#i hate breaking promises BUT WHERE’S THE FUEL

[acidgreendog]

A Kaz Playlist

Exploring that untouched ground between when Kaz discovers he's been used and left out of BB's plans and when he finally settles as Master Miller, I've been thinking a lot about that anger and betrayal he must have felt to get him to walk away from everything he had been building. The personal anger he felt against BB himself was my main focus for a lot of these songs, as well as the feelings of turning his back on him in retaliation. I'm also enjoying thinking about how that bitterness and anger would spiral into a cycle of abuse that may have got taken out on his students, especially david snake, later down the line. This is basically like the world's edgiest break up playlist.

Genres: industrial metal, nu-metal, hard rock, grunge, alt rock.

Run time: 1hr 32 mins

Thumbnail art (by me)

Tracklist

(to be played in no particular order) and lyrics excerpts to show a little bit of why I picked each song:

The Big Come Down -Nine Inch Nails

"the big come down, isn't that what you wanted? // find a place with the failed and forgotten"

Twenty Four Hours -The Twilight Sad (cover)

"just for one moment, thought I'd found my way // destiny unfolded, watched it slip away"

Last Time -Fuel

"this is the last time now // I'll bleed for you"

Change My Mind -Puddle Of Mud

"how could I ever believe anything you've ever said? // I'm on the bottom of your shoes, a little piece, a piece of shit"

A New Way To Bleed -Evanescence

"but it's my // my heart // my life // that you're calling a lie // I've played this game before // and I can't take anymore"

The Line Begins To Blur -Nine Inch Nails

"there are things that I said I would never do // there are fears that I cannot believe have come true"

Hangnail -Nickleback

"my hopes just fell // and I can't see // the reason why // why there is blood on my sleeve // and all this time, I thought it mine // but it's not, it's yours"

Mudshovel -Staind

"all the promises you made to me you made in vain"

Made Of Stone -Evanescence

"I'll numb the pain 'till I am made to // tear out my heart for the way it makes me feel // I will still remember when you've long forgotten me"

September Rain -Cassyette

"my pain clouding my brain // I pray I will find me again"

Somewhat Damaged -Nine Inch Nails

"how could I ever think, it's funny how // everything you swore would never change is different now"

Somebody Someone -Korn

"I can't stand to let you win // I'm just watching you // and I don't know what to do // feeling like a fool inside"

Point #1 -Chevelle

"rebuke, don't choke on this twisted dream"

Home -Staind

"I can't accept this all // because of you I've had to walk away from everything"

Massive -Linkin Park

"I heard the screaming in my dreaming every night // I awake and I'm still mistaking you for right"

You Walk Away -Filter

"I can't live hate // I just won't hate // I just want a life of my own"

Thoughtless -Korn

"all my hate cannot be found // I will not be drowned // by your thoughtless scheming"

Wish -Nine Inch Nails

"I built it up, now I take it apart // climbed up real high, now fall down real far// no need for me to stay"

Alone I Break -Korn

"Now I see the times they change // leaving doesn't seem so strange // I am hoping I can find // where to leave my hurt behind"

Head Like A Hole -Nine Inch Nails

"head like a hole // black as your soul // I'd rather die than give you control"

And One (Hybrid Theory EP) -Linkin Park

"angers a gift, then I guess I've been blessed"

Prison Sex -Tool

"do unto you now, what has been done to me // do unto you now, what has been done" -not necessarily to be taken at the face value the song communicates, more so about a cycle of abuse among male power dynamics

Blue Monday - Orgy (cover)

"how does it feel, to treat me like you do? // When you've laid your hands upon me // and told me who you are"

[sibbydoo]

can someone please pay me to finish that one merthur piece I wanted to do where Merlin’s a dragonlord, knife and bow master, and protecting his king and Arthur’s looking all cool with a crown and sword

[niilue]

—when you hear vi call caitlyn cupcake, hurt and jealousy remind you that, no matter how much it hurts, you will never be more than a shadow in her life.—

cw: female reader, angst, jealousy, emotional pain, drama, this is short tho…. maybe need a sec. part

part ii

you remain motionless, feeling the heat of anger begin to crawl up your neck, setting every nerve in your body on fire. your fists clench at your sides, nails digging into your palms, and the taste of rage mixes with something uglier, something harder to swallow: jealousy.

you don’t want to feel this way. you shouldn’t feel this way, because you have no right. you and vi are nothing, there are no promises or bonds that allow you to claim any part of her. but the fact that vi still calls her “cupcake” after everything that happened, after how caitlyn left her hurt and alone, makes you sick. because you were the one who was there. you were the one who found vi after that fight, doubled over in pain, trying to hide her vulnerability behind a broken smile.

you remember those nights underground, when vi got drunk to bury the disappointment and threw herself into stupid fights, looking for blows that might distract her from the real pain. it was you who followed her, who made sure she didn’t end up with her head cracked open in a dark alley, who endured her shouts and outbursts when you tried to help her. you took care of her, even when she didn’t want you to, even when you knew she would never thank you for it.

but here you are now, standing like an idiot, watching vi call caitlyn by that nickname, as if none of it mattered, as if everything you did for her was insignificant. you feel something break inside you, something you had been trying so hard to hold together. the fury and sadness swirl in your chest, and for a second, you can’t breathe.

“really?” you spit out the words, your voice full of venom before you can stop yourself. vi turns to you, her blue eyes narrowing in confusion. there’s something in her expression that makes your blood boil even more, as if she can’t understand why you’re so upset. as if the fact that this hurts you is a mystery.

“what?” vi frowns, crossing her arms over her chest as if preparing for a confrontation. you can see how the muscles of her abdomen still tense slightly, a reminder of where caitlyn hit her with the shotgun, and that only fuels your anger.

you step forward, and your words come out fast and full of rage. “cupcake? seriously? after everything that happened?” your voice trembles, and you hate how vulnerable you sound, but you can’t stop. “after she left you lying in the dirt, kicking up dust, because she decided you weren’t worth it? after i was the one who had to pick up your pieces, who tried to keep you from beating yourself to death out of your own damn self-destructiveness?”

vi blinks, clearly taken aback by the intensity of your words. her lips part, and you can see how she hardens, how her eyes become sharp, as if trying to find something to say, some kind of defense. but you don’t give her the chance.

“i was the one who was there,” you continue, and your voice cracks, but you push on. “i was the one who made sure you didn’t bleed out in some alley, who tried to make you feel like you weren’t alone. but of course, that doesn’t matter, right?!” your throat tightens, and you feel tears burning behind your eyes, but you force them to stay where they are. you won’t cry. not here, not now.

vi clenches her jaw, and her eyes flash with something you can’t decipher. “why do you care so much?” she asks, and though her tone is defensive, there’s something else there, something that seems uncertain. as if she can’t understand why all of this affects you so deeply. “why are you acting like… like this is personal?”

the silence that follows is almost deafening. your heart beats so hard that it feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest, and for a second, you can’t find the words. because you don’t have an answer you can give her without revealing everything you’ve been trying to deny.

“because…” you try, and your voice breaks again. you can’t tell her that you’ve started to feel something for her, something that scares you and hurts you and fills you with hope all at once. you can’t tell her that just seeing her smile at caitlyn, hearing her use that damned nickname, makes you feel like nothing more than a shadow in her life, someone who will always come second.

“because we’re nothing,” you finally say, and each word is a dagger in your chest. “and we might never be anything, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” your voice is a whisper full of bitterness, and your shoulders slump slightly, as if the weight of your own emotions is too much to bear.

vi watches you, and you can see how her expression changes. there’s something in her eyes, a mix of guilt and something you can’t quite identify, but you don’t say anything else. you take a step back, shaking your head, trying to push away the storm of feelings that threatens to break you.

“forget it,” you murmur, and you turn around before vi can see how hurt you are. “it doesn’t matter.”

but as you walk away, letting the distance grow between you, you know that it does matter. it matters more than you want to admit, and even though you hate feeling this way, you know that this pain, this jealousy, won’t go away so easily.

[alchemistc]

He'd had a dream about this, once. Sweat still cooling, sheets tangled at his feet, a view of Eddie Diaz's bedroom ceiling.

Sue him - Tommy's not the first guy who ever had a raunchy dream about a straight friend. For a few weeks there, both Diaz and Evan Buckley had featured heavily in his rotation. And then Evan had tried to murder his best friend and Tommy had kissed him about it and now...

Tommy shifts his weight. Slides his hand across the sheets - Evan's sheets, still familiar even if the location has changed. Christ, why had Eddie never scraped the popcorn off his ceiling? It's an easy job, really, even if it is painfully boring and time consuming, he could -

The hand that curls around his neck, just under his jaw, is light, careful, still possibly covered in Tommy's cum.

"I missed you," Evan says, and Tommy feels the panic bubbling under his skin, a miasma of humming thrumming reminders that this had been a bad idea from the start. That "randomly" running into his ex three shots deep at the bar had been one of his shittier plans, fueled by his own tipsy jealousy at seeing Evan's drinking partner grinning at him for a good hour while Tommy got progressively worse at pool.

He opens his mouth to let Evan down. He can't do this There's no world where this changes anything. For Christ's sake, he'd only done it because the possessive monster inside of him had heard Evan introduce him to Ravi Panikkar as 'my... Tommy' and the rest of his brain had left the fucking building.

"Everything is so screwed, Tommy. Eddie, and Maddie, and - I just. I want to work on this. I want - I know I didn't say it right before, but everything went to shit that day and if we could just..."

He's always done this. Fucked Tommy to the brink of brainlessness and then proceeded to talk a mile a minute like the sex they'd had was inspirational and energizing. Tommy'd been endeared by it from the start. He still is.

He fucking hates that.

"I can - we can go slow. You set the pace, Tommy, I promise."

"Buck," he starts, and everything in Evan shuts down all at once.

He's done a poor job of keeping that line drawn in his own head - all these months later and he still thinks too much about him, still thinks of him as Evan, and it's a shitty thing to do when they're both fully aware that it's something of a treat for both of them - that name that's been mostly Tommy's since the day Buck found himself at the academy with three Evan's and grinned his way through a nicknaming process.

Evan's hand unfurls from its spot, fingers slipping from where they'd been working at his earlobe. He's gone from soft and pliant glued to Tommy's side, to stiff as he rolls away, sheets travelling with him, and Tommy doesn't fight it when they shift free of him, leaving him bare as the day he was born.

At least he's got his trusty fucking walls. Those at least will keep Evan from glancing up and seeing him break his own heart in two twice over.

Evan rolls to a sit, heaves his legs over the bed. In the soft light Tommy can map out the constellation of moles on his curved back as he drops his head into his hands.

The silence is deafening.

"I, uh ... I think you should go?"

Tommy's certain he doesn't mean for it to sound like a question. He's also certain Evan Buckley has never once in his life been anything but a novice at hiding emotion in his face, body language, voice.

He's pretty sure they could do this a hundred times and Evan might just let him.

Tommy doesn't speak as he gathers his clothes. Doesn't speak as he steals furtive glances around the hem of his T-shirt, doesn't speak as he realizes he didn't even make time for cleanup so he's definitely driving home with the evidence of this night still fucking on him.

Evan's still cradling his head in his hands when Tommy shoves his foot into a boot, not bothering with laces because maybe he'll just fucking trip on the curb and fall into oncoming traffic. It might be the better option.

"I'm -."

"Don't," Evan says, just loud enough for Tommy to know he's barking around a phlegmy throat. "This is worse, just so you know. It was already bad, Tommy..."

Tommy expects there to be more, but there isn't anything. Evan's shoulders heave, and Tommy grabs his keys and phone off the side table, and he blinks and he's somehow out the door, eyes stinging and blood rushing in his ears and he honestly shouldn't be driving but he's not gonna leave his fucking truck here.

He's not entirely sure how he makes it home. He comes back to himself with scalding hot water washing away the evidence of his fuck-up, throat sore and jaw tight and his phone blowing up on the bathroom countertop.

He shouldn't feel the vindication he does that at least this time he milked enough emotion out of Evan to make him send fourteen - his phone buzzes again - fifteen texts in a row.

He feels it anyway, and just to dig the knife deeper into his own chest he shuts his phone off for the night the moment he's towelled himself dry.

Tomorrow. He'll figure it out tomorrow.

He's been telling himself that for five months - a year - his whole fucking life. Maybe one day he'll be telling the truth.

[rikan-oo]

Jiuyuan Uni Au, where SY and SJ are both literature professors that have a beef with each other, but still get paired for lectures/practice lessons for same groups for some reason (It's actually Airplane's fault, but hey sometimes he needs a break from these two as much as other teaching stuff, so they neutralize each other).

SJ usually delivers lectures, and SY takes care of practice lessons. Despite similar elegant air, these two are different as night and day in their teaching methods. At Shen Jiu's lectures, students are afraid to take a breath, let alone ask questions. Meanwhile, SY loves conversations and debates on his lessons. He sometimes bullshits about plot on purpose to check whether students read material.

Nevertheless, SY and SJ have one other thing in common. They say passive-aggressive comments about each other or give backhanded compliments when nobody expects that. It fuels theories among students why would they hate each other, but it's so hilarious that students started to collect these questionable quotes and make fun of that. Also, I wholly believe that they would have nicknames because both of them are Shens. I bet it's confusing as hell, so SJ would be either Snape or Evil Queen. Meanwhile, SY is some kind of fairy.

Usually, SJ does lectures and SY — practice lessons, but once it was decided to swap them. Airplane was sick, so the other person made a new schedule. Top 10 Anime disasters. Meanwhile, more failing and bad grades were expected. Nobody could predict this shitstorm. It's all concentrated around one particular student, whose name was Luo Binghe. SY's favorite student and absolute teachers pet for him. Obviously, for SJ, it was hate from first sight. Many failed this course, and LBH was no different. He didn't get enough points because SJ was extra picky with grading his papers. LBH, all crying with puppy face, lamented to SY, and then shit hit the fan.

SY went to SJ, and they had a cat fight in their office after lessons. It started with accusations from both sides about bias. SJ saying that he obviously favors LBH and codles a beast who is too cocky, arrogant, and doesn't know his place. SY saying SJ is biased and hates LBH for his talent and cleverness, and also because LBH prefers SY's articles and analysis to SJ. Then, it proceeds to them criticizing each other and screaming. Naturally it ended with them making out (again) and having hatefuck (new!)

SJ was smug and obviously bragged to LBH with "I fucked your mum" energy. SJ: "Nobody is going to believe you anyway." (Wrong, LMY will eat this shit up and write a ff with love triangle, adding her brother and professor YQY to the mix. Somehow, all faculty know about its existence and students share it like a sacred torch) Boy is deeply traumatized by his teacher's sacrifice to pacify evil dragon. He promises SY a lifetime servitude. (SY: "No, Binghe, don't kneel, please. I don't need a lifetime servitude. Just you living a fulfilling life and pursuing academic endeavors is enough for me. " LBH: "Laoshiii *crying*). LBH won, but at what price. Press F for SY ass and LBH lovelife.

[crimsonnsstuff]

Sex and secrets - Sangwoo x reader

The night was dark, the kind of dark where every shadow seemed to whisper secrets and every streetlight cast ominous figures on the asphalt. You found yourself standing outside Sangwoo's apartment, the place where every emotion was amplified, where love felt like a vice around your heart.

Sangwoo opened the door, his eyes glinting with that mix of charm and danger that always drew you in. His smile was a weapon, disarming and dangerous all at once. "You came," he said, his voice smooth like silk over steel.

You stepped inside, the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something darker, something you couldn't quite name. "I always do," you replied, your voice betraying the storm inside you.

The moment the door clicked shut, the air thickened with an unspoken tension. Sangwoo's hands were on you, pulling you close, his touch both a promise and a threat. His lips crashed against yours, a kiss that was all about claiming, about marking territory. You responded, your body betraying your mind's reservations, craving the intensity only he could provide.

He pushed you against the wall, his body pinning yours, his breath hot against your ear. "You know you can't escape this," he whispered, his voice a velvet threat. His fingers traced the line of your jaw, down your neck, sending shivers through you, mingling fear with desire.

"You make it sound like I want to escape," you murmured back, your hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer even as part of you screamed to push him away. “Needy little slut, ain’t ya?”

The dance between you was always this: push and pull, love and hate. Sangwoo's hands roamed with possession, each touch igniting a fire that seemed to burn away your will. Clothes were shed with urgency, a testament to the hunger that neither of you could satiate.

His kisses were bruising, his touch rough, leaving marks on your skin like badges of his claim. You both fell onto the couch, the world outside forgotten, existing solely in this twisted bubble of passion and pain.

In no time, he was pounding into you, both of your legs hooked over his arms as he spreads you open. He spits down on your face. He grabs your hand as you go to wipe it off. “Ah, ah..don’t wipe it..you look pretty..” he growls.

He reaches down, twisting your nipple and making your back arch off the bed. “Down.” He groans and you quickly obey, flattening your back onto the bed.

Sangwoo's eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours as he moved above you, each thrust a declaration of ownership. "You're mine," he growled, his voice a mix of pleasure and control. The words should have chilled you, but instead, they fueled the fire within, your own voice escaping in moans that mingled with his.

He was so deep you were almost choking, You were lost in him, in this toxic dance that you both seemed doomed to repeat. Every touch, every kiss was laced with danger, the thrill of it all intoxicating.

You desperately try to push him off because you were too sensitive, even tho you haven’t came yet. Your eyes tear up and you pout at him, but it only makes him pound into you harder, making you whine.

“Shhhhh, you can do it..” he whispers, running a hand through your hair. He reaches a hand down, toying with your clit as you squirm. In no time, he felt you come on his cock. “Atta girl..” he coos.

After, as the storm of your passion settled, you lay entangled, his breath evening out beside yours. The silence was heavy, laden with unspoken words and the weight of what you'd just shared.

"Why do we do this?" you asked, your voice small in the quiet aftermath.

"Because we can't help it," Sangwoo answered, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. His touch was gentle now, a stark contrast to moments before. "Because this," he gestured between you, "is all we know how to be."

You turned to look at him, seeing the man who could both break you and put you back together, the man you couldn't seem to leave, no matter how much you knew you should. His eyes held a challenge, a question - would you stay, or would you try to walk away?

In that moment, you knew the answer, even if you didn't want to admit it. You were bound to Sangwoo by chains stronger than any physical ones - chains of passion, of need, of a dark, consuming love.

[thef1diary]

omg dirtbag!daniel is so good I can’t stop thinking about it! also your writing style is to die for. Was wondering if there was any more fuel in the tank for more dirtbag!daniel?

thank you, nonnie! I always have more dirtbag!daniel thoughts 🤭 this is what’s been on my mind lately: spit kink, marking + a bit of bratty reader. it turned out longer than I initially intended. drop some thoughts and I’d love to chat

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

Dirtbag!Daniel doesn’t own you. He never asked to, he never pretended to. But that didn’t stop him from treating you like you belonged to him, like your body existed solely for his amusement. Maybe it does, because no matter how filthy, how degrading his words get, you let him. You always come back for more.

Perhaps that’s why you were weaving your way through a packed bar, the dim lights flickering overhead and the bass of the music reverberating through your chest. The air is thick with humidity, the cloying scent of sweat and spilled beer clinging to every surface. It’s the kind of place where anonymity thrives—a place where you could disappear into the crowd if you wanted to.

But you didn’t come to disappear, no, you came because he called, and you were too far gone to resist.

You spot him almost immediately, leaning against the bar like he owned the place. One elbow rested lazily on the counter, a drink in his hand, his fingers curled loosely around the class. His head is tilted slightly, his dark eyes scanning the room, but there’s no mistaking the moment he sees you.

A smirk spreads across his face, slow and smug, and you feel the pull of it like a hook in your chest. It’s infuriating, that smirk. It always is. It’s the way he tells you—without words—he’s two steps ahead, already planning how to leave his mark on you, both physically and mentally.

The bar is too crowded for you to think clearly, the press of bodies around you amplifying your nerves. But as you approach him, the rest of the room blurs into the background. All you see is him, the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his shirt clings to his frame, and the glint in his eyes that promises trouble.

“Didn’t think you’d show up,” Daniel drawled, leaning in to speak to you over the din. His gaze rakes over you, taking in every inch of your body. It’s not fair, the way he makes you feel exposed without even touching you. Like he’s already imagined all the ways he’s going to break you tonight.

You force yourself to shrug, to play it cool. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down with a clink. “Figured you had more self-respect,” he said, his tone sharp enough to cut.

The grin that followed is demeaning, the kind that made your stomach twist in equal parts anger and want. “Guess not,” he added.

Your jaw tightened as his words sank in, the sharp edge of his insult cut deep—but not in the way they should. His insult only added to the simmering heat in your stomach, a twisted, shameful thrill curling low in your belly.

You hated how much you craved it—his mocking tone, the way he could peel you apart with a single look. But you won’t admit it. You opened your mouth to snap back, to tell him that you did have self-respect, thank you very much.

“I—”

But Daniel didn’t even give you the chance.

“Relax,” he said smoothly, interrupting without hesitation, his voice dripping with mockery. His fingers brushed against your arm as he leaned in closer, close enough that his breath ghosted over your ear. “I wasn’t looking for an argument, sweetheart. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Your breath hitched, and you hated the way his presence overwhelmed you, how his tone left no room for you to gain the upper hand. His smirk widened as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement, like this was all a game to him.

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t craving something,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “And we both know exactly what that is.”

Daniel didn’t even wait for you to respond, his smirk widening before he grabbed your wrist and yanked you closer. Before you could catch your breath, his mouth was on yours, the kiss filthy and unapologetic. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he devoured you, his tongue parting your lips with ease.

You melted into him, your resistance crumbling the moment he pulled you against his chest. The sheer force of his presence made your knees weak, and you hated how easily you gave in, how much you wanted this.

He almost chuckled into the kiss, the vibrations teasing against your lips, but he didn’t pull away. No, Daniel kissed you like he had something to prove, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his tongue hot and insistent. It was consuming, like he wanted to claim every part of you here and now, and he didn’t give a damn who saw it.

You dimly registered the press of bodies around you, the muffled gasps and sidelong glances from strangers who couldn’t help but notice the spectacle he was making of you. But Daniel didn’t care, not even a little. If anything, the idea of an audience seemed to spur him on, his hand gripping your hip possessively, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by a fraction, his forehead brushing against yours as he smirked down at you, his breath fanning over your lips. His gaze was molten, full of arrogance and something darker, something that made your stomach flip.

“See? You’re too easy,” he muttered, his tone low and mocking, but there was a glint in his eyes that told you he loved every second of it. His thumb brushed over your kiss-swollen bottom lip, smearing the remnants of his own claim on you, and you felt your cheeks heat under his scrutiny.

Daniel looked back, the smirk on his face growing as he signaled the bartender with two fingers. “Whiskey for me,” he said, his tone relaxed, almost bored, before his gaze slid back to you. “And for her…” He looked you up and down like he was appraising you, his lip curling slightly. “Something sweet. She needs it.”

You bristled at the condescension in his tone, but the bartender was already nodding, turning to make the drinks. Daniel’s attention shifted back to you, and he leaned his hip against the bar, his stance casual but his gaze piercing.

The drinks arrived moments later, and he slid it toward you, his fingers brushing yours as he handed it over. “Go on,” he said, his voice low and coaxing, the words laced with challenge. “Show me just how good you are at taking what I give you.”

Your fingers closed around the glass, but your grip faltered as his words sank in, their double meaning curling around your chest and tightening like a vice.

“I don’t take orders from you, Daniel,” you managed to bite out. Daniel raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, “don’t you?”

His eyes dropped to the drink in your hand, then back to your face, challenging you. “C’mon, I know you can be good for me.”

Your grip tightened around the glass as you raised it to your lips, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away. Daniel’s gaze stayed fixed on you, intense and unwavering, his smirk deepening as if he could feel the fire burning under your skin.

The drink was just as he’d ordered—sweet and cloying, the kind of thing that lingered too long on your tongue. His eyes flickered to your throat as you tipped the glass back, watching the subtle motion of you finishing the drink. The heat in his gaze made your skin prickle, and your breath hitched as you placed the empty glass on the bar with deliberate finality.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice like silk, but there was a dangerous edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine.

Without another word, he picked up his whiskey and downed it in a single smooth motion, the glass hitting the bar with a quiet clink. His hand found yours before you could react, his fingers firm but not rough as he tugged you from the bar.

“Come on,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You followed as he guided you through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours. He maneuvered you effortlessly, weaving through the bodies pressed close together until you reached a dark corner of the bar. The music was quieter here, the dim lighting casting long shadows that seemed to swallow you both whole.

Daniel turned to face you, his smirk growing as he backed you up against a wall. His eyes raked over you, dark and predatory, and for a moment, you felt like a cornered animal under his unrelenting gaze.

“Drop the act,” he murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only you could hear it over the muffled thrum of the music. “We both know why you’re here.”

“You couldn’t stay away, could you?” His eyes dragged over you, taking in every detail—the way your dress clung to your frame, the way your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. His gaze lingered, unapologetic and ravenous, and you felt the heat of it searing into you. “Look at you,” he murmured, his tone low and cutting. “All dolled up, hoping I’d notice. Hoping I’d take one look at you and decide to ruin you.”

Your breath caught as his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. His smirk deepened, cruel and knowing, like he could see right through you

“You’re not even trying to deny it,” he went on, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. “The second I called, you came running, didn’t you? Like the desperate little slut you are.”

“Danny…” you murmured, the plea barely audible, your voice trembling under the weight of his words. Your cheeks burned, humiliation mingling with the thrill that coursed through you, leaving you lightheaded.

He simply chuckled, watching you squirm in place as he had you exactly where he wanted you. His grip was firm, his thumb pressing down just enough to part your lips. “Ah, ah,” he chided, his voice a mockery of sweetness. “Don’t get shy on me now. You wanted this. You wanted me. Isn’t that right?”

You nodded, desperately, the act slipping away as soon as he called you his slut—which was exactly what you were, what you’d always be for him.

“There it is,” he murmured, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His smirk widened, his thumb tracing the edge of your lip before dragging it down your chin, a slow, deliberate motion that made you shiver. “I can see it, you know. The way you’re squirming, the way your eyes keep flicking to my mouth like you’re imagining all the filthy things I could do to you.”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his words wrapped around you, tightening the coil of tension low in your belly.

“Say it,” he commanded, his voice dipping even lower, the edge of his accent sharpening his words. “Say you came here for me. Say you came here to let me ruin you.”

Your lips parted, the heat of his gaze pulling the words from you before you could stop them. “I did,” you whispered, voice trembling as your cheeks burned under his scrutiny. “I came here for you. I want you to ruin me.”

His hand slid up to your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “That’s my obedient little slut,” he murmured, a grin breaking out on his face.

The pad of his thumb pressed against your bottom lip, smudging your lipstick further—his kiss earlier already having ruined it—leaving a streak of red across your skin. His grin widened as his eyes followed the smear. “Such a pretty mess already. Let’s make it worse.”

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “Stick out your tongue.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you obeyed, parting your lips and letting your tongue peek out, feeling utterly exposed under his watchful, predatory stare.

He tilted his head, letting a slow stream of spit fall from his mouth onto your waiting tongue. Heat bloomed in your cheeks as you held still, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

“Close,” he instructed, and you did, your lips sealing around the weight of his demand.

“Swallow,” he said next, his voice sharp and deliberate, the edge of his accent making it sound even filthier.

You swallowed, the act leaving a warmth in your belly that had nothing to do with the heat of the room. His smirk grew, impossibly smug, as his thumb returned to your jaw, tilting your face further toward him.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone dripping with approval. “You take orders so well, don’t you? Makes me wonder what else that filthy mouth of yours is good for.”

You whimpered under the weight of his words, your knees threatening to give out as his free hand slid down to your shoulder, then lower, fingers toying with the strap of your dress. He tugged it down slightly, just enough to bare your skin to him—revealing a few more marks he left behind a couple days ago.

“Mine,” he muttered under his breath, leaning in close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, biting down gently, then harder, until you gasped. He pulled back to admire the mark blooming on your skin—a deep red imprint of his teeth.

“You look so much better when you’re marked up,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Everyone who sees these will know exactly who you belong to.”

His hand wandered back up, fingers brushing the column of your throat before tightening just enough to send a wave of heat coursing through you. “You like that, don’t you?” he asked, his thumb pressing against your pulse point, feeling it race under his touch. “Being claimed, being ruined. You’ve been craving this all night, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you admitted breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned into his touch. “Please, Danny. I want more.”

His grin turned almost cruel as he leaned in, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Oh, you’ll get more, sweetheart,” he promised, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be ruined for anyone else.”

Perhaps you did belong to him, but the realization wasn’t as terrifying as you’d expected. In fact, it felt strangely natural, even comforting, as you found yourself agreeing with him without hesitation. Not that you ever had the strength to resist him in the first place. You were already a goner from the first time he degraded you like no other.

taglist: @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @mlioravanfleet @mehrmonga @wobblymug @bokutos-babyowl @evasmlp @mycenterfold @uhhvictoria @kaorisakamotofan @alice-went-away @nikfigueiredo @wonnou @jointhehunt67 @gxuh @67-angelofthelordme-67 @kigieri @lilorose25

[itsthewritergal]

Please can I hold you? - Bucky.Barnes x Reader

Hello my loves,

I'm trying to be better this year at writing.

Summary: Y/N leaves, and Bucky tries his hardest to fix it.

TW: Kissing, trauma, family trauma, shouting, swearing, (let me know if I've missed some)

January 1st, it was supposed to be their year. They had promised each other that this was it, Bucky and Y/N. Bucky had promised no more long missions away from Y/N, Y/N had promised that she would move in with Bucky so they could finally spend more time together. A good year was what they wanted, what they deserved, what they needed.  But here they were screaming at each other over Bucky not kissing Y/N at midnight. Y/N had explained to Bucky multiple times that she was at the edge, she couldn’t cope anymore with arguing, and whilst Bucky never admitted it, he hated it just as much, if not more than Y/N. Yet here they were. 

“And another thing, I didn’t even want to go to Nat’s stupid New Year’s eve party” Bucky screamed ‘I wanted to be at home with you’ was the bit he failed to include in his insult. 

“You told me you wanted to be with people you loved on New Year’s Eve, I thought it would be fun” She shouted back “You think it was fun for me? Because it fucking wasn’t. All I wanted to do was come home, the whole night, but you wanted to keep drinking” She seethed, Bucky wanted to tell her it wasn’t true. He didn’t want to drink, but he stupidly got caught up in the party. 

“Now you’re going to get at me for drinking? Like you don’t do it every single weekend” He shouted, “Thor never brings that fucking mead, I deserved to have a nice night” He was being mean intentionally, but he couldn’t stop. 

“I never said you didn’t Buck” She said her voice suddenly quieter, Bucky should have noticed it was because she was getting upset but he didn’t. 

“Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been working? I just wanted one nice night” Bucky should have stopped himself, he knows he should stop but he couldn’t. He was angry at himself for not putting his foot down and saying he wanted to spend time with just Y/N. 

“One nice night?” Y/N parroted “The nights we have aren’t nice? Is that what you’re saying?” 

“No! You’re twisting my words” Bucky snapped, he spoke with insecurity but it came across as anger and Y/N didn’t like that 

“Because I’m the bad guy right? James Bucky Barnes can’t put a foot wrong, but I can. That’s all I do right?” Y/N said, her fears coming to the surface. The insecurity was all from her messed up childhood, Bucky knew that from their late night chats, when they’d lay next to each other and confess everything, but he didn’t realise that the fear was seeping into their relationship. 

“That’s not what this is about” Bucky said realising suddenly how far he had taken the fight, and how distraught Y/N was becoming 

“Isn’t it?” Y/N snapped, her eyes locked onto Bucky as a target.

“You’re making this worse than it needs to be” Bucky said, unknowingly adding more fuel to the fire 

“Yeah that’s me isn’t it? Making everything worse. Don’t worry Buck, I get it” She snapped turning away from Bucky 

“Where the hell are you going?” He called after her 

“Downstairs Buck, I need some space away from you right now” She stormed out of their bedroom and down the stairs. Bucky sat down on their bed with his head in his hands, he had just fucked everything up. 

Taking a deep breath Bucky decided to set an alarm for 10 minutes, and once it had gone off he would go and speak to Y/N calmly about his feelings. That was how they were going to fix it. He knew he had messed up but he would fix it. 

Y/N stood in their hallway, and listened to Bucky close their bedroom door. She knew she had blown things out of proportion, she had made things worse. The little voice in her head told her she had messed things up seriously this time. There was no coming back from this. Bucky hated her, she knew that much. The thought along was enough to almost break her, pulling on her trainers she left the house silently, following the little voice down the streets. She twisted and turned around the streets she used to love walking with Bucky, but now they just felt like they were taunting her as she remembered the kisses they had shared at the bus stop, and the stray cat they had wanted to adopt by the street corner.  She couldn’t cope with it, so she began to run. 

The wind blew in her ears, the kind of fierce that stopped her from having to think, it was dark and the street lamps did little to ease her discomfort. She was on her way home, in the desperate hope that Bucky was asleep, or at Steve’s or Sam’s. She had no idea of the time,  having left her phone at home in Bucky’s jacket pocket most likely, but she sent a silent prayer to the sky that it was late enough that Bucky wouldn’t still be around. She couldn’t face him, not after everything she had done. Her mother was right, she wasn’t made for relationships, she would always mess them up, and now she had screwed up the only good thing she had going for her. This was it. She was done. Y/N didn’t notice the way her hands shivered a little with the cold biting wind, with her furious mood and growing insecurity she had forgotten a coat.  As she turned onto her and Bucky’s street the tears started again, this really was the end. Her and Bucky were about to be done, finished, ended. 

So much for their year. She mused to herself silently, revelling in the cruel twist of fate, her mother was right. 

Pushing the handle of the door down quietly, in the hope to not wake Bucky if he was in, Y/N creaked the door open. She took a shaky step into the house, listening out for Bucky. When she was satisfied that there was no sound of him she closed the door behind her and took off her shoes. 

“Y/N?” Bucky’s shaky voice called out, she froze. “Baby?” He said coming into the hall, Y/N put her hand back on the door handle, she was ready to run again, this was not a conversation she was ready to have. 

“Don’t you dare ever scare me like that again” He said wrapping his arms around her tensed body, Y/N kept herself tensed, she was ready to run if she needed. 

“I know you’re scared, I know you think you’ve messed this all up but I swear to you this whole argument is on me” he said refusing to let her out of his embrace, 

“Bucky stop” she said quietly 

“I’m sorry” He said dropping his arms, she looked up at him with red eyes “Could you come and sit down in the lounge for me?” He asked 

“I should go” 

“No” Bucky said “You’re going to come and sit down and we are going to talk about this, because we are bigger than your insecurities and we are going to fix this” he said, 

“Oh,” Y/N said “oh” She repeated once the words had settled into her head “You aren’t breaking up with me?” 

“Come on doll, come sit down for me?” He said 

“Ok” She said, following Bucky through their house. 

Y/N settled herself into an armchair, where she could curl her legs up underneath herself. Bucky opted for the sofa opposite her, picking up on the fact that she didn’t want to touch him just yet. 

“Before we start, the next time you need to get away you tell me where you’re going. I was terrified doll, I know the kind of people that are out there and if you need space, please let me come with you. I promise I won’t walk beside you or speak to you but I need to know you are safe.” Bucky said “Please?” 

“I’m sorry Buck” She said,

“No apologies. We have to make mistakes to fix them for the future yeah?” He said 

“I don think I can do this Bucky. All your friends hate me, I invited you to a party you didn’t want to be at, I asked you to cut down your missions. Everything I do, makes me the issue in this relationship” She said, 

“That’s not true, everyone loves you—”

“No they don’t, they put up with me” 

“No, no, Y/N. Please don’t do this. I know you’re spiralling, I know that you’ve always been made to believe that its your fault. But I swear to you this one is on me. I wanted to spend New Years Eve with just you. I wanted to kiss you at midnight, but I fucked up. I got drunk and neglected you. You should have been my priority at midnight, not that stupid drink” 

“I should’ve let you have fun” Y/N said 

“No, I should have kissed you” Bucky said, his tone was final and Y/N didn’t want to argue anymore. 

“I didn’t deserve it” 

“You don’t have to earn love” Bucky said, moving to the carpeted space in front of Y/N’s armchair, taking Y/N’s hands in his he pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles “I love you, I want to spend my life with you and I will spend every single moment apologising to you for the way I acted” 

“I’m sorry for saying all those mean things Buck” Y/N said “I didn’t mean them I just wanted to make myself the bad person so you could hate me. I wanted you to hate me” 

“Why did you want that?” Bucky asked after pressing another kiss to her hand 

“So you’d end things, so my fears could come true. It’s sadistic, but I guess I’m always just waiting for the end so I just wanted it to happen. Like ripping a bandage off” 

“Oh Y/N” Bucky said gently “You never have to be scared of me leaving. We will always work through our issues, you’re my life. You’re my world, this is it for me.” 

“So you’re not waiting for me to fuck up so you can leave?” 

“No, I’m not” Bucky said 

“I’m sorry” she whispered 

“No more apologies” Bucky whispered “Please let me hold you baby? We can talk more in the morning I promise. But right now I just need to hold you”

“You never need to ask”

[galaxygirl8880]

@nerdpoe I saw ur krs doesn't get instant au and i wrote something short for it 👉👈

There are no thoughts running through Raon miru's head as he stared at the rubble in front of him.

At his human. Cale, who is inhaling raspy, short breaths. There is blood pouring out of his mouth. He looks like he is in pain.

How-

What just happened?

They were at camp. Everything was peaceful. Choi han was sharing stories of his homeland, everyone was telling jokes and laughing and singing songs. There was- an earthquake? The mountain must have been unstable. The prince said there was an abandoned mine nearby that needed to be sealed off because of rising bandit activity. Cale had only accepted because Raon, Ohn and Hong wanted to go on a vacation-

It was supposed to be an easy, fun trip. Then they noticed the shaking and the falling rocks and not even Choi han could have helped without making it worse. He had panicked. He was relaxed and happy and wasn't thinking properly when the Boulders started falling.

Cale stumbles the slightest bit and Raon is the first one to get to him. The dragon lowers him down gently with magic as Ron starts checking his vitals, getting him to breath.

Raon miru is ashamed to say that there was a moment of silence where no one could move. Once Cale is cleared for transport, the dragon gets ready to teleport everyone back home.

It feels like his ears are stuffed with cotton, the only thing in his line of sight being Cale covered in his own blood. Cale does not fall unconscious until he is laid back in bed and a healer is called. But he does not speak. And Raon does not know what to think.

---

The dining hall is dead silent. Cale is sleeping and Jack had been called to keep a close eye on him.

Raon would love to be by his human's side and count the seconds until he woke up again but...

Cale saved them.

(Again.)

And he did it using- well. That's what raon wants to know. And he wants to know so he can ban Cale from using it ever again.

Raon miru would do anything to never hear that sound come from Cale Henituse's throat ever again.

Cale is not one to cry. He is known for his levelheadedness. Even in situations where a normal man would break. Its one of the reasons why he is so dependable, trustworthy, the shield of the roan kingdom. (His human hates that nickname but it doesn't mean it's not true in a way.)

In that moment of weakness, cale opened his mouth, let out the most gutteral scream-

and decimated the entire mountain.

'indescribable. Full of anguish and fury and sorrow.' Is what the people that were with Cale that day agreed on when reporting back to Alberu. A scream that wouldn't belong anywhere but the funeral of your most precious person.

A scream that fuels Raon's drive to be stronger. So that Cale will never be in a situation where using that is the only way out.

Raon hears Choi han make the same promise to himself later that day while at Cal's bedside. While Raon, Ohn, and Hong are trying to distract themselves by drawing together (it's not working). He knows that the other two heard it as well by the determined look they all shared and he knows that they are thinking the same thing.

---

When Cale woke up, (A few people cried. Choi han included.) he was banned from talking by Jack and Ron and Eruhaben and raon and Rosalyn and the kids and-

Cale was not allowed to talk.

Meaning he had to listen to everyone lecture him while being unable to retort. He was given a pen and paper that was mostly filled with apologies and attempting to avoid any questions about the mysterious ability. Cale could only eat soup for the time being because of the internal wounds in his throat. Ron stuck to sweet, room temperature tea for fear of the acidity of his usual blend aggravating his throat more.

Eruhaben and Ron drilled it into his head that he could never use that ability ever again. (Cale privately apologized in his head because he would do so in a heartbeat if necessary. The ancient dragon and assassin pretended as if they didn't also know this.) Hong thinks he heard Ron and Cale have a heart-to-heart. Although it was Ron questioning him and fast responses in the form of writing for Cale.

Alberu did not mention the reports of citizens in the nearby town being scared of the scream that came from the forest. The sadness some felt from the sound. His royal highness feels a bit guilty for being thankful that he did not have to hear Cale's ability.

Rosalyn was quick to create a device so Cale can communicate better, something to play the writing outloud. And if she spent a bit of extra time in Cale's room where she braided his hair, sharing new stories about her siblings when asked, then that's between them.

---

I feel like if roan has a version of sign language then everyone would make the effort to learn it. Even though Cale can still technically speak, no one wants him to strain himself. (Vitality of the heart fixed most of it but they weren't hearing it. He still gets phantom pains sometimes so Cale is quietly grateful for their support.)

[whosscruffylooking]

ᖭི༏ᖫྀ The Beginning of Us- Chapter 4 ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

Joel Miller x Fem! Reader warnings: mentions of blood, severe injuries. word count: 8k Series Masterlist

The sun barely breaks through the ash-gray sky, a dull light filtering into the cracked streets of the Boston QZ. The air is thick with smoke and the scent of decay, a testament to how little life has improved in twenty years. Joel moves through the crowd with his head down, blending into the current of weary, hollow-eyed people who shuffle past. His boots crunch on the gravel, the sound swallowed by the din of shouting guards and the occasional gunshot from beyond the wall.

It’s just another day in the zone, another day of scraping by.

Joel focuses on his next deal—a battery, some fuel, anything to keep him moving. He’s been chasing whispers about Tommy’s whereabouts, and today’s promise of trade could get him one step closer to finding his brother. He avoids eye contact with the patrols, his shoulders hunched, the line of his jaw tight. Tess is waiting at their usual spot, arms crossed, scanning the crowd.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” she mutters when he approaches, her voice low to avoid the ears of the nearby FEDRA officers.

“Had to talk to Owens. He’s stalling on that truck part.” Joel adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder, glancing around for any signs of trouble.

“Figures. He’d sell you a brick and call it gold if he could.” Tess smirks faintly, but her eyes study him for a beat longer than usual. She’s noticed it again—the shadow of something else pulling at him.

Joel catches her staring and scowls. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.”

“You just seem… distracted, is all.” She shrugs it off, but the weight of her words lingers. “Been happening a lot lately.”

Joel doesn’t reply, just grunts and starts walking toward the alley where their contact is supposed to meet them. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to name what’s eating at him. Because if he admits it, even to himself, it’ll become real. The whispers he’s heard, the rumors—he’s ignored them for years, written them off as ghost stories. And yet, every time her name drifts into a conversation, his chest tightens.

Y/N.

A name he hasn’t spoken aloud in decades. A name that still cuts, no matter how much he pretends it doesn’t.

He heard about you just last week, some drunk muttering at the bar about a ghost who roams the outskirts, doing jobs no one else will take. You don’t work for FEDRA. You don’t belong to the Fireflies. You’re a shadow, moving through the world like a tale, untouchable and unseen. The stories sound ridiculous—too good to be true—but a part of Joel wonders. Hopes. Hates himself for it.

Because you left. That’s what Tommy told him. You left him behind.

But the truth is murkier, messier, and he can’t make sense of the pull he still feels whenever your name is spoken, like a string tied too tight around his ribcage.

“Joel,” Tess says, pulling him back to the present. Her tone is sharper now. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“That thing where you disappear into your head. You gotta focus, man. These trades go south fast if you’re not paying attention.”

“I’m focused,” he snaps, though it’s half-hearted.

Tess raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t push further. She’s learned not to. Instead, she gestures toward the alley, where their contact is leaning against the wall, waiting.

As they approach, Joel shakes off the lingering thoughts and forces himself to concentrate. The trade is quick, tense—ration cards exchanged for information about the truck part Joel’s been chasing. The man gives him a location, vague directions that might as well lead to nowhere, but it’s all they’ve got.

When it’s done, Joel and Tess head back toward the quieter side of the QZ, away from the chaos of the main square. Tess glances at him as they walk, "I have a few things to take care of. You'll be alright without me?" He nods and they head their separate ways.

Joel heads back to their apartment, determined to do one thing, numb the pain. He fumbles around the cabinet and finds a bottle of whiskey that has seen better days. He sits it down on the table next to a glass but decides against the glass. He takes a long swig directly from the bottle. That familiar burn laces his throat and he winces, but he knows the effects will overtake him soon. 

He walks into the middle of the room and presses on a worn-down wooden dresser, it scrapes the floor as it moves. He bends down to the floorboards where it once was and pushes on one of the planks, it teeters and he lifts it up. Inside, is a small stash of his belongings. A map, with traces of red and blue markings.

He takes another swig of the drink as he traces the red line all around to a mark right by Boston. A small note is written byit, "August 21, 2023 Last Known Sighting." 

He takes another drink and leans back, staring up at the ceiling.

And then it happens—the memories slip through, uninvited and unstoppable.

August of 2002

Sarah bursts into the kitchen, her excitement bubbling over. “Dad! Our new neighbor is here—she brought cookies!”

Joel looks up from the counter, confused. “Cookies?”

“Yeah, come on!” Sarah grabs his hand, practically dragging him to the door.

When he steps into the doorway, that’s when he sees you for the first time. You’re standing there, a small smile on your face, holding a plate of cookies wrapped neatly in plastic.

“Hi,” you say, your voice warm and slightly nervous. “I’m Y/N. I just moved in across the street. I overheard you guys talking the other day about how much you loved cookies, and, well, my sister sent me a ridiculous amount when I moved. There’s no way I can eat all of these on my own, so I figured I’d share.”

Joel blinks, caught slightly off guard. “Uh, I’m Joel,” he finally says, his voice quieter than usual. He takes the plate from your hands, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

Sarah beams up at you. “Thank you! He really does love cookies. I do, too.”

You laugh softly, glancing between the two of them. “Well, then I think these are in good hands.”

Joel clears his throat, still feeling a little off-balance. “Appreciate it. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s nothing, really,” you say, your smile widening slightly. “Just wanted to say hi.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze lingering on you. Sarah elbows him lightly, pulling him out of whatever trance he’s in.

“Right, uh—thanks again,” he adds, stepping aside slightly. “You, uh, need anything, you know where we are.”

“Good to know,” you reply with a nod, stepping back onto the porch. “Enjoy the cookies.”

As you walk back across the street, Joel watches you for a beat longer than he means to.

“Dad,” Sarah whispers, smirking up at him. “You’re staring.”

Joel shakes his head, muttering, “No, I’m not.”

But he is.

The memory fades, and Joel blinks back the sting in his eyes. He takes another drink, gripping the bottle tighter now. He doesn’t want to go there—to let himself linger in what’s gone. But the alcohol, or maybe just the years, has other plans.

September 2002

“Is it just me, or is your new neighbor the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on?” Tommy asks, peering out the living room window with a mischievous grin.

Joel, still sorting through the bills on the kitchen table, doesn’t even look up as he responds, “That’s my neighbor. Keep it respectful.”

“She’s not my neighbor,” Tommy smirks, nudging his brother. “Aaannndd she’s coming over right now.”

Joel’s hand pauses mid-air as he flips through a stack of bills. The thought of you coming over catches him off guard. He’s grown used to seeing you across the street over the past month, a familiar presence, but he’s kept his distance. You’ve waved, shared a few polite words, but he hasn’t made any real effort to engage. Sarah, though, had already grown close to you, and Joel couldn’t help but notice how easily you both seemed to click.

“Looks like she’s got milk and eggs in her hand,” Tommy notes, his voice tinged with amusement.

Milk. Of course. He tries to push any thoughts of you aside, but his attention is still drawn to the door as Tommy heads to answer it.

“Welcome to Casa Miller,” Tommy greets, opening the door wide with a grin. “I’m Tommy. I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

You step inside, holding the milk and eggs in your hands with a sheepish smile. “Oh! Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N. I’m so sorry to stop by unannounced, but my fridge just broke, and I really don’t want the milk and eggs to go bad. Is there any way I could store them over here for now?”

Joel’s steps are slow as he approaches the door. The moment you both catch sight of each other, there’s an unspoken pause. A brief flicker of recognition in your eyes. He takes you in—the familiar features he’s seen from a distance over the last month now up close. You’re just as striking in person as you are from across the street.

Tommy’s voice breaks the silence. “Of course you can, and why don’t you stay for dinner? Let the fridge be the least of your worries tonight. We’ve got you covered.”

You glance between the two of them, clearly hesitating. “Oh, I don’t want to intrude.”

Tommy looks to Joel with a sly grin, then back at you. “Please do,” he presses. “Right, Joel?”

Joel, momentarily caught off guard, nods. He clears his throat, a touch of awkwardness creeping in as he speaks. “Yes, please. Sorry, come in.”

As you step inside, the door closing behind you, Joel feels the weight of the moment. Despite his attempt to keep things casual, a small part of him can’t help but be aware of your presence, the subtle tension between you lingering in the air.

Joel clenches his jaw, his knuckles whitening around the neck of the bottle. The whiskey sloshes inside as he sets it down harder than he intended.

The memories don’t stop.

September 26, 2003

"Stop looking at me like that." You whisper.

He shakes his head, "I can't."

"Try harder."

"Then stop being so beautiful," he whispers, reaching his hand across your hips and tugging you up against him. You gasp slightly at just how perfectly every part of you fits with his.

"Don't go," he repeats himself as he begins caressing every curve of your body.

"How did this happen?" You giggle.

"You seduced me okay?" He jokes. 

"I remember it quite differently," you whisper in between peppering light kisses on his chest.

"Just trying to be neighborly," he places a playful squeeze on your hip.

"Well," you twirl his hair in your fingers, "However it happened, I hope it happens again." 

Before you can pull away too far, he captures your lips with his. His kiss intoxicates you and lights a burning desire within you to pick up where you both left off last night. 

Swiftly, he guides your body underneath his and growls against your skin, "Then let's make it happen again."

Joel exhales shakily, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. He drags his hands down his face, trying to will the memories away. But it’s no use.

Because the last one is always the hardest.

September 27, 2003

It’s chaos. Smoke fills the air, screams echoing in the distance. Joel stands there, frozen, as the flames rage behind him. Tommy pulls at his arm, shouting, “We have to go, Joel!”

But he’s searching, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Where is she?” he yells, his voice raw.

Tommy shakes his head, the anguish clear on his face. “She left, Joel. She—she went her own way.”

“No,” Joel says, his voice trembling. “She wouldn’t—”

“Joel, we have to go!” Tommy’s grip is firm, unyielding.

And then they’re running. But every step feels like a betrayal.

The bottle slips from Joel’s hand, hitting the floor with a dull thud. He doesn’t bother picking it up, his hands pressed to his face now. The pain is suffocating, clawing at him from the inside out.

He’s told himself he hates you. For leaving. For abandoning him and Sarah. For not being there when everything fell apart.

But deep down, buried under all the anger and hurt, is something far worse—grief. Grief for what was, and what could have been.

And sometimes, when he lets himself feel it, longing.

»»————————-««

August 29, 2023

Joel and Tess make their way down the dimly lit hallway, their boots crunching over debris. The faint stench of blood and death hangs in the air, the bodies of fallen Fireflies scattered across the floor. Tess finds their battery, but it’s destroyed—just another obstacle in their already complicated journey.

Joel pauses as he hears a groan, his instincts sharp. He follows the sound, moving cautiously through the halls, and spots two women leaning on each other, their movements slow and labored. But the noise from a nearby door distracts him—a loud rattling, followed by a sudden burst. Before he can react, a young girl barrels into him, her small form slamming into his chest. She’s fast and aggressive, but he’s quicker. He tosses her against the wall with ease, disarming her in one smooth motion, his gun pointed directly at her.

“Joel?” A familiar voice calls from behind him.

He turns, surprised. “Marlene?”

The Firefly leader, clutching her side, limps toward him, her face tight with pain but still full of resolve. The girl looks back at Marlene, her expression shifting as she spots the wound on her side.

“Oh shit,” the girl mutters, her tone shifting between concern and frustration.

“It’s okay,” Marlene replies, trying to steady herself, “I’ll be fine. But you can’t be reckless like this.”

Tess steps forward, eyeing Marlene with a mix of disdain and curiosity. “So this is who Robert screwed us over with? The Che Guevara of Boston? Guess your war’s not going too well if you’re buying from scum like him.”

“Yeah, it kinda hasn’t been,” Marlene responds bluntly. “Merch was bad, and he didn’t take ‘screw off’ for an answer.”

The girl, impatient, tries to reach for the knife Joel just moved under his boot.

“Don’t,” Joel warns, his voice sharp.

Marlene gestures toward the girl. “Point it at me, not her.”

Joel raises an eyebrow. “What do you need a car battery for?”

“I need it for a better reason than you do,” Marlene says coolly, her gaze unwavering. “No offense, but Tommy’s just one man. It’s our job to know things.”

Joel scoffs. “To know things?” His sarcasm hangs in the air.

“Okay, Joel,” Marlene says, the desperation in her voice creeping in. “That was a lot of gunfire. FEDRA’s on its way. We were gonna move Ellie outta the zone tonight, but it’s not happening like this. Not for a while, anyway. So now I’m thinkin’… you’re gonna do it.”

“The hell we are,” Joel retorts, his voice rising with irritation. “We don’t smuggle people.”

Marlene takes a deep breath, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. “There’s a team of Fireflies waiting for her at the old State House.”

Joel’s disbelief is evident. “So?”

Marlene leans in, her voice urgent. “I know what’s out there. We were supposed to have a whole squadron for that. But now, I don’t have a truck. I don’t have a squadron. FEDRA’s five minutes away. What I do have is you two. And I know what you’re capable of. For better or worse.”

Joel glances at Tess, considering it.

Marlene adds, her voice softening slightly, “Get her there safely, and we’ll give you everything you need. Not just a battery. The whole thing. A fueled-up truck, guns, supplies, all of it. I swear.”

Joel slides the knife away from the girl, pushing it just out of her reach.

“Asshole!” she snaps, frustrated.

Joel pulls Tess aside, speaking in a low voice. “Do you trust her?”

Tess doesn’t hesitate. “Me neither,” she admits, glancing at Marlene’s wounded form, “but she’s desperate. And desperate people make deals. She’s got repurposed FEDRA vehicles. If they work like she says, we’ve got a better-than-decent chance of getting to Tommy. But the second we hand that kid over…”

Marlene interrupts, her voice strained. “Please, remember I’m bleeding out here.”

Tess turns, laying out the deal. “We don’t hand the kid over until we have every single thing you promised. Not a minute before.”

Marlene nods, though pain flashes across her face. “Perfect,” she says, the tension in her voice palpable. “I’ve hired a tracker. She’ll get you there.”

“A tracker?” Joel repeats, skeptical.

“Yeah,” Marlene replies, gesturing toward the woman standing by her side. “She knows the ins and outs of every QZ, the danger zones, everything.”

Joel’s gut tightens at the mention of a tracker. He doesn’t know why, but something about this feels off.

“Go get her,” Marlene urges the woman next to her, her voice firm.

The footsteps echo down the hallway. Joel watches closely as the tracker turns. His eyes trace them from their boots up, slowly, as if prolonging the inevitable. Then he sees them—the all-too-familiar eyes that have haunted him for years.

His knees feel weak, threatening to give out. He sways slightly, shifting to regain his balance. The lump in his throat tightens, and the ache in his chest is immediate. No words come to him, only the searing burn behind his eyes—the tears he thought he’d shed long ago for you. The ghost. The woman standing in front of him.

When you turn the corner and your gaze lands on him, your heart sinks like a stone. You had known he was nearby; Marlene had warned you. But nothing could prepare you for the reality of seeing him now. Him. The man who left you to die. There are no tears left to shed for him, only the hollow ache of betrayal that’s festered for twenty years.

Joel inhales sharply, his voice coming out rough and uncertain. “Y/N…” It’s barely a whisper, as if your name were sacred and forbidden all at once.

Tess frowns, glancing between you both. “Y/N? As in—”

Joel nods stiffly, his jaw clenched, his eyes locked on you like he’s afraid you might vanish again.

“See,” Marlene says, breaking the tension with a sharp tone. “You already know each other.”

Joel takes a step forward, his mouth opening to say more, but the words fail him. He forces out, “What are you—” but his voice falters, and he doesn’t finish.

You cut him off before he can gather himself. “I’m sorry, Marlene. I can’t do this job.” Your voice is firm, but there’s a tremor underneath, betrayal woven into every syllable.

Marlene’s eyes widen. “What? No, you can’t—”

“I can’t work with him,” you say coldly, though the effort to keep your composure feels like a losing battle.

Joel flinches, the impact of your words hitting harder than any blow he’s taken in years. He’s always imagined what he might say if he ever saw you again—but none of it prepared him for this.

“You have to,” Marlene says firmly, desperation creeping into her voice. “I already paid you. You’re the only one who can pull this off.”

Tess, watching the scene unfold, steps closer to Joel and presses a hand to his chest, grounding him. “Look,” she says bluntly, addressing you, “whatever history you two have, fine, deal with it. But this isn’t about you, or him. A job is a job. And we need to get to Tommy.”

You glance at her hand on his chest, and it stings more than it should. You’ve had your share of fleeting companions over the years—strangers holding you through hopeless nights—but seeing another woman’s touch on him feels like a cruel twist of fate.

“I’ll do it,” Joel says suddenly, his voice steady but his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a quiet plea in his expression, one you refuse to acknowledge.

You hesitate, the bitterness in your heart warring with the reality of the situation. You’d spent years hardening yourself against the memory of him, but now here he is, alive and breathing. And you’ll have to stay by his side.

You force the words out, each one heavier than the last. “Fine. I’ll do it too.”

Marlene nods quickly, relief washing over her. “Good. Ellie, grab your things. Stay close to Y/N.”

As Ellie moves to obey, you step cautiously past Joel, your proximity sending a wave of tension crackling between you. It’s unbearable—like two magnets drawn together despite everything trying to keep them apart. You feel his breath hitch as you pass, and you can tell he’s fighting the same pull, trying not to look at you. But he does. He always does.

You don’t turn back. You can’t. Not yet.

»»————————-««

The rain doesn’t stop. It beats relentlessly against the cracked windows of the apartment building as the four of you shuffle inside, soaked and silent. Joel lingers at the back, his footsteps heavier than usual, his mind a storm to match the weather.

Every step you take feels fragile like your legs might betray you at any moment. The weight of him walking behind you, so close yet impossibly far, is suffocating. You clench your fists, nails biting into your palms as if the sting will keep you grounded.

“In here,” Tess says, motioning toward a battered door.

She opens it, revealing their makeshift safehouse—worn furniture, peeling wallpaper, and the faint scent of mildew. You pause for a second, letting Ellie step through before following her inside. The door creaks, loud and strained, and just as you take a seat, Tess lingers in the hall, stopping Joel with a hand on his arm.

“Give us a minute,” Tess says firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Your stomach twists. Something tells you to stay near, to listen. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s anger, or maybe it’s the faintest sliver of hope that some part of him feels what you do. You lean against the wall, close to the door, holding your breath to hear their conversation.

“I need to know you’ve got your head on straight,” Tess says bluntly, her tone bordering on sharp.

“I do,” Joel replies, but there’s no conviction in his voice. It’s hollow, and mechanical.

Tess doesn’t buy it. “I know this isn’t what you expected. It’s not what I expected either. But we’re all in this together now. Same goal, same stakes.”

There’s a pause. Joel exhales deeply, and even through the door, you can hear the tension in it. “I just need time to process it,” he says finally. His voice is hard and cold, like the man you’ve come to resent. But underneath, there’s something raw—something broken.

You press your hand to your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut as his words cut into you. Processing. Like you’re a wound he needs to come to terms with, instead of the person he once promised never to leave behind.

Tess sighs, frustrated but not surprised. “Joel, if you can’t handle this, you need to say so now. Because we can’t afford to fall apart. Not now.”

“I’ll handle it,” Joel says, the edge returning to his voice. “I always handle it.”

The lie in his tone is unmistakable. You bite back the lump rising in your throat and step away from the door, moving deeper into the room where Ellie sits quietly.

You wonder if he still believes his own words—if Joel Miller, the man who swore to fight for you, has any part of him left that remembers the truth. Because you remember it. You remember the way his hands held you steady in the chaos of that day, the way his voice cracked as he swore he’d find you.

But he didn’t.

Joel slams the door shut behind him, muttering something under his breath before he drops onto the worn-out couch. His movements are stiff, every ounce of him radiating discomfort. Tess is nowhere to be found and without her, he looks completely out of his depth. His hands fidget in his lap, his jaw tight as he avoids looking in your direction.

Ellie, ever the master of timing, glances between the two of you, her expression caught somewhere between curiosity and amusement. “So,” she starts, dragging the word out, “why do you two hate each other so much? I mean, clearly, you used to sleep together, but where did it go wrong?”

Your breath catches in your throat. Joel’s head snaps up, his eyes widening slightly before narrowing into a glare aimed at Ellie.

“Don’t go there kid,” he warns, his voice low and sharp.

But she just shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Touchy subject, huh?”

You can feel your pulse pounding in your ears. Your shoulders stiffen, and your voice comes out tighter than you’d like. “Let’s all just mind our own business, and this will go a lot smoother.”

Ellie leans back, arms crossed, her grin unapologetic. “Fine, fine. But for the record, I think the drama’s kind of fun.”

Joel exhales harshly, pinching the bridge of his nose. You catch the briefest glimpse of his profile, and it strikes you just how much older he looks now—worn down, his face etched with lines that weren’t there before. You wonder if he sees the same in you, or if he’s even bothered to notice.

The silence that follows is thick with unspoken words. You busy yourself by unpacking your bag, though your hands shake slightly as you do. Joel shifts uncomfortably on the couch, the springs creaking beneath him. He keeps his gaze fixed on some point in the room that isn’t you, his fingers tapping against his knee.

Ellie breaks the silence again, her tone lighter but no less intrusive. “Okay, seriously though—whatever happened, you both look like you want to crawl out of your skin. So… maybe just talk it out? Or like, punch it out? I’m good with either.”

Joel shifts on the couch, clearing his throat. “We don’t have to talk about this.”

“No,” you say quietly, your voice steady but laced with bitterness. “We don’t.”

Ellie raises her hands in mock surrender, but her smirk remains. “Alright, alright. Just saying—it’d be a lot less awkward for me if you did.”

You step into Joel and Tess’ room, the door creaking as you close it partway behind you. The space is cramped, barely big enough for the bed and the dresser shoved against the wall. You peel off your damp jacket and toss it over the chair, wincing as the fabric catches on your side. The scars there always ache when it rains—ghosts of a night you’ll never forget.

You reach for a dry shirt in your bag, tugging your current one up and over your head. The cool air brushes against the exposed skin of your waist, where jagged scars crisscross like lightning bolts. Shrapnel from that night—the night everything fell apart. The night you lost him.

Joel pauses in the living room, his boots scuffing against the floor. He doesn’t mean to look, but through the crack in the door, he catches a glimpse of you. Of the scars. His breath hitches, the sight of them like a punch to the gut. They’re worse than he imagined, worse than he remembers, and the guilt that’s always lived in the back of his mind surges forward, sharp and unrelenting.

He swallows hard, his hand gripping the doorframe for balance. He’d fought like hell to get back to you that night, but seeing those scars now, he wonders if it was ever enough.

“You okay there?” Ellie’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

He turns sharply, startled, and finds her standing just behind him, arms crossed and a knowing smirk on her face. She tilts her head toward the door.

“Bit creepy, don’t you think?” she teases, her voice just loud enough to make him wince.

“Mind your business,” Joel mutters, his voice gruff as he pushes past her. But Ellie doesn’t miss the way his shoulders tense, or the flicker of something—guilt, regret—etched into his features.

Inside the room, you pull your shirt down and glance at the door. It’s slightly ajar, but you don’t think much of it. The scars may have faded over the years, but the weight of them hasn’t. You take a steadying breath, pushing the memories back down, and reach for your jacket.

Out in the living room, Joel lingers, torn between retreating and saying something—anything. But the words stay lodged in his throat, the ache in his chest a familiar companion as he turns away.

»»————————-««

Tess finally returns, and it’s time to head out. The four of you grab your things and descend into the tunnels beneath the QZ. Joel helps Ellie and Tess out of a low drop, but when he extends a hand toward you, you decline, brushing past him with a curt nod.

“Holy shit, I’m actually outside,” Ellie whispers, wide-eyed as she takes in the open air.

Tess pulls her down quickly, the group crouching to avoid FEDRA’s spotlights sweeping overhead. “Stay close to Y/N, okay?” Tess says firmly. Ellie nods, moving to your side without hesitation.

You lead the group beneath an old school bus, relying on your knowledge of the outside. The route is second nature to you now—every corner, every shadow. Thunder rumbles in the distance as the group moves in bursts, running and ducking when needed. Helicopters circle overhead, the distant hum of engines and the sharp crack of lightning adding to the tension.

Ellie clings lightly to your belt loop, keeping close, her movements hesitant but determined. Every so often, you steal a glance at Joel. His face is unreadable, but you can feel the weight of his gaze, the shared disbelief of your situation lingering between you.

Suddenly, you round a corner and stumble upon a FEDRA officer relieving himself in the shadows. Of course. You roll your eyes at the terrible timing.

Joel motions for everyone to stay calm, his hands raised. “Okay, let’s talk this out,” he says evenly, his voice low and careful. You mimic his movements, your elbows brushing against his as you both raise your hands in surrender.

“Turn around! Get on your knees!” the officer barks, his weapon raised. “I told you people to stay home.”

“Just get on your knees,” you mutter, annoyed but compliant.

Tess speaks up, trying to negotiate. “Look, you let us finish this run, and we’ll split the ration cards with you. No trouble.”

The officer doesn’t budge, his expression cold. He scans each of you with a portable infection detector, the light bouncing off your faces. Joel glances at you, his jaw tight, his body tense.

“We’re doing this by the book!” the officer snaps.

You groan, exasperated. “Really, dude? You’re gonna make this difficult?”

Before anyone can respond further, Ellie suddenly lunges forward, jamming a small knife into the officer’s knee. He lets out a pained scream, stumbling backward.

“Ellie!” you shout, your voice sharp with both shock and anger.

Joel steps in quickly, his demeanor shifting in an instant. ��We can fix this!” he says, but the far-off look in his eyes tells you otherwise. The officer barely has time to raise his weapon before Joel tackles him, his fists raining down with brutal, relentless force.

“Joel, stop!” you yell, but it’s as if he can’t hear you. The sound of his fists hitting the man’s face is sickening, and the sheer rage radiating from him sends a chill down your spine. This isn’t the Joel you once knew—this is someone else entirely, consumed by something darker, something feral.

“Joel!” Tess shouts, breaking the silence. She holds up the scanner the officer had dropped. The screen glows red.

“She’s infected!” Tess yells, her voice shaking.

“No! No, I’m not!” Ellie screams, her voice panicked. “Look! It’s three weeks old! No one lasts more than a day! I swear, I’m not infected!”

Joel freezes, his chest heaving, his hands covered in blood. For a moment, no one moves. The weight of Ellie’s words sinks in like a stone.

“We’ve gotta move, Joel!” Tess snaps, urgency rising in her voice as she processes Ellie’s revelation.

You force yourself out of your shock and grab Joel’s arm, your voice firm but trembling. “We have to go. Now.”

He looks at you, his eyes clouded with confusion and something deeper—remorse, guilt, fear. But there’s no time to dwell on it. Together, you pull him back to his feet, and the four of you disappear into the night.

You find an abandoned building to spend the night in, the walls cold and silent, offering little comfort. You and Ellie sleep in one room while Joel and Tess take the other. Despite your exhaustion, sleep doesn’t come easily, your thoughts tangledand restless.

In the dead of night, you wake to the sound of muffled voices. You recognize the familiar tones—Joel and Tess. You can’t help but listen.

“You think you’re gonna be able to make it with her?” Tess asks, her voice low but laced with something sharper.

Joel’s reply comes with a long sigh, worn and resigned. “We have to be adults. Besides, she’s here to look after the kid. Once that’s done and we find Tommy, we’ll go back to acting like the other doesn’t exist.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. A sting sharp enough to make your chest tighten. Acting like the other doesn’t exist? After everything you’ve been through, that’s the plan?

You step into the room, the cold air of the hallway brushing against your skin. “I can’t wait,” you say, your voice icy, betraying none of the hurt you feel.

Joel jumps slightly, clearly wishing you hadn’t heard that conversation, but the damage is done. He doesn’t say anything at first. His eyes flicker to you, then away, uncomfortable and uncertain.

Tess, ever the mediator, tries to smooth over the tension. “How about you two take a minute, talk some things over?”

“We don’t need to,” Joel says, his tone clipped and stern, as if to end the discussion before it can go any further.

“I have nothing to say to him,” you reply curtly, your eyes locking with Joel’s. There’s no room for anything but the cold distance between you two now.

Ellie steps into the room then, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “And here I thought I was the child,” she says, her voice cutting through the thick tension.

You can’t help but let out a dry laugh, even if it’s not a happy one. Children. That’s exactly what you both are. So damn childish. But instead of letting it show, you simply shake your head and turn to Ellie. “Let’s get some rest. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

The next morning, you stumble into the main room, groggy and disoriented, only to find Joel and Tess already interrogating Ellie about her bite. Of course. Some things never change.

“What’s the point in over-analyzing the kid?” you mutter, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “The bite’s old. It’s on her arm. If it was gonna turn her, it would’ve happened by now.”

Joel shoots you a glare, clearly annoyed by your interruption, but Tess nods in agreement.

“She’s right, Joel,” Tess says, glancing at him, then shifting her focus to Ellie. “Why are you so important to Marlene? And don’t lie to us, because we will take you back.”

Ellie crosses her arms, giving Tess a defiant look. “You take me back, you don’t get your battery.” Her tone is sharp, and you can’t help but chuckle at her wit.

“You heard that, huh?” Tess shoots a glance at Joel. “Well, you must’ve also heard that he wants to shoot you,” she adds, motioning to Joel.

You lock eyes with Joel, your heart faltering. That familiar, uncomfortable tension creeps back in. Neither of you can escape it.

Tess kneels down to Ellie, her voice taking on a stern, serious edge. “I’m gonna talk to you like you’re an adult, okay?” She looks over at Joel, then back to Ellie. “Joel and I aren’t good people. We’re doing this for ourselves because, apparently, you’re worth something. But we don’t know what you’re worth if we don’t know what we have. So answer my question.”

Ellie exhales loudly, like she’s been rehearsing this line. “There’s a Firefly base camp somewhere out west… with doctors. They’re working on a cure. And whatever happened to me is the key to finding the vaccine.”

Joel’s face tightens, frustration boiling up to the surface. “That’s what this is? We’ve heard this a million times. Vaccines, miracle cures. None of it works.”

Ellie shoots him a look. “Screw you, man. I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Neither did I,” Joel mutters, moving toward Tess. “This isn’t going to end well. We need to turn back.”

Tess steps forward, locking eyes with Joel. “Is this about finding a cure, or are you just refusing to confront your past?” She leans in, a challenge in her voice.

Joel swallows hard, the weight of her words hitting him. He looks away, clearly rattled.

“Don’t do that,” he mutters, casting a quick glance at you, like he’s hoping for some kind of escape.

You sigh, pushing yourself off the doorframe and stepping forward. “Look,” you say, your voice steady but laced with the same frustration. “I don’t like this any more than you do. But if the Fireflies think this kid’s some kind of miracle, let’s give them what they want. Then we get what we want. After that, like you said last night, we can go back to pretending that we don’t exist.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. You can see it in his eyes—he’s not sure if he can go back to that, or if he even wants to. His silence hangs in the air.

Tess looks at you, her lips curling into a soft smile. “I think that’s a good plan.”

You nod, trying to hold it together. Everyone’s got their own demons. But right now, it feels like you’re all stuck with the same one.

You follow everyone outside, the cool air biting at your skin as you watch Ellie marvel at the world she’s never truly known. There’s a bittersweetness to the way she takes it all in. It reminds you of how you once saw it—the world, unbroken, full of possibilities. But now, everything’s just a memory. Joel watches you from the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering on you, searching for the girl he once held, the one he thought he’d lost.

“Y/N, once we get through the city, you take the lead,” Tess announces, snapping you out of your thoughts. You nod in agreement, your mind still half in the past and half in the present.

“So what have you been up to for the past 20 years?” Tess asks, her voice light but laced with curiosity. “Why do they call you a ghost?”

You let out a heavy sigh, the weight of the question pulling you back into the painful memories you’d rather forget. But, for the sake of the group, you answer. “It’s a long story,” you begin, your voice quiet. “The day the world stopped turning, I got badly injured. Shrapnel from an airplane hit me. I was out of commission for a while.”

Joel’s eyes narrow slightly, the memory of that day likely just as vivid for him as it is for you. You try not to look at him, but it’s hard to ignore the tension that still lingers between the two of you.

“A group in Louisiana took me in and nursed me back to health,” you continue, your words feeling hollow as you speak them. “After that, I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I started hitching rides on the back of different trucks, making my way through the states. I’d pick up odd jobs here and there until I started getting good at keeping secrets. People would have me take messages across the QZ borders. Gradually, the messages got more important—and worth a lot of money. I ran on my own, found ways to get in and out of different states without being seen. So yeah, I’m a bit of a ghost.”

As you finish, you glance at Joel. His face is unreadable, but you can feel the inner turmoil swirling within him. The memory of you, lost and broken, the girl he once thought would be there, only to have you disappear without a trace—it weighs heavily on him, and you can see it in his eyes.

He swallows hard, as if trying to push the bitterness down. You can’t blame him. He never thought he’d see you again—never thought he’d have to face the consequences of leaving you behind. And now, here you are, a stranger with the same scars, the same haunted look in your eyes.

“Guess that’s one way to stay alive.” Tess says, breaking the tension with a half-smile. But you can tell it’s not just curiosity driving her—it’s the weight of the years that passed, and the guilt that still hangs in the air between you and Joel. 

You don’t respond immediately, the weight of Tess’ words hanging in the silence. It’s not just about surviving anymore. It’s about facing the past you’d both tried to bury.

The four of you continue walking across a highway overpass, the cracked asphalt barely visible under the heavy weight of overgrown plants and dilapidated cars. The air is thick with the smell of decay, and the silence between you and Joel feels suffocating. Tess is leading the way with Ellie, and you fall behind, closer to Joel. Every step you take feels like it brings you both closer to the edge, but you can’t bring yourself to close the gap completely.

You want to break the ice. You want to make this journey—this nightmare—easier, even if it’s just for a moment. But every time you try to speak, it feels like the past is crawling out of the shadows, suffocating whatever words you might say.

Finally, you take a deep breath, forcing the words out, “It’s funny.”

Joel looks at you, his gaze sharp and calculating, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re talking to him or just muttering to yourself. You keep your focus on the cracked road ahead, but you know his attention is on you.

“The last time I saw you,” you continue, voice trembling just slightly, “we were celebrating your 36th birthday. Now, you have a head full of gray hair.”

He blinks, a brief flicker of something in his eyes before a small, rueful smile tugs at his lips. “I guess that’s what an apocalypse does to you.”

You scoff lightly, trying to hide the knot that forms in your stomach. “Or you’re just an old man now.”

You quickly look down at the ground, but not before you feel a blush creeping onto your cheeks, a sudden vulnerability you don’t want him to see.

Joel glances at you again, something in his gaze, before he speaks in that low, gravelly voice. “You haven’t changed at all.”

The words cut through the air, and for a split second, you wonder if you imagined it. His voice, soft, almost too soft. Likehe’s trying to pull himself together, but something’s slipping through. You feel the weight of those words before you even process them.

You meet his eyes, startled, and for a moment, you’re both caught in the quiet pull of what was—what could have been.

“You’re exactly how I remember you,” he says quietly, as if speaking the truth aloud might break something inside ofhim.

The sting hits you then, too quickly for you to stop. A familiar ache floods your chest, but it’s not just the hurt of what you’ve lost. It’s the anger too, the betrayal, the days spent trying to survive without him. You fight to hold it back, but it’s useless. It all spills out in the form of words you don’t want to say, but need to.

“Trust me…” you whisper, barely able to get the words out, “I don’t feel the same.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, the distance between you now not just physical, but emotional. You wonder if he can hear the break in your voice, the cracks in the walls you’ve built. You’re not sure if you want him to. You just need him to understand.

The moment shatters when the distant wail of an infected echoes through the air. Ellie gasps, her hand instinctively tightening around the weapon at her side.

Joel’s head snaps up, and without missing a beat, he motions forward. “Let’s keep moving.” His voice is firm, a shield he’s using to cover whatever turmoil is swirling inside him.

You follow without hesitation. The warmth of the moment is gone, replaced by the bitter reality of survival.

»»————————-««

Taglist: @si1versamurai

[talaofthevalley]

Yugioh decks usually can say a lot about their owner .. what do you think that Ryoken or better to say Revolver's deck says about him?

It's one of my favourite things about Yugioh actually; A character's deck, and even their ace monsters, can say a lot of very interesting things about them.

I will admit I haven't put a lot of thought into Revolver's archetype in relation to his character before, but changing that was very fun and I had a surprising amount of interesting things to talk about.

You can break down Revolver's deck into two basic themes: Dragons and guns. Combine them and boom, you've got Rokkets and Borrel monsters.

You have the obvious connection between his LV username 'Revolver', which is a gun that can hold six bullets (one for every Ignis). Dragons are a Yugioh staple, especially among the rivals, and typically associated with strength, ferocity, and guarding something valuable. For past rivals who use dragons like Kaiba and Kaito that last part makes sense, as older brothers who love their younger siblings very much. Applying this to Ryoken can mean how he's the metaphorical guardian of The Lost Incident and keeper of its secrets, and at the end the literal guardian of the network. Strength and ferocity he has in spades, often depicted as a figure who is far above other characters in terms of skill and knowledge.

Guns though.... I mean they're pretty straightforward. They're a tool used to kill. Which isn't an inaccurate way to describe Revolver in S1. He sees himself as a tool to accomplish Hanoi's, but mostly his father's goal. And that goal is the annihilation of living creatures. And in the finale he's the literal trigger standing between the destruction of the internet. Ryoken keeping his promise to not pull that trigger, I think, then serves as a good indication of where his character will go from there. Now, Revolver is not a weapon wielded solely for someone else's ambition, but for himself and his wants.

And is that not a very similar way Rokkets are played? Rokket monsters have different effects that trigger upon being targeted by a Link monster, such as destroying a monster on the field or the extra deck, backrow destruction, or everything in one column. That, I think, is what Revolver is doing post-S1; Directing his destructive powers to be the most effective and beneficial for not only himself, but for people he cares for in some way.

That Rokkets destroys themselves is relevant as well. Revolver is perfectly fine making himself the target of people's ire and hatred, even if it's not warranted or justified. He was willing to die for his mission in the S1 finale. And ofc famously no one hates Kogami Ryoken as much as Kogami Ryoken. But it's a self-destruction for the sake of something, not just self-destruction fueled by self-hatred. It fits with Revolver's knight theming, to fight and act for something greater than oneself. Which is also what the Rokket monsters do; they destroy themselves when targeted in order to fulfill a objective.

Then we come around to Rokkets other noteworthy effect; at the end of your turn, they can special summon other Rokkets from the deck if they are in the graveyard because their beforementioned effect was activated. Revolver is as tenacious as they come, and equally resourceful. Even after losing to Playmaker, what he's hung up on is not that he was defeated, but Playmaker's identity. He swears he will win next time, and that's that.

Revolver is also notably efficient in building up forces and gather power for his goals. He builds the Knights of Hanoi back up in S2, even breaking Kyoko out of a high security prison so they will be at full power. Revolver is the one to gather the scattered characters into one group to work together to defeat Lightning. To say he knows how to use people is a misleading term, but he's very perceptive and knows how to best make them cooperate. It doesn't always work, but no one is unaffected by his attempts either.

All this can be related to the Borrel line of extra deck monsters, whose effects are in part used to activate the Rokket monsters own effects. Revolver knows how to pull out people's strength, and sometimes he does it without meaning to (looking at Playmaker). Borrel monsters also commonly have effects to negate or counter effect activation, and also raise their own attack. They're pretty overwhelming monsters that in the real life cardgame overtake the Rokket archetype and are used in decks without them. Revolver is a very overwhelming presence in the show, as a duelist and character. He doesn't enter a scene without stirring some shit up.

And of course Revolver's use of old trap cards showcases his resourcefullness, his ability to find an advantage in even the most unlikely of places, and that he's still 18 years old and can be just as much of a little shit as anyone else.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Super excited to see more Fourth Wing content on Tumblr. I don't have any specific ideas yet, but maybe some fluff with our hot wingleader Xaden? Or some wholesome training scenes with the dragons?

It needs to be brought here because it's a crime to have practically nothing here!!!

Morning lights

The morning sun wasn't even fully out when Aetos banged on every single door on the first year's floor shouting something about the promised training and how lucky everyone should feel that he's taking his time to put in extra work even if it should be a punishment for performing worse then others squads in the last training session.

You suddenly become hyper-aware of the still-cold morning air seeping through the window, that you left ajar last night. Dawn is still breaking outside. Light shades of pinks and oranges painting the horizon. It's a beautiful sight. One you wouldn't want to miss or at least enjoy one of the mornings when someone isn't forcing you out of bed.

You move to get up slowly but two strong hands instantly tighten over your lower stomach, drawing you back to where you were laying moments ago. "Remind me to spit into Aetos morning coffee", the husky voice fills the space. You let out a breathy chuckle, turning slightly in the embrace of the man who's been sharing your bed for some nights now. "Don't, he might come swinging at me", you mutter, trying not to fully chase his sleep away since his eyes were still closed. He lets out a slightly frustrated huff, "I would love to see him try", and here it is real Xaden Riorson lethal, powerful, ready to fight at any given moment.

It was slightly funny how this big muscular male was squeezed beside you looking like an absolute work of art that didn't belong in the first year's bedroom. Your fingers carefully moved to run through Xaden's dark hair, nails scratching the scalp softly. The most content sigh leaves his lips as his hands grip your hips tightly.

"Wingleader, the cadet is needed on the training grounds", you say in a more serious tone, in a way mocking Aetos. But you also know that time is working against you now. You do need to get out of bed and get ready. The last thing you want to listen to is grumpy males complaining. "This cadet is needed in bed", Xaden mumbled against your skin, bringing you even closer to him, his warmth seeping into your skin and now you understand why you didn't feel the cold breeze from outside. How could you when you have a whole personal heater in your bed? "Is that an order?", you tease, Xaden opens one eye, throwing a glare your way, "Yes. Yes, it is".

Yet it all wasn't that simple. He was still a wingleader. A wingleader who shouldn't even be here in the first place. Because the conclusion that everyone would go straight to would be that you slept your way into safety. And you don't want to be labeled as a whore. This place was a shit show as it is most of the time.

You firmly push at Xaden's arms, the last thought fueling you with enough strength to pull away from him. "No...", he tries to grab onto your hips once more but you're out of his reach now. Could he easily drag you back? Yes. One flicker of his shadows and you would be pinned to the bed. But he's not stupid too. The commotion outside the door is getting louder. Meaning that you're running out of time.

"Now you're being a whiny baby", you tease, pulling Xaden's shirt from your body and reaching for your flying leathers instantly. Better safe than sorry in these kinds of situations. "I'm not a whiny baby", he argues back and you can hear the announcer in his voice that makes you chuckle, "And now his masculinity has been scarred", you place your hand on your chest sighing dramatically. "Sometimes I hate you", he rolls his eyes, before moving to sit up. His muscular chest somehow looking even more unreal in the early morning light. But you shake your head quickly, reaching for your daggers, "Oh same... look at us sharing mutual emotions", you flash him a smile that he doesn't return.

"Be careful", he says, eyes now practically cutting right through you. One of his shadows move to caress the scar that now was forming on your forearm. You brush your fingers over the shadow, "I'm always careful". But you can tell that the worry growing within him is much bigger than most mornings. "This is something Aetos came up with. Most definitely no one in command...", but you cut the distance between you, knee pressing into your mattress as you lean closer to him, "I will be fine, Riorson", you lean in brushing your lips over his. The kiss is gentle and soft. A rare moment because most of the time it's filled with so much speed and desire that you lose yourself in the moment. Not even noticing when it ends. "And I have Liam" you mumble, packing his lips one more time before turning to leave. Xaden growls and you know that it's because you said another male's name right before kissing him. Territorial bastard.

"Any clues about what this is?", you catch up with Liam, who instantly wraps you up in a side hug as you walk alongside the others.

"Not really. Some bullshit", he grumbles still sleepy. "Use your far sight signit", you wrap your hands around his middle. "And look into Aetos insides?", you let out a laugh, quickly clasping your hand over your mouth and shoving Liam slightly. Yet a couple of heads instantly turned your way. Jack one of them. Instantly glaring at you. You return the favor by flipping him off but that only makes his snarl more.

Morag. You call out. Not far away. The voice rings out, soothing you in a way. Do you stink of wingleader once again? You roll your eyes. Mind your business. Morag lets out a dramatic sigh. I have to carry your stinky ass. You flip him off mentally. Out of the two of us, it's you who stinks.

"I'll see you out there", Liam taps your shoulder as he walks towards his dragon. Wrapping your arms around yourself you watch as he jog towards Deigh. You can't imagine your life without him now either. You two had bonded almost immediately. After crossing the parapet you burst into tears. Liam had instantly stood in front of you shielding you from the crowd and equally as much not letting others see your tears. "If it helps, I'm sure a shat myself midway", he had whispered, making you let out a chuckle as you whipped your tears.

But you're brought out of your head as a hand holding a cloth clasps over your mouth and you're brought into a tight chest with a huff. Your hands instantly move to push away from the person holding you down, moving and wiggling in its hold. "Squad whore", the words ring in your ears and you instantly know how this is. Just don't have much time to be mad when a wave of dizziness hit you. That fuck must have dosed the material in something.

I'm almost there. Hold on. Morag's voice fills your head. Your nails dig into his pam as you try to rip it off your face. But then you see the gleam of light. Reflection. Sun. A dagger. Your eyes widen. Jack strikes for a kill just you move you heal up shoving between his legs as hard as you can. The blade zaps the side of your neck, and the warm blood trickles down almost immediately. "I'll end you bitch", Jack barks from behind you. You try to step away but your legs buck as you come in contact with the ground. The roar pierces the field. For a moment you feel relief flowing through you because it has to be Morag but it's the blue wings that make your gut drop. Even the shouting from cadets dies down. Sgaeyl. Why is she here? She shouldn't be here. You try to push your hands against the ground. You need to get out of her way as well, yet your body feels so heavy. She lads with a thud, sending dirt debris flying all over.

Xaden you plea in your head, gods what a way to die by his dragon. Just Sgaeyl steps closer, growling as she glares ahead. You count your last seconds and then her wing moves over you. Drawing away the early sun. You feel the blast of heat and then an agony-filled cry.

Breath Morag orders. What's happening? You ask, feeling your consciousness starting to slip, your hand now clasping the side of your neck. You stink of someone and you're sure Morag is rolling his eyes. Xaden. Sgaeyl felt Xaden on you. Or has he told her something? Does he know? Sgaeyl moves her wing away, and her snout if you can call it that moves closer to you as she inhales your scent. "Thank you", you mutter, "Just tell Xaden a less dramatic story, please", you're not sure but it sounds like she lets out a snort before moving to nudge your hand and then everything goes black.

When you open your eyes once more it takes you a moment to realize what had happened as memories filled your head. Head. Head that was pounding. The tightest on your neck piercing with pain. "Love", a voice rings out and you flinch instantly. Warm fingers run down your arm, that same comforting warmth that you know. You blink your eyes a couple of times. Waiting for your eyes to concentrate. And there he is. His hair was messy from all the pulling he must have done. The shirt slightly wrinkly. "Why are you here?", you ask groggy, hand instantly reaching for your throat at the uncomfortable pulling. "In my room? Or with you?", panic runs through you. You can't be in his room. No. No. No. People will talk. You move to sit up but Xaden's arms instantly hold you down.

"You're not going anywhere. Gave me enough of a fright", he grumbles in frustration, "I didn't ask for it", you argue back. Something in his eyes darken, "And I did? I've never ran faster and you were there behind Sgaeyl wing all bloody", his voice raising with every word he spoke. Your gaze softens. Losing had always been his biggest fear. And it's been a long while since he had something precious to lose. "Sgaeyl saved me all thanks to you I'm sure", you lace your fingers through his. Xaden shakes his head, "That's all her doing. I did get a lecture about not taking proper care of you", you let out a slight chuckle, imagining her lecturing him and him not being able to talk back, "Say thank you to her from me", you mutter.

Xaden runs his fingers through your hair, letting out a sigh, "I...I love you", he whispers, bringing your hand closer to his lips. You smile at him sweetly, brushing your free fingers across his cheek, "And I love you". Xaden leans in, brushing his lips over yours before pressing his forehead against your shoulder, "Though I wish I could bring him back just so I could kill him myself", he grumbles, "Xaden!", you warn him, yet let yourself chuckle.

[cinnaleaf]

I promised you all I’d do my best to make footy tumblr a safe space for everyone and it’s come to my attention that I had a mutual here that’s been harassing, manipulating, bullying and crossing several boundaries with at least two other people here. I never expected to have to write something like this but after seeing the extent of damage she’s caused, I can’t be silent about it.

Many of you have come across a blog who outwardly presents herself as “leading with love” but behind the scenes, she’s doing the exact opposite. None of this is speculation or a misunderstanding btw. I’ve seen the messages she sent to the blog she keeps subliminally posting about, I’ve seen patterns of behavior I’m familiar with as someone who has dealt with people like this irl. I know exactly what she is and I’m disgusted. At least two people have explicitly cut off contact with her, asked her to stop contacting them, and blocked her for their own mental health, only for her to bypass it by using anonymous asks to continue pushing her presence in what’s meant to be a safe space. She even went as far as pretending to be a Liverpool fan anonymously in order to force a conversation with a mutual who had already told her it was best that they never spoke again. We were able to figure out it was her because a previous ask from her blog was blocked yesterday, which subsequently deleted the other anons messages too. I have very valid reasons to believe she also attempted to dox someone by having access to their donation page as well, given what I know about how those services work.

This person has also been anonymously harassing larger blogs in this space to stir up conflict while hiding behind anonymity. This is not the first time this person has crossed boundaries and it seems to be a consistent pattern of behavior. She has pushed past what’s acceptable in regular convos, made people uncomfortable with her persistence and inability to read the room. She has manipulated people, called them names, played the victim when called out, and is currently trying to frame a “hate train” narrative that does not exist. I am being very clear when I say the common denominator in every situation is her. No one else in this space is having an issue with anyone but her. No one else is at the center of multiple fallouts, repeated conflict and invasive behavior. She’s not the victim and is the conductor of the “hate train” she claims. Her audacity would almost be admirable if it weren’t being used to fuel harassment. She’s gone even further and taunted people by reblogging “anti-harassment” resources while being the very one doing the harassing behind the scenes which I find to be very calculated, cruel and extremely disturbing behavior.

But you’re right. What’s done in the dark does come to light. Hiding behind vague posts, fake positivity and anonymous asks will not work anymore, and at this point it’s not just about calling out bad behavior. What I’ve said is only a very small snippet of what has happened but she’s made this space unsafe for people and I’m not going for any of that. If someone blocks you, it’s not an invitation to find another way to contact them. If someone says they don’t want to engage with you it’s not a challenge to break through their boundaries by any means necessary. It’s bordering on obsessive and continuously ignoring people’s boundaries and crashing out when you can’t get your way means you’re the problem.

To the person in question... I don’t know what’s going on in your life that makes you act in such a way but hurting others will not heal you. You’re loud online but clearly struggling with the reality of your life offline and instead of confronting that, you chose to lash out at people in a space where you think there are no consequences. You can’t hide behind positivity when your digital footprint is nothing but toxicity behind the scenes. You’ve created a reputation for yourself that is your own doing. There’s absolutely no hate train against you, people just genuinely don’t like the way you treat them and instead of taking accountability + reflecting on why it keeps happening, you double down, manipulate, harass, and attempt to frame yourself as a victim in a mess you created. I encourage you to seek help. The behavior you exhibit isn’t normal and is affecting people’s mental health which isn’t okay. I don’t say this to create a witch hunt against you or to start drama, it’s mainly for accountability of your own actions. And while you haven’t done anything to me directly, you’ve subjected your repeated cycles of harm to some of the sweetest people I’ve ever met on here and I won’t stand for the bullshit.

To everyone else reading this, please don’t fall for her act or the inevitable lash out that will come from this. If you’ve experienced similar harassment from this person please block and protect your peace. My DMs are also open if anyone would like to talk or vent.

x

[baronessvonglitter]

The Haunting of David York

Dave York x ghost!reader | WC: 2.6K

Summary: It's a typical Halloween night for Dave. The last thing he expects is for you to come back and get your revenge.

(Spoilers below the cut, so resume with caution)

WARNINGS: Rated M; Dead Dove Do Not Eat; mentions of wet work, murder, brief gore, threats of violence towards family, major character death (don't hit me)

Author's Note: this fic is for @mermaidgirl30 Jamie's Halloween Writing Challenge 👻 thank you for hosting this lovely fic challenge!

The idea for this started out as a random discussion about why we're afraid of ghosts if they can't really hurt anyone.. then I wanted to add our favorite suburban murder daddy to a ghost story and got some inspo from watching old school stuff like Creepshow and early seasons of AHS. (I haven't written horror in a very long time, so gimme a little break)

Shoutout to @yorksgirl for the Dave chit chats-- there will be a sweatpants scene in another fic, promise!

"Dave, not again!" Carol whines from the front steps.

"What?" he asks innocently, hefting the human-sized 'body bag' consisting of garbage bags stuffed with leaves and tied up with duct tape to fashion a corpse decoration in the yard for Halloween. Dave has been working on them all day. He's now up to seventeen.

"The HOA is going to complain," his wife shakes her head. "We got away with a warning last year. This time they'll definitely fine us."

"It's worth it to see the looks on everyone's faces," he insists. "Besides, I'll have them picked up and out of sight by the end of the night. I promise."

Dave doesn't love Halloween, but neither does he mind it. People dressing up to be anything other than themselves for one night only? Try doing that 24/7.

He doesn't get to parade around the Mr. Hyde aspect of his life. He doesn't get to knock on doors while in tactical gear, sniper rifle resting in one arm while he sticks an orange jack-o-lantern bucket out to get a handful of tooth-rotting sweets. He doesn't get to wake up on November first and pretend it was all for fun.

It's a silly holiday, but he likes scaring the shit out of the neighbors with the decorations. And his kids love planning their costumes months in advance. Alice is going as a zombie cheerleader (he never understands where these ideas come from) and Molly is some type of Pokemon Dave thinks is a squirrel but she insists is something called an Evoo or Evie or something completely asinine.

Carol usually insists on taking them out trick-or-treating, dressing up herself in a last-minute Minnie Mouse getup, a red sweater and black leggings, and a headband with sequined mouse ears to complete the look.

"You'll be okay here by yourself?" she asks, putting the finishing touches on her mouse whiskers and nose with liquid eye liner in the hall mirror as the girls wait impatiently to leave.

She asks that every year, as if something bad will happen on his watch, as if he can't hack it alone for a couple of hours.

"Unless Michael Myers or Pennywise show up, I'm pretty sure I'll be fine," he says, giving the girls a quick kiss before they go.

"What's Pennywise?" Alice asks as Carol herds them out the door, and she shoots her husband an annoyed glance.

There aren't as many trick-or-treaters this year, and Dave regrets that he'd bought so much candy. He dips his hand into the large tub of mini chocolate bars and fruit-flavored chews that stick to one's teeth and selects some Nerds, eating them straight from the tiny box. With barely concealed disgust he finds the candy corn, plucking the small packets of the hated sweets out from the bowl. He doesn't know how anyone can eat these. These can go to the next kids who ring the doorbell. When the next round of costumed kids come around he gives out huge handfuls. The less sweets they have in the house, the less sugar-fueled meltdowns he's likely to experience from his kiddos.

When there's more of a lull he relaxes on the sofa, mindlessly unwrapping a chocolate bar as the Halloween song hums from the TV, The Nightmare Before Christmas playing where the girls had left it on:

Boys and girls of every agewouldn't you like to see something strange?come with us and you will seethis, our town of Halloween

He finds his glass of Macallan pairs nicely with a mini Hershey's Special Dark chocolate that he knows the little trick-or-treaters won't appreciate. The candy rests on his tongue as he savors the lingering taste of the scotch while the movie keeps playing. He absorbs a little of it, a now thirty-year-old film that came out when he was his kids' age. He watches idly, letting the scotch lull him into a nice semi-rest.

This is Halloween, this is Halloweenpumpkins scream in the dead of nightthis is Halloween, everybody make a scenetrick or treat, 'til the neighbors gonna die of fright

Enough of the singing. He changes the channel. There's postseason baseball on TV, but his favorite team isn't in the playoffs, and the announcers are annoying. Click. Of course there's a horror marathon on every channel. All the Scream movies, which he can appreciate for their ingenuity, Psycho, Shaun of the Dead, the entire Friday the 13th franchise even though it's Thursday, the 31st.

He flips channels, mindlessly, watching tidbits of each, digging into the leftover candy once again when he hears a thud.

With feline alertness he mutes the TV and sits up straight in one swift move. He zones in on where the sound came from, waiting, his racing heart the most audible sound in his ears.

Most people listen for a sound and relax when they don't hear it again, chalking it up to the house settling, or a rodent in the attic. But Dave knows better. He's been on the opposite side of this type of situation countless times. He doesn't relax and just chalk it up to mundane things like other people, because he knows there are guys like him out there-- becoming one with the shadows, as silent as possible--

It's coming from the back door.

In stealth mode, he grabs his gun from the safe in his study and quickly, skillfully, loads it. Adrenaline sings in his veins, carries him towards the danger. He flips on the light switch for the patio and the lights glare into the dark, lighting up nothing. His gun is still in his hand as he slowly opens the door, listening for footsteps.

Quiet.

A little disappointed that he's gotten riled up for no reason, he sighs as the rush of adrenaline dissipates and leaves him weak for a brief moment.

He keeps the gun in the holster at his side as he returns to the sofa, a little more on edge. It could be just teenage assholes playing pranks out of boredom, but he doesn't want to risk it.

He shuts the TV off and the silence becomes the largest thing in the room, even louder than his thoughts. He's taut as wire, not allowing himself to relax just yet. He's listening for more sounds. Most are explainable: a slow drip in the kitchen sink that Carol told him about just yesterday, the notification pings on his daughter's tablet that she left on the dining room table.

"Fuck!" he curses in surprise as the TV turns on, The Nightmare Before Christmas still playing where it left off:

I am the one hiding under your bed,teeth ground sharp and eyes glowing redI am the one hiding under your stairsfingers like snakes and spiders in my hair

Dave quickly snaps the TV off, removing the batteries from the remote.

It's just some electrical glitch he tells himself. And then the power goes out completely.

"Shit," he mutters, using his phone to light the way to locate the real flashlight. It's not in the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink where it's supposed to be left. Carol must have moved it. He checks the garage. Through the windows he can see the neighbors still have power, so he grabs the trusty flashlight and checks the breaker box. After fiddling with it, it won't reset. The flips do absolutely nothing.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose, taking out his phone from his pocket. The battery shows 1% before fizzling out to a black screen with the gray spinning wheel before dying.

"You've got to be shitting me," he grumbles. With another curse, he shoves the useless thing back in his pocket, letting the flashlight guide him out of the garage. He may as well get the keys and go try to find Carol and the girls, who are probably several blocks over by now, maybe get them to stay at her mother's place while he gets things sorted out with the power issue.

And then..

he hears the sound of his name spoken, a sharp. accusatory whisper, as if it's right next to him. It's so real he can feel the cold breath against his ear. It makes him jump out of his skin.

Alert, his body tense and ready for action, his eyes dart around the room as he begins to get his bearings back and his heart goes back to its normal rhythm.

Stupid.. he curses himself, sitting upright again. Annoyance colors his face.

But the sound of it.. of your voice still rings in his ear. And he'd know your voice among a thousand others.

Now he knows he's imagining things, because it couldn't have been your voice at all.

You're dead.

He doesn't want to think about that day, a cold autumn day just like this. In fact it'll be one year exactly on November 14th. The last day you saw sunlight, the last day you ever breathed.

It's not that you were bad, you were just in the way. There was no room for you in Dave's perfect, clock-precision life. He tried to make your end painless, make sure you didn't see it coming.

Some secrets don't stay buried forever..

Nobody knows he assures himself. It's impossible.. He'd even kept it from his teammates, and they knew nearly every damn thing about him.

No, this particular job.. the handling of you, had to be done on his own.

Casting a glance at the backyard patio again, the light from his neighbor's back porch glows eerily, spotlighting the patch of earth Dave had avoided until finally he'd caved and erected a bird bath with a small garden, a surprise for Carol's birthday. His wife never suspected that you were buried there, beneath her gift.

Without thinking, he's already walking outside, gun in one hand, flashlight in the other, leading the way to your grave. He never comes out here anymore. The guilt has become too crushing and he's not a man who dwells on guilt. He does what he has to and revisits the issue if problems arise.

You won't arise, though. When he closes his eyes he can still see the bullet hole in your temple, the blank look as the light left your eyes.

Forgive me, he'd thought, unable to speak it aloud as he stuffed your body in a bag and placed you in the dirt on a moonless autumn night.

When he reaches the stone path that leads to your innocent-looking grave marker, he has to process what he sees:

there's a hole in the ground, where some of the rocks and flowers around the bird bath have been upheaved, and in the breeze his flashlight shines on a tattered, empty black body bag. The scent of death greets his nostrils as he pales, trying not to vomit.

He goes back to the house, immediately on the defensive, irrationally expecting to find you there, clothes dirty and hair caked with mud and blood, a specter of his own paranoia and guilt.

It's still shrouded in darkness, the home that is supposed to be his shelter from such dark things as yourself. It's his domain, his castle, and in this trouble, without his family, he feels like less of a king.

"There's no fucking way," he mutters, stomach roiling with fear and suspicion. He opens the patio door and steps inside.

The whole place smells of death, of the grave.

You're in every corner, quiet, waiting, watching. But not impassive.

He feels you everywhere, himself made small by your ubiquitous pall. The gun in his hand feels useless, and this makes him angry.

You feed off his anger. You love it. It's the only thing you can feel anymore. Pure, unadulterated hate.

You slither towards him, wicked grin growing bigger as you approach him. Dave gets the chills down his back, not knowing just how close you are to him.

"Boo" you whisper lightly, ghostly breath caressing the shell of his ear.

Your cackling thunders in his ears as he whips around, eyes wide with fright. You delight in the fear he's giving off. The scent of it it so intoxicating. It's the only good thing about being dead.

"I should make your death as nice and quick and clean as you made mine" your voice echoes all around the room. Dave looks equal parts pissed and afraid as he tries to track you.

"But I won't."

You've been waiting for this night, this one unholy night where you'd be allowed to come back, to gather the unearthly powers granted to you. Halloween: the one night of the year when the living come back to haunt the dead.

And the son of a bitch had the gall to kill you in November. You had to wait almost a whole year for your revenge.

Gonna make it sweet.

It takes a lot of energy to assume something of a human form, but as you grab onto the fear he's giving off, as you use the most ancient of forces to pull your corporeal parts together, it gets easier. You don't feel afraid. You haven't, not since he killed you.

"Consider yourself lucky it's only you I'm after. If I had my way your family's blood would be splattered on these walls along with yours."

Dave shivers violently. "Please, don't!" He's not used to begging or pleading. He's actually on his knees. He tries not to look at you; your visage is too grotesque. Your flesh is falling off your face and your eyes are sunken into your head, giving a ghoulish appearance.

You force his gaze upon you with the ice-cold touch of your hand. "Your family is safe. For now. Hell, there's always next Halloween."

With the cracking open of his ribcage and the spilling of his guts you reach into him, finding the fullness of the heart, the organ he uses the least.

All Dave can do is scream and scream and scream.

The next day Carol sits at the dining room table, two detectives with her. Her coffee has grown cold, barely touched. She still bears the remnants of the makeup she'd put on to complete her costume last night. The girls are upstairs. She couldn't bear sending them to school, having them apart from her. Not while Dave is missing.

"He was fine last night. Normal," she adds, shrugging as she dabs at her eyes with a Kleenex.

Because of his position as a government agent, his disappearance is being taken very seriously. Officers are en route, dispatched to start searching the area, especially the nearby woods, which Carol has always feared.

Dave's gun is there, his wallet, phone, and keys also left behind.

One of the field officers comes in (there have been many people coming in and out of the house today) and motions to the backyard. "Halloween decoration?"

"Yeah," Carol sniffles, smiling just a little. "Dave likes to shock the neighbors. He promised he'd put them away before the morning.. but he never puts them out back.."

Out of guilt, or maybe just to give herself something to do, she gets up and goes to put the decorations away. The detectives follow.

Funny. There's just one.. she thinks, looking at the lone body bag on the lawn, tossed haphazardly next to her bird bath.

It's heavier than she expects. She's too petite to pick it up. Sighing, she kneels, the crunch of the fallen leaves beneath her knees. She'll just take the leaves out and throw the bag away.

Ripping it open with her nails she's stunned a moment, not processing what she's seeing before she lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

Wrapped up in the duct taped body bag is what's left of Dave.

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

tagging @almostempty @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @salingers @zascal

[bobalegsanji]

I've got you

Sanji closes his eyes, leaning into the feeling of the warm hands on his face. ‘’Please…’’ he whispers, ‘’I… Please. Promise me you will if I ask.’’

Zosan. Words: 3,976. WCI spoilers!

Trigger Warnings: self-worth issues, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced childhood abuse

One Piece Masterlist

Splat. Splat. Splat.

The dripping of the water got on his nerves.

It’s too loud in the empty storage room. Like a metronome that keeps track of every agonising second he’s sitting there. 

Splat. Splat.

It’s too dark to see the source. The pantry is too small for any windows. Sanji could turn on the light, but getting up from his sitting position against the door feels like an impossible task. 

He should be bothered by the darkness, or the annoying torture of a sound. He should be figuring out where the water is coming from, or at least let Franky or Usopp know, so they can fix whatever it is, but he has no energy to stand up. 

He barely has energy to breathe.

Whatever, it’s not like the ship is going to sink. Every man of the sea knows water won’t trickle into a sailing ship. Water is like a God, all powerful and demanding. A leak in the ship would make itself known, pushing everything out of their way to do the one task Poseidon has laid upon it: to take away oxygen.

Plus, if the ship would really sink right now, Sanji wouldn’t care.

-

-

No one would

-

-

Sanji shakes his head, mentally begging the intrusive thoughts to please, leave him alone. 

The hands in his hair tighten. It doesn’t ground him whatsoever.

When he was a kid, he learned physical harm won’t take away the pain.

His brothers tried to teach him first. They didn’t step down for emotional torture; reminding him he wasn’t loved, humiliating him and threatening to kill him weren’t unusual situations. Ichiji was the worst. He always knew exactly what to say and when to say it. 

Yonji and Niji preferred the physical harm. They’re the ones to teach him that physical pain will never be able to overshadow his mental burdens. No matter how much he bled and cried, or locked up and starved, the thoughts were worse. 

Sanji hates to think of them. They’re part of who he is and, though he doesn’t want to think about it, who he’ll always be. The melancholy and demons of his past are intertwined in every part of his being. 

Every time he feeds his crew, he makes sure to make his own portion a little smaller. He makes sure to wake up a little earlier and go to bed a little later than anyone else. He puts in extra effort to make his crew’s favourite food, drinks and desserts on special days, but never his own. In fights, he’d give up his life for his nakama in the split of a second. 

They’re all small reminders of remains of a past that taught him he’s less than others. 

He breathes deeply. The anxiety in his bones doesn’t settle. 

The mixed signals his body is sending him are making him dizzy. He wants to scratch his arms until he bleeds. He wants to hit his head against the wall until he blacks out. Wants to kick against the door until his legs give in. He wants to scream until his lungs double down, until his body hits the floor, and he gets a couple of seconds of peace.

But that’s now how it works. 

His body has no energy to fuel itself to do anything. Sanji wonders where the energy to keep his heart beating is coming from.

Splat .

A small smile plays on his lips.

His life is a fucking joke.

-

-

Soft footsteps walk above him.

He opens his eyes slowly.

The darkness is still present. His back hurts from being in a very uncomfortable sitting position for too long. How long has he been asleep?

A knock right above his head makes him shiver. 

“Sanji-kun?” Nami’s voice is soft and elegant. It’s beautiful, just like her.

He doesn’t want to respond, but all hell will break loose if they think they’ve lost him somewhere on the big broad sea. If Nami’s searching for him of all people, his nakama is definitely worried.

“Yes, dear?” He responds breathlessly, glad he locked the door before he fell asleep.

As expected, the handle goes down, but the door doesn’t budge. The handle hits the top of his head. Sanji closes his eyes in annoyance, but doesn’t react otherwise. It hurts only a bit, but it feels comforting.

“Are you coming for dinner? Why is the door locked?”

Sanji rolls his eyes. Is it so hard for the crew to leave him alone? He made them dinner. It’s neatly placed on the counter of his beloved kitchen. All they have to do is heat it up, and he’s pretty sure even Luffy could manage to do that. 

“Go ahead and eat, my sweet. I’ve had dinner already,” he tells her as convincingly as possible.

His stomach rumbles softly, but luckily not loud enough for her to hear. The thought of food makes his stomach twist and turn. If she keeps pestering him, he might throw up.

“Oh…” She responds. “Well, will you sit with us then? You can sit between Robin and me.”

In normal circumstances, Sanji would jump at the chance. He’d be their footstool during meals if they asked, but not today. 

The empty feeling will only get worse if he accepts. Seeing his friends, his nakama, enjoy their day and talk while he feels so disconnected and stuck in the past will only bring more torture. He learned his lesson way back in Arrabasta.

“I’m kind of busy right now,” he says softly. His eyes are clenched closed as he says it, already regretting but having to accept the situation.

The handle gets pushed again, and once more, Sanji feels the cold metal make contact with his head. This time there’s less force behind it. Nami already knows it won’t work, but it doesn’t stop her desperate attempt to try and pry open the door again.

“Sanji, come on,” she says softly. “What’s wrong? Is it because of what happened at Whole Cake? Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head. Even if Nami can’t see it, he has to shake away the images of Judge. A wave of embarrassment flushes over him. He wishes they had never learned of his past.

It should’ve been easy. He had never told anyone his last name, never told them anything about his childhood or his brothers... What a twisted play of fate that she decided to reveal his darkest secrets to his new family. 

They know he’s pathetic. They’ve seen his family first hand. They haven’t seen the bruises, or the mental scars that will never leave, but they understand. 

He pushes up his sleeves without looking. His hands search his wrists on both sides, where he feels a ragged line. Whose father would put his own son in handcuffs for long enough that he’s scarred? They’re like his own personal handcuffs, keeping him tied to the dark memories of Germa. 

A singular tear rolls from his eye. He hopes his voice doesn’t show any emotion.

“I really need to finish this, Nami. Please leave me alone.” 

He hears her ragged breath, proof of her hesitation. It pains him to realise; they don’t trust him on his own.

The worst part is, he knows they’re right. He’s in no position to be left alone, but he can’t ask them for help. What would they even help him with? Luffy had promised him the revelations of Whole Cake would change nothing - so they have no reason to suddenly meddle with his self-depreciation issues. 

The sound of her footsteps slowly fading away bleeds through the door. Sanji asked for this, basically begging the orange-haired woman to leave him alone, but he can’t help the nails he unconsciously digs into his wrists. 

She doesn’t care about you

Mindlessly, he stares at the stock of cheap alcohol in front of him. Technically, it’s Zoro’s, but everyone knows the pantry is Sanji’s territory, so that gives him at least some authority over the superfluous amount of sake, right?

He downs a bottle before he can really think about it. It’s messy, Sanji has never been very good at downing something quickly. Droplets fall down the side of his mouth, on his shirt, his trousers.

He wipes his face clean with his hand before grabbing a second. The wetness feels sticky, and the taste is disgusting, but that doesn’t matter.

The burn in his throat feels nice. It grounds him more than the pain of his cuffs in Whole Cake ever had.

-

-

The swaying of the ship feels weird. His centre of balance has shifted from alcohol from pretty good to non-existent. His back’s now against the cupboard with liquor. His eyes keep falling closed involuntarily, but it doesn’t matter. Not like the door is very interesting to look at, anyway. 

Sanji could hear Zoro walking through the corridors from a mile away. It’s good they don’t fish during the night, when Zoro is usually awake, or he’d scare every living creature in a thirty-mile radius to death.

He giggles softly at his own joke.

‘’Cook? Everyone went to bed, come out before I open the door myself,’’ Zoro’s voice doesn’t waver, leaving absolutely no space for arguments. 

‘’Try me, brute,’’ Sanji laughs, taking another swig of - what was it again?

‘’Are you drinking my fucking sake?’’ Zoro sounds angry.

That was it! Sake.

Sanji plops the empty bottle down on the ground. It makes a hollow sound in the otherwise abandoned part of the ship.

‘’I swear to God, I will cut down this fucking door if you don’t open it right now, Cook,’’ Zoro grits through his teeth.

Sanji doesn’t respond. He closes his eyes to try and focus more on the sounds and vibrations of the ship. How is there so little sound? He can hear the waves crash against the side of the ship in a rhythm. His stomach churns a bit at the constant movement, but it’s something you get accustomed to after a life at sea.

The sound of Wado being taken out of its saya triggers Sanji’s fight or flight response. All his muscles tense as his eyes immediately open, he automatically looks around the room in search of any danger. He’s conditioned to link the sound to a fight.

‘’Wait!’’ He stammered. ‘’Don’t - I’ll, I’ll open it.’’ 

It takes some stumbling before he’s up and twists the lock open. 

Zoro pushes the door open as soon as he hears the click. Not taking Sanji’s current state into account - who needed a couple more seconds to grasp the change of situation - the door gets slammed against Sanji’s shoulder, who immediately loses his balance.

The pathetic sight in front of him makes Zoro sigh. Sanji fell down and is currently pouting up at the swordsman with a mean glare, next to several bottles of empty liquor. He quickly counts them.

‘’Seven? You drank seven bottles of MY sake?’’ Zoro screams angrily, pointing somewhere in the direction of the bottles or Sanji - the pantry isn’t that big.

‘’Try to outdrink me, Mosshead,’’ Sanji says simply, picking up another bottle.

Zoro quickly takes it out of his hand, earning another angry glare from the blond. ‘’You’re an idiot, you know that? I’ve outdrank you more times than I can count, and you’re not supposed to last after five.’’

‘’Oh, haven’t you heard?’’ Sanji laughs, amused. ‘’I’m a superhuman now! I can do whatever the fuck I want, also, fuck you.’’

Zoro closes his eyes in annoyance. He hadn’t heard the full story of Whole Cake yet. No one really seemed eager to talk about it, and Zoro’s never been one to gossip, not taking into account it’s only been days since they’d left Wano. 

‘’Does this have to do with that stupid question you asked me in Wano?’’ he asks. 

‘’Which one?’’ Sanji asks curiously.

‘’You know-’’ Zoro says awkwardly. They haven’t really talked about it, not really. ‘’About the… The promise.’’

‘’Oh!’’ Sanji suddenly seems to remember. He tries to stand up, but the sea hasn’t been very kind this night- a particularly strong wave makes him crash down onto the floor again. 

Zoro gives him a hand to help him up.

‘’About killing me?’’ Sanji asks, tightly holding Zoro’s hand. 

They stand still for a couple of seconds, awkwardly staring at each other, until Zoro tugs his hand back. ‘’Yes, that one.’’

Sanji smiles as he steadies himself against the wall with one hand. ‘’Yes and no. Everything has to do with each other, can’t you see?’’ He laughs as he says it, but it’s the most emotionless thing Zoro’s ever heard him say.

Zoro stares at Sanji for a second before realising this isn’t going to help. He promised the crew to get the cook to bed as soon as his watch started - he would’ve picked the blond up three hours ago at dinner time if Nami hadn’t stood on giving Sanji some alone time. 

Look what that brought them. Now, drunk Sanji is his problem. He’s going to curse that witch one day.

‘’Come, we’re going outside. It surprises me you haven’t tried to smoke and light the ship on fire in there,’’ Zoro sighs, grabbing Sanji’s hand and dragging him with him to the deck. 

The idea of finally smoking makes Sanji sound a relieved moan. Zoro feels a blush creep up all the way to his ears. 

‘’Quiet down,’’ he says, annoyed, ‘’if you wake someone up with your whining I’m going to be blamed.’’

The door to the deck gets opened, and Sanji basks in the feel of the cold night air.

‘’So? Don’t want them to think we’re having a little tumble between the sheets, Mossy?’’

Zoro curses loudly. He has half a mind to throw Sanji overboard and act like he has nothing to do with it, but in this state he’s never going to figure out a way to get on dry land again. 

Instead, he opts to take a deep breath. ‘’What is your fucking problem today? First you make everyone worry, then you drink and make it my problem, and now you’re coming onto me?’’

‘’I’m not coming onto you,’’ Sanji says absentmindedly, trying to talk and fish a cigarette out of his chest pocket is harder than it looks when you’re swaying from left to right with no centre of gravity, ‘’but I’m too drunk to do anything against it, so this is your chance.’’

Zoro knows the noble thing would be to let the blond have a cigarette, give him a glass of water and toss him into bed, but he can’t. He’s too curious. The cook is always so closed off, prissy and uncomfortable about any personal conversation - this is his chance to get some information out of Sanji. 

He’s a man of honour, but this is a unique situation. One where he can make a little exception to learn about the annoying, irritable guy he hasn’t been able to get out of his head for months.

Sanji’s standing against the railing. His legs tremble, it only takes a slight push from Zoro to get him on the ground. 

‘’Sit down,’’ he says, already getting seated next to the man. ‘’You’re not - You’re not into men, right?’’

Sanji lets out a lighthearted laughter, but once again, the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘’Only into the pretty ones.’’

Zoro raises his eyes, but Sanji doesn’t react. Zoro’s not even sure if Sanji realises all the shit he’s sprouting right now. ‘’The pretty ones?’’

‘’Mhmm,’’ Sanji mumbles, taking a big drag out of his cigarette. ‘’Like Ace.’’

Zoro’s jaw drops at this information. ‘’You had a thing for Ace?’’

‘’No, my love,’’ Sanji smiles. The nickname hits Zoro right where it hurts. ‘’We had a thing.’’ 

Zoro can feel the sadness radiate off of the man like a heater.

‘’Truthfully, I’m… I’m happy I wasn’t at Marineford. I don’t think… I would’ve been able to comfort Luffy.’’ He sighs deeply, staring out onto the deck. His voice grows even more soft and fragile, ‘’I wish I was there for Luffy, but… I think I would’ve broke, too, right on that battlefield.’’

Zoro is not sure how to react. He didn’t expect Sanji to have a thing for Luffy’s brother, let alone for said brother to reciprocate those feelings. Were they feelings? A relationship? Or just casual sex? 

The question seems rude to ask now that Sanji sounds so sad.

He’s nervous about being turned down, but also desperately wants to comfort the cook in some way. He’s no stranger to grief, and knows the painful feeling that worms its way into your heart like a parasite, only to never let go. 

Zoro quietly grabs Sanji’s hand, the one not holding a cigarette, and hopes fiercely he doesn’t get turned down.

Sanji doesn’t. Instead, the blond quietly weaves their fingers together.

‘’What about you?’’ He asks.

‘’Hm?’’ Zoro asks. ‘’What about me?’’

Sanji turns his head to look him in the eye. He looks handsome. The moonlight paints his hair a softer colour than it actually is, and makes his one visible eye light up like… like the all blue Sanji always goes on about.

If only he knew he’s carrying his own dream in the iris of his eye.

Sanji's smile is a mix between misschievous and sad. The perfect explanation for this weird night - kind of sad, but it also gives a thrill to see Sanji like this, so honest and unfiltered. 

‘’Are you into pretty men?’’

Zoro nods worthlessly. How could he explain that the most beautiful man he could ever imagine is sitting right in front of him? 

Sanji laughs softly. ‘’Thought so.’’

‘’What does that mean?’’ Zoro asks, slightly annoyed. What a way to mess up their conversation.

‘’It’s nothing bad. You just never seem to appreciate the beauty of a lady.’’

Zoro hums softly. ‘’I’ve never really liked women.’’

‘’Not one?’’ Sanji sounds surprised. ‘’Not even Hiyori?’’

Zoro shakes his head. ‘’She was sweet, but I can’t let anyone distract me from my goal.’’

‘’Not even a beautiful man?’’

Zoro smiles softly. ‘’Only if that man has the same goal as me.’’ The moment the words leave his lips, an anxious feeling creeps up on him. Is this too much information? Will Sanji figure out this little, one-sided crush he has? 

He cringes, but Sanji just tightens the grip on his hand. ‘’I understand that.’’ 

The swordsman’s clenched muscles relax, and he sighs relieved. Sanji’s drunk, and how could he forget, kind. 

‘’Can I -’’ he starts, scared to bring up the conversation, but it has to happen. Sanji doesn’t seem that drunk anymore, and the possibility of ever bringing up this topic without getting a kick in the face again seems small. He has to know ‘’Can I ask about Wano?’’

‘’The question?’’ Sanji asks.

Zoro hums softly.

It’s quiet between the two. The waves rhythmically crash against the boat. Sanji’s lighter clicks once to light another cigarette. 

Zoro sighs deeply, maybe it was wrong to bring it up, but Sanji hasn’t let go of his hand yet.

‘’I wanted to be sure I’d be dealt with properly… if something happened to me,’’ Sanji sighs. ‘’I didn’t want to hurt our crew.’’

‘’You would never hurt our crew. Why would you think that?’’ Zoro is starting to realise that maybe he did miss a big part of Whole Cake. 

Sanji’s eyes linger on their hands. Zoro doesn’t comment on it.

The quietness resumes until Sanji finishes his cigarette. He turns the hand they’re holding around, so his palms are up in the air. With the other hand, he slowly moves up his sleeve.

The scars around his wrist look deep. They’re not fully settled yet- but it hurts to imagine what it used to look like. Zoro moves their hands around to get a better look, confirming for himself that the scar is a circle around his complete wrist- but it’s not linear, it’s ragged.

‘’Who did this to you?’’ Zoro is very aware of the protective tone in his voice, but he can’t help it. Whoever dared to touch their cook needs to be dealt with.

Sanji grips Zoro’s hand a little tighter before responding, ‘’my father.’’

Zoro looks up, the fresh tears in the blond’s eye make him nauseous. ‘’What?’’

The small, pathetic smile on Sanji’s lips feels like a kick to the chest.

‘’He’s… not a great man. He cuffed me on Whole Cake. If I went against him, they’d blow up. Remember the collars of the slaves of the world nobles in Sabaody?’’

Zoro nods softly.

‘’It was like that.’’ Sanji’s eyes fall down to his wrists. ‘’He did more to me… To my body... I wanted to be sure that if he did something irreversible, you’d keep the crew safe… From me.’’ The last word is accompanied by a sob.

Zoro immediately lets go of his hand to throw his arms around the cook’s shoulders.

Soft sobs make Sanji’s shoulders shake, but it’s quiet. He barely makes a sound as he breaks in Zoro’s arms.

‘’Don’t cry now, Curls,’’ Zoro whispers in his ears. His hand plays with the blond locks around his neck. ‘’I’ve got you. We’ll make him pay, okay? I promise.’’

Sanji shakes his head, but makes no move to leave the embrace. ‘’I can’t.’’

Zoro tries to pull back to look Sanji in the eyes, but the hold on his body is too strong, so he just lets him. 

‘’Why not?’’

‘’He’s my father,’’ Sanji whispers against Zoro’s neck. ‘’I can’t…’’ He takes a couple of deep breaths to steady his voice. Once he’s ready, he doesn’t move away as Zoro expected, he moves closer , nuzzling his nose in Zoro’s neck. ‘’My mother loved him, in some kind of way. I can’t hurt him. For her.’’

Zoro mindlessly plays with Sanji’s hair. ‘’I can do it quickly?’’

Sanji breaks the embrace, slowly pushing the man away from him. ‘’No, you brute,’’ he says with no insulting undertone. 

Zoro knows he might cross a boundary with his next move, but he can’t help it. 

He cups Sanji’s face with his hands, wiping away the tears that have fallen. He’s not used to the kindness in Sanji’s heart, even to people who don’t deserve it, but what Sanji wants, Sanji gets. ‘’Okay. But we’ve got you, yeah? No one is killing anybody, then.’’

Sanji closes his eyes, leaning into the feeling of the warm hands on his face. ‘’Please…’’ he whispers, ‘’I… Please. Promise me you will if I ask.’’

‘’Your father? I will kill him in a heartbeat if you as much as point in his direction.’’

Sanji shakes his head, not opening his eyes and heavily leaning on Zoro’s hands. 

‘’No. I need you to kill me if I ask.’’

‘’Sanji…’’

‘’Just promise me,’’ Sanji opens his eyes, fresh tears are ready to fall and his bottom lip quivers, but he bravely talks without letting his voice quiver, ‘’I need to know you’ve got my back.’’

Zoro plays with Sanji’s hair, moving it out of the way and softly stroking the side that’s not always in front of his face. He knows the cook long enough to know which part of his face he wants to keep covered, even if he has never understood why. He’s so beautiful.

‘’I always got your back,’’ Zoro whispers softly. ‘’But I won’t mindlessly kill you. You’re too important to the crew. And to me.’’

Sanji closes his eyes, leaning into the touch of Zoro’s hand. He sighs so deeply, it almost worries Zoro. 

‘’I’m not that impo-’’ he stops himself before finishing. ‘’Will you kill me if I go insane, then?’’

‘’Curly, I know you better than anyone. I’ll catch you before you go insane.’’

[sadstonewrites]

Piotr Rasputin/Colossus SFW Alphabet

hi, I'm still alive I promise! Still working on fics, but wanted to throw this out here as a fun little writing exercise with the SFW alphabet! So, without further ado...

taglist: @master-sass-blast @osmiumamygdala @black-but-mildly-sunny @seconds-2-midnight

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Piotr is a very physically affectionate man - pats on the back, a hand up if you’re struggling to climb over an obstacle, a hand on your shoulder and a squeeze as he passes. He would struggle at first if you didn’t like physical affection or were uncomfortable with being touched, but his next go-to would be acts of service. Dishes needed to be washed? Done. Laundry needs to be folded? He’s already on it and put on your favorite show so you can watch as you two pair the socks together; he likes making your life easier if he can. 

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

He’s the type of best friend who you know that if you go to for help, he’s going to help in whatever capacity he can. That being said, he’s the type to offer you solutions and advice as he’s doing it; if you need to vent, you’re going to have to tell him otherwise he’s going to try and fix it as best he can. The type of best friend to give you a lecture for ending up in a bad situation, but still comes to your rescue even if you're an hour away and it’s 3AM on a weeknight. 

The friendship starts naturally, you’re a colleague of his at Xavier’s or a friend of a friend and Piotr just…fits in your life. He slots in and makes a home for himself in your life, and you in his. 

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He’s a big fan of cuddles, although always very hesitant to initiate since he is one - very large and heavy - and two - covered in a hard metallic armor almost 85% of the time. You’re going to have to initiate and assure him you’re comfortable, and only then will he willingly cuddle up.

That being said, he’s a big fan of laying on his back with you nestled up to his side and your head on his chest. He’s got an arm draped over your side, lazily tracing patterns on your skin and holding you close. 

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

On paper he’d love to settle down, but knows the reality comes with conditions that he could never willingly ask a partner to be okay with. He’s still a superhero, and so many people would still need his help; if he had to choose between a mission where lives are at stake and you asking him to stay, he hates to admit how difficult a decision it would be. He doesn’t know if he could ever ‘retire’ in the traditional sense, settle down and leave the hero work on the shelf, but if anyone could persuade him, it’d be you.

He’s an alright cleaner in the fact he doesn’t make much of a mess to begin with. Piotr always picks up after himself, and is a very big fan of Marie Kondo’s mantra of keeping a clean and tidy space. As far as cooking goes, he’s good at cooking very specific dishes - Russian comfort food, anyone? But beyond that his cooking is a bit bland; the type to eat chicken breasts and steamed vegetables for every meal because it’s quick, easy, and keeps him fueled. You’re going to need to teach him to use seasonings. 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If there is one man in the world who gives people too many chances, it’s Piotr. He always wants to give people the benefit of the doubt, the chance to change or improve. That being said, the point where the relationship would end would be if a major boundary was crossed; at that point, it’s time to reevaluate and have a serious conversation about the trajectory of the relationship. It would be awkward, and uncomfortable, because he would never want to intentionally hurt his partner, but also he would be quick to the point. Not wanting to drag it on any longer than it’s already gone. 

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Piotr likes the idea of commitment, of having a partner to share things with. Not so much having a ‘better half’ but just having someone there for him, and someone he can be there for in turn. It would probably take him 3-4 years of serious dating before he would want to get married, although he’s the type to dream about it around 6 months into the relationship. 

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

As Colossus, he had to teach himself to be gentle - to not accidentally crush someone’s hand in a handshake or put his foot through the floor with each step - it’s carried over even when he’s not armored up. He’s extremely gentle, very aware of the strength of his hands or how his large frame fills a room and could very easily knock over an end table (or, god forbid, a person) with the slightest brush of his hip. 

He would need to teach himself to be gentle with his emotions as well, his frustration or anxiety coming off as overbearing or lecturing at first (again, you’ll need to specifically tell him not to offer solutions when you just need to vent). That being said, he’s not the type that’s prone to emotional outbursts, but rather has the need to channel his negative emotions into action rather than sitting with them and fully processing them. 

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Loves hugs, is perfect for hugs, hugs his friends often (if they are okay with it). He’s a big bear hugger, the type to pick the other person up by the armpits and swing them around if the occasion calls for it.  

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

As soon as he knows the other person feels the same, he’s going to say it. Not the type to be subtle in his affections for his friends or romantic partners, so at most maybe 6 months into the relationship. 

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Piotr doesn’t get jealous; if you’re in a relationship together, then he trusts you and knows not to be jealous if you’re spending time with anyone else or aren’t giving him your full undivided attention. He knows you have a life outside of him and your relationship, and he actively encourages it. 

Of course, that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to be protective. He’s not jealous because somebody is taking up all your attention, but he is absolutely moving and putting an arm around you if you show any outward sign of being uncomfortable; he’s going to physically move you behind him, if needed. He’s going to check up on you when you’re with your friends, a quick text to make sure you’re having fun and then another to ask when you’ll be home; he’ll wait up for you to come home and breathe a little easier when you walk through the door. 

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

If he’s armored up, his skin is cool to the touch and his lips are no different as they gently brush against yours. Butterfly soft, the smallest amount of pressure as if he’s afraid you’ll break under him. He’s a big fan of forehead kisses (it’s the easiest kiss to give when you’re almost seven feet tall) but also kisses to both your cheeks and then a soft, final press of his lips against yours. 

Kiss his knuckles, his palms, and he’s a goner. He’s so used to his hands being used to smash through walls and push through obstacles, that the gentle press of your lips against his joints has him stopped dead in his tracks. 

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Loves kids, is fantastic around kids. He is very large and is the perfect jungle gym for rambunctious children, but also can be very gentle and encouraging with any of the shyer ones who are intimidated by a large man made of metal. He’s still a bit of a stickler for rules and structure, no desserts before dinner and all vegetables must be eaten, but makes up for it by just being a really fun adult that kids kind of gravitate towards. 

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Piotr’s mornings are typically his busiest time; if he’s not working out in the morning, then he’s preparing for the day ahead with his various lessons. Is a very early riser as well, has an internal alarm clock that goes off at 6AM regardless of whether or not it’s a weekend and makes it so he cannot fall back asleep. 

Of course, that leads to morning cuddles if it’s the rare occasion where he actually doesn’t have a million things to do that day. He never takes those mornings for granted, holding you close and inhaling the scent of your shampoo and molding his body to spoon yours. If there’s nothing  else to do that day, he’ll spend the entire morning like that. 

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Piotr’s night time routine is less strict than his morning one, mostly focusing on winding down for the evening and getting comfortable before going to bed. A nice shower, pajamas and a chapter of the latest book he’s reading before turning off the lights and waiting for sleep to come. He tries to avoid any screen time before bed, if he can help it, but absolutely will get invested in whatever show you’re watching and will watch an episode with you before bed. 

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Piotr is a fairly open type of person as far as revealing things about himself, although isn’t the type to say it out of nowhere without a proper relationship being established. If you ask him anything, he’ll almost always give you a straightforward answer, but won’t necessarily give the nitty gritty details until a proper relationship and mutual trust is created. 

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Patience of a saint, it takes so much to get him to show any frustration beyond general annoyance or displeasure. True anger is difficult to get from Piotr, and is usually reserved for very specific circumstances or people. 

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He is the type to make notes in his phone if you mention you like a certain brand of something or a specific snack. Those flowers you mentioned offhand? He has a note in his phone and a reminder to place an order to the florist on Valentine’s Day and your birthday. It's an effort, and doesn’t necessarily come naturally to him to remember all the little details, but wants to make you happy so keeps a running list of things that make you happy. 

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

There’s a moment in the relationship where the dynamic shifts, where it’s less ‘I am trying to impress/entice this person into a relationship’ and it becomes more ‘this is my friend who I love but also am romantically involved with and would tear this world down for’. That moment would be Piotr’s favorite, and it would be a casual moment; the two of you in pajamas, perhaps both in the same room but idly doing your own thing. And it’s then that Piotr looks over at you, in one of his t-shirts and a face mask while you scroll absentmindedly on your phone,and  there’s something in that moment when you look up at him and smile that makes his heart clench. There’s nothing particularly special, but it’s you and him and he feels so…at peace in your presence. 

It’s at that moment he knows you could ask him to do anything, ask him to jump and he’d ask how high, and it both frightens and exhilarates him to know that you - wonderful, imperfectly perfect you - have this much power over him. A man who regularly faces life or death for a cause bigger than himself as casually as some people court lovers, and he’d throw it all down for the person sitting next to him. 

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He’d wrap you in bubble wrap if he could, carry you down every flight of stairs if it meant your safety. Not because he doubts your ability or because he wants to undermine your autonomy, but because the thought of you getting hurt - especially when he could have prevented it - would kill him. If he can’t protect you, what is he? He’s the shield for his team, the battering ram when the situation calls for it, but for you he’ll be an entire suit of armor. 

Of course he knows that’s not feasible to always be there to save you, but it doesn’t stop him from always watching you a bit closer, having a hand at your side, or walking on the side of you that faces traffic. If you’d try to do the same for him, step in front of him or try to shield his body with your own - at first he won’t know what to think. He’s so used to being the one to take the hits, and to have someone willing to take them for him? Well, it’s going to take some getting used to, and it probably contributes to him falling for you a bit faster than he usually would. 

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He puts in a lot more effort than he puts on when it comes to dates and anniversaries and holidays. He has it planned down to the letter - your favorite restaurant, the flowers that you mentioned offhandedly that you liked, and the outfit you said he looked so handsome in. Of course, it’s played off as effortless, just another part of his routine, and you’ll quickly see the cracks start to form if something goes off course.

Just kiss his hand and assure him it’s perfect, as long as he’s there beside you,  and he’ll quickly resume sweeping you off your feet. 

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Stickler for routine, needs structure or else he will quickly fall into bad habits fueled by self doubt. Often questions his place in the grand scheme of things if he feels like he is not fulfilling his role as a protector, and can spiral very quickly into depression or self destructive habits. 

Also, he will wear shorts and a tank top no matter how cold it gets. He’s that kid, you know the one. 

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Piotr’s interesting in this regard - he doesn’t so much care for his looks as far as aesthetics go. I’ve touched on this in previous asks and various drabbles, but he lifts and works out to be strong rather than to look a certain way. It’s functional, and he's more of a strongman than a bodybuilder, if that makes sense. He works out and stays fit because it suits his lifestyle and helps him be the Colossus his team needs him to be, getting ripped isn’t so much the prerogative. Of course, he enjoys looking strong and like he could tear the doors off a car without trying, and he’s the type to change if he notices a stain on his shirt, but for the most part he’s not a very vain person as far as looks are concerned. He dresses for comfort and utility rather than fashion most of the time, but he has the capacity to dress up if needed. 

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Incomplete isn’t the right word. He’d feel like something was lacking, like he was missing something that would otherwise make him happy, but he would still be able to function. You don’t make him Piotr, just like he doesn’t make you…well, you. It’s an added bonus of having another person around, and it would be great if you were there and he’ll certainly miss you if you aren’t there, but he’ll be able to function without you. He’ll have to, at least that’s what he tells himself. 

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Okay, so the Russian stereotype of drinking vodka like it’s water is very prevalent, and yeah Piotr’s able to drink a lot and stay relatively sober, but he doesn’t really like the feeling of being inebriated beyond a slight buzz. It’s a dangerous game to get him really drunk, not only for anyone trying to keep up with him, but also for him. Drunk Piotr is a sad, sappy Piotr who is going to hold onto his friends or significant other and cry into their shoulder while forgetting his own strength. He has absolutely broken a few barstools (and a few bars) by getting too inebriated for his own good and completely forgetting that he can smash through most surfaces with little to no effort. 

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

I think Piotr wouldn’t be a fan of people who are completely resistant to change or self improvement - he wants to grow and try new things with you! You can be hesitant, you’ll work up to it together and he’ll be the most supportive person in your corner, but to completely shut him down or resist it altogether would really dishearten him. I also think a lack of ambition would really turn him off - if you have a goal, no matter how small, he wants to be there to help you achieve it. 

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Once he settles down and is fully out cold, he does not move. Absolutely still, he’s conditioned himself to not to move or throw out an arm in fear it’ll strike out and break another bedside table. This will be doubled if you are sleeping beside him, he would be terrified of accidentally rolling over in his sleep on top of you!