#i wasn’t going to have her fall in love with him | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

slimybeth69 · 2 days ago

Text

Part 3- Your People

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

w/c~ 8k

content warnings: Reader (no descriptions besides having hair that can be pulled) is in a weird mindset; hears voices, talks to herself. non-con/dub-con (if you're looking for enthusiastic consent, ya wont find it here) smut, cock-warming, unprotected P in V, creampies, oral (m&f receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, pussy and peen pronouns, alcohol consumption (altered mental state). Joel wears a shock collar and other various horrible things that would keep him in check-- and he doesn't fucking like it.

Reader warning- While it looks real pretty, this is a Dead Dove, Do Not Eat. If ya do and then come complaining to me that you ate a dead dove-- I'm gonna fight you. I warned you. I'm coming from a place of love and respect for my readers who have ever gone through anything traumatic and maybe don't want to relive that, it's in here. I try and do it tastefully and respectfully in the best way, i'll mark it with a lil divider where you can skip the part I'm worried about. it's smut but it's sad. There is your warning. I love you.

You gotta sleep, kid. You need it.

Mister-J looks so warm and comfortable… go on and crawl in beside him.

He does look so comfortable and inviting, especially from your spot just out of his reach if you were to fall asleep. His chest rises and falls slowly as he breathes in his sleep. It’s memorizing, and almost hypnotic enough to make you forget all of your fears— forget all of the things that made laying next to him with his arms around you physically excruciating.

S’okay, Baby. You’ll get there, it’ll get easier ‘n he won’t seem so big ‘n scary anymore.

There is a reason he seems big and scary, kid. Your gut is telling you not to trust him, so don’t.

Oh, stop it. If he wanted to kill her, he would have— he would have done it by now. He’s big ‘n strong— he could, and he hasn’t.

That sweet, soft voice does have a good point…

Doesn’t mean he isn’t waiting for a better opportunity.

The dark, serious voice has a point too…

This always happens, the voices say things that conflict one another, but they both have a point. They both make sense but never about the same thing. And they argue. And they’re loud. It’s only when you need them, that you really, really want them to say something that they are quiet.

The little flashlight that had been attached to the backpack Mister-man—

Joel… he has a name. He’s a real person, kid.

You flick the flashlight off quickly so it’s dark again.

Mister-mans, Mister-J… Joel… it don’t matter none, Sugar. He’s yours, and you can call him whatever you want.

You flick the light back on so you can watch him sleep. It’s incredible how calm he is, and how he fell asleep as soon as you laid down next to him after saying he couldn’t sleep.

Sometimes that happens to you though, sometimes you need to touch yourself, and make yourself squirm and moan and come, and then sleep finds you. Sometimes the whiskey puts you to sleep before you even have the desire to do that to yourself.

Whatever Mister-J did with his tongue was so much better than your fingers, wasn’t it?

It most definitely was. It was probably the most incredible feeling you’ve ever experienced. Not that you hadn’t ever experienced it before, but this time…it was soft, gentle— and you wanted it more than anything. That made it feel even fucking better, how badly you wanted to sit down on Mister-mans face and grind down onto his mouth.

He was making out with your cunt. Deep, long, tongue swirling kisses. He would open and close his mouth, and suck. He would lick and lap at all spots you didn’t even know could make you feel good.

When you would take his cock deep in your throat and gag on it, he would moan- loudly-and the vibrations from that were like earthquakes, they touched parts inside of you that were left unexplored by anyone before Mister.

He was perfect.

The idea of laying your head down on his big, muscular bicep was nice until you were actually doing it, and then everything about it felt foreign. It was like sleeping too close to the fire, surrounded by too many blankets.

You had gotten so used to sleeping alone, that the feeling of someone next to you didn’t feel right anymore. It made you sad and you’re not entirely sure why.

So that’s why you’re here on the floor and not snuggled up against Mister-man. It’s like the universe played some cruel joke on you- and you got your favorite food but when you bite into it, it’s rancid.

But your fingers twitch toward him anyway—like roots in dirt searching for water. His arm is right there. His breath is slow and steady.

Go on. He’s warm as fresh bread.

You shift an inch closer.

Dangerous as a snake in the grass.

But his skin smells like leather and sweat and you want to taste him again. Want to run your tongue from the tip of his cock, to the spot just in front of his ear that makes him sigh when you kiss him there.

Crawling—quiet like scared prey— you move until your face hovers over his chest. His shirt rides up just enough to show a scar on his perfectly doughy stomach. And another on his rib cage. It looks newer, still old enough to be a scar, but pink instead of white.

You wonder if it aches when he breathes. If that’s the reason his voice sounds like gravel sometimes.

He’ll crush you.

He’ll hold you.

It sounds like a song the way the sweet voice says it.

You touch the scar with your pinky finger, feather-light—and he doesn’t stir. But then he sighs—a rumble deeper than thunder—and your guts twist.

You scramble back, heart slamming against the back of your throat.

The sweet voice clucks at you.

You’re spooking yourself.

You’re alive because you spook.

The flashlight rolls under your knee when you shift—plastic clattering loud enough to wake dead things—and Mister’s brow tightens. For one gut-drop second, his eyes flicker open, staring up at you, before he grunts and turns onto his side, back to you now.

He’s mad again? How, and why? What did you do wrong? You had done everything right.

You keep poking that bear and you’re going to get mauled, kid.

He ain’t mad…look’it his hands, Sugar.

They’re not balled up into fists, they’re relaxed. His whole body is. Everything about him seems so at peace.

Your stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead. It’s been a while since you’ve eaten— and then you only had half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and some whiskey.

Joel’s boot shifts with a dry scrape of leather—and your lungs forget how air works. But he just mumbles something that sounds like “goddamn horse” with his face smushed against the pillow.

Mister-J talks in his sleep? He’s precious.

He is. It’s hard to contain the feeling in your chest when he sighs loudly, rolling onto his stomach, curling his arms under the pillow.

Instead of trying to face your fears of crawling into bed with him and falling asleep next to someone else, you crawl on your hands and knees back to the chair across the room. The whiskey bottle is still tucked between the cushion where you left it.

Even with almost half of a bottle of whiskey in you, your eyes won’t close. You only know what time it is because the soft whir of the solar powered generator kicks on, and the singular lamp in the corner flicks to life. It’s dark outside now.

The electric hum from the bulb makes your skin crawl, and your head buzz.

Part of you feels bad for keeping Mister down here like this. He doesn’t even know what time it is, he’ll probably wake up soon, getting ready to start the day. You wonder if he misses the sun, if he ever walked barefoot in the grass and if he misses that feeling too.

When you weren’t allowed outside, you missed the sun. You missed the grass between your toes. You missed being able to jump into the river and swim around with your brother whenever you wanted. There were a lot of things you missed when you weren’t allowed to go outside.

Unscrewing the whiskey cap, you take a swig and relish in the way it burns. It drowns out the voices, but it doesn’t dull the ache between your legs— the memory of his mouth makes you shift in the soft recliner.

In the soft, pale light spilling into the room from behind the aged, yellow lampshade, you can see Mister-J… and how excited he is. He’s on his back, shirt riding up over his stomach again, the bulge in his sweatpants clear as day now.

There is a new voice you’ve never heard before, and it’s not saying anything— only screaming. Loud, and high pitched. It’s excruciating. It’s the only thing you hear now, not even the sound of your own voice telling you what to do, or what to think or say.

When you stand, the whiskey sloshes between your temples. It makes you sway and almost lose your balance, but you press your hand to a support beam that juts out of the floor and into the ceiling.

Heavy, clumsy, limping feet and a swollen ankle carry you to Mister-J.

His cock is hard and heavy in your hand and he tastes just like he did last night. He stirs under your touch—a low groan vibrating through clenched teeth—and your pussy tightens around nothing. Mister arches his hips up against your slow moving fist, trying to fuck your hand momentarily before stilling and settling back down into the mattress. His eyes are still shut tight beneath furrowed eyebrows.

It’s pathetically cute how bad he wants this. How badly he needs it.

The screaming inside your head morphs into static.

Your fingers rub slow circles over damp fabric between your legs while your rib cage starts to feel like a hive of wasps. Everything inside of you is buzzing as you lean over and swirl your tongue around the ridge of his cock.

Wrong.

That dark voice sounds like it’s coming through the static like old radio stations.

You pull your hand away from Mister-J's cock and cover your face with it, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill. This is all wrong, all of it.

S’right. It’s all right.

The static transmutes into tornado sirens.

Your hand finds his cock again and it throbs in your grasp. There is no hesitation when you take him into your mouth with a gentleness you didn’t know you possessed when you’re this intoxicated. Delicate movements and laps of your tongue along his shaft make him moan softly, still slumbering.

Salt and musk take over your senses as he pulses against your tongue—wanting even in his unconsciousness. Your throat spasms around him as you gag, tears hot on your lashes. One hand brushes against his thigh as you move to steady yourself on the mattress while the other slips into your own waistband. Two fingers slide into you with no resistance. You’re so wet that you almost feel embarrassed.

Inside.

The sweet voice sings to you over the cacophony going on inside your head.

Mister’s hips jerk again, involuntary, desperate. A string of saliva connects your lip to his cock when you pull back to breathe. The room tilts—whiskey and shame on your tongue—but you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not when his thighs were trembling just a moment ago.

After kicking your shorts off, you climb on top. Mister feels so hot pressed up against your cunt. Yours and his breath catch in your throats when you sink down into his lap. Your eyes close to hide from the stretch that burns in a slippery, and shameful way.

The wasps behind your ribs sharpen their stingers as you slowly start to rock your hips against his. Mister’s eyelids flutter but he doesn’t wake-up, not fully. He just hovers in that feverish space between dreaming and drowning. A place you’re familiar with.

Bad. Bad. Bad.

Good. Good. Good.

You want to carve yourself into his bones before the tornado sirens rip your skull apart.

The oven mitts make useless fists at his sides as he arches beneath you, tendons in his neck pulled wire-tight. His hips stutter upward instinctively, chasing more friction, seeking the deepest, warmest parts of you.

His eyes snap open, “The fuck are you—” Mister-man’s voice is rough like sandpaper but you don’t let him finish before you slap your hand over his mouth.

“Shhhh, makin’ you feel good,” you moan quietly, your hips never faltering. His cock slides across a spot inside of you that whites the edges of your vision.

He mumbles something, his teeth scraping along your palm as he does so. It vaguely sounds like, ‘Get off’a me’ or ‘get off on me,’.

“M’tryin’,” you groan, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. Your cheeks are wet, but from tears or sweat, you don’t know.

How can everything make sense up here on top of Mister-J, and still feel so incredibly… wrong?

The oven mitts start to drum against your thighs as he squirms underneath you.

It…hurts? Mister is hitting you?

Hurting you.

You like it.

“Knock it off!” You press harder against this mouth with your hand, your fingers digging into his cheeks. It’s impossible to stop riding him, to stop yourself from needing this brutal closeness with Mister.

You’re being bad.

You like it.

His muffled growls vibrate against your palm—angry or pleading or both—but your cunt clenches harder around him anyway. Release is so close, you can feel yourself teeter on the precipice, but you can’t seem to push yourself over.

“Please, please, p-please— jus’ wanna, I just wanna— please, please, Mister-J,” you whine, face wet with perspiration and tears now, they’re flowing freely from your eyes. “I want it, need it—”

“Stop, goddammit—” he shouts at you from behind your fingers.

It makes you flinch but you don’t stop, and your pussy pulses around him. Your hand presses harder, fingernails leaving moon crescents in his flesh mingled with his stubble.

You just want to feel good, to be able to fall asleep once this is all over.

Oven mitts thump and scrabble at your hip, and that only makes your thighs clamp tighter around his waist. You want to swallow every twitch of his cock, everything he can give you– you want it.

He bucks his hips up into you and touches a place inside you that leaves you gasping for air. “Yes, yes, yes—” you groan breathlessly, leaning forward to lay your body on top of his, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

Mister bucks his hips up into yours again— once, twice, three times and suddenly you’re being shoved off of him, pushed to the side like you’re weightless.

Before you can really even know what hit you, Mister-man has his entire body weight pinning you down underneath him. He has his forearm forced against your neck.

Your thumb instinctively presses against down, searching for the shock collar button but you just end up pressing against your own palm.

The static, and the sirens and the screaming— the voices. It all goes completely silent and the only thing you can hear is the blood roaring in your ears.

Mistake?

Mistake.

“Got’chya,” He growls down at you, his eyes dark and blown wide.

“Get off me! Get off me! Get off of me!” You scream at him as loudly as you can, “Get off of me! Get off! Off, off, offoffoffoff! I’ll fucking kill you, you stupid fucking sonofabitch- get the fuck off me!”

“Awhh, lil crazy puppy don’t like it?” He murmurs, pressing his lips to your tear stained cheekbone.

Your legs begin to flail wildly in an attempt to dislodge him, push him, get him off. Your hands flying to his face, scratching and clawing at the soft skin, and his vulnerable, delicate eyes. You can’t find the words for how much you don’t like it, so you scream— it’s loud and rattles in the back of your throat as Mister-man clamps his hand over your mouth to silence you.

His breath is hot and ragged against your ear, the oven mitts clumsily grappling at your wrists as you thrash. "Stop—fuckin'—fightin’—," he grits out, but his voice cracks on the last word.

You taste copper—your teeth sink into his palm at some point, his blood smearing your chin. He pulls his hand back back to look at the broken skin, and you clench your eyes shut, flinching away from the incoming blows.

The room tilts and suddenly Joel’s weight isn’t just on your body; it’s inside your head, like pressure forcing memories that had buried deep to the surface like lava from a volcano.

Different hands holding you down. A different room. Different voices in your ear.

“Nononononono,” you whimper in a shriveled voice you don’t recognize.

“Hey!” Joel’s voice is sharp and grounding.

His arm lets up just enough for you to suck in a shattered breath. You’re both trembling now, your chests heaving against one anothers. His beard scratches your temple as he turns his face away from your clawing hands, but you don’t miss it—there is a flicker in his eyes when your choked sob hits the air between you.

Something wet smears your cheek. His blood? Your tears? It’s hard to tell.

“M’gonna make you feel real good, crazy girl.” His lips brush your earlobe as his hips grind down into yours, the length of him sliding between your folds, the tip notched at your entrance.

“Stop,” you whine, but the force has left your voice. Something about him breathing in your ear, something about the sound he makes as he shifts his hips and slips himself inside of you. The tears continue to fall, even as you gasp and clench around him.

“She’s suckin’ me right in baby,” Joel purrs in your ear while his hips start to move.

You can feel every fucking inch of him, every vein, and every single beat of his heart through the slick walls of your cunt. “Oh god,” you groan, your stiff, frightened hands curling in the hair on the back of his head, the other gripping one of his strong, strained biceps.

You're terrified, but Joel's words and touch are overwhelming you, making your body respond in ways you didn’t know could in a position like this.

He thrusts slowly at first as he sinks deeper inside you. But soon his pace quickens and the slapping, wet sounds coming from between your legs fill the small basement room. "Yeah just like that," Mister groans, his lips ghosting over your cheek. "Take it all, baby girl.”

Your walls clench around him, pulling him in as if eager for more. You feel delirious with fear and an unbidden arousal. Tears stream down your face, but soft moans spill from your lips.

Joel licks at your tears and leaves gentle kisses in their place, his beard scraping against your sensitive skin. "Shhhh, I got you," he murmurs between thrusts.

The room spins and blurs as the pleasure builds. Nothing exists and nothing is real anymore; Mister-man’s weight pinning you down, his cock splitting you open, the sour, sweaty, musky scent of him.

He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real. He’s real and he’s good. He’s good, he’s good, he’s good. He’s not killing you, not hurting you.

So good. It’s so good.

You turn your head to capture his salty, tear stained lips with yours, opening your mouth to let him in. His lips press against yours desperately, tongue licking at your teeth as he slips inside.

Your body arches up to meet him, craving more of his touch even as fear still coils in your gut. It’s like you’re two separate people wrapped up into a whole. One part of you wants him with everything that you are, and the other is ready to hide, ready to slip into the cracks into the wall and never come out.

His oven mitts move to your waist and fumble with the threadbare shirt you have on, trying to push it up over the swell of your breasts.

“Fuck,” he grunts, nipping at your bottom lip as he pulls away from the kiss. He sits back on his knees, cock still throbbing inside of you while your walls flutter around him.

“Don’t, oh god, no. Please don’t go-” you sob, hands and fingers clawing at his forearms, desperate for him to come back. “P-Please don’t leave me,” you whine sadly,

Mister says nothing as he places both mitt covered hands inside your shirt where it’s fastened with buttons. He pulls the two pieces of fabric apart like paper. The buttons fly in every direction, scattering across the floor and some landing in bed with you. Joel stares down at your naked body and you feel more exposed than you ever have in your entire life.

“Jesus christ,” he murmurs, eyes tracing every single one of your curves. His mittened hands cups the swell of your tits, thumb swiping over the stiff buds

It’s like you’ve been zapped by the shock collar. Your back arches into his hand, your eyes clamp shut.

“Nuh-uh, watch me,” he growls. He waits until your eyes are on him before he leans over and takes one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue swirls and teeth graze and bite down.

“Oh my god,” you groan, your fingers gripping his hair tighter, your nails dragging red, almost bloody marks down his arm.

Mister releases your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air across it almost like he’s teasing you. Goosebumps erupt across your skin as he takes the other into his mouth, alternating between harsh sucking and tender kisses.

You mewl softly as he begins to thrust again, each movement slow and deliberate. He drives deep inside of you and hits that spot that blurs the edges of your vision again, and again, and again.

You stare up at him in awe- his beard is longer, thicker than it was when he first came here, his hair disheveled and damp with sweat hangs in his forehead. He leans back and pushes the loose strands away from his face with an oven mitt.

Handsome.

He is.

Strong.

Being so gentle.

With you, Sugar. So gentle—

With you.

"Please," you whimper, spine bowing as pleasure coils tight in your belly as his hips snap against yours loudly. “More. Need more…”

He grins down at you, eyes crinkled at the corners, “I’ll give ya’ more, sweetheart.” If you thought Mister was handsome before, when he smiles your heart swells. and the pressure and tightness inside of you feels like it’s about to burst.

He wraps one hand underneath your knee and brings it up, resting your ankle on his shoulder by his ear, repeating the process with the other leg. He grips your thighs, the scratchy fabric of the oven mitts drags across your skin. Joel never lets up, never slows down the brutal, bruising pace he sets.

A string of expletives and maybe his name more than once spill out of your mouth quickly, stumbling over the words as your body trembles underneath him.

All of the air is pushed out of you as he leans over, pushing your knees up to your chest and starts fucking into you with deep, long strokes. His pelvis grinds against your swollen clit with each powerful snap forward, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"I can feel her squeezin’ me," he rasps hotly in your ear, licking the shell before biting down on your earlobe. “Come on my cock, crazy girl.”

That does it. It’s more than enough to push you over the edge. “Oh—” Your head tips back with a silent scream as your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, making your entire body shudder and convulse beneath him. “Fuck… Joel!” Sparks burst behind your eyelids as pure rapture consumes you.

Mister sucks your earlobe as you come, his sweaty temple pressed against yours as the waves wash over you. He’s kissing and licking down to your neck, and bites down hard right over your pulse point, sucking hard enough to hurt. "That's it baby girl," he grunts against the spot he just bit.

It’s like your whole body is on fire, everything is too much, it’s all too good.

You feel a new pressure, a new sensation and it’s familiar, but foreign all at the same time. A new release, it’s different and it’s happening so fast.

“Stop! Oh my— Mist- Joel, p-please,” you plead for some sort of relief. “I’m gunna—”

Joel presses his lips to yours again, silencing you. You twist your head to the side, pulling away from his mouth as he kisses down your cheek to your jaw. “S’okay— let go...”

"I...I don't...can't..." You gasp out between ragged breaths. Hot, wet tears still leak from the corners of your eyes as the intense pleasure builds to an unbearable peak.

“Ya’ can,” he pants, resting his forehead on the side of your head. “Cryin’ only makes it feel better, baby girl.” He shifts his hips, angles them differently and fucks you harder- faster.

“P-Please,” you whimper, unsure if you’re begging him to stop, or to keep going. “S’too much!”

“Shut up,” he growls, nipping at your cheek gently, teeth scraping skin as he pistons into you relentlessly. “Let it happen, crazy girl.”

So you do- body obeying his command even as your mind reels with what’s about to happen. A second climax crashes over you, more intense than the first. It erupts from you in a wet splash against Mister’s lower stomach and pelvis, it drips down the curve of your ass and you feel it seeping into the mattress underneath you.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises breathlessly. “Such a good fuckin’ girl cummin’ on Mister’s cock again.”

You sob in pleasure and embarrassment simultaneously as he fucks you through it, his deep voice rasping in your ear.

“Crazy,” He murmurs. His thrusts grow clumsy, and he’s panting in your ear, kissing the side of your face. His tongue captures the tears on your cheeks again like they’re his favorite drink as your fingers dig into the soft flesh on his shoulder. “Makin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he snaps suddenly, pulling back and out of you completely.

You whimper at the loss but he presses your thighs together tightly with his hands and forearms, and slips his cock between them, the length siding through your wet folds.

Mister-J kisses your ankle, his teeth biting down on the skin as he groans loudly, warmth spreads and seeps between your thighs, and slick lower lips, the crease where your legs meet your pelvis.

You stare up at him, watching as his eyes close, his brow furrows, his hips jerking back and forth clumsily as he empties himself onto your lower half.

Your legs tremble as he slides his softening cock out from between your thighs.

That was the most incredible, and intense feeling you’ve ever experienced and you’re not sure if you should love him, or hate him for what he just did to you. The wet spot on the mattress is an embarrassing reminder of what happened seconds ago.

“S’good for ya’?” Mister asks, running one of his oven mitts over his forehead, wiping the sweat away. His eyes move from your face, down your still naked body, his cum smeared across your mound and lower stomach.

You pull your shirt closed around your bare torso, holding it closed with one hand. You use your good foot and the other hand to push yourself onto the cold concrete floor— skin scraping roughly as you shove yourself away from him.

His brows pinch together tightly, and he narrows his eyes on you. “Where’re ya’ goin’?” He sounds… concerned? Angry? Disappointed?

The words don’t find you, thoughts don’t come to you anymore as you hold the shirt over your chest and glare at him. All you can do is scream at him. It comes from somewhere deep and your lungs hurt, your throat feels like it could bleed from how raw it is after.

“Where’re ya’ goin’?”

He watches as tears continue to pour down your cheeks, your face twisting up tightly. You inhale deeply, and it looks like you’re trying to regain your composure.

Then you scream at him. It’s long and loud and hurts his ears, but he stares at you until you’re done. He continues to watch as you scurry away from him in a clumsy, stumbling crab-crawl until your back bumps into the leg of the table.

You flinch and stifle a sob, and finally take a deep, shaky breath. You use the table to push yourself to your feet, turning away from him finally. You shove the table in his direction, grabbing the shock collar remote before you turn, and limp into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

The dull roar of the infected grows louder from upstairs. They’re still there, and that means the two of you are stuck together for at least another day or two, maybe longer.

The door opens again, and a metal bucket comes hurdling out of the bathroom and through the air. It hits the wall, and drops to the floor noisily with chaotic, metal clangs until it comes to settle in the corner by the mattress.

The door slams shut again.

You’re broken, he can see it in your eyes almost all the time, but there was a moment when he was on top of you where he thought you might have completely checked out– gone somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t mean to take you.

Traumatized the poor puppy. Pro’lly in there cryin’.

He’s not worried that you’re crying. Nope. Not even a little.

Alright- that’s what you wanna keep tellin’ yourself, go right ahead.

He’s worried he just signed his death certificate.

Joel wasn’t trying to take anything from you— not like that. You were already on top of him, riding him, but you just looked like you needed some help, like you needed him to take control. Like you didn’t know what you were doing up there, rolling and swirling your hips in any direction. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t ever going to get you there- where you wanted to be so badly.

Joel took you there, made you fucking squirt all over him and he took some sense of pride in that.

Joel helps himself to jerky and bread, he drinks as much water as his body will comfortably allow. For the first time in weeks, he’s actually full. His stomach feels like it’s stretched like he might actually burst.

–-

At first Joel thought you just needed a couple minutes. Maybe you wanted to clean up in the privacy of the bathroom without his eyes on you. But hours go by and he hears nothing coming from the separate room. Nothing.

It’s silent. Completely. No shrieking or clicking of the infected from upstairs either.

It’s the lack of control that’s pissing him off more than he would care to admit. Being captive was of course at the top of his ‘things to be pissed off about’ list, but if he was going to be stuck here with you, he wishes he could at least have a say in what goes on.

Hasn’t seen the sun, hasn’t had a proper shower in god knows when, hasn’t had a real meal in just as long. If you would give him just a little more freedom, things wouldn’t be too fucking bad here.

Now you’re gettin’ it.

You’re making Joel crazy, now he’s thinking about complying?

Y’been complyin’, Mister. Complied real damn good in that bed just then.

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit.

Has Joel been complying? What the fuck is going on? Why didn’t he kill you in bed? Why didn’t he strangle you, bite your jugular out of your throat. He could have, he felt your heartbeat on his tongue. He could have ended all of this right then.

But ya’ didn’t!

He sure fucking didn’t. He was so unworried about killing, that he made sure you came– twice – before he finished.

Looked so sweet comin’ on your cock, perfect tits bouncin’, fuckin’ pussy was immaculate.

Joel presses the oven mitts into the sockets of his eyes and groans loudly.

Joel’s eyes snap open at the rattling coming from inside the room. He shoots up, looking around with crusty eyes and blurry vision. He expects to see you but is met with the sight of that fucking opposum sitting on the table with a piece of Joel’s jerky in his clawed little fingers, munching happily on the dried meat.

“Git!” Joel shouts. The small animal doesn’t even flinch at Joel’s outburst, just continues to eat that precious protein. “Y’little fuckin’--” Joel grumbles, pushing himself to his feet. He stands in front of the table, looking down at it- the opposum- Puddin’.

He just stares right back up at Joel, chewing quickly and swallowing.

Kinda cute.

“S’fuckin’ gross,” Joel grumbles. He doesn’t really want to touch that thing, he doesn’t want to get whatever diseases that thing could be carrying.

He’s got a collar on.

Puddin’ does have a collar on. Joel imagines you taking your time picking it out for him, going through all the colors and designs. He can see you finding the teal and pink collar, holding it up against his fur and saying it’s perfect. That Puddin’ would be the most handsome opossum this mall has ever seen.

It makes him smile.

It feels like two fucking days--two goddamn days since Joel saw you walk into that bathroom and slam the door shut practically in his face.

You’re either dead in there or plotting the most painful ways to kill him. Both choices make Joel sick to his stomach.

–--

Joel watches you behind the metal grate that keeps the mattress store all locked up nice and tight. He’s on the wrong fucking side! He’s on the mall side and you’re tucked under the covers of your comfortable looking bed. Seven mattresses stacked on top of each other like you’re in some fucking story he’d read to Sarah when she was really little.

Joel almost wishes he could go back to the basement because this is more dehumanizing than being tied up by the elbows or roped up to a chair.

The metal chain around his neck is tight, and it digs into his skin. It’s thick, heavy and has prongs on it– like he’s a fucking dog. A violent dog that lunges, and bites and attacks.

You opened the door to the bathroom an hour ago with the choke chain in your hand, the shock collar remote taped to the other, and the most exhausted look Joel’s ever seen on anyone's face. Big dark circles under your eyes, disassociated stare like you weren’t even really looking at Joel when you spoke to him in almost indecipherable mumbling.

Joel fought you a little when you padlocked the choke chain to his neck, and added a smaller lock to the shock collar. But he stopped when you said you were gonna take his oven mitts off his hands.

Where are all the infected? It sounded like there had been a horde of them up here two days ago and now there is not a single sign that they had even been here.

When Joel had questioned you about what he would do if more infected came, you very confidently said that no one could get in or out that easily anymore; that you had made this place nice and safe for your ‘mister-man’.

Ain’t ever had no one like that before, have ya’?

No.

That had always been Joel’s job; to keep everyone else safe.

Who made sure that he was safe?

There had always been give and take with everyone else, even Tommy and Tess. There was love there, sure– but never just someone absolutely and completely tearing themselves open to make sure that Joel was taken care of.

The only thing you wanted in return was his company.

Might’a never touched ya’ if you hadn’t asked for it.

He wonders what your name is. How old you are, where you came from. How long have you been out here…

Joel grabs the metal cord wrapped in some sort of plastic or vinyl material that goes all the way up to the ceiling and gives it a shake as he looks up. You’ve attached it to some other sort of rope or cable that’s been tied from one end of the mall to the other.

The other end is connected to Joel’s choke chain.

As soon as your eyes closed he attempted to unclip himself from it but it wouldn’t budge. He tried everything but it was like you welded the clasp closed.

Joel wanders. That’s all he can do. He’s got more than enough slack to go into whatever store he wants and walk around, inspect.

As he does this his mind doesn’t stop thinking about you. Why didn’t you sleep with him? What did you do while he slept on the bed? Did you sleep? Have you eaten? What the fuck did you do in the bathroom for two whole days?

Joel finds a place where the sun is shining through a hole in the ceiling and faces it with his eyes closed. He could fucking cry. He didn’t realize how much he missed this, how important it was for a person to come in contact with the sunlight. He chokes down the lump in his throat and stands there, following the sun as it moves in the sky, the light coming in at shifting angles and directions. He follows it, stays in the warmth- basking in it for as long as possible until dusk settles and the sky slowly starts to turn pink.

Joel has his backpack with him. You packed him some food and water, his flashlight. A clean long sleeve shirt in case it got cold. You even threw in some whiskey for him, which he was enjoying sip by sip.

He pulls his flashlight out and uses it when he goes into an old bookstore. Some shelves are empty; nature guides, atlases, hunting and fishing- basically the entire outdoors section is gone.

The romance novels are almost bare.

Who needs those when lil puppy’s got you, right?

There are still self-help books on the shelves, almost untouched and whatever is left looks like it would fall apart in his hands if he tried to touch it.

Why’s you even in this section?

Joel wanders to the comics and takes a look at whatever is left. Some are in alright condition, wrapped in plastic away from the elements. Some do disintegrate before he can even get them out of their place on the shelf.

He grabs a Batman comic still in a vinyl sleeve and tosses it in his pack for later. There are tons more strewn all across the floor, some he remembers reading with Tommy as kids. He picks through them, looking for any worth saving and finds two more still in decent condition.

There are several department and clothing stores that look bare from the outside, but he wanders into one anyway just to see what might have been missed.

There’s an exit to the outside that's been all boarded up, with what looks like every empty clothing rack pushed in front of it. He thinks about moving all those things, breaking through the boards… but where the fuck would he go? Ten feet outside of the mall where the infected were apparently moving through?

No.

He’ll stay inside.

He paruses the homegoods section all the way in the back of the second floor and finds a wall of empty shelves except for one.

It’s filled with books- he reads through the titles: The Beginners Guide to Foraging, An Introduction to Wildlife Rehabilitation, LIVING WITH WILDLIFE- How to Enjoy, Cope with, and Protect North America’s Wild Creatures Around Your Home and Theirs, The Big Book of Skill Makers, The Complete Beginners Guide to Greenhouse Gardening- A Month by Month Planting Book to Grow 365 Days a Year, You Will Find Your People- How To Make Meaningful Friendships as an Adult. There are several Batman comics featuring Harley Quinn and The Joker.

They all look like they’ve been read thoroughly and many times.

On the same shelf there is a pink balloon animal made of glass, it has fresh flowers in it, with clean water. It takes him several seconds to realize that it’s supposed to be a bong. For smoking weed. And you’re using it as a vase.

Joel chuckles to himself and continues to look at the shelf of your important belongings. A couple rocks of different colors, an old makeup compact that has a broken mirror in it. And a small glass picture frame of a family– a mother and a father, a little girl, and a young man but his face has been scratched out beyond recognition.

On the wall behind the shelf Joel notices lines carved into the wall.

| | | | | | | | | | |

Twelve. Is that how old you were when this all happened? Is that the number of men you did this to before Joel came along? Are you going to add him to this fucking list?

Is that how many months you've been out here?

All of this suddenly feels like someone he can’t see punched Joel directly in the stomach.

Sad.

Joel makes his way to a different part of the mall, checking every entrance that he finds along the way and they’re all boarded up better than they were when he used to walk around here before you captured him. He does appreciate the effort you went through to make sure nothing could get in if you weren’t going to give him a weapon, and he couldn’t escape.

There is an old music and entertainment store where you must get your princess movies and cartoons to watch. He picks through a couple, finding a couple classics that he watched before the outbreak Office Space, Dirty Harry, The Thing, Top Gun.

He grabs a couple more that he watched as a kid with his dad and grandpa; The Magnificent 7, The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. He grabs the three original Star Wars movies as well– the best ones, the only ones worth watching. The ones that started to come out right before the outbreak– Joel can’t even talk about it.

He’s done his exploring and now he sits outside of the mattress store waiting for you to wake up and let him back in. As soon as Joel unwraps the sandwich and jerky you made him, that stupid fucking oppossum comes scampering along like this is it’s dinner too.

“Get the hell outta here,” Joel grumbles, waving his hand in its direction, trying to scare it off– but it persists.

Inching closer and closer until Joel could kick it if he wanted to.

Kinda cute in the little collar.

Joel tosses a piece of his sandwich a good distance away and Puddin’ chases after it while Joel digs into his own portion.

Hours and hours go by, you sleep for so fucking long. He reads all of the comic books that he grabbed and even goes back to the bookstore to look for more. He finds nothing else that interests him so he goes to your bookshelf in the department store and grabs a couple from there to look at.

He’s flipping through the skill maker book when you finally wake up and open the grate.

Joel scrambles to his feet, watching as you rub your eyes with your one free hand, the other still has the remote tapped to your palm.

The two of you stare at each other for several silent moments before you notice the book in his hand.

“Just put it back where ya’ found it when you’re done with it, ‘kay?” Your voice is deep and filled with sleep.

Joel nods his head, and puts the book in his backpack. “Yeah, sure– hey where did all the infected go?” He questions as you toss your own pack over your shoulder and head in the direction of the food court.

“Cleared ‘em out the other day.”

“How the hell did you do that? When? After we–”

“Yup.” You cut him off with a sharp, short response. “Wasn’t that many. Kinda easy when you get high ground on ‘em.”

Joel eyes dart up to the rafters and wonders how good you are with a bow and arrow. He knows Ellie is a great shot, loves her bow and arrow. “And you moved ‘em all out on your own?”

“Yup.”

“How did you even get out of the bathroom?” Joel’s been wondering that this whole time.

You walked into the bathroom, slammed the door and the next time he saw you was coming down the stairs to the basement.

He wonders if you’re even real.

Ohh our lil puppy is real alright.

If you knew that Mister-J was going to ask all of these questions you might not have ever taken the duct tape off.

Where did the infected go? What if more get in? How did you get out of the bathroom? Where are you going now? When will you be back? Are you okay? Are you mad? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you answering me?

He’s so nosy! Asking more questions than any of the other guys combined.

Why does he even care?

Shhhhh, this is what makin’ friends is, Sweetheart.

“Used the vents to get out of the bathroom,” you sigh, not stopping or slowing down but Joel keeps up anyway, his arm brushing yours as he walks alongside you.

“What about the infected– you know the spores–”

“I burn ‘em outside at night when it’s real dark–” you explain to him quickly. “I ain’t stupid. I know ‘bout the spores. I know how the fungus works. I paid attention,” you huff softly as you reach the ladder that takes you up into the rafters and eventually out onto the roof.

Mister is too big, and probably too clumsy to follow you up here.

“M’just goin’ to get some more food… I’ll be right back– couple of minutes, okay?”

Mister looks relieved when you say this, his face relaxes and he sighs softly. “Okay, just be careful.”

— -- --- ---

“Is that my shirt?” He asks about the green and red flannel you have on when you come out of the women’s restroom in the food court. Your hair is clean, your body feels refreshed after taking a shower.

Mister looks good too with his hair slicked back, and his beard trimmed neatly.

You nod, not taking your eyes off of him. It’s almost impossible when he looks like a brand new man- handsome. He looks like he’s lost weight since he’s been here with you.

You’ll fix that. He needs to eat more than you, and he wants meat so… you’ll go get it for him. Real meat this time, even if it makes you sad how you have to get it.

“Yeah, I took it ‘cause it smelled like you.” You admit with no shame. That’s exactly why you took it. So you could sleep with it so he could warm up to his new house, with his new friend.

Mister-J chuckles, and shakes his head at you with a smirk plastered across his face. “Someone told me I stink once,” he says through his laughter.

This makes you smile because he’s happy. He looks happy, like he doesn’t mind talking to you, he’s not saying mean things. He’s sharing.

Told ya’ he’d get comfortable. Just had to be patient. We figured it all out eventually.

“You do stink sometimes, but you smell real, so I don’t mind.” You share with him as you lead him back to the mattress store. He carried the TV up earlier and said he found a couple movies he wanted to watch. They don’t really look like movies you want to watch, but you’ll give them a shot.

Anything for Mister-Joel, perfect, sweet man.

It doesn’t make this easier. Mister wants to sleep in the bed next to you, said he wanted to warm you up, but now you’re next to him again and it feels like you could burst into flames and tears all at the same time.

“What’s your name?” He whispers into your ear, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding onto you tightly from behind.

“Why?” The sirens go off inside your head. No one’s asked you that in so long, it makes your stomach flip and you feel like you could be sick.

“Told’ya mine,” He murmurs into your hair.

Joel.

When you go to answer, the words don’t come because the memories are gone. You can see your mom and dad talking to you inside your head but their voices are on mute. The name never leaves their mouth. “I don’t remember…”

OFC thank you @pedrospookie for making this cutie banner and letting me scream at about all of this!!

I need to give an extra special shout-out to the couple of other people I screamed at about this. @almostempty @gothcsz( your music recs inspired me) and thanks to @probablyreadinsmut and my unnamed friend who helped me with the TW of the chapter.

I was especially nervous to post this because I didn't want to ruin anyone's day or send anyone into their own spiral. I hope you all are OK!

thank you to everyone who has been reading!! I've never gotten such incredible feedback on a fic before and you are all so nice and make writing this story that much more fun. I LOVE YOU

TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22 @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @syd-djarin @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @letsgobarbs @lovehappyloki @joelalorian @pedrostories @evolnoomym @valkyreally @youdontknowe @corazondebeskar-reads @pastelpinkflowerlife @tobethlehem

please don't hate me if I forgot you, I have a hamster brain, ok?

#pedro pascal characters #fic: girl dinner #kidnapped!joel miller x unhinged!reader #kidnapped!joel miller #crazy!reader #unhinged!reader #strong as hell bad ass bitch!reader #dddne #dead dove do not eat #smut #joel miller smut #dark!Joel #dark!reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel the last of us

103 notes · View notes

maximsdeadwife · 16 hours ago

Text

Come Close I’ll Show You Heaven

Logan x afab!reader

1.8k words

Summary: getting with Wolverine isn’t exactly what you expect

Authors notes: this is for my beloved @heresthestorymorningglory who has been my best friend, my sister, my beta reader, my favourite writer, my supporter and everything in between since we met through fandom a year and a half ago and have been writing and having fun with our favourite characters together since. Logan’s an old love for both of us, but for her birthday he’s entirely hers. Title comes from one of her Logan songs, I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) by Taylor Swift.

Content/warnings: nsfw, dry humping, fingering, kinda premature ejaculation but not really, alcohol mentions, fluff, crying

Logan couldn’t remember the last time he allowed himself to feel. He wasn’t sure he still possessed the ability, even if he stopped numbing every thought with the soothing sting of alcohol. It provided him the only moments of quiet he’d experienced in years, or at least, something close to it.

His kiss had been bruising; a rough, heated mess that you were almost sure would end in his hips slamming hard against yours until he found the brief release he needed and left you used and disappointed.

Because you knew that whilst you wanted him, he probably just wanted to get his dick wet. Hell, he even kept his mask on while he kissed you to keep his distance.

You knew it would be a one time thing, and now, with his lips ghosting over your throat accompanied by that delicious scratch of stubble, you had two choices – go with it and finally have him even just this once, or never know. And you had to know.

His fingertips drove into your waist as you made your mind up, grounding you back with him.

It felt so good, those heavy, muscular arms controlling your movements. Heat rushed to your core at the thought of him taking what he needed just like this, and the thought that it might not be so disappointing after all to have the Wolverine use you, feral and strong and ravaging. It was already kind of thrilling just to kiss him.

His grip loosened then and your heart sank – just a little at first, and then, all at once as he stilled above you.

‘Listen-’

‘No, it’s ok,’ you interrupted, beating him to it, ‘you don’t need to say it.’

You didn’t need to see him without his mask to know a thick line had appeared between Logan’s brows.

‘Say what?’ he asked.

‘That you don’t want me- or, I’m not doing it for you… whatever. You’ve changed your mind.’ You pushed yourself up beneath him, creating a physical distance so he didn’t have to. ‘It’s ok, we can just pretend this never happened and-’

He pushed himself forward and his lips pressed to yours again, only this time, he was ever so gentle. You gasped against them. You’d never seen him gentle. Never thought you’d feel it, either.

‘Not what I was getting at,’ he breathed, gruff, against your lips. His voice was the lowest you’d ever heard and you could feel it shiver through you. ‘Believe me, you’re doing… everything for me. It’s just- it’s been a while, alright? That’s all.’

‘Oh...’ You froze. Did you hear that correctly?

‘So, if I disappoint you-’ he broke off with a frustrated huff.

‘No, you won’t. You can’t,’ you reassured, kissing him back tenderly. You could practically feel his heart swelling at your response.

You wanted him, and he didn’t deserve anyone wanting him, but you did, and it was sincere and… kind of overwhelming.

His hand, once grabbing careless and rough at your hips, rubbed slow, tender circles into your back as the other pushed up into your hair, thick fingers tangling loosely in the strands. His chest heaved with a relief so intense it was almost tangible.

‘What do you need?’ you breathed, and he paused for a moment.

No one had ever asked what he needed. He wasn’t even sure.

‘Just you,’ he said.

You hooked a careful leg around his waist to pull him down closer to you, his hips falling easily between your thighs, and your tongue teased, warm and wet against his lower lip until he parted them and invited you back in.

You took the lead this time, slow and languid, and he hummed into it, hips rocking against the gentle movement of yours while he basked in your attention.

You rolled onto your sides to face one another, and little grunts were swallowed by your mouth as his arousal, very evident in the yellow spandex slid over yours.

Daring, you thought, since it had been how many months? Years? Since he’d been with someone else.

You weren’t sure exactly how long Logan considered a long time, and although you were sure the alcohol consumption might help slow things a little, you really didn’t want him to peak too soon if this would be the one and only time.

You were on track to be fucked by the Wolverine for Christ’s sake — but more than that, you wanted to show him a good time, let him feel the comfort of another’s touch, let go. If he came now, you weren’t sure you’d ever get another chance to show him that.

He pulled back though, and you smiled at him, small but genuine. Reassuring again.

You fought the urge to reach up and push his mask back so you could look into his eyes, watch his reaction as you stroked his stubbled cheek with real affection.

Logan beat you to it. He slid the hand from around your back to push the mask away himself. Tired eyes turned watery as they met yours, and you sighed.

‘What?’ he grumbled, ‘Prefer me with it on?’

You couldn’t stifle your laugh. ‘No. Well, I mean… I certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it, but right now I wanna see you.’

‘Freak,’ he grinned, hand moving back to your waist.

You let your fingertips wander over his suit, bright yellow dulled by dirt and stained with blood, memorising the contours of his body beneath while he memorised the warmth of your palm.

You let out a pleased little moan when your fingers found his erection and dragged up the impressive length, and his eyes squeezed shut.

‘Fuck,’ came a growl from under his breath.

He’s sensitive, you delighted, and took your hand away, back to resting on those broad shoulders.

‘Fuckin’ tease,’ he smirked, eyes lighting up with a fire you hadn’t yet seen but knew lurked somewhere in the depths. Impatient, he slid his hand between your thighs. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ you confirmed, and he pressed his cupped palm against you, fingers teasing through fabric. ‘We gotta get rid of some of these layers, though.’

There was a simultaneous scramble then, during which you managed to help him shed the top half of his suit, and he tore off everything you were wearing far too easily.

You grazed his cheek with the backs of your fingers, and he leaned into it, starved, and in his eyes, undeserving.

His stomach flipped as your fingertips toyed with his hair. He was topless beside you, and you reached for his face first? Not his bare chest or abs? His eyes stung as he bit back the threat of tears.

‘That’s better,’ he hummed, distracting himself by resuming his previous position, thick fingers sliding between your folds.

‘Please,’ you gasped, trying to rock against his palm.

He liked that. A pang of guilt bubbled low in his gut again, but arousal washed it away when your fingers circled his wrist and clenched around it.

‘Jesus, you’re wet,’ he said. It was husky, and just surprised enough for you to notice.

Did he really expect you not to be?

‘All for you, bub,’ you replied playfully.

The smile dropped from your lips as he shifted from casually circling his slicked up finger over your clit to sliding a finger inside.

Logan watched closely, the way your eyes fluttered closed and your cheeks powdered red, the way your breath fell from between your parted lips in hungry little pants.

You felt warm and familiar, and his dick throbbed as he curled his finger inside you, deliberate and precise. His head dropped to the crook of your neck and he clenched his jaw to keep from nuzzling there.

‘Gonna cum for me?’ he panted, hot against your throat.

‘Gonna- ah!- f-fuck me?’ you managed between heaving breaths.

Logan didn’t answer, just chuckled against you as he fucked his finger into you faster, and lifted his head in time to watch you unravel, his eyes alight with wonder and arousal.

He didn’t rush you as you came down from your back-arching high, he simply slowed the movements of his hand. The aftershocks of your climax clenched deliciously around his finger as he massaged you down, relishing in every squeeze.

He still had it.

‘Still want me after… what do they call it these days? Post-nut clarity?’ he asked, trying hard to sound unbothered, but you heard the way his voice cracked with doubt.

‘More than ever.’

He dropped his forehead to yours as he carefully eased his finger out, relishing in the small whine that told him you felt empty without it.

‘Mmh, you feel so good,’ he dared admit as he lined himself up and gradually pushed inside to give you time to adjust, ‘so warm, so wet- oh fuck-’

You were glad he’d removed his mask. As much as the sweet burn of his cock stretching you had you clawing at his back, the blissed out look on his face was making your toes curl the most.

He rolled his hips so slowly you thought he must be holding back, being too cautious, either with you or for his own performance. Either way it didn’t matter, it was so different from what you’d expected your core throbbed.

‘You won’t break me,’ you whispered, ‘I’m yours, however you want.’

‘Feels good just like this,’ he all but whimpered, hiding his face at your shoulder again groaning, low and drawn out while his fingertips dragged over the parts of you he could reach.

He gazed down at you through those tired eyes, no longer bothering to fight the tears that slipped from the corners.

‘Come for me,’ you breathed, and somehow it was the most romantic thing he’d ever heard.

With a low groan rumbling from his chest, he snapped his hips, once, twice. Three uneven, hurried thrusts and he roared, fists strategically moving the mattress either side of you as his claws extended with a muffled snikt! as he emptied inside you.

He pumped you so full that his release dripped back out, hot and thick around his softening cock and onto the sheets beneath.

‘Fuck-’ he growled, collapsing beside you.

. ۫ ꣑ৎ .

You woke a few hours later, resting on his chest, and glanced up at him.

Logan was still awake, deep in thought. He huffed.

‘What is it?’ you yawned, pushing yourself up to get a proper look at him. You assumed you’d wake to him long gone with his seed drying on your thigh, but he was very much still here.

‘Just… don’t tell anyone, alright?’ he said, as if imparting a secret.

‘Tell them what?’

‘Yknow. That I-’

‘That you’re secretly a big softie and you fuck good? Yeah, ok,’ you mocked, ‘my lips are sealed. So long as you keep the mask on next time.’

Logan shot you a withering look and with a subtle smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, closed his eyes as you settled back against his chest.

#not s f w 💀#logan howlett #logan x reader #wolverine x reader

72 notes · View notes

valenteal · 1 day ago

Text

The story of Anakin Skywalker is about how anyone can break under enough pressure. It isn’t a tragedy about an inevitable doom, it isn’t about how power corrupts or about how caring is dangerous. It’s about how no matter how good and kind and selfless and seemingly invincible someone is they still have needs and they can still be hurt.

Maybe this is because Phantom Menace is my favorite Star Wars movie and so I have rewatched it a million times, but for me Anakin is the most genuinely caring and selfless character in Star Wars. He wasn’t just an innocent kid (kids can be cruel and selfish and they’re usually better when they grow up not worse) he was compassionate and kind and despite growing up surrounded by some of the worst scum in the galaxy he knew nothing of greed. That says so much about his character.

Anakin’s fall to the dark side took over a decade of carful manipulation that culminated in cascade of tragedy and loss. It wasn’t an accident. Every bit of the emotional trauma, physical trauma, and mental trauma from the moment Anakin met Palpatine and on ward was planned. We don’t see the decade he spent between Phantom Menace and Attack of the Clones but immediately in the second movie we see how much Anakin has changed. Where he used to be confident he’s insecure, where he used to bold and fearless he is now arrogant, where he was once inquisitive he is now cautiously enthusiastic, where he used to build he now destroys. Every change in his behavior and outlook is the result of either the teachings of the Jedi Order which are pretty much the antithesis of his entire personality, the result of Sidious’s manipulation, or the result of the toxic attitudes of many Jedi towards him.

Now I know a lot of people have… misconceptions about what the Jedi Order is and what they stand for. It’s understandable, since I guess a lot of people think of Luke as an everything a Jedi is supposed to be but he is NOT, he wasn’t even taught their philosophy! Yoda and Windu and Luminara are everything a Jedi is meant to be. They take an impersonal approach to justice, they treat others coldly, they believe themselves to be above petty things like emotion and pain and human connection. There are Jedi who take a more progressive stance like Obi-Wan and Quinlan and Qui-Gon but you have to understand that they are not model Jedi and have their own struggles with the Order and its teachings. The Jedi code literally says “There is no emotion.” That is what Jedi strive for. And that isn’t even getting into the genocide or the politics. Focusing on how this affected Anakin. That’s what I’m doing.

Anyway, Anakin is a deeply emotional person. This is not a bad thing. It’s the source of his conviction and his empathy (which a surprising amount of Jedi lack). Anakin feels deeply, so he feels love and anger and sadness more keenly than Jedi who have worked their whole lives to shut off emotion. And he was never taught how to deal with it. The most the Jedi did was tell him to meditate, release his emotions into the Force, focus on the present or other platitudes that do not help! I would know. I’m also a deeply emotional person who feels things very keenly to the point where I had a full psychological evaluation when I was 6 years old. When a person deals with this it NEEDS to be addressed. I have wonderful parents who did everything in their power to help me from a young age and I still ended up suicidal! Anakin did not get help and was instead shamed for feeling so strongly and he ended up bottling it up. People complain about how he was “whiny” and I (a person who has also been called whiny) just go what the fuck do you expect?? Expressing his frustration verbally is literally the healthiest option he has! And we know what it looks like when he chooses other forms of venting! Anakin vented to Padmé almost immediately after reconnecting with her because she is literally the only person in his life who will listen to him (other than Sidious but he makes things worse on purpose).

So yeah. Sensitive people need to be taught how to deal with their emotions in healthy ways. Really everyone does but especially people with strong emotions.

But when Anakin isn’t overwhelmed by emotions he doesn’t have the tools to deal with, or surrounded by toxic people, or being actively manipulated by an evil dictator, that’s when you see who he really is. Which means pretty much all of Phantom Menace, a good chunk of the time he’s alone with Padmé, and… nothing else really. (I’m just going to say here that I am not including Clone Wars Anakin due to the purposeful butchering of his character. I still consider the show canon in everything but Anakin’s characterization in a lot of specific instances.)

Anakin has never been a selfish person. The things people perceive as selfish are his needs. He needs unconditional love. He needs Padmé because she is the only person who gives him that. Even without getting into his psychology and bpd and what a splitting episode is, it isn’t hard to recognize that when he places Padmé’s safety above other people’s it’s an act of self preservation more than self interest. He knows that he would literally go crazy without her. After years of being systematically isolated and traumatized she is the only thing keeping him together. In his desperation to save her and consequently his own sanity he lost both those things. But it’s important to note that he tried to do things right, that he went to Yoda for help, that he told Padmé so she could take her own steps to ensure her health. He did everything he could think of before getting desperate enough to go to Sidious. Not to mention he did everything right after discovering Sidious’s identity. It wasn’t until he was presented with a false dichotomy that boiled down to choosing his mentor and confidant of over a decade and his wife’s life or the man who has scored and distrusted him since he was child that he made the objectively wrong choice. And that was after not sleeping for weeks and having a traumatizing realization that triggered a splitting episode so he wasn’t in a head space to understand what was going on in an objective way.

So yeah. That’s my rant about Anakin Skywalker. If you want to comment or debate know that I will reply with an explanation of my thoughts that could be just as long as this post and that I will not stop until you do. You will not get the last word. I feel very strongly about this and if you’ve gotten this far you have to know that I have thought very deeply about this as well. I have heard every argument. You will not change my mind. I have done research. Engaging with this post to disagree will only lead to me expanding on this even more because this is really a brief summary of all my thoughts and feelings on the matter. If you’re just curious about the rest of my thoughts and feelings just ask.

Don’t try to attack my own morals and character because of this, I am NOT condoning Anakin’s actions or behavior, I am completely aware that he is a deeply damaged and unstable person. The point of this is not to deny that but to explain why Anakin is not naturally like that. The scariest thing about Anakin’s fall is that it happened to Anakin, a paragon of compassion and selflessness. Anyone put under the amount of pressure he was would go crazy. I doubt many people would last as long as Anakin did. He was insanely strong to resist for as long as he did.

#anakin skywalker #star wars meta #star wars #character analysis #analysis #meta analysis #darth vader #jedi #the jedi order #the jedi code #the jedi code is bullshit #disclaimer: im not a psychologist #i wrote this instead of sleeping #its 5 am now wtf i need to sleep

72 notes · View notes

steveseddie · 2 days ago

Text

‘cause it’s you and me

rating: g | cw: none | wc: 1,9 k | tags: eddie lives, hospitals and injury recovery, steve has a crush, he also knows how to play guitar, fluff

written for @steddielovemonth day one | You and Me by Lifehouse & the quote “every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.”

read on ao3

Steve doesn’t know how much time he’s spent on the chair that is next to Eddie’s hospital bed.

Too long probably, if the recurrent pain on his back means anything. But not even that is enough to prevent Steve from staying glued to that chair, neither are the doctor’s mean looks or Robin’s insistence about him getting proper sleep or meals for that matter. Steve only leaves the chair when he has a shift or when he wants Wayne to have time alone with his nephew or when the nurses wheel Eddie away for surgery or tests or physical therapy. That’s it.

It makes the months that Eddie spends recovering blur together. Sometimes, Steve even forgets what day it is, only managing to keep track of it by the nurse’s schedule or depending on who shows up to visit Eddie. The kids and Wayne and Robin all come on different days, effectively balancing keeping their friend company with their everyday lives.

All of them except Steve.

Ever since Spring Break, it’s been Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Find Eddie. Get Eddie’s heart beating again. Drag Eddie out of the Upside Down. Pray that Eddie makes it out of surgery. Wait for Eddie to wake up. Comfort Eddie when he’s in pain. Take Eddie’s mind off of the murder charges that haven’t been dropped yet or the loss of their trailer or the long hours of physical therapy ahead of him. Listen to Eddie ramble on the days that he feels better about books and music and Dungeons and Dragons. Watch Eddie sleep and only then try to get a little sleep himself.

The last one might sound a little creepy but Steve thinks it’s justified considering he still can’t forget how Eddie looked when they found him– pale, bloody, dead. Watching him sleep, his chest rising and falling slowly but steadily is the only thing that calms Steve enough for him to doze off in that damn uncomfortable chair.

Only at some point it stops being entirely about making sure that Eddie is alive– the staring. Suddenly, Steve can’t keep his eyes off of Eddie at all times.

Steve stares at his face while Eddie reads a book to him out loud and forgets to pay attention to what he’s saying. He stares at Eddie’s hands while he explains something to the kids and completely miss a question from Henderson. He stares at his mouth while Eddie slurps the extra jello cup that Robin sneaked in past the nurses and blush when she catches him and smirks knowingly at him.

It takes Steve some time to figure out why he looks at Eddie so much, obvious as it is, and when he finally does he actually leaves his chair and heads to the bathroom for a proper floor freak out.

He just doesn’t know what to do with these feelings for Eddie or where to go from there so he just– doesn’t do anything.

And things stay the same.

Except for the way Eddie keeps getting better.

The doctors are so optimistic that they announce that Eddie might get to go home soon. They have him doing laps around the hospital and start slowly tapering off his pain meds and encouraging him to pick back up things he used to do like writing and playing guitar to work on his dexterity, they said.

It’s why Eddie starts writing down plans and ideas for future dork campaigns again and why Wayne brings his sweetheart to the hospital.

(Eddie almost cried when he saw it, making grabby hands and hugging it against his chest with a happy sigh.

“I swear you’re happier to see that thing more than you’ve ever been to see me,” Steve muttered through pursed lips.

“Steve, don’t call her a thing! She can hear you!” Eddie protested, appalled. Which wasn’t a no but at least later he tells Steve that there’s enough room in his heart for two sweethearts.)

It’s not like Eddie goes back to being a rock god on the guitar right away and his writing is intelligible more often than not, but none of that stops him. He keeps trying, keeps practicing, and Steve loves him more and more for it.

Yes. Love. The first time the word pops up in Steve’s head it leads to yet another bathroom floor freak out but once he realizes it, he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting it out several times a day.

He’s doing it right now while watching Eddie excitedly write down a D&D character sheet for him with his tongue poking out adorably between his lips, tempting Steve to lean in and kiss them. So when a nurse interrupts them to take Eddie away for some test, he appreciates the short break.

When he’s alone, Steve reaches for the notebook that Eddie left on the bed. It’s off limits for any of the kids, but Eddie has let Steve peek at it before. He doesn’t think he’ll mind.

He reads his character sheet, recognizing some of the nerdy words while others fly completely over his head. Then he leafs lazily through pages of notes and doodles until he pauses at what looks like an unfinished song, fragments of lyrics and melodies written messily over the page.

Steve sends a sidelong glance to Eddie’s guitar where it’s leaning against the wall.

He’s never told anyone but he took some guitar lessons back when he started high school, hoping that playing an instrument would help get him girls. He knows how to read music and can fumble his way through a few simple songs, but he never made it past that. It seemed useless when he already had Nancy, and then when he didn’t have her anymore, he had the kids and the Upside Down and playing guitar didn’t seem like a useful skill to have when fighting monsters.

He chuckles. “Guess I was wrong,” he mutters to himself, thinking about Eddie saving the world with a Metallica song of all things.

Without giving it much thought, Steve stands up and carefully grabs the guitar, bringing it back with him to the chair and resting it on his leg, Eddie’s notebook open on the bed in front of him.

He clumsily places his fingers on the fretboard and tries to play the melody that Eddie wrote down. He messes up a few notes, but for someone who hasn’t touched a guitar in years he thinks he plays it decently enough. Eddie would surely do a better job, but it still doesn’t sound half bad. Maybe he can ask Eddie for help to improve and–

“What are you doing?” Eddie’s voice breaks through the melody. His fingers slip and the guitar makes a loud, screechy sound that makes Steve wince.

He whirls around and finds Eddie staring at him from the door, his face unreadable.

Steve gulps, his cheeks pinking up at being caught. “Playing guitar?”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together. “Since when do you know how?”

“I– uh, I took lessons years ago but I stopped,” he says, tripping on his words. “I– I found your– your song and I was trying to play it–”

Eddie’s eyes dart to the notebook on the bed. Steve winces again, worrying that Eddie will get mad because he went through his things or because he touched his sweetheart.

“That sounds nothing like what I wrote.”

Or because he butchered his song.

Steve blushes brighter, reaching for the notebook and fumbling to close it. “Sorry, I– it’s been a while and I was never that good to begin with.”

With three long strides –and a lot less limping than a month ago, Steve proudly notices– Eddie reaches his side and snatches the notebook from Steve’s hands.

“Give me that!” He says, flopping down on the bed and flicking furiously through the pages, his face pinched.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry, I– I didn’t think you’d be mad–”

“You bet I’m mad!” Eddie says with a huff, patting the bed sheets, trying to find something.

Steve shrinks down on the chair. “I– I think I’m gonna go–” he says, pushing himself to his feet. Better to leave now before Eddie finds whatever he’s looking for and throws it at his head.

“Aha!” Eddie gasps, holding up his pen. Then he notices Steve standing awkwardly and frowns at him. “Wait, what? No, stay. Play it again.”

Steve blinks down at him. “What?”

“The song!” Eddie urges him but his voice is soft, gentle. “Play it again, Stevie, please.”

Stevie. Please. He’s not mad.

“What?”

Eddie heaves out a sigh, but it comes across as fond. “Dude, I’ve been trying to figure out the right melody for that song for like, half a year!” He says, shaking his notebook aggressively. A few pages fall off, but he pays them no mind. “But I just couldn’t get it fucking right, there was always something missing! And it was whatever you were doing when I walked in!”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“Not at you, Stevie, no,” Eddie chuckles. “Just mad that it was you who figured it out with your secret magic guitar skills and not me.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and he can’t help but let out a chuckle himself. “So you want me to do it again?”

Eddie nods enthusiastically and that’s enough to make Steve flop back down on the chair, propping the guitar on his legs and doing his best to play the song like he did before.

He must get it right because Eddie lets out an adorable squeal before using his pen to cross out something and write down whatever Steve accidentally came up with.

“Goddamn, sweetheart, I’m gonna have to dedicate this song to you now as a thank you,” Eddie says, grinning so wide at his notebook that it shows off his dimples.

Steve hangs a hand from his neck. It feels hot to the touch, probably from the pet name. “Too bad it’s a love song,” he jokes weakly, even if he wants nothing more than for Eddie’s words to be about him.

Eddie glances up, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “I know,” he says softly, his eyes flickering nervously over Steve’s face.

Oh. Oh.

Stomach fluttering with butterflies, Steve stands up, grabbing the guitar by its neck to prop it up against the wall.

“Uh, you– are you leaving?” Eddie asks, chewing anxiously on his pen as he watches Steve move around silently. Little does he know that his heart is currently screaming at him to gently tackle Eddie into the bed.

But first–

“Just making sure your guitar is safe before I go over there and kiss you, Eds,” he says, the corners of his mouth ticking up when Eddie squeaks again, his eyes widening.

“Oh, o–okay. That’s smart. Yup,” he stammers out, his voice an octave higher, his cheeks pinking up. “Does that mean you also–”

“Feel that way about you?” Steve asks, sitting on the bed next to Eddie, who nods expectantly. Steve reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “Yeah, Eddie, I do.”

When Steve leans in and finally, finally kisses him, Eddie lets his notebook fall to the floor so he can grab Steve’s shoulders. The urgency to write down that perfect melody now replaced by an urgency for Steve.

But it doesn’t matter, Steve thinks that melody is now seared into both of their memories forever, as is their first kiss. The first of many.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddielovemonth #stranger things #stranger things fic #i know i'm late but i left my house at 4 am yesterday and came back at midnight sorryyyy hope you all enjoy it x #steve harrington #eddie munson #monse writes

78 notes · View notes

eternaljeon · 3 days ago

Text

i just... can't stop thinking about SJM saying the next book was obvious... because it really is, and the novella showed that to us.

and what's more obvious to me, and to many others on this side of the boat, is that none of these moments between elriel were necessary if there wasn't a much deeper reason or meaning to them.

literally not a single one.

there was no reason to pair elriel together as often as she did, or mark some of those moments with hints of romance and passion. if these moments were meant to be insignificant, their deliberate framing makes little sense. if elain were meant to end up with lucien, these moments wouldn’t have been necessary.

and yet, there were significant moments between them included in the books. one fine example? a moment framed as if it were ‘saving the best for last’—when it wasn’t necessary at all if e/lucien was the obvious choice

why make a show of elain giving azriel a gift—with specific dialogue included—when her other gifts, aside from nesta's, whom we all know she loves and cares for deeply, were simply mentioned in passing?

why show us azriel laughing in a way feyre had never heard before—‘dark and joyous’—and describe his hazel eyes bright in a way she had never seen before, as ‘the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald’ if it wasn’t significant? especially when, just moments before, feyre had witnessed him with mor—the girl he’s been in love with for centuries. and even more so when elain had just set aside the gift from her mate with little to no interest in it.

what was the point of including two varying reactions to a gift azriel received if his arc wasn’t just as important in this context? if the two gift givers—and their arcs with him—weren’t important or significant?

these things, no matter how much i have grown to love and care for them, weren't necessary to the plot in any way unless it pointed to an elriel endgame. if SJM was trying to paint a specific picture for us, a different pairing all together, she wouldn't have needed to include them.

many moments between the couple could have easily been showcased with other characters in the book, but they weren't. it was always elain and azriel being given those moments. seemingly some of elain's most significant moments—always with azriel in the background. not lucien. not her mate. azriel.

i just don't see or understand how this series could go any other way. it wouldn't make sense.

that's all, really.

i truly can't stop myself from falling further down the elriel hole.

#pro elriel #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #elriel #pro elain #pro azriel #just a thought

62 notes · View notes

deansbeer · 3 days ago

Text

♡ a hunter's journey to fatherhood ⎯⎯ dean winchester.

📖 LIBRARY !

SYNOPSIS. dean struggles with anxiety about fatherhood, avoiding you until guidance from mildred helps him embrace love, vulnerability, and hope.

kari talks ◞ i saw these gifs of dean n mildred pop up on my feed this morning so i had to write something w a lil fluffy angst <3 don't hate me bc it does have a happy ending !!! + this may sound rushed, has not much dialogue at the end, n repetitive :) my apologies !

dean winchester is an anxiety-riddled mess.

you’ve always known he’s carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but ever since you told him you were pregnant, he’s been distant. not outright cold, but the kind of distant that eats at you—quiet moments stretched too long, averted gazes, and excuses to leave the room.

it hurts.

you knew dean had his doubts about himself; he’s never been shy about the scars his childhood left behind. but you didn’t expect him to pull away like this.

every time you thought about asking him where he stood—whether he was happy, scared, or maybe regretting it altogether—you stopped yourself. you didn’t want to burden him more than he already seemed to be.

so you busied yourself with little things, distracting yourself by cleaning the house, organizing your shared bedroom, or just sitting on the couch with a book, hoping he’d come around.

but tonight, dean isn’t home.

he’d slipped out a few hours ago, mumbling something about needing air. you didn’t push. you’d seen the tension in his jaw, the way his hands flexed and tightened at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

what you didn’t know was that dean had driven into town, parked the impala outside the local dive bar, and gone inside to drown his thoughts in whiskey.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

the bar was dimly lit and half-empty, perfect for someone who didn’t want to be noticed.

dean sat at the counter, nursing his third drink, his mind spinning.

he couldn’t stop thinking about it. about you. about the baby.

him, a dad.

he snorted bitterly into his glass. what the hell did he know about being a father? he’d barely survived his own childhood. john winchester had been a lot of things—strong, determined, relentless—but a good dad? not even close.

and what if dean turned out just like him?

the thought made his chest tighten, panic clawing at his throat.

he closed his eyes, swallowing hard. the whiskey wasn’t helping; it was only making his emotions come faster, harder.

he slammed a couple of bills on the bar top and left, walking out into the cool night air.

he sat in the impala, gripping the steering wheel as his breath hitched.

and then it hit him—hot tears stinging his eyes, rolling down his cheeks before he could stop them.

he wiped at his face angrily, cursing under his breath.

what the hell is wrong with me?

but then, through the fog of his thoughts, he remembered mildred baker.

she’d helped him and sam on a hunt years ago, and she’d been one of the few people who’d ever managed to get through to him. she was kind, wise, and had this way of making you feel like everything was going to be okay, even when it felt like the world was falling apart.

before he could second-guess himself, he started the car and drove to her place.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

mildred greeted him with the warmth he hadn’t realized he needed.

“dean winchester,” she said with a smile, stepping aside to let him in. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

he hesitated for a moment, standing in her doorway like a lost kid.

“uh... sorry for showing up so late,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “i just... i didn’t know where else to go.”

she frowned slightly, concern flickering across her face, but she didn’t ask questions.

“come on in,” she said gently, motioning for him to sit on the couch.

once they were seated, mildred folded her hands in her lap and waited patiently.

“so,” she said after a beat, her voice soft. “what’s got you all tied up in knots?”

and that’s when it all came tumbling out.

words spilled from dean’s mouth faster than he could stop them—about you, about the baby, about how terrified he was of screwing everything up.

“i just... i don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “hell, i don’t even know if i can do this. what if i screw the kid up? what if i screw her up? she deserves better than me. they both do.”

mildred listened quietly, her expression soft but unreadable.

when he finally stopped, his chest heaving slightly from the emotional release, she reached over and placed a hand on his arm.

“dean,” she said gently, her voice steady. “you’re not your father.”

his head snapped up at that, his green eyes wide and vulnerable.

“but what if i am?” he whispered.

she smiled softly, shaking her head.

“you’re not,” she said firmly. “you’ve already proven that by coming here tonight. you care, dean. you care so much it’s eating you alive. and that’s what makes you different. john winchester loved you boys, but he didn’t know how to show it. you do. and that’s all that matters.”

dean swallowed hard, his throat tight.

“but what if i mess up?” he asked, his voice small.

“you will,” she said with a chuckle. “because that’s what parents do. we mess up. we’re human. but as long as you love that baby and love itd mama, you’ll figure it out.”

her words settled over him like a warm blanket, easing some of the tension in his chest.

“you’re gonna be a great dad, dean,” she said, her voice soft. “just follow your heart.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

later that night, after mildred helped him sober up, dean drove back home.

the house was quiet when he walked in, the only sound coming from the soft clinking of dishes in the kitchen.

he followed the sound, stopping in the doorway when he saw you standing at the sink.

you were wearing one of his old flannels, the sleeves rolled up as you washed the few remaining dishes from dinner.

he leaned against the doorframe, watching you for a moment.

god, you were beautiful.

even now, with your hair slightly messy and your focus on the task in front of you, you took his breath away.

he took a deep breath, gathering his courage, and stepped toward you.

you didn’t notice him at first, too lost in your own thoughts.

it wasn’t until he wrapped his arms around you from behind that you startled slightly, your body tensing before relaxing into his embrace.

“baby,” you said softly, your hands stilling in the soapy water.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“where’ve you been?” you asked, your voice gentle but cautious. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin. “i’m okay.”

you didn’t push for more, not when he mentioned he’d gone to see mildred.

instead, you leaned into him, letting his warmth settle around you like a shield.

he rubbed small circles on your stomach, his lips brushing against your neck.

and for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope.

but when you opened your mouth to ask him where he stood on the baby, he didn’t let you speak.

instead, he started rambling, the words tumbling out in a rush.

he told you how scared he was, how he’d been afraid he’d ruin everything, that he’d turn out like his dad or disappoint you.

“but i want this, sweetheart,” he said finally, his voice breaking slightly. “i want you. and i want this baby. i just... i needed to figure out how to not screw it up.”

tears stung your eyes as you turned to face him, cupping his face in your hands.

“dean,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “you could never be like him. you love so much, sometimes too much. you’re going to be an amazing dad. i know it.”

he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as a single tear slid down his cheek.

“thank you, baby,” he whispered.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

after you’d finished the dishes, you drew a bath for the both of you.

you knew he’d been sore and achy from a recent hunt, and you figured the warm water would help.

he sat behind you in the tub, his arms resting on either side of the rim as you leaned back against his chest.

you brought the soapy cloth to your chest, letting the warmth soothe you before handing it to him.

he took it, running it over his own chest before reaching down to gently rub your shoulders.

the quiet intimacy of the moment was enough to ease both your minds, the tension of the past few weeks melting away.

when the water started to cool, dean helped you out of the tub, wrapping a fluffy towel around you before leaning down to kiss your stomach.

you weren’t even showing yet, but the gesture made your heart swell.

he wrapped a towel around himself, and the two of you went through your nightly routines before climbing into bed.

dean was already lying down when you joined him, his hands behind his head as he waited for you.

you turned off the lights and crawled into bed, settling on top of him with your head on his chest.

his hand rested on your lower back, the other cradling the back of your head as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

the two of you talked quietly about what to expect, about names and nurseries and everything in between.

and when you finally drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, you knew everything was going to be okay.

because dean winchester was going to be the best damn dad in the world.

92 notes · View notes

wzrd-wheezes · 16 hours ago

Text

Smitten - James Potter x Reader

AN - Here's a little James fluff that I wrote and completely forgot about lol. Enjoy <3.

He’s smitten. Completely and irrevocably captivated. One glance from her and the world shifts on its axis. When she smiles, his imagination soars and his brain is all white doves and champagne toasts.

Her laugh isn’t just a sound. It’s church bells on a spring afternoon. He’s not a religious man, but for her, he’d build a cathedral with his bare hands and worship at her altar forever. A simple curve of her lips and he’s envisioning vows under a canopy of twinkling lights, her name being the only prayer he’ll ever need.

Pathetic. That’s what he tells himself when her hand brushes his. The fleeting touch sparking fireworks he swears other people could see if they looked close enough. In his mind’s eye, he’s already down on one knee, slipping a pretty ring onto her finger. He doesn’t even know her that well yet, but one thing he knows for sure: he’s done for.

This isn’t like anything he’s ever felt. He’s dated before – flirted, kissed, even thought he’d loved once – but none of that prepared him for this. His heart races, his palms sweat, his cheeks flush whenever she’s near.

“Mate, you’ve got it bad.” Sirius drawled, taking a long sip of his beer, “I’ve never seen anyone go full Romeo like this before.”

“Romeo wrote poetry. I’m not writing poetry.” James shot back, leaning against the table.

“Yet.” Sirius quipped, “Give it a week. You’ll be sitting in your room scribbling odes to her in your journal.”

“That’s Moony’s thing, not mine.” James teased, raising his glass in mock toast towards Remus.

Remus raised an unimpressed eyebrow but didn’t miss a beat, sticking two fingers up at James and rolling his eyes, “At least I have the self-respect to not get googly-eyed over someone I’ve spoken to, what? Twice?”

“Three times.” James corrected automatically, only to wince when his friends dissolved into laughter.

“You fall in love quicker than Sirius can down a pint.” Remus quipped, clearly enjoying himself.

“So, when’s the wedding?” Sirius tormented, “or have you not planned it yet? Here, Moony, do you think Prongs is a spring wedding guy, or more of an autumn kind of thing?”

“Spring.” Remus replied dryly, “Flowers blooming. Birds chirping. All very poetic.”

“Obviously, there’ll be doves,” Sirius added, gesturing grandly as if arranging the scene.

“Maybe throw in a harpist for good measure,” Remus suggested, deadpan.

James groaned and dropped his head into his hands, “You two are insufferable-” He froze, mid-protest, his groan dying in his throat as the sound of laughter drifted across the pub. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, but the soft sound hit him square in the chest.

She was here.

Of course she was. The universe had an impeccable sense of irony.

Sirius, ever observant, followed James’s line of sight and grinned like the Cheshire Cat, “Oh, would you look at that.” He said, far too loudly for James’s liking.

“Keep your voice down!” he hissed, “Shit. What’s she doing here?”

Sirius and Remus exchanged a shifty glance with each other and Sirius took a slow sip from his pint, his grin growing more smug by the second.

“You bastards!” James gasped, realisation dawning on him, “You knew she was going to be here! I thought it was weird that you picked this pub and not the Broomsticks!”

Remus snorted, his mouth splitting into a cocky smile as he nodded. Maybe the universe wasn’t cruel, but his friends sure were.

“Guilty as charged.” Remus sniggered.

“Yep.” Sirius replied, popping the ‘p’, “Mary mentioned that they were coming here tonight. Thought you could do with a little push in the right direction.”

“You planned this?” James said incredulously, “You’ve been conspiring behind my back!”

“More like wingmanning really,” Remus shrugged, “You go on about her all the time Prongsy. We were just... facilitating the inevitable.”

“Right, and what was the grand plan?” James pretended to look annoyed but his heart was racing a little, “I’m supposed to just walk up to her now and –what? Spill my heart out?”

Sirius quirked an eyebrow, “If you want to. Or you could just start with ‘Hello’. You know, like a normal bloke.”

“Or go and buy her a drink.” Remus drained the last drop of his beer and waved the empty glass in James’s face, “It’s your round anyway.” he winked.

James hesitated, glancing across the room to where she stood.

“Fine.” He muttered, raking a hand through his hair, “but if this goes sideways then I’m blaming you.”

Sirius grinned, “Oh, it’ll go brilliantly. Go get her, Romeo.”

Okay, Potter. Play it cool. Don’t trip. Definitely don’t trip.

James’s heart hammered in his chest as he crossed the pub, the hum of chatter and clinking glasses fading into the background. All he could focus on her- and the pounding in his chest. She looked so effortlessly radiant, standing with Mary and Lily, a drink in her hand.

Just say hello. He told himself. It wasn’t hard. Two syllables. Completely manageable.

When her reached their table, she turned, her smile softening when she saw him. “James, hey! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Step one: complete. She remembers your name.

He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting, leaning casually against the table. Or at least, what he hoped looked like casually.

“Hey. Yeah, funny coincidence, huh? Was just on my way to the bar when I saw you guys. Thought I’d come and say hello.”

From across the room, Sirius fake coughed something that sounded suspiciously close to “liar!”. James ignored him, focusing entirely on her. As always.

“Are you out with Sirius and Remus?” Mary asked, smiling at him knowingly.

“Sat planning their next scheme I assume?” Lily grinned.

“Probably.” James tried to slyly wipe his clammy palms on his jeans, “I’ve learned not to ask questions.”

“Smart man.” Y/N smiled softly, “So, are you here to escape them?”

“Something like that.” the tightness in his chest eased a little, “I’m just heading to get a drink. Do you want anything?” he directed the question towards her.

“Oh, I'll come with you.” She said, standing up, “It’s my round anyway.”

He barely managed to keep his face neutral as she fell into step beside him, the warmth of her presence making his brain short circuit.

“So,” she said, glancing at him as they approached the bar, “Did Sirius and Remus drag you here, or was this your idea?”

He hesitated for a second, scared that he’d been caught red handed. He could like, pretend this was all a coincidence, but something about the casual way that she asked made him think that she’s just making conversation. She doesn’t know. She can't know. She has no idea how often she’s occupied his thoughts, how ridiculous he’s been about her.

“They had opinions of the venue,” he settled on, trying to keep his tone light, “Remus often drags us here – cheaper pints and all that.”

She hummed, considering his answer and then picked up the menu, “So, what’s your usual?”

James blinked. “My what?”

“Your usual drink,” she clarified, throwing him a bemused look, “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those blokes who just orders whatever.”

“Absolutely not.” James lied.

Y/N narrowed her eyes playfully, “You so are.”

James shrugged, trying not to look thrown off, “I like to keep things interesting.”

“Yeah?” she said, clearly unconvinced, “So what are you ordering then”?

He opened his mouth to speak before realising that he doesn’t actually care what he drinks. He couldn’t order a beer, could he? That was far too predictable. A cocktail maybe? Then, to his horror, he blurted out, “What are you getting?”

She lifted an amused eyebrow, “What, are you going to copy me?”

“No,” James scoffed, as it that would be ridiculous, “I’m just... curious. Looking for inspiration.”

She pursed her lips a little, scanning the selection of bottles behind the bar, “I was thinking a rum and coke.”

“Excellent choice.” James said, as if he had any thoughts on rum and coke whatsoever.

“That’s what you’re getting, isn’t it?” her lips twitched into a smile.

He gestured vaguely, “I mean, if I happen to want the same thing-”

She laughed, shaking her head as she places their order. James exhales, wondering if this conversation is going as awfully as it feels, but she seems relaxed, like this is normal.

Which for her, it probably is. She doesn’t know.

“You didn’t properly answer my question earlier.” she turned back to him.

“Which one?”

“Why this pub?” she tilted her head, “You guys are always at the Broomsticks.”

Shit. Shit.

“Oh, are you stalking me now?” he teased, “Change of scenery I guess.”

She hummed again, clearly not buying it, but before she can dig deeper, the bartender returns with their drinks.

James latched onto the distraction like a lifeline as he paid.

“Cheers,” he said, lifting his glass.

She clinked her against his, smiling easily, “Cheers, Potter.”

His name sounds too good when she says it.

When he returned to the table, Sirius is grinning like he knows exactly what’s going on.

James pointedly doesn’t look at him.

She doesn’t know.

And maybe, for now, that’s for the best.

“You’re gone, mate.” Sirius smirks.

“Completely gone.” Remus agrees.

“Yeah, I know.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fic #maruaders #marauders era

71 notes · View notes

antinousletmehit · 1 day ago

Text

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 11 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆˚࿔ Book 2 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇indornrememebr

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Y/n sat alone in the dimly lit nursery, the soft glow of a single lantern casting shadows on the walls. She cradled Adonis tightly against her chest, his small fingers curling around the fabric of her dress as he dozed peacefully. His quiet breaths were the only sound in the room, but they did little to comfort the ache that seemed to consume her chest. Her tears fell silently at first, dripping onto Adonis’s soft curls as she pressed a trembling kiss to his forehead. The weight of her captivity, the suffocating presence of Raphael, and the constant fear for her son had taken its toll. But tonight, it wasn’t just the present that haunted her, it was the absence of the people she loved most.

She could almost hear Antinous’s voice, teasing her in that sarcastic way of his, calling her stubborn and overdramatic but always watching over her like the protective older brother he had been. He was brash, hot headed, and often infuriating, but he loved her fiercely. She missed the way he’d bicker with her one minute and stand ready to defend her the next. The thought of him locked away in Ithaca, unaware of her suffering, made her heart ache all the more.

And Telemachus, her beloved Telemachus. She closed her eyes, clutching Adonis even tighter. She could almost feel his arms around her, his warm voice whispering reassurances that everything would be okay. She could picture his laugh, the way his eyes would light up whenever he looked at her or held their son. He was her anchor, her strength, and now he was gone, too far away to protect her or Adonis from Raphael’s cruel games.

A choked sob escaped her lips, and she buried her face in Adonis’s tiny shoulder. “I miss them so much,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I miss them, Adonis. I miss your father, your uncle… I miss home.” Adonis stirred slightly, his little hand brushing against her cheek as though sensing her sadness. It only made her cry harder. “They’ll come for us,” she whispered, almost as if trying to convince herself. “They’ll come, they have to. Your father… he’ll bring us home.”

But doubt lingered in her heart. What if they didn’t? What if Raphael’s lies about storms and shipwrecks were true? What if Telemachus had already lost his life trying to save hers? What if Antinous never knew what had happened to her?she shook her head, refusing to entertain those thoughts. “They will come,” she repeated firmly, her tears still falling. “They have to.”

She looked down at Adonis, his innocent face so peaceful in sleep. Her son was her only solace now, her reason to keep going. Gently rocking him, she whispered a lullaby, her voice shaky but soft. “Sleep, my love..” As her voice wavered, she kissed his forehead once more, her tears wetting his soft skin. “I promise,” she whispered, “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll hold on until they come. I won’t let him win.” But deep inside, she felt the crushing loneliness of the moment, the overwhelming longing for the family who was so far out of reach.

——

Antinous paced the ship’s deck like a caged animal, his hands clenched into fists. The constant sound of waves crashing against the hull seemed to only fuel his restless energy. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were blazing with frustration and anger. Eurymachus, leaning lazily against a crate nearby, raised an eyebrow as he watched Antinous fume. “You’re going to wear a hole in the deck if you keep pacing like that,” Eurymachus said with a smirk, clearly unbothered by Antinous’s intensity. “What’s got your toga in a twist now?”

Antinous stopped abruptly, his shoulders stiff as he turned to glare at Eurymachus. “What’s got me in a twist?” he repeated, his voice rising. “My sister—my baby sister—is out there, being held by that bastard Raphael, and you’re asking me what’s wrong?”

Eurymachus raised his hands in mock surrender. “Easy there, Antinous. I didn’t mean to hit a nerve. I get it. You’re pissed. But pacing and shouting isn’t going to bring her back.”

Antinous stepped closer, his face inches from Eurymachus’s, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “When I get my hands on him, Eurymachus… when I find him…” His hands twitched as if imagining wrapping them around Raphael’s throat. “I’m going to make him beg for death. I’ll carve out every ounce of his arrogance, strip him of every shred of dignity, and let him rot.”

Eurymachus whistled low, his smirk faltering slightly as he realized just how serious Antinous was. “That’s… uh, quite the plan. Got any specifics in mind, or are you just going to wing it?”

Antinous’s eyes darkened, and his voice took on a venomous edge. “Oh, I’ve got specifics. First, I’ll break his fingers one by one, make sure he can’t lay another hand on her. Then I’ll take my time with him, make him feel every ounce of pain he’s caused her, and when he’s finally at his weakest, I’ll remind him that this is just the beginning.”

Eurymachus, though usually one to make light of any situation, found himself shifting uncomfortably under Antinous’s glare. “You’ve, uh, really thought this through, haven’t you?”

Antinous let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Do you think I can sleep at night knowing she’s out there? Knowing he’s probably… hurting her?” His voice cracked slightly, but he quickly masked it with anger. “I can’t stop picturing her, scared, alone, with that monster whispering lies into her ear. And Adonis… my nephew. If he lays a hand on that child, I swear to the gods, there won’t be enough of him left to bury.”

Eurymachus studied him for a moment, uncharacteristically quiet. “You really love her, huh?”

“She’s my sister,” Antinous snapped, his tone softening just a fraction. “She’s the only family I have left. I failed her once by letting her get taken. I’m not going to fail her again.”

Eurymachus nodded slowly, his usual bravado replaced by something almost resembling respect. “Alright, Antinous. We’ll get her back. But you need to keep your head on straight. Losing it now isn’t going to help her.”

Antinous sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as some of the tension drained out of him. “I know. But if I don’t make it out of this, promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Promise me you’ll make sure Raphael suffers.”

Eurymachus smirked again, though this time there was a glint of determination in his eyes. “You’ve got my word. That bastard’s going to regret ever setting foot on Ithacan soil.”

——

The storm hit with no warning. The skies darkened as if night had fallen early, the waves roared like thunder, and the wind howled with a ferocity that made the ship groan under its power. Rain lashed against their faces, and the crew scrambled to keep the ship steady, their voices lost in the chaos. “Hold the line! Don’t let her tip!” Telemachus yelled, gripping the wheel with all his strength. His muscles strained as the ship tilted dangerously with each wave. Acrisios was beside him, trying to tie down loose cargo that was sliding across the deck.

“This is worse than the last storm!” Acrisios shouted, his voice barely audible over the crashing waves. “I swear, the gods have it out for us!”

Cassander and Eurymachus were at the oars, trying to stabilize the ship while exchanging their usual banter despite the chaos. “This is it!” Eurymachus yelled, half panicked. “We’re done for! Drowned before we even get a single war prize!”

“Quit your whining!” Cassander snapped, though his grip on the oars was as white-knuckled as Eurymachus’s. “If I die, I swear I’ll haunt you!”

Meanwhile, Florus was gripping the mast, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. “We need to steer clear of those rocks! Telemachus, to the left!”

“Don’t tell me how to steer my ship!” Telemachus growled, but he adjusted the course anyway, the ship barely missing the jagged rocks Florus had pointed out.

Through it all, Antinous and Druses were… sleeping. In the middle of the storm “Unbelievable!” Pisistratus snapped as he tightened a rope. “They can sleep through this?!”

“Forget them!” Telemachus yelled. “We’ve got bigger problems!”

Another wave crashed over the deck, soaking everyone to the bone and sending Florus tumbling into a heap of barrels. Telemachus barked orders, but the storm was relentless, and one by one, the crew began to lose hope. Suddenly, a massive wave surged forward, lifting the ship into the air before slamming it down into the water. The force sent the crew flying in all directions.

The world spun as the ship was tossed like a toy. Then, darkness. Telemachus woke up coughing, his body aching as he pulled himself out of the sand. He squinted against the harsh sunlight, his head pounding from the ordeal. Around him, the remains of the ship were scattered across the shore, broken planks and supplies littering the golden sand. “A-Antinous? Acrisios?” he called hoarsely, his throat dry and raw.

One by one, his crew began to stir. Acrisios groaned as he sat up, sand sticking to his damp clothes. “We’re alive? How in Hades are we alive?”

“I could ask the same,” Florus muttered, rubbing his head as he stumbled toward them.

Cassander rolled over and coughed up water. “That… was the worst storm I’ve ever seen. Eurymachus? Where’s Eurymachus?”

“I’m here,” came a weak voice from behind a piece of driftwood. Eurymachus was sprawled out, his face pale. “I think I swallowed half the ocean.”

Antinous and Druses, who had somehow managed to stay asleep through the storm, were sprawled on the sand nearby, finally waking up.“What the—” Druses sat up, brushing sand out of his hair. “Where are we?”

“Egypt,” Florus said grimly, pointing to the towering statues and pyramids visible in the distance.

Telemachus sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “The gods are playing games with us.”

“Egypt?” Acrisios groaned. “How in the name of Poseidon did we end up here?!”

Eurymachus, still lying flat on his back, chuckled weakly. “Well, at least we didn’t drown. That’s something, right?”

Cassander threw a handful of sand at him. “Shut up.”

Telemachus stood, determination hardening his features. “This isn’t over. We’ve survived storms and worse before. We’ll gather supplies, repair what we can, and find a way to finish what we started.” The crew exchanged tired but resolute glances. They were battered, bruised, and far from home—but they weren’t giving up.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world @simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches @sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan

@holywizardprincess @galaxygurlll @pjopinkk

@h0ne4bee @minteaspoon @zendoesstuff @xo-cuteplosion-xo

#aphrodites gamble #epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #antinous #telemachus #telemachus x reader #epic telemachus #epic antinous #antinous x reader

67 notes · View notes

whatifitis · 15 hours ago

Text

♡ can we start it all over again? - LN 4 ♡

Summary: The person you thought was the love of your life turned out to be a liar. So now you're left with nothing, no love, no home, and no plans for the future. Everything feels awful but as soon as you feel things are getting better, you run into your first love.

Author's Note: After a long ass wait, here's part 3 to 'i wish you would've stayed'. thank you guys for all the support on this little series <3 yall are the reason i write

WC: 3469

CW: cheating, thoughts about not breathing, yearning from Lando, excessive song references

What I thought was for all time turned out to be momentary.

After a long day at work, you were excited to be able to come home and finally see the love of your life.

Even after all this time together, the love between you two was still so exciting and palpable. You were practically running up the steps to your shared home, fumbling with the keys a bit. You opened the door and didn’t find Gabe in his office like he usually is.

You heard some noise coming from your bedroom and booked it down the hallway in excitement, but when you opened the door, you were met with a sight you never thought you’d have to see. Red auburn hair swayed as the figure rode Gabe, covering his face.

You couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your mouth. The two heads turn to face you and shock is drawn all over their bodies.

“Mikayla?!” you question, watching as your cousin climbs off your fiance, failing to cover herself with your bedsheets.

“I-” is all she’s able to voice.

Gabe is scrambling off the bed, “It’s not what it looks like, baby-”

“Don’t “baby” me. You lost that privilege the second you stuck your dick in someone else.”

“No! I didn’t- It’s not-”

“Oh! So you just tripped and it fell into her vagina?!”

Being met with silence, you’re quick with your movements, walking to the closet and packing whatever you can grab in this moment of fury and despair. You can feel heat consuming your face and body. Tears are forming on your waterline but you refuse to let them see you fall.

You zip up your bag and make your way to leave, stopping for a moment to look at the person you thought you knew. “Loving you was the biggest mistake I ever made. Someone will get the rest of my stuff later. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

You don’t even spare a glance at Mikayla. But, as you’re about to close the door, you pause, feeling the band around your finger: “Oh, and I guess you’ll need this for her” - you spat, tossing your engagement ring to Gabe’s feet.

After everything, everything you told him, he still went behind your back and chose someone else. Come one, come all, you guess. It’s happening again. He called you the love of his life. God, how could you be so stupid. You think back on everything, and it’s all making sense now.

Mikayla wasn’t necessarily ecstatic when you’d told her that Gabe had proposed to you. You were disappointed and confused but brushed it off as she had just broken up with her boyfriend at the time.

When you confessed to Gabe that you were disappointed in Mikayla’s reaction, he reassured you and told you he’d talk to her for you.. Gabe was always quick to problem solve and he always enjoyed making you happy, so when he jumped at the chance to speak with Mikayla, you didn’t think anything of it. After her “talk” with Gabe, Mikayla was giddy. She apologized for her initial reaction to your engagement and asked if she could help you with the wedding planning.

Planning the wedding with your cousin by your side was amazing. The two of you had a shared taste in aesthetic so it made everything feel a lot less stressful. Now you realize why she was so excited. Helping you plan the wedding allowed her to invite herself over a lot to “go over details”. It was almost as if she was planning her own wedding.

You are such a fool. You ended up lost inside a memory of someone’s life, it wasn’t yours.

After everything that just happened, you weren’t sure of what to do or where to go. You were driving around in silence, trying to keep from completely breaking. You call a friend of yours, asking if you could spend the night with her and that you could leave in the morning. Pietra, your friend, assured you that you could stay as long as you need.

After a long and dreadful drive, you had arrived at Pietra’s house. She sat you down on the couch and handed you a cup of tea. “Y/n, what happened?”

You took a deep breath and tried to stay composed enough to tell her, but you couldn’t. The words you wanted to say were stuck in a lump in your throat. Your breathing became irregular as you struggled for air. All you could do was break down into tears as Pietra moved closer to you and pulled you into her arms, rubbing her hand up and down your back.

The weight of everything just came crashing down on you now. You lost the love of your life, your cousin, and all your future plans in one day. You don’t have a home. You don’t have love. You don’t have the one person you trusted with your life. You don’t have the person who put you above everything else. You don’t have the person who had the ability to turn your bad days into good days. You don’t have the person who loved you for you.

You don’t even have Olive anymore.

The two of you grew fond of each other after you and Gabe moved in together. Olive became your best friend in a way. As crazy as it seems, she helped you pick your outfits a few times. But she's not yours. Nothing is yours. Was anything ever really yours?

Time passes and you’re able to calm your sobs. Through your hiccups, you tell Pietra about everything. You tell her about Mikayla, about Gabe, about how you feel so lost now.

“I’m sorry, my darling. I didn’t expect this, honestly. But don’t worry about finding a place to stay. Stay here for as long as you want, it’ll be nice to have you around. It’s hard to find time to hangout with you and I miss seeing you.”

“I missed you too. And thank you for letting me stay here, I don’t know how to repay you. I can pay some rent or something.”

“No. Don’t worry about that. Just help me make some brigadeiro when you feel up to it.” she says, offering you a soft smile.

“I’ll try. I think I’m gonna head to bed now. I gotta get to the office early tomorrow.”

“No. What the fuck? You just got your heart broken. Your whole life just fell apart. No offense. Take the day off, matter of fact, take the whole week off. We’re gonna take a break. Okay?”

“I kinda wanna go to work so I can have a distraction from the fact that I’m failing.”

“You’re not failing, y/n. Gabe failed you. Mikayla failed you. None of this is your fault. You did nothing to deserve this.”

“At some point, I have to realize there is something wrong with me. My relationships never work and the common denominator in all of them is me.” you say, shrugging your shoulders and accepting that maybe love isn’t meant for you. You stand to go to your temporary room. “Goodnight, Pietra.”

“Fine. You can go wallow in your sadness but call your boss cause you’re not going to work tomorrow. I will lock you in your room if I have to.”

You shut the door to your room, not having the energy to counter Pietra’s demands. You have to fight every bone in your body to keep from sliding down the door and sobbing. At least make it to the bed, you tell yourself. Your feet heavily drag across the carpet, trying to get you to the edge of the bed and when you do, you collapse onto it and break. You cry and cry as you curl into yourself. It gets harder and harder to breathe, but you won’t be able to feel the relief of ceasing your breath completely. There’s a hole in your gut in the shape of everything you had and lost.

Gabe played you, for years. It was like he was mocking you with everything you ever confided in him. You had told him things that you’d never told anyone else, and now you regret that. You wish you could unrecall how you almost had it all. Everything you’d dreamed of, being loved and wanted.

All those braids of lies. All those “I’ll never leave”’s and “You’re more than enough”’s.

If you could, you’d go back to the night you met Gabe. You’d go back and tell yourself that he wasn’t the one. You wish you’d never met him. You had all of him, then most of him, and now none of him. What the hell are you supposed to do?

Once your sobs subside briefly, you send a text to your boss, letting her know you won’t be in tomorrow, and probably the day after. You won’t be able to get stuff done while in this state. Maybe Pietra is right. It might be best if you take more than a day or two off work to get yourself back up on your feet.

The next week is spent with Pietra glued to your side. The two of you spent everyday either relaxing or going on mini adventures around town and shopping til you dropped. While it’s been nice, spending time with P and just going out, it doesn’t take away the pain or distract you from it too much. There’s still an empty space in your chest that feels like it will keep expanding until it consumes you into nothingness.

It seems as if your soul is disappearing, leaving you to be a ghost. You still don’t know how it ended. Yes, he cheated, probably more than once, but how? Why? Were you not enough? Did you do something to push him away?

You can’t feel it yet, peace and acceptance. But you are waiting. Desperate to feel anything but this, or nothing at all.

Days and weeks pass and you’re slowly coming to. You’re back at work and you’ve been touring some apartments with Pietra. She insisted that if you moved out, you would at least live close by. You agreed to this condition and you just sent an application for the apartment you liked most. It was beautiful with a few big windows to let the sun in, a window nook you could relax in, and a magnificent view of London.

You were on break at work when your phone pinged with a notification. You look down and see his name pop up on the screen. Gabe texted you, letting you know he packed the rest of your stuff so it’ll be an easier and faster process for you to get whatever was left after that night.

Without responding, you text Pietra, asking her if she could go and grab your stuff with her boyfriend, Max. You don’t think you could stomach going back there. Not after knowing what happened in what was your room. Not after you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling questioning how many times it happened. Where it happened.

Without hesitation, Pietra says yes and lets you know that she’ll have your stuff in your room by the time you get home. You’re forever grateful for Pietra for being there for you through all this, for allowing you to live in her home. You would mention Max as well since it’s his home as well, but you found out that he had told Lando about your situation in full detail. So, he’s on probation right now.

The work day wraps up quite late so by the time you’re driving home, it’s dark and cold. You call Pietra and let her know that you were on your way back, asking if she needed you to pick up anything on your way home. She says no but keeps you on the phone to make sure you get home safe. The two of you talk about work and make plans for the weekend.

As you pull into the driveway, Pietra is already waiting for you at the door, dancing around as you hear a one direction song being played from inside the house.

“Welcome home, bestie.” Pietra screams.

You run up to her and hug her so tightly. You had just seen each other this morning but it felt nice to feel appreciated and wanted. In the past few weeks, you two had grown closer and it felt like you were kids again.

You enter the house and drop your stuff onto the couch when you feel something furry run along your ankles. You look down to see Olive.

“Pietra, what the hell?”

You look up to see Pietra with a guilty look plastered on her face, “Well, when I went to get your stuff from that bitch, I was grabbing the last bag and he had Olive in her little crate. He said he wanted you to have her. He said that the two of you had grown close and he wants you to have her. And if it makes you feel better, he said she’s been shitting in his shoes since you left.”

Bending down to pick up Olive, you look at her face and just hug her close. Turns out she is a girl's girl, and you’re grateful for her, even if she is just a cat.

“Thanks, Pietra. For getting my stuff and bringing my little Olive.”

“It’s no problem. I’m glad you got something good out of all this.”

“Me too.” you say, watching as Olive curls into you and purrs as you scratch beside her ear.

The rest of the night is spent cuddling with Olive and listening to Pietra vent about her own work life and personal life. Apparently her manager wants her to do a brand deal with a cheese company? When Pietra is lactose intolerant?

The next morning, you are awoken by birds chirping outside your window as rays of golden sun make their way to warm your body. It’s a beautiful day outside so why let it go to waste?

After kissing the top of Olive’s head, you start getting ready for the day and put on one of your favorite dresses. It’s a beautiful, pink sundress that’s loose and comfortable but hugs your figure nicely. It’d been a while since you’d worn it, having forgotten about it after Mikayla told you that it made you look like one of the twins from ‘Alice in Wonderland’. Maybe you should’ve seen the signs.

You decide to head to your favorite cafe that’s down the street. After moving in with Pietra and Max, you’d ventured to each establishment in the area and just fell in love with the aesthetic and aura of this cafe. It was cozy with cream colored walls, big windows that allowed the warm sun to shine through, and potted plants in every corner and crevice of the place.

After ordering a coffee, you take a seat at a table in the corner where you can read your book in peace. That was until you heard an all too familiar voice. “Y/n.” - Looking up from your book, you’re met with his eyes. The eyes you fell in love with all those years ago.

“Lando.”

With a shaky exhale, he quickly explains himself, “Max told me you were here. Actually, I kind of berated him to tell me where you were and if I could talk to you. I heard what happened with Gabe and I just had to see you. Can I have a seat?”

“I’m not in the mood, Lando. I’m tired and I feel like I’m just starting to get back up on my feet. I don’t want to entertain this.”

He takes a seat in the chair across from you and you watch the pleads that leak from his body. “Please, Y/n. I just want to talk. I’ve thought a lot about what I’ve done to you and I just need you to listen. Please. I don’t expect to get back together or for you to forgive me and all that. I miss having you in my life and I would really like it if we could at least be friends?”

You just sit there with your arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at him. You know as soon as you see him, you’re gonna wring Max’s neck for telling Lando about what happened and about where you were.

Realizing you weren’t going to speak, Lando continues, “I fucked up, bad. I disrespected you and essentially used you. Like I said the last time we spoke, I didn’t realize what I had til it was gone. I didn’t realize that I actually love you, like a lot.”

With a deep breath, you tell him everything you never said. “Sometimes I can find peace with the fact that you left, accepting that this wasn’t meant for me. Other nights I would bargain with God, asking him what I had to do or give up for him to bring you back. After all of this, I don’t know why I’m holding on to you. There is nothing to hold on to. And I used to be scared of losing you. I think I still am somehow, which is weird. Like if I let you go then I officially lost you. If I just hold on to every little memory, maybe you’ll come back, even if I shouldn’t. And that’s even scarier. It’s scary knowing that after all this time, you still have this hold on me. Like all you have to do is say something, and I'll come back.”

“So why don’t you come back? To me? I’ve grown, Y/n. I’ve changed. And I’m still changing and learning. I love you. And I know that even if I love you wholeheartedly, that’s not enough. I will work everyday to prove to you that I love you. I will work every moment to show you how much I care about you. The day that I left, I lost the love of my life. I lost you.”

“You didn’t lose the love of your life, Lando. You just lost the person you had loved the most so far in your life. You’ll find the love of your life, someday. But it’s not me.”

“Y/n, I don’t know life without you. Everyday that’s passed since I ended things, you’ve always been at the forefront of my mind. I found you then I lost you and looking back is torture. It hurts to know I hurt you. If I could go back and do it all over, I’d do it differently. I would’ve never let you go and I would have treated you better. I would have loved you better.”

“But you can’t. We both need to move on. This whole situation is not healthy for either of us. We can’t keep going around and around. You fucked up and you need to deal with the consequences. I need time and space from anything to do with love. I just got cheated on by someone who was supposed to love and care for me. I have to explain to every person I know why I’m not getting married anymore. I have to tell every single person that I’m not enough and I’ll never be enough. I have to tell everyone that I’m the disappointment they always knew I’d be.”

“You’re not a disappointment, Y/n. You never have been and never will. Let me show you what love really is like. I promise. We can go as slow as you’d like. We can be just friends. I can’t promise sunshine and rainbows 24/7. I can’t promise that there won’t be times where you’re mad at me. I can’t promise that I’ll be perfect. But, I can promise to stay. I promise to love you wholeheartedly, and do it proudly. I will love you loudly, shouting it from every rooftop. I promise to keep you safe. I promise to take care of you. I promise to surround you with love. While I hope you can love me again, I know it’s not easy and not something that has a high chance of happening. I know I don’t deserve it, but can you please let me in again?”

As you sit there looking at this person, this person who you loved with all your heart for so long. This person who took your heart and broke it into pieces. This person who has come back over and over again. This person who hasn’t loved or dated since the last time you two had spoken. This person who claims to love you.

“I don’t know, Lan. Can you?”

—————————————————————————

Tags for pt 3: @leclerc13 @f1fantasys @htpssgavi

I only tagged those who specifically asked to be tagged in pt 3 cause I didn’t know if those tagged in pt 2 wanted to be tagged in this one 😭😭😭

130 notes · View notes

lokidjarin-7567 · 14 hours ago

Note

Can you write a fanfic (only if you're comfortable of course) pairing kang dae-ho x f!reader, during the lights out. Basically they've developed a really strong connection since the beggining, and she's sleeping next to him while he's looking out for others (ok he's just basically watching you sleep). But you shift your position while sleeping and he sees sh scars on your wrist, and folds your sleeves and he sees multiple cuts and scars. You wake up from the motions and you see him with teary eyes and then you start to cry a lot, like having a panic attack and he comforts you and it's just a lot of fluff basically. (the reason from your cuts can be because you're deeply depressed and you're coping that way since you're 15 but at 21 you still do it)

But, if you don't feel comfortable writing about sh can you please write one also during the light out when dae-ho is on the look out and the reader is trying to sleep, but she's so scared of what's going to happen that she starts crying, he notices it, she has a panic attack and he pulls her to his lap comforting her (again really fluffy).

I'm almost one year clean so I was craving this kind of comfort, thank you <3

Your wish is my command 🫡 (sorry so cheesy)

Creature Comforts

Kang Dae-ho x reader

CW: mentions of self harm, please please do not read if you’re not comfortable with this!!, fluff and comfort

So happy to get this request - my first one!! Please send any in if you have them, I love writing them <3 And please message me if you’re having thoughts about SH or struggling with it at all, my DMs are always open 🩷

Masterlist | AO3

She looked so peaceful when she slept. She was curled up on the mattress beside where he was keeping guard, her chest rising and falling with each breath. It was mesmerising. Her hair was fanned out across the pillow, some straying into her face, strands lying delicately on her cheek. The lower half of her body was covered with a thin blanket, her top half cuddled into her jumper.

He had never seen her this calm. They had gotten close quickly in these games - the fear and horror acting as a catalyst for friendship - and he found himself getting protective over her fast. They’d first met after the first game, when Thanos and his lackey had approached her to join their little group, and he’d felt the inexplicable urge to tell him she was already spoken for. Surprisingly, she agreed with him quickly, saying she had already made her allies and hurried quickly away from that purple-haired joke. She thanked him wholeheartedly when they were out of earshot, confirming that there was something about him that made her uncomfortable so she appreciated being saved (her words, not his.) They had been inseparable since - sharing meals, sticking together in games, voting together, even bunking next to each other. When Gi-hun said that two people should always be keeping watch tonight, they didn’t even have to say they would take their shift together - it was just assumed.

But when the time came, he couldn’t bring himself to wake her up. She looked ethereal in the dim light of the room, her hair like a halo, the sound of her breathing a symphony to his ears. Soothing. He could watch her for hours, totally enthralled and at peace. His hand moved to brush a piece of hair from her face, feeling the softness of the lock between his fingers, fingertips lingering just a moment too long on the soft skin of her cheek. So he just sat beside her. He wasn’t tired yet; he could take her shift. Anything to protect her really. A few extra hours can be the difference between life and death here.

The rise and fall of her body suddenly changed rhythm, a deep sigh escaping her lips. She rolled over in her sleep to face him, and he held his breath, scared that the smallest shift might wake her. She settled back in quickly though, and he watched with a soft smile as her arms fell beside her body, head snuggling into the pillow.

He wanted to wake up like this every morning, hearing her gentle sighs and soft snores, to see the peace on her face before she woke. He had only known her a few days, but it felt like a lifetime when they spent every minute fearing for their life. He felt so unbelievably protective of her so fast. He didn’t think she was incapable of handling herself - she’d proven the opposite through this ordeal. But he didn’t want her to have to worry about that ever again. As soon as they were out of there, he would do anything to make sure she wasn’t scared ever again.

Her hair had fallen across her face again, and in the dim light, he worked carefully to move it, tucking it gently behind her ear. Then he noticed her blankets falling down a little, pooling around her waist, so he pulled it up to her shoulders. Then the cuff of her jacket was slipping, so he gently grabbed the fabric, moving to fix her sleeve, when he noticed something. There were a few scars there, barely noticeable in the dim light of the room, so he allowed his curiosity and protective nature get the better of him. Ever so cautiously, he slipped her sleeve down just a little, just enough to see the scars that littered her forearms. Some were newer than others, others long since healed, but they were unmistakable.

His heart hurt for her. Life in these games was hard enough, but he could only imagine what awaited her outside to have to…

He wasn’t sure what to do. If he addressed it, he might lose her trust. She might get embarrassed that he knew and withdraw. If he didn’t, and she somehow worked out that he knew, she would think he didn’t care.

It wasn’t something he understood completely - a few of his friends from the military struggled with self-harm, but he didn’t tend to ask them too many questions. They had PTSD, so maybe she had that too? Or something else that was making her hurt badly enough to… all he really knew was that she didn’t have any healthy avenues to alleviate her stress and emotion. He wanted to help, to hold her and tell her everything would always be okay around him, that she shouldn’t ever hurt herself again… but he knew that was condescending and naive. What he really needed to do was let her talk to him if he wanted, listen, and if there was anyway she wanted him to help, he would…

His plans were foiled though, as she woke slowly, eyes blinking open. He was lost in thought, fingers still hooked around her cuff, and he was frozen as her eyes widened, locking on her arms and where his skin was against her. She started to back away, shuffling quickly as she adjusted, fear taking over her features.

“What’re you…” she muttered quietly, pulling her sleeves back to her hands as tears started to form in her eyes.

“I’m sorry…” he blurted out quickly, face turning red. “You turned over and I saw something so I was curious, I didn’t mean to wake you I… I’m so sorry.” She had pulled her knees to her chest, shaking slightly. “Hey, listen to me, it’s ok, it’s all ok, I…” he slowed down when he realised she was crying, her whole body heaving with deep, pained breaths, her hands fisting the blankets around her. He muttered her name quietly, but she didn’t respond, her legs falling down as her breathing got more and more erratic.

Oh God, he’d ruined everything.

***

It had happened so quickly. One minute you were asleep, the next, you opened your eyes to see Dae-ho beside you. At first, you were happy just to see him, his face and demeanour and everything about him a comfort to you throughout this game. Then you noticed the way he was looking at you. A mixture of pain and confusion and worry was contorted across his face, and then you saw where he was looking.

Your sleeve must had rolled in your sleep, and he was looking at your now bare wrist, his fingers softly brushing against it. You snatched her arm away quickly, fear clouding your mind as you shuffled back.

He had seen.

Oh God, I’ve ruined everything.

There was no questioning that fact. He knew. One of your deepest secrets, one of the things you were most ashamed of. And now, the person you trusted most in here knew. What would he think? Would he view you differently? As weak? As insane? As someone who didn’t deserve to be here around people who wanted to live more than you?

All you had ever wanted was to be seen as normal. And however awful this place was, you finally had that. You had found someone who viewed you as an equal, an ally even. You weren’t the unstable girl who cut herself, or the friend no one could rely on due to unpredictable bouts of depression or anxiety, or the shitty daughter who kept to herself. You were helpful, normal even. But now?

You hadn’t noticed your breathing start to shallow until it was too late. Your vision started to go fuzzy, mind screaming that you’d let someone too close, that they would never see you the same and it was all your fault. Again.

You heard him call your name, but it felt far away, like you were trapped in a bubble and everything outside was muffled. You were paralysed with an inexplicable terror, tears streaming down your face.

Unsurprisingly, given where you were, it wasn’t the first time you’d had a panic attack in front of him. They’d been pretty consistent, after every game, during some, but now, somehow this was the worst. For some reason, someone truly knowing you was scarier than the prospect of looming death.

It took a while for your vision to come back into focus, and when it did, all you could see was his face.

“Hey, look at me, breathe, ok? Here…” he carefully placed his hand on yours, and when you didn’t pull away, picked it up and held it to his chest. “Follow my breaths, ok? In….” You did your best to follow along, stuttering slightly, but he smiled ever so softly even if you weren’t doing it perfectly. “Good, and out..” He repeated the motion a few times, and you followed until your breathing was steady enough to talk. “There we go.” He muttered gently, a hand straying to your face to wipe away the tears that had fallen.

“I’m so sorry, Dae-ho…” it was all you could choke out, already close to tears again, but he shushed you quickly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s none of my business, but I need you to know that I would never judge you… not for anything. Especially not for something that isn’t your fault.”

“Of course it is, I…”

“It’s not. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault. You’re doing your best and I’m here for you. As long as you know that, that’s all that matters.” You were crying again, his words a comfort you had never heard before. Not a moment after the first tear fell his arms were around you, pulling you tight to him and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You couldn’t even speak to thank him, so you squeezed his arm instead, feeling him smile into the top of your head. You had never felt so much kindness before, so much understanding… and maybe it said something about the people around you, but you couldn’t think about that. Right now, all you could think about was the way he was holding you close, the way his breaths aligned with yours, and the way he made you feel like everything was actually going to be ok.

#kang dae ho x reader #dae ho x reader #kang dae ho #dae ho #squid game #squid game s2 #fluff #sh comfort #comfort

61 notes · View notes

sunny374940 · 3 days ago

Text

You are safe with me

Hi, back on my emmrook bullshit again. What if Rook convinced Emmrich to try babywearing? Would there be happy tears? Quite likely, where Emmrich is concerned.

Guys, pspsps @lavender-tea-fling, @mercars-musings, @spinfins, @starfleetteddybear, @redheadsramblings, @sorrowsfallallaround

Here on ao3, here's the rest of my many stories.

“Rook, I really don't think this is going to work.”

“You're worrying too much, Emmrich, you're gonna be fine.”

Rook was wrapping him in some kind of a fabric contraption and the sheer length of the thing was mind-boggling. Around the chest, to the back and across the shoulders, the ends of it trailing along the floor and this was a lot more complicated than it looked when Rook did it.

“But you have much more experience with this than I do.”

“Yeah, by like two weeks? Come on, she's your daughter too now, you can do this.”

Daughter. It still stunned him to think of the girl like that. It had been a mere week since Rook brought Elanora into their home and while there had been some issues in figuring out diapers and food for her, she fit into their family rather well. And Manfred simply adored her, though that was unsurprising, given that he was the embodiment of curiosity and what was a baby, if not curious.

“Let's go, Ellie, up you get.”

Rook picked her up from the rug where she'd been playing and started stuffing her down the piece of fabric across Emmrich’s chest so they were facing each other. She fixed him with an inquisitive look. This wasn't the usual arrangement and she seemed to be wondering where they were going with all this. Rook was hard at work finishing the tie, leaving the pair of them watching each other. Emmrich hoped dearly that this wouldn't make her cry.

“And you tuck it between the two of you like this, so she doesn’t fall out… and then those long bits cross under her butt and you tie them at your back. And spread these out so it doesn't cut into her legs. And done.”

Rook stepped away, looking satisfied with his work. Ellie was sitting in the wrap, snug against Emmrich’s ribcage, and he found himself afraid to breathe too deeply for fear of hurting her tiny body, though she didn't seem to mind. Her legs were poking out from the knees down, wrapped around his sides and she was kicking them contentedly. She folded her arms against his chest, making a cooing sound, and perhaps this wasn’t so bad?

“There, bug, wasn’t that easy?” Rook asked and it appeared that Ellie realized that there actually might be a problem with this. She wasn’t where she was supposed to be, which was on Rook's chest, and she started fussing. Emmrich tensed in response, which made her try to push herself away from him and she was trying to wriggle out of the damnable wrap and this wasn't working, he'd known it wouldn't and now he was making her upset-

“Hey, hey, it's alright, bug. Where's your bunny?”

Rook sat the toy on Emmrich's shoulder, and she forgot that she was annoyed, reaching for the little crocheted rabbit to wave it around with a giggle. Emmrich let out a breath of relief. And now that he tried it they could be done with it and get her out again. But Rook seemed to have different plans.

“Let's go outside before she realizes,” Rook whispered to him, taking his hand and dragging him out the front door. Emmrich knew that there would be no arguing with him now and allowed himself to be led outside.

Walking around with a baby strapped to his chest like this was certainly a novel experience. They decided to take a stroll along the river and Emmrich kept fidgeting with the fabric, worried that Ellie would fall out somehow. But what if he was cutting off her circulation? Could he tell? He checked her feet for the eighth time and they were still wiggling and warm, so she probably wasn’t in imminent danger of losing a limb, but he would definitely have to check again soon. A soft chuckle drew him away from his worrying.

“You're overthinking it, love. Look at her, she's happy.”

Emmrich glanced down and she did seem happy. Watching their surroundings with round eyes, so interested in every little thing. It was truly marvelous how she found wonder everywhere. She was still holding onto the bunny, shaking it occasionally, which made its head bobble and it surprised her into giggles every time. Emmrich let out a soft laugh at her antics, making her look up. She gave him that wide toothless smile and he was so full of joy at the sight that some of it escaped through his eyes.

“I think you might be right, darling,” Emmrich said, wiping at the tears, and Rook gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“You're such a sap,” Rook said, giving him that bright smile he so adored and yes, he was a sap. And he would never stop being one at this rate, since all his dreams of family just kept coming true lately and he hardly knew what to do with himself. He squeezed Rook's hand back and added a kiss to his temple for good measure.

They kept walking for a while, before they ended up on the riverbank, watching a family of ducks float about. They'd been there for quite some time, because Ellie protested every single time they tried to leave. The ducks were very interesting.

“Hey, Emmrich,” Rook suddenly whispered.

“Yes?” Emmrich, of course, whispered too.

“She's asleep. You did it!”

Emmrich looked at Ellie and she was indeed sleeping peacefully. She'd turned her face to rest a cheek against his chest and for a moment he was worried that he would wake her with the way his heart started thundering. She felt safe enough with him to fall asleep right there and how was he supposed to stay calm in the face of that? He turned back to Rook, who was watching them with a very pleased expression.

“See? You're gonna be a great dad,” he said, as if it was something mundane, as if his whole world hadn't been upturned by the presence of one little girl.

“Thank you, darling. I'm honored to be a father to her alongside you.”

#emmrook #emmrich volkarin #dragon age veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #emmrich x rook #veilguard #Have some babywearing emmrich #It's good for the soul

55 notes · View notes

delugyu · 2 days ago

Text

i loveeee a good doomed fic and this one delivered!! took me a minute to finally dedicate some time and read it but i’m so glad i did, this was so painful and amazing

It stole memories, leaving only an ache. // The curse wasn’t just something that hovered on the horizon. It was here, now, in every moment. in that intro scene alone you do a phenomenally well job at creating a tragedy. my heart was already bleeding for kai only a few paragraphs in. your writing is so good i could paste a line from every other paragraph and run out of breath before i finish rambling about it. you write like you’re creating poetry, you have a very beautiful way with words.

kai’s hesitance to open up to mc cause he knows it will only lead to pain OUGHHHH do you hear me falling to my knees… and then they get close anyway and he has to obsessively write to capture everything while he can… his internal dilemma between letting himself love and letting himself let go…

the moment he forgot her name. omg. the dread, the panic, the desperation. The curse had taken everything from him, but it hadn’t taken his heart. I FAWKING LOVE ANGST!!! and what a bittersweet ending :’) so cute but so sad

anyway. i read this instead of doing my philosophy homework. no regrets. i lurv u

Letters of Yesterday | H.K

Pairing: cursed writer!hueningkai x fem artist!reader Genre: Angst, Slow-Burn, Bittersweet Ending

Summary: When love is as fragile as memory, Kai is cursed to forget everything—and everyone—he loves. No matter how deeply he feels, the magic erases him, leaving only blank pages where once there were memories. But Y/N refuses to give up, even when every day brings a new heartbreak. As she clings to the fleeting moments of their time together, she fights to keep their love alive, knowing that each day could be the last he remembers her.

In a cycle of forgotten smiles and vanished kisses, can love survive when memories are fleeting? Or will the price of holding on to Kai’s love be more than she can bear?

Word count: 9.1k

The curse had always been a part of Kai’s life, a shadow that loomed over him from the moment he understood the world. It was a dark family secret passed down from generation to generation—an affliction that claimed the memories of anyone he loved, but left the pain of their loss behind. His parents, distant and silent about it, had taught him to avoid forming attachments, to guard his heart. But the curse, no matter how much he tried to outrun it, was an inevitable fate. And in his heart, a part of him knew that one day, it would claim everything.

He was just a child when they told him. He remembered it vividly, his father’s voice trembling as he sat on the edge of Kai’s bed, explaining in hushed tones.

“Son, you have to understand… no one can escape this. It’s in our blood.”

Kai hadn’t understood at first, his childish mind unable to grasp the magnitude of what was being said. But as he grew older, the truth settled in like a weight on his chest.

The curse meant that Kai would forget everyone he loved. Every connection, every person who mattered would fade from his mind, erased as if they had never been there at all. And it wasn’t just the people who would disappear. Every feeling tied to them—the warmth of their smile, the sound of their laugh, the little things that made them irreplaceable—those would vanish too. The pain of losing them would remain, but the memories would slip through his fingers like sand, each loss more unbearable than the last.

It was a curse meant to keep him alone. And the more he thought about it, the more he understood how cruel it was. It stole memories, leaving only an ache. It was a life half-lived, a love half-loved.

But Kai couldn’t accept it.

From the moment he understood what the curse meant for him, Kai made a vow to himself. If he couldn’t hold on to the people he loved, then he would at least hold on to the memory of them. He would keep their faces alive in his mind, even if the details would fade. He would write them down, store them away like precious treasures.

He found an old wooden box one day, buried deep in the attic, and from then on, it became his ritual. Every time someone new entered his life, every time he felt his heart begin to open, Kai would write them a letter. Not just any letter, but one filled with the things he loved most about them—the way their voice sounded, the warmth of their touch, the way they made him feel safe and understood. He wrote down the moments that mattered most, as if they were the last ones he would ever have.

The box became his sanctuary, the one place where his memories could live on, even when his mind betrayed him. No one could open it but him. It was a fragile system, but it was all he had. The curse would take everything else. But the letters—those letters were his resistance.

And yet, as he sat there, writing another letter one evening, the weight of the curse pressed down on him harder than ever. The curse wasn’t just something that hovered on the horizon. It was here, now, in every moment. Every smile, every touch, every laugh, every tear. Kai knew that one day, all of it would fade away. He would forget. And the thought of it hurt more than he could bear.

It was a rainy afternoon when Kai first saw you. The kind of day that blurred the edges of the world, making everything feel like a memory that was already slipping away. You were sitting at the corner of a small café, your sketchbook open in front of you, completely absorbed in your art. The soft glow from the lamps above illuminated your figure, its warm and golden light a stark contrast to the dull and gray world around you.

Kai had never been a fan of crowded places, but on this particular day, he had no choice but to seek refuge inside. His footsteps echoed in the quiet café as he entered, shaking off the rain that clung to his coat. His gaze, as if pulled by a magnetic force, drifted to you.

You didn’t notice him at first, too focused on your drawing. Kai wasn’t sure what exactly it was that drew him in—the way your brow furrowed in concentration, the way your lips parted slightly as you hummed a soft tune to yourself, or the faintest trace of something wistful in your eyes when you paused to stare out the window.

But there was something. Something that made him pause, make a slow approach to the counter, his heart inexplicably racing.

The barista handed him his coffee with a polite smile, and Kai turned back to look at you. This time, you caught him staring.

“Can I help you with something?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, your eyes locking with his.

For a moment, Kai forgot how to breathe. He wasn’t used to this—being caught, being seen in such an open way. His eyes flickered downward, and he mumbled something about the weather before retreating to the farthest corner of the café, leaving you with a small smile on your face.

You didn’t press him, but something about his presence lingered in the air, as if he carried an invisible weight that tugged at your curiosity. Throughout the next few hours, as the rain continued to pour and the café filled with the soft hum of conversations and clinking mugs, you noticed him again and again—sitting, always with his notebook in front of him but never really writing, always distracted by something. You had no idea why, but there was an undeniable sadness about him, something hidden in the way his gaze would occasionally drift to your direction, only to quickly retreat when you looked back.

When you stood to leave, gathering your things and preparing to step out into the rain once more, Kai stood up too. It was impulsive, but something inside him urged him to speak.

“You... you’re an artist, aren’t you?” The words felt clumsy as they left his mouth. He winced inwardly, wondering why he was even talking to you. It wasn’t as if he could afford to form attachments, not with the curse always hanging over his head.

You smiled, a small, knowing smile that hinted at a playful kind of mystery. “Yes. And you?”

Kai hesitated, feeling the weight of his own silence, the years of solitude pressing down on him. But there was something about you—something about the way you didn’t look at him with pity or indifference. You simply saw him, in a way that few people ever had.

“I... write,” he replied. It was the simplest way to put it, though it felt like an understatement. His notebooks, filled with letters to himself, weren’t just a hobby—they were a lifeline.

You nodded, clearly intrigued. “What do you write about?”

The question caught him off guard. No one had ever asked him about his writing before, not in such an open, genuine way. He shifted uncomfortably. He couldn’t tell you the truth. The letters weren’t meant to be shared. They were his secret, his private attempt to defy the curse that was slowly erasing him.

But still, something about you made him want to open up, to share.

“I... write about memories,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “About the things I want to remember. Even if I can’t.”

Your expression softened. “That sounds beautiful. I think everyone should write about the things they want to hold on to.”

Kai blinked, unsure of what to say. The words you spoke felt like a rare gift, a balm to a wound he hadn’t known how to address. He gave a small nod, more to himself than to you, before pushing open the door and stepping into the rain.

He never expected that brief encounter to change anything, but as he walked away, something shifted. The world felt just a little brighter, despite the persistent drizzle, and Kai found himself thinking about you in a way that felt... strange. The feeling was unfamiliar, like a forgotten dream drifting back to the surface.

And he knew, deep down, that he would see you again. That somehow, this brief moment had already begun to matter.

As the days passed, Kai found himself returning to that café more often than he ever had before. Each time, his steps led him to the same corner where you sat, sketchbook open, lost in your art. And each time, he couldn’t help but watch, his heart inexplicably drawn to the way you moved—so effortlessly, so naturally, as if you existed in a world of your own making.

It became a routine: the café, your art, and the growing, unspoken connection between the two of you. You never asked more of him than he was willing to give, and that was both a relief and a burden. He found solace in your presence, even if his mind never stopped warning him that it would all be fleeting, that he would forget you, just as he had forgotten so many others before.

One afternoon, after weeks of these quiet meetings, you sat down beside him with a cup of tea, your sketchbook resting on your lap.

“You’re always writing,” you remarked, your voice light but curious. “What is it you write about? You never share.”

Kai looked up, surprised by your bluntness, yet comforted by the familiarity of it. The way you spoke to him didn’t feel like an interrogation. It felt like an invitation, like you truly wanted to understand him.

“I write about people,” he said, his eyes flickering to the notebook in front of him. “People who matter. People I don’t want to forget.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Why wouldn’t you want to forget them? Seems like a burden, doesn’t it?”

Kai’s heart ached at the simplicity of your question, the innocence with which you asked. You couldn’t possibly understand the weight of what he was saying, the curse that hung over him like a specter.

“It’s... complicated,” he replied, his voice dropping to a whisper. “For me, it’s a way of holding on. Of not losing everything I love.”

You watched him for a long moment, then leaned forward slightly, your eyes filled with a quiet understanding. “You’re scared of forgetting, aren’t you?”

Kai’s breath caught in his throat. How did you—how could you—know?

“I’m not scared of forgetting,” he said, his voice shaking despite his best efforts to remain calm. “I’m scared of forgetting you.”

There. He had said it. The truth that had been sitting on the edge of his lips for so long. He knew the moment the words left his mouth that they were dangerous, but they felt so right—so necessary—that he couldn’t take them back.

You didn’t say anything at first, and Kai immediately regretted it, feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t expected. But then you smiled softly, the warmth of it a balm to his frayed nerves.

“I’ll make sure you don’t forget me,” you said, a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes. “How about that?”

Kai’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. How could you promise something like that? How could anyone promise something so impossible?

But instead of answering, he simply nodded. In that moment, there was no room for anything else but the aching hope that maybe—just maybe—you could break through the wall he’d built around his heart.

Weeks passed, and every time Kai saw you, he found himself writing more. Letters, poems, short descriptions—anything to capture the fleeting moments he shared with you. You were becoming his muse, the light in his otherwise bleak existence. Each word he wrote felt like an anchor, something to hold on to when the curse eventually came for him.

But then, one day, it happened. The first sign that the curse was beginning to take hold.

Kai had been sitting across from you at the café, a letter halfway finished, when he looked up and caught sight of the bracelet you were wearing. It was delicate, silver, with a small charm hanging from it that caught the light. A gift, he realized, but not from him.

“Where did you get that?” Kai asked, his voice sounding distant even to his own ears.

You looked down at your wrist, then back up at him with a gentle smile. “You gave it to me. Remember? For my birthday. We picked it out together.”

His heart stuttered, a sharp pain shooting through his chest. His hands trembled as he reached up, as if he could touch the memory itself, but it wasn’t there. The details were gone, wiped clean from his mind like they’d never existed.

“I... I don’t remember,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

You paused, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze. The air was thick with unspoken words, and the reality of what was happening hit Kai with full force.

“I’m sorry,” he added, his voice barely audible, a lump forming in his throat. “I don’t remember giving it to you.”

You said nothing at first, just looked at him with a sadness and confusion that made Kai’s chest tighten painfully. But then, you reached over and took his hand gently in yours, the touch warm and grounding.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, squeezing his hand. “Everyone forgets things sometimes, it’s normal. Hell, I even forgot what I ate for breakfast yesterday.”

Kai wanted to believe you. He desperately wanted to believe you. But the fear gnawed at him from the inside out, the creeping sense that everything was slipping away, piece by piece. The curse was real, and no matter how hard he tried, it would take everything from him in the end.

You stood up, then, the movement fluid, graceful, almost as if you were trying to pull him out of the dark thoughts that threatened to consume him. “Let’s go buy a new bracelet,” you said, a soft, encouraging smile on your lips. “We’ll pick something even more special, I’ll get you a matching one too, then I bet you won’t forget about it.”

And despite the crushing weight in his chest, despite the growing sense of dread, Kai followed you. For the first time in a long while, he let himself hope. Even if it was fleeting. Even if the curse would one day steal this moment too, he would hold on to it for as long as he could.

The days following the incident with the bracelet were a whirlwind of confusion and emotions. Kai’s fears—those deep, gnawing fears about the curse—had started to consume him. The more he tried to push them down, the more they clawed at his insides, demanding attention, reminding him that no matter how much he wanted to keep you in his life, it would never last. Not for long.

And so, he began to pull away.

It started small—his messages became less frequent, the invitations to hang out became few and far between. Kai was careful, though. He didn’t want you to feel abandoned, didn’t want you to think he didn’t care. But deep down, he believed that pulling away was the only way to protect you. The curse would take him eventually, it always did, and if he let you get too close, you would be hurt. That was a certainty he couldn’t avoid.

You, however, weren’t so easily deterred.

After a week of silence, when you hadn’t seen him at the café or heard from him at all, you decided to confront him. You knew something was wrong, and no amount of pretending on his part could hide it from you.

When you showed up at his apartment that evening, he was sitting by the window, staring out at the city below, lost in thought. His face was shadowed, unreadable. The air between you was thick with the weight of unsaid words.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” you asked, your voice steady but full of concern. “I’ve been trying to reach you. You’ve been shutting me out.”

Kai didn’t look at you right away. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers gripping the edge of the windowsill. He knew the moment you entered that room that you would ask him this question. He just didn’t know how to answer it.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he finally said, his voice quiet, barely audible. “I care about you too much to keep dragging you into this... into my mess.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you walked over and sat beside him, refusing to back down. “I don’t care about your mess, Kai. I care about you.”

He let out a breath, frustration leaking through his voice. “You don’t understand. You can’t. The curse… it’s not something you can just fix.”

You tilted your head, refusing to let him push you away. “Then explain it to me,” you said softly. “What curse? What is it you’re so afraid of?”

For a long moment, Kai said nothing. His heart raced in his chest, torn between the overwhelming urge to push you away and the undeniable need to finally tell you everything. Slowly, his eyes met yours, filled with pain and regret.

“I… I forget people,” he whispered, the words seeming too heavy to speak. “The people I love… I forget them. Over and over again. Every time I get too close to someone, the curse takes them away from me. And it’s not just them I forget. It’s everything. Everything that ever mattered.”

You blinked in confusion, not fully understanding the weight of his words. “You forget them?”

“Not just memories,” he continued, his voice strained. “I forget who they are. I forget their faces. I forget their names. And when I do remember, it’s always too late. By then, they’re already gone.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you tried to process what he was saying. “That’s… that’s horrible,” you whispered. “But why didn’t you tell me sooner? You’ve been pushing me away, Kai. I deserve to know.”

“I didn’t want you to stay out of pity,” he said bitterly, his hands gripping the edge of the windowsill until his knuckles turned white. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to fix me. I don’t want to be fixed. But I know that in the end, I’ll forget you. Just like everyone else.”

You reached out, taking his trembling hand into yours. “I’m not going anywhere,” you said firmly. “You don’t have to go through this alone. If there’s a way to break this curse, we’ll find it together.”

Kai looked up at you, tears welling in his eyes despite his attempts to hold them back. His heart ached, his mind screamed at him to push you away, but your words—your warmth—pulled him closer. For the first time in a long while, he felt something other than fear. It was a glimmer of hope.

You stayed with him that night, and the nights that followed. The two of you spent hours researching, diving into old books, talking to anyone who might have any knowledge of curses or memory loss. You scoured libraries, read through ancient texts, and even sought out experts, but time and again, you found nothing. The curse was a mystery, an enigma with no solution.

As the days passed, Kai’s fear only deepened. Every time he looked at you, every time he spoke to you, he was struck by the reality of what he might lose. But there you were, right beside him, holding his hand and refusing to let go. You wouldn’t leave him, not now.

It broke his heart to know that no matter how much he wanted to hold on to you, the curse would eventually take you from him. It was a truth he couldn’t escape.

Kai sat in the dim light of his apartment, the silence around him suffocating. The evening air was thick, carrying the scent of rain that had begun to fall outside. He hadn’t even realized how much time had passed, lost in his thoughts, paralyzed by the very thing he had been avoiding for months. His heart ached, not from the curse itself, but from the realization that the love he had for you was only going to be temporary.

It was as if his very existence had been rewritten to fade, just like his memories. The curse forced him to forget everyone he loved. Over and over again, he lost people, but the pain was always there, gnawing at him. Every time it happened, every time someone slipped through his fingers, the weight of that loss only grew heavier. He had been fine with it before. At least he thought he had been. After all, what choice did he have? But now… now that you were here, now that you were so important to him, the thought of losing you completely shattered him in ways he could never have imagined.

Kai stared down at the crumpled paper before him, the ink of his pen smeared slightly as his hands trembled. His thoughts were a mess, disjointed and desperate, the reality of his situation becoming clear in the most painful way possible. He could never confess his feelings to you. He couldn’t do that to you. The curse would take away his love, his memory of you, everything. And if he told you—if he allowed himself to truly love you—then when the curse took its toll, it would tear both of them apart. You’d be left with nothing but the broken pieces of a love that wasn’t meant to last.

And yet, he couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that overwhelmed him. Every time he saw you, every time you smiled, every time you laughed, it felt like his heart had a reason to beat again. But this was a fleeting joy. He couldn’t hold onto it. He couldn’t let you become the next casualty of his curse.

Kai took a deep breath, wiping his eyes before picking up the pen again. He wrote, not with the intention of ever showing it to you, but for himself. Maybe if he could put his feelings into words, they would somehow become more manageable. Maybe he could come to terms with this loss before it even happened.

"To my future self,

If you're reading this, then you’ve already lost her.

I don't know how, but I know it will happen. This curse... this cruel curse will erase everything, just like it always has. You won't remember her face. You won’t remember the sound of her voice, the way she laughs, or the way she makes you feel like you’ve finally found home. You won’t remember how her presence makes you feel alive, how she has this way of looking at you, this unspoken understanding, like you’re the only two people in the world.

But I need you to remember this—remember what it felt like to love her, even if you can’t remember her name. Remember the warmth of her touch, the kindness in her eyes. Hold onto that, no matter how much the memories fade.

You may not be able to hold onto her physically, but don’t let her slip completely. Don't forget how much you loved her, even if she doesn't exist in your mind anymore. You will lose everything. You will lose her. But don’t forget this: she was everything.

Please, don’t let her go, even if the curse makes you forget how much you care. She deserves better. She deserves all the love we had to give, and more. You’ll be broken when it happens. But I need you to remember… I need you to keep that love, even when you can’t feel it anymore.

I’m begging you, don’t let her leave. She’s worth every broken piece of us."

The ink dried on the paper as Kai folded the letter carefully, almost reverently, before placing it in the box with all the others. His chest was tight, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. There was no way to stop what was coming. He couldn’t protect you from the curse, no matter how much he wanted to. The pain of forgetting you—of forgetting the very essence of you—would be unbearable.

And yet, in the quiet of his room, surrounded by the evidence of his love for you, Kai felt as if he had already lost you. The letter he had written wasn’t just a plea—it was a desperate hope. A hope that, even if he couldn’t remember you, his future self would somehow carry the weight of this love with him, and that love would be enough, even in its broken state.

But deep down, he knew it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

As he laid down that night, the letter still fresh in his mind, he thought of you. He thought of your smile, of the way your hand fit perfectly in his, of the way you had slowly, gently, found your way into his heart. He didn’t want to forget you. He didn’t want to lose you.

But he knew it was inevitable.

And that was the hardest part.

The weeks had passed in a blur for Kai. The curse, as inevitable as it was painful, seemed to be growing stronger by the day. What had once been fleeting moments of forgotten details—small things like where he left his jacket or the name of a book he had been reading—had now become unsettling, disorienting waves. It was like a fog had settled into his mind, blotting out the things that mattered most.

Kai felt it creeping in, like a cold hand around his heart. The things he cherished, the people he loved—they were beginning to fade. The memories were no longer his own to keep. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how desperately he clung to them, they slipped away. And with each passing day, the pain of losing you became more unbearable.

One evening, as he sat at his kitchen table, the candlelight flickering on the surface, he felt a chill run through him. It wasn’t just the curse this time. No, it was something deeper, more overwhelming. It was you—your absence.

He stared down at the photo of the two of you together on the table, trying to place the memories, but they were slipping further from his grasp. He had forgotten the little things first: your favorite color, the way you liked your coffee, the sound of your laughter when you told a joke. Then, he began to forget the bigger moments: the way you first met, the promises you made to each other, even the quiet, tender moments when he had held you close.

But it wasn’t just the memories. It was you. He couldn’t remember your name. Turning the photo around, he sees your name, written in black ink next to his. Kai + Y/N = Besties Forever

“Y/N…” He whispered the name, as though testing it, hoping it would spark something inside him, but it didn’t. It felt distant, like a word he had once known but had now lost to time.

His breath hitched in his chest. "Who are you?" he thought, panic rising in his throat. "What am I forgetting?"

The panic swelled, drowning him in a deep, dark abyss. He grabbed the first thing he could find—one of the letters he had written to himself, one of the hundreds that were stored away in the box. He tore it open and began to read, his eyes scanning the words, the familiar handwriting that had once been his lifeline.

"Don’t let her leave. She’s worth every broken piece of us."

Kai’s chest tightened painfully as he read those words. His fingers trembled, the letter shaking in his hands. The words meant so much more now, piercing through the fog in his mind. They were a plea, a desperate cry from a future self who had already forgotten everything, everything that mattered to him.

“I love her.” The realization hit him like a wave, as if the memory of loving you had been hidden beneath layers of fog, waiting for this moment to break free. His heart ached with the weight of the truth. He loved you, but he couldn’t hold onto it. Not like this.

His tears blurred the ink on the page as he sank back into his chair, gasping for air. He clutched the letter tightly to his chest, like it could somehow save him from the pain. I love you, he thought again, the words so simple, so impossible. He couldn’t remember your face, your smile, the sound of your voice—but somehow, he still loved you.

The curse had taken everything from him, but it hadn’t taken his heart. At least, not yet.

The morning air was still, a fragile quiet hanging in the apartment as you waited for Kai to return from his errand. You had been visiting him more often lately, bringing him meals or simply sitting in the same room, offering a quiet comfort. The curse had taken its toll on both of you, and yet, in small moments, there was still some semblance of peace when you were together. Even in the face of the ever-growing loss, there was something deeply intimate about those moments—something you clung to.

You had arrived early that morning, hoping to surprise him with his favorite breakfast. As you set the table, you noticed something odd—a box hidden under the desk, tucked just out of sight. It wasn’t like Kai to leave things around like that, especially something so carefully concealed. Curiosity gnawed at you, and though you knew better, you couldn’t help but reach for it.

The box was heavier than you expected, the paper crinkling in your hands as you carefully lifted the lid. Inside, there were stacks of letters—neatly folded, each one dated, with Kai’s familiar handwriting on the front. Your fingers trembled as you pulled one out and read the first few lines.

At first, you thought they were just musings, idle thoughts that Kai often jotted down when he was alone. But as you continued reading, the words began to take shape, and with each sentence, the gravity of the situation became clearer. These were more than just thoughts. These were confessions.

Each letter was written to his future self—something you hadn’t known he had done. You had always known that Kai was a private person, but this—this was something else. He had been writing to himself, preserving pieces of his soul, just in case he lost them. The first few letters spoke of his growing fears, how the curse had begun to erode his memory in small, almost imperceptible ways. But with each passing letter, the tone changed. The fear turned into desperation. And there it was, one of the lines that took your breath away:

"She’s worth every broken piece of us."

The words swirled around in your mind, resonating with a pain that you hadn’t expected. You had known for a while that Kai was struggling with something—his slow drift into forgetfulness, the moments when he would lose himself completely in confusion. But you hadn’t realized just how much it had consumed him.

He had been fighting the curse, not only for himself, but for you. The love you shared had been slipping through his fingers, and yet he had been holding onto it, with every letter, with every desperate plea to himself.

Tears began to gather at the corners of your eyes. You wiped them away quickly, afraid to let them fall, but they came anyway. You couldn’t stop them. The depth of his feelings—the pain in his words—it all crashed over you. Kai loved you. And he had known, for all this time, that he wouldn’t be able to hold onto that love forever. But he had fought for it anyway, and in doing so, he had written to you, to himself, to anyone who might find the truth of his heart.

You picked up another letter, your heart aching with every word, and you read on. Each letter, each plea, each confession painted a picture of a man who loved deeply and was terrified of what was happening to him. He wrote about you, about the moments you shared, about how the curse had stolen everything but the love he felt for you. And in that love, he was still holding on.

As you read, the air around you seemed to thicken, the weight of the letters pressing down on your chest. The realization hit you like a wave—the man you loved, the man who had slowly become a stranger to you, had always known what was happening. He had always known that one day, he would forget you. But even with that knowledge, he had continued to love you with everything he had.

You sank to the floor, clutching the letters to your chest. You had always been the one to be strong for him, to offer him comfort when he needed it most, but now—now you were the one who felt lost. How could you ever show him how much these letters meant to you? How could you ever explain that even in his forgetfulness, even as the curse took more of him away, you would never stop loving him?

A sharp, painful sob escaped you, breaking the stillness of the room. You couldn’t hold it back any longer. The heartbreak of seeing his love, his anguish, all laid out in front of you—it was too much. Kai was fading, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

“He’s fighting so hard,” you thought, your chest tight with sorrow. “But I don’t know if I’m strong enough to fight this with him.”

But even through the pain, something in you refused to give up. You couldn’t let the love that Kai had so desperately held onto slip through your fingers. You couldn’t turn your back on him now—not when he needed you the most.

The sound of the front door opening made you jump, and you quickly wiped away your tears. Kai stood in the doorway, his eyes searching the room, his gaze landing on you.

“Y/N?” he asked, his voice quiet, unsure. "What’s going on?"

You stood up slowly, still holding the letters in your hands. You didn’t know what to say. The words felt like they were lodged in your throat, too heavy to escape. But in that moment, you realized that the letters weren’t just about Kai's love—they were about hope. They were about a future he wished for but feared he wouldn’t be able to reach. And you would fight with him to make sure that love, that hope, didn’t fade along with the memories.

You looked up at him, a shaky breath leaving your lips. “I found something,” you said, your voice faltering, but firm. “I found your letters.”

Kai froze, his face a mixture of surprise and guilt. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“I know,” you whispered, your heart breaking all over again. "I know you’ve been writing to yourself. I know everything, Kai."

His gaze softened, and a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in weeks flickered across his face. The weight of your words hung between you like a thread, fragile and delicate.

“You’re not alone in this,” you said, taking a step toward him. “I’ll be here, even when you forget. I’ll help you remember. I promise.”

And in that moment, you both understood: no matter how much Kai’s memories faded, no matter how many pieces of him were lost, you would fight for him. You would fight for the love that still lingered between you—because that love, despite everything, was worth it.

The day you had been dreading arrived. You woke up with a sense of heaviness in your chest, knowing that the curse had slowly been taking more from Kai. His memory was fading, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. The letters you had found the day before had only confirmed what you already feared. But you still hoped—hoped that maybe today, Kai would remember you.

When you arrived at his apartment that afternoon, you were met with a strange silence. Normally, Kai would greet you with that small smile, maybe a joke about how you always showed up with something for him to eat. But today, there was nothing. The door was slightly ajar, and as you entered, you found him sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the wall.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping closer.

Kai looked up at you, but there was no recognition in his eyes. His gaze was distant, clouded with confusion.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice flat, almost disinterested. “Why are you here?”

A chill ran through you, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. It was like a punch to the gut, the way he looked at you like a stranger.

“Kai, it’s me… Y/N,” you said, your voice trembling. “You know me. Please… you have to remember.”

His brow furrowed as he stood up, taking a few steps back from you. “I don’t know you,” he said, his voice growing more firm. “Whoever you are, I don’t want any trouble. If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.”

The words stung more than anything you had ever heard from him. The man you loved, the one who had once been your closest friend, was now a stranger to you.

Panic gripped your heart, but you forced yourself to stay calm. You couldn’t lose him—not like this. Not when you still had a chance to remind him of who he was, who you were together.

“No, no, please don’t do that,” you said, holding your hands out in a placating gesture. “Kai, please listen to me. You’re not well. You don’t remember, but we—we’ve been through so much together.” You took a hesitant step toward him, searching his face for any sign of recognition. “Please, let me show you.” You grabbed his wrist and brought it next to yours. Showing him the matching bracelet you had bought together for both of you. “We got this together. remember? We picked them out together. I convinced you to get matching ones with me, remember? Don’t you dare forget about this, I told you I made sure you wouldn’t forget”

You dropped his wrist, watching his eyes flicker as he looked at it. There was a slight shift in his expression, like he was trying to grasp something just out of reach, but the confusion still clouded his face.

“Kai, we got this to remind us both that no matter what, we were always together,” you said, your voice soft but desperate. “Every time you wore it, it was a promise. A promise that we would never forget each other.”

He held your wrist, his fingers brushing back and forth against the bracelet. There was a brief moment where you both stood there, the weight of the silence settling in. But then, he just stared at it, his face blank.

“I don’t… I don’t remember,” he whispered, his voice cracking. The words broke something inside of you, the final piece of hope crumbling.

You swallowed, pushing past the lump in your throat. “Please, Kai. Please try to remember.”

There was no answer, just the quiet hum of the room, as you realized you weren’t getting through to him. The frustration, the heartbreak, was unbearable. But you refused to give up. “I have something—something important.”

You quickly ran around the apartment, scrambling to find the box of letters you had discovered earlier. It felt like an eternity as you searched through the drawers, the cabinets, before finally finding them tucked away in the corner of his desk. You grabbed the box, clutching it tightly as you returned to him.

“Please,” you whispered, your hands shaking as you held the box in front of him. “You need to read these. They’ll help you remember. I’m not lying to you, Kai. I swear. These letters—they’re from you. They’re from your heart. You wrote them to yourself. You’ve always known what’s happening to you.”

He stared at the box for a moment, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he took it from your hands, but his confusion didn’t seem to lessen. He opened one of the letters, scanning the words with a furrowed brow.

“‘Don’t let them leave,’” he read aloud, his voice shaky. “‘They’re worth every broken piece of us.’” His voice faltered as he looked up at you, his face clouded with sorrow. “What does this mean?”

You swallowed, your heart aching with each passing second. “It means that you loved me,” you said, your voice breaking. “You still love me. Even if you don’t remember it, Kai—please, don’t forget.”

As he read more of the letters, the room grew silent except for the soft rustling of paper. And then, Kai’s composure finally broke. The letters slipped from his hands, and he sank to the floor, his face twisted in pain. Tears filled his eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he was truly himself again—vulnerable, raw.

“I don’t want to forget,” he whispered, his voice shaking with emotion. “I don’t want to lose you… but it’s happening, isn’t it? Every day, I forget something. And the worst part is, I don’t even know if I’ll ever remember.”

You knelt down beside him, your hands gently reaching for his. “You will. We’ll find a way. I promise.”

But even as you spoke the words, you knew the truth—you didn’t know how much longer you could keep him from slipping away completely.

“Please don’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice so small, so fragile. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said firmly, your heart breaking for him. “I love you, Kai. And I’ll stay by your side, even if you forget me every single day. I’ll love you every time.”

The air between you was thick with the weight of your unspoken fears, but at that moment, there was nothing but love. Even in the face of everything, you couldn’t let him go. And neither could he.

The days that followed were a mixture of pain and small, precious moments of connection. Each time Kai forgot you, it was like losing him all over again. But each time, you reminded him of who you were, of the love you shared. Every morning, you greeted him with a soft smile, a quiet reassurance that you were still there, no matter how much he struggled to remember.

At first, it felt like an endless cycle. You would sit with him, gently telling stories of your past, hoping to jog his memory. You spoke of the first time you met, how you’d both been awkward, shy—how you had tried so hard to avoid that sudden, inexplicable pull toward each other. But something about him had always felt right, even in your early days of friendship. You reminded him of the long nights spent talking, the way you’d laughed until your stomachs hurt, how he had always been the one to help you when you needed it most.

And sometimes, when the silence between you grew heavy, you would find small ways to remind him—little touches, soft glances. You would let him trace the bracelet on your wrist, the one that matched his. The touch of his fingers against the metal, the way his hand would linger, gave you hope that maybe, just maybe, the memory of you would come back.

Kai had always been so different when he remembered. The walls he built up when he was lost in his confusion would crumble as soon as he recalled the way you had been there for him. You’d make him laugh, tell him ridiculous stories of your shared moments—those little inside jokes that only the two of you understood. You’d hold his hand as he laughed, feeling the warmth of him beside you, even if just for a fleeting moment.

There was a time, not long ago, when you sat down together on the couch after a long day. You started to tell him about the first time you painted together—how it had been messy, chaotic, but beautiful in its own way. He listened, still struggling to fully connect the pieces, but something in his eyes softened as he sat there, listening. You showed him the canvas you had both worked on, the colors that had splashed onto the surface, forming something that was imperfect but real.

“I don’t remember the first time we did this,” he admitted, his voice thick with regret. “But it sounds like something I would do.”

“You did,” you smiled, brushing your fingers over the painting. “We painted together and had a competition to see who could make the most ridiculous art. You won, but only because you made that ridiculous purple whale.”

A laugh escaped him, though it was laced with uncertainty. “A purple whale?”

“Yeah. Don’t you remember? You were so proud of it. It was huge, and it had these big, exaggerated eyes.”

His lips tugged into the slightest of smiles, the first you had seen in days. “I don’t remember that,” he murmured, but then he paused, his eyes locking with yours. “But I want to.”

“You will,” you promised softly. “We’ll keep painting. We’ll make new memories, even if it takes a thousand tries.”

And so you did. You spent hours together, making more art, more chaos, more laughter. The process was slow, but with each stroke of the brush, each color added to the canvas, Kai seemed to relax, his heart opening in ways that felt familiar, even if it wasn’t entirely whole yet.

One evening, you brought out a guitar and began to strum softly. It was something you used to do together, a way of passing the time, of reconnecting when words felt too heavy. You started with a simple melody, something that didn’t need to be said—just music to fill the space between you. Kai watched, unsure at first, but slowly he joined in, tapping his fingers against his leg in rhythm, his voice uncertain but getting stronger as you continued.

“This is how we always did it, wasn’t it?” you asked as you played. “You and me—making up songs, telling stories through music.”

Kai nodded slowly, his voice soft. “Yeah. I think… I think I remember.”

You smiled at him, the warmth between you both growing stronger with each moment you spent rebuilding what had been broken. Even if he couldn’t remember everything, even if the curse kept trying to tear you apart, you refused to let go. And Kai—though he was still lost in the fog of his memories—was holding onto you as tightly as he could.

In the evenings, after the music stopped and the painting was done, you would sit together in the quiet, just holding each other. No words were needed. You knew that as long as you kept telling him stories, as long as you kept showing him the love that had always been there, there was hope. Even if it was fleeting, even if it was only for a moment, Kai was still there. And you would never give up on him.

With each passing day, the memories might fade again. But you were determined to keep creating new ones. And when those old memories returned, you would be waiting, just as you always had been.

Even if it meant starting over each time, you were never going to let him forget that you loved him, and you always would.

Months had passed since the curse had first started, and in that time, you and Kai had settled into a fragile rhythm. There were good days—days where the fog in his mind seemed to lift just enough for him to remember fleeting moments, bits of laughter shared between you, the warmth of his hand in yours. But there were also bad days, where he looked at you with blank eyes, a stranger to him once again. Despite it all, you stayed.

Now, you lived together, sharing a space that once felt like a sanctuary but now held an undertone of pain. It was a daily battle, a fight to keep the love alive when it was constantly slipping away. But you couldn’t give up—not when he was fighting too, even if he didn’t fully understand why.

This morning, like every other, you woke before sunrise. The house was still, save for the soft sound of Kai’s breathing as he slept beside you. It was a routine at this point, you moved quietly, careful not to wake him, and grabbed your notebook from the nightstand. This had become a routine for you—to document the days, the moments you shared, the love you held onto so fiercely.

As you wrote, the words felt both familiar and painful. Yesterday had been one of those rare, beautiful days where Kai had laughed freely. You had baked cookies together, the kitchen a mess of flour and sugar, but neither of you had cared. You remembered the way his eyes had crinkled at the corners when he caught the flour on your nose, how he’d leaned over and kissed it off with a soft laugh. For a moment, you had forgotten the curse, forgotten the weight of everything that was slipping away.

But as always, reality crept back in.

You wrote, “Yesterday, you looked at me and smiled, like I wasn’t a stranger. Like we hadn’t been through this over and over again. I wish I could tell you that today would be different—that the curse will lift, and you will remember me completely.”

You paused, the words heavy in your chest. There was so much you wanted to say, but the pain of it all made it difficult. You ended the note with a final line, one you’ve written countless of time yet still feels like it had been ripped from your very soul: "Even when you forget me again, I will still love you with everything I have, Kai. I just wish you could remember that."

You placed the notebook carefully on the bedside table, leaving it open to the page you’d just written. With a quiet sigh, you climbed back under the covers and curled up beside Kai, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. You closed your eyes, trying to quiet the whirlwind in your mind, but the ache in your heart remained. It was always there, even in the moments when you were together.

Kai woke slowly, the soft light of the morning creeping into the room. He turned his head toward you, his brow furrowing as he saw your sleeping form next to him. For a moment, he simply stared at you, his mind a blur of confusion. He had no memory of the night before, no recollection of who you were in that moment. The curse had taken another piece of him, and for the thousandth time, he didn’t know you.

The room felt empty despite your presence, as if a vital part of him was missing. His eyes fell on the open notebook beside him. He reached for it, his fingers trembling slightly as he read the words. His heart pounded in his chest as he read through your description of the day, your laugh, your love. His breath caught when he read the last line, the raw emotion that poured from it. He felt something shift inside him, an overwhelming sorrow and recognition that he couldn’t fully grasp.

He looked back at you, lying peacefully next to him, and something in his chest broke. He didn’t remember all of it, but he knew, in that moment, that you were everything to him. His confusion swirled with a deep, aching emptiness. He couldn’t recall how he had fallen in love with you, but he felt it now—so painfully, so deeply.

Without thinking, Kai slid closer to you, the vulnerability in his eyes clearer than ever. He gently pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair, holding onto you as if you were the one thing in the world that mattered. You stirred in his arms, and without even realizing it, you clung to him, your own tears threatening to fall.

You had always known the pain of his memory loss, the ache that came with seeing him forget you again and again. But this—this was something different. The rawness in his touch, the desperate need to hold you close, even though he had no idea who you were—it was more than you could bear. You whispered his name, your voice thick with emotion.

“Kai…”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours with confusion and pain. “I don’t know who you are,” he whispered, his voice raw. “But I... I know that I need you.”

Your heart clenched. You held him tighter, your tears silently falling as you pressed your cheek to his chest. “You’re not lost, Kai. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Despite the unfamiliarity, despite the confusion that still clouded his mind, Kai held you with everything he had. He didn’t understand what was happening or why his memories were slipping through his fingers like sand, but he knew one thing: you were his anchor. You were the one person who made sense in the chaos of his mind.

And for a moment, you allowed yourself to hope—hope that this time, no matter how many times he forgot you, you would never let go of him. Even if it meant living through the pain of his memory loss again and again, you would hold on. Because he was worth it. Every single time.

Rei's Notes ✎: Tadaaa, another fic again this month, I hope this gave you the feels the same way it did for me while I was writing it. I had “Would you fall in love with me again” from epic the musical on repeat while writing this.

Thanks a lot to @beomiracles for beta reading part of this story!! Lots of love to her~ Not much else to say honestly, so I hope you enjoy and I'd love to hear your thoughts!!!

Taglist: @yunverie @dawngyu @hueningstar @hhoneyhan @immelissaaa @lovingbeomgyudayone @xylatox @soobabby @i-like-to-read-at-4am

#fic recs #putting on my number one angst lover shirt #teehee this was really so good!!

113 notes · View notes