#i consider this the 20 chapter special

[transformers-spike]

Anyway, guess who just finished the Decepticons x Reader in heat fic? It's an absolute spikefest. It's a sequel to "Be careful what you wish for", but you don't necessarily need to read it to understand. Toodeloo bitches

[yuurei20]

Hiya!!! Love your info dives, they're amazing.

I apologize in advance if this has been asked already but I wasn't sure. But, are there specific ages that classify a Fae's stage in life. Like, when are they considered a child, a teenager, or an adult? I was curious if there was any information on it.

Anyways, thank you for your deep dives, keep up the amazing work!

Hello hello! Thank you for this question! 🧚 You are too kind!

We learn a lot about fae during the Fairy Gala events such as how there are many kinds, with smaller faeries being fearful of larger faeries and many requiring translators to communicate with one another!

Lilia explains that the Draconia family are especially long-lived, even for fae, so it seems that life stages might vary according to what subset of fae we are talking about.

Maybe there cannot be a blanket explanation of, "at this age all faeries reach the human equivalent of teenagers," for example--there might be a lot that varies depending on if we mean nocturnal/diurnal fae, small/large fae, dragon/bat fae, etc.!

Malleus is 178 years old and I have seen discussions sometimes that this particular number may have been selected in order to make him the faerie-equivalent of 17.8 years old in human years, which would make sense given when it was that he was invited to NRC, but this clashes with additional information we receive from Lilia:

He explains that, due to their particularly long lifespans, members of the Draconia family are "children at 200 and still youthful at 500...only around the age of 1,000 do they fully mature."

If we were following the "move the decimal" calculation that turned 178 into 17.8, that would be the equivalent of Lilia saying that they are not full mature until they reach the human-equivalent age of 100!

On the subject of JP-side discussions, here is a translation from Malleus' Pixiv profile!

It is mentioned in the story by Lilia that "1,000 years old is considered an adult" for dragons. If we consider "adult" as equivalent to coming of age, and we assume that the age of adulthood in Twisted Wonderland is unclear but is 20 years old by human standards, then 1,000 ÷ 20 = 50. This would mean that for Malleus, 1,000 years would be equivalent to 50 human years. Given that he is currently 177 years old, this would roughly translate to being around 3 to 4 years old in human age (which helps explain the immaturity of his actions thus far).

And here is a Twstsoku thread on this same topic, for the curious ^^

Based on Lilia’s example, I think the entrance permission might be given around the equivalent of 15 human years (since Lilia’s mention of "hundreds of years" is likely a rough estimate). It’s confirmed that the Draconia species matures much slower than humans, so even if they start at the same age as everyone else, their maturation speed would naturally be slower as well. So, I think he might still be around 15 years old. If it’s because of his high abilities and he's being treated as a special case, there might even be a possibility that he's still quite young.

If Malleus is about 5 in human years, the reason for his overblot seems kinda cute to me...

I don't think he's really a pre-teen, though. However, since it takes quite a while to go from 16 to 18 in human years, it’s possible that the acceptance letter came at the time he would be considered 16, and if he entered straight after, he might be roughly the same age as the first-year students now.

When Trey-senpai was introducing the dorms in Chapter 1, he mentioned the possibility of skipping grades when discussing Diasomnia, so there might be a chance that Malleus is younger in human years. Now that I think about it, that could have been foreshadowing...?

If we consider 1,000 years as the equivalent of adulthood at 20 human years, then if Malleus is 200 years old (hypothetically), simple calculations would make him about 4 in human years. That would make him younger than Cheka. While it's true that he’s lived for several hundred years, his maturity level is likely quite different from a human who lived the same number of years.

Lilia himself seems close to the "move the decimal" calculation pattern, as that would make him the human-age equivalent of 70 years old now, receiving his NRC acceptance letter at the equivalent of age 20 and losing Maleanor at the equivalent age of 30, after proposing to her when they were children around the age of 10.

But this is all speculation and entirely unofficial 🥳

[ive-been-timebombed]

CHAPTER FOUR

Big emotional moments here.

Oh Danny knew he screwed up the moment he appeared back in his throne The line that went out the door was gone also. Most likely the ghosts sensed the emotions Danny projected onto his haunt and the ghosts scattered not wanting to deal with the nervous and scared ghost king.

He wasn’t thinking when he disappeared at the loud crash! He left his son in a mess! Oh no! But his kid wasn’t scared when he left. So the glass breaking was normal? Oh how he wished he could go back and time and take care of the kid.. but he couldn’t no matter how much he begged Clockwork he knew that. Not to say he didn’t try.. Clockwork didn’t even let him watch his kid grow up.

Danny should visit his baby later. When the helmet thing is off. He can take care of the core problem as he does so. His baby doesn’t know who he was. He didn’t leave a picture or anything with Catherine but the kid did mention something about a picture.. maybe he should go as human? So the kid doesn’t realize he’s the same ghost! Perfect idea!

________

Jason was furiously typing on the laptop. He was searching all he could about ‘The Ghost King’ ‘Phantom’. The only thing coming up was Pariah Dark and a autocorrect to Fenton when he typed a bit too fast.

The link that came up with Fenton said something with ghost so he clicked it. That led him into a black hole of information that just seemed biased. He read all the articles published by the scientists. Then in 2006 they started mentioning a ghost.. a certain ghost that Jason was just looking for.

FENTON WORKS

All the information and weapons you need about ghosts! We are happy to say we have figured out what exactly what ghosts are! This site is made by the Fenton Family.

(Picture of a family of 4. A bigger man than Jason himself in bright orange. A fit woman in blue with ginger hair. The older teen with ginger hair like her mother and a cyan headband. Then a younger teen with black hair like the father and frankly skinny considering his parents.)

Click here to read more

Click here to buy things

Click here to contact us

Jason learned a lot of information about Phantom and the Fentons.. Jason now just needed to find a way to summon the ghost once again and make him talk. The ghost seemed nice and not destroy the world just because he could type of being. Then again Jason wasn’t the most.. sane? Normal? Person to ask about what is normal and not normal. He would ask Dick but he was still likely drugged and concussed. He didn’t want to deal with that. Not to mention Dick also wasn’t normal.

___________

“What the ancients..” Danny muttered looking at himself in the mirror. He transformed back to his human form not even a hour ago and he’s already regretting it. He still looked like his 20 year old self. He didn’t age a day from when he first transformed. The clothes were even the same he left in.. he could only pin point a few differences on his body. Like the more ghostly attributes. The pointer ears, sharper teeth, and paler skin.

Danny knew he should’ve shifted between forms more but it just didn’t seem right without the kid next to him..

—————

“Daaaa! Deeee!” A child’s yelling pierced the air followed by a loud crash then a giggle.

“I’m coming! I’m old- okay. Accept it while you still can.” A young man’s voice came followed by a black hair with white on the back young adult. The man had icy blue eyes and a scar on his bottom lip. The child the man was talking to looked like him.

The child had curly black hair not a hint of white unlike his father. Darker blue eyes that seemed to shine when he saw his father. Chubby cheeks and stubby fingers. The kid was wearing a shirt that had the words ‘I’m just outta this world. Floating by the stars’ surrounded by stars. Along with jean pants and a gray jacket. The shoes stuck out due to the bright yellow color of the rain boots.

“Oh don’t give me that look.. I know I’m only 20! You make me feel 50 years older than I am. Specially with all your sass.” Danny put his hands on his hips and looked down at the kid.

“Aunt Cathy say it comes from you.” Jason put his hands on his hips and looked up at the kid.

“I know it did. I can’t blame anyone else but myself and it’s horrible.” Danny huffed sticking his tongue out at the child which was followed by the kid doing the same to the young adult.

Suddenly the mood changed and Danny’s expression changed into a more somber one. He couched down and looked at the kid.

“Jason, you know how I sometimes leave you with you Aunt Cathy?” Danny felt horrible. His core hurt and he wanted to hug the child and not let go.

“Yeah? But Daddy always comes back so I ain’t scared!” Jason grinned moving forward and putting both hands on the adults face.

“Jason what I say about the hands and other peoples faces?” Danny brought his hands to the kids and pulled the hands off his face but didn’t let go of the kids hands.

“Not to do it.. but don’t worry! I only do it to you!” Jason hopped on his feet unable to stay still like any child.

“Okay, you’re such a bully.” Danny deadpanned, “This is serious Jason, I don’t think I’m coming back this time.”

“What? No. Daddy you gotta come back. You can’t leave .” Jason looked up at his father not really understanding the situation .

“I don’t want to kid but I want you safe and I’m not that.” Danny pulled his son into a hug burying his face into the curly mess that was on top of Jason’s head. He stood up picking up the toddler his arms surrounding the other in a tight hug.

Danny knew it was stupid to say this while he still had the child. He should’ve just left the kid at Catherine’s and not return. But then he thought about the kid getting all ready to come back to him waiting at the door with his to big backpack only for him not to return. He didn’t want that for the kid. He didn’t want his kid to be sitting in front of the door sad because he couldn’t understand what was happening and why his father wasn’t there. He wanted just a bit longer with his child.. even if it was in tears.

————

Jason was sure he had the right man. The scar was exactly the same. It was a line on the bottom right lip the that split into two at the bottom. He didn’t know what to think of the being.. his father? From what his Ma told him. Catherine not Shelia. His father was a good man. A bit too sarcastic for his own good but it also made him funny. He had weird ways of saying things. Never used a saying right or just made it his own. He had a slight lisp and had an accent. Couldn’t cook to save his life and hated toast. Hurt himself with stupid things but was incredibly smart. Could turn a microwave into a gun in a hour alone.

Jason wondered if he got some of those qualities.? Before he died and turned into a monster. Dick always said he had a lisp and used some words wrong. Like fruit loop and ancients.. apparently he used one as an insult and the other as a replacement for some words.

@boopjuice

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 30/12✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@pandorainabox ha chiesto: Hope this isn't a dumb question,but do you plan to/already are posting the bio parents ah anywhere where it can be viewed all in one piece? With the between posts in tumblr,it gets confusing and I still don't quite know how to navigate it so I was curious if I could binge read it anywhere all in one clean read? (I constantly want to re-read it lmao,it brings me so much joy,its so damn cute!!) Anyway apologies for the random question!! I love your work,you're doing so good and I hope you have an absolutely wonderful rest of your day/night! Thank you so much for taking your time to read and respond if you do so!! 💚💚🌙

i mean… I THINK the masterpost is the easiest way to read it for now (and once you read one chapter you press “NEXT” at the end of it.)

if I would put it, let’s say, on Webtoon (which I can’t) it kind of would be the same thing. A list if chapters, when you click on one it opens the chapter with the 10-20 panels and then you click the “next” to go to the next one.

i don’t think putting all chapters from one part would be nice since it would be a super duper long list of panels (and the page would take a lot to load with so many medias) and one Part of the comic contains multiple arcs.

i’m open to suggestions though!

@robinpika ha chiesto: I was just wondering why is wukong kaiju form unstable? What inspired you to go that route

it was an headcanon of my of why we never see it in the show, even though it is present in JTTW AND war forms are… well normal in LMK, so I figured he must have a reason why he didn’t use it, considering it could have spare them a lot of trouble giving its power.

@imafluffycupcakey ha chiesto: I can't find the option to ask anonymously oof— Enyway this is Tumblr and that's what I'm here for. Ever made a design for a Red son and MK kid? From your AU I mean (ignoring every nature law for a second). Also, where did you got that name for MK from? Is something from Jurney to the west? Mainly thanks to your AU I am going to try and read that book (has more them a 1000 pages :') )

we all subconsciously agreed that the spicynoodle lovechild is Kai from lego ninjago and MK real name is his name in the chinese dub.

@avencaeheng ha chiesto: Can you reccomend any websites to watch lmk? 🙏

You can find MOST of the episodes on youtube. BUT you need also the specials to understand the story. If I link you a site in 2 weeks it will be down. The best is that you join the Lego Monkie Kid Fanspace discord. They have links to see the show and they update them every once in a while.

@astro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: Another silly headcanon <3 Since MK unlocked he’s monkey form he started teething like a baby monkey but… adult. I don’t know how baby monkey teethe but when dogs teethe they get a lot more bite-y and the bites hurt a lot more than before teething. I can imagineMK getting a lot more bitey with things, like chewing food longer then needed be and maybe when he’s play fighting with the baby monkeys he bites one and it chirps and Wukong is like: ! One of my children is in need! And he discovers MK is teething and does something idk yet. After having given my evidence… Do you think this would happen? Does MK have fangs in his human form like how some people draw him?

hi! I guess he did have a period in which he had a little teething.

no, his human form doesn’t have fangs, because his human form is just a kind of glamour/shapeshift. In the AU the monkey form became his normal form (since it always has been his original form to begin with)

toomanylegos ha chiesto: Hey, I just want to say I absolutely adore your ShadowPeach comic and the beautiful art with it. I went through nasal surgery on the 19th, and seeing an update from you really helped soothe my nerves about it, so thank you! I can't wait to see more updates throughout my recovery :D burry-penguin ha chiesto: As a spicynoodle shipper I love your work sm and what ur doing for this community KEEPING US FEED FOR DAYSSS!! 🔥🍜 🔥🍜 You’re so amazing and keep doing what you’re doing because you’re a damn good story teller and artist. You’ll go so far someday! You’ve helped put a smile on my face on my best and worst days just from seeing each new update and going absolutely fuckin feral over it and I thank you for that 🫶 imafluffycupcakey ha chiesto: Not really a ask. I would just like to say I inhaled your AU comic like a vacum cleaner in less them a day, also big fan of the art style. Anonimo ha chiesto: I'm recovering from a toxic relationship and the shadowpeach bio parents au is helping me think through everything ,, The love these monkies show me how relationships are supposed to make you feel good... thank u

turtlewearingclothes ha chiesto: Howdy! I just wanted to say thank you for making your amazing comic, and being the reason I got into Lego Monkie Kid. I've heard of the show, but I never watched it. Then I came across your comic like, 2-3 weeks ago? And after binging it, I decided to watch the show, and now I'm obsessed lol. Thank you!

AWWWW THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE!!!♥️♥️♥️

@selfdestructivecat ha chiesto: Hey so I recently binged your LMK comic because I absolutely fell in love with your ISAT x COTL comic and knew anything you made would be amazing. I’ve never seen LMK though so I’m sure I lost some of the context (it was still so good though, I’m really rooting for everything to work out for the characters!) But I decided to give the actual series a try because of the comic! And here was where I planned on writing you a message after a few episodes to thank you for getting me into a new series, but… I’m on episode one. I only watched the intro. Dude. IM ABSOLUTELY HOOKED. THE ANIMATION! THE STYLE! THE CHARACTERS! I’m so so excited to watch more (which I’m gonna do now!) but thank you so much for bringing this series to my attention!!!

ahaha welcome to the club!, now you can enjoy both comics!

@therivergirl ha chiesto: I remember back in the beggining of eclipse arc you mentioned that Mac feels insecure about his body being part of the reason he's hesitant to take of his clothes even in front of Wukong and it being part of the reason (aside from basic decency) that Wukong looked away. And now in this part Mac appears butt-naked to help Wukong out, adding yet another layer of vulnerability...gah! (Maybe I should finally watch LMK because I feel I would be doubly obsessed with this comic then...)

For Mac being exposed was the last of his issues considering that what he was seeing was Wukong at his lowest and most naked. Now excuse me while I cry.

@astro-lmk-enjoyer ha chiesto: You probably know Chang’E’s story from LMK, but did you know there is a second version of her story that I like better? In the second version Chang’E and her husband(I forgot his name), are getting used to living as mortals after being kicked out of heaven. But someone hears of the immortal elixir they have and try to steel it while Chang’E’s husband is out hunting. After getting beat up a bit she decides to drink the elixir so the robber couldn’t get it. But she instead went to the moon so she could be closer to her lover. Her husband dies because he’s still mortal, and Chang’E is left be herself. I have silly little headcanon the day MK and the others went to the moon was her and her husband’s anniversary 🙃 Bye <3

AH. OK.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Do you think that wukong and macaque act like cats?

as in they would purr? I moslty think Wukong wants to cuddle and stroke his head on Mac neck like a cat, while Mac is that one cat that sometime is annoyed when people touch him but eventually let them do it.

Anonimo ha chiesto: ✨Hear me out :3✨ MK can hear the past. He heard the fight of of prentice and held his eye like he was getting hurt by Wukong and not Macaque. So now picture this: MK has a vision again, his this time it is about how the monk used the circlet on him :3

AHAH. NOW HE CAN’T SEE TANG THE SAME WAY AGAIN. FUCK.

Anonimo ha chiesto: When I first found your comic in your TikTok account, I thought it was something very silly... How very VERY wrong I was.(As I get shot 57 times.) I hope you are taking very good care of yourself because when I downloaded Tumblr to keep myself updated to your comics(which was somewhere around 13-16 December probably) there are a LOT of panels. I enjoyed the newest and most recent parts of the shadowpeach bio parent au and can't wait for the next!!! Don't work yourself to the bone too much! Remember to take mental and physical breaks.

AGHDMHSMFYS THANK YOU!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Are there others who flirt with MK ? He looks good, is very powerful and has a sunshine personality. I bet there are others who are interested in him

I guess there haven’t been any for NOW.

Anonimo ha chiesto: After reading the post about swk's circlet, I srsly want him to look at mk and say "oh, hey we're matching!" ... "OH SHIT WHY ARE WE'RE MATCHING?!"

NOOOOOO!!

@delightfulcupquakequeen ha chiesto: Hey there!!! Been awhile sincenI've written an ask, just wanted to send love and being greatful that you are doig this amazing AU!!!! Appreciating ever pannel you make and gosh dammit hitting me right in the korokoro!!!! Keep being your fabulous self!!! Until next time!

THANK YOUUUUU

@l1br4rycrypt1d ha chiesto: Feel free to ignore this if it's spoilers for the comic, but are we gonna get to see the Gold Star of Venus? Just curious, since you reblogged the meme post that mentioned him during the takeover

There will be a small space for them as well, yes.

@kaothedemon ha chiesto: Fun fact, while I doubt Pigsy has all of Zhu Bajie's powers, his ancestor did have a kaiju form, which he could use if he ate a fuckton I'm sure it's not gonna appear in the story, but the idea of Heaven having to deal with 3 Kaiju dads (+ theoretically a sworn uncle) is extremely funny to me (picture courtesy of OSP's latest JTTW episode cause even when I read the book there weren't any illustrations of this)

I SAW THAT!! Man now they must add it to the show. Yeah I don't think he has ALL of Zhu Bajie's powers (I don't think he would ever want to have them) but it would be interesting if it was a high stake situation

@roseltelle ha chiesto: I think Macaque would actually enjoy working/ volunteering at the playhouse specifically doing shadow plays. But he does regular plays as well. His favorite days are when classes of children come in for field trips. Wukong often paints the backdrops, scenery, and other items for plays. They both enjoy their hobbies.

Awwwww yeah I think Macaque would totally love that.

@lmk4ever ha chiesto: Can you imagine Wukong just being out of it after he distracted the celestials for too long in his war form?

I think that as soon as he sees Macaque again he immediately switch back and become behaved again.

@peach-fury ha chiesto: I think I know the answer but theoretically... Who's war form/kajiu is stronger Wukongs or Macaque's and how would it go? I don't know it started as a thought. Now I can't stop laughing.

Wukong's is stronger.

blbllblblblll ha chiesto: do you know the pronunciation of xiaotian? ive been stuck on how to say his name for so long 😭

I know that the "Qi" is pronunced "Chi" and I think "xiao" is pronunced the same as you would read it, while I THINK the "t" in "tian" is more of a mix between a t and a c/k? I aint chinese and the way I pronounce things or read them is probably different from u cause I'm italian.

eerieqloss ha chiesto: Okay question, is Wukong's war form bigger/taller than MK's?

it's taller.

@elliboom ha chiesto: I was wondering, will Erlang Shen ever appear in the Shadowpeach parent series? (And questa domanda la scrivo in italiano giusto per levarmi un’altra curiosità in futuro, preferisci che le domande vengono scritte solo in inglese o vanno bene anche in italiano? So che non ci sono molti italiani ad essere fan di LMK e JTTW, posso capire la scelta di scriverli solo in inglese per rispetto e far capire ai altri fan, e generalmente per scrivere le domande uso google translate, perché faccio pena con la grammatica inglese, mi scuso se in futuro farò domande con qualche errore 🥲🥲)

Si apparirà. Manda pure in italiano shalla ahah.

[zosan-secondchances]

The Pirate King of the North: Part 26

Warning: Story contains One Piece spoilers, strong language and explicit content.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 (Special) | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27

Hiya! I'd like to thank my readers for getting this far. You inspire and motivate me to do my best with this little big fic. You're beautiful and awesome human beings! I've never been so driven to draw and write so much in my life.

I'm back to work after my little rest period recovering from surgery so my updates will slow down from here on but I'll aim to get a chapter done every 1-2 weeks.

Fish-Man Island x Straw Hat World will be the last chunk of adventure(s) of this book. I got a tonne more ideas so I'm considering a sequel or some one-off stories but we shall see!

I'm going to pull back on posting the texts in Tumblr as editing here is actually a bit of a pain and the block limits with my format are limiting.

Happy reading and enjoy your day/afternoon/night!

[yuan4i]

ANGEL EYES lyney x reader

SYNOPSIS you’re at a bar, drinking your heart out after another having a feud with your boyfriend of 2 years. you later stop at your friend’s house to stay the night but… the one who opens the door isn’t her but instead, her brother…?

STATUS 08/20/23, on hold/ongoing, slow updates

GENRE social media au, modern au, college au 

CONTENT WARNING best friend’s brother troupe, drinking, alcohol, unhealthy relationships, angst, suggestive scenes, implied afab reader (they/them prns reader's considered as a "girl"), written during patch 4.0/beginning of fontaine's release, messy timestamps, will add more later! (❀) = written chapters

TAGLIST closed! please let me know if you changed your username

CHARACTERS shit talkers | adoption center

ACT I - "LOOK INTO HIS ANGEL EYES"

01. wtf did i walk in on?? ❀ 02. matcha frog cookies 03. homewrecker 😼 04. who's the special lady 05. salty lips ❀ 06. turn him gay 07. 6reeze introductions 08. teach me 09. you planned this? 10. practice ❀ 11. i'll think about it ❀ 12. fuck it we ball 13. we won 14. so pretty 15. holding hands already?! ❀ 16. sparks fly 17. enchanted

ACT II - "ONE LOOK AND YOU'RE HYPNOTISED"

18. ft. kaedekazukas 19. therapist mode on ❀ 20. what's with you two 21. he's ?? here ??? again ?? 22. i'm so fking done 23. no u dont 24. unconditionally 25. comfort crowd 26. yn x lyney shippers 27. tba...

ACT III - "HE'LL TAKE YOUR HEART"

tba...

ACT IV - "AND YOU MUST PAY THE PRICE"

tba...

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©yuan4i 2023/2024. all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate any of my work without my consent.

[kbirbpods]

[Podfic Link] | Length: 66 hours, 20 minutes, 22 seconds

Original Work: Sansûkh by determamfidd

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Summary: 

The battle was over, and Thorin Oakenshield awoke, naked and shivering, in the Halls of his Ancestors. The novelty of being dead fades quickly, and watching over his companions soon fills him with grief and guilt. Oddly, a faint flicker of hope arises in the form of his youngest kinsman, a Dwarf of Durin's line with bright red hair. (Follows the story of the War of the Ring). (Bagginshield, Gimli/Legolas) In which recovery takes time, the dead members of the Company take to watching Gimli as though he’s a soap opera, the living struggle with being left behind, Legolas is confused, Khuzdul is abused, and Thorin is four feet and ten inches of guilt and anger.

Notes: The Dwelves of Gothlorien have done it! We are the first ever finished Sansûkh podfic and it was a labor of love for sure. I am so proud of this team and everything we achieved! Please consider giving it a listen, I know it's a beast of a podfic but if you love Sansûkh or Tolkien in general, I promise it's worth your time. There's 50 chapters and a holiday special included 💙

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 22

Hey guys!! We are back with the next chapter of the lovely fic! Just two more chapters to go! Can you believe it?

In this one we have two of my *favorite moments in this fic as Dustin and Mike get to have their own special days just like the others.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

~

Steve was kept busy over the next couple of weeks hauling the kids around to the connections Chrissy had set up for them. Max skating with Steve C., Will at the Children’s Museum, Erica and her horses, Ellie at a fashion show in Indy. Dustin and Mike were talking about the concert for weeks.

Steve had felt bad that Mike and Dustin hadn’t had their own experiences when he stumbled on the perfect solution.

He picked up Dustin from school.

Dustin slid into the front seat of Steve’s Sunbird. “Ma said you were planning to take me somewhere?”

“Yep!” Steve said, popping the P. “I found this thing in the newspaper today talking about it and I knew it would be right up your alley.”

Dustin cocked his head to the side, considering that. “But, I’m guessing that you’re not going to tell me. Just like you did with Lucas?”

“Ding, ding, ding!” Steve said brightly. “You win! Of course I’m not telling you jack, dude. It wouldn’t be much of surprise if I did.”

He crossed his arms and pouted. “Ma wouldn’t tell me anything either. Only that I would love it.”

“I honestly don’t know why you don’t like surprises,” Steve said, shaking his head as they hit the freeway. “As long they’re not jump scares or surprise parties, surprises are meant to be fun.”

Dustin slumped even further in the seat. “My dad was on his way to surprise me at school to take me out for ice cream because I had won some award in science and he had a heart attack. He didn’t even make it the hospital before he was gone.”

Steve pulled over to the shoulder and turned off the car. “I’m sorry, Dusty. I didn’t know that, but your mom should have. Do you really want me to tell where we’re going? Because I will.”

Dustin opened his mouth to answer but closed it with a frown as he really thought about it. “No. But I’m going to be grumpy about it anyway.”

Steve let out a small chuckle and got them back on the road.

Soon enough they were pulling into a large convention center with huge banner declaring it to The Aerospace and Exploration Expo with special guest speaker: Buzz Aldrin.

Dustin had stopped halfway out of the car to stare at the sign in wonder. He turned to Steve slowly as Steve got out of the car and slammed his door.

“Holy shit,” Dustin breathed. “Buzz Aldrin. Do you know who that is?”

Steve rolled his eyes as he walked around the car. “Do I know who one of the two men who landed on the moon is? No.”

Dustin rolled his eyes back at him. “Come on, everyone knows Neil Armstrong, but not everyone knows Buzz Aldrin.”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a huff. “Someone should ask Michael Collins how he feels about that.”

Dustin’s jaw dropped and then he hurried to catch up to Steve. “Holy shit! How did you know who that is?”

Steve just kept walking to the Will Call, not bothering to answer the question. He was old enough to remember watching the moon landing on the TV with his parents. Barely, but he did. It was his earliest memory; sitting on his mom’s lap as Neil Armstrong stepped onto the lunar surface. Every kid was fascinated by the whole thing and he was no exception.

“Welcome,” the teller said with that false cheer perfected by every teenage forced to work these types of jobs.

“Yeah, hi,” Steve said, putting on the charm. “I have two VIP tickets to the Expo. Under Harrington, Steve.”

She pulled it up on her computer. “Yes, I see it here. May I see your ID please?”

Steve handed over the ID and within moments, he had his ID and passes in hand. He handed one to Dustin.

“You ready for this?” he asked with the biggest smile on his face.

Dustin grinned back. “Hell yeah!”

They walked through the all the exhibits, stopped and talked to the different sellers, and even geeked out at the NASA booth. They tried space food and liked the ice cream, not so much anything else. But they had fun trying it.

Then it was time for the main event and because Steve had bought VIP tickets they were let in a half hour early so they were able to nab a couple of the best seats in the auditorium. Beside him, Dustin vibrated with excitement.

Then Buzz stepped out on that stage and the audience erupted into cheers. He waved at the crowd with a huge smile on his face.

The talk he gave was electric and exciting, filling both of their heads with new information. Dustin was shocked to learn that the earliest astronauts weren’t scientists, but test pilots. Jockies. Steve learned about the lucky vest the mission control commander had.

By the time they left the convention center both boys were talking a mile a minute about everything they saw. Dustin had even gotten an autograph from Buzz.

“Thanks for doing this for me,” Dustin said as they pulled up to his house. “You didn’t have to. I loved the private concert with Corroded Coffin. Like how many kids can say that they’ve been to one, you know?”

Steve smiled at him. “I know, but I wanted to do something special for you and Mike, too. Mike’s a little harder to find that moment for, you know?”

Dustin pursed his lips as he thought for a moment. “A day with Eddie. Just him and Eddie.”

Steve cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Like Mike really looks up to Eddie,” Dustin explained. “Why don’t they hang out for a day? Eddie can show him his guitars, how he writes his songs, taking him to all his favorite places in Hawkins. It’ll be like one of those contests where the person gets to spend the day with the band.”

Steve rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Would Mike want to hang out with the whole band or just Eddie do you think?”

Dustin’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit, dude. The whole band for sure. He would completely flip out.”

Steve grinned. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Dustin gave him a hug and gathered up all of his loot to go inside.

~

“Thanks for agreeing to this,” Steve said, standing really close to Eddie as they waited for Casey to come back with Steve’s car. “You didn’t have to.”

“Nah,” Eddie said with that dimpled grin. “You were right about Dustin and Mike needing to experience something fun on their own just like everyone else did. And this has got to be the easiest one.”

“Chrissy said that the guys are already at the studio waiting for you both,” Steve murmured, “so call her when you get there and she’ll send over food.”

Eddie tucked a loose hair behind Steve’s ear. “Roger that, little Canary. Are you sure you don’t want to come with?”

Steve shook his head. “I think he’s still bitter about me briefly dating his older sister before I realized I was gay. Like I was supposed to figure out that shit before I dated her or whatever. So I would rather this just be the band and him so he can’t say I was in the way or whatever.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie said softly. “But I’m still happy to do this for him, for you.”

Steve looked up at him through his lashes and his breath caught in his throat. Eddie was so close. Steve ran his tongue slowly over his lips to wet them, his mouth suddenly dry.

Then the roar of the Sunbird and its slowing to stop made them aware of their surroundings. Steve was forced to take a step back.

“I’ll see you soon,” he murmured. “When I get back with Mike.”

Eddie pursed his lips to hide the grin that was threatening to break free. “Yep!”

Steve got into his car and Casey leaned into the open window. “I’ll tell you what, Harrington. You ask Eddie out and I’ll ask out Abby. Deal?”

He stuck out his hand.

Steve looked back at the broad smile that had slipped through Eddie’s facade then back at Casey. He shook his hand. “Deal.”

Casey stepped back and tapped the hood of the car to say he was far enough out of the way. Steve pulled out of the parking lot leaving Casey standing across the driveway from Eddie.

Eddie crossed his arms and wagged his eyebrows. “Best get to it, big boy. Abby’s awaiting.”

Casey nodded once and as he walked past Eddie he slammed the ridiculous hat into Eddie’s chest.

“Hold that for me,” he said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Eddie burst out laughing.

~

Mike was sitting on his porch, his arms crossed over his chest when Steve rolled up to the Wheeler house.

“You do realize that your face is going to freeze that way some day, right?” he said, getting out of the car.

“My mom told me to get out of the house because I was bothering her.”

Steve walked up to him and leaned over so that they were eye to eye. “She wouldn’t tell you what we were doing today, huh?”

Mike nodded.

“Well,” Steve said a smile slowly drawing in on his face, “I’d tell ya, but then I’d hafta kill ya.”

Mike huffed, a small smile fighting its way to his lips. “Yeah, come on. Let’s get this over with.”

Steve burst out laughing. He shook his head and led the way to the car.

“I have to admit,” Mike said as he slid into the passenger seat, “this car is pretty sick, dude.”

“I miss my Bimmer,” Steve said as he pulled away from the curb, “but I can’t deny what an absolute beauty this car is.”

“Why?” Mike asked with a sneer. “They’re both rich people cars, what’s the difference?”

“Difference, Michael,” Steve said sarcastically, “is that I picked out the BMW. She was my first car and I chose her. All the features even down to the color of the seats. But I also realize that everyone in town knows that’s my car. Most people think I’ve left town because it hasn’t been seen in awhile. So I deal with it.”

Mike nodded appreciatively. “I can get that. This is something someone chose for you, while the Bimmer is something you chose for yourself.”

“Right in one.”

They pulled into an abandoned parking lot and Steve got out. When Mike didn’t he tapped on the roof.

“Come on,” he huffed. “Get out. You’re going to want to see this.”

Mike reluctantly got out of the car, just in time to see a sleek, black Jaguar XJS pull into the lot. It slid to a stop in the parking space in front of Steve’s Sunbird.

“Am I being kidnapped?” Mike asked, his eyes wide with worry.

“Only if he doesn’t return you to your mother before your bed time,” Steve said with a giggle and shake of his head.

Then out stepped Eddie Munson in tight leather pants, combat boots, and ripped Megadeath t-shirt under his black leather jacket.

“He’s all yours,” Steve told Eddie. “Karen said not too late, but that he doesn’t have a curfew.”

Mike stared at Eddie and then at Steve, mouth wide open. “What is happening right now?”

“Hey, Mikey!” Eddie said cheerfully. “You see, Steve got to thinkin’ that since you and Dusty didn’t get to have your own experiences like the rest of your friends, so he decided that he would do something special for each of you. Dusty got NASA and Buzz Aldrin, and you get a day with me and the Corroded Coffin boys.”

Mike pinched himself and then pulled out a piece of paper from his back pocket. “Nope. Not dreaming. Holy shit.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “What was with the paper? I know about the pinching to see if you’d wake up, but the paper is new.”

“According to Harry Houdini if you can read something clearly, you can’t be dreaming,” Mike explained with a half shrug. “Because in dreams the words are blurry and obscured.”

“Huh,” Eddie said. “Neat.”

“You two have fun!” Steve said with a grin.

Mike’s head whipped around so fast. “You aren’t coming with?”

Steve pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Nope. This is all you and the band. Don’t run them ragged too much. They’re old now.”

“Hey!” Eddie protested. “I’m not even thirty yet, asshole!”

He burst out laughing and then gave him a dorky little finger wave, before slipping back into the Sunbird.

Eddie rubbed his hands together gleefully. “You ready for this Mike Wheeler?”

Mike grinned back. “Hell yeah!”

~

Part 23 Part 24

*The part with Michael Collins and Mike getting kidnapped.

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @wheneverfeasible @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @themoonagainstmers @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt @just-a-tiny-void

8- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

9- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts @steddieislife

10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate @tartarusknight @genderless-spoon

[pinkpuppipawz]

᭨ ⃟⃜㊙️. THE ITADORIS’ ू✙˚💬 ̳͟͞͞. 📁💢

CHAPTER 1 : EYE-TO-EYE

★ — NEXT CHAPTER

LINK TO ᭨ ⃟⃜㊙️. THE ITADORIS’ ू✙˚💬 ̳͟͞͞. 📁💢 MASTERLIST

╰┈➤ summary; one friday afternoon, you come face-to-face with a man covered in tats. when at the counter, a small voice politely asks ‘papa’ for a cookie…

╰┈➤ includes; gn! barista! reader, single dad! sukuna, child! yuji, extreme fluff, sukuna is 28 (had yuji at 18), reader is early 20s’ so somewhat of an age gap

╰┈➤ a/n; consider this mini series as a 1k follower special! I’m so stoked I made it this far, tysm for all the support throughout the years <3

╰┈➤ taglist; @alluresenses, @ryomku, @slaysksmska, @vduxx, @yanelis-world, @cloudy51, @gangeyes, @khaleesihavilliard, @valen-yamyam16, @craxy-gezel @kunasexygf, @sukunamylovexoxo, @mazzd4 (if you wanna be added just hit me an ask :3)

THE GENTLE TINKLE of the bell alerted you of a new costumer, causing you to turn around away from the coffee machine ready to greet said customer with a smile and polite welcome, only for your body to stiffen in reflex.

the man that now stood in front of the counter had an eerie aura to him. he wore a black wife beater, the tight clothing highlighting the muscles that lay beneath the clothing, his arms covered in black tats, the muscles making the tats seem extra prominent. his grey sweatpants may be baggy, but you guessed that underneath lays muscular legs and thighs that could easily crush a watermelon-

snapping out of checking out the hot, dangerous looking stranger, you gave him a strained smile at him, hoping he couldn’t sense your nervousness. a small voice saying “papa, can I please have a cookie?” startled you. two little chubby hands cling to the counter, a mop of fluffy pink hair peeking at the variety of cookies on display.

“oi you brat! you’ve already had dessert at chosos’, I don’t need you bouncing off the damn walls when we get back,” the man grunted, arms crossing against his chest, which made his man tits more profound.

“hey, how about this; you can have a hot chocolate instead of a cookie?” you suggested, smiling at the cute little boy in front of you.

facing his father, yuji proceeded to plead him with the signature puppy dog eyes whilst a continuous chorus of pleases left his mouth.

sukuna sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before he mumbled out “one hot chocolate for the brat and black coffee for me,” causing yuji to throw a little celebration, squealing in delight and hugging sukunas’ slutty waist, literally jumping with joy.

the sight plastered a small, genuine smile onto your face, unbeknownst to you, causing a blush to form onto sukunas’ usually stoic face, heart pounding in his chest at this new feeling.

when they found a table to sit at, you began making their drinks. whilst brewing sukunas’ coffee you thought to yourself why only the father was out with his son, is the mother out of the picture? do they take turns with custody over the child? is he simply having some father son bonding time?

you choose not to pry over it, it’s none of your business anyways. it’s kind of comical seeing such a scary, dangerous looking guy with a cute little kid. you have to admit though, the kid’s cute, even though he’s just a carbon copy of the man, but cuter.

when finished with their drinks, you quickly carried them over to their table, noticing how yujis’ face seemed to brighten up at the sight of you carrying his sweet drink. you placed their drinks onto the table, yuji thanking you with all his might whilst sukuna mumbled a small ‘thanks’ in response.

“hiya! i’m yuji and this is my daddy sukuna!” the boy greeted before you left back to the counter. you decided to stay and talk to the kid a bit, since it was near closing time and no other customers seemed to be coming in.

“hi yuji, i’m (name), it’s nice to meet you,” you smiled, ruffling his hair, causing him to let out little giggles at the gesture. sukuna sat back idly watching you interact with his son.

‘mmm, they interact well with yuji. I haven’t had any luck with any partners, especially when they find out I’m a father. his mother was a piece of shit and didn’t even want yuji in the first place, she left me with the brat when he was born’ sukuna thought to himself, maybe he could try shooting his shot? earlier he did notice you eyeing him up and down like a piece of candy, so maybe you’re interested?

“oi brat! quit annoying them!” sukuna berated yuji, testing out the waters to check if you really did want to talk to yuji because you wanted to or if you felt obliged to.

“nonesense! he’s not annoying me, a cutie such as him could never annoy me. I love kids, they give me so much joy. your dad sure is a lucky guy to have you isn’t he?” you grinned, pinching his chubby cheeks in the process causing him to whine out in retaliation.

internally sukuna is smitten, he’s never seen anyone treat yuji with such love, other than choso. maybe you are the right one after all? the problem is, how can he ask you out without making a scene? (the scene being yuji making a huge fuss over him having a partner for the first time since his mum)

“do you have a pen by any chance?” the sudden sound of sukunas’ deep voice sent a small shiver down your spine. “yup, just give me a second sir” you curtly responded, rummaging through your breast pocket before grabbing a pen and giving it to the tatted man.

sukuna grabbed a napkin from the table and hastily scribbled down something before placing the pen back onto the table and practically chugging his coffee.

“brat you finished with your drink?” sukuna asked the little munchkin “noooo, need more time!” yuji cried out. you simply took his cup and placed the coffee into a take out coffee cup, giving it to him so he could drink it on the way back.

“thank you!” yuji bowed, before taking his dads’ way larger hand into his own tiny chubby one. you simply watched as they walked out of the shop, the gentle tinkle of the bell indicating that they’ve left.

you spotted the napkin sukuna wrote on, numbers scribbled along with a small ‘my number : if interested text me and we can go on a date’

you became flustered, feeling your heart flutter at the thought of seeing the attractive dilf once again. maybe you’d text him tomorrow, as you’re usually free on Saturdays as the shop closes earlier at 12:00.

you’re surprised that sukuna was interested, he didn’t show much interest during your interaction. he’s going to be a hard guy to read.

© content belongs to @huboi on tumblr, DO NOT REPOST ON ANY SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS WHATSOEVER

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 4 - you're here?

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

your first few weeks in new york had been a whirlwind of events, meeting a ton of new people who you now consider your best friends. sarah letting you into her life, taking you everywhere with her and showing you nothing but love.

you were yet to see rafe again, as city lights were still touring around america, and any thoughts you were having of him started to slip away realising it was unrealistic and the way he acted with you might just be him.

however they had a show in philadelphia tonight, so you kie and your new friend cleo (who you couldn't believe was part of your life now) were going to take a road trip to go see them perform tonight.

you were all at sarah's, getting ready to leave for the weekend trip, doing your hair and makeup as as soon as you'd get there the concert was going to begin.

"i can't believe this is one of their last stops on this tour" kie states.

"yea me neither, and the fact this is my first time seeing them? i wish pope was here as well. he misses jj so much" cleo replies.

"not our fault you're all booked and busy! little miss it couple" sarah giggles.

"whatever whatever" cleo laughs back. "just happy to have a weekend off to spend with my girls"

the bond you guys had all created in such a short time was something special, something you had never experienced at home. you had your close friends, you had cara, but nothing like this.

once you were all ready, you got into sarah's car and began the 2 hour drive to your hotel, excited for the weekend ahead.

after a fun drive filled with karaoke and laughter, you made it to the hotel with little time to spare to make it to the venue.

you piled out with your bags and made your way to your rooms, you sharing with sarah and kie with cleo.

in a rush of last minute touch ups and outfit changes, you made your short walk to the venue and came in through the back entrance, thanks to sarah.

the show was starting in 20 minutes, so you had just enough time to say hi to the boys and wish them luck.

sarah leading you to their dressing rooms, you knocked on the door and got welcomed by a smiling jj, bringing you all in for a big hug.

"cleo you made it!! i feel like i haven't seen you in forever. where's pope then?" he asked

"this was a girls only weekend jj come on" cleo smacked him playfully.

top popped his head round and said hello to you all, his glance lingering on to you for a little longer than usual, until rafe appeared and topper moved away, hiding his gaze.

"i didn't know you were coming tonight" rafe quizzed, aiming the question to just you.

"well here we are" you replied "wanted to surprise you" the eye contact between you too was intense, charged with unspoken emotion.

"well then i'll have to make tonight extra special" he grinned.

"ok.. anyway we better get to our seats. good luck tonight guys" sarah cut in.

"yea good luck! you're gonna smash it" kie chirped in.

"see you after?" jj questioned.

"of course bro we gotta catch up" cleo replied.

you all head out the door, turning around to say goodbye, rafe remained silent, his eyes never leaving you.

your heart was beating in anticipation for tonight, telling yourself it was because you were excited for the show, but knowing it was truly because of the way rafe was looking at you.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: sorry it took me so long to get this out😖 work got so busy and i had no time to write but here is chapter 4 finally!! it's a bit of a filler chapter but big things coming SOON

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19

reposts, comments and likes are so appreciated<3

[motherofagony]

A HEART FOR EATING // vol. 2

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: post outbreak!joel x f!reader setting: jackson, wy (think tlou pt. 2 minus the golfing) rating: mature, 18+, minors dni word count: 8.7k series summary: a vicious raider attack robs you of human connection and lights a fire of destruction in your life in jackson. joel's fixated on you, and your lives tangle. revenge becomes a needful thing. chapter summary: you take care of joel after a patrol injury, but you suspect there's more to it than he's telling you. the atmosphere shifts as you and joel grow (begrudgingly) closer. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), protective!joel, brief masturbation (f!reader), praise kink for two seconds, blood, bodily injuries, needles (reader gives joel stitches), dissociation/triggers, alcohol, angst, sexual tension intensifies, The First Kiss™, soft!joel vol. 1 // vol. 2 series playlist a/n: we're picking up speed, folks. world-building is my weakness, so i hope you enjoy this nonetheless. honorable mention goes to the readers in the trenches, waiting patiently for joel to [redacted] reader senseless until she [redacted] all over his [redacted]. thank you for the love on the series so far. taglist: @ghostwritesthings, @widowssbite, @p3rkerr, @eternallyvenus, @punkshort if anyone would like to be added/removed to the taglist (or if i missed anyone), please send me a DM!

You’ve always hated flying.

In the great before, the stone ages of family vacations and things to look forward to, fears were singular and planes were yours.

Your family never had a lot of money, not really, but on the special occasion of a death in the family, you’d find yourself trapped to a seat in a metal tube. Going nowhere but up. Sitting through safety instructions that came from smiling, lipsticked mouths that were only hypotheticals until they weren’t.

It’s like a rollercoaster, your dad would say, amused in the way only a dad can be and sleeping through damn near anything in the same fashion. It did nothing to calm the knocking of your knees, to quell the flip of your stomach as you climbed higher and higher until you couldn’t see anything but cotton ball clouds.

It was always unnatural to you that something so heavy could float, that you were supposed to go on doing human things and drinking your ginger ale and munching your pre-packaged snack option. As if you weren’t being hurled into the sky with no one walking you through it.

As if the plummet onto tarmac meant no harm, just completely normal erratic braking that felt a lot like the moments before a crash.

There was no control — it was in someone else’s hands that you never saw. And as you fell, you were supposed to say thank you, that’s exactly what I paid for.

This is your version of the oxygen mask. This is you putting yours on before you help Joel.

You’re on your knees digging through your med bag, thumbing through bandages, checking for a quick count of gloves, antibiotics, wash cloths. You fumble with the zipper, fighting with the tremor that starts in your forearms and liquifies into your wrists. There isn’t much in the way of supplies unless you ransack what’s kept in storage, but there’s no time, and you’re not sure of what you’re about to walk into.

Waiting any moment for a scream, or the blast of a gun when they realize Joel’s not Joel anymore.

And it isn’t really a big possibility in the grand scheme of things, if you consider that he would’ve likely turned on the route home. But it’s still there, tickling the back of your head, nudging your navel uncomfortably. Nothing’s impossible.

You of all people know that.

You linger in your living room, giving a final sweep. Worst case, you can run back for what’s forgotten, but something about the idea of abandoning a vulnerable Joel – if only for a minute – doesn’t settle right in your stomach.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving a bottle of whiskey into the bag, the only anesthetic on hand. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you need to score back some points.

The steps leading up to Joel’s house are sturdy, and you imagine it’s because of the pride he takes in what’s his. Before this, his house was just another skeleton of roof, foundation, windows, and siding.

The kind of houses you pass by every day that are rife with familiarity but you don’t know what it’s like to see the people inside eat dinner, brush their teeth. Fight. Fuck.

Fresh paint from only two seasons ago, reinforced porch posts. A swing. It’s weird to see permanence in this day and age, but his intention to anchor himself and grow roots here flutters meaningfully inside you.

It’s always been a sacred thing to you, you don’t know why. A place you’d never dreamed of entering, but dreamed about what it would smell like. A pair of boots haphazard by the front door, small piles of organized chaos, of collected tangibles. A you never know if you’ll need this in one corner, a saving that for a rainy day shelved in another.

So when you raise your hand to knock, you feel like an intruder, an unwelcome invasion of privacy. And you don’t know why you knock at all, you nearly think better of it given the circumstances, but you’re testing the atmosphere, hoping for voices inside instead of a struggle.

Ellie’s swinging the door open, relief smoothing out the lines in her forehead when she sees you. Her presence seems to answer any unspoken questions you had about Joel being infected, and you don’t voice them to her when you can see unrest in her antsy legs.

“Hey. Sorry for the wait. He alright?”

Her teeth are worrying her lip, probably more traumatized by the sight of him than anything. A few strands of hair have freed themselves from her lazy half-bun at the base of her neck, caught in the crossfire when she ran her hands through it, you think.

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes, committing to it. “Yeah, he’s okay. Bleeding stopped, nothing seems broken. Just needs stitches, I think.”

It sounds more to convince herself than anything else. There’s a foreign fragility to her, and you hate it.

“He tell you what happened?”

The question strikes a nerve. Ellie’s shaking her bowed head, scoffing in a half-laugh that doesn’t touch her eyes. Her hand wraps around her knuckles, cracking slowly in an effort to alleviate the tension that’s reached a fever pitch inside her.

“He won’t tell me, says it doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t have gone alone anyway, he was bein’ a dick. ‘I wanna think, kiddo - need t’clear my head,’” she mocks in a gruff, rolling pitch, the perfect dosage of Texas.

It levels you, potent. Are you the thing Joel needed to clear his head of?

You’re weirdly longing for it, but being flicked away like a bug, peeled away layer by layer from him isn’t something you want.

There’s hope that you’re contagious. That you’re haunting him and lurking in the darkest corners of his mind like an apparition like he has yours. And maybe there’s hope after all, something left to salvage.

But you play dumb, furrow your brow a little too expertly.

Ellie’s measuring you, and there’s a glimpse of worry but she hides it in a way that you wouldn’t know what you were looking for if you hadn’t already found it.

“Anything you wanna tell me about the other night? He was pissed when he left,” she tacks on quietly.

You go a little slack-jawed. You don’t even know how to put it into words, and you couldn’t tell her what it meant even if you tried.

What’s there to even say?

“You know what, none of my business,” she says, her hands lifting in tired surrender when you don’t answer, ignoring your near-sputter. “But you’re not off the hook, just make sure the old man doesn’t croak. And tell him he scared the shit outta me.”

You exhale and hope it doesn’t read too much as relief. You’ll have to answer to her later, but at least you might have an answer to give.

“Handful of salt in the wound, rub in circular motions – got it. Tell Tommy I’ll catch up later.”

Your shoulders scrape affectionately as you nudge past each other, and you cast a wide look at the periphery of Joel Miller’s house. The feeling of unwelcome disappears, and if anything, you’re being tugged further inside. Imagining what it’s like to be a fixture, an adornment in his weird little life.

Nooks that you assumed would be messy are neat, coiffed even. There’s that unavoidable smudge of secondhand all over the furniture – mottled ever so slightly, aged uneven in places that only an apocalypse can do. But it’s an otherwise tidy existence. Another surprise from Joel that you’d never pick up on if you only witnessed him nursing a drink at the bar.

An oak bookshelf props itself at the bottom of the stairs and it rivals your own, dust gathering in thin lines where he’s repeatedly shelved this, reread that. There are paintings hung decisively on most of the walls, breathtaking rural landscapes of wherever.

You’re lugging the bag upstairs, counting your breaths with each step. The whiskey rattles mutely against the first aid tin, and it’s a toss-up now of who you really brought it for.

The landing mirrors the ground level, a purposeful littering of tchotchkes. Doors line the second floor, some closed, some ajar but not inviting, and you realize you have no idea which one you’re looking for. You sway uninvited by the bannister until you hear the unmistakable hiss of breath between clenched teeth, then a soft moan as his weight shifts.

And you’re stepping inside a room – his bedroom – warmed in the soft beginnings of sunset. Joel’s sprawled asymmetrically on his bed, eyes pinched shut, delirious with blood loss but already looking substantially less like a corpse. A damp rag settles just above his brow, and the handiwork of Ellie.

There’s an unrecognizable hurt in him, wounded in ways that he shouldn’t be capable of.

He doesn’t give any indication that he knows you’re here until he’s rasping out something weak disguised as stern.

“I ain’t bit. Shut the door behind you.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“How did you –?”

Joel just huffs in response, as indignant as his body lets him be.

“You see anyone else here? They might as well’ve jumped out the window, as fast as they dumped me ‘n left. I ain’t stupid.”

You accept that and drop the pretense, pursing your lips with a nod. He doesn’t seem that offended, knows it’s just the nature of the beast.

You move over to his bedside, unpacking the bag quickly on a side table, looping your metaphorical stethoscope around your neck and switching gears into a mode that’s strictly doctoral.

Yet, there’s still that hum beneath your skin, the fizzle of unfinished business. It’s thick in the space between you, in the way he flicks his gaze at you lazily. You’ll let him foster the anger, giving it a home. You can be the martyr he says you are.

This new lens feels calmer, almost professional. Your nerves are still firing rapidly, and your composure is forced, but it’s better than nothing.

You drag a chair from the corner up to Joel’s bed, not letting your eyes wander too far into the depths of the space. You don’t have time to dissect the idiosyncrasies of his life. Not yet.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes, but you get the sense that he’s tracking your every move. His limbs are concrete, the tendons in his forearms so tense and coiled like any and every movement is forbidden.

“Joel.”

He grunts, a pained translation. Still no effort to move.

“I need to take a look at you,” you say patiently, bargaining like you would with a kid. “Wanna tell me what hurts?”

Another grunt, softer this time. He motions vaguely, weakly to his head, then the left flank of his abdomen.

You already know what you’ll find under the rag on his head, and it bodes well that the bleeding looks to have stopped. His stomach wound, on the other hand, was enough to bleed through two layers.

“Alright. Lemme see.”

A muted whimper echoes in his throat, so uncharacteristically that it tugs on your heart. Still statuesque, unmoving.

Your fingers are deft, careful as they unbutton the first, second, third buttons of his flannel. Joel’s stock-still, and his breath comes in sharp, slow waves through his nose. Your own breath kind of sits in the back of your throat, and you pretend with a hurried exhale that you weren’t just holding it.

Your fingers reach his navel on the last button, and you’re gently tucking each panel of his shirt under him on either side, focusing too hard on not touching him. It feels like something is somersaulting low in your stomach.

You can’t even dare yourself to look at his chest, his stomach. The patch of hair leading down to the band of his pants.

Get it together. That’s not what this is.

An angry gash looks up at you, thankfully clotted with dried patches of blood. It’s about two delicate fingers long, a nasty slice. It looks clean, abrupt in shape but suspiciously manmade. Not too deep, but not superficial enough to heal without some assistance.

And thank god, not nearly as bad as you thought it would be.

Joel’s looking at you now through heavy lids, wary of you, but something like fear touches the corners of his eyes. You fight to stay medical, methodical in your diagnosis. No emotion slips out, nothing allowed in.

You sit back calmly, letting loose a sigh. Not letting yourself bathe in the intimacy of the moment, in the way he’s staring.

“You need stitches,” you announce simply.

“Like hell.”

“Joel.”

He’s scowling, a hurt animal pissed at its own vulnerability. Silence passes like a ship between you, and for a moment, you think he’ll really fight you on this. He can’t hide anything when he’s like this, the weighing of his options evident in the tick of his jaw, the pathetic pinch just in the center of his brows.

“Fine,” he grits out. “Make it quick.”

This fucker.

You’re rolling your eyes, unceremoniously tugging the rag from his forehead. The cloth is red but not soaked, just twinged pink around the edges. Joel curses, just an octave above unintelligible.

His hand is shooting to the cut near his hairline and you’re smacking it away before he can pollute it.

“Lay still, fuck’s sake,” you chastise. “An infection’ll put you out longer than a few days. Unless you have a puzzle you been meaning to get around to?”

The faux-threat calms him immediately, and the shift in restraint doesn’t go unchecked. He doesn’t say another word, but you catch a glare and a twitch of his mouth.

You make quick work of cleaning him up, squeezing rubbing alcohol on a clean towel and scrubbing patient circles through the mess of dried blood. Joel releases sharp noises you can only describe as growls when you get too close to the border of his cuts.

It’s primal, a dog asserting dominance with his leg caught in a trap.

You try to lose the attitude, and it’s difficult when your patient hates you, doesn’t hate you, won’t clarify either way.

There’s a hint of purple that’s developing like fresh film on the mountains of his knuckles that doesn’t go unnoticed. Places on the most taut peaks of flesh where his skin has split, marred with scrapes that look like indents of teeth. And in the right light, there’s a discoloration of something in the same family splayed on his ribs.

And that… you know that when you see it. Even if everything else can be explained away.

“You wanna talk about it?” you say quietly.

There’s an intermission where he doesn’t respond. Too long to be the truth, too short to come up with a lie. And you know he’s been waiting for this question, might’ve already thought of a story.

“Got clumsy,” Joel recites. “Tripped on some stairs that were caving in, hit my head.”

“Bullshit.” And it’s a statement, not an insult. It doesn’t cover why he has a certified stab wound in his side.

Another stretch of silence, lack of defensiveness, makes it clear that he knows you know. But he doesn’t elaborate, and for whatever reason, you don’t push it.

And maybe it’s enough to acknowledge this sort of thing for now. You can stow it away, let it keep you up at night. Draw parallels where there possibly aren’t any. If he’d run into a human thing, he’d be much worse off, right?

Just like you were.

You take care in lining up the supplies to stitch in neat order beside you, mulling over each step in your mind. Stalling, maybe.

You pull the whiskey bottle out of your bag by the neck and nudge Joel with the cap.

“Something to take the edge off.”

He kind of hesitates, but there’s a tenderness. Recognizing it as an act of mercy, a peace offering.

There’s nothing said, but he takes the bait, spinning off the top and swallowing a messy mouthful. A drip escapes through the corner of his mouth and slips into his beard.

You can feel the taste of it blossoming on your tongue.

He grunts his thanks and keeps a steady grip on the neck of the bottle, and the network of veins in his forearm unwind.

You clamp the needle, laced through with something thicker than thread but not quite medical grade. Joel exhales a shaky whine when you pierce the skin, and his fist grips the sheets when you twist clockwise to push the needle through to the other side.

“You’re doing great,” you murmur.

The needle weaves over the cut, greeting the other side. You pull it through and up, and his lower lip trembles, sweat beading his forehead.

“First one done,” you say, praising him but also yourself.

Joel’s still clenching the linens on the bed, ignoring you and hiding out in his own mind somewhere.

You don’t tell him that you’ve only ever practiced on fruit, that your suture knowledge comes exclusively from the one medical text you have and endless hours of TV you grew up on.

Silence envelopes you again, heavier than before if possible. The pressure waxes and wanes like nighttime waves, licking the shore between you. And it’s not angry, just something… else.

“Some house you got,” you note casually as a distraction, like you’re commenting on the weather. It comes off relaxed enough, though any conversation between you feels like flossing a crowded mouth.

His eyes sharpen, and you think it’s in excruciation, but there’s a twinge of apprehension. You straighten for a moment, hands fixed mid-stitch, and roll your eyes.

“Okay, cool it, Home Alone, I’m not casing the place.”

Joel takes a turn rolling his eyes. You swear that you see his mouth twitch again, but you hang your head, dabbing a cloth where pinpricks of blood form.

You try again.

“I like your paintings.”

You dare to look up, and his mouth is in a tight line.

“You like my paintings.” he repeats dully, not a question. Joel’s as cynical as you, and he thinks it’s a jab, not sincere.

“You’re not gonna make this easy on me, are you?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it.”

Now’s as good a time as any. You sigh at that.

“Look, the other night wasn’t my finest moment. It didn’t need to go that way,” you mutter, leaning on the concentration of sewing up Joel’s skin. Otherwise, you might feel too strongly, dissect your word choice with an uncomfortable linger. “Sorry. I know you were trying to help.”

He goes rigid as your second stitch meets a third. The bottle tips to his lips again, and you wonder if it’s an act of liquid courage. You boldly hope so.

“Nah, I shoulda kept my mouth shut. Been thinkin’ I needed to apologize anyway,” he admits, and you know he’s happy you made the first move. You can already feel him loosen, but maybe it’s the alcohol. “You ain’t a martyr, y’know.”

Oh.

The needle hooks into the final sliver of skin, your handiwork tightening into a neat line. You sit back, wiping your brow with the ungloved section of your wrist. It’s a treaty, a handshake at the very least.

“Actually, I think you hit the nail on the head with that one,” you smirk, olive branch fully hanging between your teeth now. “Keeping up the charade is so exhausting.”

Joel presses out a pained half-laugh, and you feel something crumbling between you.

You tie off the last stitch, trimming the excess thread off the knot. The clamp clatters into the tray, and you give it a final once-over before peeling a large rectangle of bandage from your kit and pressing it gently over the wound.

“All done,” you quip, peeling your gloves off. “Didn’t even have to amputate.”

“Not too bad,” he grunts.

“I’ll add it to your tab.”

While you’re riding the high of approval, you stand and move to the foot of the bed. Joel’s boots are still on, laced messily.

And for some reason, you don’t even ask permission, you just start untying, tipping them off and lining them next to one another on the hardwood.

He doesn’t say a word. Out of confusion, maybe.

You scoot your chair and makeshift flatlay along with you, positioning yourself at Joel’s head. That look is back, a side-stare that steals your breath.

That look that knows you could absolutely ruin him, and he’d either thank you or kill you.

The pads of your fingers brush back the hair from his forehead, still slightly matted with blood. It’s a surface cut, but crescent-shaped and easily hidden by a curl of brown, peppered with grey. Butterfly closure it is.

No signs of a concussion show themselves. At least there’s that.

“You might have a scar,” you murmur. Being this close to Joel makes you feel like you’re wearing two layers too many.

And he hasn’t broken the stare, not even minutely.

“Add it to the collection,” he says lowly, not an ounce of self-pity.

Your eyes flash to the scar near his temple. You’re exercising full-on restraint not to ask him about it. But it’s not the time, something you could try to pry out of him later. And knowing there’ll be a later makes you relax your shoulders, unclench your jaw.

He’s nice enough to pretend not to notice, or he’s in too much pain to mention it.

You dab the damp rag around the border of his cut again, mopping up any excess. You reach for the isopropyl.

“You might wanna take another swig,” you warn. And he obeys, down the hatch and white-knuckling through it.

“Good boy,” you’re murmuring automatically, and it just slips out.

Your mouth falls open just so, and Joel’s coughing, clearing his throat against the burn of whiskey. You’re pleading with the universe that his cough was close enough, loud enough to cover the words, but his face has turned a shade of red that’s probably rivaling the heat that reaches your ears.

Good boy? Jesus Christ.

If there was ever a heightened moment of being fucking touch-starved, it’s this.

You make haste with the disinfectant and place the closures over the cut. The bloodied towels and scraps from the DIY surgery are cleaned up, tied neatly into a plastic bag. And now, this is the part where you run and never face him again.

You’re already making plans to board up your windows, maybe have Ellie deliver your meals solely through a slot in the door.

But Joel’s pain is overriding everything, and he’s sunken even further back into the pillow, his head lolling to prop on his shoulder. He’s whispering a weak thanks that’s incoherent at best. You tug the blanket up and over him.

You grab a glass from downstairs, fill it to the brim with water and bring it to him. He groans at the sight, petulant.

“I’m not leaving until you finish this.”

His lifts his arm for it, scowling. “Gimme the damn thing.”

Satisfied, you hand it over and watch him drink it down, his throat bobbing in a hearty gulp. Your gaze can’t help but snag on it.

You have got to get the fuck out of here.

You come back with a refilled glass and sit it on his bedside table, close enough within reach. The medical bag is packed up and ready, sagging slightly in areas where you’ve emptied it. It knocks against your already-knocking knees, and you’re grateful to use its weight as an excuse for how blurred you feel.

“I need to talk to Tommy. You gonna be alright for a bit?”

His eyes are closed again, on the outskirts of rest, but his mouth pulls up in the ghost of smile.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere, sweetheart.”

And you hope he means it.

—

You track down an unsettled Tommy, finding him pacing in the back of the general store. He’s restocking some shelves but not quite – there’s an gross pairing of tinned fish and fresh eggs sitting on a display that’s unappetizing at best.

“He’s okay. No bite,” you add lowly, acutely aware of how many pairs of ears are in the store. “But he needs to be monitored.”

Tommy slackens, rubbing his eyes that are full of exhaustion and bruised with worry. Index finger and thumb stroking the respective tails of his mustache one, two, three times as the gravity of that strikes him.

He loops you into an embrace, and it’s kind, full of ease. The smell of firewood and smoke tickles your nose. His worry evaporates then, and honestly, so does yours.

“He doin’ alright?”

You chew on that for a moment and nod. There are complications, but nothing to do with Joel’s health.

“He was pissed about the stitches, but I didn’t have a choice. Cut was pretty deep.”

“So… he tell you what happened, then?”

There’s that question again. You feel like you should have an answer, but if he wouldn’t clue in Ellie, you sure as hell wouldn’t be.

Like squeezing blood from a stone, your dad used to say.

“No,” you lie instinctively. You don’t know why.

But it isn’t really. Not if you don’t know the full truth yourself. There’s just something about Joel’s omission that makes you feel entitled to find out first.

“He said he fell down some stairs,” you amend, “just didn’t say where or how.”

Tommy offers you the same look that Ellie gave you – a raised brow coupled with a touch of disbelief.

“If you say so.”

You shrug, playing it as cool as’ll come natural to you. “You know Joel. Doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

He chuckles, shaking his head and rolling out his shoulders that you know have been holding tension. He believes that, at least.

“Sounds like you know him, too.”

—

A few days come and go.

Ellie takes on a lot of the recovery, but she doesn’t like messing with stitches — creeps me the fuck out that you did that without puking all over him, she claims — and she’s eager to substitute for the patrol routes while Joel’s down and out. You offer to step in, with a totally normal and selfless motive.

If she thinks anything else of it, you’d be the last to know.

Your new itinerary consists of changing Joel’s bandages, cleaning up through his hissed breaths and every goddamn it. Twice a day, morning and night and sometimes in closer intervals, but never approaching the cusp of any boundary.

Joel’s fiercely independent, swatting your hands when you try to help. Donning a clean flannel in the space between your lunchtime visit and your nightcap, despite you telling him that he shouldn’t be pushing his mobility.

That said, he’s marginally better about following doctor’s orders, drinking the water you leave on his nightstand but neglecting the pills that would stop him from coiling in on himself like a ready spring. And he doesn’t say it but you know it’s because he thinks it’d be a waste.

You trade regular formalities at first, each of you standing behind your respective walls, daring the other to toe a bit closer.

Joel doesn’t ask, but you bring him some short stories to pass the time and he devours them. You didn’t think much of it other than just straying past the point of being nice, but your heart sings a bit at how he leaves his shell at your coaxing.

You learn Bradbury is his favorite, but when he finishes The Most Dangerous Game, it’s the most he’s ever spoken to you in one sitting, astounded at the perfectly tied bow of an ending, asking you questions that only the author could answer. But it’s a marvel to witness, something you think about when you’re cleaning stables or washing dishes.

He’s unraveling for you, a loose thread tugged too hard on your favorite sweater. He talks of the places in the paintings, sometimes abruptly, like he isn’t sure what his cue is or if he has one.

Mentions of pre-Jackson when there was so much uncertainty and isolation, but it was coupled with those types of watercolor skies that you couldn’t paint if you tried.

These little pieces of him that make him whole – it’s like you’re both in on the same secret. And Joel isn’t doing it to lighten the tension, to be nice; that isn’t his brand of politeness. He just revels in the holy act of confession with you as his witness.

You come to learn that his room is modest, different from the rest of his house. Clues of hobbies sprawled on his desk – leatherworking tools and hand drawn blueprints that you can’t get a good look at with just a sidelong glance.

There’s a dusty stereo tucked at the back towards the wall, and you picture a content Joel, sketching new plans for a porch swing or some small addition while old bluesy country croons from the speakers.

You like this daydream, placing him in something lighthearted where his only worry is that he’s losing daylight on yardwork.

The two of you talk about little bits of everything and nothing. Reminiscing about sending snail mail, discussing what you think places like Italy look like now. How close you came to crossing an ocean in another life.

Tonight, you have a night terror that clings to you like wet denim. Stop-motion, nonsensical. Your head ricocheting into concrete, hitting your temple just so. Flashes of the people that used to be your parents, your friends.

And just as the life drains from you, blood seeping onto the floor and into spidering cracks, you wake up a flailing mess.

You practice your routine, twisting on knobs of lamps and plugging in the twinkling lights hanging around the perimeter of the living room. You press your cheek to the floor, checking under your bed for monsters for good measure.

Bleary-eyed, you’re climbing back under the covers, pulling them snug up to your chin.

There’s a neediness crawling its way through your organs with a one-way ticket south. The juxtaposition of fear mingles with an otherness, and it anchors itself to Joel.

You never cared for a protector, still don’t, but the eagerness that sprouts from him to defend your honor — and for nothing in return — magnetizes you on a cellular level.

Your fingers are dipping into the band of your already-damp underwear, taking inventory of what the thought of him does to you. Body on auto-pilot. A pool of dripping neediness, so slick that you’re coating your clit in excess and rubbing in tight circles.

He doesn’t even have to touch you, and it’s pathetic.

Images of Joel’s beard scratching your thighs swirls behind your eyelids, your hand gliding between the glistening of your folds. Fingers crook inside you, dipping into the last knuckle, and you’re choking on a gasp, already on the edge.

You wish they were more calloused, thicker, with length that can hit the spot that’s desperately out of reach.

You wish they were Joel’s.

It takes only a minute, some curling and pumping of your wrist to make it quick in case it’ll only ever be a fantasy. The wet noises of your arousal are nothing short of obscene, and you’re coming loudly, sharply on a string of moans.

In some ways, you think, you have already died.

And fuck. It’s so poetic it makes you sick.

—

On the fourth day, Maria sends you to Joel’s with some stew — two hearty containers that're meant for the both of you.

She’s been taking her shift at his place, carrying over containers of this and that to keep him fed. You wonder how often she takes on that role anyway, sans injury. You don’t peg Joel as the type to eat three square meals a day of his own accord.

Tell Joel I can’t make it tonight. Gotta do inventory.

She makes no room for elaboration, so you don’t ask. But you thank her with a hug, and you could swear that she’s giving you a conspiratorial smirk.

When you knock on Joel’s bedroom, he gives a new, warm invitation, coated in subtle hospitality. It’s a far stretch from the unaffected what? you might’ve received a week ago.

You place the stew down on the bedside table, along with some bowls and spoons you plucked from his kitchen. He just looks up at you from his bed, uncertainty reaching the lines of his forehead.

“It’s all Maria,” you explain and he hums, catching up.

“Explains a lot,” he mutters.

You eat quietly for a little over ten minutes. Joel’s flannel today boasts a rich navy, buttoned up to the top but not far enough to hide the sprinkling of hair that peeks through.

He catches you staring and pins you with a dark glance.

“You afraid of the dark or somethin’?”

Joel’s ask cuts through the air, and your spoon stops mid-route to your open mouth. It’s so out of the blue that it stuns you momentarily.

“Sorry?”

“You turn the lights on at night.”

What you thought to be private moments of fear were actually on display for all to see.

For Joel to see.

And the memory of your thighs trapping your hand as you came over and over again on your fingers… you’re grateful to at least have had some decorum to draw your bedroom curtains.

“Um.” You dig for a way to say nope, I’m actually just a pussy and I see things that aren’t there. Also, I was touching myself thinking about you last night. “No, just nightmares.”

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s searing. A bead of sweat makes a slow descent down your spine to your tailbone. You laugh lightly to deflect.

Joel’s mouth thins into a tight line.

“It’s nothing,” you promise.

“Ain’t nothin’,” he snaps. His brows are knitted in fury, misdirected. But you get it.

Your stomach is rumbling, but you’ve effectively lost whatever appetite you had. The bowl finds a space on the side table, and you’re pulling your knees to your chest protectively, thumbing at the fray on the cuff of your jeans.

You don’t mean to scowl, but you can’t help it. You can’t even meet his eyes.

Joel’s sighing, his own bowl discarded on the nightstand, grazing the lip of yours.

“Look, it’s not my business,” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “but that kinda shit worries me.”

When you do look up, he’s rubbing his beard with rigid fingers. You should feel nice and fuzzy that he cares enough to point it out, but it’s just embarrassment instead.

That, on top of everything else, you can’t even get through the night without waking up in a cold sweat.

“I know how it looks,” you say in surrender, “but I swear I’m fine.”

You can imagine what it would feel like to really mean it; it’s just on the tip of your tongue. There is a defiance there, it’s just struggling to find a way out.

“You sure about that?”

You let your feet touch the floor, straightening out your legs and busying yourself with smoothing the creases in your pants.

“You worry about everyone else like this?” you muse, hoping to redirect.

Joel’s scratching the back of his neck, eyes fixed anywhere else.

“Always worried about you.”

If you were any farther away, you wouldn’t have heard him.

Outside, kids are yelling, playing tag. You watch in jealousy, can almost hear the crunch of their boots and their tiny, inconsequential conversations. It takes you longer than intended to give a response, and he waits, patiently. Just trickles a look from the crown of your head to your hands to your face. Searching for a reaction.

“You’re about ten months late, Miller.” And you’re smiling briefly. You mean it as playful, but it’s colored with sadness.

His eyes glaze, and the wheels are turning, wondering if that also means too late.

“Didn’t want you to think I was takin’ advantage of the situation. And I thought Max —” Joel bites down on the name.

“Fuck Max,” you spit in disgust. “That was never a thing.”

You don’t have to make eye contact to see that he’s pleased by that. He hums in the back of his throat. Resists a shit-eating grin. From the looks of Joel connecting the dots, you don’t need say much else.

“Yeah, well. We all failed you,” he insists. “I failed you.”

It sets an incredulous spark in some hidden part of you. Nails cut into your palm, your fists balling harshly. Everyone else? Sure, you’d give him that. Jackson spit you out, with the exception of a select few.

But Joel?

“You saved me.”

“Not good enough,” he says under his breath.

—

The next day, you let yourself inside, already learning the language of Joel’s house when you press a little extra weight against the door to seal it shut when it sticks.

It’s quiet, on the cusp of 8, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Joel’s on the brink of sleep.

The sun’s long settled over the mountain, so there’s not much in the way of guidance.

It’s dark, but you expected it to be. You draw the curtains one by one, moving blindly from room to room yet knowing exactly where your feet are. It strikes you as odd, a visitor keeping pace with an unfamiliar house.

But if Joel’s anything, it’s predictable. Unfussy in the way he keeps out of the way, even in his own space. Takes pride in it, sure, but lives in a way that demands nothing but cherishes everything, even the absence of something.

Meaning there’s nothing too unexpected, too risky in its placement. He doesn’t take up too much room in the event that it’s gone tomorrow.

When your hands fumble for the switch of the living room lamp, the bulb springs to life and bathes a wary Joel in light. Sitting on the couch, slouched with residual soreness, but waiting.

For you.

“Jesus, fuck — what the fuck, Joel —”

“You’re late.”

“— sitting in the fucking dark like a lunatic —”

He puts a hand up to stop you, as if to press your mute button.

“I didn’t fall down any stairs.”

Your hands have risen to your chest in the shock of him there, and you’re gripping your shirt in the way he had almost a week ago. You don’t miss that little detail, so much so that you struggle to piece together what he’s saying.

It punches you abnormal; you kept so busy with leaving the subject alone that it slipped your mind that he lied.

“Sit down.”

You’re obedient and you don’t know why. You find a seat across from him, pulling up a stool that’s meant for feet, not your ass. Something crackles beside you, and the embers of a dying fire glow and warm to the left of you.

Your leg crosses over your knee, creating a 45-degree angle that you rest your elbows on. “Yeah, I gathered as much, thanks. You’re a terrible liar.”

Joel’s just eyeing you. And it’s not in a way that sizes you up, more of a calculation of what to say next. What to give away. There’s a beat of this, then another, then another.

“I thought ‘bed rest’ was pretty self-explanatory.”

You’re growing impatient, filling the room just to do it. You both know what happened, and maybe that’s what’s needling at you. That you’re the one person who’d understand the most, but the one person he doesn’t want to know.

It feels wretched and seething, knowing something but not enough.

“I’m gonna need you to cut to the part where you tell me what happened, Joel.”

At that, Joel drags in a breath and leans deeper into the couch. His gaze has moved to somewhere far off, burning into the drawn curtains like he can see outside, can see directly into the window of your kitchen. And with sudden clarity, you realize that he could — it’s a clean diagonal stare.

Are you afraid of the dark?

How many times has he sat in this very spot, taking in the show, watching you make tea, watching you read, watching you stutter and shake with sobs? Witnessing the onslaught of a nightmare?

Touching yourself? Watching you undress?

You aren’t the voyeuristic type, just uncaring to the point of defenseless. But Joel keeping an eye on you in this way is the coup de grâce that does you in. There’s no question now of whether he cares.

“I took Mountain View, headed for the outpost. Not much up that way lately, maybe one or two infected every once ‘n a while,” he says, and it’s unsettling that he’s talking in a way that could be to anyone or no one at all. “Thought I’d stop at the pharmacy on the way up, check that off, too. ‘Cept I wasn’t the only one with that idea.”

He pauses only to crack his knuckles for effect. Fingertips splay on his spread knees, and what seemed so fragile earlier, watercolors of bruises stretching from ligament to tendon, seems threatening now.

“One was lootin’ in the back, didn’t hear me come in. I thought he mighta been alone ‘til his friend followed me in,” he pauses, lost in thought. “Got into it with him.”

As if on cue, the gory split-skin of his hands flexes. Offensive wounds.

You were right, but you wish you weren’t.

“His friend came up from the back, ‘n they took turns for a minute. Long enough for me to get a good look. I ended up takin’ out the shorter one, other one was gone before I could get up.”

Joel doesn’t lift his head, just his eyes. The skin around them crinkles in sinister shapes, lids disappeared, lashes nearly touching brow. You know it’s not anger directed at you, but it’s shrinking you back down into an armchair, your fingers digging and clawing at the fabric without recognizing it.

“Know what’s funny about that?”

You don’t think you can answer with the desert that runs through your mouth. And whatever it is, it’s anything but.

“Not a lot of activity along the outposts this way, unless it’s infected. Everyone else comes straight through to Jackson. The logs say we’ve only run into two groups of raiders in the last five years along the patrol route,” another pause for emphasis. “And one of them was ten months ago.”

Something catches in your chest.

And then there’s a dam that breaks, pure relief. Relief that Joel’s seen the thing you’ve been pointing and screaming at while everyone else shrugs their shoulders and squints.

Then — panic.

Ice sneaks into your veins. The tips of your fingers run numb. It strikes you that you’re standing, that the foot stool is tipped on its side.

He doesn’t move, but there’s a contained rage in his eyes and his voice. A temper bubbling now that you’ve confirmed what he suspected.

“He have any tattoos?” Joel asks roughly.

There’s a flash of stars, hand-poked, bordering on downright sloppy.

“Who?” You say dumbly, but it’s obvious what he’s referring to. He’s seen it, too, and he’s seen it this week.

“You know who.”

You do.

You could draw it from memory if he asked.

Your weight becomes too much for your legs, and you collapse back down, this time into a chair that supports your amoeba-like state as everything in you turns to jelly.

“They’re getting closer. We were in Teton, so if they made it this far —” you jumble out, not sure if it’s just meaningless vomit to his ears. By his solemn nod, it isn’t.

He’s up and out of his seat with a wince that’s not as severe as before, his eyes careful on you, on your hands that you’re gripping together tightly to keep them still.

The isolation of his side is evident in the way he closes the space between you, but he masks the grimace as best he can. There’s a reprimand in you somewhere that he should be resting, lying down at least, but you know it’s pointless.

“Hey.”

He’s kneeling as much as his flank will allow, a pain in his eyes that isn’t for himself. Those fingertips scale the cliff of your jaw, ghosting as if he’s afraid to overstep. They’re prodding you to meet his eyes, and when you do, he drops his hand like he’s been burned.

It connects fiercely to a memory that you try to hold in your hands. A snowy, reminiscent one that slips through like a ribbon of smoke.

“Ain’t gotta worry about him. I’ll take care of it.”

You laugh, a real one that’s stained with sarcasm.

“What does that mean?”

Joel softens now, and the shift startles you. He thinks for a beat before answering.

“Whatever you need it to mean.”

It feels incomprehensible that anyone would willingly put themselves in danger for you, even adjacently, but then who noticed you were missing that day? Who led the pack, found you bleeding out?

The weather was violent, incoherent — a lost cause, a needle in the proverbial haystack. He already toed the line of a dangerous, potentially fruitless rescue mission.

And you never even thanked him.

“Why?” You ask it for the second time in as much as a week. It’s disjointed in conversation, but he knows that you need this answer.

“You remember how you were before?”

And for a split-second, you try.

There are glimpses, a rickety reel of kids tugging on your pant leg as they beg you to join them during recess, a glittering spray of laughter with Ellie as empty beer cans and discarded guitars litter her living room floor.

Of your friends’ faces on too many relaxed, sunny patrols, sometimes forcing them into a detour into the abandoned record store through Alpine so you can see what’s left.

Dinner in warm houses like Tommy and Maria’s, so full to the brim of love and potatoes and mead that you stumble on down to your house with cheeks burning and tuck yourself in with all of the lights off.

Visions of Joel that are fleeting, taped in frames on a film strip, but friendly exchanges.

But it’s a faceless narration. The accident wiped clean of any room for interpretation. Any visitation with these memories. You can place yourself in them, but can’t for the life of you feel tethered to her.

Frustrated, eyes watering, you shake your head.

“That’s why.”

Now he’s holding your jaw like he would some fragile thing, slotting his thumb just under the pulse thrumming in your neck, feeling the echo of it in his hand. There’s a silence, as if he’s straining to hear, to know the sound and syllables of your livelihood. You wish he’d press harder, bring you to the precipice of pleasure and death.

If only to know what it feels to be glass in Joel Miller’s hands, to be given the taste of death after he’d given you the gift of life all those months ago.

Your heart is hammering against your ribs. You know he can feel the adrenaline in your pulse point.

“Joel,” it falls out as a whisper, and you hate how good his name feels in your mouth.

He’s looking at you with empathy, thumbing through the pages of every agony you’ve succumbed to. It’s new and buzzing, knowing that there’s nothing you’d ever have to explain to Joel. No reasoning or fine print for how you are, he just knows. And he stays anyway.

A tear tracks a salty line down your face and it meets the pad of his thumb, an easy swipe.

And there’s a surge low in your throat, seesawing with satisfaction and the tell-tale lump of more tears if you lean in hard enough. Joel never shows his hand, the last to fold, but it feels a lot like you’re the prize he was waiting to throw cards down for.

So, you lean. Concave cheek into his calloused hand, tears without sobs leaking between his fingers down into his sleeve. The weight of only the world — your world, plural and shared — pushing you into him. The cataclysmic release that you’ve been aching for.

Your head is against his chest, cheek pressed against flannel because he’s guided you there. And it’s nice, you think, nice that he’s being a gentleman about the whole thing.

A gentleman just finger-combing through your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

It’s serene, and you’d happily make a home there and fall asleep if it wasn’t for the hammering of your heartbeat. You know he can feel it, and your quickened breath is the cherry on top.

Joel levels your faces, and his fingers are deja vu on the braille of each ridged cheekbone. He’s waiting on a cue, a line to be given to him from offstage, but you see flames licking through each darkened iris.

Something keeps holding him back, keeps holding you back. He’s too careful, afraid of cutting his hands on you. And in exploring every facet of that, it’s because he doesn’t want to bleed on you, not because the sharpest parts of you could hurt him.

You keep telling yourself it’s foreign and you’re strangers to one another.

But is it? Are you?

As if he’s reading your mind, Joel closes the distance in one fell swoop, and he kisses you.

It’s clumsy at first, in the way that clumsy is when you’re learning each other’s mouths. You taste the dregs of whiskey, of something wanton, and every unspoken word that’s ever misted between you. Years of forming smile lines and the prickle of his unkempt beard against your chin, taste the stories of every scar.

You’re tangling with him, lips pressing urgently against Joel. His tongue’s expert but gentle when he dips it inside your mouth, and you’re swapping breathless sighs. You can only imagine what he’s tasting of you, what flavor he’s been dreaming of.

His hands are still at either side of your face, thumbs pressing sweetly into the bony part of your jaw. Joel’s stilling the unrest in you that’s put its bags down and refused to leave. It quiets, tips a hat and walks out, leaving a welcome calm in place.

There’s a chasteness, but you know he’s just as desperate and hungry as you are. Wanting to claim, to devour each other entirely. And it’s not lost on you that he’s on his knees, hands clasping your face in prayer like you’re some communion he’s drinking from.

He engulfs you, and you’re moving together, fitting together like you were poured from the same mold. Joel’s fingers have moved to thread through your hair, one of his hands cradling the back of your head and tugging just barely.

Enough that magma pools in between your hips.

But he slows, letting loose a low groan into the heat of your mouth. It’s helpless, like he’s accepted he can’t swim and has submerged his head underwater.

And when you finally break apart, Joel’s pupils are dilated, on the cusp of black. Your collective breaths are uneven. He looks at you in awe.

“Been wantin’ to do that for a long, long time,” he’s saying, but you can barely hear him. Not when your heart is catching up with the rest of you, roaring above everything else. His thumb skates over your bottom lip, and the instinct to unhinge your jaw for him shouldn’t be there, but it is.

Maybe this sort of suffering is worth it, if it’s Joel you’re suffering for.

If you weren’t in trouble before, you sure as fuck are now.

[doorlesscub00]

The Last Goodbye

Spencer x reader drabble authors note: Hey guys!! This is the first time posting a fic I've written, so please let me know what you think!! all feedback it appreciated and welcomed!! Short write- Less then 500 words, but potential for a second part!! Not proofread either!! The reader isn't mentioned of gender- It's written in second person point of view. Theirs mention of yelling, a bit of toxicity and Spencer out of prison. It is angsty.

He's been more distant lately. You were growing more and more concerned about him. Ever since he got back from prison, he changed. He grew cold. Pushing you away. The constant fights, unable to even hear you. You tried, tried to your last bone in your body... but everyone has their breaking points. 4 years withering away like it was merely a facade.

Here he is. Dismissive and angry. Why is he shouting so loudly and incoherently? You asked him how his day was, and if he was alright, and then the split happened. Spencer is turning into this unrecognizable person, yelling at you for being too invasive, too pushy and nosey. You just wanted to help. And now he is screaming in your face...

Ring... Ring...

He answered the call in two rings, it takes him two calls to answer you. It was like his entire personality shifted... He was kinder, sweeter, understanding... reminds you of the Spencer you once knew... the one you lost.

He looks at you and answers the line... "Yeah I can make it in right now. I don't have anything special going on. Yeah, I know. I'll see you in 20 Emily."

He hung up the phone and spoke coldly, telling you he needed to go back to work, went into the bedroom and grabbed his to-go back, and went straight to the front door and left.

This time would be different, you knew it. You didn't weakly tell him goodbye and to be safe. No. No more of that. You've done it every time he left, but not today. Did he even notice that.? Probably not. He left, and it gives you at least one day to get everything out, at best 12 days. But you wouldn't risk taking your time. Straight to your room and grabbing all of your belongings, throwing them into your car. Questions swarm through your head. Where would you go. What will happen to the thing you can't fit in your car to bring. Would he care you left.? Would he notice your absence when he gets back.. Would he be happy. Maybe try to find you and try to change. Could he change back to the man he once was.. You hope he could go back to Spencer you fell...

Wait! No. Stop thinking about him. You're leaving him to be happier. Free. So then why does it feel like you have a 50 pound weight on your chest. It doesn't matter. You had to do this. You had to leave.. Staying would only make you loose your mind. Be driven to insanity. It's time to hurry. Not another night here. Booking a hotel for the night and going from there would be the safest option. It's already 11:27pm. You threw the rest of the belongings you could carry in your car, leaving quite a bit behind but you needed to prioritize what you took, went back and left your key on his counter and walked out the door..

Looking back one last time, leaving behind all the forgotten laughs, all the petty fights... Your new start begun now. As you started the engine of your car, you started your new chapter in life. A chapter of which you can only go up. Find joy once more. Backing out of his driveway, you knew you could never go back on what you're choosing. And so there you were, dead of night with the street lights to show you the way as you drove away from the empty shell, the once you once considered to be a warm and loving home..

A/n: Okay so I am debating on making a second part to this- or maybe like 2 different endings to the story.? A sad one and a happy one. But let me know what you guys want!! If I should leave it as is, or continue onto it. Anywho, thank you so much for reading my Drabble!! Means the world to me, but for now, goodbye my lovely cubs!! Till next time, have a wonderful day or night!! Better yet, both!!

[phoward89]

Series Masterlist

Chapter 3:

“You can't work here anymore, Y/N. You're fired.” You heard your boss, Doula Ada, tell you as soon as you said goodbye to Coryo (who was on morning patrol duty again) and entered the apothecary shop.

Your face fell. Fired?... “But why? I've been doing everything you've told me to.” You asked Doula Ada as she crushed up some herbs, to make a salve or remedy of some sort, with her mortar and pestle.

“With Belladonna's upcoming marriage to Juris, well, she needs to be working with me. I just don't have the room for two apprentices.”

“But I was the top of my class in the school and you said-” You began to protest, only for the older woman to shush you with a sharp-tongued, “I said I don't got no need for you anymore girl. Now go home or go find yourself a man to take care of ya.”

Taken aback by the herb woman’s brusque behavior, you quickly made your way to the door and exited the apothecary shop. Unknown to you, Coryo was waiting in the wind to swoop in and be your hero. To walk you home and be your shoulder to cry on.

Even though he's the reason you're fired and crying in the first place.

But to him that doesn't matter. It's just a small, minor detail that's not important. One that you'll never find out about, that's for sure.

Just as you were making your way down the cobblestone street, apothecary book tucked under you arm, a looming presence appeared by your side, towering over you. But by the long, lean shadow swallowing up yours, you knew it could only be Coryo. He is, after all, the tallest man you know.

“What's wrong, darling? Why're you leaving the apothecary shop after just arriving?” The platinum blonde peacekeeper asked.

Despite already knowing what was wrong, he wanted to seem like he was concerned about your plight. He was, after all, your man and a good man always takes time out of his busy schedule to check on his girl; to see what's wrong with her. He was just doing what any proper Capitol raised young gentleman would do, inquire about their special lady friend.

Looking up at your new friend, tears brimming your beautiful eyes, you told him, “Doula Ada fired me because she doesn't have room for both me and her daughter, Belladonna, to work at the shop.”

“Oh, my little dove, don't cry. It'll be alright.” Coryo assured you, as your tears began to fall, while pulling you into a hug.

And that embrace sure did make people stop and stare. The folks could understand a peacekeeper taking up with a merchant class girl while serving their 20 years in the district, but what they couldn't wrap their heads around was why a peacekeeper would lower themselves by getting involved with a Seam girl. People from the Seam were poor. So poor that they couldn't afford the second or in the word poor.

The Seam was considered the lowest of the low of District 12, the bottom of the barrel. So, a peacekeeper openly embracing a Seam girl and in the middle of the Merchant's Sector was considered taboo. A district blasphemy of sorts.

He kissed your forehead, causing the baker to nearly have a stroke from where she was peeking out of her shop window. And when he smiled wide and bright at you, the butcher nearly cut a finger off as he spied out his shop’s large front window.

“How ‘bout you help me with my patrol, darling? Walk with me for a bit, yeah?” Coryo suggested, craving a moment with you by his side. You're just so sweet, so kind, and he needs you- needs that around him. He wants to show you off to the entire district, let them see how he can cheer up his girl just by being by your side.

He truly was a bit off his rocker in love with you, but you had no clue about that. All you saw when you looked at him was the prettiest boy you've ever seen in your life, with a brilliant pearly white smile, who seems to go out of his way to befriend you. Something that you thought was sweet.

“I dunno, Coryo. I don't wanna get you in trouble.”

“You won't.” He quickly told you, wanting to chase away any fears you had of strolling around the Merchant Sector with him for a bit.

He really wanted to spend time with you, since he wouldn't be able to see you until he got a day off or his next weekend pass. Coriolanus felt that the more time he spent with you, the more in love the two of you would become. Yea…he was a bit of a clingy, stalkery, obsessive, possessive, delusional romantic. But at least he was a romantic, right?

Coriolanus hasn't seen you in 3 days, 3 damn days, and it's driving him crazy. The last time he saw you, you walked with him for a little bit while he was on patrol and it was heaven. You two talked and laughed about nothing and everything. But the best thing about that stroll was everyone in the Merchant's Sector saw the two of you together.

Something that made Coriolanus' possessive and obsessive tendencies towards you soar happily. He was proud to show you off as his girl; his future wife. He couldn't wait to dote on you; take care of you.

Coriolanus was raised that proper Capitol gentlemen take care of their women, support them and love them. That a good Capitol man spoils his girl; doesn't let her lift a finger. That a gentleman will keep his woman in the lap of luxury; will do all the work so that she doesn't have too. That all she does is have to worry about looking pretty, attending social events, and pleasing her man.

Of course, there's women in the Capitol that choose to have careers, but more women are socialites and housewives. And that's what Coriolanus plans to mold you into. His loving, kind, housewife; his little socialite that he'll spoil til the day he dies.

Only problem is that he's a peacekeeper grunt. His pay’s acceptable for a comfortable life in the backwater district of 12, but it's nothing to write home about. He knew that to properly take care of you; support you, that he needed to rise in the Peacekeeper ranks. That he needed to become an officer.

So, that's why he signed up to take the upcoming officers aptitude test. Coriolanus wanted to better himself not just for his need to get back to the Capitol, but also for his need to take care of you. He needed to be successful and have a good paycheck to take care of you the way you deserved. He wanted to spoil you, buy you your heart’s desires, and the only way to do that was with money.

Coriolanus was excited to tell you about his upcoming officers exam. He was hoping that the news would impress you; assure you that he's worthy of supporting you.

Talk about impressions, Coriolanus was currently buttoning up the jacket of his dress uniform as he stood in front of the small communal mirror in the barracks. Sejanus, his bunkmate and, for a lack of a better word, friend, just stared at him like he'd just lost his marbles.

Opening up his footlocker and grabbing a few bucks, Sejanus looked at Coryo, and asked, “Why're you wearing that for, Coryo? We're about to go off base with weekend passes, shouldn't you be in your fatigues?”

Coriolanus walked over to his bunk, only to grab his hat and pick up a small sack. “I'm wearing my dress uniform, Sejanus, because I'm spending the weekend with my girl and I want to make a good first impression on her family.”

“Uh…I don't think Lucy Gray and the Covey care about that.” The District 2 born peacekeeper told his friend, watching as the man slung his sack over his shoulder.

“That songbird 's not my girl. My girl's a sweet little dove.” The platinum blonde remarked while placing his dress hat on his head, completing the dashing look his dress uniform gave off.

“Oh…but I thought you liked Lucy Gray?” Sejanus pried, holding his weekend pass in his hand while crossing the room with his friend.

“But I love Y/N; I'm going to make her my darling wife.”

Sejanus forced a smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes, as he patted Coryo on the shoulder. “That's good, Coryo.” In fact, the broad man didn't think it was good at all. He thought it was a bit concerning that his friend had waved off any and all feelings he had for a girl he risked everything to save, only to take up with an entirely different girl- declare intentions of love and marriage too.

Maybe Capitol born and bred people were just wired differently than different folks. Who knows. But Sejanus did know that all of his efforts looking for Lucy Gray were for nothing. At least he made some rebel contacts, some friends that supported a cause he believes in.

Bringing down Panem and the Games; having unity, justice, fair treatment, and human decency for all no matter if they're District or Capitol.

“I'd be honored to be your best man, when the time comes.” Sejanus told Coriolanus as they exited the barracks.

Like hell Coriolanus was going to have Sejanus stand up next to him as his first man. He didn't plan on having a lowly wedding in the districts, but a grand affair in the Capitol. His delusional Grandma’am would have a stroke if he had Sejanus Plinth as his best man. He supposed he can ask Festus Creed to be his best man, or maybe not even have one at all. Nothing says that he has to have one.

Coriolanus knows that you most likely won't have a maid of honor, unless he charms Clemmie into doing it. Eh, he'll worry about that whenever he's back in the Capitol, planning the wedding with you. At least he knows that Tigris will be more than happy to design your wedding dress.

But now's not the time to worry about that. First, he needs to meet your family and pass that officer's test.

The poor residents of the Seam were staring at Coriolanus with fearful and strange looks. It wasn't common to see a peacekeeper decked out in their dress uniform walking the streets of the Seam. No, the only time peacekeepers came to the Seam was to topple houses doing random checks to look for contraband and rebel literature, also to round up residents and cart them off to the prison on the base- never to be seen again until it was time to send them swinging on the hanging tree.

So…

Safe to say, residents of the Seam were both leery and mind blown at the sight of Coriolanus in their section, walking down the street as if he owned it. Both young and old alike silently prayed that the peacekeeper wouldn’t bother anyone.

If only they knew the real reason Coriolanus was in the Seam. Oh wait a minute, everybody in the Seam’s about to find out soon enough…

When Coriolanus reached your house, a large smile spread across his face. He couldn't wait to see you. He's gone too long without seeing your beautiful face, your kind smile.

Yea…

Three days is such an eternity…

Walking up the creaky wood rot porch and over to your front door, Coryo missed the neighbor girl, a songbird, exiting her house and seeing him. She saw his profile and instantly recognized him; was ready to call out to him, but stopped herself whenever you answered your door, causing the finely dressed peacekeeper to scoop you up into a hug and press a peck to your lips.

The little songbird shook her head, only to take off towards the meadow with her guitar in hand- she couldn't bear to watch the happy exchange between her neighbor and the Capitol boy turned peacekeeper- who she once thought was a good man.

Ashlie was making dough for a simple fry bread (all that your family could afford to make with the sorry excuse of grain that you're able to acquire) and you had just pulled a wildberry pie out of the oven, setting it on the windowsill to cool, whenever a loud knock sounded at the front door.

“Y/N, go get the door!” Your brother called out from his armchair, where he was already a jar and a half in of moonshine during his only day off.

You quickly went to the door and opened it, only to smile as you saw Coryo standing in front of you. He was dressed up in his formal uniform, sack slung over his shoulder and hand full of flowers (a small bouquet made up of a couple roses and some wildflowers native to District 12). Before you could even say hi or invite him in, Coryo pecked you on the lips (stunning you a bit) and wrapped you in a tight, but warm hug.

Resting his chin on top of your head, he confessed, “I missed you, my sweet darling girl.”

“You missed me? But it's only been 3 days since we saw each other.” You told him, finding it a bit odd that your new friend misses you so much after such a short period of time. Was that normal, or was that a Capitol thing? Or was it because he wanted more?

But you didn't want to give your hopes up. You just met; became friends the other day. Besides, a boy like Coryo Snow- pretty with his chiseled jaw, platinum blonde hair, and crystal blue eyes- always fancied themselves sweet on girls like Lucy Grey or Belladonna (the exotic Covey beauty and a flaxen haired merchant girl). Boys like him never gave girls like you, girls from the Seam, a second glance.

“Yea, 3 days too long.” He retorted, burying his nose into your hair to breathe in your scent. A scent that seemed to smell like fresh blooms and vanilla. Reluctantly pulling away from you, he offered you the small bouquet. “If we were in the Capitol, I would've made you a bouquet from the roses my Grandma’am grows in her rooftop garden.”

“These are nice, tho, Coryo.” You assured him with a kind smile while taking the offered flowers.

Coryo fell even more in love with you, watching you take the bouquet (which he felt was a pathetic thing compared to what he'd be able to give you in the Capitol) with a smile. His heart swelled as he watched you smell the flowers, your nose lingering at the couple of roses he demanded the florist stick into the bunch of wildflowers.

Yes, you'd flourish and grow in the Capitol. With his love and tender care, he'll turn you into a prized rose. His darling rose that everyone will envy, but only he has. A rose that he'll love; who'll love him in return.

Coryo knows that, sooner rather than later, he's going to gift you his mother's shawl and her compact. As a way to show his love and commitment to you. But also to mold you into what he knows you're meant to be.

His perfect, sweet, kind, darling rose. His wife who'll comfort him and love him during good times and bad. The mother of his children who'll sing to them and nurture them.

“I'm glad that you like them, darling, but you do deserve better flowers and, once I pass my officers exam, I'll be able to afford them for you.”

“You're taking an officer's exam? When, Coryo?”

“Next week.” Coriolanus proudly said, his baby blues shining with joy.

Before you could say another word or invite Coryo in, your older brother, Rein, appeared behind you with his half-empty jar of moonshine in his hand. Tipping his jar towards your ‘friend’ he asked in a deep grumble, “This officer bothering you, sis?”

“No, Rein.” You shook your head. Looking between your older brother and the blonde peacekeeper, you announced, “This is Coryo, a new friend of mine.”

Your brother's Seam grey eyes grew into the size of saucers. He looked between you, the flowers you were holding, Coryo, and the sack slung over his shoulder.

Coryo, wanting to make a good impression with his future brother-in-law, stuck his hand out for a handshake and politely said, “Sir, I'm Private Coriolanus Snow, of the esteemed Capitol Snow family. I'm scheduled to take the officer's aptitude test next week and, I assure you, my intentions with your sister are nothing, but honorable.”

Of course his intentions are honorable, the man wants to marry you. Take you back to the Capitol with him and fill you up with his babies. Oh, and not exactly in that order either. But, nevertheless, Coriolanus wants to make you Mrs. Snow; one day First Lady Snow.

Your brother looked at Coryo's large, calloused, outstretched hand and then turned his eyes up to his face. Rein had a mask of indifference painted on his dark, stubble coated face as he pointed his mason jar at Coryo and gruffly said, “Fuck you.”, before pivoting on his heel and storming back to his chair- all the while shouting, “My stupid fucking sister’s taking up with that dead General Crassus Snow’s fuckbag son, Ashie!”

You heard something break in the house and your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. Your sister-in-law (well, she was your brother's girlfriend, but same thing at this point since they've been together for so long) was so startled by your brother's outburst that she broke something the family can't afford to break. And your brother's reaction to your new friend was horrible.

The things he said…

Oh no, how embarrassing and cruel.

Frantically you apologized, afraid that Coryo would up and leave over your brother's nasty greeting, “Coryo, I'm so sorry for what Rein said. He shouldn't have said that, any of it.”

“Well, I admit, Y/N, that I was hoping to make a better impression on your brother, but I'm not going to let his little outburst chase me away from my darling girl.” Coriolanus told you, his attitude unwavering, as he placed his hands on your shoulders- gently rubbing them in a soothing manner.

Picking up on the phrase ‘my darling girl's, your brain suddenly put two and two together. Coryo wanted more than friendship, it seems. “Your girl, but I thought you just wanted to be friends?” You asked, just to make sure that your sudden revelation was right.

“I'm going to be a peacekeeper here for the next 20 years, Y/N. Of course, you're my girl. I don't want to be alone here, plus once I become an officer-” Coryo began to say, only for Ashlie to pop up and interrupt him with, “Um, can you two not discuss any future plans right now? Rein's upset enough as it is and, Y/N, I need you to help me with the dry bread.”

“Okay.” You sighed while at the same time Coriolanus said, “Like it or not, Ma’am, I'm not going anywhere. In fact, I'm staying here, in your home, with my darling rose for my weekend leave.”

“On the other hand, why don't you two talk a walk; go to the nearby meadow or something? Then you can meet up with me and Rein at the hob tonight.” Ashlie suggested, yanking the flowers out of your hand and ushering you out the door and slamming it shut behind you before either you or Coryo could say a word.

Well, looks like his plan to impress your family failed. But at least he impressed you, and really that's all the truly matters. As long as his lover's impressed then he couldn't give a flying fuck about the Halvir family. They could fuck off; go take a walk to the hanging tree for all he cared.

Coryo impressed you, made you smile with love and pride when you saw him in his uniform and, truly, that's the only thing that's important to him right now. That you view him as a hero.

Even tho in reality he's the anti-hero and your family knows it.

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[macbethsymphony]

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 25

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 5.6k

Chapter rating: NSFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, SMUT

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24]

Masterlist

Slowly crossposting from AO3

Chapter 25: Harmony

You’d both been awake for a while, the soft patter of rain against the windows providing a comforting backdrop to the tranquil morning. Neither of you spoke. Lost in your thoughts, the silence was warm. Your head rested on his chest, the gentle thud of his heartbeat a soothing lullaby that threatened to lull you back to sleep as his hand traced delicate patterns on your back.

You nestled closer, melting into him somehow more than before. His fingers traveled down along your spine before roaming back up, settling at your nape, tangling in your hair. The sensation was both grounding and comforting, a silent communication. You shifted, legs intertwining with his as you looked up at him, your eyes finding his.

He tilted his head, lips meeting your forehead in a tender kiss. The warmth of the gesture sent a ripple of contentment through you. 

“You know,” you started, your voice still thick with sleep. “About Yokubari, I’m not opposed to letting you try again once you feel you’re ready... And about Wado Ichimonji,“ you trailed off for an instant looking for the right words. He quirked an eyebrow, evidently amused at the thought that you were already thoroughly thinking about swords the moment you woke up. “If you’re not ready to let me study it, I can wait.” You felt the low rumble of his chuckles beneath your palm as you carried on. “I know it’s special to you, our deal doesn’t really matter.”

He smiled down at you. Your breath caught at the sight. He was pretty like that. You could see the almost imperceptible freckles on his cheeks, the warmth in his gaze, the satisfaction on his lips. 

“You don’t have to wait.” His hands roamed down against the curves of your body, stopping at the back of your thighs, right before the slope of your rear. His fingers dug into the softness of your skin as he pulled you closer, shifting you so you settled perfectly on him. His lips almost caressed yours as he spoke on, “My swords are yours.”

You frowned at his words. “I’m serious, Roronoa Zoro.” You pushed yourself up, palm firm against his chest as your gaze locked with his. 

He snorted and your frown deepened.

He lifted himself to his elbow, lips meeting yours gently. “So am I,” he murmured, words not far from lost against the backdrop of rain and shuffling sheets.

“No, really,” you protested in a small whine as his hand tangled in your locks once again, as his teeth sank into your lower lip, begging for more. “This is a serious matter.”

He sighed when he realized you weren’t backing down, his breath hot against yours. He slowly sat up, dragging you along so you straddled him. He considered you for an instant, back leaning on the headboard. A chill passed you as you felt the covers fall away from your shoulders, soft cotton caressing bare skin. 

For a moment you thought of pulling them back up but the heat in his gaze as he took in the sight unashamedly stopped you, warmth flushing your skin instead. He reached for his swords at the side of the bed. You hadn’t noticed he’d moved them there in the exhaustion of the previous night’s activities. His grip instinctively found Wado Ichimonji, stare never leaving you in the movement.

“Here.” He presented the sheathed sword to you. “As I said, my swords are yours. You can study it.”

Your fingers traced almost reverently the lacquered wood, your eyes sparkling in anticipation at the thought of delving into the intricacies of the steel. Your attention flickered back to him. “Are you sure? You said it’s special.” 

He looked distant for a moment but neither his smile nor the resolve in his gaze shifted. “It belonged to a childhood friend,” he started to explain as his fingers wrapped against yours. “We made a promise.” He glided both your hands along the scabbard, stopping close to the guard. “That one of us was going to become the world’s greatest swordsman.” His smile faltered, sorrow flickering on his features. “But she died when we were still young.”

“I see.” You didn’t offer sympathies for you knew he wasn’t looking for pity nor consolation, you all had ghosts in your past.

His hand dragged yours to the hilt. “You can study it.” He slowly started to unsheathe the blade.

“Now?” You asked in bewilderment, although unable to hide the hint of excitement in your voice. The metal gleamed in the diffused morning light, your eyes glued to it. You bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to suppress the giddiness steadily rising at the thought of studying the sword. Your gaze flickered back to his. “But I don’t have my notebook or anything to write down my observations.” 

He chuckled, hands leaving yours, settling on your thighs as he leaned further against the headboard. “You can study it again later,” he said with a cock of his head, amusement clear in his tone. “I want you to tell me what you see.”

You quirked a skeptical eyebrow at his words. “You better not be lying, swordsman,” you mumbled with a squint to your eyes. “I swear if you keep this sword away from me later…”

You expertly sheathed the blade, a clean slate to start your observations. With a deep breath, you centered yourself as you held Wado Ichimonji with a reverence born of admiration. You distantly felt Zoro’s hands drift along your outer thighs, thumb drawing soothing circles, but the sword demanded all your attention.

Your eyes trailed alongst the pure white of the scabbard. “It’s an elegant sword,” you muttered as the tips of your fingers examined the brass fittings. “Beautiful in its simplicity.”

He hummed as your hand glided to the hilt. You traced the guard, it was thicker than you would usually go for, heavy against your palm but flawlessly flowing with the balance. “Does the weight of the tsuba impact how you handle the sword?” You asked him, attention flickering back and forth between the sword and the swordsman.

“Not really,” he answered, touch traveling to your waist, coming back down. 

You smiled as you noticed the teeth marks in the silk wrappings of the handle. “Fair, I haven’t even unsheathed the blade and I can already tell the balance is flawless.” Your fingers traced the tight knots, nails catching in the dips and dents left behind by the countless battles he’d fought. “You know I can rewrap the handle for you, the cords are hanging on by a thread in some places.”

Zoro’s low laughter rumbled through his chest. “You think I’d let anyone rewrap my sword’s handle, witch?” he teased, amusement twinkling in his gaze

You couldn’t help the smirk breaking on your lips. “Not just anyone, swordsman.” You rolled your eyes. “I’ll have you know I have every qualification to do so. But I understand if you want to keep it as it is. Every mark tells a story, right?” 

His fingers continued their soothing pattern on your waist, skin against skin. “Exactly,” he agreed. “But you’re right. It is hanging by a thread, and if anyone’s to rewrap it, it might as well be you.”

You gave a satisfied nod, unable to deny the warmth that coursed through you at his words. Your attention returned to the sword. In a slow motion you unsheathed it, gently dropping the saya at your side.

Your breath stopped at the sight of steel, heartbeat quickening. “Wado Ichimonji,” you whispered, tips of your fingers tracing the groove separating the deep black and pure white steel in perfect balance. “Straight line through the path of harmony.” You gave it a twirl, eyes moving to the sharpness of the edge. “Magnificent. It holds its name well.” 

You balanced it on the tip of your finger a marveled smile gracing your lips as you took in the perfection of its balance.

Your thumb caught on the edge, a bead of blood forming from the small cut momentarily diverting away your attention from the sword. As you brought it to your lips you noticed how his hands roamed across your stomach, your ribs, stopping short of the curve of your breast. Noticed the lust in his gaze, the growing stiffness against your ass. 

“Now, now, swordsman.” You smirked against your finger, tone teasing. “Does seeing a naked woman handle your sword turn you on?”

His smirk matched yours. “Maybe it does,” he admitted, his voice holding something primal in its depths. 

It sent a burgeoning heat between your legs. You moved to set aside Wado Ichimonji, not wanting to risk any damage to the blade but his hand stopped you.

“Don’t.” He brought the sword back between the two of you. His hands slid down your sides, gesture deliberate and possessive as he pressed you more firmly against him, pinning your hips in place. “I want to hear you continue.” One of his hands shifted lower, thumb tracing your slit. His smirk widened as he felt slick against his fingers, felt you twitch as he found your clit in soft circles.

”I won’t sully Wado Ichimonji’s reputation this way,” you protested. 

He simply continued to look upon you, his gaze not leaving yours.

”This blade was forged by the great Shimotsuki Kozaburo, swordsman,” you carried on, voice faltering slightly. “It is a legendary blade, just as much as Shusui is.”

Still nothing, obstinacy evident on his features.

You stifled a whine as you considered it. He pressed a little harder, touch begging for more sounds of pleasure. “You’re impossible,” you complained in a mewl. Your hips almost bucked in answer to his teasing but his grip was firm, grounding you in place. He continued and your eyes fluttered close. Only when he was satisfied by the shameless moan leaving your lips did the intensity of the pressure he exerted on your bundle of nerves relent.

“Go on,” he demanded, the circles against your clit barely perceptible.

“Shit swordsman.” You opened your eyes, drinking in the hunger in his. You swallowed hard at the lust painted on his features, the allure of curiosity mixed with the pulse of desire. “Fuck, fine.” It took all your efforts for your attention to settle back on the blade, low waves of pleasure threatening to divert your focus at any moment. “Its simplicity is deceiving,” you started once again with a determined nod, voice shaky. “It’s the perfect blend between form and function.”

He hummed in encouragement, prompting you on.

“You see how the blade is perfectly separated between the bright white of the sharp edge and the dark black of the shinogi-ji, the dull edge, by the bo-hi, the blood groove.” Your fingers traced the delimitation with reveration. “It tells us a great deal about the steel contents. Mild steel can be made into a bright white like this by cold rolling it. That means the steel was rolled below its recrystallization temperature.” You were overly aware of the heat of his gaze on your lips as you carried on. “This process produces steel that is much harder and of higher strength than steel that is hot rolled.”

You felt his nails dig in the plushness of your flesh, the pressure of his thumb against your clit slowly increasing.

“T-the black half of the blade,” you stuttered, your train of thoughts lost to you for a moment. “The black half of the blade is more of a mystery. At first, I thought it might have been heat treating or a chemical finish. But—” he lifted your hips, fingers sliding inside you with ease. “— fuck swordsman.”

Your hips rolled and your head lulled back for an instant, a needy whine escaping your parted lips. 

“Continue,” his voice dripped with satisfaction as he compelled your attention back to the blade. 

He curled his fingers, the squelch loud in the silence and you let out a string of profanities, mind going blank. Still you carried on.

“But the separation between the two is too sharp for it to simply be a treatment applied to the steel.” The sword shook in your hands as you twirled it around, bringing it closer to your gaze, attempting to observe further. “Then I thought, maybe it had already started becoming a black blade.” 

You let out your haki, probing at the dark steel almost tenderly. It took all your efforts to keep your concentration steady, to allow the black tendrils to flow along the intricate layers, the carefully crafted blend of ores. “Stunning,” you breathed out as you delved deeper. 

“What is?” He asked. His voice caught in his throat as the words left his lips, worship thick in its gruffness as he continued to look upon you. 

“While there are residual traces of haki, the difference in color comes from a truly brilliant mix of metals.” You let go of your haki, the world suddenly fading into insignificance as pleasure slowly threatened to take over the edge of your mind. 

“The amount of skills to achieve such beauty.” Your voice rose an octave as you struggled to continue. “An outstanding display of mastery.”

He rolled his hips against yours and your nails dug into the silk cords of the handle, undoubtedly leaving small crescents alongside the teeth marks etched into it. “S-shit, Zoro. I-I can’t,” you whimpered, as he lined the tip of his cock to your entrance.

His touch trailed up, igniting embers in its path. His slick fingers caressed your cheek lightly before brushing against your lips, moving the malleable flesh to his desire. You could faintly taste your arousal as his hand traveled back down.

The hand at your hips slowly started guiding you down along his length. Your moans mixed together in damp air as he sheathed himself fully inside you. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he murmured, touch sliding along your arm, joining your trembling hand which barely held onto Wado Ichimonji. “The things I wanted to do as you studied Shusui.” 

Your gaze locked with his, your mouth opening in protest. But the raw desire painted on his face stopped you. 

“Please,” he whispered, the plea uttered so low it was lost in the rhythm of the rain.

 “The Hamon is a suguha, a straight temper line. Fitting of the balance and harmony the blade demands.” The string of words left you quickly, your lips moving instinctually as your mind bordered on the edge of ecstasy.

“Good,” he praised, his tone filled with pride and desire. “What else?”

Your hand started trembling almost violently, the katana waving in the air dangerously before his grip settled it once again. 

“A straight Hamon usually has some amount of irregularities due to the natural properties of the clay. But if you look closely, you’ll notice that the line is almost perfect. It indicates that the clay used was strained repeatedly in order to reduce the number of impurities.” 

His fingers dug into your flesh painfully as his hips stuttered against yours. He moved you slowly, your walls fluttering around him and a low moan on his lips.

Your eyes closed and your mind went dizzy as you struggled to keep your breath under control. “The mastery needed to create such a perfectly straight temper line is baffling. When attempting to create a suguha, the thickness of the layered clay needs to be perfectly uniform in order to achieve harmony between strength and resilience. It must have taken hours if not days to achieve this level of perfection, all the while juggling the dampness of the clay.” 

His hand shifted from your hip, his thumb meeting your clit once again. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you cried out. “Fuck.” Your mind felt blank and fuzzy, and the tightness at your core was delightful. “The edge is sharp, immovable, ready to cut through any obstacle in its path.” You were struggling to put words in the right order. “Strong, determined, unyielding.”

Your grip left the blade, fingers instinctually finding purchase on his chest, nails digging as your back arched and your thighs trembled as you teetered on the blissful edge. You dimly registered Zoro carelessly setting aside Wado Ichimonji, his hand quickly tangling in your hair, bringing you close, your breaths mixing, your noses touching.

”I want to feel you come around me.” His tone was low, primal.

“Zoro,” you gasped his name, a prayer on your lips as the world faded into oblivion, your toes curling as rapture took you over. 

He swore under his breath as he felt you twitch around him, deep moan intertwining with your high-pitched cry, your trembling lips barely brushing together.

“Make me a sword,” he demanded as you came down from your high. His hands went to your sides, caressed the curves of your breast, dropped to your hips once more. He moved you with more purpose this time around chasing his own pleasure, drawing out a soft gasp from you at the sensitivity of the sensations. 

“You already have three perfectly good swords, swordsman,” you mewled, your fingers exploring the ripples of his chest before threading along his neck, tangling in his short locks, nails digging in his scalp. 

“Make me a sword,” he demanded again.

He slowly dragged you up and down along his cock and you rolled your hips, matching his flow.

”I don’t make swords that won't be used.” 

He smirked at your stubbornness, peppering kisses along your jaw, unto your throat. “I’ll use it.”

You frowned at that. “You already have three swords,” you reiterated with a huff, your tone clipped with annoyance. “And you only have two hands.”

In a flurry he switched your positions. You felt the softness of the mattress against your back as he kneeled between your thighs, the roughness of his fingers upon the plush flesh of your ass as he lifted your hips to meet his. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist as he pushed back into you in a languid motion, the entirety of your weight on your shoulder blades.

”I’ll find a way to use it,” he said as he slid back out to the tip. “Make me a sword.” He punctuated the statement with a snap of his hips.   

The angle made you see stars, your breath catching and your moans sticking to the back of your throat. “I-I-“ you started to object once more, but he didn’t waste time into setting a ruthless rhythm, hard, fast, rough, just the way he liked it. The sentence on your lips died, instead staggery gasps and pleas flowed in the silence.

”Make me a sword.” His eye traced your features, drank in the pleasure painted on them, roamed to your breast and the captivating way they bounced with each of his thrusts. 

You smiled at the entranced look in his gaze, rolling your hips and meeting his, one of your hands going to your nipple, pinching and rolling, your back arching even more than before. You let out a deliberate moan and his movements stuttered for an instant, a desperate grunt disappearing too quickly in the air.

He smirked at your brazenness. ”Make me a sword.” His demand was now almost a chant. He somehow picked up the pace, his fingers finding your clit once more. 

Your breath stopped and you stiffened as the world seemed to turn around you, your eyes shutting tight and rolling at the back of your head, the promise of orgasm in your reach once more.

”Breathe,” he reminded you, the movements on your clit softening. 

And you let out an unsteady sob, your body both seeking his touch and wanting to back off as your lidded gaze met his again. You frantically twitched around him, your shaking thighs trying to close further against his hips. You were so close.

He stopped. 

His smirk was almost maniacal as his stare took in the myriad of expression that crossed your face. You opened your mouth to say something but he cut you to it.

”Make me a sword, witch.” His fingers dug in, inevitably leaving fresh bruises as he himself struggled with restraint.

”You can’t be for real,” you barely managed to utter. “You already have three incredible swords. There’s no way I can make you a better sword than those.”

He let out an annoyed click of the tongue at your words.

“I want you to make me a sword.” His gaze was intense as he spoke, making sure you understood what he said before his thumb started moving against your clit again.

”Fuck,” you cried, toes curling, head rolling from side to side, hands tangling in the sheets until your knuckles became white.

For a moment you marveled at  the mastery he held over your body, the way he held effortless control over you, the raw strength that allowed him to shift and dominate you in any way he desired. But your thoughts faded into nonexistence as he started pounding back into you, and tears of pleasure threatened to stain your cheeks. 

“Make me a sword,” he punctuated each of the words with a sharp snap of his hips.

 But even in rapture and even as your mind struggled to cling to reality, your stubbornness remained intact.

”You don’t need another sword.” Your voice was unsteady, shaky and drawled out. You were close, the ruthlessness of his fingers on your bundle of nerves making you see double.

”For fuck’s sake, witch,” he let out an annoyed growl, stopping again. “Can you stop being stubborn for once in your life?” His brows were furrowed in concentration, beads of sweat threatening to ripple down his skin. He was close too but just as obstinate as you to get what he desired. 

You cried out in a staggered sob as your pleasure was denied once again. You could feel your slick drip down your thighs, your ass. Your walls twitched desperately against nothing. “You’re being an asshole, swordsman.” You twisted and writhed in search of any sliver of friction.

He smiled, cocking his head cheekily. “Then stop being stubborn and agree to it, witch.” His earrings glinted in the movement.

He easily slid back inside, his pace deliberately torturously slow.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you couldn’t help the swears flowing out of your lips, his hold on your waist was firm, keeping you locked in place, at his mercy. ”Fuck, fine.”

His smile turned triumphant as you relented. “You’ll make me a sword, witch?” He asked for confirmation, as he softly pinched your clit, shifted the pattern.

You contorted in his grip, your body searching to contract at the slightly too harsh stimulation. The sheets around you twisted, coming undone at the corners of the bed.  “Yes, fuck, yes I’ll make you a damn sword, you bastard.”

“Good,” he huffed, almost relieved and relenting the pressure on your clit faintly, allowing the tightness at your core to build more steadily. “So fucking good for me.”

His pace picked up, unsteady now that he’d achieved his goal, his own breaths ragged and heavy. Your name passed his lips again and again, deprived and demanding of your attention.

“Come for me,” he urged, his voice holding a desperation that sent you spiraling over the edge. You cried out, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your body shuddering in his grasp. Your back arched on the verge of the unnatural, your legs yielding their hold around his waist, shaking uncontrollably, your thighs seeking to close themselves. He followed moments later, a deep guttural groan as he found his own release.

He dropped down next to you, satisfied smile on his exhausted features, the bed bouncing in the carelessness of his movement. His hand caressed the dampened skin of your abdomen mindlessly as both of your breathing slowly stabilized.

”So.” You turned your head to face him. His eyes were closed and the happiness on his face made your heart skip a beat. “What kind of sword do you want?” 

“Dunno,” he mumbled sleepily. “I trust you.”

”You can’t ask me to make you a sword like that and not give me an inkling of what you want, swordsman,” your tone was tinged with a growing frustration.

Zoro opened his eye lazily, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I just want something that feels right," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Something that feels like an extension of me. Just like Wado Ichimonji… or Shusui. Whatever you deem best for me."

You sighed, rolling onto your side to better face him. "That's a lot of pressure, you know. Creating a sword that perfect."

He shrugged, eye closing again. "You'll figure it out. Your swords are near perfection."

His unwavering confidence in you sent a feeling unknown through your chest. You reached out, tracing the line of his jaw, the scar on his eye with your fingers. "You have too much faith in me, Roronoa Zoro."

He caught your hand, pressing a kiss on a healed scar marring your palm. "Not enough," he countered, his voice soft but firm. "You're an amazing swordsmith, you know that?"

Your heart fluttered at his words. "You're just saying that because you're half-asleep. I still have a lot to learn."

He chuckled, pulling you closer. "Maybe," he conceded. "We’re all forever learning. But I mean it."

“At least give me something to work with, swordsman.” You shifted up to your elbows, your tone serious. “A blade style, the length, fuck even the color of the handle’s wrapping is fine.”

He sighed, your annoyance somehow starting to rub on him. “Told you a trust you.” He leaned up catching your lips, attempting to shut you up, his teeth biting and his tongue lapping, demanding entry.

There was a knock on the door. The sound startling you both. 

“Open up,” Nami shouted. “I know you’re in there.” 

You felt the rhythm of your heart quicken as you tried to scramble out of bed. His hand grabbed your wrist stopping you. 

“Just ignore her,” he said gruffly, not bothering to move.

Nami knocked again, louder than before.

You wrenched your wrist out of his hand with a scoff. “You can’t be for real.” 

“(Y/n)” The navigator’s tone held a warning. “I’ll get the innkeeper to open it if you don’t.”

You blanched, knowing the threat was not empty coming from her. Your eyes went wide as you took in the state of the room, the clothing strung all over the place, your ruined underwear on display. Fuck, it reeked of sex. 

“Nami,” you shouted getting up and falling down with a thud to the floor as your legs gave in. “Shit, give me a sec.”

Zoro laughed softly observing you struggle to gather yourself. “Need some help?”

You glared at him, picking up the skirt at your knees and rose back up unsteadily. “Get fucking dressed, swordsman,” you barked at him as you watched him stretch comfortably into the cushiness of the mattress. 

You pulled on the short garment, fingers trembling against the zipper tab and your back straightening and your thighs clenching as you felt hot seed drip down between your legs. He chuckled, contemplating you for a moment longer before he decided to comply.

You scanned the room in search of the rest of your clothing. “Have you seen my shirt?” You asked him as he zipped up his pants.

A wicked look passed his gaze, but he seemingly abandoned the idea. “Here.” He threw you his overcoat. 

You looked at him with a bewildered expression. “This isn’t my shirt, swordsman,” you stated.

He snorted. “It’ll do a better job at covering you up than that skirt or your shirt.” He gave your thighs a pointed look. 

Heat rose on your cheeks as you slowly caught on. “Fuck.” You hastily wrapped yourself in it. 

He moved to open the door, not bothering with covering himself up more than the bare minimum. 

“Just fucking wait a minute,” you shouted at him, opening the window in a hopeless attempt to air out the room. 

He ignored you. The creak of the hinge was loud in your panicked ears. You quickly gave the comforter a fluff, hoping to hide the blaring wet spot on the sheets.

”What is it?” He asked unceremoniously, not veiling his annoyance at the interruption one bit. 

“Nami, sor-” you stumbled behind him, the words dying on your tongue as you took in the sight. Nami, Luffy, Robin, Franky, Usopp, Chopper. They were all standing before your door. 

“So you did make up,” The navigator spoke first, her tone dripping with amusement.

Luffy grinned, his eyes wide with curiosity. “Why didn’t you guys come back earlier if you already made up?”

Robin’s knowing smile widened as she took in the scene. “We thought you two might still be fighting.”

Chopper looked the both of you over, his eyes lingering on the bruises and marks peppered all over your skin. “Did you guys fight a wild animal or something?” He asked with genuine curiosity, already reaching in his bag for bandages.

Franky audibly snorted.

”We’re fine, doc,” you quickly reassured the little reindeer. “We didn’t fight anything.” You uttered the words at the same time a Zoro cheekily said, “You could say something like that.”

Usopp’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the state of disarray. “Uh, maybe we should give them some privacy,” he suggested nervously, blush slowly rising on his cheeks as he tugged at Chopper’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

Franky let out a hearty laugh. “Nah, nah. We should at least get to have SOME fun too.”

You felt your face burning with embarrassment. “What do you all need?” you asked, trying to sound composed despite the circumstances.

Nami crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “We just wanted to make sure you two were okay. And maybe give you a hard time.”

Robin chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “It seems like you’ve both been quite… productive.”

“Seems like you guys had a SUPER night,” Franky added.

Nami’s smirk widened. “We need to leave soon. The repairs are done, the weather’s clearing up, and we’re moving out.”

Zoro nodded, seemingly unperturbed by the intrusion. “We’ll be there.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Can we please just get ready and go?”

With a satisfied nod from Nami, the crew started to disperse, but not before she gave you a sly wink. “Don’t take too long,” she warned. “If you’re not there by tomorrow morning, we’re leaving you behind.”

As the door closed, you turned to Zoro, who was watching you with a lazy grin. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to suppress a smile.

He shrugged, pulling you close again. He kissed your jaw, down your throat. Pinning you against the door. You dimly heard Franky’s booming voice from down the corridor. Something about everyone owing him a thousand berries. 

His hands shifted the fabric of his overcoat, fingers gathering the mix of his cum and your slick as he held you more firmly. His gaze was blown with lust as he brought them to his mouth, licking them clean. 

“You love it,” he said leaning forward, capturing your lips, the taste of your arousals heavy on your tongue as he deepened the kiss. 

Despite yourself, you couldn’t argue with that. 

You smirked against his lips, playfully switching the both of you, pinning him to the door instead. He quirked an eyebrow but he indulged you in whatever you planned on doing.

”Nami said to be there before tomorrow morning.” You glanced at the window, the soft glow of the afternoon sun shining through the light rain clouds. Your fingers skillfully undid the button of his pants, pulled down the zipper before diving in and meeting his hardening cock. He let out a shaky groan, his head slamming back against the wood of the door as he gazed down at you amusedly. Your thumb passed his tip and the moan that escaped his lips was downright addictive. “I think we have plenty of time, swordsman.”

When you finally made your way to the Thousand Sunny it was with Zoro carrying you on his back and Wado Ichimonji in your grasp as you pointed the sword in an attempt to direct the swordsman to the ship. The sun was low on the horizon, slowly rising for the new day. His overcoat was wrapped around your shoulders and he strode unbothered by the light rain and droplets rippling on his skin.

Your voices were loud as you approached, clearly stuck in a habitual standstill.

“You can’t just tell me to make you a sword and not give me a single guideline,” you almost yelled at him, pointing the katana left.

“And I already told you I trust you,” he retorted turning right.

“For fuck’s sake, wrong side, swordsman,” you sighed, hitting his shoulder lightly. “The ship’s in fucking view.”

He turned.

”Now do you want a chokuto style blade or a tachi or a wakizashi or something else entirely,” you huffed and punctuated each of your suggestions by flailing the sword around.

“Whatever you deem best,” he answered noncommittally. 

He passed the gangplank of the Sunny.

“You can’t be for real,” you complained, gesturing him to go back. “What about the handle, do you want silk? Leather? A specific color?”

“I like silk,” he mumbled under his breath, the loud thuds of his footsteps against the wood plank almost eclipsing his words.

“Fucking finally,” you shouted in victory, somehow excited now that you had a detail down, even though it was an extremely minor decision. “What about the color? Hm?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes, readjusting his grip on you with a small hoist. “I don’t know, green?”

“Green, huh?” You pondered, the image of a sword already starting to form in your mind. “I like green.”

“You guys!” Luffy beckoned you to him. He was excitedly bouncing on the balls of his feet as he looked at the log pose. “You’re finally back.” The pirate captain pointed at the violently flickering needle. 

Nami sighed in defeat.

“Look how fast it’s going,” he mused. “I wonder what’s there!”

His infectious laughter made you smile, a wave of happiness and contentment washing over you. You supposed it was the start of a new adventure.

-The end

a/n: Thank you for reading to the end! I hope you have enjoyed this silly little story of mine as much as I have enjoyed writing it! I’m not going to lie, I will miss these two idiots so much! Ahhhhhh I’m getting teary eyed thinking about it. I can imagine them bickering in punk hazard, their bodies switching! And I can imagine the sweet fluffy downtime these two would get on the polar tang, interacting with the heart pirates as they head to Wano. And oh the whole learning about new smithing processes in Wano, maybe even learn how to smith seastone! Anyways I find it bittersweet to have to let them carry on in my imagination but I think this is a good place to stop. I may or may not write a few bonus chapters for this story, explore some events in different arcs. So keep an eye out for that if it’s something you’d like to read (you can even request some and I’ll happily indulge you!) Thank you again for reading 💕

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Masterlist

[heiznx]

BOOK 6 TWST THINGS I GLOSSED OVER

THINGS I WANT TO SHARE (note) i'm only finding out about this now while i'm reading the masterlist here, since the wiki hasn't updated yet and i skipped book 6 in the eng game, because i used a translator to read book 6 in the jap before it came out in eng. some information are already well-known and some are things i already knew, but i decided to take note about anything i thought was noteworthy!

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

Chapter 66, Tower 2, Part 5 — Riddle became a dorm leader on his first year.

Chapter 66, Tower 3, Part 8 — Riddle said that he confiscated exam study guides, made by Azul, in Heartslabyul. — He thinks that Azul couldn't compete with him in terms of academics because Azul has too much on his plate, while he devotes himself in his studies.

Chapter 67, Tower 2, Part 17 — According to Leona, Riddle can cast a spell so fast and that he could lead a group and fight on the front lines with his fire power, but sees it as a double-edge sword because of his stamina and his temper but he has a confidence to be a leader.

Chapter 67, Tower 3, Part 19: PTM-456 — Riddle misses Grim

Chapter 67, Tower 3, Part 20 — He started taking special lessons when he was 3 — When his mother was pregnant, she was already preparing all necessary materials to ensure Riddle will grow up to be an exceptional mage. — Riddle is not sure whether he is a prodigy or if he earned his talents because of how he grew up. — He studied in a private school when he was young and wasn't able to skip grades despite his intelligence because it wasn't a 'norm' and his school didn't allow it. — He also said that he saw no point for him to skip grades either because he needs to be 24 years old to be a medical mage. — He originally was supposed to be a medical mage once he graduates, but he MAY be having second thoughts because he developed an interest in law after becoming a housewarden.

Chapter 67, Tower 3, Part 22 — Riddle's cape can cover two people and block a bit of light.

Chapter 69 — Riddle hasn't taken his magical device licensure exam.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

Chapter 66, Tower 2, Part 13 — Leona's Unique Magic: King's Roar, can turn ice to dust.

Chapter 67, Tower 2, Part 25 — Leona has a refined palate, he doesn't like dry, stale rations. — He drinks sports drink.

RUGGIE BUCCHI

Chapter 67, Tower 2, Part 21 — Leona says that he doesn't think Ruggie's magic is as good, but he's aware of what he is lacking and doesn't hesitate to use Leona to make up for it; Ruggie doesn't see it as anything shameful.

JACK HOWL

Chapter 67, Tower 2, Part 21 — Leona views Jack as someone pretentious, and says that Jack doesn't have what it takes to lead yet so Jack comes to Leona when things gets too out of hand. — Leona finds Jack's honesty adorable.

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

Chapter 66, Tower 2, Part 5 — Azul became a dorm leader at his second year.

Chapter 66, Tower 3, Part 8 — Azul considers Riddle as an academic rival. — His overall ranking often goes from top 2 to top 10 — Even after book 3, he still has his backroom 'consultations'. — Riddle said that Jade mentioned Azul goes off campus on day offs under the pretense of market research.

Chapter 67, Tower 2, Part 17 — According to Leona, Azul is a quick thinker and knows how to put himself in an advantageous position. Leona assumes Azul struggled living in land, but Leona says that Azul sees it as a strength.

Chapter 67, Tower 3, Part 17 — He (possibly with Floyd and Jade as well) were trained in Sunshine Lands (a place where a prince of Sunshine Land married a princess from the Coral Sea and was founded by the mermaid princess) and said that he couldn't find a 'catch' in the organization and he put in an application there as soon as he was accepted in Night Raven College.

Chapter 67, Tower 3, Part 20 — Azul started learning the basics of magic when he was 8, and he was taught by his mother and grandmother who were both mages. — His family was not entirely pressuring him in studies thus him being lax about it until he was in middle school.

Chapter 67, Tower 3, Part 22 — He was raised in the deep sea so his eyes could adjust to the darkness.

Chapter 67, Tower 3, Part 25 — Azul doesn't feel upset when fighting against Ortho and Idia's dreams because he knows well enough that someone has to make a sacrifice to make it come true — One of his dreams is to be a valedictorian, opening a second Mostro Lounge branch, starting a delivery business, selling tableware, running a hotel, and getting into the leisure industry.

Chapter 69 — Azul has never driven a magical wheel.

FLOYD LEECH

Chapter 67, Tower 3, Part 17 — Azul said that Floyd often forgets to take his doses to keep his human form (transfiguration potion), and says that it's normal for him to hear Floyd saying "Hey, my ears are fins again!", or "My fingers grew some webbin'!"

JAMIL VIPER

Chapter 67, Tower 2, Part 25 — Leona calls Jamil: Snake. — Jamil admits to Leona that he always judged people around him as stupid, incompetent, lazy, or good-for nothing, but says that that was just what he wants to believe. He admits he has more to grow.

VIL SCHOENHEIT (FT. ROOK)

Chapter 66, Tower 1, Part 4 — He can separate his feelings and duties as a dorm leader and his personal thoughts and emotions.

Chapter 67, Tower 1, Part 16 — When Vil first got in Night Ravel College, he started turning down long-term acting offers to focus on studies, but had to act in some plays and movies because they got sequels.

Chapter 67, Tower 1, Part 17 — Vil first met Rook on the school gardens. — Vil never gave Rook the time of his day but Rook kept reaching out to him and pointing out things Vil internally chides himself for. — He didn't catch up to what Rook talked about for five hours about his own play.

Chapter 67, Tower 1, Part 19: PTM-854 — He is curious what he would look like if he took a form of a phantom because he thinks phantoms are the manifestations of their greatest desire. — He remembers what his phantom looked like. — He admits to unconsciously thinking about beauty about being youthful and may have feared aging.

Chapter 67, Tower 1, Part 25 — Vil acknowledges that the Shroud brothers wanted 'normalcy' but was willing to destroy their dreams for his own.

ROOK HUNT

Chapter 67, Tower 1, Part 20 — Rook found the Mirror's sorting agreeable thus stayed in Savanaclaw, but thought he would learn more about 'beauty' in Pomefiore faster so he transferred. — He talked to Vil about his decision in transferring from Savanaclaw to Pomefiore, but Vil couldn't talk him out of it. — According to Vil, Rook stuck out like a sore thumb when he entered Pomefiore because his hair was long, thick, unkempt, and he also had freckles in his cheeks and nose. — He never bothered using sunscreen or skin care so his cheeks and nose were always bright red. — He would go all-over the place in sweatpants with frayed hems or jeans with torn knees, but would fix his attire a little when going to an operas and concerts with dress codes. — Vil once picked out an outfit for him because Vil believed that a beautiful stage deserves beautiful audiences.

EPEL FELMIER

Chapter 67, Tower 1, Part 19: PTM-859 — Rook said that Leona praised Epel's broom/flyting skills in the club.

GRIM

Chapter 66, Tower 3, Part 9 — Grim is 70cm. — Epel said that Ace and Deuce told him that Grim hates his nails being trimmed.

Chapter 67, Tower 1, Part 19: PTM-735 — He has long nails. — He often scratches on Heartslabyul's couches.

[gyjo-enthusiast]

special case. ch.2

retired!nanami x younger!sorcerer!reader

summary: during field training, each student is assigned one semi-grade 1 or higher ranked sorcerer. after the last student is left without a mentor, her professor pairs her up with his old, retired grumpy friend.

reader is in their 20s (attending college), afab!reader, fem pronouns

tags: fluff, eventual smut, colleagues with benefits (is that a thing?), age gap (reader in early 20s, nanami in mid 30s), virgin reader

previous chapter: special case. ch.1 | next chapter: special case. ch.3

jujutsu kaisen masterlist | masterlist

chapter summary: during the first day of field training, you successfully defeat a high-grade curse alone. after lunch though, there seems to be a problematic fight when you should be watching your mentor fight a cursed spirit.

proofread: yes

word count: 1 269 (4m 45s)

song rec:

jumping through the unusually dark alley, you hunted the cursed spirit your mentor had mentioned earlier. it was fat and sleazy, but its legs were skinny and it ran as if its life depended on it. and it did.

reaching under your coat, you quickly whipped out your cursed weapon and followed the blob of sorrow and hatred. it was a long, although fairly light, double-edged sword with a fancy hand-decorated handle.

nanami was quite surprised at that, being a cursed tool user himself. he thought all the young guns had to be top notch and have their own special techniques, not to mention domain expansions, to get into jujutsu college. even then, he'll wait for a bit more before judging, just to see how well you're going to do.

of course, you did not want to disappoint - you could not - after all the trouble he's going through just for the sake of teaching you. leaping forward, you swiftly cut off two of the monster's six legs and started chipping away at its skin.

'not bad,' you thought to yourself, small smile making its way to your face as you tried to keep up.

"not bad," a voice suddenly said behind you, making you almost stumble, "keep it up, l/n."

oh, you were not letting this curse get away from you, the slightest of blushes appearing, both from the praise and the excessive physical activity.

speeding up to quickly finish the job, your sword - purposefully named severance - slickly severed the cursed spirit's head, along with some of his gross dark shoulder hair. some of its remains got splattered on your shoes, but that could wait.

hastily returning to nanami, you asked: "how did i do, sir?" to which you got an approving nod and an expression which you could only assume was one of consideration.

you looked around, just to make sure nothing was creeping out there, and then you finally started cleaning up your shoes.

"l/n," you heard after a bit, "you're quite skilled i take it."

you smiled awkwardly, "you can call me y/n. and i wouldn't consider myself 'skilled' exactly," your mentor nodded. "everybody has their ups and downs when it comes to fighting. maybe i've just been lucky to survive!" you laugh it off as a horrible joke, hoping he'd smile at the very least.

"yes.. me too." he looks at you with guilt in the eyes as he continues, "although i do think you have the potential if you keep this up." he sends a soft smile your way.

"thank you, sir."

"just stay strong and focus, all in your own time," nanami focuses up and starts walking.

"of course," you follow up behind him, "where are we going to now?"

"well, it's already 11:32. it will take a bit to find a good place but for now, let's eat somewhere before we continue," he turns his head to talk to you and then immediately looks ahead once again.

to be honest, you didn't even believe he ever took any breaks on the job, let alone ate lunch. nevertheless, you couldn't wait to treat yourself after that satisfactory exorcism.

you spent a while looking for an adequate place to eat, ultimately deciding to take a seat in a simple yet homely bakery. both of you bought their signature bread, silently enjoying the view of the street.

with no words needing to be spoken, you observed how nanami acted with nobody but you around. he was stoic, but once every few minutes his expression softened.

after lunch, when nanami checked his watch, you both set out to find another curse. this time though, you'll be the one watching - and learning - from none other than your mentor.

'this curse is way stronger.. what's going on?' you thought, being careful to watch nanami's flank as well as keeping an eye out for him. it's not that he would need it necessarily, but better be safe than sorry.

your mentor bashed at the curse with his weapon, except it was hard to get a decent hit in while also guarding. at this point you felt useless, only watching from afar. wanting, no - needing, to help nanami, you took a step forward, suddenly remembering the words he spoke before you approached the curse.

"i won't need help, don't worry. if i do, i'll call for you. just defend the fight from weaker curses," his voice rang in your ears as you froze in place.

not wanting to disappoint, you stood still and helped the only way you could - that was to be ready to strike down any curse that approached.

and in a trice, you heard a roar behind you.

"y/n! above!" nanami shouted your way before turning back to the problem at hand.

you turned your gaze to the sky and sure enough, there was a cursed spirit. it was dropping down so quick you barely had any time to react and dodge.

just before it thwacked onto the ground, it pulled out its tiny wings, slowing itself. when it was sure it wouln't hurt itself, the bizarre flying cursed spirit fell to the ground, briefly not being able to move.

you were gobsmacked, not fully processing what had just happened.

"snap out of it, i got a lot going on here! i can't defeat both of them y/n," nanami breathed out, his energy surely running low from not fighting for such a long time.

and snap you sure did, just maybe not out of it.

"are you insane?! you just almost killed all of us, including yourself!" you shouted, discarding your cloak. unsheating severance, you let your canines shine in the afternoon sunlight, grinning out of your mind.

your mentor, as any person would, thought this remark was aimed at him, so he briskly sent you a look. that was until he saw the animalistic expression you wore, that changed everything.

slashing your sword in the curse's singular eye, you noticed it was being sinked in, almost like into quicksand. you laughed and revealed another weapon hidden on you, that being foulblade. as the name suggests, it was a blade the opponents didn't expect, so they might call it a foul. you pulled it out only if severance was not available at the moment.

with the newly sharpened shorter sword you started cutting across the monster's body, mainly face, leaving behind ugly scars that were soon to be removed completely, as you stabbed it in the heart and exorcised it. you felt cursed energy overflowing within you at that moment, having to calm yourself down.

when you came to your senses, cleaning your blades, a few minutes later, nanami approached you from behind.

"are you okay, y/n?" he rested a hand on your shoulder. startled, since you didn't even sense him coming, you just nodded. he sighed, "i dealt with the curse, we're done here for the day, okay?" he reassured you.

"okay.. sorry about," you paused, now fully remembering what happened, "sorry about that." you finally finished your sentence, guilt filling up your eyes, hands shaking as you stood up from where you were sitting.

"don't apologise, nothing happened. you saved me after all is said and done," your mentor removed his hand, went in front of you and tilted his head back at you. "let's go."

"where? i thought we were done," you muttered quietly, still being shaken up by the whole situation.

"to my house," he casually declared, continuing with his statement, "or do you want to climb up the hill up to college dorms every day?"

a/n: if you made it this far, i’d like to thank everyone who is enjoying this so far, i never thought my work would actually reach someone. so thank you so much for reading, stay safe and have a great rest of your day!