur and raw flesh is the first thing to look somewhat appetizing to him.

On second thought—

Before Jimmy realizes what he’s doing, he’s disabled the game trap and dug his teeth into the mangled fur of the rabbit, tearing into its flesh with wild abandon. His handkerchief of berries falls to the ground and he eats, congealed blood smearing onto his cheeks, it’s—but he barely manages three bites before he’s violently vomiting all over his hands and the carcass, dropping to his knees as his body spasms and rejects the horrid meal.

No. No, that’s—

There are probably bugs on it, maggots, even, he just started eating a dead, raw rabbit without even wanting it, and there’s fur caught in his teeth and his mouth tastes foul—

He has to get rid of the evidence.

He isn’t a zombie. He isn’t.

Jimmy picks up the remains of the carcass and starts sprinting, down to the lake, where he throws the rabbit as far as he can. It lands with a plosh in the water, sinking instantly, and Jimmy sticks his hands in the water as well, washing them of his vomit and the rabbit.

That was—

That was—

He feels shaky.

Of course he feels shaky, and it has nothing to do with his cravings. He hasn’t properly eaten anything in ages and he’s thrown up twice in the past two days, there’s nothing in his body to fuel him.

But how can he eat when nothing sits in his stomach?

He’s not going to become one of them, but if he starves himself it’ll be the same difference. He has to figure out a way to eat something. Something close enough to whatever it is he craves that it’ll stay down. And it has to be closer than a rabbit carcass, he thinks, shuddering.

He unstraps his waterskin and swishes some lukewarm water around in his mouth, spits onto the stony beach.

He’ll make it through this.

And he’ll get this horrid taste out of his mouth.

-

Cleo has a bucket of rotten flesh that she keeps outside the doghouse, used to feed her pets.

That’s where Jimmy gets his supper.

He feigns eating the porkchops that Tango serves, squirreling bites away in his napkin when no one’s looking. Then, when Cleo wakes him up for the second watch, he sneaks out to the doghouse and raids the bucket, taking whole handfuls of squishy, dripping flesh, flies buzzing away.

He eats it right there, leaning over the bucket, too hungry to be as disgusted as he wants to be. He stuffs fistfulls of stinking, green-tinged meat into his mouth, barely chewing as it slides wetly down his throat, landing in his stomach with a sensation that’s almost physical.

It isn’t quite what he wants, but it works. It doesn’t satisfy the craving, it doesn’t make his arm stop burning, but he starts to feel like he can think through the hunger again.

He stops himself before he can eat too much. It wouldn’t do to finally find something that’ll stay down, only to overstuff himself and get sick. And he can’t take enough that Cleo notices that her stock has depleted.

Jimmy washes his hands with a calm sort of detachedness, willing himself not to think of what he’s just done and how revolting it was. If he doesn’t think about it, he can ignore it.

And ignore it he does, until he’s patrolling up the hill, looking out over the server.

There’s someone out there, far off. Climbing around the Secret Keeper’s boulders. Martyn, hopefully. Martyn’s still out there kicking, somewhere, and Jimmy doesn’t want to think about what would happen if the zombies were up at this hour.

Then he freezes, every line of his body going stiff, as he feels something hard poke into the small of his back.

“Hey, babe. Been all right without me?”

Jimmy swallows, his throat gone dry.

The pressure on his back releases, and he turns around as slowly as he can manage, hands held up to show that he doesn’t have a weapon.

Joel’s there. Of course Joel is there. Jimmy had recognized his voice, flat and unaffected as it was.

His eyes glint dully with red, his skin pale in the moonlight. He sheathes his sword, sweeps back his dark hair.

Jimmy swallows again, the rotten flesh threatening to make a reappearance. Joel takes a step closer, his eyes boring into Jimmy.

“I—get out, I’ll wake the others—”

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

Jimmy clamps his mouth shut. Joel smirks, eyes lighting up.

“You are,” he says. “Gem told me you’re one of us. I didn’t believe her. How’ve you been hiding it this long?”

He’s not. He’s not hungry, he’s not one of them.

“You didn’t really eat much, though, did you?” Joel contemplates aloud. “I made you a sandwich yesterday, and you didn’t eat more than a bite. Are you really starving yourself over this?”

“I’m not starving,” protests Jimmy. “I’m—I’m fine.”

“When did you last eat?”

“I—half an hour ago.”

Joel raises an eyebrow. “So late? What, were you waiting to sneak raw meat? I’ve heard that raw pork is about as close to human flesh as you can get.”

“Rotten flesh is closer,” Jimmy argues, before he realizes what he’s just admitted. Joel chokes out a shocked laugh, just as flat as his voice.

“You—sorry, rotten flesh? Rotten flesh? Jimmy,” Joel says, voice dripping with astonished pity. “That’s probably the grossest thing I’ve ever heard. How could you—?”

“You don’t get it!” Jimmy bursts out, and now he can’t control the words spilling out of his mouth because he’s been on edge for days— “You don’t—I’m fighting every day! Nothing tastes good, I keep throwing up, my friends are dying all around me and then trying to kill my other friends, my arm hurts so bad—”

He cuts himself off, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. The rotten flesh had filled the gaping hole in his stomach momentarily, but the hunger is roaring again, stronger than ever. He can’t even think about it—just the idea of cannibalizing his friends makes him tremble in fear, but it seems so—

So—

“Jimmy.”

He shakes his head, eyes on the ground. “No. I don’t—”

“Just give in.”

“I can’t. I won’t.”

Joel places a gentle finger under Jimmy’s chin (when did they get so close?), tilts his eyes up to meet his. Jimmy’s breath catches in his chest; he stares at Joel, lips trembling.

“Just let go,” Joel breathes, eyes fixed on Jimmy’s. “Don’t you want to be satisfied? After so long of denying yourself?”

Jimmy’s tongue darts out, wets his lips. As much as it disgusts him, he really, really doesn’t want to be hungry anymore.

“Does it hurt?” he whispers. Perhaps it’s that, the fear of the pain, the fear of letting go, that’s been making him hold on so long.

Joel winces. “Yeah,” he says, voice still low. “It hurts. But after that . . . after that, it feels so good. Better than you can imagine.”

It does hurt, then.

If there’s anything that Jimmy doesn’t do, it’s pain. He hates pain almost as much as he hates violence and gore, getting anxious over the smallest anticipated harm.

He’ll hold out. The hunger hurts, but it’s a pain he knows.

“Think about it,” Joel says softly, his breath warming Jimmy’s lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

He slips away, into the darkness of the woods. Jimmy stands there a moment longer, chin still elevated, until he can no longer hear Joel’s footsteps heading away.

Then he falls to his knees and sobs.

-

It’s the fifth day, and Jimmy can barely breathe.

He can’t look at any of his friends without craving them, without longing to sink his teeth into their flesh, and it grosses him out but he can’t stop thinking about it.

Grian’s skin looks so soft, especially the skin right under his chin, above his adam’s apple. Jimmy watches it move as they eat, scrambled eggs that squirm their way down Jimmy’s throat and will surely come back up later. He keeps his eyes fixed on Grian’s throat, pretending that he’s chewing that instead of eggs, and the imagined sensation of blood and skin filling his mouth makes the food almost bearable.

It also makes his hunger that much worse, though, so he abandons the breakfast table as soon as possible, hurrying out to check the game traps.

His arm is useless, at this point. It hurts almost as much as the hunger, has become a chunk of deadweight at his side, heat branching out from him to spread to the rest of his body.

For far too long, Jimmy contemplates just cutting it off and eating it, but would that count? Would it count to eat his own flesh, or does it have to be someone new?

Also, then he’d probably bleed out and just die anyway. That wouldn’t be helpful.

He ends up digging in the bucket of rotten flesh after he pukes up the eggs, shoving the gooey, stinking flesh into his mouth, shuddering and gagging with each piece he forces himself to eat.

It isn’t enough. It isn’t enough, but he can’t. He isn’t one of them. He’s human.

He’s sweating all the time now. The heat from his arm has started burning away at his body, carrying an incurable fever. It’s like his body knows exactly what he’s resisting and is determined to make him suffer about it.

“Jimmy, you doing okay?” Tango asks later that day (evening, the sun beginning to set, Jimmy’s head pounding and his stomach growling every other minute), as they feed Cleo’s dogs. Tango turns the bucket over into the yard, frowns as only a small pile plops out.

“Yeah? Why? Why wouldn’t I be doing okay?”

Tango shrugs. “I dunno, man. You look like you’re coming down with something. Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m—I’m great!” Jimmy blusters, tension flowing through his stomach in choppy waves. “I, I mean—maybe a bit warm, but—”

“Better than the zombies?” Tango quips with a grin.

Jimmy swallows. “Um. Yep.”

Maybe it’s speaking of them that summons them. Maybe they just can’t resist such succulent, intoxicating human flesh. Jimmy’s having enough of a hard time with it, and he isn’t even one of them.

But the zombies turn back up, jeering and chanting for them to come out and fight, and Jimmy heaves his chestplate on and picks up his sword to go meet them at the gates before remembering that someone should make sure they aren’t coming in from the back.

He pokes his head over the wall—Gem and Pearl and Impulse are there, but there’s no sign of Joel or Scar or Etho.

That can’t be good news.

“Grian,” Jimmy hisses, sidling over to where Grian is boredly listening to the zombies’ cries, his bow trained on them. “The back. Half of them aren’t even here, they might be coming in the back!”

Then, high on the air, a whistling sound—an arrow flying toward them—

Jimmy moves instinctively. He leaps onto Grian, pushing him down against the parapet, his nose buried into Grian’s soft hair, the hilt of the man’s sword jabbing into his stomach.

The arrow soars over them, landing somewhere on the other side of the wall—landing in Gem, if the answering scream has anything to do with it.

“Sorry! Sorry, I was aiming for Grian—”

Grian’s skin is so close to Jimmy’s mouth right now.

He goes still, breath catching in his chest. Wave after wave after wave of desperate hunger crashes into him.

He—

Then Grian pushes him off, and the moment is broken.

Right, right, Jimmy needs to get a hold of himself—

“Thanks,” Grian mutters, then rolls to his feet, turning his bow behind them.

Sure enough, Joel, Scar, and Etho are standing on top of their base, not far from where Jimmy had spoken to Joel just last night. Had that talk been Joel scouting out the area for a surprise attack? How could he have let it go on for so long without alerting anyone to Joel’s presence?

Joel—it looks like he smirks at Jimmy, though from this distance, it’s hard to tell. Jimmy turns away, raising his sword threateningly toward the zombies on the ground.

Down there, Gem is on the ground, trying to work an arrow out of her chest. Pearl and Impulse are beside her, swords raised against any further attack.

“Tango! Uh-oh, uh-oh—”

Skizz, on Grian’s other side, sprints past Jimmy, almost knocking him off the wall. He jumps off and runs toward the staircase up the hill, and Jimmy watches—Tango’s on the steps, fleeing the hill, panic in his eyes and an arrow in his shield—

Skizz doesn’t last long.

It’s mere moments before screams echo down the hill.

“Come on!” Grian yells, and Jimmy blindly follows him down and up the hill, joining Cleo and BigB already on their way. The four of them round the top of the staircase right as Joel pulls a bite of flesh away from Skizz’s arm with an awful ripping sound, blood spurting everywhere.

Grian leaps into action, forcing Etho to drop Skizz’s other arm and defend himself, even as Scar bites Skizz’s neck, blood quickly soaking Skizz’s shirt. Skizz screams and screams, free arm twitching up and back down, his lifeblood and chunks of flesh just falling to the ground as two zombies tear at him like they haven’t eaten in weeks—

Even as Cleo starts forward, Skizz’s tortured eyes roll back into his head and his body goes limp, dropping like a deadweight. Joel enjoys one more bite (and there’s something in his eyes, boring into Jimmy’s, something inviting and proud and gloating) before abandoning the body, running for the woods. Scar and Etho follow, Etho getting a good slash in on Grian’s upper arm before fleeing entirely.

Jimmy stares at Skizz’s remains, at how much red there is. Someone tore off his cheek before they got there, part of his jaw visible, redstained teeth eerily peering out at them. The air stinks with the scent of his blood, worse than any butcher’s shop, worse than any battlefield.

Jimmy’s stomach turns.

It always does. It always does, he can’t stand gore and violence, he can’t see it happen without bone-shaking terror and enough nausea to make a shipful of sailors hurl their guts over the railing, and right now is no different.

Jimmy collapses to his knees and pukes, two meals’ worth of rotten flesh coming up slimier than it had gone down.

-

“Timmy saved my life, really,” Grian says, slapping Jimmy hard on the back.

It’s the sixth day.

It’s the sixth day.

“Then puked on your shoes,” Cleo points out.

“Yeah, well. He knows I won’t forgive him for that, no use trying. But I think Scar’s arrow would’ve hit me off the wall if Tim hadn’t tackled me.”

“It’s good to have you on our side, Rancher,” Tango says proudly.

Jimmy doesn’t say a word.

He can’t open his mouth.

If he does, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to resist digging his teeth into Grian.

The man is right beside him, one heavy arm still weighing down his shoulders, and Jimmy is overly conscious of how close their cheeks are. He can’t think of anything but that, can’t think of anything at all except turning his head to attack Grian’s face, tear his skin from his flesh, eat and eat and eat until he can’t feel the starving fever that gnaws on his very bones.

It hurts so, so much.

He can’t continue like this.

If—a deal. A deal with himself. If Grian keeps holding on for ten more seconds, he’ll go for it. He’ll give in. He’ll finally give in. But if—if Grian lets go, then—

Before he can finish defining the deal in his feverish, disconnected thoughts, Grian hops away, off to the small kitchen in the corner, dishing up toast for everyone.

“Skizz will definitely come for me and BigB,” Tango says, taking one of the plates from the counter and sitting at the table. “This place isn’t working anymore—every time they get another one, they’ll just be one closer to totally overwhelming us.”

“So we need to hide,” nods Cleo.

“We need to get out of here,” Grian agrees. “I was thinking maybe the mesa? We can pay Martyn off to keep them distracted, maybe, and hide in the tunnels where we got the Warden.”

“Wouldn’t Etho want to check there?”

“Oh, right, that might be the first place. . . .”

“We could go to my backrooms,” BigB says.

“That sounds terrifying.”

“What? They’re totally normal!”

Sweat drips into Jimmy’s eyes.

The conversation blurs into background noise.

Grian’s not wearing any armor. Cleo already slapped on a chestplate, and Tango and BigB are fully kitted out, but Grian’s still just wearing his sweater and jeans.

He looks. . . .

His stomach is so empty. Jimmy’s stomach feels like it’s tearing itself apart. That’ll kill him. He’s starving.

Surely. . . .

Surely one bite won’t turn him into a zombie?

Just—just one bite, just something to ease the hunger pangs the slightest bit, something to tide him over until the end of the week. He won’t take any more than that, just that one bite, and then he’ll be quiet and do his job, he promises.

Just one bite, one bite of Grian’s mouthwatering flesh, surely he wouldn’t begrudge him one bite? Jimmy saved his life, after all. One bite won’t turn him into a zombie—after all, Jimmy was bit ages ago, and he’s fine!

One bite can’t hurt. It would just be to quell his shaking mind. He’s fine, he just needs one bite. Just one bite.

The sun coming through the window warms Grian’s cheek, a slight rose tinting his pale flesh as he laughs at something Cleo said. It looks delectable, melt-in-the-mouth, disgustingly delicious and it’s everything Jimmy needs, he just needs a little bit, just one bite, that’s all, just the cheek—or some other part, wherever is least inconvenient for Grian, wherever he wants it to be, just one bite—

“Don’t you think, Tim—”

Jimmy can’t hold himself back. He dives across the table with a crash that shakes the whole house, sending toast and plates flying, reaching for Grian, mouth already open—

“Jimmy!” “Hey, what—” He has to! None of them understand, he has to, Jimmy can’t survive any longer like this, he needs—he needs it—just one bite, he just needs a little bit, he just needs to tear Grian apart under his teeth, he needs blood and flesh in his mouth and sliding down his throat in satisfying chunks, he just needs—

Strong hands pull him back. Everyone is yelling, all around him, and Jimmy’s teeth snap down around nothing as Grian scrambles back, knocking his chair over and falling to the floor.

No, no no no, he just needs a bite—

“Just one bite,” he sobs desperately, tears streaming from his eyes as drool drips from his lips. “Please, any of you, just one—just one bite, I promise, I just need one, I’m so sorry—”

They don’t give it to him.

They want him to starve.

They pull him down hard into his chair, and Jimmy barely has time to struggle before they tie him down, heavy ropes pulled tight around his growling stomach and over his pounding heart. He writhes, tries to get at whoever is closest, but his mouth can’t quite reach anyone.

No, no, please! Please!

“Jimmy,” Tango says, and Jimmy manages to focus long enough on his face to see the shocked disappointment painting it. “Jimmy, how long?”

Jimmy takes in a shuddering breath, one that doesn’t fill the hole in his stomach. “Please,” he begs. He can’t take it anymore, he can’t, it hurts so much, he’s going to fall apart but he only needs a little bit to keep going! “Please, just one bite, please!”

“Of course!” Grian says angrily, tossing up his hands. “Of course it would be Tim, of course Timmy would hide that he got bit! You’re the person that everyone hates in zombie movies, Tim! You aren’t special, you moron!”

He doesn’t get close enough for Jimmy to even attempt to reach for, but his lips tremble as he stares at Grian’s flesh anyways, desperate for just a taste. He’s finally broken, he’s finally given in, but he doesn’t need much. Anything, please, anything.

They don’t give him anything.

They leave.

They leave, and they leave him there, and they show Jimmy Grian’s communicator—

<Grian> left you zombies a gift at the base

And he’s there alone.

Alone, shaking and starving, fever and pain radiating through him in waves, he just needed one bite. . . .

“Well. You know, we don’t usually have a taste for people like us, but. . . .” Joel smirks from the entrance, eyes fixated on the tears streaming down Jimmy’s face, at the reddened veins crawling up his neck from his useless arm, at the hunger etched deep into his fearful eyes.

Joel lunges for him, and Jimmy closes his eyes and hopes that he doesn’t throw up as he feels his stomach be literally torn open.

[crazylittlejester]

RAHH your wars smile post has given me so many thoughts

first off it’s sad that the fact that wars is at his most genuine the time he really smiles just because he feels happy is when he is literally alone and by himself.

second off the FIC THIS COULD MAKE DONT GIVE ME IDEAS BRO like wars thinking he’s alone when they’re all at the ranch and wind and twi are having fun outside, legend and Hyrule and wild are causing mischief, sky’s taking a well deserved nap, fours reading by a tree, and time gets to spend TIME (pun haha I hate myself grr) with his wife. And wars is just, happy genuinely because everything’s fine he’s on the porch alone in a rocking chair, the most relaxed and happy he’s ever been in forever and they’re just this goofy little grin on his face because my man is happy LET HIM GRIN. and if time saw it from the corner of his eye out the window then that’s his business. and yes eventually legend and twi have to drag him in cus he took a snooze but shhh they’re all happy

okay first of all i love absolutely everything you’ve just said, but wanna add somethin’ cos I ran out of the ability to add more pictures to that post so the yap was cut a bit short, but you reminded me of another thing I’d meant to say alkhgfjhfdg SO I HOPE YOU DON’T MIND THE YAP:

Yes for the most part, Warriors’s real smile is almost a ‘hidden’ thing, it only comes out in full when he’s alone or no one’s looking. HOWEVER: There are a few instances where his little crooked smile is a bit more clear, even when he’s still talking with the others (not fully 100% his real smile, but you can see the one same side of his mouth a tad higher than his fake straight smile). And it’s always moments where he just seems a little bit more relaxed. Specially in ‘Regroup’ when he and Hyrule have just come back and Legend has his bright pink hair and Wars is teasing both him and Sky. When he first comes in and he’s being a bit over the top his smile is clearly more even and straight, even when he’s teasing the others a bit

@/linkeduniverse

but the thing i find interesting about this is he’s standing up talking to a group of people sitting down. He’s the center of attention, he’s aware of it, they’re all looking at him and he knows it. He’s probably a lot more focused on how the others are looking at and perceiving him, they’re LITERALLY physically looking up at him. He’s taller than them because he’s the one standing. On the page AFTER this one, however, once he’s sat down and towards the end of his conversation (including the entire page so people can see how everyone else is physically existing in the space):

now here he seems a little bit more relaxed, and while in the first part of the page the way he’s acting and speaking still comes off as performative, that last panel of him on the bottom seems a little bit less of an act. He doesn’t come off quite as (for lack of a better description) cocky, he seems a little more genuine and down to earth and chill in the way he teases Sky right there, and his smile is a little more crooked than it usually is when he’s joking around with the others. He just went on this whole thing about how he and Hyrule totally had it handled and the two of them were very badass, but he’s poking fun of Sky in an extremely lighthearted way and now that he’s reaching the end of what he has to say he seems… Not like he’s running out of ENERGY, but like he’s just taking the dramatics down and acting just a bit more like himself

Also: He’s no longer standing above them and being intentionally larger than life. He’s still acting a bit, he almost always is, but he seems much more relaxed, and he’s actually put himself in a position where he’s physically beneath the others with the only other person sitting on the ground is Legend. And as someone who is a certified YAPPER, I know when I have a yap coming, I stand up and I say my shit but when I’m getting to the end of the yap I sit down and take a chance to be quiet. And this might just be me, but that does seem like what Warriors is doing here. He’s done his bit, he got his yap in, but he’s done now and probably tired after battle and walking all over the place, and he’s bringing himself AND his energy down to get ready to eat and calm down for the night

The others may not have really seen his REAL smile (or if they did Wars has no idea because he wasn’t aware he was being watched), but they’ve certainly caught glimpses of it in moments where Wars is able to relax just a little more. And I feel like maybe they’re even able to recognize that. Maybe it makes them feel a little bit sad when they realize that Wars’s flashy obnoxious grin isn’t a ‘real’ one at all, because I’m sure to an extent he probably does feel a bit happy when he’s laughing and joking around with the others but that straight, even smile is a controlled thing and not a true expression of his happiness

Now this may be completely a headcanon of mine: But I do feel like Warriors is a person who greatly values his physical space. He likes being alone (not being lonely), he likes getting to take time by himself to just breathe and appreciate what’s around him, and he doesn’t have to deal with the crushing pressure of being the person everyone thinks he is. He can smile at things and not worry about the fact his real smile isn’t perfect because no one’s watching him. He can allow himself to maybe actually be happy for a second when he’s alone because he can really just relax

IF YOU WRITE THAT FIC AND SHARE IT ANYWHERE IM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES BEGGING YOU TO SEND ME A LINK 🥺 I love the idea of him just falling asleep on the porch in a rocking chair OUGH. IM OBSESSED WITH IT.

anyways sorry for yappin, i turn into an unskippable cutscene when people mention Wars