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lumillsie · 3 days ago

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ೃ⁀➷ being jun-ho's s/o would include ¡!

in which you're romantically involved with the police officer doing his best to find his brother and put a stop to the squid games

a/n : lots of love to my dearest friend @angelseraphines for not only getting me into this brilliantly-written show, but also for looking over my fic to double-check my characterisation and to give me a second opinion on it. if you aren't already following her, please go ahead and make sure that you do so 🙏

also this turned into a full-on fic please just roll with the punches 🙏bit of a cliche first date but I fear that I have very little dating experience so you guys are gonna have to deal with that, I fear.

╰┈➤ it was the middle of winter when you met the policeman for the first time. the air was crisp and frigid, icicles were hanging from rooftops and everywhere you turned you could see colourful outfits in contrast with the white snow and hear the sound of shovels scraping against sidewalks. a kind-eyed man in a reflective green vest caught your attention at the same time a car smacked a young woman and drove off.

╰┈➤ you stepped forward to testify, wanting to help out the woman. she thankfully didn't appear to be in critical danger, save for the bruising on her hip and the apparent fracture in her left hand — and so you headed off with them to the station to give your statement. the woman was allowed to give her statement and leave immediately, due to the obvious state her hand was in and her need to visit a hospital. you were left then with the kind-eyed officer from earlier, who brought you a sizzling cup of hot chocolate and sat down to wait with you until you could sign off on your witness testimony.

╰┈➤ talking with him was so relaxing for you. it felt as if you had known him for years and the banter between you and him felt natural and light. you couldn't remember when was the last time you laughed that much — little did you know that he felt the same way.

╰┈➤ as you headed off to leave, your eyes searched for him amongst the worn-out chairs and stacked files. you wanted a chance to say goodbye, regardless of the dread gathering in your chest at the thought that you'd never see him again. you were disappointed when one of his colleagues informed you that he had to head off back to his post — that was until you were handed a slip of paper with his name and number on it. he was far too professional to make the move himself, but his colleague could see you two liked one another and took it upon himself to push you towards him. with a grateful smile and a glint of unadulterated joy in your eyes, you left the building and headed off to meet up with the friend you'd made plans with that day. you would be a little late, but you were sure she wouldn't mind once you told her about your day.

╰┈➤ admittedly, it took you a couple of days to call the handsome officer, whose name you now knew to be hwang jun-ho. every time you picked up the phone, your legs would become jittery and you'd find yourself pacing around your room. a little seed of doubt took its root within you, but on the fourth day you finally gave in and pressed the call button. once he recognised your voice, his lips curled into a smile on the other end of the line. he was a bit concerned when his colleague gave you his number, but he was glad to see that you weren't put off by it. on that cold winter's night, you talked and talked until you both fell asleep grasping your phones, the line still on.

╰┈➤ these cozy evening calls became routine for the two of you, with him initiating them when he got off work. you learned more about him — that he was close with his mom, that he was set to get a promotion soon and that he wanted to work in major crimes as a detective someday and that he would often look in on his brother when he had some spare time. he didn't talk much about him, but you got the feeling that whatever it was his brother experienced wasn't something you wanted to press him much on — so you didn't. he made the effort to ask you more about yourself as well, so you talked to him about your job, your family, and your friends. you talked to him about your hobbies, the places you wanted to visit, and the things that made you happy. neither of you had ever really felt so comfortable, so quickly with another person — it was a lovely feeling, one that you both desperately latched onto.

╰┈➤ a couple of weeks after you started talking, jun-ho finally managed to get a day off. his tone of voice was dignified, yet dulcet as he invited you to go see a movie and then to dinner with him. you replied immediately and enthusiastically, gripping the phone so tightly in your hand that it almost felt like you could break it if you squeezed it in just a slightly tighter manner.

╰┈➤ like a true gentleman, he picked you up from your apartment on the day of the date and you found yourself glancing at him admiringly as he drove, trying his hardest to keep his eyes on the road and not on you. when you arrived at the cinema, you were surprised to see that the movie he got tickets for was the one you'd been raving to him about for weeks. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to go see it with a friend, but I figured it would make for a pretty good first date" he admitted with a hint of humour in his voice. you responded by telling him you thought it was a wonderful idea.

╰┈➤ the cinema hall was dark, illuminated only by the gleam of the screen as the opening scene of the movie was unfolding. he had to admit that the plot was intriguing, but he found himself glancing down at you every so often. halfway through the film, he found the courage to extend his hand, and you grasped it into yours as gleeful smile made its way onto your face. even as your hands began to feel a bit sweaty, you couldn't bring yourselves to let go.

╰┈➤ on the way to the restaurant, you launched yourselves into a proper conversation about the movie, laughing and joking about its points and twists as the rosy sunset gave way to a melancholy dusk. the staff and guests moved around in a lively manner, as the sound of glass and ceramic reverbated through the room — and the view from the windows was absolutely breathtaking. you could tell that he'd done his best to keep your preferences in mind when he was looking for a place to take you to. you held his hand across the table as you waited for the food to arrive, and you spent the better part of the evening comfortably talking to one another. every so often, his eyes would dart to your lips, but he made no move to reach across the table — not yet, at least.

╰┈➤ his shoes were crunching on the frozen ground as he followed you to your front door, and as you turned back to see your goodbye, he leaned in and gave you a gentle kiss on the lips — one which you eagerly reciprocated. he pressed a gentle kiss to both of your hands before he departed, and he called you once again as he got home.

╰┈➤ it didn't take long after that for the two of you to become an official couple. you began to visit him at work when you had the time, and he'd take an hour or two after work was done to slip by and spend some time with you. you would lounge on your couch with a glass of wine in your hand — if he was staying the night he'd drink a few too, and if he wasn't then he'd drink some tea.

╰┈➤ he would feel awful about waking you early in the morning when he had to return to his apartment and get ready for work, but he always made sure to write you a note and find your kettle so you could boil water for tea or coffee when you got up. he always kissed your forehead and whispered a sentence or two of affection before he left. he knew you couldn't hear him, but he felt the need to say them nonetheless.

╰┈➤ realistically, it wouldn't take long for you to meet his mother and brother. jun-ho always made time to visit her, and in-ho had given him his kidney. they were a close-knit family and he wanted the people most important to him to meet the person he was rapidly becoming more and more serious with. his brother seemed quiet and solemn, but he wasn't unkind. save for your greeting and goodbye, you only exchanged a few awkward words — most of which were just polite questions. you got the underlying feeling that he was a very tormented man, and the sight of a family photo on the counter with his arms wrapped around an unfamiliar woman confirmed your suspicions. jun-ho's mother, on the other hand, was incredibly warm and welcoming. she trusted her son's judgement, and she embraced you as if she'd met you a thousand times before. she prepared a fantastic meal, and she showed you photos of jun-ho and in-ho throughout their childhood. your joyous laughter echoed through the room as the younger of the two brothers covered his face with his hands. when it was time to return home, you found yourself hesitant to leave the warm atmosphere of the older woman's apartment — she made you promise to come visit her often. you agreed enthusiastically.

╰┈➤ when you returned home that evening, you asked him about his brother. he opened up to you then, about all the things he'd never really talked about. about the week his brother went missing a couple of years ago, about the death of his brother's pregnant wife and about the kidney he received from his brother. his voice was on the verge of breaking as he uttered out one string of words after the other, and his eyes began to gloss over. you held him close then, and from that moment on it was as if he could tell you anything — trust you with everything. it was the turning point between being two people who truly liked eachother to being partners.

╰┈➤ the change from living apart to living together was pretty seamless. at one point, you both realised that most of his stuff was already at your place and you just ended up moving the rest of it in. from that point on, he never really had to worry about going back to his place or getting up extremely early to get ready for work. you'd stay awake huddled under the blankets with his arms wrapped around you as you kept one another up to date with what you got up to during the day, and what you wanted to do as soon as you found some free time.

╰┈➤ if you're out together and he sensed that the chill from the cold weather outside is getting to you, he'd sneakily slip his jacket around your shoulders and offer you a teasing quip as he zipped it up with a light smirk on his face. your protests of not being that cold would be met with an exasperated look.

╰┈➤ you didn't hear him the first time he told you he loved you. as he kissed your forehead and whispered to you in the morning, it simply slipped out. he didn't realise it until he spoke it out loud. when he returned home that evening, those were the first words out of his mouth — and you said it back. after that, he always made to include his declarations of love in his morning notes, and they were the first and last words on his lips each time you said your helloes and goodbyes.

╰┈➤ you're there for him as he climbs the ranks in the police, and you'll never forget the look on his face when he came home with the news of finally receiving his promotion to detective. he spun you around as he placed kisses on your face, and you leaned in and kissed him with passion to show him just how proud of him you were. he took you out to celebrate that evening, and he took you to the same restaurant where you had your first date. it would go on to become your go-to place for celebrating special occasions. the following day, you went to visit his mother. tears of joy slipped from her eyes as she embraced him, and it wasn't long before she drew you into her embrace as well. it was the first time you saw something that didn't look like grief or sadness in his brother's eyes. you saw pride.

╰┈➤ he definitely wants to get married, and the two of you have talked about it, but both of you want to have a wedding when the entire family feels like they can actually celebrate. the dark cloud of grief that seems to constantly hang over in-ho's head has encouraged you both to wait a while. regardless, you two have already discussed so many of the details — the song you'd like to have for your first dance, the colour palette, the season when you'd like to have it in and where.

╰┈➤ he's incredibly observant, a trait that has helped him in both his private and professional life. he remembers the little things about you — he keeps track of the things you talk to him about, notes the ways in which your features contort when you see something you like or dislike, and goes out of his way to make your life easier in small ways.

╰┈➤ when you are both too tired to get ready and get ready for a proper date, but still want to do more than simply stay inside the whole time, he'll take you for a drive around the city. sometimes you get stuck in traffic, sometimes you get to breeze through the vibrant streets. for these dates, you have two playlists — one made up of both yours and his favourite songs, and another made up of ballads and romantic declarations weaved into music. which one you end up putting on depends on the atmosphere, but the second one tends to be the one you play when you park atop a cliff and take some time to glance at the stars.

╰┈➤ he rarely ever gets jealous, because he's confident in your relationship and he trusts you. that being said, he is incredibly protective — and he's always watching out for you. this bleeds into his affectionate nature, and the hand wrapped around your shoulder when you're out and about means two things. one, that he wants to be close to you and this is his way of expressing it. two, that he's warding off any unwanted attention and anybody who would seek to do you harm. he's a detective, so of course he's great at multi-tasking.

╰┈➤ while he mostly saves flowers for special occasions, he goes out of his way to get you baked goods when he's on his way back from work. you remarked once on how the pastries he brought you from the bakery near his station reminded you of something you ate regularly in your childhood, and he was nothing if not attentive. he didn't always bring home the same stuff — but he kept track of which treats you were craving the most and acted accordingly.

╰┈➤ if you get caught out in the rain, he's the type of guy who will keep his jacket above your head to try and keep you from getting drenched by the rainfall — or at the very least drape it around you, if you're wearing something that becomes see-through when it comes into contact with water. his focus is on your comfort in those moments.

╰┈➤ he finally proposed to you on your three-year anniversary, at the same restaurant where the two of you had your first date. while marriage was something you discussed, he still managed to surprise you with the proposal, and you agreed with tears welling in your eyes and your heart thumping nearly out of your chest. one of the first people you called was his mother, and you made sure to send the colleague that slipped you jun-ho's number a baskets of flowers and baked goods. he left a good portion of the planning to you, as busy as he is with his job, but he always offered his opinion and showed you that he cared immensely when you'd ask him for it.

╰┈➤ a couple of months after you announced your engagement, and with preparations underway — his brother disappeared. this wasn't the first time of course, but it was only the second time he didn't leave a message or let anyone know of his whereabouts. the last time this happened, his pregnant wife passed away, so naturally you, jun-ho and his mother were all worried. a couple of days into his brother's disappearance, your fiancee called to tell you that he was following a lead on his brother's disappearance — something with slip of cardboard with weird symbols and some man his colleagues perceived as crazy. after that, you couldn't get hold of him.

╰┈➤ when he did resurface, a couple of weeks later, he turned up bloodied and with a bullet in his shoulder on some old sea captain's boat. you looked after him then, tending to his wound and making sure that it didn't get infected, redressing it, and helping him with mundane tasks he struggled with now that his shoulder was injured. he was eerily secretive about it at first, and all you knew was the tidbits you managed to get from his coworkers — about some strange island and some sickening freaks making indebted people play children's games and then killing them for sport. you were confused, but you didn't press him until he was ready to talk to you about it.

╰┈➤ in the dark of the night, as he was leaning on the bathroom sink and you were pressing cold ice against the torn and injured flesh left by an unknown man's gun, he started talking to you about it. about following the strange man into a limousine where they doused all the passengers with some sleeping agent, about sneaking onto a ship and strangling one of the workers there, consequently tossing his body into the depths of the vast sea. as he spoke about all the death he witnessed, about the man with one kidney the workers cut up and whose organs they trafficked, about the sickening rich man who attempted to force himself onto him and about escaping the island, only to be tracked down as he attempted to send the proof he'd gathered and was met with horrendous cell signal and a masked man's gun. he didn't tell you about his brother, couldn't condemn him in such a way. that was the only part he kept to himself.

╰┈➤ your habit of staying up together in the night became more frequent than it had ever been. when he did sleep, he was always mumbling something about in-ho and the lines on his forehead and the manner in which he was squeezing his eyes made him look nearly as if he was in pain. you would coax him back from the turmoil he was re-experiencing in his sleep and into reality. neither of you went back to sleep on nights like those, and his grasp on you was so firm as if he was afraid you might disappear if he attempted to loosen it.

╰┈➤ he'd quit his job and went back to handling traffic then, and you understood he needed his time to grieve — a reprieve from death and the most distorted cases that hit the station's desk. you got married soon after, as the realisation that life was far too short to worry about semantics settled in his bones, and the fear of losing him intensified in you after what he'd gone through. you still kept the most important parts of what you'd planned out - the song for your first dance, the place where you wanted to celebrate, the people you wanted in roles of honour. it was a small and private affair, witnessed only by those the two of you felt were most deserving and close. you hoped to hold another celebration once in-ho returned, if he ever did — your husband already knew that he would not.

╰┈➤ once he starts working with gi-hun, he fills you in on what they're doing. he doesn't want you to worry, he couldn't put you through what you experienced back when you didn't know if he was dead or alive. you demand that they let you in, that they allow you to help them look for the man in the black mask. you couldn't stomach the thought of him setting off with you again, to do something so perilous and frightening. he's hesitant at first, and refuses to even consider the idea. upon realising that you don't intend to give up, and that you'll join him for it whether he likes it or not — he relents, but demands you don't put yourself in harm's way.

╰┈➤ on the night of halloween, as you all set out to find whoever is behind the black mask of the games' frontman, you head off with gi-hun. jun-ho worries about letting you go, but he still has faith in his brother not causing you any harm. he doesn't expect you to end up in the limo with gi-hun, as they take him back to the island for another week of twisted, death games.

a/n : thank you so much for reading this! if you find any inaccuracies with the show itself or with korean culture, please go out of your way to let me know how I may improve upon them and fix my mistakes 🙏🙏 I'm grateful to you for taking the time to read this fic, this is actually the first time I managed to finish a fic in a day (as opposed to my regular routine of taking a whole week to wrap up one set of headcanons). as always, I'm tagging other characters to increase my outreach, but the characters I'm tagging are only the ones I also write for — in case you want to request anything for them.

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catchastarorten · 2 days ago

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hey lovely, i don’t know if you take requests but i absolutely love your works!! i wanted to see if you can do a jun ho fic x fem!reader where jun is in a coma after in ho shoot him on that island and reader has been visiting him every day since at the hospital. and one day he finally wakes ip and reader just takes care of him? just like a baby, food, kisses, cuddles. i feel like our man needs that :(

tyy if you would do this, have a great day or night 🩷🩷

Hello, anon! Here's your request :), I hope I did Jun-ho justice because you're absolutely right, the man needs some love and care, and he's gonna get it here. Hope you enjoy this — lots of love! <3

—Feels better with you.

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x lover!fem!reader

Summary: after everything Jun-ho went through, he was in a coma, you were there with him when he finally woke up. He needed you. And you took care of him while he was recovering.

Content: fluff, comfort, kisses, yearning, a little bit of angst, Jun-ho in a coma then waking up, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.0k

Seeing him lying there, hooked up to machines, pale and fragile in a way you’d never seen before, broke something in you. This was the man who had once held you so tightly, who had whispered promises into your skin, who had loved you with a quiet intensity that made you feel untouchable. Now he looked so far away.

You visited him every day after hearing about how he'd been pulled from the ocean. He was in a coma.

You talked to him, your voice soft but steady, telling him about everything and nothing. You read to him, held his hand, brushed the hair from his forehead like you used to on those lazy mornings. And every day, you hoped he’d come back to you.

The day he woke up, it was like the world stopped. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and heavy with exhaustion. Your heart leapt into your throat as you leaned closer, your hands trembling.

Waking up felt like surfacing from a dream that had gone on too long—foggy and disorienting, the kind of dream where Jun-ho wasn't sure if he was still alive or dead. His body was heavy, every muscle aching, but especially from the shot on his shoulder, the weight that it carried.

For a moment, Jun-ho couldn’t remember where he was or why his chest felt so tight, why his head throbbed with such a sharp ache.

But then he saw you.

You were leaning over him, your eyes wide, tears brimming as if you held them back for too long. And when you whispered his name, the sound cracked something deep inside him.

“Jun-ho?” your voice echoed.

He tried to speak, but his throat felt raw, his voice coming out like sandpaper as he rasped your name back. Just your name, like it was the only word he'd held onto all this time. “Y/n…”

And just like that, the weight of the world fell away. You were there, holding his face, your touch soft and grounding, your presence the only thing grounding him to reality. “I’m here,” you told him, your voice thick with relief. “I’m right here.”

The look in your eyes nearly undid him. He wanted to say so much, to explain why he left, to apologize for everything—for leaving without a word, for the pain he knew he’d caused you—but his body betrayed him, too weak to form the sentences in his head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered instead, the words barely audible.

“Stop,” you shook your head, tears falling from your eyes. “You don’t have to explain anything right now,” you said gently, your voice a balm to his soul. “Just rest, okay? Please.”

He didn’t argue. He never could with you.

In the days that followed, Jun-ho spent more time watching you than anything else. He was too weak to do much else, and honestly, he didn’t mind. Every time he opened his eyes, you were there—staying with him, and he held your hand as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

You’d talk to him in that soft, steady voice of yours, telling him about the most ordinary things. It didn’t matter what you said. All he cared about was the sound of your voice, the way it wrapped around him like a blanket, comforting and warm. Like he was home again.

There were times, late at night, when you thought he was asleep, and he’d feel your fingers brushing against his, hear the quiet, shaky breaths you took as if trying to hold yourself together. Those moments broke him more than anything else.

He hated himself for leaving you. For disappearing the way he had, knowing how much it would hurt you. But the guilt wasn’t as strong as the relief he felt now, knowing that despite everything, you were still here. You hadn’t given up on him, and he loves you for it.

When he was finally strong enough to sit up on his own, you started bringing him food—simple things like soup or porridge. He’d watch you blow on each spoonful, your lips pursed slightly as you cooled the soup before holding it to his mouth.

He ate obediently, his eyes never leaving you, his gaze flickering to your lips like he was counting the moments until the bowl was empty and he could kiss you again.

He wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt.

The first time he finally did, you were brushing your fingers through his hair. Without thinking, Jun-ho reached up and caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, then your wrist, his eyes fluttering shut as if the touch alone was enough to heal him.

Your heart clenched as you leaned down to kiss him properly, your lips soft against his. It was slow, tentative. Your lips were warm, familiar, and he felt a shiver run through him as he let himself sink into it.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and raw with emotion.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back.

Jun-ho wanted to hold you properly, more than anything. To pull you into his arms and never let go. But the hospital bed wasn’t big enough for that, much to his silent frustration.

You let out a quiet laugh when he gave you a soft frown, but you gave him your arm instead, letting him curl up against you. He rested his head on your hand, his eyes focused on you as you gently ran your fingers through his hair.

The frown dissolved from his face, his eyes traced your features as if he was memorizing every little thing about you. His breathing slowed, and you knew he was at peace.

He needed this. All of it. And he needed you.

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amsimplys · 3 days ago

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THIS is what a good Dr. does...they listen, they actually hear. and they meet their patient where they are. For years i felt my moms dr was just...there. It seemed they never talked about her health other then add or subtract a med or change its strength. Was more like visiting a friend. Years later as her health got worse, i realized just how much he did help her. He knew they were doing all they could for her... she might "improve" off and on but would not get "better" She had congestive heart failure.. her legs at times were swollen to point where her ankles looked like my thigh. Everyone she saw said she should be in a wheel chair, never live alone. But she refused. So they went from there and he did what he could for her. She walked with a walker in her apartment. outside of those doors she promised him she would use a power wheel chair. All were amazed to hear her age...she was 98 when she passed. after 40 years of CHF. I realized as she got older...in reality the Dr i grumbled about so much...he was the perfect Dr for her. He did not dwell on what he could not cure. They talked about family, food, He would bring in onions from the farmers market he went to when knew she was coming because knew how much she loved them. He listened to her trusted that she knew what she needed knowing how important it was for her to do for herself as much as she was able. He made sure always to ask what did she need. What could he do for her. i have no doubt he was a large reason she made it to 98. When she felt was time, knew she could not live alone; she chose to go to a nursing home rather then move in with one of her children. She did not want to be a "burden" or make us change our lives even though we all asked her to come stay with us. Even in the nursing home, he was not her dr but came to see her once a month. Always asking what she needed, what he could do.

A doctor discovers an important question patients should be asked

This patient isn’t usually mine, but today I’m covering for my partner in our family-practice office, so he has been slipped into my schedule.

Reading his chart, I have an ominous feeling that this visit won’t be simple.

A tall, lanky man with an air of quiet dignity, he is 88. His legs are swollen, and merely talking makes him short of breath.

He suffers from both congestive heart failure and renal failure. It’s a medical Catch-22: When one condition is treated and gets better, the other condition gets worse. His past year has been an endless cycle of medication adjustments carried out by dueling specialists and punctuated by emergency-room visits and hospitalizations.

Hemodialysis would break the medical stalemate, but my patient flatly refuses it. Given his frail health, and the discomfort and inconvenience involved, I can’t blame him.

Now his cardiologist has referred him back to us, his primary-care providers. Why send him here and not to the ER? I wonder fleetingly.

With us is his daughter, who has driven from Philadelphia, an hour away. She seems dutiful but wary, awaiting the clinical wisdom of yet another doctor.

After 30 years of practice, I know that I can’t possibly solve this man’s medical conundrum.

A cardiologist and a nephrologist haven’t been able to help him, I reflect,so how can I? I’m a family doctor, not a magician. I can send him back to the ER, and they’ll admit him to the hospital. But that will just continue the cycle… .

Still, my first instinct is to do something to improve the functioning of his heart and kidneys. I start mulling over the possibilities, knowing all the while that it’s useless to try.

Then I remember a visiting palliative-care physician’s words about caring for the fragile elderly: “We forget to ask patients what they want from their care. What are their goals?”

I pause, then look this frail, dignified man in the eye.

“What are your goals for your care?” I ask. “How can I help you?”

The patient’s desire

My intuition tells me that he, like many patients in their 80s, harbors a fund of hard-won wisdom.

He won’t ask me to fix his kidneys or his heart, I think. He’ll say something noble and poignant: “I’d like to see my great-granddaughter get married next spring,” or “Help me to live long enough so that my wife and I can celebrate our 60th wedding anniversary.”

His daughter, looking tense, also faces her father and waits.

“I would like to be able to walk without falling,” he says. “Falling is horrible.”

This catches me off guard.

That’s all?

But it makes perfect sense. With challenging medical conditions commanding his caregivers’ attention, something as simple as walking is easily overlooked.

A wonderful geriatric nurse practitioner’s words come to mind: “Our goal for younger people is to help them live long and healthy lives; our goal for older patients should be to maximize their function.”

Suddenly I feel that I may be able to help, after all.

“We can order physical therapy — and there’s no need to admit you to the hospital for that,” I suggest, unsure of how this will go over.

He smiles. His daughter sighs with relief.

“He really wants to stay at home,” she says matter-of-factly.

As new as our doctor-patient relationship is, I feel emboldened to tackle the big, unspoken question looming over us.

“I know that you’ve decided against dialysis, and I can understand your decision,” I say. “And with your heart failure getting worse, your health is unlikely to improve.”

He nods.

“We have services designed to help keep you comfortable for whatever time you have left,” I venture. “And you could stay at home.”

Again, his daughter looks relieved. And he seems … well … surprisingly fine with the plan.

I call our hospice service, arranging for a nurse to visit him later today to set up physical therapy and to begin plans to help him to stay comfortable — at home.

Back home

Although I never see him again, over the next few months I sign the order forms faxed by his hospice nurses. I speak once with his granddaughter. It’s somewhat hard on his wife to have him die at home, she says, but he’s adamant that he wants to stay there.

A faxed request for sublingual morphine (used in the terminal stages of dying) prompts me to call to check up on him.

The nurse confirms that he is near death.

I feel a twinge of misgiving: Is his family happy with the process that I set in place? Does our one brief encounter qualify me to be his primary-care provider? Should I visit them all at home?

Two days later, and two months after we first met, I fill out his death certificate.

Looking back, I reflect: He didn’t go back to the hospital, he had no more falls, and he died at home, which is what he wanted. But I wonder if his wife felt the same.

Several months later, a new name appears on my patient schedule: It’s his wife.

“My family all thought I should see you,” she explains.

She, too, is in her late 80s and frail, but independent and mentally sharp. Yes, she is grieving the loss of her husband, and she’s lost some weight. No, she isn’t depressed. Her husband died peacefully at home, and it felt like the right thing for everyone.

“He liked you,” she says.

She’s suffering from fatigue and anemia. About a year ago, a hematologist diagnosed her with myelodysplasia (a bone marrow failure, often terminal). But six months back, she stopped going for medical care.

I ask why.

“They were just doing more and more tests,” she says. “And I wasn’t getting any better.”

Now I know what to do. I look her in the eye and ask:

“What are your goals for your care, and how can I help you?”

-Mitch Kaminski

Source

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euphoria-looney · 15 hours ago

Text

Credits to the idea:

Batfam X Neglected Reader ( Squid Games)

The Winner Takes It All by ABBA

When do humans get so desperate they give up their own lives for that small chance of money?

Money is a category in your history class dedicated to why money is the basis of your life. Economy.

I first witnessed someone leave everything had for money, my mother. When I was 5, I didn't know why my mother was leaving the manor with a huge suitcase, filled with cash.

My mother engaged to Bruce Wayne who only allowed her in as they procreated me. In her words, both sides should take responsibility, it takes two to tango, and why should she be the only one to deal with the consequences.

Which now is very hypocritical as she ran away taking everything but me.

I didn't want sympathy, but I didn't want to be treated like dirt for a mistake I didn't make.

For the next 13 years of my life, I tried to stay on the down low, no matter how many dirty looks, and the insults, not even when Damian would hurt me.

I just hoped they wouldn't mind if I stayed with them a little longer until I could find a stable way to leave.

That hope burst when Alfred came to my room and told me “Master Bruce has decided to kick you out and disown you, I'm so sorry, [name].”

I tried to somehow make it, promising myself, it was going to be okay.

I got into college, and the debt collected from that was massive, so I had to go get loans at the bank, and then get into a part-time job, but every day seemed like we were always getting robbed. My manager had no choice but to let me go.

“I'm sorry, sugar, but we aren't pulling in enough customers and I can't afford to keep too many employees, there's no easy way to say this but, you have to quit. I don't want to fire you, it'd look bad for any job you'd apply for next.”

I held onto her hand like a lifeline I begged and pleaded with no avail.

I tucked my tail in and went to the Wayne manor.

"Um, It's [name], could I... um..." I swallowed my words, afraid to say them, I mean, this was humiliating, 13 years since I'd seen them and the first thing I asked for was cash? "... borrow some money."

No surprise I was rejected, but that didn't hurt me it was the comments, how I was so much like my mother.

I waddled to the train station, if I was lucky, the train wouldn't be hijack or filled with gas tonight.

"Hey, you want to earn some money?" A guy next to me.

"No, thank you."

"10,000 dollars. Just a child's game"

I lifted my head to stare at him. I couldn't see his face, hidden behind a mask.

"It's a Korean game, visited it a few days ago, so would you mind playing it with me?" He gave an authoritative vibe, it made me want to back away, his aura was sinister.

I had already hit rock bottom, what could be lower? I hesitantly nodded my head.

I don't know how many times I lost, but I finally did it!

Handing me the cash and then handing me this weird card.

"If you ever need more, contact us." with that he walked away.

Third POV

“B, are you sure this is the right spot?”

‘Positive. Are you sure you want to join on this mission, Dick.”

Despite what anyone might think Batman, otherwise known as Bruce Wayne cares and loves his kids.

Changing into suits and golden animal masks, they went to the VIP room, make some bets on random numbers.

Oracle was doing the background work, hacking into everything, it wasn't like the movies and the stress was on.

The court of Owls was not just one villain working but a cult that was not only wealthy but influential, with their own members, called Talons who were armed and ready.

On the screen 456 players appeared.

“Today, we have prepared the game red light, green light. A child game.” The frontman introduced the V.I.P’s at the start of the first round.

[name]’s POV:

Waking up, the clothes I was originally wearing changed into the tracksuit outfit with a number on it.

A person caught my eye, it’s Astro! From the law department, I couldn’t help but approach him.

“What are you doing here?” Word got around that he was an academic genius, and many had hope for his bright future.

I could only remember how fond his mother was when talking about him, I thought I saw her the other day working.

“Oh, [name]. It’s been a while hasn’t it? What are you doing here?” He dodged the question.

“I… couldn’t afford college and took out a loan, eventually I got a lot of debt.” Our conversation got cut short as we headed to this random room.

Going to this machine it said ‘smile’

I gave a gummy like smile before making my way to the field

Playing red light, green light.

After explaining the rules everyone started running, nothing was wrong until a person got spotted moving during the red light, poor guy, going home penniless after making it here-

Spat

Oh.

There’s blood on my shoes.

It was like a stampede of people running to the door, stacking on top of each other. I was frozen out of fear.

Wha-

What do I do?

I’m afraid.

Someone tell me, what do I do?!

Before I knew it, I made it to the end.

Third POV:

Thankfully no one found the bat family suspicious or they would’ve noticed how they tensed up seeing as their daughter/sibling had the first contestant’s blood splattered not only on her shoes but also on her clothes.

A break had ensued as the game was over and everyone made their way to their individual rooms.

“What are they doing there?!”

“Should we stop it now?!”

“How?!”

“Quiet down!” Bruce had stopped the panic, but in reality he, himself didn’t know what to do either.

[name]’s POV:

Going back to the room, I felt like a doll and everyone sat on the floor.

The sickening feeling of seeing the gold lighting illuminating the clear pig, with money dropping down into it.

I could feel my stomach drop just thinking about it.

I didn't know what was happening until Astro got up and rebutted the guards.

“Clause three, The games may be terminated upon a majority vote, right?”

Thankfully, ending this sick and twisted game.

That didn’t last long though as a day had passed and I was back in this building. I think everyone who left was.

I talked to new people, especially this one old man who reminded me of Alfred.

“I could say the same to you. You’re young, and your debt is lower than most people here, so why continue risking your life for this money?” I shook my head, my face holding a sad smile.

“No matter how hard I try I just keep gaining then losing debt. But it’s different for you sir. Doesn’t the government give insurance and medicare for the elderly?” I held his hands in mine.

“The government isn’t as nice as you think, corrupt up in their high-paying jobs, but still greedy for more.”

As the games ensued I could feel myself deteriorate.

Third POV

Gripping onto the couch arms, and bouncing off one's feet could symbolize when someone is... anxious.

Or it could be showing anticipation.

So let's pretend that's what Bruce Wayne is feeling right now.

And if we asked his opinion on number ###, [name] [lastname]...

Most people would think, "Yes, he must be anticipating her death, how the blood would splatter, whether it be from losing a game or betrayal from another contestant." That's what most people would think of that entire family.

How could you not?

They shamed her, bullied her, and scorned her away from their home.

Wouldn't even provide financial aid much less.

Isn't that why she's here in the first place?

It was like they wanted her to grovel and die, die a death that would have no meaning, not even to this unforgiving world.

However, you'd be shocked that's not correct.

Anxiety is a scary thing it makes you make rash decisions. Good or bad.

It was nothing new to these vigilantes.

But oh. seeing her tired eyes, sweat dripping down everywhere, from her head to her legs. Her trembling form.

If you didn't know the context you'd already think she was a corpse.

No! That's wouldn't couldn't be true.

They couldn't allow it to be, she was going to be safe.

She had to be.

She was forgotten, but now, everyone's eyes were on her.

Anxiety is a scary thing, and with the current event, situation, there was nothing they could do but hope for the best, bounce their legs, and grip the couch.

It’s time for the next game.

“For this game we’ll be playing the marble game.”

—

There will be 2 endings choose which one. (I'll be making both.)

-> Thank you… for playing with me.

-> Astro!

Also, I love the idea and from fic from both @jellyfishmoon97 and @not-weirdoshrek

@holysoulsweets @sh4rk-k1d @sillysealsies @loomspuddle @cantfindmelol @alwaysholymilkshake @leitor-sonolento (I think these are all the ones that wanted to get tagged idk though 😍)

#yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #platonic batfam #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfamily x reader #neglected reader #yandere batfamily

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undercvrfan444 · 2 days ago

Text

Crawling back to you

It had been weeks since you’d seen Gojo. He was called away on a mission awhile back and unfortunately you both knew it was going to be a long one. When you decided to marry him it was a big deal to him that you knew what burdens came with his line of work.

“I’m so sorry baby, i’ll come back home to you even if I have to crawl.” Gojo wanted nothing more than to spend his every waking moment of his life with you, but you knew it wasn’t possible. His words are bittersweet when reminiscing on them. you’d been in situations much like this one yet, it never got easier to say bye to him.

Gojo would spend hours holding you before his missions, because he didn’t know if it would be the last one he went on or not.

Yes, your husband is the modern age’s strongest jujutsu sorcerer, but that doesn’t mean he’s immortal.

When he’s away you try your hardest to occupy the lonely time by visiting friends, delving into a fun new tv series, or just simply spend time tidying up the house and doing “wifely” duties so your man would come home to a familiar environment.

After spending another day doing mundane tasks you decided to call it a night. Your phone call with Gojo had lasted only a few minutes but in that time he had told you “I’m sorry sweetheart, it doesn’t look like i’m going to be home any time soon.” To which you replied with your best comforting tone, “It’s okay, I know how much they need you there so just stay safe and come home when you can.”

It was hard staying positive with these difficult circumstances. All you wanted was to feel your husband in bed with you again and take care of him since he’d probably neglected himself to care of the younger sorcerers. It doesn’t matter what anyone said about your husband, he may crack jokes and tease people incessantly but he had a heart of gold underneath it all.

When you got out of the shower it was like any other night. Slipping on one of your husband’s larger shirts, (cliche you know!) pulling on a fresh pair of underwear, drying your hair, filling up your favorite water bottle, and turning on some silly movie for noise. At the beginning of your relationship with Gojo he had honestly found it a little annoying that you’d do so much before bed seeing as all he wanted to do was snuggle into you. But fortunately he came around to your little ritual with ease! Actually he would join you in filling up his water bottle even if he never drank from it, helping you pick a movie, and even brushing your hair for you when you were too tired.

All Satoru wanted so badly was to be a man that could provide for you. He craved to know you had needs that he met and would drive himself mad doing anything and everything you asked him to. It was just his way of showing love aside from teasing you of course.

The moment your head hit the pillow you were sound asleep. So when your husband eventually walks into your shared bedroom it’s a shock to feel a warm and strong body envelope yours. “W-wha-“

Gojo presses his lips into your head as you shift in his arm, confused at the new body in your bed. “Shh baby, it’s me it’s me.” He presses another kiss into you before you’re sitting up quickly, looking down at your husband.

“‘Toru?” You rub your eyes softly to get a better look at him. He’s handsome as ever, worn around the edges from being in a hostile environment but still that striking man you married. “yes ma’am?” is all he responds with before you’re sinking you head into his chest. Both your arms wrap around his waist the best you can in bed while he places both of his large hands on either side of your face, holding your gaze with the same gentleness you fell in love with when you’d met him.

“How are you home!? Y-You told me it wasn’t going to be anytime soon!” Small tears flood down your cheeks at the overwhelming situation. Gojo coos at you and wipes the tears that fall with the rough pads of his thumbs.

He places a kiss on your forehead before pulling you into his chest and holding your body. “Oh don’t cry baby, i’m sorry I didn’t call you before I got home. Nanami called and said he would take over on the case since he knew i’d been stationed for so long. From there it’s been a whirlwind of constant moving to get back to you.”

Your head shakes frantically as you mesh closer into his body. “No don’t be sorry! M’ just glad t’have you home, are y’ hungry? Do you need me to do anythin’?” Sleep was etched into every word you spoke, your sentences running together.

Above you Gojo laughs and tightens his grip on you. “All I need is you in this bed with me, tucked against my chest, sleeping safely. We can worry about the rest in the morning.”

Lastly, one of the best parts of Gojo coming home isn’t just the sweet words he whispers to you before falling asleep. One of the best parts is when he seems to always wake up before you just to pull your panties down your bare legs so he can gently place your legs over his shoulders and dive into your cunt. Weeks have gone by without him being able to satisfy you and that’s the first thing on his mind when he sees your sleeping face.

He’s laps away at the slick arousal he pulls from your body like a starved man. You write above him and nothing beats hearing your sleep thick voice moaning his name while your hands pull the silky strands of his hair. “Hush baby. Let your husband do his job and make you feel good. She’s been such a good girl waiting for me to come home and take care of her.”

It doesn’t take an idiot to recognize he’s not talking to you. No. He’s taking to your pussy and fuck if it doesn’t make you want to jump his bones more than you already wanted to.

Banner from @animatedglittergraphics-n-more !

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #jujutsu gojo #gojo smut #jjk gojo #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo fluff #one shot

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ithilien-writes · 2 days ago

Note

Ficlet prompt: buddie runs into one of their exes in public

ty so much for this prompt!! 💜 i literally cycled through all the exes in my head and it was really hard to choose tbh

(to anyone reading: these were meant to be quick scenes to help unblock me so please take them in that spirit. ie. this was written really quickly and without much editing. feel free to send me some more!!)

---

Buck, Blissful and Blasé [Buck/Eddie, G, ~1k words]

Eddie looks away for two seconds at most, he swears. Just long enough to scan the shelf for the specific detergent Buck always buys. He doesn't actually know the brand off the top of his head, but he knows it has a blue cap. So he scans the shelf for blue, finds the one he needs, and when he looks back down... Joy is gone.

His heart immediately races, but he only has to look down the aisle to spot her again, thankfully. She's just a few feet away, really, towards the other end of the aisle, and there's a woman crouched down to talk to her. Eddie all but jogs over to them, heart still a little in his throat.

"Hey, what did we say about running off?" he says when he reaches her, trying for stern but coming out a little panicked still. He reaches down and lifts her up into his arms and the woman she was with stands back up as well.

"Sorry, about that-" he starts to say, before he actually sees the woman's face, then- "Abby?"

She blinks at him from behind her glasses and he can almost see her mind whirring, trying to place him. It doesn't look like she's successful.

"Hi," she offers tentatively. "I don't- sorry, I don't think I-"

"Eddie," he offers, adjusting Joy in his arms and feeling supremely awkward. "Eddie Diaz. I used to be at the 118? We met when, uh-"

Recognition finally clicks in behind her eyes.

"Oh my God, the train collision," she breathes out. "You're the one who saved Sam's life."

Eddie huffs a little, looking away from her suddenly emotional gaze.

"That was all Buck," he says honestly, trying not to let the old frustration creep into his voice at the thought of it. It all happened years ago now.

He catches Abby smile a little at the mention of Buck, then she shakes her head slightly.

"I can't believe you remembered my name after all this time," she says. "You must really have a knack for that."

"Oh," Eddie says, somewhat awkwardly, "That's-"

He trails off, not sure how exactly to say, actually, I remember your name because my husband was still in love with you when we first met and he used to talk about you all the time.

He's saved - in a manner of speaking - from actually having to come up with a coherent response though. Because right at that moment, he sees Abby's eyes widen, and there's suddenly a very familiar voice behind him.

"Strawberry was on sale, so I got the six pack," Buck tells him, before easily taking Joy from his hands with a soft, "hey Sweetheart, come here."

Eddie gives him a beat, and then, sure enough-

"Abby? Oh my God. What are you doing here?"

He immediately moves to hug her - a little clumsily with only one arm free, Joy tucked between them - and Abby hugs him back, though she does appear slightly shell-shocked by his sudden appearance.

"We're in town visiting my brother," she answers his question, as Buck pulls back again.

The three of them just stand there for a moment then, seemingly at a loss for what else to say, until Abby glances between Eddie and Buck, and Buck catches the motion, jumping back in to make introductions.

"Oh uh, you- so I guess you remembered Eddie," he says, seemingly acknowledging the fact that they had already been in conversation when he walked up. "Uh, and- and this is our daughter, Joy."

Then, to Joy- "Joy, honey, this is my friend Abby."

Joy peaks her head back out from where she'd tucked it into Buck's neck as soon as he'd grabbed her from Eddie, and then tentatively smiles at Abby, who grins back at her.

"Hi Joy," she says. There's some sort of wistful emotion in her eyes when she looks from his daughter back to Buck that Eddie immediately - and probably irrationally - dislikes.

"Joy," she repeats again, still looking at Buck this time. "I love that."

"Yeah, well," Buck says, laughing a little and playfully tickling Joy in his arms to get her to laugh too, "we feel a lot of it, when she's around. So it's pretty apt."

"I'll bet," Abby replies warmly.

She watches them for a moment as Buck gets a little caught up playing with Joy and forgets he was having an adult conversation. Eddie's used to it. It happens... well. A lot.

"Well, I don't want to keep you guys," Abby says eventually, drawing Buck's attention back, "but it was so great to see you. We should get dinner while I'm in town."

"Yeah," Buck says, just as Eddie adamantly thinks, No thanks. "Yeah, definitely."

Abby pats his arm as she moves past him to leave and Buck watches her go with a look on his face that Eddie can't immediately interpret. It makes him a little nervous.

"We're not really gonna have dinner with them, right?" he asks, and it's at least enough to have Buck turning back towards him.

"What?" he says, like he didn't hear the question. But then before Eddie can repeat himself- "No, that's just- I'm pretty sure that's just something people say."

Eddie still can't place the emotion on Buck's face though, so he asks, a little tentative, "you okay, bud?"

The weird expression disappears as Buck finally looks at him properly, then down at Joy, tickling her again just to hear her giggle.

"Yeah, no, I just- that was so wild," he says. "I haven't thought about Abby in ages."

He tosses Joy up and spins her around so that she's riding his shoulders now, towering above the stacks, and they head off down the aisle again, already back to being preoccupied by which cereal to choose this week. Eddie shakes his head, watching them fondly for a moment before retrieving their neglected cart and heading off in the opposite direction.

He wonders what produce is on sale today.

#fic prompts #linus-lucy #buddie #buddie fic #911 abc #laura writes

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queensunshinee · 18 hours ago

Text

So sweet || Patrick Zweig x reader, Art Donaldson x reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (p in v sex), drinking, mention of an eating disorder, again, I really don't know what's going on here. It's so weird. Just a small but important reminder: English is not my first language, so please don’t be mad if there are any embarrassing mistakes- I’m really trying my best!

Word Count: 7.3k

So sweet

Patrick wanted to know what is it about you that makes Art lose it. You're not the funniest, not the best at tennis—or at anything Patrick has ever seen you do, to be honest—and you're definitely not the prettiest. You're not the best. You're just not.

"She’s just so sweet," Art had said when the two of them were sitting in one corner of the Stanford cafeteria, and you were in another. Patrick didn’t see it; he thought you were scheming. That you were the least sweet person he knew. And because Art has known you for so many years, Patrick has known you long enough not to trust you. Who picks a college just because the guy she’s sleeping with also chose Stanford? Only a conniving witch. Someone who wants to pull Art away from him and Tashi. Someone who wants to pull Art away from his dreams. From tennis. Someone who wants Art all to herself. Patrick figured it out years ago. You can fool Art. Fuck it, you can fool yourself if you want. But you can’t fool Patrick.

And it doesn’t matter at all that you and Art have known each other since you were six. It doesn’t matter that all the evidence points to your parents being responsible for your academic choices. It doesn’t matter that it’s only since you got to Stanford that you started sleeping together; he never touched you inappropriately even once before college. Patrick didn’t like you before you two started having sex, so he sure as hell doesn’t like you now. You didn’t even bother to sit with them. You didn’t even bother to say a simple 'hi' to him. You don’t respect him enough to sit at the same table when he comes to visit Tashi and Art. You don’t respect him. Period.

“Do you think she’s ever eaten a burger?” Patrick suddenly asks, completely ignoring Art’s rambling about competitions and trying to inspect your plate from afar. He can’t see what’s on it, but he’s sure there’s nothing nutritious enough there. “I know for a fact she’s eaten more than one burger in her life,” Art rolls his eyes. “Why are you so obsessed with her?” he asks for the millionth time. He asked it every summer. He asked it after Patrick went on about how insane it was that you and Art were going to the same college.

“I’m not obsessed. I just think there’s no way her pussy smells normal with that diet,” Patrick says, earning himself a well-deserved elbow jab from Art. Art never talks about you that vulgarly. Art doesn’t talk about you much at all. That’s part of what annoys Patrick: that they can talk about any other girl, but with you, it’s never an option. Even about Tashi, he managed to talk to Art. He gave him the signal. He told him. But Art doesn’t share anything about what he does with you.

Patrick knows about Melanie from statistics that Art slept with. Patrick knows about Georgia or Regina or whatever her name is who works at the library and made it to second base with Art. He knows down to the exact books they leaned on. But he doesn’t know anything about you. Art keeps you to himself as if you’re some treasure he needs to guard at all costs. Patrick hates you and the broccoli you’re shoving into your mouth while reading a book, ignoring the outside world. You’re such a fucking smug witch. You won’t be able to fool him. . . . Art will never tell Patrick that there are moments when he thinks he loves you. Sometimes. Most of the time, he doesn’t. Most of the time, he knows he loves Tashi. The same Tashi that Patrick took for himself. Snatched her right out of Art’s hands.

But with you, it’s different. With you, it’s been building for years. You’re the one he smeared snot on when you were six, and somehow, you kept coming over to his house to watch cartoons with him. You kept showing up at the tennis court, reading a book while he practiced. You kept being an inseparable part of him.

Art knows you love him. It’s so clear to him, almost as clear as the fact that his first dog was named Jameson and that he died when Art was 8-years-old. You held his hand when he forced his parents to bury him. He didn’t want you to hold it, tried to shake you off for a few seconds, but you insisted. He never told you, but it felt nice.

Your first kiss was with Art. He insisted. Of course, he insisted. You love him so much, and you’re so, so sweet. Always polite and blushing at the right moments, and at 14, he kissed you. Explained to you that you couldn’t start high school without knowing how to kiss. He was doing you a favor. You said “thank you” afterward, like the polite girl you always were.

You kept kissing after that, as if it was the natural thing to do. Every time he came to visit in the summer and you’d come over. Every time he went to your place. You’d end your time together with his lips exploring yours. So sweet.

He will never tell Patrick that he knows you better than he knows himself. That he knows all your secrets just as you know all of his own. That sometimes he melts under your gaze and would be willing to tell you his ATM code if you asked. He will never reveal this to Patrick. Or you. He will never tell him that sometimes he feels like you’re such a deep part of him that you are simply him. And he is simply you. And when he thinks too deeply about that, he’s capable of barging into your lecture, telling the professor there’s been an emergency, dragging you into the janitor’s closet, staring for a second at your terrified face, and fucking you there on one of the shelves. Not that it happened. Maybe. He won't tell anyone.

And he will never give you the chance to go all in for him because it’s too terrifying. Because with you, he feels helpless, out of control, almost embarrassed. And because Patrick hates you. He’s never seen Patrick hate anyone as much as he hates you. And Art doesn’t think he can be in a relationship with someone Patrick doesn’t like. Which, in itself, is a crazy thought.

But Patrick loves Tashi, and Tashi has nothing sweet about her. No look that radiates tenderness or sweetness. She doesn’t smell like cinnamon and vanilla. She doesn’t have a soul that wants to share secrets with him. Tashi doesn’t look at him like he holds the moon. Tashi doesn’t look at him as if he could fill an empty space in her heart. Because she has no empty space in her heart. Tennis fills her heart. Tennis and Patrick. Art looks at her heart from the outside. He’s not a part of her story. He so badly wants to be part of her story. He thinks it's a need at this point.

And every time his mind fills with Tashi, he finds some random girl willing to stroke his ego (and his dick) just enough to make him forget. He never goes for the easy option; he doesn’t go to you. He only wants to be with you when he’s thinking of you. When you fill him so completely that he can’t breathe. When he physically needs you in front of him. Not when he wants someone else to touch him. Not when he wants Tashi Duncan so badly he could cry.

He looks at her and Patrick, unable to understand what she sees in him. What she finds in his best friend. The scatterbrained guy who doesn’t shower every day, who wears the same underwear longer than is acceptable, who snores while laughing, who eats whatever he wants, whenever he wants, like he isn’t trying to make a living as a pro. Like everything is a joke. Art doesn’t understand how Tashi can waste her time on a joke. . . . "What are you studying, Little Dove?" Patrick pulled out one of your earbuds when he found you tucked away in a corner of the library. He saw how you physically recoiled at the nickname he’d given you the first time you met. Not a nickname you liked. That only made him want to call you that enough times for it to be engraved on your gravestone when you die. For you to maybe one day think it was your real name. For it to become a part of you. Little Dove. He didn’t even know why he called you that. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good either. But it wasn’t necessarily bad.

"What are you doing here?" you replied, half-indifferent, reaching out for him to give you back the earbud he’d so brutally yanked. "Killing time. I had a fight with Tashi, so I can’t go to her match. Art’s obviously there because well, he’s in love with my girlfriend." He paused to study your reaction, wanting to see how you’d respond to the fact that Art didn’t love you. That he loved what belonged to Patrick, and you didn’t belong to Patrick, so he would never love you. Not really. Not entirely. "You’re the only person I know here. It’s your job to entertain me," he said, flashing a fake smile.

Everything about Patrick was fake. That was something you’d learned to be indifferent to years ago. Every time he jabbed at you or said something vulgar to disgust you, you knew it was fake. There was no point in taking him seriously. You pitied him the way you’d pity a little kid whose ice cream cone had fallen and no one was willing to buy him a new one. "I’m not a clown, Patrick. I have a test tomorrow," you said and snatched the earbud from his hand. He didn’t retaliate. He simply sat down across from you, examining you more intensely than you were comfortable with. His gaze pinned you like a scalpel. You tried to breathe evenly. He’s always like this. He’s always like this. Remember that he’s always like this, and everything will be fine. This is not the time to panic. Not in front of Patrick Fucking Zweig. He can’t win a war you’re not actively fighting.

"How’s life, Little Dove? Happy at Stanford with Art? Better now that he finally agreed to fuck you?" He was blunt to the point that it made you glare at him and wrinkle your nose for a second. That only deepened the smirk plastered across his face. "Do you need something?" you asked, trying to sound as though his vulgarity couldn’t faze you. As though everyone around you spoke that way all the time. As though your pathetic sex life wasn’t plastered on your forehead like a billboard. He was laughing at you. Patrick Zweig was laughing at you.

The thought that he might know every intimate detail of what you and Art did in bed made your entire body shiver. He could see it on you. He knew he’d won. But you weren’t even playing. You wanted to scream you weren’t even playing. No sound came out. He’d won. He knew it, and you knew it, and there would never be a draw again. Because you would both always know he’d won. That Art had told him how you moan. Maybe Art had even figured out that you fake all your orgasms because you’re probably broken so he told Patrick that too. Maybe it was all more humiliating than you could imagine. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to talk to Art ever again. Maybe-

"You’re overthinking it, Little Dove. I can see it on your face. It’s not that deep," he rolled his eyes and took a bite of an apple he’d pulled out (you had no idea from where). "You can’t eat in here. This is a library," you mumbled, grateful for the change of subject. Any change of subject. You’d be willing to talk about cactuses at this point if necessary. "I’m not a student here," he reminded you, as if you’d forgotten. As if that wasn’t the sole reason for your fleeting happiness- that you didn’t have to see his face here 24/7. Only sometimes. Only when he was visiting people who actually mattered to him.

You put the earbud he’d pulled from you a few moments ago back in your ear, signaling to him that the conversation was over and that you hoped not to see him again for the next year. Or ever, if you're being honest. You wanted to go back to studying in peace. To not think about the brazen guy in front of you. The one so emotionally entangled with the boy you loved that sometimes you felt there was no way to win. No way to beat Patrick Zweig. Because he came gift-wrapped in a package deal with Art. And once, you tried so hard to make him like you. You tried to fit into their conversations, laugh at the crude jokes, nod when Art nodded. Just so Patrick would stop looking at you with disdain, stop looking at you like you were a stray cat too wet to save. Like one that had rabies. Like one that needed to be put down.

He just kept staring at you, eating his apple as if rules didn’t apply to him. As if he were above what was allowed and what wasn’t. Making you hate him a little more, but admire him just as much because you would never have the guts to act like the world belonged to you. You thought it had something to do with the amount of money he grew up with. Art once told you Patrick had two pools (in one of his houses). Who needs more than one pool in a house anyway? But that was all you needed to know about him—he was privileged enough to believe he had the right to treat people like they were beneath him. And you’d never admit it, but you didn’t want to be beneath him. You didn’t want to lose to Patrick Zweig. You didn’t want to lose when you knew the prize was having Art. . . . He finds out that Tashi got injured completely by accident. He leaves you alone in the library because you bore him. You don’t let him sink his claws into you, something he realizes he liked doing only when he's around you. So, he goes out to smoke a cigarette, what else is there for him to do when he’s stuck here while Tashi plays and Art makes eyes at her from the crowd? What else does he have to do when you're sitting in front of a book and ignoring his existence and the nasty words? And then someone said something about seeing Tashi's knee fly through the air, and Patrick’s cigarette fell out of his mouth.

He asked three different people where the athletes' clinic was. Two ignored him, and one gave him wrong directions. He found the clinic on his own, trying to make sense of the campus signage. He felt like it was taking him forever. In hindsight, maybe it was better that it took him longer. Because Tashi looked devastated, Art looked lost, and both of them screamed at him. Art’s scream hurt more. He wouldn’t admit it, but he felt Art’s scream all over his body. It made him shiver.

And that’s how he lost Art Donaldson forever. Checkmate by Tashi Duncan. He didn’t expect that. He thought only you could take his place in Art’s life. Never Tashi. He thought you were the only one Art would lose control for. Maybe he looked at everything wrong. What a terrifying thought, to realize you spent years trying to beat someone without noticing the other players. Absolute blindness. He felt lost. Stuck in your disgusting university. Stuck in the loop that his life dragged him into. No matter how much he tried to think about it in the last half hour, he couldn’t find a way out. He couldn’t see a world where he and Art could be friends again.

‘I've got your bag, you forgot it in the library,’ his phone beeped with a message from you. Another message with your room number. He nodded to himself, even though no one could see. He wiped away some of the tears that had fallen from him, hoping no one would see that either.

He knocked on your door loudly, not caring about the other students living in the hallway. You opened quickly, intending to say everything you think about him, but in the hour and a half he’d been gone from your sight, something in Patrick’s gaze had changed. You’d never seen him like this, and it made you lean against the doorframe, mouth half open. You know for sure that he cried, the trail of tears was obvious. You know for sure that he was confused, his gaze zigzagging. The famous smirk he dedicates to you at every moment wasn’t there.

"Who died?" you asked quietly, because you couldn’t find any other reason for what you were seeing in front of you. He just passed through you, as if your room was his own. As if he had an invitation. As if you had to let him in. "Can I sleep here tonight?" he asked. His leg was shaking. He looked the worst you’ve ever seen him. "What happened to Tashi's room-" "Please (Y/N)," he used your actual name, "I’ll be out of your hair by morning. You won’t even feel like I was here, there are no more buses, and my car’s at the tournament site," he explained incoherently but clearly enough for you to nod. For you to understand that something terrible had happened. Bad enough that he couldn’t sleep at Tashi’s. Bad enough that he couldn’t sleep at Art’s. The thought of it made you cringe because the only thing that could have happened, the only thing that could have caused Patrick to fold in front of you like this-

"Am I overthinking this?" you asked after what felt like an eternity. When you were lying on the bed in the dark, and Patrick was lying on a makeshift pile of sheets and pillows on the floor next to you. You hoped he’d tell you that you didn’t need to think about it too much. That he’d tell you the same thing he said to you in the library. "Not this time," he said almost in a whisper, "I’m sorry," he added. Neither of you knew what he was apologizing for; For how he acted all these years or was he apologizing on behalf of Art? On behalf of the person who until just a few hours ago was his best friend. Patrick thinks an apology won’t be enough for either of you. He tries to sleep. When he leaves, he doesn’t write you a note. But there’s a flash of understanding when he looks at you before he walks out; Art was right, there’s something sweet about you. Patrick will never admit it. But what reason would he have to admit it now? Art is no longer part of his life, and he’s pretty sure Art won’t be part of yours just as quickly. You and Patrick both lost him, you just don’t know it yet. He almost feels sorry about how out of the loop you are. And what connection do you and Patrick have without Art? He thinks he’ll miss you. He saw you move slightly, one leg sticking out from under the blanket. He’s sure he’ll miss you. What a humbling thought. . . . You haven't seen Art for a week. And that's okay. Because he doesn't owe you anything. He made sure to remind you at every opportunity that he doesn't owe you anything. Not with words. Never with words. With actions. By acting like he doesn't see you, even though you both know he does. He never sat with you in the cafeteria. He never introduced you to his friends from the tennis team. He never introduced you to Tashi. He drew a very clear line about who you are to him, and you decided years ago that it's okay. That it's enough for you. That Art is yours in the summer. That Art is yours at night. That Art is yours when he wants to be yours.

He doesn't want to be anymore. You can see it in him because on the rare occasions you do see him in the cafeteria, he looks away the second your eyes accidentally meet his. On the rare occasions you do see him this week, his arm is half-wrapped around some girl you don't know. He's trying to tell you something without saying it out loud. Hurt you without really hurting you. He's trying to remind you that he doesn't owe you anything.

You'll never tell him it hurts. You'll never tell him that when you were ten, your mom, half-drunk, told you that to be loved, you'd have to sacrifice a lot. You don't know why you remember that, but you do. And since then, all you've done is sacrifice and sacrifice and sacrifice until sometimes there's nothing left to give. And now is one of those times when there's nothing left to give. You look at him from across the room, and he's a stranger to you, and you're a stranger to him.

You expected him to say something when it happened. You expected a hug, and if he were sensitive enough, a kiss. You expected life to flip upside down and for the sun to stop rising. But life went on, and your sacrifices stayed behind. Along with secrets and hugs and caresses and tears and memories. So many memories. All of it left behind. You can handle heartbreak. Everyone can. You won't be the first to sacrifice and not be heard by God. You won't be the first to starve yourself, and you won't be the first to wait for a phone call that never came. You won't be the first to cry and cry and cry.

After two weeks, you stopped waiting for a message. You stopped expecting a 'hello' in the hallway. You stopped hoping that Art Donaldson would knock on your door in the middle of the night. After two weeks, you looked at him one last time with pleading eyes. With an almost tortured look. After two weeks, you decided you wouldn't sacrifice anything more for Art Donaldson.

After two weeks, you ordered pizza and ate the whole box. He doesn't love you. He doesn't owe you anything. It's okay. You're okay. If not now, then soon you will be. . . . Art spent all his free time helping Tashi recover. He missed Patrick the way you'd miss a vital organ that had to be removed in an emergency surgery. He missed Patrick's messages from the tour. He missed his stories. He missed hearing him talk about a show Art had never watched and never planned to watch. He missed Patrick, but he had Tashi. He missed Patrick, but it was necessary, and one day he wouldn’t miss Patrick anymore, and he’d still have Tashi.

It’s different with you. He doesn’t just miss you—he’s hollow without you. He doesn’t know who he is without your admiring gaze. Without your nose brushing his in the middle of the night. He doesn’t know who he is without you ever since he learned how your skin feels under his touch. And he thought he’d be brave enough to walk into your room and just tell you that he can’t keep doing what the two of you have been doing your whole lives. He can’t keep playing this game. Because it’s not fair. Because he wants to be somewhere else. Because you weigh him down.

He knew he’d be in trouble if things got too serious with you, so he followed all the rules. He never introduced you to his friends. He never took you on a date. He never called you his girlfriend. He did everything right, and he’s still in trouble. That frustrates him more than anything.

He’s noticed that you don’t seek his gaze anymore. That you don’t try to catch his attention. That you’ve stopped sending him messages. He’s noticed that you understood the painfully obvious hint of “no,” and he hated himself for it. He showered that day for almost an hour. Scrubbed himself until his skin was red. As if trying to wash you off his body. As if trying to cleanse the filth he carries in his soul. As if trying to convince himself he’s not a bad person.

He found comfort in the fact that summer was almost here. That it wouldn’t be up to him. That there would be family dinners. That your parents would invite him, and his parents would invite you. That someone would force you both to be in the same room. He found comfort in knowing he wouldn’t have a choice. He didn’t want a choice. He wanted to see how you were handling it. He always sees you immersed in a book. Immersed in a conversation with someone he doesn’t know. Immersed. So immersed. Once, he thought that look -that ability to see into someone’s soul- was reserved only for him. How presumptuous of him. How foolish. How fucking selfish. . . . Patrick sent you a picture of a pigeon that wouldn’t leave him alone while he was eating pita on a bench in some park. He didn’t know why he did it. You’re not friends. You were never friends. But he saw that ridiculous pigeon and wondered if there was something about it that might remind you of him. He wondered if you and Art were still you and Art. He wondered and wondered until he sent the picture. Maybe you wouldn’t reply, but ignoring something wasn’t your style. You’re too good to ignore someone. You don’t have any malice in you. He doesn’t know when he started thinking you didn’t have any malice, because up until two months ago, he thought you were a scheming witch.

'You don’t know how to take pictures.' -(Y/N)-

'Look at you bothering me while I'm eating, little dove' -P- He smiled as he typed.

'Are you bored?' -(Y/N)-

'Maybe I miss you like you clearly miss me' -P- He didn’t know why he wrote that. He didn’t know what he wanted from you, if he was being honest with himself. But he wanted something. He wanted someone. Everyone deserves someone, and Patrick deserves someone too.

'You’re full of shit' -(Y/N)- He could imagine you rolling your eyes as you typed that. He knows you don’t talk like that. He thinks it’s something reserved just for him.

He decided to call because typing with food in his hand was too much effort. You answered quickly, out of breath. “Are you in the middle of sex?” he asked, unable to stop himself. “Why do you always have to say the grossest thing possible?” you shot back. He was glad you couldn’t see him because if you could, you’d hold the grin on his face against him. “What’s gross about sex, little dove? It’s natural-” “Why did you call?” you cut him off, not giving him any more points. “Just wanted to ask how you’re doing.” His voice sounded smaller. Embarrassed. You’re not friends. You never were. That’s not the nature of your relationship. There’s nothing he loves about you.

“I’m fine. Busy with school.” He could imagine you shrugging. “You’re going home soon, right? Summer break.” He knew what that used to mean for you and Art. He didn’t know what it meant now. He was fishing for answers, trying to figure out where things stood between you two. He wanted to know if Art had cut you out of his life with the brutality of a killer or if he was still keeping you wrapped in a ribbon, belonging only to him. He thought the former sounded more like Art.

“I’m probably staying at Stanford, for obvious reasons.” He could hear your voice, quiet as though you didn’t want to admit it. “It’s not fair,” Patrick said. “You’re supposed to enjoy your summer.” He added, growing frustrated with how inconsiderate Art was, with the monopoly Art held over your shared neighborhood. Bull-fucking-shit; “I’ve got two weeks off, and my parents are abroad. You could come to my lake house if you want a change of scenery,” he said, spitting the words out quickly before he could regret the invitation. Art was the only one who’d ever been invited there.

“That’s nice of you.” You said. He could hear the surprise you tried to hide in your voice. “I mean it,” he said, much more determined now. “It’ll be fun. My parents have the most impressive alcohol collection you’ll ever see.” He didn’t know what he was doing or which part of his brain was speaking for him right now. “I’ll think about it,” you said, wrapping up the call with a few more sentences. It felt like a win. And more than anything, Patrick needed a win. . . . "Is it true?" you heard Art's voice before you lifted your head from the book you were reading. "Hey, Art," you said with the most genuine smile you could muster, ignoring your racing heartbeat that only quickened. The truth was, you hadn’t seen him this close to you in two months. "You’re not going home for the break?" He sat down across from you without an invitation. "Nope," you said, as if it were obvious. As if that had been your plan all along. As if three months ago, you hadn’t whispered to each other in the dead of night all the things you’d do over the summer. As if you’d never loved him.

"You weren’t planning to tell me?" he asked, his gaze never leaving you. All you could do was raise an eyebrow because, honestly, where did he get the audacity? Where did he get the nerve to sit down across from you and make demands? Where did he get the idea that he owed you nothing, but you owed him everything? It’s your fault. You know it’s your fault. You taught him that you’d give every part of yourself for just a sliver of attention. But you don’t need that from him anymore. He’s a stranger. A stranger whose favorite scent you know. A stranger you’ve seen cry at Titanic. A stranger whose taste still lingers on the tip of your tongue. A stranger you know too well.

"No," you answered honestly. Because frankly, what else is there to say to him? "Are you serious? Why aren’t you going home?" he demanded answers. Demanded and demanded and demanded, after you gave and gave and gave. It’s your fault. Your mother’s fault and her foolish advice. You spoon-fed him love. "Because I have other plans. I’m sorry, am I missing something here, Art? We haven’t talked in two months, and I don’t understand what the issue is now." You didn’t want to be rude. Not to Art. Not to anyone. Sometimes to Patrick, but only because he was the most vulgar person you’d ever met. But Art was gentle and sensitive and beautiful, and harsh words had no place in your conversations with him.

"What plans?" he ignored your jab, but you could see him swallow hard, his eyebrows knitting together as if you’d sent him to work in a coal mine all summer. "I’m going to a friend’s," you found yourself shrugging. "Who? Someone I know?" he asked. "No," you felt guilty for the lie, "Why is this your business, Art?" you tried to make him leave or at least give you an answer. "We had plans too," he said quietly, as if revealing one last secret to you.

"I don’t remember." His expression changed in seconds. It was the look you’d only seen when he played tennis or tried to fend someone off you at one of the parties he told you to come to. Ice. He stood up and walked away within moments. Maybe this is the closure you two needed. Maybe it’s for the best. . . . Until the very last moment, Patrick didn’t believe you’d come. He waited for your bus by the side of the road, and when you got off, dressed in a floral summer dress and an oversized hat, signaling to the driver that you had a suitcase in the luggage compartment, Patrick stood frozen in place, his mouth agape. Because if someone had told him six months ago that he’d want to spend his free time in the summer with you, he would have laughed in their face. If someone had told him you’d show up in this remote place, in that ridiculous outfit, he probably would have snorted.

"Little dove, I was sure you’d chicken out," he said. Back when you talked about it, he treated it like a challenge. He spoke about your arrival at the lake house like it was a mission on a reality show. Impossible to pull off, with so much to lose. "I told you I’d come." You shrugged and smiled a smile he’d once seen you give to Art. Patrick had never received a smile from you, at least not a friendly one. Always a fake one. The kind he wanted to wipe off your face. "Are you going to help me with my suitcase, or are you going to keep standing there like a statue?" you asked with a chuckle. Patrick thought he was ready to sell the Porsche he’d come in, just to hear you chuckle again.

"This car is ridiculous," you said as you sat down beside him and raised your hands for emphasis. The convertible top was too much for you. Patrick had chosen this car on purpose. He wanted you to have the full Zweig family summer experience. He wanted you to feel what it was like to be in his inner circle. For a fleeting moment, he thought maybe he could buy your friendship. He didn’t know why he wanted it so badly. He went to sleep with your messages and woke up to them. Neither of you had any other friends, not real ones at least. It would’ve been sad if it didn’t make him so happy. He was such a loser. But it didn’t seem like you cared, and maybe the Porsche would grow on you by the end of these two weeks.

He showed you the rooms and the massive windows that let an unreasonable amount of light into the "cabin," which was supposed to be modest but was larger than most of the houses in your and Art’s neighborhood. Patrick knew that. He studied your reaction to everything he showed you. Watched as you stared at the lake right outside the cabin. Sat on the sofa in the living room for a moment. Placed your belongings in the guest room.

"We need to go shopping," you announced after opening the fridge to find it completely empty. "We don’t have to. You don’t eat anything anyway," he blurted out, and he saw you pale. "What are you talking about?" you mumbled, looking everywhere but at him. "Nothing, I’ve just never seen you eat." He tried to say it casually, but the truth was, it had always preoccupied him. Every time he visited Art in the summer and found himself at gatherings with you, you’d take food onto your plate but never actually put it in your mouth. He couldn’t understand how it didn’t bother Art. He couldn’t understand how Art just ignored it. As if it were completely normal behavior to sit with someone you called your best friend and not eat.

"I eat." Your entire face was scrunched up, the way he’d learned it does when you overthink. When you’re trying to get the most out of a situation you’ve found yourself in. When you’re trying to be nice to Patrick but don’t want to because he doesn’t deserve it. "Whatever, little dove. Let’s go shopping. I’ll show you the main street. There are some cool spots there," he concluded the conversation because he didn’t want to argue. And honestly, it wasn’t his place to comment on your habits. So he decided to let it go.

The main street of the small village you were in was almost empty. It could have been suspicious if Patrick hadn’t been here dozens, if not hundreds, of times since he was born. This was one of his dad’s favorite vacation homes. After an hour of wandering between stores, they found themselves sitting across from each other at a diner. Patrick watched as you ate fish and chips in front of him like your life depended on it. Like you had something to prove. He just rolled his eyes, shoved three fries into his mouth at once, leaned back, and chuckled.

Everything was peaceful. Patrick was sure it would be much weirder, at least at first. But no. You fit into his summer as if you’d always belonged there. From conversations with the elderly neighbors at the cabin next door to the meals you cooked together- it was domestic. Patrick was afraid to talk about how different this was from anything he’d ever done with a girl. He was afraid to mention that you were sleeping in the room that used to be only Art's. He was afraid to admit that he thought you were pretty in a way he hadn't thought before.

He thinks you’re most beautiful in the morning, before you’ve had your coffee. If he’s lucky and goes for a morning run, even before you’ve brushed your teeth. He’s discovered you’re funny. That you can deliver the funniest line with the perfect timing. He thinks it’s because you read a lot. Because you’re smart. Because you know things. He loves that you come to watch him train, even though you’re busy with your own things and only steal occasional glances his way. He thinks he could replace Art in your life. He thinks you think so too.

But deep down, you both know nothing could ever replace Art. And one of the times you’re sitting across from him at the diner, he takes a picture of you sipping a milkshake while smiling and uploads it to Facebook. Because Facebook is the new 'it' thing, and everyone has it. And if Patrick’s lucky, you’ll make it your profile picture. Then he can look at it and remember that he made you laugh, that he made you happy, and for two weeks, he beat Art Donaldson at something. And it felt sweet. So sweet.

The night before you plan to go back to university, you and Patrick get drunk on his dad’s fancy tequila. He’d never seen you drunk before, so like many things, this was new. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and you were wearing shorts that were far too short because August’s heat was unbearable. And the more both of you drank, the fuller your lips seemed to him, the rosier your cheeks, the larger your chest.

He just wanted to touch something. To feel something.

When one thing led to another and you were straddling him, your lips on his, he let out a deep bassy groan he never thought he could produce. Patrick had been with girls before- God knows he’d been with enough girls not to lose his cool over someone agreeing to kiss him. But something about how delicate you were and how much he had hated you a few months ago, how much he’d wanted to erase every trace of you, made him so hard he found himself grinding against you like some kind of desperate dog. He fucked you on the couch in the living room, and though the couch was comfortable, he wasn’t proud of it. He thinks he should’ve restrained himself, taken you to a bed. He thinks you deserve more than him being lazy, drunk, and not at his best. But if there’s one thing Patrick Zweig is terrible at, it’s delaying gratification. And he wanted you so badly. You didn’t seem to mind the location, at least not outwardly.

His lips were everywhere, as if he was trying to swallow you whole in one go. The sounds coming out of you were pornographic. Every so often, the thought crossed his mind that Art was the only other guy who had ever heard you like this, seen you like this- so needy, so vulnerable. It made his cock twitch even harder than it already was.

When he touched you, you were so wet that he told you how dirty you were for him. He talked to you like he still hated you. Like it was all punishment. Like he was about to get up, point at you, and laugh at how pathetic you were. But you couldn’t think about that now. You didn’t have the bandwidth. Not when his hands were teasing your nipple. Not when his lips were marking your neck. Not when he entered you in one hard thrust, making you almost cry out.

At some point, your heels found their way to his shoulders. He looked at your face with the little focus he could muster, and it was a sight he needed to preserve. To remember until the day he died. And he pushed deeper with that thought, drawing sounds out of both of you that neither of you knew you could make. In the end, he felt you clench around him, making him release everything that had built up in his balls with one long groan.

He just lay over you for a few minutes, still wearing the condom. With the sweat, the tears, the marks- you looked so utterly fucked. And it was because of him. He hadn’t felt this proud in a long time.

“So this is what it feels like,” he heard you mumble. “What feels like?” he asked, finding himself playing with your soft hair. “To have an orgasm.”

He hadn’t expected that, so he shifted slightly to look at your face. Your eyes were still glassy. You weren’t focused. If you were, you probably wouldn’t have said that. “What did you say?” he asked, wanting you to repeat it. “I’ve never come before. I thought I was broken,” you chuckled like it was a joke. But Patrick’s heart pounded harder than he expected. He knew for certain that you and Art had slept together before. That wasn’t a secret. He knew you and Art had done things that weren’t just sex even earlier. “You and Art-” He was confused. “I’m not proud of it,” you sighed quietly. “I faked it so he wouldn’t feel bad. I read in a magazine what to do to make it seem real,” you explained quickly, as if saying it faster would make it less scandalous. “You don’t have to fake orgasms to make someone feel good, Little Dove,” he sighed. “You’re the one who's supposed to feel good. That’s the whole point of sex,” he declared, explaining it to you like reciting a rule to a confused puppy.

Patrick needed a win, and this—this was the biggest victory of all times. He had beaten Art Donaldson in every damn set, and it felt so fucking sweet.

It’s been such a long time since I’ve written anything, so this came out super weird and unclear. I hope you like it tho! Please DM me and let me know what you think. That’s it, byeeeeee

#challengers fic #so sweet #art donaldson #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #challengers #tashi duncan #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut

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htaesan · 1 day ago

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　ᅠ ✿　ᅠ LOVE LANGUAGE: BURNT COOKIES　　────　ᅠ ( myung jaehyun )

𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀in an attempt to bake your favourite s’mores cookies, myung jaehyun almost burns the entire building down𑁋and it turns out that his bad day had gone wrong.. or right?

　　　ᅠ 명재현 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 2.3k ⠀ genre fluff established relationship long distance ⠀ contains mentions of food crying skinship pet names ⠀ note i’m sorry if this fic is.. wacky coz idk what i was doing here (again)!! but here’s a mj fic for you soph @miumura I LOVE U! ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net

　　　ᅠ ＞︿　　please leave feedbacks 　　& 　　reblog

Jaehyun knew instantly, from the smell of burnt marshmallows, that he messed up. Big time.

“Oh my God…” was the only thing that Jaehyun could say after looking at the complete disaster in his hands. “This is the worst day ever…”

“How am I supposed to surprise Y/N now?” he whines.

Jaehyun could literally feel the tears forming in his eyes. He had been planning this day for the entire month—you’d be visiting him in Seoul for the first time in the entire 2 years the two of you have been in a long-distance relationship. Jaehyun planned to bake you some smores cookies from scratch—instead of buying them at his favourite bakery—just to make it all extra special for you. He’d bring you to visit all the cool spots in Seoul, showing you around his university campus and everything that he likes to do in the city.

Jaehyun sighs.

After throwing the absolutely destroyed smores cookies into the bin, Jaehyun quickly rushes to the dining table, grabs his phone and starts dialing Sungho’s contact number. He paces around the room, nervously biting the edges of his sleeve as he waits for Sungho to pick up.

“What’s up?” Sungho answers after a few seconds.

“OH MY GOD, THANK YOU for picking up,” Jaehyun exclaims, his voice going higher and his speed goes faster with each word he speaks. “Sungho, please help—Y/N’s going to land in an hour, and I’m picking her up at the airport too! I have to leave in fifteen minutes–”

“Dude—okay, okay,” Sungho replies through the phone, “calm down—I can’t hear a thing you’re saying–”

“Please come home right now,” Jaehyun cuts him off, panic thickly lacing his voice, “I need to fix this!”

“Fine,” Jaehyun sighs in relief as he hears Sungho’s response.

Sungho arrives ten minutes after that, and Jaehyun literally jumps to open the door for him.

“You’re here!”

Sungho grumbles as he enters their shared apartment, handing Jaehyun one of the bags of groceries he’s holding. “You’re lucky I was at the grocery store. I got all of the ingredients you need.”

Jaehyun blinks confusedly, immediately looking into the paper bag in his hands—shocked to find a bag of marshmallows, two semi-sweet chocolate bars, and a bag of flour. A smile erupts on his face instantly. “How did you know I ran out– thank you so much, Sungho! I love you!” he exclaims, running after Sungho, following him into the kitchen.

“Yeah, right,” Sungho laughs, putting away the rest of the groceries. “Say that again when Y/N’s here.”

“Not my fault I love her more,” Jaehyun cackles. He begins to whip up another entire batch of cookie dough—though, this time, he double-checks every single ingredient he puts in the bowl, and reads every single line of the instructions on the recipe he’s found online more than once. Sungho watches from the side, amused at how concentrated Jaehyun is.

“Do… you need any help?” Sungho asks, almost snorting the water he’s sipping on through his nose, as he witnesses Jaehyun frowning over baking powder and baking soda.

“Wait, which one is which?” Jaehyun mutters, scratching his head.

Sungho laughs, “just read the recipe, idiot.”

“Oh, okay.”

The rest of the baking session goes surprisingly well, with Sungho supervising to avoid Jaehyun burning down their kitchen. Jaehyun does every step needed with utmost detail and focus—to the point he doesn’t even realise that the person he’s waiting for is already at the door.

You’re standing outside of what you’re sure is Jaehyun’s apartment, your luggage and other goodies in hand. You had taken a cab from the airport to surprise him. You had some difficulties convincing the guard to let you in, but luck was definitely on your side today—the guard on duty happened to be on good terms with Jaehyun, and he’s heard him talk about you before.

“Wait a minute!” you hear your boyfriend’s voice answer from inside the house. Tears begin forming in your eyes, your heart swelling with affection. You had waited for this moment for so long. You missed Jaehyun more than ever—you hadn’t seen him in two years.

In the minute that Jaehyun took to open the door, you reminisce in your old memories shared with Jaehyun—how the two of you used to be neighbours, inseparable. The two of you grew up together, sharing countless moments from preschool all the way to middle school. You smile, remembering the bittersweet feeling that drowned you the day Jaehyun told you that he was moving away to Korea with his parents. You still remember feeling like the world was collapsing on you, that your life was going to end right there and then.

It was winter, years back, as it is now.

“My heart is with you, Y/N,” Jaehyun said, grabbing your cold hands tight. He blows onto them, trying to keep your fingers warm. “It’ll always be with you, no matter how far I’ll go.”

“How easy for you to say,” you sobbed, not caring about how you looked at that moment with all the tears and snot running down your face. All that mattered to you, in that moment, was that your best friend—one of the most important people in your life—was leaving you behind.

You were too busy crying your heart out to even notice your best friend’s own tears. He wiped it away as quickly as it fell.

“Here,” Jaehyun said, softly smiling as he wrapped the scarf he was wearing around your neck. You looked up to meet his eyes, blinking harshly to make the blurriness from all the tears go away. “Keep this. Don’t cry anymore, okay? We aren’t kids anymore… and plus, I’ll send you postcards. Letters, whatever. Every day. I promise.”

“Do you really?” you pouted.

Jaehyun laughed, nodding enthusiastically as he carved his promise into his heart. “Of course, Y/N. You can stomp on my grave one day if I ever break that promise.”

Your parents had to practically pull you away to let Jaehyun board his airplane that day.

And Jaehyun never even once broke his promise. He sent you various postcards, letters, and eventually emails every single day, just as he told you he would. He’d update you about the things he did, showing you pictures of his daily life. You knew that it wasn’t much, but you always looked forward to reading his emails every single day. It made you feel that Jaehyun was still there.

The two of you spent the entire four years of high school that way, communicating over emails to combat the fourteen hour difference. You never thought you’d meet him again, not until the graduation day of your high school. You remember, as vividly as the day that it happened, how shocked you were to receive a hug from Jaehyun as soon as you walked out of the hall. The euphoria that rushed through you was unexplainable. You remember melting into his hug, uncontrollably sobbing as he hugged you tighter, proud of your achievements.

You had spent the summer with him that year, creating memories to make up the time you spent away from each other.

And, additionally, the two of you figured out the feelings that you each held back all these years.

You were sad, of course, to part ways with Jaehyun again as his vacation was short. Though, you believed that fate would always bring you to him again, as it’s always been.

“Y/N…?”

Jaehyun’s voice and his widened eyes bring you back to the present. You smile widely, almost laughing at how messy his clothes are—his hair and sweater covered in spots of flour, his sleeves stained with melted butter. The smell of freshly baked cookies attacks your senses, making it evident as to why your boyfriend is in such a mess.

“Wha-what’s going on?” he stammers, tears beginning to form in the corner of his eyes as he sees the scarf—the one that he gave you donkey years ago—wrapped snugly around your neck.

“Hi, gireumi,” you grin, laughing to fight the tears. You miss him so much. You miss his voice, you miss his warmth, you miss him. “It’s me.”

“I–I-” Jaehyun stutters, freezing as he doesn’t know what to do. “I was supposed to pick… you up…”

“Yeah, you were,” you reply, “but… ta-dah! I’m here now, Jae.”

It didn’t take long for him to respond to that nickname—one you’ve made for him almost two decades ago. Jaehyun pulls you into a hug, his eyes still widened and his heart thumping fast. He doesn’t let go for a long time, and when he finally does, you find his eyes sparkling with tears.

“Jae, why are you crying?” you laugh, ignoring the stream of tears running down your cheek.

Jaehyun pouts. He sniffles. “You’re crying too. I miss you so much, babe… why did you come here by yourself? I was supposed to pick you up! How dare you not let me do that for you?”

“I wanted to surprise you, baby,” you reply with a gentle voice.

Jaehyun sniffles again, clearly crying. His nose red and his eyes glistening with tears streaming down, he pinches your cheek. He huffs before continuing, “but… I wanted to do it…”

You kiss his cheek before laughing again, letting him wipe your tears with his sleeves. That’s how it is when you’re with your favourite person, Jaehyun: laughter endlessly erupts out of you. “Jae…”

“Hmm?” he perks up, finished with wiping the tears off his face.

“Do you plan on letting me freeze out here or what?”

Jaehyun giggles sheepishly before letting you in. You say hello to Sungho, who retreats to the other side of the living room to give you and Jaehyun some space. After closing the door and helping you with your luggage, Jaehyun comes over to you admiring the interior of the apartment.

“Is the apartment… that bad?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

You shake your head. “No, not at all! I’m just taking in the fact that I’m here… in Korea, at your place,” you smile. “And Sungho’s, of course,” you add quickly.

“I’ll give you a tour later,” Jaehyun says, “it’s a bit cramped for two people, in my opinion, but the facilities are great. But, now, we have something even better to do!”

He grabs your hand and begins to walk to the kitchen. You grin, “are we going out already? I’m too tired for that, Jae.”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “Nope, not yet! I’ll bring you out tomorrow—or tonight, maybe, if you want to eat out for dinner—but I have something for you. Something really, really amazing.”

“Is it?” you tease, though you can’t stop the smile.

Jaehyun grins widely. Oh, how you missed seeing him smile right in front of your eyes.

“TOTALLY!” he exclaims, pausing to say calmly, “sit down, baby.”

You take a seat, watching delightfully as Jaehyun continues on his excited ramble. “I’ve worked soooo hard on this, baby, and you must love it.”

As he puts on kitchen gloves, you chuckle, “are you implying that I have to love whatever this surprise is?”

Having known Jaehyun for so many years, you definitely know that he’s not one with the kitchen.

“Of course, ‘cause I’m the one who made them,” Jaehyun smirks before bending down to take the baked goods out of the oven. He brings out the tray of s’mores cookies, setting it down gently in front of you. The delicious aroma washes through you, and you immediately beam, already knowing how good this will taste.

The cookies look extremely good and mouth-watering—if you didn’t know that Jaehyun baked them, you wouldn’t even be able to guess it!

“Myung Jaehyun…” you say, pouting.

You stare at the cookies, imagining how hard your boyfriend worked to make them for you.

“What?” Jaehyun replies immediately, surprised at the full name. He freezes in the middle of whatever he’s doing, blinking at you excessively. “Wha-what did I do, baby?”

“Nothing,” you say, chuckling at how you’re starting to cry again. “I love you so much… I- I don’t know how to say this but I’m so grateful we’re together and- I miss you so, so much it feels like I haven’t seen you in decades– and… and it makes me cry seeing you do so much for me…”

“Hey.. baby,” Jaehyun rushes towards you, pulling you into his embrace. He hugs you tight, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Sweet girl, please stop crying ‘cause I am too…”

“I love you with all my heart, dearest,” he whispers, tears in his eyes for the millionth time today, “and even if that means burning the kitchen down to make you your favourite desserts, I’ll gladly do so even a million times.”

His words touch your heart delicately, and it causes you to cry even harder. The two of you spend quite some time hugging each other, before turning back to the cookies. It tastes surprisingly well, and you spend a lot of your time laughing after finding out the story behind them.

― © htaesan, 2025.

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ophelia-hendrix · 2 days ago

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"I suppose we now start the waiting game," she smiled as she watched him. Neither of them were big on gestures, but she hoped he knew how much she loved him. Hopefully, they would give him his job back so that she could have hers back and be useful again. "I think I might need help washing my hair for a few weeks," she chuckled despite the pain in her side, and to her face "It's full of blood still," it didn't bother her that much. Other than that she didn't plan on placing any burden on him. He had enough to worry about.

"Don't trust the nurses, they judge us when they see you come to visit me," it annoyed her more than anything. Just cause he was older than her, it didn't mean anything to her. It shouldn't to other people either.

"I don't think there is much we can actually do now." No, they had to sit back and wait - and see what happened. How Gordon was going to be handled. Gareth did trust the justice system, but he also knew Gordon was going to try to weasle his way out of it all, blaming literally everyone but himself.

He sat back in his chair, sinking a bit down. "We focus on you getting better."

#dontcxckitup #v: agent to secretary

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profoundbondfanfic · 2 days ago

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Hi!! This might be a weird request, but I hope it's not too confusing: I love Destiel, but I get really frustrated trying to find fic where one or the other character isn't super confident/smug/Dommy most of the time. To be honest, I'll always be hung up on that scene at the end of It's The Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester, with the two realising their similarities in chasing after absent father figures. Could you rec any fics where they're both damaged and vulnerable and learn to be kind and open?

Hello there!

Here are a few that might fit:

don't care where you've been by thanks_tacos (Explicit, 328k words)

Dean's life is finally changing. After years of enduring Alastair's abuse, the alpha dies and Dean's married off to the next alpha the system pairs him with - Castiel. The man is strange and distant, but not exactly bad, and Dean's determined to be on his best behavior and not mess up the chance he was given. Soon enough, though, he fucks up anyway and has to call the alpha for help. Castiel's lived his entire life without an omega by his side, and he was fine with that. He doesn't know how to proceed once he's suddenly married to a beautiful man who's obviously been through a lot. Omegas were always a confusing subject to him, so he tries not to interfere much - neither of them is there by their choice. But when Dean calls for help, he understands he's going to have to set some things straight and engage more.

Everybody Needs the Light by opal_bullets (Mature, 46k words)

In the summer of 2005, a gruesome hunt leaves a lonely and hurting Dean to take refuge in a remote Minnesota motel. He only means to stop for the night, yet finds himself compelled to stay. Maybe it’s the old, well loved lodge, or his cozy little cabin, or the spectacular views off the cliffs of Lake Superior. Or maybe it’s Castiel, the guy who runs the place. Dean’s falling for him fast, but there’s more to complicate the matter than the family business. Something strange is afoot in the Northwoods…Is Cas just caught in the crossfire, or is he the one standing at the center of it all?

First by FriendofCarlotta (Explicit, 25k words)

Romance novelist Castiel Novak is recovering from an addiction to painkillers and he’s struggling to settle back into life post-rehab. His therapist suggests visiting a local farm where anyone can spend an hour or two in the calming company of rabbits. The farm’s owner, Dean, is himself a recovering alcoholic… and a huge fan of Castiel’s books. A story of recovery, romance and rabbits, told in a series of firsts.

For Evermore by casblackfeathers (Explicit, 110k words)

There's no place like home. This was a line Castiel used to know by heart when he was a kid, watching The Wizard of Oz and believing fairytales were real. At thirty-one years old, he isn't a kid anymore, and it has been twelve years since he has known what home feels like. Twelve years. That's when his world had come crashing down and he had left his hometown, Holly Springs, with the broken pieces of what he once was to build a new life in San Francisco. But as circumstances force him to come back to the only place he swore he would never return to, Castiel is finally forced to face everything he once knew and loved. Especially when said everything is made of spring-green eyes and a stardust of freckles, wrapped in all the memories Castiel was not able to erase from his heart. After twelve years, Dean is as mesmerizing as Castiel remembers, but the scars of what was broken still run as deeply as the marrow of his bones, and Castiel will do everything he can to protect himself. After all, his favorite movie also taught him that 'until hearts can be made unbreakable,' he can’t listen to his own.

Have Love, Will Travel by squeemonster (Explicit, 94k words)

Castiel Novak is a reclusive writer with a childhood so tragic it's left him terrified to leave his home—until his overbearing brother, Gabriel, drags him out for a night on the town full of booze and strip clubs, and he encounters Dean Winchester, a mesmerizing and mysterious stripper with secrets of his own. Both men find themselves inexplicably drawn to each other, and soon Dean's private dances for Castiel become much more, as both men confess their troubles and find solace in each other's company. But neither can seem to find the courage to take their relationship further than the intimacy of the club's VIP Room—and just when Dean's own brother gives him the excuse he needs to finally admit his feelings, Dean discovers something that brings it all crumbling down. Will they find a way past their demons and their trust issues, and back to each other?

IPAMIS OL OLPRIT by emmbrancsxx0 (Explicit, 56k words)

The Winchesters, Castiel, and Jack discover the Men of Letters hid away a weapon that may be able to kill Michael. The only problem: it can only be used with John Winchester's blood. When Rowena performs a spell to temporarily bring John back, Dean runs into another problem. His father doesn't approve of his angel, and Castiel isn't too impressed with John either.

Nine Times We Met (And One Christmas We Parted) by almaasi (Explicit, 54k words)

On the last day of school before Christmas vacation, Mr. Castiel Quinn discovers that one of his young students has smuggled male pornography into the classroom. Upon being told that the photos belong to the boy's uncle, Castiel vows to himself that he will keep the other man's preferences a secret. It's 1947; a man experiencing attraction to another man or fantasising about his sexual touch are transgressive faults, which could potentially result in imprisonment - or worse. But then the uncle walks in. The photos are of him: Dean Winchester, a rogue with an empty pocket and a child to feed. Castiel doesn't know it yet, but his life is never going to be the same again. Years pass between chance meetings, but even though they live their lives apart, Dean and Castiel's story is proof that absence truly does make the heart grow fonder.

six hundred sundays (and many more) by sobsicles (Mature, 15k words)

Dean starts falling in love with him on a slow Sunday morning under slanted sunlight that slips through the gaps in the trees.

Solitudes by ilovehowyouletmefall (Mature, 21k words)

Dean and Castiel understand each other more than anyone else. They misunderstand each other more than anyone else as well. After Cas is nearly killed by Ramiel, Dean is coming very close to acknowledging that he wants something more from Cas than friendship. Cas, however, feels the weight of his responsibility very heavily. When Dean asks Cas to stick around longer, Cas says he needs to keep looking for Kelly, leaving Dean feeling dejected. But Cas agrees to help out on one more hunt before he leaves. Neither him nor Dean realize that the monster they're after can make their worst nightmares come true. OR: Dean thinks Cas is killed. Cas is there to witness the aftermath.

Something by the Sea by destielpasta (Mature, 30k words)

After suffering the horrific cost of being cured from demonhood, Dean and Cas settle down in the small town of Old Orchard Beach, Maine, buying a run-down shack near the beach to call their own. Dean attempts to get into a normal routine– fixing up the kitchen, chopping wood for the fire, and picking out paint colors– all with the pleasant backdrop of Cas’s company and a beach fifty feet away. These things prove themselves to be fragile, however, and the past haunts Dean in the form of nightmares and strange phone-calls from an untraceable number, along with the far-from-innocent history of their new house.

The Evil that Men do by MalicMalic (Explicit, 174k words)

When Dean learns his girlfriend found the man that raped her all those years ago, he is ready to make him feel the exact formation of Dean's knuckles, but Bela had some other ideas in mind. Dean is not what you might call a good guy, but even some things are too much for him. And then the worst thing happens - Dean learns they made a mistake. The guilt will consume him, making him change his foul path, but nothing will ever seem enough, even when he gets a chance for redemption.

The Greatest of These by DoctorProfessorSong (Teen and Up, 9k words)

When Jack pulls Cas from the Empty, his vessel is damaged. Jack is working on it. In the meantime, Cas is stuck hanging around the bunker in his Trueform. In other words, the fic where Dean takes Trueform!Cas on little dates and the author has way too much fun with angel lore

#asks #group rec #soft!dean #soft!castiel #angst with a happy ending

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butcherlarry · 2 days ago

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Weekly Fic Recs 88

This week's fic recs!

love comes quickly by TheResurrectionist @frownyalfred - Superbat, Unrated, 10648 words, wip.

Summary: Clark struggles with something his Ma might call jealousy after walking in on Bruce and Hal together after a mission. Instead of letting Clark's feelings ruin the Justice League's hard-won team cohesion, Bruce suggests an alternative arrangement: sleep together once, work the tension between them out of their systems, and then go back to normal afterward. The problem with that plan? It's not just casual, and neither of them can ever go back to normal once it's all said and done.

I love me a good jealous Clark fic, so I was very excited to read this. And Bruce??? Denying his feelings towards Clark?? And thinking a one night stand will get Clark's feelings toward Bruce out of his system?? So much emotional shenanigans are going to happen, I'm so excited :D

Caring for Cattle by Rgfellows - Superbat, General, 8783 words, complete.

Summary: “Do you have much experience caring for cows?” Batman asked. Clark stared. He tried to process the question. He kept staring. Batman offered nothing further to elaborate. “Cows?” He finally asked. Batman gave a small sigh from his nose. He was as close to fidgeting as Clark had ever seen him. “Yes. Cows." Clark learns more about his very secretive friend thanks to a very unexpected set of circumstances

I read the title and knew I had to read this fic. Super cute!!! So happy to read about Clark going back to his farm roots to bond with Bruce.

skythrush by pomeloquat @pomeloquat - Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Teen, 5292 words, complete.

Summary: While protecting his city from the animals that seek to destroy it, Bruce makes the acquaintance of a little bird.

Ok, if you know me, you KNOW that I love birds, I love birding, and I love taking pictures of birds. When I read this I was SO HAPPY to read about Clark being associated with Eastern bluebirds. I have always thought this and as SO HAPPY to read about it this fic too! Do yourself a favor and go Google them RIGHT NOW and you'll see why Bruce thought of Clark as a bluebird. Actually, don't bother, here is a link. DO YOU SEE NOW???

I have also been reading Absolute Batman and Superman as those comics have been released on the DC app and have been enjoying the heck out of them. So happy to be reading fics about those characters too!

precious things by TheResurrectionist - Pennywaynes, Unrated, 1556 words, complete.

Summary: Alfred was aware that Thomas would, inevitably, enjoy such a thing. Forcing him to dig half-moons into the Carpathian Elm, as if the hardwood tables and desks in the other rooms weren’t suitable. No, Thomas had insisted upon the antique, old-world desk with a softer, delicate finish. The one Alfred barely dared to look at in between cleanings.

PENNYWAYNES!!!!!! Love me some Pennywaynes. Also love me some Thomas (or Martha) trying to make Alfred lose his composure while being fucked within an inch of his life.

Jason and His Boys series by elluv_asun - Batfam, Teen, 17155 words, series not complete but the fics are :D

Series Summary: All stories about Jason interacting with his crew. They're not all boys, but they are all His Boys, thank you for understanding How to be a Leader: For Dummies Summary: Jason's been trying to recruit a good crew for awhile. Visiting the library finally helps him figure it out - he needs to inspire loyalty through loyalty. Gain trust through vulnerability. If he follows the rules of strong leadership he's been researching, he'll get a solid crew for sure. The only thing is… it works too well? Now it seems like they … like him?

Breaking News! Brucie Wayne Getting Cozy With Crime? Summary: Prompt: Bruce Wayne publicly adopts the crime lord Red Hood. The city is confused, but now that they're looking closer, the guy actually doesn't seem that bad...Or maybe he is. Bonus: A shot of him without his helmet or a personal conversation between the two leaks Story told through a multitude of perspectives. Bruce Wayne accidentally publicly adopts the Red Hood while the other kids are out of town.

Both these fics were so much fun to read! I loved Jason building positive relationships with his goons and caring for their well being. And the second fic where Brucie interacts with Red Hood was excellent! It was fun to read about Bruce rebuilding his relationship with Jason through his Brucie persona and Jason being thrown for a loop about it!

oh, lover (i'll cover you) series by handfulofteeth (s0norus) @etiolatedmutant - Poolverine, Explicit, 48947 words, series not complete but the fics are :D

guess Summary: Three months have crept by right under his nose. The air outside crisped and then froze over, the leaves bled orange and yellow before finally snapping off their branches and allowing thick snow to pile up in their stead, and Logan is so fucking fond of Wade it makes him wanna throw up. Logan stops talking. He’s mid-scold, tossing his soiled paper towel onto the counter and about to reach for another one when his eyes land on Wade. He’s got his pajamas halfway down his thighs, clearly trying to avoid sticking his fingers all over the gooey fabric, and whatever, that on its own isn’t a big deal. What is a big deal, a huge, massive fucking deal, is what Wade’s wearing underneath his pajamas. Panties.

happiness (like a bullet in the back) summary: What do you get when you cross a supercentenarian mutant alcoholic with anger issues and a chronic case of emotional constipation, with the world's single most irritating Canadian mercenary with a face like a rotten potato? Answer: domestic fucking bliss. OR Five times Logan Howlett is stupidly soft for Wade Wilson, and one time he isn't.

black irises in the the sunshine Summary: Really, when did Logan get so whipped for this loudmouthed little shit? Sometime between being yoinked out of his original universe by the scruff of his neck and realizing he was ill-advisedly in love again, he reckons, but even he’s willing to admit those events are separated by an infinitesimal gap. He falls hard, and he falls fast, and Wade Wilson was (is) no exception. OR Wade catches Logan engaging in some good ol' fashioned depravity and Logan has a lot of Big Feelings about bottoming.

This was a fabulous series to read! I enjoyed the first and third fics, mainly because I enjoy reading about Logan discovering new kinks about himself, trying to hide them from Wade, Wade discovering them, and then fun times (and feelings) are had by all. The second fic was a lovely fic looking at the domestic side of their relationship. I love reading about them caring for each other when they are both dealing with Bad Days.

Humble My Heart by CaptainDoofus - Poolverine, Mature, 3570 words, wip.

Summary: Wade Wilson, an overnight janitor at a military research facility, develops a mutual fascination with the captured wolf-man being held there. Or: Poolverine "The Shape of Water" AU.

I read "The Shape of Water" AU and came running. I fucking loved that movie and I can't wait to read where this fic goes!

Stay, Stay, Stay by Curupia @curupia - Poolverine, Teen, 3985 words, complete.

Summary: Wade took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, reaching for the doorknob. Fuck. Okay. Time to face the music. He opened the door to their bedroom, expecting to find a passed-out Logan sprawled on the couch, maybe a bottle (or seven) of booze scattered around the floor. He figured he’d sneak past quietly and get breakfast started, wake Logan up with the promise of bacon and a truce. They’d mumble some apologies, have earth-shattering make up sex, and everything would be back to normal. What he did not expect was an empty apartment. Well shit. ________ Logan and Wade have a fight and Logan storms out. Wade starts to panic that maybe this time, he isn't coming back. (Happy ending, I promise)

While I do love sappy and fluffy Poolverine fics, not everything about their relationship is sunshine and roses. This fic takes a look at the bumps that happen along the way.

sex pollen and scrambled eggs by LukeQatwalker @hondafuckingodyssey - Poolverine, Explicit, 4992 words, complete.

Summary: Logan gets back into the car and tosses the bag with the lube in it into Wade's lap, thanking god for self checkout machines, because he's pretty sure that's going to go down as the worst retail experience of his god damned life. He adjusts his dick, which is still rock hard and bordering painful, from where he had it tucked up in his waist band. Jesus, he hopes nobody recognized him, buying lube with a hard on, with just a ball cap and a jacket thrown over the wolverine costume. "Ok, so the plan is, we get back to the hotel, whatever happens happens, this stuff works its way out of our system in a few hours, and we can just pretend it never happened, right?" Logan asks. *** The boys get hit with the sex pollen on a mission!

I am a sucker for a good sex pollen fic, no I will not apologize (Very excited about the potential of a follow up chapter).

Happy reading!

#weekly fic recs #fic recs #fic rec #fanfic recs #fanfic rec list #fanfiction rec list #fanfiction recommendations #superbat #batman #bruce wayne #superman #clark kent #batfam #pennywaynes #poolverine #deadpool #wolverine #wade wilson #logan howlett

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puppyscatorccio · 3 days ago

Note

Post rescue Shauna, who needs loving and comfort. Poor thing, she's all skittish and jumpy too :(

✨️

mdni. no nsfw, just fluff, but i don't feel comfortable either way.

it had been so long since the yellowjackets crashed that you were certain that they were dead, that they'd never fine the plane wreck and their bodies. but when you get that call and they tell you that shauna wants to see you, you're dropping everything and going to see her.

she's like a completely different person when you see her in that hospital bed. she's pale, her hair falling in clumps, so weak and so tired. you try to be careful when you hug her (doctor's orders), but it's impossible not to. she sobs on your shoulder, holding you tight like she can't believe that you're here, that you're really here to see her.

the doctors insist that she stays for a few days, so you visit her every single day. you stay until the nurses have to tell you that visiting hours are over and even then you try to convince them to let you stay a little longer. it never works, but you try nonetheless.

when she's finally allowed to go home, you go with her mom to pick her up. you're there the whole time, holding her hand and keeping her close. ms. shipman didn't mind that you kept coming over all the time, because shauna seemed to want your company just as much.

that first night you sleep over at hers, she spends most of it just crying in your arms. you don't try to get her to speak of what happened, you just let her sob and cling to you as tightly as she wants to. you're so warm, so sweet, all the things she had missed during those harsh winters and lonely springs.

the most you get out of her is a "jackie's dead, she died, she's gone", "i lost my baby," but not much other than that. it might be better that way; you're scared that your suspicions might be true. you can't imagine how difficult it was, being stranded in the middle of nowhere and losing your best friend and your baby. you wish you could just squeeze all the pain and trauma from shauna and take it to yourself.

by this point, you're pretty much living in her house. whenever you're free from class/work, you're going over there, sleeping over, just spending time with shauna. you always catch her writing something in her diary, but you don't dare ask what it is. you know that she'll probably lash out and tell you that it's none of your business.

it's hard to get her to eat much. you try to take her to her favorite places, to that diner down the street you always went to together, to her favorite restaurant, but nothing seems to work. she'll eat a few bites and claim that she's satisfied. for the first few months, you couldn't even get her to eat any meat.

she's sad, yes, but so angry too. you can see it in her eyes, how that fire threatens to consume her every moment. you've always known that shauna had a bit of a short temper, but now, it was so much worse. you had to walk in eggshells around her on particularly rough days, but it's not like you could blame her.

in a few rare moments, she's soft. it happens once in a blue moon, but you see that anger fade away for a while and she lets herself be vulnerable, even if it only lasts a few minutes. you're there every step of the way, trying your best to help her recover from all this and she couldn't be more thankful, even if she struggles to show it.

#mdni #yellowjackets #shauna shipman #shauna shipman x reader #📟 — ask #🗞️ — freak news #— ✨

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spidermans-l-o-v-e-r · 19 hours ago

Text

✨Strawberries and Cream Presents✨: A Kinkmas mini episode

How The Grinch Stole Christmas

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Reader

Word Count: 5k

Notes: Have y’all seen Mufasa yet? That movie is G O O D anyway I miss strawberries and cream just as much as y’all do I PROMISE. I’m working on it again and hoping to get da juices flowing 😤😤😤

You pull up to the front of the mansion and park the car, a big smile on your face as you turn to Eddie. You’d set up this entire little present for him for Christmas. He’d always done nice little things like this for you, and you felt like it was time to pay him back.

“Tada!!” You squeak excitedly and he jumps a little at your enthusiasm but bends forward to look out of the car anyway.

He stares at the large house in front of him, it’s gorgeous, more gorgeous than he’s ever seen in his life. He can hardly believe a place like this even exists in your snowy home state, but it does and he’s here and what the fuck. It’s even nicer than that one couple friend’s house he always takes you to.

“H-how did” His mouth is gaping as you giddily hop from the car and shut the door, going back to the trunk.

“How the heck can you afford this”

He knows it’s rude and he knows this was a present but he has to ask. Because this is Hollywood-level living- this is Kardashian-level living.

“A certain actor friend of yours helped me pull some strings! It’s ours for two whole weeks!”

“T-two? Two weeks?” His brain is melting as you drag the large suitcase over to his side of the car and go back for the others

“Yeah! I also happened to work things out with Bobby and we agree you need this time off. And the state agrees you need time off! So you were granted the time and boy am I taking advantage of this”

You drag two suitcases over before he finally realizes “Oh I should be helping” and gets out of the car, he grabs the suitcase from your hands and sets it on the ground

“Hey don’t worry I can-“ You’re cut off by him kissing you, he holds your face in his hands, pouring all his love and adoration into the kiss and your heart melts for him.

He pulls away slowly, kissing the tip of your nose and you chase after him, pecking his lips one more time.

“I love you, we should get married”

You wave the diamond ring on your finger in his face and smirk.

“We are silly, I’m wedding dress shopping while I’m here remember? Since the rest of my friends are here”

“Without Buck?” His hands are on your waist now and you roll your eyes, your cousin would have killed you had you not worked out that minor detail

“He’ll be here, he’s gonna be staying with us for three days and then he’s heading back. Oh and Maddie!”

“Yeah that sounds like him”

You both grab a couple of the bags and then you take Eddie’s hand, pulling him toward the house

“Come on!! If you think the outside is nice?? You have to see the rest”

He drops the bags at the door the second he steps in, you let go of his hand and start dragging them out of the way as he walks in with his jaw on the floor

“Holy shit- Hooooly shit” He just keeps repeating it as he spins around slowly, it’s like a mini villa, like the ones he would see when he visited his cousins in Mexico when he was younger. He reaches back blindly and takes your hand

“Come on I wanna look around!”

He drags you around the house with childlike enthusiasm, running from room to ornate room, there’s so much more space than he thought there would be, there’s even a pool outback.

The large arched windows in the last room let in a massive amount of the sunset, warming things up and Eddie takes your hands, pulling you over to the California King Size bed

“I wanna sleep in this one” He claims it, nuzzling your nose and you giggle, slipping your arms around his neck

“Okay, seems perfect to me! You wanna keep looking around? Maybe get unpacked and go to the store?”

“That,” He turns you around slowly, and picks your hips up, setting you on the bed “Sounds so boring”

He falls on top of you and you open your legs, letting him settle in between them with a sweet smile on your face

“We won’t have dinner” You play with his hair, your tone soft and soothing

“I can think of plenty of things to eat, two in particular”

“Eddie!” You squeak and laugh when he growls and bites your neck, you shove at his chest and he pins your hands to the bed, moaning exaggeratedly as he grinds his hips into yours. Your back arches a little bit, and he wraps his arms behind you, growling in your ear and sending a wave of sexual tension through your body.

You slap his butt like bongos and he snickers into your shoulder before rolling off of you. He spreads his arms and legs, making a snow angel in the sheets and you push off the bed and flop down across him.

“Eddieeee” you wriggle on top of him and he slaps your ass, making you yelp as he squeezes it

“Alright okay okay we’re going” He whines while you crawl off of him and he gets up, smacking your ass one more time before grabbing your waist and putting you over his shoulder

“To Target!”

Not that Eddie ever could, but he truly can’t get enough of you. You’re sat together on the fluffy brown couch. Your legs are in his lap, your back against the armrest and he’s got his arms around you, snuggling into you. He peppers little kisses all over your face and you blush, cupping his cheeks and kissing him softly.

“This is really amazing Sugar Cube,” He says into your neck as you run your fingers through his hair, combing it back.

“Hey, it's what you deserve” You kiss his forehead, resting your lips against it and he pulls away, looking up at you

“What about you huh? What about what you deserve?” He runs his hand down your thigh, squeezing gently and you shrug

“Look at this place!, I think it’s just as much a vacation for you as it is for me…besides, we finally just get to spend some time alone together. After….after what happened I feel like there’s never enough time with you”

Eddie smiles sadly, thinking about what you two had gone through a couple of years ago, something that had left a scar on both of you even if you’d learned to work past it, even if the nightmares had finally stopped.

“I know what you mean… sometimes I feel that way too, but… we can’t let it rule our lives. We’re okay now Sugar Cube”

He rests his forehead against yours and your eyelids flutter closed, taking in a deep breath. His cologne fills your senses, calming you embarrassingly quickly like it always does and you smile

“I know”

You sit comfortably in his lap, listening to him hum along to the song playing through the speakers, as he kisses your neck, leaving behind a pretty necklace in his path. He takes your wrist, his fingers sliding over your pulse and you look up at him, a soft smile on your face.

“Hi”

He looks at you, studying your face, all the little things about it that he’s come to love after all of this, he understood it- Nero’s obsession, understood why he couldn’t let her go. Because looking at you now? Your eyes sparkling with life, your heartbeat strong under his fingertips, that ring on your finger…

He’d do what Nero did too.

“Can I have this dance?”

He gets out from under you, standing in front of you and listening to the beginning notes of the song playing, he does a little bow and winks at you as he reaches out.

You shake your head, getting up and taking his outstretched hand, he twirls you into his arms, your back against his chest as you move your hips with his. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer and you reach back, cupping his face. He smirks and puts his hand over yours, kissing from your palm to your shoulder, before taking your hand and spinning you away from him again.

You look at him, a lusty fire in your eyes as you come back to him, he slowly wraps your arms around his neck before sliding his hands down over your sides and holding your waist again.

You roll your hips against him, and he shakes his head pretending to be disappointed but grinds against you anyway, letting you feel the bulge in his pants.

“That’s not how you properly bachata, you know this corazòn” he playfully scolds you, sliding his hands down to your ass as you dance together

“Uh huh, you’re getting on me? Your form is terrible. This is my dance space,” you take a step back from him and gesture “And this is your dance space”

He yanks you back toward him and you squeal as you both go down to the floor,

“When was the last time we watched Dirty Dancing anyway??” He’s laid out on the floor and you’re in a little heap with him

“Me and Buck watched it like three weeks ago”

“You watched dirty dancing without me?!?!!”

“Oh no I think I hear the alarm for the pizza oh no, oh gosh, oh no”

You try and scramble away from him and he grabs your waist, letting you drag his body with you

“Oh my god let go!”

“You’re not getting away from me that easily!!! I can’t believe you guys would do that to me! After everything you both constantly put me through!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” You finally make it to the kitchen with his arms wrapped tightly around your leg.

“Two Buckleys?! Two and you’re asking me what I mean by that”

“Technically three if you count Maddie” You peek in the oven at the pizza, rubbing your hands together evilly

“It’s Maddie, she doesn’t count. She’s like, the least annoying”

“Have you met their parents?” You snicker as you grab the oven mitts and finally shake him off, he rolls away a little so you can open the oven

“I have. Wasn’t impressed, glad you three seem to have not gotten the short end of the stick”

You take the pizza out and set it on the stovetop before turning around and looking down at him

“You ready for dinner?”

“Doesn’t it have to cool?”

You walk around, standing on his toes and reaching for his hands

“Waiting for pizza to cool is for the we-“

You scream as he yanks you down on top of him and rolls over on you, holding himself up as he attacks you with kisses. Your protests are muffled by his lips until they eventually die down when you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him back.

“Oh come on Sugar Cube… I think we can make a little time for it to cool…don’t you?”

You whimper softly as he rolls his hips against yours, grinding his clothed cock into you. He reaches down to pull down your leggings and you freeze, pushing him off you and pretending to karate chop him

“Hold up, wait, wait, wait, we can’t!! I’ve got a surprise!!”

He groans as he lays on his back, letting out a long sigh

“If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure!” You get up off the floor and he rubs his hands over his face, his cock straining clearly against his sweatpants.

“Not even just the tip?” He asks sweetly and you snort, laughing and helping him up

“Not even the tip, cowboy”

You wait until after dinner to put your little plan into action. You’re lying on Eddie on the couch as you watch Dirty Dancing, it’s just getting to the part where Baby finds Penny in the kitchen when you sit up, stretching a little and pausing the movie

“Hey, What’s up?” He asks quietly, setting his hands on your hips, and you grin, feeling the warmth of them seep into your skin.

“Oh, I’m just…I’m kinda cold” You shrug and he sits up, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch

“We can cuddle more if you want, though you’re lying on me so I really don’t know how much closer we can get” He chuckles and you take the blanket, easing it from his hands.

“I had a better idea! If you’re up for it” You get off of him and step away, dropping your cozy leggings to reveal a simple red thong, Eddie’s jaw drops as he watches you take off your shirt, the matching bra has pretty white lace lining it.

“You’re like a really kinky Santa’s little helper aren’t you?”

You cackle and hold your sides, laughing at him as he gets up from the couch and walks toward you, you back up slowly, still snickering and he starts to walk faster.

“You’re making this not sexy!” You wheeze between laughs and he looks at you, his pretty brown eyes clouded with lust, a dangerous hue washing over them.

“No, I’m not. I love your laugh.” He says it…so sickly sweet it snaps you back to the way he’s walking, the slow, precise steps, his incredibly relaxed demeanor… how he’s very slowly starting to crouch down like he’s gonna pounce.

“E-Eddie?” You gulp, letting out a nervous little laugh “Whatcha doin'?”

“I’m just standing here Sugar Cube”

He is most definitely not just standing there.

“You know there’s uh- a part two right? It’s not just this?” You gesture to yourself, backing up faster and he follows right after you

“Oh?” He stalls a little and you take that as an opportunity to take a big step back

“Yup! There is absolutely most definitely a part two and if you’d just let me make it there alive, I can show you”

“By all means, lead the way” He winks at you with a flourish of his arms and you stare at him suspiciously before leading him through the house. He sheds his clothes along the way and your mouth waters at the idea of what you’re going to turn around to.

He watches you walk in front of him with a hungry gaze, biting his lip as your ass jiggles with each step… oh he could get used to this. You lead him outside, down the fancy stone stairs to the pool, it’s lit up beautifully as you walk him past it. He gets a teeny bit distracted by the fact that he’s absolutely doing laps in that pool tomorrow morning.

You walk down another set of stairs, stopping for a second to unclasp the front of your bra, you let it dangle from your finger before dropping it. You ease off the thong, holding the ends of it to bounce your cheeks for a second before letting it drop from your body.

You walk over to the in-ground hot tub that overlooks the entire valley you’re staying in and slip off your shoes before stepping into the hot water and turning toward him. Your breath is caught in your throat, you knew he was taking off his clothes of course… but now he’s standing in front of you, slipping off his shoes too and stepping into the pool. You reach over and tap a button on the side and the jets turn on, bubbling immediately around you.

You sit on the little bench and look at him, biting your lip as he comes and sits next to you.

“Skinny dipping in the hot tub huh?”

“I thought maybe we could have a little…round two, from my first time? You remember right?”

He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. You can feel the energy radiating from his body, the intense need to just take you. But he kisses you like it’s the first time like he’s still a bit shy, doesn’t know if you’re gonna reciprocate and it just about melts your heart.

“Of course I remember” He nuzzles his nose against yours and you giggle, doing it back “One of the best damn nights of my life”

Your cheeks flush a pretty pink and he pulls away a little just to stare at you, to stare at the love of his life… the woman he’s going to marry.

“Mine too,” you say quietly, not breaking the hushed tension that’s fallen over you two. It’s so thick you could cut it with a knife, and when you look into his eyes, a heavy weight settles on your chest. It’s comfortable, familiar, like he’s curling up in your soul, and he’s there to stay.

“I love you” He breathes, cupping your face with a wet hand. You smile and crawl into his lap, setting your arms on his shoulders

“You know? What a coincidence! I just happen to love you too”

“What a great turn of events we have here” He snickers and holds your waist, putting you properly in his lap so you’re straddling him. He drags his hands slowly over your curves, the hot, bubbling water causing a deep desire to settle in the pit of his stomach.

“I wonder what we’re gonna do…with all this love” He mumbles, leaning down and kissing your breasts, his moan is mumbled as he buries his face between them, his hands coming up to squeeze them on his face

“Eddie Diaz!” You squeak and he places soft kisses on them.

“Yes? Mrs. Diaz?”

He grins wickedly when he feels the way your hips stutter against his, your cheeks flushing

“Oh…oh you like that don’t you Sugar cube?” he kisses your neck, squeezing your sides and you arch your back a little

“Mrs Edmundo Diaz“ He inhales your sweet perfume, his eyes rolling back a little as his hips move against yours. His hands flow down your sides and push your ass against him, your breath hitches and he smiles, looking up at you with all the adoration in the world.

“You’ve got little hearts in your eyes” You giggle, pulling him closer to you and settling against him

“So do you” He teases, letting his head rest against the ledge of the pool while you attack his neck, sucking and biting at his sensitive skin, causing his hips to buck against yours

“Why can’t you be Mr. Y/N Buckley? Because personally, I feel like Eddie Buckley is cute” You interrogate and he hums, gasping when you bite down on the soft spot on his neck.

“Uh…I mean-“ Your tongue trails over his Adam’s apple and he groans quietly, losing his train of thought completely.

“Or maybe… we can be both” You reach down, stroking his cock and he melts into your hand, slumping further into the water

“Hm?”

Your thumb swirls over the tip as you massage his cock, watching the way his mouth falls open slowly and he jerks into your hand

“We can be Diaz-Buckley, that way you’re happy… and you know, Buck is happy”

“Please don’t mention your cousin when your hand is on my cock”

You snort into his shoulder, and he smacks your butt, squeezing your cheeks and you squeak, pushing at his hands

“Hey! Watch those paws!”

“Right, so you can jerk me off like a little tease but I can’t touch you back? Is that what we’re playing at?”

Your jaw drops open and closed as you stare at him, he smirks and you want to rip his stupid mustache off

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about”

“I think that’s enough foreplay” You yelp as he gets up, holding your waist and turning you over. He manhandles you into position, your knees spread, hands braced against the smooth walls.

He leans over you, pressing his body into yours and sliding his hand between your legs, you whimper softly as he spreads your folds, sliding his fingers against your slick clit easily. Your head falls forward and he uses his legs to push you forward a bit. Your hips roll against his cock as he nudges you forward more and you turn your head back

“Eddie what are you-“ Your spine snaps straight and he chuckles, listening to you moan sweetly as he pushes you toward one of the jets. He keeps your hips in place and you spread your legs wider letting your head fall forward again as you roll them against the water stream.

“Ohh my god” You purr and Eddie lets go of your hip, stroking his cock a couple of times. He leans forward and kisses your shoulder and you shiver, looking back at him

“Thought you said foreplay was over” You mutter and he kisses you, his tongue swirling with yours and sending you spinning

“For me, I don’t mind watching you come undone though”

“Is it because you can only last six seconds?”

“Oh haha, hehe, so funny.” He rolls his eyes, lining himself up with you and dragging his cock through your folds, hissing when he feels the jet against him

“Uh huh,” You giggle “feels so-so good doesn’t it” You pant, grinding your ass into him. He groans and squeezes your hip tighter, thrusting his cock between your legs for a second, letting the jets kiss his tip.

“Feels almost as good as you do” He moans, burying his face in your shoulder, you feel him line his cock up with your entrance and you eagerly push back, slipping the tip inside you.

“Jesus Sugar Cube” His voice cracks and your heart pounds in your ears as he pushes into you, his breath hitches and he lets out a soft whine, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. He wraps one arm around your waist and the other slides between your breasts, his long fingers wrapping around your throat.

“Gonna make love to my pretty girl” He pants in your ear as he moves his hips, thrusting slowly at first. You grab his arm, digging your nails into it as his thrusts get harder, he angles his hips deeper, kissing your cervix with every rough snap.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to your size” you pant, your head bouncing on his shoulder and he smirks, trailing his lips down your neck

“And I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving this tight little pussy” He slides his arm down your torso, rubbing your clit in circles

“Shoulda done this for your first time anyway” He bends you forward and makes you brace your hands against the wall, then lifts his leg, planting his foot on the cement seating and pushing into you deeper. You let out a high-pitched shriek as he suddenly pounds into you, his hands gripping your waist and your shoulder as he takes you.

The water is splashing all over the place, you’re sure Eddie is bruising your hip, and your knees are getting a little scraped up but you can’t bring yourself to care and neither can he. You open your legs further, bouncing your hips to meet each thrust and he growls in your ear, sending a shiver up your spine as you curl your toes

“I’m gonna cum baby” He rubs your clit faster and you moan your back arching

“Inside me, please please inside me” you beg and he grunts, his hips stalling for a second and he looks at you

“I mean… I can’t do it in the pool, that’s probably gonna like…throw off the pH balance or something…”

“Eddie Diaz!”

“I’m just saying!! I was a Cabana boy one summer as a teenager okay! I had to clean out the pool and the pool guy taught me all that”

“So what you’re saying is after we’ve fucked in this for the next two weeks you can fix it?”

“Absolutely”

“Wow, that’s actually really interesting!” You put your hand on your chin, resting your elbow on the edge of the wall and he grins

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do! You gotta tell me more….you know after you freaking cum in me and we finish the whole having sex thing”

“Oh my god I totally forgot about that”

“Yeah, I kinda thought so” You smile at him and he blushes, pulling out of you and turning you around. He sinks back into you, his breath hitching while he rubs your thighs as you wrap them around his waist.

He holds your hips, while you wrap your arms around his neck, staring into his eyes. He smiles and leans forward, nuzzling his nose against yours and kissing you softly. Your fingers thread through his short hair, tugging at the soft strands as he sets a lazy pace. He wraps one arm around your waist, making your back arch and places his other hand on the side of the pool.

“Still remember how we fucked like animals for days after your first time” He pants, rolling his hips and you moan, letting your head fall back

“Uh huh” You squeak when he starts to thrust harder, thinking about how tight and innocent you were

“You remember-“ Eddie’s voice catches as his hips speed up, sloshing the water around again. “You remember when I came home for lunch and pinned you down to the kitchen floor?”

He grins wickedly, loving that sweet little blissed-out smile on your face, loving how you always get so cock drunk on him. He pulls you closer to him, your chest bouncing against his as he attacks your neck, biting and sucking at the soft skin, leaving behind his mark.

“You remember the way you tried to crawl away from me after your third creampie and I just kept dragging your hips back?” He hisses in your ear, you feel his grip on your body get tighter, knocking the wind out of you with each intense thrust and You nod fast, because god how could you forget that day? He left you on the floor, cum spilling from your poor, abused pussy while you passed out for a much-needed nap.

It was also super funny when Eddie came home with flowers and a worried look on his face, asking if he’d gone too far, if you were okay and that he’d make it all up to you. You graciously accepted the flowers, giving him a little kiss on the cheek and reassuring him that you definitely would have made him stay if you needed him to. He still felt a little guilty… so he ate you out for hours that night, holding your hand as you climaxed over and over again.

“Can we do that again?” You moan out. You can feel that pressure almost ready to pop and you know he can too when he lets you go, making you put your hands on the cement seating and puts both hands on your hips again, slamming you down on his cock faster and faster

“Fuck I was hoping you’d ask that, You’re not gonna be able to walk this whole trip baby, gonna have my cock inside you every moment” Eddie’s fingers slide over your thigh before brushing against your clit. Your body jerks and he does it again, using his long fingers to rub your clit. Your toes curl and your back arches when he uses a third finger to grind against your clit and you let out a high-pitched scream as you come undone around him.

You meet his thrusts as you ride out your high, mewling and gasping and squirting on his cock. He groans loudly, impatiently waiting for you to start to come down before grabbing your hips with both hands again and slamming into you, you cry out his name and he cums with a loud moan.

His hips don’t stop until he’s shoved every last drop inside you. He pulls out just enough to turn you over on your hands and knees again and thrusts right back inside you, letting out little whimpering noises as he cums again. He rolls his hips, grinding them into yours as he fills you up, cursing your name softly, almost deliriously as he finally finishes.

He doesn’t pull out, instead he pulls your limp body against his chest and plops down on the bench. He slouches a little and wraps his arms tightly around you.

“You okay Corazón?” He pants softly, running his hands over your sides and you nod, still fully blissed out on his cock, especially loving the way you can feel it still inside you

“I think so”

Your voice is a little scratchy and he chuckles, kissing your throat

“I’m sorry I was so rough…you just get me so excited” He peppers little kisses over your neck and you giggle

“Trust me I know the feeling… you remember what else we did?” You play with his fingers and he lets his head fall back against the wall

“No? What?” He asks and you smirk, snuggling down into him

“I guess it’ll just have to be a surprise”

“Anybody home??” Buck enters the house, setting his bag down on the side of the door and slipping off his shoes. You’d left the front door open for him in case you and Eddie were out back in the pool or something. He’d texted before he got on the plane and when he got off, you hadn’t responded to the one where he said he was on his way to the house and he was incredibly suspicious.

He walks through the place, his mouth falling wider as he goes through each room, they’re all more beautiful than the next.

He’d been calling out but there was still no answer… okay so maybe you guys were in the pool… but this house is so huge it’s no wonder you didn’t hear him. He takes out his phone to just call you when he finally comes to the door at the end of the hall

“Where are those two freaks, I’m hungry I wanna go to lu-“

“You’re doing so good for me baby” You moan, as you run your hands over Eddie’s thighs. Your hands trail up to his chest as you thrust into him slowly. His breath hitches and he lets out a low whine when your hand wraps around his cock, jerking him off.

“Fuck Mommy” He blushes deeply, throwing his head back on the pillows

Suddenly you hear the snap of a camera and Eddie’s head shoots up.

“I FUCKING KNEW YOU WERE A LITTLE BITCH”

#words by rhys #rhys writes #911 x reader #eddie diaz #911 fox #eddie diaz x reader #911 show #911 abc #evan buckley #strawberries and cream #kinkmas 2024

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pedrospookie · 13 hours ago

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Don’t Look Back

Jackson!Joel Miller Angst

a/n: hi! this is my first foray into writing angst— I thought a lot about this story and owe @slimybeth69 so much credit for holding my hand through it, helping me brainstorm and looking over parts of this for me. I was super inspired by the myth of Orpheus and this idea came to me. It might be crap, i will not be offended if you think it’s crap. I do recommend reading this lil blurb about the myth of Orpheus as it will be referenced (slightly) throughout the story. The synopsis is based on my personal knowledge and a blurb found on Britanica. There are many amazing, proper editions of this myth and I recommend reading that for more information if you are interested!

the events are not 100% canon — don’t come for me okay? they do take place in TLOU 2 but they aren’t perfect or factual, I just shaped it to fit the narrative of this story.

thank you to @saradika-graphics for the beautiful dividers 🤍

tw: angst, death, mentions of suicide, mentions of suicidal thoughts, grief, lots of hard feelings, falling out with family, overall sadness, Minors DNI!

In the Greek myth of Orpheus, son of Apollo and Calliope, he was gifted a lyre by Apollo. Orpheus’ singing and playing were so moving that animals and even rocks and trees moved about him in dance. He then married Eurydice, the love of his life who was taken from him too soon. Bitten by a snake on the day of their wedding, she was sent to the underworld, leaving Orpheus in the world of the living. Orpheus went to the underworld to beg Hades for her return. His music and grief moved Hades so much that he allowed Orpheus to bring Eurydice back to the world of the living, under one condition: upon leaving the underworld, the couple were not permitted to look back. They walked towards the world of the living, and in celebration of seeing the sun, Orpheus looked back to Eurydice and she disappeared. Some tales say that Orpheus sat at the entrance to the underworld, lamenting and playing his lyre for the rest of eternity until the Gods took pity on him and put him out of his mercy, allowing Orpheus to reunite with Eurydice in the underworld.

Joel’s body groaned awake, the sneaking rays of sun gently climbing through his shaded windows, caressing the fine lines that rested on his face. With a grunt, he slowly moved out of bed, stretching his neck and back after a long night of rest.

Today was an average day for Joel; a simple shift at the stables, minding the horses and mending whatever was in need of mending at the barns, then a pit stop at The Tipsy Bison on his way home.

Things had been quiet since Ellie left. He hadn’t quite found a way to mend the hole she left in his heart. While Tommy and Maria had initially made an effort to include him socially, or pop over for visits with his nephew, the young child reminded him too much of the children he lost. His time in Jackson had softened him, allowing that small glimmer of hope to shine in his chest that maybe, just maybe, he would see Ellie again. That she would come back to him. That she would forgive him. But hope is futile.

As Joel made his way outside, he noticed the weathered guitars that sat by the front, covered in a thin layer of dust, yearning to be strummed once more. Isn’t that how Orpheus died? Strummin’ ‘n cryin’ til the gods put him outta his misery? Joel thinks to himself, turning away from the lonely instruments and heading down his front porch.

He could remember it clear as day— Sarah had come racing in the door with a new book from the school library. A tattered novel filled with Greek myths and photos of ancient ruins. She would spend hours explaining the myths and lessons behind them to Joel, a hot topic of discussion at breakfast.

“What kinda idiot looks back!?” She scolded the God, baffled how he could have failed his relatively easy and simple promise to Eurydice.

“Maybe he loved her so much that he couldn’t help it? He had to see her?” Tommy shares as he takes a bite of his toast. Joel shot him a look of confusion, eyebrow raised and a scowl forming on his lips, resulting in an innocent shrug from Tommy.

”What! You ain’t ever loved a gal so much you couldn’t not look at ‘er?” He laughs, his words striking Joel right in the chest.

He had.

That is how he felt the moment he held Sarah for the first time. The small babe, barely large enough to fit in the palm of his hand, cradled gently into his chest. He knew from that moment that she would be the love of his life. He had never felt a love like this before, not even for her mother. Joel would go to hell and back for Sarah, make a deal with any devil, but he also knew that if she had been stripped from him like Eurydice, he would look. He couldn’t bear not to see his girl. That would kill him.

Hell, it nearly did.

Much like Eurydice, Sarah had died knowing she was loved. In that final look back, cradled tightly in Joel’s arms, she knew he loved her.

Joel felt his heart ache for his lost girls. The ones he tried to save. The ones he couldn’t save. He understood that bastard Orpheus now. That all-consuming grief and to have felt it not once, but twice? It was nearly unbearable. If he could, Joel too would lament forever, sitting on his porch with his guitar, letting the strings weep the tears Joel refused to shed.

It’s moments like this where Joel wishes he hadn’t flinched on that day early into the outbreak. But Joel had to keep walking. He had to. He couldn’t let himself fall back into the sounds and memories of the past, rewatching them play over and over in his mind, being harshly reminded of his mistakes — his failures — his inability to save the people he loved. If that small glimmer of hope that lived deep within his chest said anything to Joel, it was that he had to keep walking. If he had any chance of fixing things with Ellie, he had to keep walking. He learned his lesson, or so he thought. He couldn’t look back.

A stillness fell over Joel as he approached the barn, its ancient wooden structure patched together like an old quilt. There was a spark of anticipation that lingered in the air, something Joel couldn’t quite put his finger on. It made his skin prickle and the gentle curls on the back of his neck stand on high alert. His heart stopped as he scanned the horizon for clickers or raiders, wondering if his subconscious was trying to tell him something.

As Joel rounded the corner to the barn, the only sound to be heard was the soft munching of hay and Dan mumbling to himself. Dan was a familiar face from patrol, someone who had done several shifts with Joel over the years. A fairly decent guy who just wanted to get the job done and go home to his wife, something Joel respected.

Commotion arose as Joel started to step into the stables. The large doors to the barn swung open with a thundering bang, sending the horses into a wild frenzy, bucking frantically in every direction. A flash of panic skates across Dan’s face as he tries to calm the horse in his grip, dropping a bucket of apples in the process.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay girl.” He tries to soothe the wild horse beside him, holding the reigns for dear life, as he puts his free hand out to calm another.

”What the fuck is going on, Dan!?” Joel yells across the barn, trying to be heard over the high pitched squeals and neighs coming from the band of horses. He rushes in, arms spread to try and tame the majestic creatures. Joel could see Dan lift his gaze towards him, a puzzled look on his face, eyes squinting at Joel before his attention was brought back to the horse beside him, a sharp neigh piercing their ears.

“Shimmer, shhh, don’t worry! She’ll be here soon t’see you.” Dan continues to murmur to the horse, petting her snout as he slowly coaxes her.

Shimmer? S’in Ellie’s horse?? Ellie’s here!? Joel’s mind races— how’d no one tell me that Ellie was here?!

“Dan! Ellie’s here!?” Joel frantically shouts over the horses again, his heart rate skyrocketing as he tries to tame them into a calmer state. Out of the corner of his eye, Joel notices his horse, Callus. Slowly approaching the large animal, hand out reached to the bucking stallion, murmuring sweet words of endearment, coaxing the animal back into a calmer state.

I knew ya were a good horse, Joel smirks to himself as he gives Callus some gentle pats of encouragement. He quickly focused back on the bucking mare in front of him, trying not to get kicked in the side of the head.

”Dan, buddy! A lil help here!!” Joel yells back again, trying to catch his buddies attention as he puts his hand out to the mare.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna be late!” Dan hisses, petting shimmer one last time before racing out of the barn, leaving Joel with the tantruming horses.

“And I’m the one with shit hearing.” Joel grumbles, rolling his eyes as he starts to surrender to the horses, nervously backing away from the squealing animals and towards his own.

“What happened buddy?” Joel asks Callus as if he could reply, gently petting the animals’ long snout. Joel had such loyalty to the steed, he had gotten Joel out of many sticky situations and home safe more times than he could count. The gentle affection that Callus gave him was often the only affection Joel received these days. The horse whines in response, as if he was griping along with Joel, turning to nuzzle his head into Joel’s shoulder. At least you love me, Joel thinks to himself as he brushes the velvety fur of the large animal. He sees the other horses in the pen continuing to grow restless, bucking their legs in the air and bleating.

This was out of character for the horses, especially Ellie’s horse Shimmer. She knew Joel and was easily calmed by him, yet his presence was working her up even more. What in the hell is out there that spooked them? This couldn’t just be because of the door?

Joel could feel the panic starting to rise in his chest, it’s one thing to control one wild horse, but an entire barn full?! This was beyond Joel’s scope, he had to call in reinforcements to get these horses settled.

“I’ll be back.” He promises Callus, patting him once more on his back hip before sprinting out of the barn.

That lingering feeling continued to fill Joel with dread. He scanned the area for anyone who would possibly help him, but the area was sparse. Where is everyone? Was there something going on that he didn’t know about? What did the horses know that he didn’t?? Were they all with Ellie? Where is Ellie? Fuck, did something happen to Ellie?!

Something inside of Joel started to twist and turn. What the fuck was going on? Why didn’t someone come to tell him? Where the fuck was Tommy?

Tommy.

That mother fucker. Whatever is going on, Tommy either knows and isn’t saying anything or he should know and is completely oblivious to the weirdness among town today.

Making good on his word, Joel returned to the barn to see Callus one last time. His noble steed had moved from his resting place in the hay to a windowed spot by the barn door, as if he was anxiously waiting for Joel’s return.

As Joel approached, poking his head through the little window, he was shocked by the sudden calm that had fallen over the horses. What the actual fuck?

”They musta seen a snake ‘r somethin’, eh buddy?” Joel mumbles slowly under his breath to the horse, patting his snout again as he tries to piece together the odd scene that had just played out in front of him.

Joel’s mind was filled with questions as he walked back towards the bar to find Tommy. These swirling questions were trying to wrap themselves around the strange events of today. Today was supposed to be a normal day. He felt sick, knowing that Ellie was in town and not a single soul came to tell him. Not even his own brother. Yeah, they weren’t on speaking terms at the moment after a whiskey fueled blow out a few weeks after Ellie left. Tommy just didn’t know when to fucking stop talking sometimes— there was no comparison to Ellie, let alone Sarah —and yeah, Joel loved his nephew but Tommy sayin’ that the kid could fill the gap that those girls left in Joel’s heart was dumb. And Joel told him so. In less kinder language, but he told him so. With a broken whiskey tumbler and a slammed door, The Miller brother’s stopped speaking to one another.

But Tommy would tell him that Ellie was back? Even if they weren’t speaking? He knew what this would mean to Joel.

Unless Tommy hated him too.

Sarah would be so disappointed. Seeing the two of them like this? The only family she ever knew split up and not speaking. She would be embarrassed of Joel, of his immature behaviour and hardened manner. This wasn’t the kind, loving dad she once had. She would have marched Joel over and made him apologize, immediately— with warm cookies! To which Joel would have mumbled something about how Tommy would probably prefer a cold case of beer, but nope! Warm cookies.

Joel silently promised her that once he got things sorted with Ellie, he would go over to Tommy’s and properly apologize. He may not know how to bake cookies, but he’d find something. Something of the likeness of Sarah to help bandage the emotional wounds he caused. He would vow to do better, if not for himself, but for the sake of Sarah.

A flash of auburn hair pulled Joel from his thoughts— was that Ellie?

His pace quickened as he tried to follow the girl, trying to confirm that it was in fact Ellie. She suddenly stopped in her tracks, suspiciously looking over her shoulder towards Joel.

Holy shit, it was Ellie.

Before Joel’s brain could register that it was her, his lungs were screaming out, hands cupping his mouth to amplify his dark, gravely voice. Without a single flinch, she kept moving, ignoring Joel’s call and entering the thick wooden doors of The Tipsy Bison.

Fuck, she must be really mad, Joel thinks to himself, feeling that small glimmer of hope that lived deep in his chest slowly shrivel up and disappear as he approaches the enterance to the bar. Tempted to go in after her, yet Joel couldn’t bring himself to go in. Ellie needed space, she has made that abundantly clear. The least Joel could do was respect it.

He couldn’t blame Ellie— what he had done to her was unfair — stripping her of one of the few choices she had in this fucked up world, and then to lie about it? That was the worst thing he could have done. At his grown age, he should know this by now, having lectured not one but two daughters and a mangey brother about how awful lying is. “I can’t help you if you lie, Sarah”, “I can’t get you out of trouble if you aren’t honest with me, Tommy”, “Ellie, lying hurts peoples feelings”, “When you lie, I can’t trust you, Joel.”

He was trying to protect her. Even with the best intentions, much like that bastard, Orpheus, he fucked up. This was a possibly irreversible mistake with severe consequences, and that killed Joel. Nearly more than the guilt he had harboured holding onto that lie. Letting it grow and wrap itself around his insides like a big fat, hairy tumor with teeth. He had to let it out because Ellie deserved the truth. And while the repercussions of his actions may be the very death of him, he had no regrets. He would do it again, and again, in every life, to save Ellie.

The one daughter he could save.

If this is his penance, so be it. At least he knew she was safe and home. Maybe Tommy or Maria will talk some sense into her, help her understand why Joel had done what he had done. Or at least help her find the grace to forgive him, even just a little. And if she’d give him the chance, he would do anything and everything to fix this. A clean slate, a new leaf— whatever Ellie needed Joel would do.

She looked older, her hair longer than it had been when she left, half up in a way that reminded Joel of Tess. He wondered what kind of adventures she had been on and how things were going with Dina. He wanted so desperately to give her the copy of Back to the Future that he had found on a scouting mission a while back, remembering their extensive conversations about it and wanting to hold true to his promise to her. Maybe Tommy could be the middle man? He thought, leaning against the rickety planks that made up The Tipsy Bison.

He was so lost in thought that he nearly missed Ellie leaving the bar, walking fiercely in the direction of Joel’s home, mumbling under her breath. Her shoulders were hunched over, hugging her arms close to her body as she marched forward, leaving Joel trailing behind.

“Ellie, wait!” Joel shouts, trying to catch up to her brisk pace.

“—I don’t even know how we even got here,” Ellie gasps out, her voice muddled and dry. It sounded like she had been crying.

“Got where, Ellie? What’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” Joel asks, still a few steps behind the girl, trying to respect her space. “What happened?” He prods softly, following her around the corner into their neighbourhood.

“It’s just all so fucked up! Fuck!” She sobs, kicking a neighbours mailbox, wincing gently at the impact of her foot to the wooden post. Joel felt himself grimace at her anger, he knew this was his fault. He deserved her silence. There were a million things that he wanted to say to Ellie, but he knew at that moment that the best thing he could do is shut up and listen.

“I don’t even know what the fuck you’d want, Joel.” She sighs, stopping as she approaches the front steps of what was once their house, leaning gently on the little black mailbox that has “The Miller’s” scrawled across it in white paint.

“I want whatever will make you happy, Ellie. I will do whatever I got to t’build your trust again.” Joel murmurs softly, still a respectful distance from Ellie, watching her trace the white letters with her fingers, a single tear falls from her cheek as she looks up towards his house. Joel watches Ellie sigh deeply, the rise and fall of her shoulders giving her courage to move forward up the steps to their house.

She’s home. These are baby steps! This is a start. For the first time in ages, Joel could believe that little glimmer of hope in his chest. He could feel it radiating warmth throughout his body, tightening his throat as he sucked back happy tears that threatened to fall. His girl was home.

He followed Ellie up the steps, watching as she paused to grab his guitar. The lonely guitar that had waited so patiently for its duet partner to return, ready and waiting to be strummed once again. She held the neck delicately, blowing some of the dust off of the polished wood, her small hands holding the guitar close. Her soft grasp was juxtaposed with a sudden rigidity in her back and shoulders.

“I’m gonna find who did this to you.” She hisses, opening the door to the house and slamming it, leaving Joel stunned on the porch.

What in the fuck was she talking about? Who was she talking about? Confusion once again swirling around in Joel’s head for the millionth time that day. He went to reach for the door knob when the front door suddenly swung open, Ellie barreling through with her arms filled with some of Joel’s possessions; a Linda Ronstadt record, some flannel shirts, the watch that Sarah gave him and his guitar strapped to her back.

“Where in the hell are you goin’ off with my stuff?!” Joel barks, furious at the thievery taking place before his eyes. The least Ellie could do was ask, she knows he would say yes! Ellie continues to ignore him, marching back towards The Tipsy Bison, rambling on and on about how she is going to get payback.

Payback for what?

“Ellie, can y’please just stop for a fuckin’ minute ‘n throw me a bone here? Y’re runnin’ off with my stuff, the least ya can do is acknowledge me, damn it!” Joel shouts, his pace quickening to catch up with hers. That glimmer of hope is now replaced with sheer rage. This little punk. Joel knew he still had no business disrespecting Ellie’s space and wishes, but he’d be damned if he let her run off with his favourite things without so much as a short acknowledgement. He’d raised her better than that.

She powered through, pushing the doors to The Tipsy Bison open, Joel following closely behind. The bar was quiet for the afternoon, a small group of people were gathered around a table at the back. As Joel got closer, he started to recognize them, Dan from patrol and his wife, a couple of nice folk from the stables, Maria and Tommy, and then Ellie, who was laying all of Joel’s items out on the table.

“I’m sorry, kiddo. I know this fuckin’ sucks.” Tommy says softly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I remember when my mom died, I was your age. It fuckin’ sucked.”

Yeah, it did suck. Dad wouldn’t get outta bed and we had to do all the plannin’ — wait, died? Who the hell died?!

“Are you sure you don’t wanna let us handle this?” Maria asks cautiously, knowing the weight that this would place on Ellie’s shoulders.

“Yeah, no offence, but Joel would hate whatever you guys would plan.” Ellie says with a morbid chuckle, “It’s the least I can do. I feel like I owe it to him, ya know? We were about to turn a new leaf— I was going to invite him to watch a movie with me and Dina that night.” She sighs a tired sigh, her voice sounding like she is crying but no tears come. “Maybe, if I had just asked, Joel wouldn’t have been home. That this wouldn’t have happened. That he wouldn’t be dead.” Ellie’s voice breaks on the last word, her tears finally falling as Maria and Tommy hush her, cradling the young girl in their arms.

Joel felt his whole body go cold. He was dead? How could he not remember dying? How could he not remember seeing Ellie? What in the fuck is going on. This has to be some sick fucking joke that they’re all playing, some weird April fools prank that his old heart couldn’t fucking handle. God, he was gonna give it to Tommy once they snapped out of it.

“I’m gonna go check out the spot you guys picked. Make sure it’s not shit.” Ellie mumbles softly into Maria’s shoulder, her brash comments eliciting a chuckle from Tommy.

“Alright kiddo, you know where to find us.” Tommy quietly replies, pulling out a chair to sit at the table filled with Joel’s belongings.

Ellie’s footsteps slowed as she approached the quiet cemetery. Joel waited impatiently for the rest of the gang to sneak up on him and spook him, or shove him into an open grave as the cherry on top of their sick joke.

But there was something about the solemn look on Ellie’s face that scared Joel. Her usually bright eyes were dark and sunken, red lining the amber of her eyes and her voice was raspy and aged. She couldn’t be this good of an actress, her inability to hold in a giggle when reciting her dad jokes was more than enough evidence to prove that she couldn’t act if her life depended on it.

Was this why everyone had been acting so strangely today? Because they were mourning him? But he woke up in his bed, like he did every day…? Was this purgatory? Oh fuck, is this hell??

No— Joel is not dead. He can’t be. He fucking woke up this morning and went to work! The way he does every day. This is a sick joke as payback for Joel mistreating everyone, some twisted version of a Christmas Carol where Joel will come out the other end redeemed and live happily ever after…after apologizing to Tommy and Ellie.

His logic made sense until Ellie stopped in front of a grave; a 6 foot abyss staring right back at her, threatening to suck her in. The dirt was piled beside the ashy grey tombstone that harshly read Joel Miller across the top.

“Fuck you, Joel.” Ellie solemnly curses under her breath, sitting beside the heavy stone. She slowly leaned onto it, imagining it were Joel’s broad shoulder. “I’m so mad at you for dying.” She adds slowly, picking up a small rock and starting to build a pile beside the tombstone. “You promised me so many things, and now you’re dead. All because of me.” Ellie cries, wiping her snot and running tears on her sleeve, “you didn’t even finish teaching me that stupid song.”

Joel couldn’t believe the sight before him. That was his name scrawled across that tombstone, matching the one his parents had, similar to the one Sarah deserved to have. He was dead and in a few short hours, his cold, dead, battered body would be buried in that hole in the ground, like the many bodies Joel had buried in his twenty plus years of living in this hellscape.

He felt so incomplete. He wanted to live! He wanted to live for Sarah.

There was a reason that bullet hadn’t killed him! He was meant to live! He had so much left to teach Ellie. Memories to create with his small family, traditions for him and Tommy to pass along to their kids. Fuck, Tommy— he died and the last words Joel said to his brother were so despicable that he couldn’t even bear to repeat them to himself. He didn’t get to tell a single one of them that he loved them, let alone how much. And selfishly? He died without hearing it back.

Joel knew that it was over, but he was so scared. Was this how Sarah felt when she died? What happens now!? His life was just starting to begin again, and now it’s gone. It’s over.

Picking up the final rock to her small pile, similar to the one she watched Joel build after Tess died, she sighed, the look of fear and grief filling her eyes, a look Joel knew all too well. “I’m going to miss you every day for the rest of my life.” She whispers softly, her voice breaking on almost every word. In a blurred mess of tears, she places the final stone at the top of the pile beside Joel’s resting place, and with one final sob she stands up wiping her hands on her jeans before turning back to the front gates of the cemetery.

When that bastard Orpheus finally died, he was reunited with his love, Eurydice, who greeted him into the afterlife. But that was only a myth, a tale made up to teach you a lesson. Maybe that’s exactly it. Maybe this was Joel’s lesson— or punishment, for all the cruel misdeeds he committed in order to survive this hellscape they called life. He had hoped many times that if God were real, he would be reunited with Sarah when his time came. That seeing her bright, smiling face once more would ease his grief of his life ending and provide him a comfort he had desired for decades. That last look back to bring him peace in his final moments.

But this isn’t a myth. Sarah wasn’t here, waiting for him to appear, to hold his hand once more and help him cross over in their long awaited reunion.

No one held him in their arms as life slowly drained from his eyes, and his pulse started to slow, whispering sweet nothings into his ear to calm his fear. He was alone. Even in death, no one looked back for Joel Miller.

tag list: @evolnoomym @mrsmando @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @picketniffler @letsgobarbs @itsokbbygrl @marilovespedro @syd-djarin

(if you don’t want to be included in my tag list, pls let me know!! I just wanted to add names for folks who I thought may be interested in reading this 🤍)

#tessa's assets #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller thoughts #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller angst #Tommy Miller #Jackson!Joel #ellie williams #TLOU #TLOU 2 #Sarah Miller

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