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huicitawrites · 2 years ago

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The Hunt

Yandere! Miguel O' Hara x Fem! Spider! Reader

T/W: yandere (slow-burn(?)), dark fic, violence, assault, spoilers for across the spiderverse.

Status: rewritten.

Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,4k

"Y/N! Get. Back. Here. NOW", swinging away from an infuriated Miguel O'Hara wasn't something you had planned or ever thought would occur, never entertained the thought of it. At least not until now, as you desperately attempted to get away from him and somehow escape him- for your dimension-travel watch (as wild as the concept of it sounded) had been snatched by the same man that was madly hunting you down.

How did it even all come to this? Let's rewind, back to the beginning.

Part I

After being bitten by a radioactive spider in a school trip to Alchemax at the young age of 15, you obtained enhanced spider-like abilities: a sixth sense for perceiving danger, incredible reflexes, amazing parkour skills, extraordinary strentgh and flexibility.

And for the past ten years, you have been New York's one and only Spider-Woman.

Learning to use your powers was a whole trip on itself. They awakened rather clumsily -nothing a leap of faith could not fix- as you began to grasp the ropes of being a masked hero in your teenage years [it's safe to say that your teenage years were truly a heck of a rollercoaster].

Handling a double-life was not easy, that is something you have learned with your ten years experience. You saved a bunch of people and thus many lives, you won many times and saved the city countless more. Yet you also earned a bunch of dangerous criminals and villains tailing behind your back that would want to kill you without hesitation and harm you in any way possible.

In spite of the times you were beaten down, left made a mess in the ground, or at the brink of death- you would always get back up because you were Spider-Woman.

Sometimes, getting back up was hard.

The weight of the sake of the city was on your shoulders. And sometimes, that weight crushed you. When you lost your parents it was devastating, because not only had you failed as a hero, but as a daughter.

[Your dad perished in an attempt to save you from an attack of one of many enemies- the Green Goblin . You two happened to be on a ‘father and daughter’ outing in a nice dinner when the Green Goblin tried to draw out Spider-Woman from her hiding place in Brooklyn (unbeknownst of your true identity and much to your own misery and guilt.) After battling the Green Goblin and imprisoning him, you rose with your dead father in your arms, and an huge crack in your heart that would leave a deep scar.

Months later, your mother's followed suit. That day was chaotic, panic filled the streets of New York as The Rhino, a veteran soldier with super human strentgh and a high-techno advanced armor resembling a rhinoceros, laid waste to the city. You were evacuating all civilians nearby, swinging across and into buildings, picking up and scooping anyone you could encounter and putting them out of danger.

It happened as you held falling debris with your arms. You picked up wailing in between the many cries of people, and your spider-sense guided your eyes up from the ground.

A child, no older than five, was crying. He was glued to the floor, too overwhelmed by the calamity surrounding him. A wall from a building was falling on him and your heart beat raced. You still had people below you that were crawling out and the child was a or two block away. Your thoughts raced in your head, you had to save everyone, down to the last live.

"Come on, come on, come on" you muttered in between gritted teeth as you gathered power and lifted the debris into the air. With the help of your web shooter, you pulled all the remaining civilians out and casted aside the courtesy of double-checking as you swinged toward the child.

You could see how the wall fell over him, and you reached out your arm with your forearm out desperately, attempted to pull him out with your web but the wall was already about to touch his head and-

She pushed the child out of the danger, motherly instincts impulsing her feet at the cost of her own life. The child was pushed onto you and you brought him flush against you with your web, arms encasing him as you witnessed the wall collapse on her.

In shock and disbelief, you gently lowered the child to the ground and ran to the fallen wall. Once again in despair, you clawed through the debris and searched for your mother’s body.

You found her bruised and crushed, her face deformed. You brushed the dust off it. Her pained groan was faint, and you begged her right there and then not to leave you. Not to leave you alone, again.

“Is the kid al…?”

“Yes! Don’t, don’t talk. Help, help is coming. You have to stay, you have to.” But her eyes were already fading, and her limbs growing weak. Your disguised hand snatched up hers and you cried,

“Mom!”

She recognized your voice, the one she cherished the most. Her fading eyes gathered all the warmth they could muster and she reached out a quivering hand to your cheek. Her fingers slid into your mask, and she felt your tear stained skin.

“Ah my baby…[Y/n]…I’m so proud... Your father would be so proud... keep it up”. Her last words were voiced with strain, but you would always remember them.]

They became the fuel for your mission, and no matter how many times you were beaten to the ground and wounded to no end, you stood back up. You would save everyone else, no more deaths, you swore upon your parents' last moments.

Now in your adult life, you found yourself in a stable life besides the implications your side hustle not-so-side -hustle brought. You had an adequate job as a writer for small titles in a decent newspaper, and you had a department you shared with your childhood best friend, Peter Parker [who eventually became your tech-desk guy. Hiding your true identity from your best friend and roommate would have never lasted long anyway. You remember clearly the day you climbed into the living's window, beat up, bruised and tired, when the lights suddenly turned on and a Peter with crossed arms and an eyebrow raised was waiting for you like a parent whose child was past curfew. You were without your mask on. Nonetheless, after stuttering uncontrollably and failing to explain and just simply breaking down in front of him. Without saying any words, he took out the first aid kit and reassured you with a smile. You were so grateful to him.]

So now here you were, crouching on the top of The Clock Tower, the moonlight casting its light on your back and darkening your silhouette. Earlier in the day you dealt with some thugs and minor crimes, but since the sun fell nothing happened. That was odd, NYC was never quite, least of all times at night.

But your spider-sense was running, not rampant, but definetely there like annoying itch on the nape. Something had to be off, you knew it.

"Um, I'm not picking up anything, (Y/n). Maybe you should be calling it a night, you've been doing good work so far. You did lower the crime rate, after all."

"You sure Pete? There's this feeling in my gut and-"

"Your 'spidey- thingy' ?".

"Spider-sense, spidey-thingy sounds dumb" you answered with a small groan, rolling your eyes although he could not see the.

He chuckled, "Yeah, yeah, whatever," he turned serious " but I'm not getting anything from anywhere. From police radios and stations to our own hidden cameras"

"Nothing? Sure?"

"I mean everything is awfully quiet now that I think about it... All I can pick up is glitching, let's see... let me do my thing and-" you could hear frantic typing through the comms of your suit within the mask, you could even picture Peter hunching and fixing his eyeglasses.

What he said left you pondering. Glitching? It couldn't be a coincidence that all the radio signals he could pick up were glitching.

"Aha! Here it is, your spidey-thingy was right." this time, you chuckled as if saying 'see?'. He continued, "-this should be a very hidden signal from the special forces team. Seems classified, man they should really put a little more money into whatever software they use to protect their privacy" and he pushed on one final 'enter', the glitching and static got louder almost startling you to which your friend apologized softly, but it evened out.

"Report the situation, Lieutenant Stacy"

"Requesting back-up right now, suspect is armed with advanced equipment, we are at the Port, South East, many of my men and women have been wounded and- oh, shit, shit" The man's words died down with the sound of something big crashing and breaking.

Well, that's your cue. You stood up on your toes and balanced you body weight forward, diving to the ground. With your limbs extended, you stretched your forearm and extended your wrist, web shooting out from the slick web shooter Peter designed.

Swinging from building to building under the night sky, you jumped across billboards and slid past tight spaces as you were heading to the location of the conflict, and the closer you swinged, the wilder your spider sense got.

When you arrived at the port, you saw a SWAT truck that was flipped over, it had a huge dent in the form of a what seemed to be a claw mark, and the windows had been broken. There were a few members on the floor, and you noticed there were two trying to lift the heavy vehicle.

"Let me help," you announced your presence and they whipped their heads. Their faces were glistening with sweat and dirt, and you could notice their equipment was damaged. You crouched and lifted the truck, there was one member there below, and his leg was twisted the other way, but he was breathing- well, panting.

Without further a do, the soldiers went and dragged out their friend. A soldier's face lit up, though they seemed hesitant [after all, your line of work was kind of controversial among the government and its forces] but they were thankful. "Thank you, Spider-Woman", their voice was genuine and you smiled below the mask.

"Your welcome, leave it to me" winking at them through your lense, you nodded and propelled yourself to the ceiling of the warehouse. You noticed a roof canopy at the center, lucky you, and brought the palm of your hand to it. Utilizing your sticky finger pads, you carefully removed a pane of glass and entered the building without making a sound.

"Be careful, please" Peter voiced with worry.

You hanged the web from it's strongest point at the peak, and slowly lowered yourself down until your hand gently brushed the cold floor . You got off the web and crawled in direction of the tingling of the spider-sense. You found some warehouse crates, pressed your back onto them, slowly leaning your head out to take a peak.

A man stood there, a middle aged man by the looks of him. He had a round pair of black sunglasses on and a large leather coat on, but the most outstanding feature was apparently behind him. Four metal tentacle-like arms sprouting from his back, with threatening looking claws. That had to be the thing that put such a dent in a SWAT vehicle, the advanced equipment you heard of in the interception.

He was ranting about something, speaking to himself. "The power of the sun at the palm of my hand, only to be ruined by that fucking-"

‘What is this man even talking about…’

His words died down in your ears as it took a few seconds for your spider-sense to peak, and you scrunched your face features. Your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes squinted, cheeks squeezing up and causing the lenses of the mask to stretch and flatten.

"(Y/n)? Found anything yet?" Peter inquired.

"This man... I think I know him... but also not..." At this point, your spider-sense was rampant. Your gaze still confused as you tried to decipher him. Your spider sense was alerting you of this oddly familiar feeling. It was someone you had dealt with before, but also someone new. Simply off-putting.

Then the realization fell on you, his tentacle-like arms.

"Is that Doc Ock!?" Without getting a hold of your reaction, you accidentally raised your voice and revealed your location. Your spider-sense tingled again, this time, sensing imminent danger as you backflipped and dodged the incoming attack. The crate you were hiding behind of was broken into splinters.

"Come on out, Spider-Man!" he shouted, his voice in pure anger.

Spider-Man? As long as you remember, you never referred to your disguised self as Spider-Man...

"It's Spider-Woman, mind you" You revealed yourself off the shadows, and the light basked in your costume, revealing its signature colors and design. "Do I know you by chance?" you tited your head, inquisitive in your tone as you were trying to figure things out.

The man's expression fell, and his rage was replaced by annoyance.

"Is this some kind of sick joke, Spider-Man? Have you forgotten the name of the man whose work of life you ruined, Otto Octavius." His tongue rolled of his name with spite and you widened your eyes.

"Doc Ock? But, you are different. You are totally human". Last time you checked, Doc Ock was a mad scientist that turned himself half-octopus by bioengineering his genetics in the name of some sort of sick evolution idea. He had tried to turn the city into mutants like himself for 'the sake of humanity's future' and you managed to stop his plans. Furthermore, he had been sent to a high-security prison for villains, where an anti-serum is being developed to turn him back and halt his aggression.

"Are you pulling my leg Spider-Man?" He said with disbelief, and he began to appear more and more angry by the second. He muttered something below his breath, and you swore you saw one of his tentacles turn toward his face as if it were sentient and listening...

"I've told you it's Spider-Woman." You huffed out, chest puffing out. You had a bad feeling about this...

The man's hand ran down his own face and he groaned, visibly tired. "Well, whatever, but you do appear to be an ally of Peter Parker's, your costume and your name leave little room for further speculation". The mention of your friend raised up your guard, how did he know Pete? Any doubts and hesitation erased themselves of your mind, for your friend could be in lethal danger.

"Oh? What's the matter, 'Spider-Woman'," he sneered.

"Picked right on the web, hmm?" He edged on, a dangerous smirk dancing on his face and two claws raising up in the air, ready to pounce.

There was not much to it, as you jumped sideways to dodge whatever that clawed-tentacle-armor was. You found yourself right back at the gig, fighting a villain as the one and only Spider-Woman.

Or so you thought.

A/n: Hi! So when I first saw this fictional man I KNEW I had to write about him, originally, it was going to be a long one shot, but I decided to break it into parts. I expect this story to be up to 3 parts or 4 as most. Anyhow, I hope you come to like it!, and sorry for the long- ass intro, I really wanted to dwelve deeper into reader as a spider person. Next is the real thing. I have seen some people have asked me to tag them, so don’t be shy to ask too!

#yandere #yandere x reader #self insert #yandere blog #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #miguel o hara x reader #yandere miguel #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o' hara x reader #across the spiderverse #yandere across the spiderverse #female reader #yandere spiderman 2099 #yandere spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader

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storiesforallfandoms · 8 months ago

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too far ~ jschlatt

word count: 2231

request?: no

description: in which he takes his dickishness a little too far

pairing: jschlatt x female!reader

warnings: swearing, rpf, angst, use of y/n, schlatt being a dick, insecurities and self...issues (?),

masterlist (one, two, three)

*i read a fic with this premise like a week or two ago but i cannot for the life of me find it anymore and i needed some mean schlatt angst turned fluff so i am writing my own version. if you are the original author this one goes out to you i will tag you if i can find you*

Everyone who knew Schlatt knew that he was sometimes "mean". It was never serious, it was all just meant to be teasing. For the most part, the worst of it went to Minx who was able to match his energy without it ever affecting her. Everyone else just got a few comments every now and then, but never anything incredibly rude.

Until it suddenly got directed all on you.

You had known Schlatt for some time, having met him through his online friend group while gaming one night. You had become acquainted quickly and you found yourself being excited whenever you knew you'd be playing or recording with him. It seemed like he felt the same way, or at least he was friendly and civil. That was until one recording when you were excitedly talking about something, he suddenly piped up to say, "Jesus, do you ever shut the fuck up?"

Everyone was laughing, so you figured it was just a joke, but it took you by surprise. You knew Schlatt was blunt, but it seemed completely out of nowhere when no one else seemed to mind your babble. You chuckled along with everyone, but you found yourself falling silent for the rest of the recording. Some of the others would include you in the conversation, but you only gave short answers.

After that, it seemed like Schlatt would be picking on you more and more. He rarely had anything nice to say to or about you. It became harder and harder to want to do recordings or streams when he was acting like that, and your mutual friends were starting to notice his continued bullying. It made everyone feel uncomfortable, even if he kept insisting it was just jokes.

It all came to a head when you were asked to do one of those "dating shows" on YouTube. It was you, Minx, Emma, and Jaiden, and Schlatt, Ted, Tanner, and Connor, with Jack hosting it. You weren't sure what the rules were or how the game was supposed to go down, but you loved watching the hilarity of other online "dating shows", and couldn't wait to be a part of it. You were a little weary of Schlatt's presence, but there were so many people involved that you figured you wouldn't get the brunt of his insults today.

Jack sent you the link for the Zoom call. You were one of the last people to join the call, so you were immediately met with a cacophony of overlapping voices. You chuckled to yourself at the familiar chaos. You adjusted your volume settings and positioned your webcam before turning it on.

A high pitched scream brought the conversations to a halt.

"What the fuck was that?" Jack said with a laugh.

"I think it was Schlatt," Ted said.

"Yeah it was me. Sorry, I just saw a jumpscare," Schlatt responded.

"What the fuck are you on about?" Minx asked.

"I saw (Y/N)'s ugly mug suddenly join the call and it scared me."

Everyone was silent. Your face burned and tears started to form in your eyes. Your body moved before your brain could register, your hand moving your mouse to click the "End Call" button. The moment everyone's faces disappeared, you allowed yourself to cry.

For all the hurtful stuff Schlatt had said, he had never gone after your appearance. It was one of your biggest insecurities because you felt like you didn't measure up to other female streamers. Sure, that was a cliche insecurity, but it was your truth. You marveled at how pretty all your friends were and would often mentally compare yourself to them. It wasn't something you had spoken publicly about, so obviously Schlatt didn't know he would touch a nerve, but it still felt like an extremely low blow. Especially for it to be the first thing you heard when you turned your camera on.

You sent Jack a message to apologize for leaving, but you told him you didn't feel up to doing the show anymore. He responded almost immediately to let you know that it was okay and he didn't blame you for your decision. You were shutting down your set up when your Discord started ringing; a voice call from Ted.

"Aren't you supposed to be recording?" you asked, trying to keep your voice even.

"We're taking a quick break while Jack decides if he wants Schlatt to compete anymore," Ted explained.

"Don't kick him off just because of me," you said.

"We don't really want him to play after what he said. It was incredibly fucked up and uncalled for."

"He's said worse to Minx."

"Yeah, but he and Minx have an understanding. We've all noticed that he makes fun of you, but you don't respond the way Minx does. I don't know what his problem is recently, but you don't deserve those insults. You're an incredibly kind person, unlike us assholes."

You chuckled through your tears. "You're not an asshole, Ted."

"I am sometimes, don't lie."

"Only a little bit." You wiped the fresh tears from your eyes and let out a shaky sigh. "I don't want to record with Schlatt anymore."

"I understand," Ted said. "I'll let everyone know, too."

"Thank you."

When you and Ted hung up, you sat back in your chair and took a deep breath. The sting from Schlatt's words was still strong, but you also felt some relief in having talking to Ted about it and him assuring you that you wouldn't have to record with Schlatt anymore. It still upset you that Schlatt made such a 180 when it seemed like you were both getting along so well, but you weren't going to wast anymore brain space on him.

Your phone buzzed from a Discord notification. You looked down at the screen to see Schlatt was trying to send you a message. Instead of reading it, you went to his Discord profile and blocked him.

~~~~~~

It was easier than you thought to forget about Schlatt and his insults. All your friends did as you asked didn't invite you to recordings if Schlatt was a part of them, or vice versa with him. You went on to block him on all social media, and even muting his channels on YouTube so you wouldn't risk seeing him in your recommended. It was like he never existed, and you didn't even care.

You were in the middle of editing a video when a knock came at your door. You assumed it was the Uber Eats you had ordered, so you saved your progress and got up to answer. Instead of finding a delivery guy, you came face to face with the man you had been avoiding for weeks.

"What are you doing here?" you asked. "Wait, better question, how do you know where I live?"

"I bothered Ted until he told me," Schlatt responded.

You rolled your eyes. "Ted's dead to me."

You went to close the door, but Schlatt's hand shot out to block the door. You scowled at him. "Take the hint, Schlatt. I don't want to see you."

"I know you don't, and I get why, but please let me explain and apologize."

"I don't want to hear what you have to say. Honestly, you don't even deserve to take up my time to try and give some shitty explanation for your shitty behavior."

"I know - "

"You really hurt me," you cut him off. "I took the insults in silence because I knew you poked fun at everyone, but they really hurt me. It got to a point where I was dreading having to interact with you every time someone invited to a Discord call and I saw that you were in there too."

"(Y/N) - "

"And then you called me ugly in a call in front of everyone and that hurt the most. I know it shouldn't have given how much else you've said to me, but my looks are one of my biggest insecurities, and I know you probably didn't know that but still, going after how I look was such a low blow. And it hurts so much because I thought we were friends, but suddenly you're insulting me and bullying me at every chance you get, and it almost felt worse than the way you act with Minx so how am I supposed to take it as anything other than you not liking me and - "

Your rambling was finally cut off by Schlatt taking hold of your face and pulling you into him. You were shocked when you felt his lips against yours. Your initial reaction was to pull away and to start yelling at him again, but suddenly your brain switched to tell you lean into it. So you did. You pressed into Schlatt as much as you could; your body against his, your hands on his hoodie, standing on your toes so you could reach him.

Also to your surprise, Schlatt was the one to pull away first. He rested his forehead against yours, keeping his face inches apart from yours.

"That was one way to get me to stop talking," you joked.

He smiled. "Seemed to be the most effective way."

"So, are you about to tell me the reason you were being mean to me is because you liked me? Because if so, that is a very elementary school explanation."

"Unfortunately, that is the reason."

You pulled away from Schlatt and finally gestured for him to come in. You realized you had been standing in the doorway this whole time, and now that you had somewhat calmed down, you figured you'd listen to his explanation. You were much more intrigued now after your kiss, although you were far from completely forgiving him for what had happened.

You led Schlatt to your living room and you both sat down on the couch. You were very much aware of how close you two were sat. His body was inches away from yours. You could be touching him again if you wanted to.

"I was trying to push you away," he said, bringing you back to the topic at hand. "I was afraid you wouldn't like me back, and it felt easier to make you hate me than to risk that rejection."

"No offense, but that's a really stupid idea."

He chuckled. "Yeah, no offense taken because you're right. I should've just talked to you about it like an adult instead of assuming you would've rejected me. I thought the easier route would be to make you hate me, but then that succeeded and I realized how much I missed getting to talk to you. Not to sound too corny or anything, but everything felt empty when you weren't around. I knew I fucked up majorly, and I tried to apologize that night after what happened, but you blocked me on everything and I realized just how far I had actually gone."

You thought back to the call you had with Ted that day when everything had come to a head with Schlatt. "Did you not tell Ted how you felt?"

"Not until I begged him for your address. Listen, I love Ted and all, but the dude has a big fuckin' mouth. He would've let it slip one way or another how I feel about you, and I didn't want that. Actually, no one knew. I kept it to myself completely."

"You're an idiot. You know that, right?"

He nodded. "I'm more than well aware, yes."

"And you know it's going to take more than just kissing me and apologizing to completely redeem yourself? I understand why you acted the way you did, as stupid as it was, but it still really hurt me. I'm not going to forget everything just because you were being stupid."

"I don't expect you to. All I wanted was to explain myself and hope that you'd give me a second chance. I'm serious, (Y/N), I don't think I can just not have you in my life. If you don't want to date, that's fine. I'm okay with something platonic, as long as I have you."

You smiled and finally dared to reach out and touch him. You took his hand in yours, running your thumb over his knuckles. You then dared to lean forward and capture his mouth with yours in a quick, gentle kiss. When you pulled away, Schlatt had a smile on his face. You mirrored it with a smile of your own.

"You'll have to work for forgiveness," you told him. "You can start by taking me out on a date."

"Done," he said. "Right now?"

You giggled. "Maybe tomorrow. I was actually in the middle of editing a video when you came, and I have Uber Eats on the way."

As if on cue, there was a knock at your door.

"That would be it."

"Can I stay and hang out while you edit?" Schlatt asked.

"Of course. But I'm not sharing my food with you."

"Oh, you have no choice. You invited me in and let me stay, therefore you're sharing your food."

"You know what? Go fuck yourself, I take back everything I said."

You exclaimed and giggled as he suddenly grabbed you and pulled you to him. "Too late! No take backs! You're stuck with me for a very long time, toots."

#jschlatt #jschlatt imagine #jschlatt x reader #schlatt #schlatt imagine #schlatt x reader #rpf #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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killerlookz · 3 months ago

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It Can't Be That Easy | Joost Klein- Heartbeat! AU

another prequel in the heartbeat! au (makes most sense if read last) description: a month after breaking up with Joost, resulting in you in a horrible slump, you finally had built yourself back enough again to go and have a fun night out, but when Joost shows up to the same party with a brand new girl, you find yourself falling apart all over again.

content: angst!!!! drinking, cheating, hurt with *some* comfort/fluff, ankle injury?, THIS FIC CONTAINS RPF AND HAS BEEN TAGGED AS SUCH, IF YOU'RE HERE YOU SEARCHED FOR IT!!!

word count: 7434

Julie's words go in one ear and immediately escape out the other, her voice nothing but a droning hum against the thumping bass that pours out of some expensive speaker system and the voices of a few dozen people. You stare blankly at your friend, your gaze more focused past her shoulder, eyes fixated on the blank wall behind her. Intoxication has obscured the world around you, everything is so blurry, and out of reach. You can't even make sense of your own thoughts, the wires in your brain crossed and confused. The only thing clear to you is the sharp pang of heartbreak, a defined ache that splits through you. If you hadn't been so otherwise numbed you could cry now, at least the liquor in some way had dulled your need for any bodily reactions to your emotions.

You hadn't left the house much since breaking up with Joost last month- it was only until now had you put yourself together enough to be out for a few hours. Julie had invited you to a party some mutual friend of a mutual friend was having, and you had thought it as the perfect time to finally get out of the house, and try to have a little fun instead of being so sad all the time. Clearly, you had been wrong, going out tonight had been way against your better judgement.

You didn't know her. The girl Joost had shown up with. Nonetheless she was beautiful- the type of pretty that makes you want to crawl into yourself and wonder why you even bothered to show your face in public. He'd walked in with his arm already wrapped firmly around her waist, allowing nobody to make the mistake of thinking she had just been a friend.

You could still feel his presence somewhere around you, the two of them all over each other undoubtably. Her presence immediately making you question if you had made the wrong decision in breaking up with Joost, looking fondly upon the times the two of you would go out together.

But perhaps him jumping into it with someone new so soon had only confirmed you had made the correct choice- the mere thought of getting with anybody any time soon makes your stomach churn.

"Do you know who she is?" Your words are slow, confused, tongue tied with intoxication as you cut off whatever Julie had been saying. Her facial expression twists, eyebrows furrowing, lips pursing.

"What?"

"That girl that uh Joost came in with." You lower your voice and shuffle your vision around as you say his name, like you're a child saying a bad word and trying not to get caught by your parents.

"Oh, babe-" Julie sighs, tilting her head to the side, voice drenched in sympathy. You'd appreciate it more if you hadn't actually been looking for an answer.

"You don't know her?" You ask, trying to ignore the emotional aspect of all this.

"I don't think you should worry abou-"

"Julie." You frown.

"I have no clue." She finally answers, "Maybe she's some tinder girl."

"She's pretty," You sigh.

"You're pretty." Julie smiles, "Too pretty to worry about some stupid boy." She reaches out her hands, placing them on your shoulders, shaking you gently, "Tonight is about you, girl. Have. Some. Fucking. Fun."

Julie lets go of you, causing you to stumble slightly, you blink a few times, your vision blurring.

"Woah," You chuckle, "Don't think I'm meant to be moving that much." You clench your jaw, biting back the motion-induced nausea that was crawling up on you. You inhale, speaking again before Julie can get a word out, "I think I'm- I'll be right back." You don't really think you'll be sick, but you figure better to be safe than sorry, making a disoriented journey around the house to try to find the restroom.

You finally happen upon the door, tucked in a long hallway on the other side of the house. You press your fingertips to its wooden surface, left slightly ajar, you push it open so you can step inside.

Your blood runs cold as soon as you get one foot in the doorway, head peering into the tiny bathroom, witnessing what you could only describe as probably your worst nightmare, next to maybe like getting buried alive, or being back in high school again.

Joost had had the girl he'd come with seated on the bathroom counter, as he stood between her thighs, her legs squeezed around him. He's bent down slightly as their lips interlock, her hands roaming his back.

You're frozen stiff for a moment, paralyzed by a mix of embarrassment and heartache. Time seems to slow down, the scene in front of you now playing out in slow motion.

The girl is the first to break away from this kiss, flinging her head back to get a look of whoever had just walked in on her. The girls sudden movement grabs Joost's attention, whipping his head around, eyes widening in pure mortification once his gaze locks with yours.

"Like I didn't already need to throw up," You mumble, trying to lift your feet from their rigid position on the ground. Thankfully time had never really slowed down, and you're able to get out of the bathroom just as quickly as you had stepped in, slamming the door behind you.

Your hands tremble as your brain comes to recognize what you had just seen. The liquor you had consumed no longer able to hinder your bodily responses, feeling the fierce sting of the tears brimming in your water line mixing with your eyeliner.

You're startled once more when the bathroom door flings open, Joost stepping out with the girl behind him, his movements halting when he realizes you were still right outside.

You're like a deer in headlights staring up at him, lips parted slightly, the rest of your body unable to move.

Joost seems equally as stunned,

"Hey," He hesitates before he pushes his lips into a straight line, flicking his head upward, like he was greeting 'one of his boys', "What's up." It wasn't an apt way to greet you, but then again what was?

"Hi," You barely whisper out, your voice snuffed out by the sob that was scratching its way up your throat.

The hallway is silent for a moment, the girl looking between the two of you, oblivious and confused.

"Do you two know each other?" She giggles, damn her, even her voice is pretty, her laugh so infectious if you had heard it in any other context it surely would have brightened your day. She has an accent you can't exactly pin- German, maybe.

"Yeah," Joost caughs, "Yeah-um- she-" He can't seem to get the right words out as his gaze anxiously shifts between the two of you, not wanting to say too much to her, but not wanting to downplay your existence.

"Well, why don't you introduce us, silly," She smiles, swatting her perfectly french-manicured nails as Joost's chest. Her voice rings in your ears, silly, her acute flirtation bringing you dangerously close to tasting what you had for dinner.

"Uh-Right," Joost nods, "Right." He clears his throat, suddenly standing much taller now, much more assured of himself. He struggles to smile, "Lina this is y/n," He gestures towards you before moving his heads towards her, "Y/n this is Lina," He pauses for a moment, "My girlfriend."

Girlfriend.

The word echos in your ear. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your muscles tense.

Girlfriend.

It had seemed so soon, too soon, in fact that if you weren't so certain of how well you knew Joost you would have assumed this relationship had started before you had broken up with him.

"Girlfriend?" You try to chuckle, but your emotion is apartment, and your throat is far too dry, a scoff escaping your mouth instead, "Joost you fucking dog." Your lips curl up in a cruel smile, attempting to play your words off like a joke, but you and him both know you mean exactly what you said.

You divert your attention to the girl you now know as Lina, eyes narrowing slightly, failing at hiding your new found contempt for this random girl you had just met, "Good luck with this one, girl." You scoff once more at the absurdity of the situation before nodding, speaking slower this time, "Good luck."

Lina furrows her eyebrows, batting her long, mascara coated lashes, parting pink-glossed lips, looking for the right words to say, obviously confused.

"Good luck?" She repeats back to you, dumbfounded, on the cusp of realizing that you were far more than someone that Joost had "just knew".

"Yeah," You shrug, "Dating musicians-you know how they can be." You don't look at Lina as you talk, your eyes trained dead on Joost, "But I'm sure you won't need it." You lighten up, feigning nice, not yet drunk enough to actually go through with ruining a potential relationship for Joost.

"Oh," She smiles, "Sure." You can tell she's not entirely buying into your act, "And," She tilts her head in pretend sympathy, "I am so sorry, you walked in on that! Joost is such an animal sometimes, he cannot keep his hands to himself."

"Don't I know it." You nod slowly, biting at the inside of your cheek. You take the following few moments of silence as your cue to leave, the tension in that small hallway becoming suffocating.

You hadn't thought it was possible for your mind to race any faster than it did when you had first seen Joost with Lina tonight, but now your earlier thoughts had felt like slow motion compared to now. Girlfriend, you couldn't get the way Joost had said it out of your head.

Thinking about Joost having sex with another girl was heartbreaking enough, but with the potential of romance mixed in you wonder how you'll ever recover from tonight.

"I still can't fucking believe him," Julie throws up her hands, her frustration levels just about hitting yours as the two of you sit on some couch in the living room, a few more drinks deep. "The audacity for him to cry in your arms and beg you to change your mind about breaking up with him, for him to just have some new girl a month later."

"Right!" Your eyes widen, holding your hands up in front of you, "Like it was really that easy?"

"I'm going to kill him," Julie rolls her eyes, "Bringing your rebound around your ex so soon after breaking up is such a pig move."

"Total pig move," You concur, you pause for a moment, looking around, "Do you think I could homewreck their relationship?"

"Stop!" Julie giggles, "Don't be evil."

"I mean she was evil first, with her 'sorry you had to see that-Joost can't keep his hands to himself' bullshit." You bring your voice up a few pitches, making it whiny and obnoxious as you, perhaps unfairly, mock this girl you didn't even know. Had she even meant anything by that? By now you're convinced, convinced she had it out for you, like she didn't just become aware of your existence 30 minutes ago.

"Ugh!" Julie scoffs, "They're both evil, they were meant for each other."

"Totally."

"But yeah you could totally do some home wrecking." She shrugs, "Not that he even deserves you to try."

She's right. What good would hopping back into bed with Joost serve you?

"Right." You serve Julie a tight-lipped smile, "Think m'gonna get another drink."

"I'll be here," A wide grin on her lips.

Standing up from the couch you notice just how drunk you really were, the ground below you suddenly feeling unstable, like you were on a ship during a vicious storm. You try your best to retain your balance, your high-heeled shoes betraying you with each step forward.

Perhaps another drink was a bad idea, blacking out didn't seem like the greatest way to end your night. But then again, right now anything seemed better than being emotionally burdened with the antics of your ex-boyfriend, even if it meant getting drunk past the point of no return.

One more drink couldn't hurt.

You didn't remember the kitchen being such a far walk away, feeling like you were fighting against the crowd, against the music, against yourself just to get there.

You don't think you have the stomach for another mixed drink in its entirety, instead, once you make it to the kitchen, you opt to fix yourself a shot of whatever cheap vodka had been left out on the counter. Shaky fingers grab the mostly-empty bottle, pouring the clear liquid into the plastic cup you had been carrying around with you for half the night.

It's a little more than a shot, maybe a lot more that winds up in the cup- who knows? Your brain wasn't exactly cut out for measuring right now.

You raise the lipstick-stained rim to your lips, tipping the cup back, the bitter taste of alcohol attacking your tongue, and burning its way down your throat. You set the cup back down on the counter with a fierce swing, the plastic crushing slightly under the force of your movement. Your eyes squeeze shut as your body floods with an uncomfortable warmth. You try to shake off the initial sting of the alcohol, leaning against the counter for a moment to get yourself back together.

You take a deep inhale in, preparing yourself for the walk back to Julie, your balance once against escaping you as you step away from the counter supporting your body.

You keep your eyes trained on the floor, watching your own movements so you can correct them if needed, ignoring the people that surround you. That strategy almost immediately proving to be not the right choice when your stomach collides with someone else's elbow. You stumble backwards, the sudden movement making you lose balance all together, your ankle buckling, giving out below you. You're able to keep yourself from falling over entirely, but not able to save yourself of the pain of your ankle rolling beneath you, a slight yelp escaping your lips as you falter, the hurt hitting you immediately.

"Holy shit watch where you're-" The person you had run into suddenly halts their chastising of you, a voice you could recognize anyways. Damn your luck- colliding into the person you wanted to see least or maybe most right now. "Fuck," Joost mutters, "Sorry." His tone suddenly changing when he realizes who had hit him, "Startled me." You notice the way his words slur slightly, apparently intoxicated too, though, clearly not to the degree you had been.

You don't bother to look at him, eyes still glued to your feet, trying to ignore the pain in your ankle.

"No, sorry." You mumble, "Was in your way." You're ready to run from the building screaming now, or at the very least flee the situation to go find Julie. You're about to walk away, putting one foot forward, your body weight balanced onto the ankle you had just rolled. If you had been sober you probably would have managed to walk on it, but it seemed impossible now. You wince as the pain shoots through your foot, head finally flicking up, allowing you to get a look at Joost.

Damn him, he looked good. It was almost dark enough that you could ignore the pink sheen on his lips, you'd recognized the color, Lina's lipgloss apparently. Though, the lighting did little to hide the rough purple patches on his neck, glaring, obvious, letting everyone know just what he had been up to before he came here.

"You okay?" He asks, looking down at your feet, surprisingly concerned for the situation.

"Mmm," You hum, trying to press your weight back on your injured ankle, face immediately twisting as the pain hits your nerves once more, "M'okay."

"You don't have to lie," He chuckles, he seems so nonchalant, way more than you are, you don't understand it, talking like there was barely any history between the two of you, "I'll help you to the couch."

"No." You say plainly, forgetting to think of anything to say after that, fuck. You stare blankly at Joost for a moment, brain reeling.

"This doesn't have to be weird, you know?" Joost shakes his head, clearly a little uncomfortable under your un-breaking eye contact.

"It's weird."

"You're making it weird." That was probably true, but the nature of the situation was weird, how could you not make it such?

"You're weird."

"Just let me help you to the couch." He sighs.

"Fine." You concede, "So patronizing." As sick as the sight of him was making you now, you knew there was something in you that wanted his help- for him to put his arm around you once more, for maybe the last time- and care enough to want to make sure you're in the least amount of pain possible.

"Come on," Joost says, extending his free arm, a beer bottle held tightly in his opposite hand.

As if you weren't dizzy enough, you could lose all consciousness when he touches you, his side pressed snuggly to yours, arm tightly around your torso, his grip is firm. The second his skin touches yours you're flooded with memories, brain clouded by all the good times the two of you had had. You missed this, the reassurance of his touch, the feeling of being close to someone.

"You good?"

"Yeah." You mumble, "Good." You're nowhere near it, on the verge of tears again, the alcohol no longer inhibiting your emotional reactions despite how much more inebriated you are now. You shouldn't have let him do this, shouldn't have let him this close knowing damn well you're not the one he's going home with tonight, and you never again will you be.

"Good."

You begin your short walk over to the couch, trying to step as lightly as you can on your injured ankle each time you bring it forward.

"If it hurts too much I can carry you," Joost chuckles. Again, so nonchalant, like there's no implications behind that, like that wouldn't completely and utterly fuck with your feelings.

"No," Focusing more on your destination so you can finally get off your aching ankle.

Julie seemed to have disappeared off somewhere, her I'll be here statement clearly not meaning much. Not that you didn't expect as much, she'd have a habit of wandering when drunk.

"Thanks," you say shortly to Joost once you reach the couch, wiggling out of his grasp, as much as you don't want to.

You expect him to turn around and leave, but he doesn't, instead he sits himself on the couch, patting the cushion next to him, beckoning you to sit.

You're hesitant, looking down at him for a moment before deciding to sit. You're an awkward distance apart from each other, sitting on complete opposite ends of the small couch, a sizable gap between the pair of you.

You stare straight forward, as does Joost, watching the party, unspeaking. You wonder why he's here with you, he shouldn't want anything to do with you, just as much as you shouldn't want anything to do with him.

"You been okay?" Joost suddenly asks, turning toward you.

"Yeah, good." You can't bring yourself to look at up, unable to look him in the eyes as you lie. "Different, I guess."

"Yeah," He pauses, "Different."

And that isn't a lie, things had been different, waking up in a bed filled with nobody but yourself- no one waiting for you when you got off a long shift, no one to call at night and talk incessantly about every detail of your day- different, lonely.

"You too?" You ask, "Good?"

"Yeah." He sounds so sure of himself, like things really are good. "I'm good."

"Where's-uh Lina?"

"Outside." Joost answers plainly, "Smoking a joint with some friends, I think."

"Why don't you join them?" His absence from his girlfriend seemed peculiar to you, you'd always seen him as the clingy type.

"Meeting friends," He sucks in a breath through barred teeth, resulting in a slight whistling sound as he sucks in, "Sounds intense right now."

"You don't want to meet your girlfriend's friends?" The girlfriend word doesn't taste right in your mouth. It's bitter, and you almost have to refrain from gagging as it leaves your mouth.

"Not right now."

"Then when?"

Joost doesn't respond, perhaps not enjoying your questioning of his new relationship. Though it was odd to you regardless. To you, Joost had always been the one boyfriend invited to girls night, or brunch with your girlfriends.

You slump back into the couch, continuing to watch the partygoers, obviously in much better spirits than you are. You lay your head against the back cushion of the couch, turning to your side, facing away from Joost, unable to bear anyone's excited, smiling faces any longer.

That familiar feeling of crippling loneliness had finally fallen back on you, crushing you under its enormous weight. At a party, and here you were, near blackout and on the verge of tears on the couch. You want out, but you're not quite sure how to get there. At least at home you can sulk in your misery without dozens of other people around you shoving their happiness in your face. God you are pathetic.

"There you are!" There's that pretty voice again, Lina. "I've been looking all over for you!" You don't bother to turn around, you know she's talking to Joost, expecting any minute now for her to rip him away from you. Not that she doesn't have every right to, you are not his girlfriend any more. "What are you doing?"

"I kind of made y/n twist her ankle," You hear Joost say, "So I went to help her to the couch."

"Oh," She giggles, "So clumsy- is she asleep?"

"Just drunk," Joost chuckles. "Very drunk." You don't like the way they're talking about you in the third person, it feels patronizing, like you aren't even fully there, like they can't even give you the time of day ask you themselves.

You hear Lina laugh again before speaking,

"You should come dance!"

"In a bit, let me finish my beer first, m'kay schatje?"

You find yourself forcing your eyes shut tight, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and fold right into yourself hearing Joost call someone else such a term of endearment.

"Okay," She concedes softly, "Be quick! I'll miss you!"

After a few moments you deem it safe to look up, inferring that Lina has left and it's just you and Joost on the couch once more. You blink a few times, startled slightly when you finally turn to the side to see Joost had been staring straight at you. When your gaze meets his Joost's eyes widen, quickly looking away from you. This was weird. And you hated it more than anything.

You scan Joost for a moment, watching over his figure, noticing something peculiar,

"It's empty." You say plainly.

"Huh?" Joost furrows his eyebrows.

"The bottle." You stretch your fingers out, pointing towards the beer bottle in Joost's hands.

"So?"

"Said you'd go dance with your girly-friend when you're done." You hiccup, words slow, your tongue feeling like mush in your mouth.

"Okay?"

"Why'd you lie?" You ask, eyebrows lowering, eyelids forming a squint.

"I don't know." He shrugs, "Don't feel like dancing."

"Doesn't sound like you." A dry laugh leaves your throat, Joost, not dancing, that certainly wasn't like him. Joost had usually had trouble keeping still, always having to move whenever music was on, whether it was really playing around him or just in his head.

"Don't really feel like me." His voice is monotone, matter of fact, but it shows more emotion than he had all night.

"Sorry." You don't know what else much to say, just sorry, "You should dance with her, mmm prob'ly make her happy."

"What about you?" He looks over you, perhaps a little too intense for your liking, "Are you happy?"

"No," You respond plainly, without thinking much, not bothering to lie, "Party sucks. Think m'gonna leave."

"Good idea," He nods, and it stings a little. It's a good idea you leave? Does he want you to leave? Fuck. "Are you leaving alone?"

"Julie," You answer without context.

"Then that's a yes." The two of you well aware of Julie's drunk antics, how she'd wander off and make a whole new group of friends for a night.

"She's somewhere." You press your palm into the arm of the couch, stabilizing yourself so you can stand up. Almost immediately the room is spinning, and your vision is blurring- your injured ankle doing little to help you with your balance. Almost immediately you're falling right back onto the couch, the cushion bouncing beneath you as you hit the seat.

"Alright." Joost begins to stand up, "I'm taking you home."

"What?" You stare up at him, blinking up at him as you attempt to get your vision back.

"Look at you," He murmurs, "You're wasted." If he hadn't been speaking so softly you would have thought him to be angry with you. But he doesn't seem to be, just concerned.

"But Lina-"

"Is with her friends."

"You don't hav-"

"I am," You know you can't argue any further with him, nor do you really want to, part of you doesn't mind this, his concern for you, knowing that at least somewhere deep down he still cares, "Come on, up." Joost reaches out a hand for you to grab. It feels like the weight of the world is against you as you try to bring your hand forward to grasp onto Joost. But you manage to do it, his fingers firmly clasped around your wrist- pulling you up.

Joost doesn't relinquish his hold on you once you're up, instead he just moves to put his arm around your waist. If not for the nostalgic comfort of his touch, you're thankful for his support, knowing full well if he hadn't been holding onto you as like he was, you'd fall right back down again. You push your weight into Joost's side, letting him do most of the work to keep you upright.

"Mind staying with me tonight?" He asks, beginning to step forward, attempting to bring the two of you toward the door to leave, "I don't want you alone while you're so drunk."

Home? With Joost? You debate saying no, thinking maybe that was the right answer- who were you? Going home with the man you broke up with? Especially now that he had a girlfriend...

You can't really say no, you can't deny that you want to spend the night, and see if maybe, things would feel like they used to, you had to see it through.

"That's, 'kay." You slur, just ready to get out of there.

The Uber ride back to Joost's place had been nothing short of depressing, the two of you sat just about as far as humanly possible from each other. Which, admittedly was mostly your doing, facing your body away from Joost as you sat with your head pressed against the glass.

But now you were just glad to be somewhere other than the party, even if it was Joost's apartment.Joost's arm once again tightly wrapped around you to keep you from crashing down to your feet. Walking into Joost's apartment had felt like when you'd come back to your parents house for breaks in University, the distant warmth of memories of a happier, simpler time, reminding you of what used to be and how things have changed.

You're unsure of where to go, the walls of this home no longer as welcoming as they'd once been, feeling like you don't have the ability to roam like you'd used to.

"Tired?" He asks suddenly

"I think so." You mumble, unsure of the grogginess you feel is exhaustion, sadness, or intoxication, or a mix of all three.

"I'll help you get ready," He assures, "Think you left some stuff in the bathroom."

Joost's reminder that you had really fully removed your presence from your apartment, never bothering to come by and get your things, made you wonder if your memory still lingered here. Did he happen upon your things and remember the many nights and days you had spent here? Did he even notice at all?

Joost slowly walks you over to the bathroom, and you find yourself leaning against the sink, the counter helping you maintain your balance. Joost had been right, you had left some things at his house, finding a small package of makeup wipes under the sink. Perhaps for sober you this wasn't your ideal skincare routine, but for now it seemed perfectly adequate.

"I won't make you do it," Joost smiles, peeling back the cover of the package, and pulling out a wipe.

How often had you been here, usually unable to hold your liquor as well as Joost could, many nights spent with Joost looking after you when you'd had too much to drink. Though usually moments like these were filled with soft kisses and gentle I love you's- Joost musing at how beautiful he thought you were, something completely, and utterly missing from tonight.

Joost is gentle as he removes the makeup from your face, careful not to rub to hard as he swipes the wipe back and forth. You wonder if there's an undertone of intimacy to this, or if you're just drunk, but the way he has you leaned up against the sink, his hand on your waist to keep you stable, the two of you staring so intensely at one another. It all feels too intense.

"Close your eyes," Joost requests softly as he moves to take off your eye makeup. And you do so, lashes falling softly as he rubs over your lids. You can pretend now, with your eyes closed, for just a moment that everything is just like it used to be, you can slip away into your little fantasy where everything had worked out between you and Joost, and you had never had to make the hardest decision of your life to leave him.

Your eyes flutter open once Joost had finished taking off your eye makeup, blinking rapidly as you adjust to the bright white light of the bathroom once more.

"Almost done." He mumbles, placing the dirtied wipe on the counter.

Maybe still in your fantasy world you're unthinking when you place your hand on Joost's shoulder, his eyes darting to the side once your fingers graze him. He smiles slightly and halts his process of going for another wipe. You push your hand forward, letting the pads of your fingertips brush against the purple marks on Joost's neck.

You let your gaze linger on them, brain wandering about under what circumstances he'd gotten them, fingers absentmindedly drawing shapes over his skin.

"Stop that," Joost's voice is low, soft. "Don't need to see that."

"Hard not to." You hum, letting your hand drop back down to his shoulder.

"I know," He blinks a few times, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." You can't really appreciate his apology, a sorry not changing the fact now there's a girl other than you in his life.

"I am."

Things are silent for a moment between you, your ears filled with nothing but the sound of your own thumping heartbeat as you stare up at him. You can't tell if Joost has moved in closer to you, or if its your own lack of spacial awareness, but something is pulling you in, your neck craning toward him.

Joost tilts his head slightly, his eyes lingering on your mouth. You let your lips part, unsure of what is to come next. You feel his fingertips tighten on your waist, gripping at your flesh, his chest rising with a sharp inhale. He moves to almost dip down to reach your craning neck, almost like he's going to kiss you before he very suddenly pushes back, an uncomfortable chuckle filling the air.

"Um," He attempts to clear his throat, "Sorry, let me finish."

You feel the gaping hole in your heart grow, and you'd wondered if you'd come here with perhaps too much false hope. Stupid. You'd broken up with him, and here you were, expecting him to love all over you.

"I'll get you clothes." Joost nods, as he finishes up taking off your makeup. "And bring you to the bedroom."

Joost's leads you to his bed in the dark of his bedroom, motioning for you to sit down while he turned on the light and grabbed you something to wear.

Even more memories come flooding to you with the click of Joost's bedside lamp, the room bathed in a soft orange glow. You had probably spent more nights here than in your own room when you and Joost were together.

"This okay?" Joost sets some clothes down next to you. You lazily look through it, a black T-shirt and a pair of sweat shorts.

"Fine."

"Need help changing?"

"Don't think so."

"Okay," He nods, pulling his lips into a straight line, smiling slightly, "Don't worry I won't look."

"I don't care," Some strange part of you hoping he will look as you change, "Nothing you haven't seen before."

Joost simply steps away, heading back over to his dresser, presumably to find something else for himself to wear. You pull your shirt over your head, flinging it off somewhere in the room before replacing it with Joost's shirt. You slip your hand behind your back, up the back of the shirt, unclasping your bra, sighing as you do so, an acute relief as you slip the straps down your shoulders and shimmy out of it.

You go to bend down to take off your shoes, before stopping halfway, unable to handle the folded in half position in your drunken state, nausea creeping into you as your stomach touches your knees.

"Joost?" You ask softly, voice barely audible.

Joost turns around quickly, attention ripped from whatever he'd been doing.

"Can you help me with my shoes?" Your voice wavers, shy, like you're afraid to ask- and truthfully you are. You bite at the inside of your cheeks, painfully aware of how fast things had changed, never in your life did you think that you'd be apprehensive about speaking to Joost.

"Sure- of course." The floorboards creak under Joost as he walks over to you, getting down on his knees so he can help unbuckle the strap of your heels for you.

You stare intently at the top of his head, messy blonde strands pointing every which way. You picture yourself running your hands through it, feeling the strands under your fingertips, massaging the top of his head lovingly. You have to stop yourself from doing it, the familiarity of your surroundings combined with your drunken state- constantly having to remind yourself you're not his girlfriend anymore.

"You really thing I'm a dog?" He asks, slipping off your first shoe before pausing to stare up at you. He's asking like he really wants to know, though he was less a full grown dog now and more a puppy, looking up at you through big, blue wet eyes.

"Mhm," You hum, "Such a good boy." You giggle, lost in the way Joost looks at you, without thinking, running your palm over the top of his head like you'd pet a dog, messying his already unruly hair.

"Don't talk to me like that," Joost chuckles, "I'll cum."

"Ew," You wince, trying to stifle a laugh, pressing at Joost's chest with the ball of your foot as to push him away, "You're so gross."

"Mmm," Joost muses, "So you can smile,"

And that smile does linger on your face, for just a moment before Joost returns to taking off your shoes. You clench your jaw, sucking in a breath as Joost grabs the ankle you had injured. He quickly lets go,

"Sorry, sorry." He apologizes, letting his hand return a few seconds later, his touch lighter now. "Maybe I should take you to get that checked out in the morning."

"Maybe," You murmur, "Really hurts." The pain suddenly bringing you back to the reality of your situation.

"I'm sorry, lief- sorry." He coos, slipping off your shoe, "Can I get you something to take the edge off?"

You hardly notice the way he trips over his words, almost saying something he shouldn't have. Too focused on the prospect of actually being injured.

"Don't think so." You huff, "Know, you don't have t'do all this."

"Of course I do," Joost smooths a hand over your knee, shivers running down your spine as his touch brushes over you.

"Don't deserve it after-"

"Stop it." He immediately cuts you off, "You deserve this. And more, just sorry I'm showing you that so late."

You're not sure what to make of what Joost is saying, nor can you really make sense of his behavior. By now you've had enough of tonight, just wanting it over with.

"Just want to sleep." You don't bother responding to what Joost has said.

"Okay," Joost nods, standing up.

You shimmy awkwardly against the bed as you pull your skirt down your thighs, letting it fall down your legs once it reaches your knees, and kicking it off to the side. You don't bother to put on the shorts Joost had given you, preferring to not wear pants to bed.

Joost is standing next to the bed, bent over, peeling the comforter back from its made position so you can get under. You crawl up the length of the bed from where you had been sitting, laying down in the spot Joost had unmade for you.

"If you need anything I'll be on the couch." Joost says, pulling the blanket back over you, "Anything at all." You half expect him to finish tucking you in with a kiss and an I love you, but perhaps as much as you wish he would, those days were gone.

You let your head rest comfortably against the pillow, only humming at Joost's statement, ready to get some sleep. With another click the light is off.

"Goodnight," The floorboards creak once more as Joost heads towards the door, "Slaap lekker."

"Goodnight, Joost." You yawn.

You weren't sure how long you had been laying there restless, an hour, maybe more, maybe less. You couldn't sleep, unsure if your stomach was turning from liquor-induced nausea, or the never ending loop of you finding Joost and Lina making out in the bathroom that played every time you tried to close your eyes.

You're not sure what it is, but something is drawing you towards the light that peaks under Joost's bedroom door. You wonder if you should get up, see what Joost is up to, though you're sure he's probably passed out on the couch by now.

Though it doesn't matter much, you just need out of this bedroom. You rip the blankets off of you, the chill of the air around you hitting your exposed legs, causing you to shiver.

You're still vaguely intoxicated, evident by your dizziness as you sit up. You fling your legs over the side of the bed, careful as you step down on the ground, placing as little pressure as possible on your injured ankle as you teeter over to the bedroom door.

You stall for a moment as you touch your hand to the handle, inhaling before you finally make the decision to open the door. You peek your head from the room, then step out, feeling like a child walking to your parents bedroom to tell them you just threw up.

You peer out into the living room, noticing Joost is still awake, talking, on the phone you presume,

"Glad you got home safe," "Okay, goodnight schatje, yes, sleep well. Talk to you in the morning."

Right. Lina.

You quickly step away from the living room, hoping Joost hadn't noticed your presence. You tip-toe as fast as you can back to the bedroom, trying your hardest not to injure yourself further.

You collapse onto the bed, hot tears immediately beginning to spill out of your eyes. You shove your face into the pillow, trying to stifle your cries, your chest hiccuping as the tears continue to pour from your lash line. Tonight had been all too much, a complete, and utter mistake, truthfully you weren't ready for life after Joost, something you had barely thought of when you had decided to break things off.

You had thought things were supposed to get better after breaking off a toxic relationship, not worse. Yet here you were feeling just as low as the day you broke up, nothing had changed.

You're all too absorbed in your own emotions you don't notice when the door to the bedroom opens, a soft voice following,

"Did you need something?"

Shit. Joost. He had seen you enter the living room.

You sniff, raising your head from the pillow, thankful for the cover of the night not giving away your tear-stained face. You sniffle again, taking in a shallow breath as you try to speak.

"No-no m'okay." Your words are stuttered, clearly affected by your state.

"Are you crying?" He's suddenly concerned, and you feel the mattress dip next to you, presumably Joost sitting down on the bed.

Click. The light is on again.

The room is blurry, obscured by the heavy tears that hang from your lashes. You lower your head, quickly burying it in your hands to shield your face from Joost's view.

"C'mon," He urges. You feel his hands around your wrists, beckoning you to pull your hands from your face, "What's wrong?"

Reluctantly, you give into his touch, slowly lowering your hands from your eyes.

"Oh," Joost pouts, you're sure he's being nice, but right now it feels completely, and utterly patronizing, especially as you're crying about him and his new found relationship, "Why are you crying?"

"I'm so stupid," You sob, not having it in you to hold back your emotions anymore, "So stupid, Joost."

"No," He reaches out a hand, placing it on your shoulder, "Why do you think you're stupid?"

"Because," You choke, "Everything. Tonight. It's all stupid." You can't find the right words to tell him how you feel, knowing if you tried they would come out all wrong.

Suddenly Joost's hand on your shoulder turns into him bringing you into a hug, and pulling you onto his lap. You immediately bury your head into his neck, sobbing into the warmth of his skin.

Joost's grip is tight on you, holding you like you might leave him again, knowing you will.

You can barely find comfort in his touch, fearing how fleeting it will be.

"Crying because of me?" He asks like he already knows the answer, of course he knows the answer. You nod against him, holding him tighter, choking out a sob. Joost lets out a dry chuckle, "Not worth crying over. Wasting tears."

The idea of wasting tears had never made much sense to you, what were you meant to save them for? Something important? This was important, Joost was important, your relationship was important- and you had ruined it. That was worth crying over.

Joost rubs a hand up and down your back, trying his best to comfort you in your sorry state.

You want to yell at him, want to be angry at how he could have moved on and found someone else so quickly while you were stuck crying yourself to sleep at night. After all it had been his behavior that had lead to you breaking up, and still, he gets nothing for it? He just gets to walk away.

But you're too tired to be angry now. Not as you melt into him, his hand smoothing over the roots of your hair, his body gently moving back and forth, anything to relieve you of some of your misery.

All you can do is try to slow your breathing, try to regain some composure as you make your pathetic confession,

"Just so hard," You inhale sharply, anticipating your next words, "I still love you, I love you so much."

"I know," He sighs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder through the fabric of his own T-shirt, "I love you too."

a/n: haiii ^_^ long time no write.... i feel like for as angsty as the series is i haven't written straight up hb! au angst... so here we are... but be not afraid, i have another au! piece cooking up that is very much... not angst mwahhhahhah

#joost klein x reader #joost klein x f! reader #joost klein fic #joost klein fanfic #heartbeat! au #rpf #joost klein rpf

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dearhargrove · 10 months ago

Text

Reassurance

summary You comfort Evan after he has to deal with his parents over the course of four days.

word count 730

tags fluff, just someone being there for my bb buck, short and sweet

a/n So basically I was watching the Buck Begins episode and died every minute where his parents neglected him and generally every second of that episode :( so expect some more Buck fics to come (Eddie too tho !!)

masterlist

You didn't know but you were probably the sole reason Buck wasn't completely breaking down every day he wakes up and has to deal with the two people that call themselves his parents.

After the first dinner he had felt bad, but he'd felt like he usually does with them. Alone, unwanted and never enough. That day he'd come home to you, quiet and dull.

You hadn't made him talk about it when he didn't start explaining himself, instead you simply wrapped your arms around him and held him close. That's when he'd felt loved. That night he waited until you had fallen asleep before letting himself cry.

What did he expect? For some reason he had hoped they'd changed. Or at least that they would be proud of him. After all, he'd saved a lot of people and does so every day. Instead he is reminded that they hadn't bothered to check on him when he almost died twice - first by being crushed and second because of the blood clots - and then laid in the hospital.

Those were the people supposed to love him no matter what and all he got was constant criticism.

That night you had woken up not long after him because of his missing warmth. With a worried expression you'd found him and once again, held him close. He had melted into your arms, tears starting to fall again as he clutched you close as if scared to lose you.

After reassurance you would gladly give any day you had gone back to bed, your hand on his cheek and caressing his birthmark.

Today you hadn't even known Buck would see them or be confronted by their doings. The last time you'd heard about them was when he explained that he had a brother. That he was only conceived to be a match for a bone marrow transplant.

That night had been harder than the one before. You're quite sure no matter how much you tried to show him that he wasn't just a failed way to save someone you don't think it got completely through to him. And you didn't blame him; you couldn't imagine living with something like that weighing you down.

You're in his kitchen trying one of Bobby's recipes when the door opens and Buck comes in. You could read him like a book; there wasn't a moment you weren't able to tell what he was feeling. But now? You genuinely didn't know.

He was frowning but there's a smile resting on his face and his eyes are red.

“Buck?”

He looks up, seeing you there in his sweater with a knife in your hand as you chop vegetables for a recipe from Bobby he loved, and he breaks. But instead of simply crying he chuckles, too.

“Buck, what's going on?” Your voice is worried and he just shakes his head as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his forehead to yours. You put the knife down and reach up to cup his face and your index finger soothes over his birthmark, something you'd made a habit over the year of being with him.

“I think they're finally accepting me for.. me.” He only says and you sigh but nod. He notices your slight apprehension and quickly adds on, “But I don't want them to. I don't need their acceptance. They don't decide how much I'm worth.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’ in surprise but you laugh breathlessly and nod, “Exactly. You're saving lives on the daily, you don't need anyone to tell you how good you are. Not your parents, not your friends, not me.”

He nods along until the last part where he cocks his head and looks at you with his signature half smirk. “I do need you to tell me how good I am, actually.” That makes you smile as well and you sigh, “That's not what I meant and you know it.”

He just shrugs and unlike when he first came in you can see pure happiness and love on his face.

“God, I love you so much, Evan Buckley.”

He grins and surges forward to kiss you passionately, his hands gripping your hips as if you'd slip through his fingers any moment.

#evan buckley x reader #evan buckley #oliver stark #911 fanfic #911 show #911 spoilers #9 1 1 #9 1 1 fanfiction

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

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𝐂𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘.

DAY SIX OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: slasher au (still takes place in the tlou'verse) + sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, soft dark fic, horror, murder mystery

summary: bodies have been dropping left and right in the most brutal ways in jackson. as the relentless wave of deaths continues, your mind becomes increasingly restless. however, you find a sense of comfort and solace in the presence of joel. who might be hiding secrets of his own.

word count: 10k (i don't know what happened)

warnings: dubcon at the end, knife kink, descriptive canon typical violence, blood & mild gore, grief and death, an unpleasant guy hitting on you, murder, face-sitting, throat-fucking, mutual oral sex (69), dirty talk, possessive!joel, exhibitionism (tommy watches very briefly, he also kisses you in a platonic way), sex in the woods, piv, Joel is actually quite nice if you exclude the murders, mild breeding kink, size kink, little bit of blood kink

a/n: the owl mask joel wears in this to hide who he is is inspired by @softlyspector's post about the tawny owl mug joel uses in tlou part 2 which I still get sad if I think about it for too long 😭

Bodies have been dropping dead all around you long before the outbreak.

Maybe not in the everyone-you-know-is-getting-infected-and-killing-people type of way, but more so in a death-never-felt-like-a-stranger-to-you sort of way. Yet, you still don’t know how to deal with death. Your grief is as violent as a butterfly flapping its wings; the strength of it non-existent but you never know where, or when, it’ll cause a storm.

First, it was your grade school teacher. You didn’t have a particularly strong bond with her but you did like her. You still remember how your friend's voice quaked as she gave you the news on a landline. You couldn’t believe it and had to accuse her of making a joke, even though you knew she would never joke about something like this. Then your dad took the phone from you and you just assumed your friend's mom did the same. The next week, when you went back to school and the funeral was now behind all the children in the classroom, the custodian cut the last tablecloth your teacher had used for her desk and gave a piece to each and every one of you. It was a vibrant orange cloth with daisies scattered around – ugly, but you still cherished it.

Then it was your pets, grandparents – there was also the time when your pet-crazed neighbor adopted another smaller dog while she still had two untrained, over-energized dogs, and the two twins ripped the other dog apart. You had seen the carnage. By some miracle, that small, fluffy dog named Sugar was still breathing, alive. You had held a blood bag over the dog's head, hoping that the small animal wouldn't die.

She didn’t die that day, but it sure as hell left a scar on you.

As a kid, you never seemed to quite grasp the ways of grieving. You didn’t get angry. You didn’t cry. You just. . thought about it. However, the emotions came differently when you became an adult. Now when someone close to you died, you felt it more violently, oddly enough you still fought against the tears and only cried when you were alone.

On Outbreak Day, you lost everything.

Your family, your friends—your life, now it was all about survival, but survival towards what, you didn’t know. You killed for it, fought for it. Yet every move you made felt automatic like you were wired to at least try and survive — to wait it out and not be left behind when civilization rebuilt itself once more.

You made some friends along the way and lost some friends too. You locked their faces and their memories in your heart, only unlocking the box when you were truly and utterly alone.

Then you found Jackson.

And you met Joel and Tommy Miller.

Your official title is scavenger but you much prefer to label yourself as an explorer instead.

You’ve adapted to your quite well life at Jackson. You go beyond the borders, sometimes alone and sometimes with other fellow explorers, and gather supplies or try to pinpoint other locations threats might be lurking in. You’re about to go on another trip, this one shorter than your regular one to two-week expeditions, but before heading out you decide to stop by the only bakery in Jackson named The Last Crumb—previously named The Cordyceps Crumb but Maria decided it was in bad taste. You, on the other hand, had found it funny and topical.

As you patiently wait in line, your camping bag waiting for you outside the bakery, someone bumps into you from behind, then never moves back.

You turn with a raised eyebrow, not enjoying the close proximity, “Excuse you,” you snap. The man looks at you with a hint of mischief in his eyes, you roll your eyes when you recognize the face. “Move back a beat Tucker, I’m not in the mood this morning.”

“Someone didn’t get her beauty sleep,” he grins but moves away regardless. “Want me to come with you this time? Sweet thing like you alone out there? It’s ain’t right.”

“You can barely aim. Why would I want someone that’s most likely to get me killed around me?”

“I think you’ll find my company to be plenty entertaining.”

You’re about to gag when the bell of the bakery chimes, the sharp sound echoing through the wooden walls. Your face must've shown immense signs of relief because Tucker turns around to see who you're looking at. His instant frown makes you want to laugh and chuck him between the two men you’d describe as a wolf den.

“Well, if it ain’t the Miller brothers,” Tucker tuts, attempting to give one of them a friendly pat on the shoulder. He stops midway when Joel’s gaze flits between you and him, his glare hard enough to cut diamonds.

So he ends up slapping Tommy’s shoulder instead, which isn’t the best thing since you know the younger Miller hates Tucker. But among the brothers, he’s probably the one with less probability of getting your hand bitten off.

“Mornin’ Tucker,” Tommy answers, forcing a smile.

Joel is less friendly, his words directed at you, “Is this dumbass botherin’ you again?”

“I wouldn't exactly call a greeting among friends “botherin’,” Tucker says. “We’re just catchin’ up, no need to get your panties in a bunch Miller.”

“God, you’re one word away from ruining my morning,” you hiss, glaring at the unpleasant man. “And we’re not friends.”

His brows furrow, eyes going hard with an ugly snarl accompanying them, you feel braver when Tommy and Joel are around so you hold his gaze, not flinching away.

Tommy is the one to ease the tension. He lays a hand on Tucker’s shoulder and squeezes, drawing the man’s attention away from you. “I’ll get you what you want a’right Tucker? It’s on me. Just go wait outside.”

“But—”

“Outside, Tuck,” Tommy repeats and you shudder at his tone.

Tucker’s shoulders drop, defeated, “Fine, get me a raisin bagel.”

He doesn’t wait for Tommy’s response and heads out the bakery. You finally release the breath you’ve been holding, your muscles relaxing along with the exhaled breath. Joel is by your side in the blink of an eye, his broad shoulder brushing yours providing comfort.

“You sure you’re a’right?” he asks, gently curling fingers under your chin. “The prick didn’t do anythin’?”

“Nah, nothing. He’s all bark but no bite. He asked if he wanted to join me today as if that buffoon wouldn’t get me killed.” you shrug, men being assholes was nothing new to you. You’re just glad that in Jackson it seems that there are more good apples than rotten ones. “Too bad even paradise comes with drawbacks.”

Joel snorts as Tommy cuts in, “Maria would be thrilled if she heard you calling it paradise.”

“What are you smiling at? You think you can find anywhere better?” You playfully nudge Joel with your elbow. “You know there’s nothing but hell out there.”

“I do, I just think callin’ here a paradise is a bit of a stretch is all.”

The line moves and the three of you are finally at the counter, “You’re just a grump,” you tease Joel before turning your gaze to Poppy, the barista who knows everything about everyone. “Hey there, Poppy, the usual please.”

“And a damn raisin bagel,” Tommy adds.

“Well, isn’t it my favorite trio,” Poppy grins. “I’ll get all that ready for you in a second,” she locks her blue eyes on you and leans closer, you mimic her by instinct. “By the way have you heard of Ian? He wound up dead right outside the chopping block, an axe right through his chest.”

You frown, “Good morning to you too, Poppy. Jesus Christ.”

“I’ll confess I didn’t love the guy but isn’t it worrying that there’s a killer among us?” she murmurs while stuffing the goodies in paper bags. “Be careful out there.”

“Well, if the culprit is here I think I might be safer out there,” you say and turn to Tommy. “Does Maria know?”

“Of course, she does,” when you part your lips to say more, he lifts a finger and shoots you a crooked smile. “It’s confidential.”

“Aw man, can’t you just tell us who she thinks it is?” Poppy asks, Tommy shakes his head and she lets out a dramatic sigh, “I miss my murder mystery books.”

“I’ll try to find you something while I’m out,” you say, ignoring the way your heart began to race. Jackson is still a small town, it’s jarring to think someone might be out there, looking for their next target. “Though I think we could all do with a little less murder.”

You hadn’t expected your voice to crack but your tone had betrayed you. Poppy extends you the bag of goods and a latte, as you reach out you feel Joel’s hand on your waist. His lips touch your ear. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m sure whoever it is is only goin’ after those who deserve it.”

You lock your eyes with him, blinking heavily at the weight of his words. His voice had dropped, nothing but gravel as he whispered the words into your ear. A cold sensation slithers down your spine, chilling you to your core and making your throat tighten.

His hand never leaves your waist as the three of you head out, and after a while, that chill slowly dissolves into a pleasurable warmth.

You find solace in the woods. You love Jackson, but being in the woods away from everyone and everything makes you feel comforted. The first time you went scavenging, there was a slight fear in your movements; no matter how good your aim was, any kind of infected was difficult to kill.

But now you walk with ease. There isn’t an ounce of worry in your bones. The trees rustle happily and the smell of flowers and pine fills your nostrils. You can feel your lungs rejuvenating with every breath. Trickles of orange sunlight pour from the gaps of the trees. The sun sets, meaning you need to set up camp soon.

While unpacking, you think of this morning. How Joel and Tommy stepped in when Tucker started bothering you. Honestly, you didn’t need their protection; Tucker is just one of those men who think they might have a shot if they bother you enough times. Still, it was nice to be claimed in a way, to be accepted into a family and cared for.

Your breath hitches slightly. Tommy, you see as a close friend, a brother perhaps, but Joel... Joel is another thing. Just thinking about him is enough to start a wildfire between your legs. You wish you were brave enough to do something about it, though. Whenever you two patrol together or stay awake late at night drinking, you always chicken out in the end. It doesn’t matter how his hands linger on your thighs or his eyes drop to your lips; you're just never convinced that the Joel Miller would be interested in you beyond a friend.

An unease starts to settle in the pit of your stomach. As the air grows colder with the approaching night, your skin prickles and you feel the phantom sensation of claws dragging down your back. You set the tent as quickly as you can, your eyes darting around the depths of the forest. Briefly, you bend over to adjust the ropes.

A breath warm and damp ghosts the back of your neck and you jump, gun in hand as you turn around only to find—

Nothing.

And no one.

Your heart is hammering in your chest, adrenaline pumping in your veins, a drop of sweat trickling down your forehead. You've never had a trigger finger, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to just shoot every shadow you see.

“Dammit Poppy,” you mutter, annoyed that she gave you the brutal knowledge of Ian’s death right before you were heading out. Guilt stings at your heart. Ian was an asshole for sure, and you don’t exactly feel bad that he’s gone, but still, it was an eerie thought that someone had murdered him so violently. It had to be personal.

Some part of you wishes Joel was here, or even Tucker, just another human being to tell you you’re just seeing things.

You take a deep inhale and follow it up with a long exhale. You’re fine. There’s no one here.

You give your surroundings one last suspicious look before going back to setting the tent.

No matter how hard you try you can’t shake the feeling of someone watching you amongst the shadows.

Joel hears crickets and owls. The night had always been his friend since the outbreak. He had become a violent man with an equally violent heart. He waits in the shadows, watching. Laughter and playful shouts echo from the bar, and soon the door swings open; the man he's been waiting for crawls out of the establishment, shit-faced. The drunk man shouts his farewells and staggers toward his home.

Joel follows, his mask heating up the skin that lays underneath. His fingers itch with the need to wring that asshole's neck. One by one, he had been cleaning Jackson for the better. His tendencies subdued while also doing some good. Ian was one of those people who deserved it and Joel had enjoyed the chase, the pleas, he especially enjoyed the way he tripped and cried right before he sunk the blade of the axe through Ian’s chest.

Tucker trips, making Joel want to laugh. The idiot might not even realize he’s being hunted. Joel looks around, they are far enough for the chase to begin. Tucker continues to slip and fall as he attempts to get up. Taking the opportunity, Joel walks towards him with quick steps, making sure the first thing the asshole sees is his mask.

Tucker notices him before he gets up, his hands bracing the ground, his eyes go wide, “What the fuck?”

Joel only tilts his head. He sees the trembles rolling down the other man’s body, he relishes in his fear.

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble, whoever the fuck you are so. . . scram.”

Joel’s eyes dart to his hand on the dirt, without a second thought he lifts his foot and curb stomps Tucker’s hand. Then he kicks the side of his face, an audible crunch echoing before his scream could. The man whimpers and falls back in his attempt to crawl away. He holds his jaw, blood streaming down his broken nose.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

He steps closer and watches as Tucker’s eyes bug out. He’s too drunk to properly run away or even scream. Such an easy target. He grips the other’s hair and lifts him to his feet, he can feel the strands starting to rip from his scalp one by one, Tucker’s face twisting in pain. “Your worst fuckin’ nightmare,” Joel answers eerily calm. It doesn’t matter if Tucker recognizes him. He’d be dead soon enough anyway.

“P-Please,” he begs, realizing the same thing. “I’ll do whatever you want promise. I don’t want to die.”

Joel grunts, not dignifying his pleas with an answer. Lifting his other hand, his knuckles connect to Tucker’s face with a loud crunch, body flying to the ground headfirst.

He pulls out his knife and drops down, ignoring the ache in his knees, he grabs Tucker’s arm and aligns the sharp blade against his wrist. Tucker notices, his face going pale as a ghost. “D-Don’t—”

Joel doesn’t bat an eye as blood spurts violently over his clothes and the dirt. Drops of crimson seeping into the fabric. The knife cuts through the flesh like butter, severing hand from bone. His hand clamps over Tucker’s mouth. Joel smiles as his screams bounce off of the palm of his hand.

You come back to Jackson hand empty and earlier than intended. You were too much at unease, and being so jarred wasn’t the best while scavenging for supplies alone. During your trip, you did end up scribbling something for Poppy. It wasn’t finished but you hoped she would enjoy the first draft of the first chapter. It was mostly descriptions of what you felt, a cat-and-mouse game between two people who had bumped into each other accidentally.

While heading into Jackson, you notice a crowd in the distance. You promptly get off your horse and walk with haste. You recognize Joel and Tommy easily, both brothers standing on each end of the crowd like gates keeping a herd of sheep in check. Ellie is standing right next to Joel, lifting herself on her toes to see; Joel is holding her back by gripping the cap of her hood.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

Joel turns to you, his eyebrows raising when notices it’s you and not some random person he has to ignore, “You’re back,” he says. A statement rather than a question.

“Yeah, wasn’t feeling that well,” you shrug him off. “So what happened?”

His eyes turn to steel, his jaw locking in place. Before you can ask again, he gestures for you to move up the crowd with a tilt of his head.

“Lucky,” you hear Ellie murmur as you walk ahead, gently pushing those who were looking at the sight with concern. With every step you take, the murmur of the crowd fades into the background, becoming nothing more than white noise. Maria is addressing the crowd, you think, though you're not entirely sure. The scent of blood is thick in the air, disorienting you as you get closer.

Your eyes go wide, the earth slips from beneath you but your expression remains emotionless.

It’s Tucker.

You feel as if you’re standing alone. As if you’re the only one taking in the sight of absolute horror and gore. Tucker is lying in a pile of his own blood face first, his eyes are open and lifeless, his one hand is outstretched like he’s about to crawl away.

His right hand, however, is chopped off.

It’s not even a clean-cut. The edges of his flesh are jagged and crooked, his blood-caked where his hand should be. Whoever did this cut it so it would hurt, so he would suffer tremendously.

You can’t help but gasp, covering your mouth with your right hand. You begin to shake, confusion churning in your stomach as bile coats your tongue. He’s dead. Just like Ian.

When Maria’s eyes find your own, she narrows her gaze, a small warning for you to keep it together. You can’t though. How could you? Tucker was alive and kicking a couple of days ago, just being his annoying self around Jackson.

“Calm down,” you hear Joel mutter into your ear. You shiver at the brush of his lips. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Safe. You want to laugh. You don’t even know what that word means anymore.

Joel’s mouth moves over the shell of your ear, “He was a nuisance. Don’t feel bad now that he’s dead.”

“I didn’t want him to die,” you hiss back. “And knowing there’s a serial killer out there doesn’t exactly make me feel safe.”

Despite your half-angry tone, you find yourself leaning into Joel’s presence. Your shoulder presses into his broad chest, and without missing a beat he wraps his arms around your shaking frame. Relief comes in the form of warmth spreading along your chest, tingles forming at the tips of your fingers and toes. The voices of the crowd gradually come back but you only hear one of the many questions.

“What do you think the message means?”

Confusion crosses your face, brows furrowing as you try to make sense of it. Joel makes a choked-out sound that could’ve easily been taken as an amused chuckle.

Then your eyes drop to Tucker’s outstretched hand and his dying message written in blood.

O W L

A week had passed since Tucker’s death.

You've been thinking about both murders relentlessly, trying to piece together everything that you know so far. During this time, you're grateful for Poppy, who comes by almost every night to help you try to solve the case. That's been your sole focus for the past few weeks; you haven't been scavenging since you spooked yourself so badly that you returned early, only to find Tucker dead.

Some part of you thinks that the eeriness you felt that day was a sign of what was about to happen. It's also an odd coincidence that he ended up dead the same night he harassed you in the morning. However, there are no forensic investigators in Jackson, so it’s almost impossible to determine the exact time of death. That fact alone makes you anxious. It only means that whoever is killing everyone has nothing to worry about because even if they leave traces, who’s going to know?

In order to keep your nerves in check you end up writing a lot. You haven’t shown any of it to Poppy yet but you’re excited. You never thought writing a thriller would be the perfect way to escape the horrors of your actual life. At least in your stories, you have control.

You also visit Joel and vice versa.

Something had shifted the day he held you as you both gazed upon Tucker’s lifeless body. Maybe it was just you who felt bolder since death was once again right around the corner — or maybe Joel just felt more protective now, wanting to check on you as much as he could.

“You’re really writin’ a whole ass novel?” he asks, pouring you a glass of scotch. You still can’t get over the fact that it nearly tasted identical to the actual stuff. Jackson is truly a miracle; at least when bodies aren’t dropping left and write.

Ellie’s at a sleepover, which means you and Joel have the whole house to yourselves. With everything going on you’d expect your libido to diminish a bit but it’s as strong as ever, ready to go.

You smile as he places the glass in front of you, “Yeah,” you say, picking up the glass and heading toward the living room. “I couldn’t find Poppy anything to read and it helps me relax.”

“Relax, how?” he asks, taking a seat next to you. The couch dips with his weight, and heat crawls up from your chest to your neck when his knee brushes against yours.

“Well, it’s a horror thing. Horror slash mystery? I don’t know—whatever it is, it’s nice to have an outlet to escape what’s been happening lately.”

“So to escape brutal murders you write more brutal murders?”

You chuckle at the way his eyebrows raise, eyes going wide, “I don’t really focus that much on the gore. It’s more psychological, my sweet brute. Things don’t need to have blood to be scary.”

His grin is wide and instant, dark eyes lighting up with amusement, “What did you just call me?”

“I. . .” Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, suddenly realizing what you’d said.

“What cat got your tongue?” he teases. Joel leans closer, fingers dancing along the curve of your shoulder. You can feel the gravel in his voice. “You just called me yours, sweetheart. Does that jog your memory?”

“I also called you brute,” you quip back immediately, cheeks aflame. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Don’t it?” his palm now presses fully into your shoulder, keeping you in place in case you might run. Joel tilts his head slightly, the plush of his lips only an inch away. “I like you callin’ me that,” the pink of his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “Say it again.”

“S-Say what?”

A small chuckle parts his lips, oddly enough it almost feels like his patience is wearing thin. He comes closer, the tip of his nose brushing yours. “That I’m yours,” he clarifies. “Been waitin’ to hear those words come from your mouth since I met you.”

“You’re mine,” you whisper against his lips, eyelids fluttering but not quite closing. With the confession, you feel the brush of Joel’s lips on yours. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth. You part for him with a moan, and taking the opportunity, he slides inside, tasting every inch of you.

His lips taste and feel like the forests you wander off to; it soothes you, calms your nerves, and has the taste of home. They’re chapped from the sun, yet soft. You can’t have enough of him, if he’d offered, you’d gladly kiss him forever.

Joel parts with a shaky breath, his chest heaving, “And you’re mine,” he groans, his eyes dark with arousal. It’s an involuntary action but your eyes drop to the front of his pants where you see the thick outline of his cock.

Your mouth goes dry, yet you manage to speak anyway, “Are words all you’ve been waiting for?” It’s bold, you’re highly aware, but you can’t help it when he’s this close. His scent suffocating, pulling you to him like a moth to a flame.

He stares at you silently. His thumb touches your bottom lip, slightly tugging it down. He’s not smiling anymore, only observing.

“No,” Joel answers slowly. He leans towards your ears, the thick hairs above his lips tickling your skin. “I’ve also been waitin’ to feel that velvet tongue on my cock, honey. And to feel how tight your throat gets when you take every inch of me.”

Joel blows a puff of air, it caresses your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brings your hand to the front of his pants, dragging your palm up and down his length. You shudder. The heat of it seeps into your palm despite the thick fabric of his jeans, you lick your lips absentmindedly. “This is all for you sweetheart.”

“Fuck, Joel. . .” your eyes roll back when he kisses your neck, open-mouthed kisses laid upon your skin like a gift. Your nipples tighten and if you look down right now, you know you’ll see them peeking through your shirt.

He reads your thoughts, eyes moving down before meeting your gaze again. “Didn’t know you walked around without a bra, sunshine.”

“I only go braless when I’m comfortable,” you answer. Joel cups your breasts roughly, kneading the flesh, he simultaneously sucks on your neck, teeth nipping the sensitive skin. “Oh god,” the fabric of your panties grows damp and you clench your thighs together.

“Not god,” he says sharply, sinking his teeth into you. “Joel.”

“Joel,” you moan and arch your back, filling more of yourself into his palm. You squeeze his cock, relishing in the way he makes a strangled sound. “I want to suck you off, Joel.”

“Be my guest.”

You push him until he’s lying on the couch. You’re about to unbutton his jeans but he stops you.

“Turn around,” he says.

“What?”

His wide grin nearly stops your heart, “Want to taste that sweet pussy, sunshine. Strip down and take a seat.”

“On—On your face?”

“Where else?”

You’re too embarrassed to speak, tongue suddenly too big in your mouth. Quickly, and a bit clumsily, you strip down and turn before straddling his chest. You don’t need to touch yourself to know that you’re soaked.

You swallow, “I’ve never done this before.”

His hands come up to cradle your hips, urging you to move back towards his face. You feel the blunt sting of his nails.

“That’s alright,” he mutters. “I won’t let you fall if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m more worried about how I’m gonna move, or accidentally suffocating you.”

“What a noble way it would be to go.”

“Joel!” you laugh, playfully smacking his thigh. He answers by giving your hips another squeeze, you surrender and move back until you’re hovering over his face. Your hand planted firmly over his hip bones, you lower yourself. You shudder as his tongue licks a stripe between your folds. He moans into your cunt, pulling you flush against his face.

Meanwhile, you finally unzip his pants and pull his cock out, the heft of it bumping against your nose and lips. You drip at the smell of him and swear he smiles as he sucks on your aching clit, short-circuiting your brain with arousal. His cock throbs in your palm, a drop of precome glistening at the tip. Your mouth watering, you lean forward and clean him off. Another groan echoes within his chest and he thrusts forward, the tip of his cock kissing your lips.

Eyes fluttering closed, you suck on the bulbous head and force yourself to go down until he hits the back of your throat. You wrap a hand around the base, stroking where you can’t fit, and hallow your cheeks.

“Come on, sunshine. You can take me,” he rasps. “You’re mine, aren’t you? That mouth is meant to take me.”

Without waiting for an answer, Joel pushes his tongue inside, your walls clenching around the wet muscle—you let out a loud gasp and grind down, then you feel the sting of his palm against your ass, pain blossoming from where he smacked.

Your throat rattles with a moan and Joel takes the opportunity to drive forward, your eyes go wide as you feel the length of him sliding down your throat, cutting the air from your lungs.

“Oh, fuck—” he moans unabashedly, the sounds sending a pleasurable tingle down your spine despite the strain on your throat. “That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Fuck, fuck—”

Your throat tightens around him, your lungs starting to burn. His hand caresses both sides of your ass, the abrupt pain of the smack from before subduing, “Relax,” he says, swirling his tongue around your clit. “Breathe through your nose. Just a bit more. . .”

Your nails bite into his thighs as you attempt to follow instructions. You relax your throat and slowly begin to breathe from your nose. It’s still difficult, but your lungs rejoice in the minimal amount of air that comes through. You make a mess of him. Saliva dripping from the corner of your mouth and down his length.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he murmurs. “Gonna fuck that pretty throat now and make this pussy come, understood?”

Eyes tearing up, you nod. From the way your stomach convulses, you know that you’re close, your skin tight over your trembling muscles. The nod is all that Joel needs from you. Holding you in place, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself completely down your throat while flicking his tongue against your clit. You scream around him, eyes rolling back as he continues to devour you and take you apart at the same time. He licks you with fat strokes of his tongue, a hint of teeth scraping your folds here and there as he fucks your throat with shallow thrusts.

You’re limp against his broad body, allowing him to use you as he pleases while all you can do is hang on for the ride. Pleasure licks the base of your spine, a searing heat caressing your skin while Joel continues to build you up only for you to fall spectacularly. Your lips start to ache, your throat squeezing around him whenever he snaps his hips forward—

And all hell finally breaks loose.

You come undone with a devastating cry only for it to be muffled by his cock going down your throat. You gush around his tongue, soaking his facial hair and mouth, Joel is underrated, licking and sucking until you’re shaking above him, every bit of tension draining from your body.

Joel comes shortly after, his hand slides from your waist and he manages to reach out in order to hold your head down. You don’t have a choice but to swallow as he spills down your throat, thick spurts of come going down while he shudders and pushes even deeper.

There’s so much of it, cock twitching and throbbing in your mouth until your mouth sucks him dry. You’re lightheaded from the lack of air; you find that it adds to the pleasure that’s buzzing in your veins, your cunt still pulsing with the heft of him still buried in your lips.

He pulls out with a satisfied groan and you manage to scoot down so you’re straddling his chest instead of head. Joel caresses your back, the gentle repeated motion sending tingles down your spine.

“That’s was fuckin’ amazin’,” he says, voice hoarse. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you answer sounding meek. “I think I need some water though.”

You get off, legs still shaking, but he grabs your hand, halting your movement. “Let me get it for you,” he says, sitting up.

“I’m already up,” you smile as his brows furrow with worry, the expression warming your heart. You quickly bend down to kiss him and he’s quick to lick himself into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. “I’ll be right back.”

You have no idea how you’re standing while feeling like jello but you manage to get yourself all the way to the fridge. You smile at the coolness touching your warmed skin when you open the door. Scanning the interior, you thoughtlessly rub at your throat in an attempt to soothe the ache a little. You grab the pitcher of cold water and notice a bit of apple pie left over.

“Hey, Joel?” you call out. He hums in acknowledgment. “Can I have a slice of pie?”

His humored chuckle follows through, “You can eat the whole damn thing after what you’ve done,” you smile and take the desert out. “Can you bring me a slice too?” he adds.

You smile and place the pie on the counter. The leftover is already two slices give or take so you decide to just take two forks with you instead of dirting a plate. Looking through the drawers, you try to remember which one is the cutlery drawer.

On your second try you find something else.

Something that makes your eyes go wide and heart throb painfully.

Your hands shaking, you pick up the owl mask from the drawer. The surface is smooth, and the color of it a light shade of brown just like a tawny owl. All the pleasant tingles fade away, the buzz of pleasure in your veins replaced by fear and adrenaline.

Heading back to the living room, you show the mask to Joel.

“What’s this?” you ask, your voice betraying your sudden outburst of fear.

Joel looks up, eyes flitting between you and the owl mask. He raises a brow, his confusion evident across his face. “It’s a mask, sweetheart.”

“No no, I know it’s a mask,” you answer, breathless. “But why do you have it?”

“It’s Ellie’s,” he stands up, his pants still unbuttoned but pulled up. You fight the urge to step away, fight the urge to flinch when he touches your cheek. “They were makin’ Halloween masks last year in school. I didn’t even realize we still had it.”

“Really?” you ask and he nods.

“Really,” Joel claims your lips in a chaste kiss, thumb stroking lines up and down your cheek. His hand slithers down your arm to your wrist and when he squeezes, you drop the mask. “Why?” he breathes into you. “Is this about the damn thing Tucker wrote down?”

You remain silent and he pulls away, dark eyes boring into yours.

“You need to relax, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “Why don’t you just allow yourself to enjoy this? You deserve to be happy.”

Your eyes widen with surprise, his words crashing into you, “I. . . Do I do that? Really?”

“It’s normal, darlin’,” he answers. “I’m pretty sure we all have survivor’s guilt.”

You let out a shaky exhale. He’s right. You were just feeling guilty of being alive when so many had died. Joel smiles back and traces the curve of yours with his fingers. “There’s that smile that I adore,” he guides you towards the kitchen. “Now let’s go eat some pie.”

No matter what though, you can’t help but turn back to look at the owl mask one last time as it lays lifelessly on the floor.

“So, tell me about this book you’re writin’?”

You let out a low laugh, “I already told you about it. What more do you wanna know?”

You stare at Joel’s back as he takes the lead, he’d decided to join you in your explorations ever since you told him how nervous you had gotten the last time. You had appreciated the gesture but still felt a tad anxious around him ever since you found that damn owl mask—

A branch snaps into two under your steps and he turns, extending his hand to you. With a smile you allow him to lace his fingers within yours, your stomach jumping a little as he tugs you close so the two of you are walking side by side instead.

“If memory serves me right we got distracted when you told me about it,” he says with that southern drawl of his. “So tell me again what it’s about.”

“Okay okay,” you smile, squeezing his hand twice. “It’s all a big mess now but the premise is that there’s this guy obsessed with this woman and he stalks her and no matter what she does, she always feels like there’s someone watching.”

Joel looks ahead, “Sounds familiar. Isn’t that how you felt last time you were out here?”

“Yeah, and it’s when I started writing it.”

“So do these two people know each other?” his tone drops, his fingers suddenly feeling like barbed wire within your hand. You swallow. “I mean in their regular lives, does the woman know that he’s the one stalkin’ her?”

You roll your shoulders, a weak attempt to shrug off the eeriness that you feel.

“Exactly. I think that just makes the whole thing creepier. He’s just a normal guy, even a friend, but he’s also the one among the shadows.”

“Interestin’,” he murmurs. “You think that’s happenin’ to you?”

“I don’t think there’s someone stalking me, if that’s what you’re asking,” you utter every word hastily, your pulse quickening under your skin.

His lips curl in a half smile, “That’s good,” he says. “Wouldn’t want you to be laying awake thinking about what might lingerin’ on the other side of the window.”

“I think I’m more likely to stay awake thinking about infected,” you say with a soft laugh. “But yeah, it’s all fiction. That day I probably just got scared because of what Poppy said about Ian.”

“Probably,” Joel trails off, his steps slowing. “How do you think it’s gonna end?”

“W-What?”

He stops and so does your heart. At least you think it does.

Joel faces you fully, his presence towering, he grips your shoulders and pushes you back until the air is knocked from your lungs by a tree right behind you. Your eyes go wide. He leans in, breath tickling your lips.

“How do you think your book is gonna end, sweetheart?” he asks again, eyes gleaming with something dark. “Is the guy gonna get the girl?”

“I—I don’t know.”

All you can think about is the owl mask and how it would perfectly fit his face. He cocks his head and taking a step closer, he slips a leg between your thighs. Slick gathers at your underwear—he feels the fabric dampening on his leg and grins.

“Fear turns you on doesn’t it?” he purrs. “Wicked thing.”

Relief drowns your senses. So that’s why he got all weird suddenly, he’s just teasing you. With a laugh, your head falls back against the tree trunk, “Jesus Joel, you scared the shit out of me.”

“It ain’t my fault,” he says, nipping at your chin. “You’re easy to scare.”

“Well, two brutal unsolvable murders will do that to a girl.”

Joel lets go and pulls away, smiling as he shakes his head, “What’s it gonna take for you to believe I had nothin’ to do with those? Even in death, Tucker causes nothin’ but fuckin’ trouble for me.”

“You don’t need to do anything, I’m sorry,” you pull him back, relishing in the way his strong arms wrap around your frame. “I’ll stop being such a chicken, promise. I’m still a bit jittery that’s all.”

“I forgive you,” he says against your lips, kissing you quickly before pulling you away from the thick trunk of the tree. “Now let’s find a place to settle down for the night.”

When you two return to Jackson three days later, the first thing you notice is the crowd. Your stomach drops at the familiar sight and instinctively you reach out to Joel, lacing your fingers together. He squeezes your hand two times.

The last thing you should be feeling is relief that now it’s not possible for Joel to be the one killing all those people but alas, that’s all you feel. Relief and love.

The trade fair sprawls before you. Stalls with makeshift awnings, tattered banners, and worn tarps create a patchwork quilt of colors, beneath which a diverse array of goods is proudly displayed. The air is thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, the tang of cured leather, and the earthy aroma of herbs. Laughter, chatter, and the occasional clinking of metal form a lively symphony, a chorus of life that drowns out the ever-present background hum of death and infection.

You’ve always enjoyed the time of the trade fair. People move like busy ants, weaving between the stalls. Children, their cheeks dusted with earth, dart through the crowd, their carefree laughter that should be comforting doing the opposite. Since Tina’s death— she was one of the council members— you had been sleeping at Joel’s. Neither he nor Ellie seemed to mind you staying there.

The purpose of the fair is to exchange goods – to exchange, to connect, to share stories of survival.

Your eyes scan the crowd for Joel's familiar silhouette. He and Ellie had headed out before you since you wanted a change of clothes. Just as your gaze begins to falter, a voice reaches your ears. "Hey!" It's Poppy, she waves you over.

You navigate your way through the bustling stalls until you stand before Poppy. She's leaning against a rough-hewn post, a glint of excitement in her eyes.

“Hey, Poppy,” you greet her with a smile. “I’m looking for Joel, or Ellie, have you seen either of them?”

“Well, Ellie is with Dina, hanging out,” She points to the forest that skirts the settlement. "I saw him heading that way not too long ago."

“Alright, thanks. I’ll see you later then,” Waving her off, you head after Joel.

The trees are a bit more scarce here, there’s more room between them. The forest opens up, revealing a sprawling expanse that stretches as far as the eye can see. It's a stark contrast to the dense woods you often travel to, where the trees stand like guardians, their branches interlocking in a tapestry of shadow and light. Here, the gaps between the trees create pockets of sunlight that dapple the forest floor.

However, the expanses between trees can be deceiving, and without the markers and familiarity of the well-trodden paths closer to home, it's easy to lose your way.

For some reason instead of calling out for Joel, you decide to wander aimlessly. You’re not sure why. You don’t come to this side of Jackson often enough to feel comfortable with your surroundings and shouting his name would definitely be easier than walking without aim.

Soon enough you hear faint murmuring beckoning you deeper into the forest.

Survival instincts kicking in, you slow down your steps, making sure to step onto clear dirt instead of gravel or fallen branches. Hiding behind a rather large tree trunk, you stare ahead. In the distance, you see two men: one with his back against the tree, while the other holds him by the neck, the sharp blade of his knife catching the sunlight and reflecting it directly into your eyes.

You hold your breath and your eyes go wide. You hear the thrum of your heart. It’s the killer. It has to be.

You can’t quite hear them but you can decipher the tone of begging for one's life. The man holding the knife tilts his head slightly, your mouth waters at the prospect of finally seeing the murderer's face—

It’s the mask.

The same mask you found in Joel’s home in the shape of an owl. Your stomach churns violently, bile raising to your throat as you watch on. You rub at your eyes, take deep breaths—anything you can think of that would erase the image before you.

Goosebumps raising across your skin, you shake your head. It can’t be Joel. He was with you the day Tina died and no matter how competent he was not even he could be at two places at once.

A muffled scream echoes within the forest and your eyes snap to the two men, the owl had driven his knife into the flesh and bone. He pulls it out, and the body falls. You recognize who it is; Jacob. You heard his name a couple of days ago from Ellie, he was bothering both her and Dina because they were hanging out.

He’s still alive when the killer stomps his head in, blood splattering across the leys.

You’re frozen in place. Your throat dry and tongue motionless. The killer kicks Jacob one last time for good measure and finally stops. You observe the way his shoulders drop as if a great weight had been lifted off of them, then he looks up into the sky, the golden sun highlighting his mask.

Very slowly, he lifts his hand and takes it off.

Every feeling comes rushing back, too fast and too soon. Your tongue is alive again and so is your body, the world is suddenly vibrant with life and horror. The sun continues to caress the countenance of the unmasked killer’s face, his sunkissed skin the perfect canvas to soak up the light.

Joel.

You take a step back, every thought of precaution dropping from your mind. The forest starts to spin. It spins and spins and spins until the ground slips from beneath your feet. You catch yourself at the very last second.

When you look up you see his gaze staring directly into yours.

“Fuck,” you hiss out, quickly staggering up. The last thing you see before you start running is his extended hand as he tries to reach out for you.

“Wait!”

You don’t. You do the exact opposite of that. You run. You run for your life and those in Jackson at the fair.

You run with memories loud in your mind. How Joel had listened to you, comforted you, fucked you—

Tears sting your eyes. Every part of this feels like a nightmare that you hope to wake up from anytime soon. But as the wind hits your skin, you know that every part of this is very much real. Your chest burns from how fast you’re going, your legs starting to falter underneath you.

Before you can react, an unexpected force slams into you. The impact sends shockwaves through your body as you collide with something—or is it someone?—their presence as jarring as the jolt itself. Your momentum falters, and for a fleeting moment, time seems to slow as you stumble, desperately trying to regain your balance.

Two arms grab at you and without even seeing who it is, you start to push the person away, fighting against it like a wild animal.

“Let go of me! Let go of me!”

“Hey hey hey,” you hear a familiar voice repeat. “It’s me, you’re okay,” you’re shaking all around, only when you feel his hands cradle your cheeks do you open your eyes. He smiles when he sees your eyes flicker in recognition.

“Tommy?” you whisper. He nods and without a thought you jump him, wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him close. His arms coil around you in response, promising to not let go. “Oh, thank fuck it’s you.”

“What happened? Are you alright?”

“I—I am okay but—Joel—It’s Joel, Tommy he’s been the one behind all those murders. We need to warn everyone, we need to tell Maria!”

You grab his arm and tug him along toward what you assume is the right way out of the forest. He remains still. Turning around, you shoot him a confused glance. 'Tommy, we need to tell people.'

“Can’t let you do that sugar, sorry.”

“Why. . . Why not?” you let go and slowly step back, heart pounding. “Is it because he’s your brother?”

You wish that was his excuse. Some moral obligation towards Joel because he’s his brother, that you can relate to. Your heart still pounds for Joel and in your brain, you’re still desperately seeking an explanation.

But Tommy allows the silence to linger, your fear and worry quickly turning into anger.

“Fine, I’ll tell them. It’s wrong.”

It only takes a blink of an eye; you feel Tommy’s iron grip around your wrist, yanking you back into his chest. He holds you. Oddly tender for someone who had made your arm nearly fall out of its socket. You thrash within his arms, pulling and hitting his chest.

“We’re doing good,” he grunts. “You gotta see that.”

You refuse to listen, your ear narrowing on the sound of your own blood rush instead of his words. By some miracle, you manage to slip your arm out and punch him square in the chin. It was a weak punch but strong enough to startle Tommy.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart, calm the fuck down—” he tucks your arm back against your body and turns you around so your back is flush against his chest. You’re breathing raggedly, chest rising with every deep gulp of air. His lips touch your ear, his tone menacing, “I really wish you would’ve not done that.”

“Why?” you gasp. “You’re gonna kill me too?”

Silence follows, and with every passing moment sweat beads on your forehead, “It was you wasn’t it?” you continue. “You killed Tina. Joel only came along with me to calm my suspicions.”

Before Tommy can confirm your suspicions, you notice movement within the forest and your eyes are immediately drawn to the shadow coming forth.

“Smart girl,” Joel remarks with a half smile as he emerges from between the trees. There’s a splatter of red over his shirt but the knife seems to be tucked away. For now. “But you’re only half right, darlin’. I came along because I like spendin’ time with you.”

“Is that supposed to make me ignore the fact that Jacob’s body isn’t even cold yet?”

Joel curls two fingers under your chin, lifting your gaze while Tommy continues to hold you back. You shudder against him, a soft sound parts the younger Miller’s lips.

“He was a piece of shit,” Joel grunts. “He was botherin’ Ellie, callin’ her names, he deserved what he was gettin’.”

“So what, you guys are just playing hero? Killing everyone who’s causing trouble in town? There’s a system for that.”

“Honey,” he tuts, an involuntary warmth spreading within your abdomen. “The system didn’t work before the outbreak, it ain’t gonna work now either.”

“We protect our own,” Tommy says from behind you, breath fanning your neck. “We take care of it before it escalates. You have to understand that.”

“And why the hell would I understand?” you hiss, looking directly into Joel’s eyes while addressing Tommy.

Joel smiles, his lips curling slowly, “Because you’re one of us. And you like it when we protect.”

Your lips part with an exhale. He’s right, not that you still agree with them killing people, but you had enjoyed that primal protection coming from the Millers. It made you feel powerful, loved, cared for. All the things you craved deeply.

You ignore Joel and his words entirely, averting your eyes with embarrassment and shame.

“I just don’t understand why you did it, Tommy” you murmur. Tommy tenses behind you, his arms tightening around your frame, drawing the remaining oxygen from your lungs. “I understand the other’s to an extent but Tina didn’t do anything wrong.”

Joel looks towards Tommy, it was his kill after all and the older Miller had nothing to say about it.

“She was wrecking what Maria is tryin’ so hard to build,” he answers. “She’s pregnant, stress ain’t good for her or the baby.”

“Does. . . Does Maria—”

Tommy cuts you off, “No.”

Joel leans closer, mouth an inch away from yours as he parts his lips. “I killed for you,” You hate the way your body reacts to him, wanting to close the distance between you two despite how unsettled you feel. “Ian was a piece of shit, so was Tucker and Jacob. They don’t deserve your empathy, honey. And you can’t deny that you’re glad they’re gone.”

His hair is a delightful mess. Soft locks going in every direction. All you want to do is thread your fingers within and forget about all of this. Joel’s gaze is observant, dark eyes darting all over your face. You don’t know what he sees but whatever it is, he nods to Tommy for him to let you go and he does. Legs lifeless and shaking, he catches you, his warmth welcoming. He’s still tender with you. Hands delicate as they move over your arms, shifting you so you'll be facing Tommy.

Joel’s hand curls around your neck and holds your chin so you can’t look away. You can’t read Tommy’s expression. You’re not sure what he’s feeling. However, you think he looks almost relieved that you’re not fighting anymore.

You shudder as Joel drags his lips down your neck, taking deep breaths of your fear-induced scent. His hands slip under your shirt and cup both breaths, making you squeal. Your objection is short-lived when he brushes his thumbs over both nipples, awakening them with slow strokes.

Tommy’s gaze drops to your chest.

“He’s been watching you, you know,” Joel says. “When I had things to settle in town it was him who looked after you,” his voice drops, eyes observing his brother. “I think he deserves a bit of a show, don’t you think?”

The whimper you let out is enough for Tommy to meet your gaze curiously. Joel smiles into your skin and your eyes widen as he pulls out a knife—a different one from the one he used on Jacob, you realize with relief.

Your breath hitches as he slides the knife under your shirt and cuts your shirt clean from the middle, exposing you completely to his younger brother’s eyes. Sudden arousal pools between your legs and you clamp them together suddenly, the movement not unnoticed by either of them.

“You like it when my brother watches?” he asks loud enough for Tommy to hear. “You got a little crush on him too, sweetheart, hmm? Don’t worry, he’s always goin’ to be lookin’ out for you. That’s what family does after all.”

Your neck strains as Joel tilts your head suddenly, claiming your lips in a violent kiss. He doesn’t wait for you to part your lips for him and pushes his tongue into your mouth, licking the surprised sounds of pleasure right from your mouth. Your heart skips a beat. He presses the flat side of the knife against your warmed skin, the chill of metal settling in your bones.

When he parts away, a string of saliva connects you still. “You’re mine aren’t you?” Joel groans, lips moving over yours.

You nod in a daze and he smiles, “And I’m yours too,” he says.

Your eyes meet Tommy momentarily, the younger Miller’s lips twitch in a half smile. He doesn’t say a word as he closes the distance.

Tommy cradles your face tenderly, urging you to come close as he envelopes your lips with his own, taking you by surprise.

The kiss lacks the intensity compared to Joel’s. Tommy caresses your cheeks with both thumbs. You don’t even feel his tongue, it’s just a gradual movement of lips, a type of affirmation and comfort.

“You’re one of us now,” he says pressing his forehead against yours. You don’t know how to react or what to say and you end up just nodding, your hands fisting his shirt. Him, parting away from you almost feels painful but you’re not sure why. Tommy gives you a smile and Joel a nod before he leaves.

You and Joel stand like that for a while, in complete silence, bodies flushed together, knife still resting over your stomach.

“I only did what was right,” he breaks the silence. His tone isn’t one of asking for forgiveness or understanding. His arms tighten around you. “Are you afraid of me?” he whispers into your ear, the thick hairs above his lips tickling the shell of your ear.

You don’t answer him.

“You don’t need to be,” he continues. He allows you to move within his arms, you want to see his face, you need to see him to not fear for your life. You ignore the knife grazing your skin as you turn around, your bare front snug against his chest. “I’ll never hurt you. And you’re the only person in this whole damn town that can say that. You and Ellie.”

“What about Tommy?”

“Tommy’s priorities lay elsewhere.”

He doesn’t allow you to inquire further about what he means by that. All you can detect is a hint of anger that quickly dissipates when he claims your lips once more.

You’re lost in him. His tongue captures you in a way that makes you forget the blood on his clothes—on his hands. His tongue slides against your own, pressing until you’re moaning into his mouth, your knees faltering at the knife smoothing down your skin.

Before pushing you down to the ground, he takes off the shirt he cut in half completely off of you, your bra following the pile on the grass. Your breath hitches as he takes his place between your legs, his mouth devouring your neck, “Joel. . .” you moan, fisting his shirt and grinding up to feel at least a bit of friction.

A silent laugh seeps into your skin, his breath sending shivers up your spine, “Do you still feel bad for them?” he teases, laying a wet kiss between your breasts.

You don’t think much as you answer, “No.”

And as a reward, Joel closes his lips over a nipple, sucking hard until your breathing goes ragged.

“That’s my girl,” he groans, moving towards the other pebbled flesh. “You’re too good, too kind, but they don’t deserve that sweetheart.”

He hooks his fingers into your belt loops and tugs down your jeans, laving you with soft, ticklish kisses as he moves lower and lower. When you’re completely bare to him, you have the urge to cover yourself, the grass tickles your back and the wind feels colder now. Joel smiles and pulls your arms away. He lays the knife right above your stomach and your breath hitches.

“I want to taste you,” Joel says. “But not in the way you think, darlin’,” he kisses the sensitive skin right adobe your belly button, and brings the sharp edge of the knife to your skin. “I want to taste the life that pumps through your veins.”

Your eyes widen as he nicks you. It’s a small cut and blood beads at the wound instantly. He doesn’t allow it to gather enough so that’ll trickle down, he quickly presses his lips against it, your essence coating his tongue as he gives it a tender suck. You can the blood leaving your veins, a pleasant tingle echoing from the wound and spreading throughout your body. Your eyes flutter, a moan escaping your lips as he flattens his tongue against the cut and licks with board strokes.

“Fuckin’ delicious,” he rasps, pushing two fingers into you with ease. You gasp at the sudden stretch, your back arching into his touch. “So darn wet—All this for me, sunshine?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, grinding down. “Joel, please—”

You hear the sound of his belt buckle coming undone, his breath heavy in your ear, “Since you asked so nicely, sweetheart, I’m obliged.”

You feel the head of his cock brush against your entrance, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Your eyes close in anticipation and you whimper as he slowly slides inside you inch by inch. You can feel it, that intense fullness that can only come from him, taking his time to make sure it feels good. His size is intimidating but you feel yourself melting around him, eager and willing.

“That’s it. . . you’re takin’ me so well, such a tight little hole for me. Fuckin’ amazin’.”

He presses his forehead against yours, nipping at your bottom lip before thrusting, sending a wave of pleasure that makes your toes curl. You cling onto him for support as he pumps deeper and faster, hitting all the right spots. It takes neither of you long to climb the edge, ready to fall. You can feel the warmth of his breath, and his grip tightens on your hips. His pace quickens as the intensity builds, and you clench around him as he groans your name.

“Gonna come inside,” he slurs his words. “Gonna fill you up—shit—”

You can feel him throbbing and pulsing inside of you, his hard length contracting. As he pushes deeper into you, your insides flutter, squeezing around him. Your orgasm is ripped from you, shattering and mind-numbing. Your head spins and you cling to him, afraid that the world underneath you might slip entirely. His hot come warms you from the inside out, spilling from where his cock stretches you.

Joel remains inside until he starts to soften. He pulls out of you, leaving you feeling a longing ache deep within your core. You shudder as his come trickles down your thighs, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“Such a pretty sight,” he murmurs, entranced, as he gathers himself over his fingers and pushes it back inside you. “Try to keep as much as you can inside.” To emphasize his want for it, he slides your underwear up your legs.

You’re tied to him now. And even though you shouldn’t, you enjoy being the one near the beast. Joel helps you dress, at least helps you with what remains, and gives you his leather jacket to wear since your shirt is in ruins. Neither of you says a word as you walk back to where Jacob’s body rests. You help him bury the body, not feeling a single thing; no grief, no remorse, no sadness.

You always did have a complicated relationship with death after all.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #hauntedhoedown

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angelltheninth · 18 days ago

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Every Time He Leaves

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, suggestive, reunions, teasing, family planning

Word count: 0.8k

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters

A/N: I heard that the sequel isn't coming in 2025 but that won't stop me from writing fics for this amazing man.

"Mi vida, I'm home." Miguel heavy footsteps echoed through the halls, a good sort of comfort now in your current state. "Baby? Are you asleep?" You could pretend to be. Like you pretended all those night before, then wake up in the morning and wonder if he would be there or not. No. Not this time.

You waited for him to open the door, his charming, soft smile thrown your way, almost shaking your resolve.

"You didn't have to wait up for me you know, I don't mind cuddling up next to my-" He stopped talking once his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom and he saw your eyes red from crying, "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" You nodded. You were about to explain when he was in front of you in a flash, his hands pressing and prodding, looking you over. The bed dipped to one side under Miguel's weight, his worried expression turning a little angry, " Where does it hurt? Who hurt you? I'll make them regret it!"

You let out a long heavy sigh. Taking one of his hands you placed it above your heart and then pointed your finger at him, finally meeting his eyes with your being full of tears, "You hurt me."

"What?" He looked like you just slapped him, which would have been preferable, he would hardly feel that. But your words, they cut deep. "What do you mean? Was I rough with you last night? You told me it was-"

"Oh for gods sake Miguel, I'm not talking about that. I'm not physically hurt." You backed up a bit, putting some space between you two. It was a little empty space, easy to close, yet it felt like you were worlds, universes apart, "I don't ever see you anymore. You go on missions, you come back, you... fuck me and then you leave. Do you really not get how that makes me feel? How... used and alone I feel?"

The sex was good. The sex was damn good. Perfect even. He was so close to you, he was smiling at you, you were one with him, holding him, feeling him everywhere, kissing him. But those moments, they passed way too quickly for your liking and then you were empty and alone again.

"Is that really how you feel?" He sounded like he couldn't wrap his head around what you were saying. At the same time you could see it on his face that he was putting the puzzle pieces together. "I love you, more then anything, you're the most important person in this or any universe to me. I... would stop. If you wanted me to. We could settle down, buy a bigger house, start a family, like we talked about."

"How? How can you say that when you leave without... without even telling me? Your job is important, I understand that, but for the love of god Miguel, I'm your girlfriend! I at least deserve to know when you're leaving don't I? What if... what if one day you... what if you don't come back to me?" You started hiccuping while you cried, your body shaking from the wave of emotions that you were finally able to unleash. There was a part of you that felt like it was selfish, that Miguel wasn't yours to keep and that doing so would mean a lot of people would get hurt. Did you deserve him in the first place?

Miguel's arms wrapped around your smaller frame, you could hear his heart beating quickly, you could feel him shaking along with you while he balanced himself on his knees, his suit flickering on and off. "I would never abandon you. Even if I have to crawl back from Hell itself I'd find a way to come back to you. I made up my mind long ago, when I die it will when we're both old and I lost all my hair."

"And we have grandkids running around?" You whisper against his chest, voice still raw from crying and nose stuffed from sniffles.

"So many grandkids. We're gonna have a big family, just like we planned. I know its hard right now but its almost over okay? Then we can settle down anywhere you want." Miguel cupped the back of your head as his lips pressed to your forehead, lingering there for the longest time, "Nothing is more important then you. Nothing."

"I want at least three kids." He nodded, "A big house in the country side." A nod, "A big, cuddly dog." Another nod, "And you in my bed every night." He kissed you, not caring the least that you tasted like tears. But he didn't stop there. His hands lifted you up by the hips, your legs wrapping around his body as you felt yourself being lowered on the bed.

You felt his suit vanish and warm muscles take its place, "Three kids. That's a lot of work. We should practice as much as we can." Miguel smirked like an idiot while he undressed you, ready to prove his love to you.

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scary-grace · 6 months ago

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the crying game - a shigaraki x f!reader oneshot

You gave up on love a long time ago, but you keep getting invited to weddings, and after eleven receptions spent at the single's table, you're almost at the end of your rope -- until first-time wedding guest Shigaraki Tomura asks you to show him how it's done. (5.7k words, modern AU, no quirks.)

This fic is for @arslansenkai, who saw my milestone post and requested the prompts ‘holding hands’ + ‘listening to the other’s heartbeat’ + ‘whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin’ from this list. Thank you so much for the prompt! I really enjoyed writing it and I swear all three of your prompts made it in here or there.

You hate weddings. You don’t remember when you started hating them, but you know why you started – right around the time when you realized that you’d never have another one of your own, that you’d always be attending someone else’s, and doing that all by yourself, too. Add in the cost of a new dress and new shoes (God forbid you wear the same thing twice in one year) and travel accommodations and a wedding present, and weddings become a big, expensive, depressing waste of a weekend. No matter how much you like the people who are getting married.

And you do like them, this time, even though they’re the twelfth couple from your department at Ultra, Inc. to get married in the last three years. Ochako and Himiko are the kind of couple who shouldn’t make sense, but somehow do – the kind of against-all-odds couple who’d make you believe in love if you didn’t know better. You were rooting for them, you’re glad they’re together, and getting their save-the-date still made you want to drown yourself in the toilet. You opted to drown in vodka instead. You need help.

You need help, and you’re going to get it. After this wedding. So you can figure out how to say no the next time you get an invite. Because out of all the indignities about going single to a wedding, getting stuck at the same table at the wedding reception as the other people who couldn’t snare a date is possibly the worst.

Most couples have at least a few single friends, but Himiko and Ochako are the last of their respective circles to couple up. Or almost-last. The singles table at their wedding included exactly five people at the start of the reception. You, an older woman named Magne, a guy your age whose place-card says Todoroki Touya but insisted that he goes by Dabi, another guy your age whose place-card says Takami Keigo but insisted you call him Hawks, and one more guy your age whose place-card says Shigaraki Tomura and who barely looked up when you introduced yourself.

It wasn’t the worst singles table you’d ever sat at, at the start. Then Magne bailed to sit with somebody she knew at a different table, and Dabi and Hawks hit it off and then snuck off to God knows where, and then it was just you and Shigaraki sitting at your table in the far back corner of the reception hall. That’s how it’s been for an hour, and the only interaction the two of you have had is when you’ve passed the table’s bottle of champagne back and forth, filling your glasses and then draining them out of sync. It’s depressing. After going to eleven weddings in two years, you can hang in there with the best of them, but you’re pretty sure you’re about to crack.

Your glass is empty, and when you reach for the bottle, you find that it’s empty, too. You want to get more, but you’re not going to look like a lush in front of your weird tablemate. “Hey,” you say, and Shigaraki looks up from the screen of his Switch. “This is empty. I’ll go get more if you want it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Shigaraki says. You raise your eyebrows. “This will suck just as bad whether I’m wasted or not.”

“Yeah,” you admit. “But then you’ll be able to pretend it sucks because you’re wasted, not because you’re stuck at the singles table yet again.”

“Yet again? Sounds like you’re projecting,” Shigaraki says. You shrug. It would hurt more if you hadn’t heard the same thing from at least one person at the last three weddings you went to – usually towards the end of the reception, usually when everybody’s getting weepy and ridiculous. You’re ahead of schedule this time. “Sure. I’ll take more.”

Two tables over, a group of happy couples have abandoned their champagne bucket in favor of the dance floor – or the photo booth, or something. You swap your empty bottle for their full one and come back over, hoping Shigaraki will have gone back to his game and forgotten you existed. No such luck. He’s sitting up, watching you, as you sit down, fill your glass, and slide the bottle back across the table to Shigaraki. “Yet again,” he repeats. You down half your glass in a single swallow. “I’m only halfway through the first one of these stupid things I’ve been to and I’m already done. How many times have you put yourself through it?”

“Eleven,” you say. Shigaraki’s red eyes widen. “No, that’s just people from work. If I count friends from school, it’s, uh – sixteen.”

“If you’re this miserable, stop going.”

“Is that what you do?” you challenge. “When your friends invite you to celebrate the happiest day of their lives, you just don’t go?”

“My friends know better than to invite me to shit like this.” Shigaraki copies you and drains half his glass in one go. “I wouldn’t have come to this one, except Toga critical-hit me with this guilt trip about how we’re her family and she needs her family to be here –”

You did notice a conspicuous lack of parents or relatives on Toga’s side of the aisle. “And I said I’d go if I didn’t have to go alone,” Shigaraki continues. “Dabi was supposed to be doing time with me. Figures he’d score a hookup and bolt.”

“I didn’t know you knew each other,” you say. They barely talked when Dabi was sitting here. “How do you know Himiko?”

“Juvie,” Shigaraki says, and you’re not sober enough to keep the surprise from showing all over your face. He snickers. “Not what you expected?”

You shake your head. “Is that where you know Dabi from?”

“And Spinner,” Shigaraki says, pointing out a purple-haired guy at a different table. “And Twice. Magne was a peer counselor or something. If I hadn’t met them I probably would have killed myself in there.”

You can’t stop your surprise from showing this time, either. Shigaraki grimaces. “Don’t read into that.”

“No promises,” you say. Shigaraki snorts and lifts his glass partway, then drains it. “So you’ve known each other for a while.”

“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re friends with the girlfriend. Wife.” Shigaraki refills his glass again, but leaves it alone for the time being. “How long have you known her?”

“Work,” you say, then facepalm. You’re lucky you manage to do it with the hand not holding your glass of champagne. “Two years or so. I already worked there when she was hired. I kind of watched the whole thing with Himiko from the sidelines.”

That’s how you always watch relationships play out at work, or anywhere, really. Pretending to be happy, really being happy, and still feeling like you’re pulling a tarp over the sinkhole in your chest. “So the wife invited you and you showed up even though you knew you’d hate it,” Shigaraki concludes. “You’re crazier than me. I’m never going to another one of these things again.”

“Not even your own?”

“Do I look like the kind of person somebody marries?” Shigaraki finishes his whole glass in a single swallow. You were thinking about trying to keep up with him, but if you try that, you’ll throw up all over the dress you had to buy, which is probably dry-clean only or something worse. “I don’t get why anyone goes to these things.”

“They’re supposed to be fun,” you say. You feel bad picking on Ochako’s wedding. It’s not Ochako’s fault that you’re single, bitter about it, and this close to drunk on alcohol she paid for. “But they’re usually only fun if you go with someone.”

“I went with somebody. He ditched me to hook up with a guy who named himself after a bird.”

You snicker at that. “I meant a date,” you clarify. “If your date ditches you to hook up, then you’ve got bigger problems than whether you’re having fun at a wedding.”

“He’s not my date. I’m not gay.” Shigaraki looks up. “Did you think I was gay?”

“I really didn’t – think,” you admit. You didn’t come to the wedding looking for a hookup. If you had, you’d have tried to put a move on Hawks before Dabi could. “The activities are more fun with a date.”

“Activities?” Shigaraki asks. “Like games?”

“Uh, sometimes,” you say. You know Ochako set up lawn games outside, and the sun won’t set for a while. “Sometimes there’s an art project you’re supposed to do for the couple, as a keepsake or something. I went to one last year where you were supposed to write a good wish, fold it into a paper crane, and then hang it off a branch of this tree they’d bought.”

“Too much work. What else?”

“Dancing,” you say, although you felt like that was pretty obvious. “And Himiko and Ochako have a photo booth.”

Shigaraki’s nose wrinkles. “Why?”

“As a keepsake for the guests, I guess,” you say. “Again. More of a couple thing.”

“Huh.” Shigaraki pours half a glass this time but still finishes it in one swallow. Then he stands up. “Let’s do it.”

You freeze in the act of pouring yourself another glass. “What?”

“I’m never coming to another wedding. You’re bored and drunk –”

“I’m not the one who’s been treating glasses like shots.”

“So let’s do it,” Shigaraki says, like you didn’t say a word. “If this is the last one I go to, I want to get my money’s worth. Do you have something better to do?”

You were this close to taking out your phone and opening up Tinder. You shake your head. “Finish that,” Shigaraki says, and you finish the half-glass you just poured and get to your feet. “Where’s the stupid photo booth?”

You lead the way. Even in heels, you’re faster than Shigaraki – he’s meandering a little bit, possibly due to all the champagne. You reach out and grab his hand to pull him back on course. He jumps, stumbles into an empty table, and glares at you. “What are you doing?”

“You wanted the wedding date experience. Holding hands is included.” At least you think it should be. If you had a real date you’d want to hold hands with them. Shigaraki follows you a little more closely than before as you make your way up to the photo booth. “It looks like they have props. Should we use them?”

Shigaraki hasn’t let go of your hand. He picks up a fake mustache on a stick. “Who would use this?”

“Me, maybe?” If you had a wedding date, you’d want to be spontaneous and fun. You lift it out of his hand and hold it up to your face. “What do you think?”

“No.” Shigaraki takes it away, puts it back, and picks up a flower crown. “Here.”

“No, that’s for you,” you say. Shigaraki argues, but you pluck it out of his hand and settle it on his head anyway. “See? It looks great.”

“If Dabi sees me wearing this stupid thing –”

“He’ll be jealous,” you say. The crown would look stupid on Dabi’s spiky black hair, but the pastel shades of the flowers look nice with Shigaraki’s blue-grey hair. “Okay. Now you can pick one for me. I’ll even do the mustache.”

“No,” Shigaraki says again. He sorts through the props and comes up with a headband with bunny ears. “This one.”

You two are going to look ridiculous. It’s hard not to laugh, and you haven’t even seen the full effect yet. You put on the headband, thankful that you went for a low-effort hairstyle that’s easy to fix, then pull the curtain on the photo booth and wedge yourself into it. Shigaraki follows you in.

It’s a really tight fit. You were pretty sure the photo booth was a couple activity, but now you’re sure – you love your friends, but you wouldn’t want to end up most of the way into any of their laps. You have to stop holding hands to try to get situated, and while you’re still trying to figure yourselves out, the photo booth takes the first picture. Shigaraki grimaces. “Wait. That probably looked stupid. Where –”

The booth takes the second picture while he’s talking, and you snort. There’s about a ten-second interval to get positioned correctly. You manage to face front in time, but your elbow lands on Shigaraki’s thigh as you’re trying to steady yourself, and he flinches away. You drop out of the frame as the booth snaps the third photo, and it occurs to you that the only part of you visible in the picture will be the bunny ears. Based on the location of the ears in relation to Shigaraki’s body, it’s going to look pretty compromising. You hope no one sees that picture. Ever.

Shigaraki’s snickering as you sit up. “Nice one. I want a copy of – hey!”

You’ve elbowed him on purpose this time, just in time for the fourth photo. The fifth photo’s probably going to be blurry. You’re both lightly shoving each other, trying to get each other out of your personal space without pushing either of you out of the photo booth itself. The sixth photo’s probably the only one that’s worth anything, and it won’t be very good, either – Shigaraki’s flower crown is off-kilter, and you’re pretty sure your headband’s falling off. The printer begins to whir, and the two of you sit in silence as the booth prints out two sets of photos. You pick one up. Shigaraki takes the other. A second later, you’re both laughing.

The photos look even worse than you thought, and somehow that makes them better. The photo where it’s just your ears in the frame features Shigaraki staring down into his lap, looking all kinds of startled, while the photo where you’re pushing each other is blurry enough to be a still from a found-footage horror movie. In your opinion, the first photo is the funniest. “We look like that meme with the cat,” you wheeze. “The one with the loading circle over its head.”

“The last one looks like a mug shot,” Shigaraki says, his laughter so raspy that it borders on a witch’s cackle. “After a bar fight –”

The idea of getting in a bar fight in your wedding outfit sets you off. You slump sideways at an angle and end up with your head against his chest for a few seconds, surprised that you can hear his heartbeat and surprised at how fast it’s beating. “Which of us won?”

“We both lost,” Shigaraki says, and you laugh harder. The two of you look disheveled as hell, and not from anything fun. “Number two is the worst one. You look good and I look like a dumbass.”

“You just had your mouth open,” you say, wiping your eyes. You’re probably smearing your makeup, but who gives a shit. You didn’t do that good of a job on it anyway. “Anyway, that’s the wedding photo booth experience. What do you think?”

“I want to go again,” Shigaraki says. This time, you manage to turn to stare at him without throwing any elbows. “For good ones. No way do people’s girlfriends let them leave with just the stupid ones.”

You would, but then again, there’s not a big enough difference between how you look in bad photos and how you look in good ones for it to matter. “We can do one more,” you agree. “Let’s lose the props.”

Without the flower crown and bunny ears, the silliness factor drops significantly. Now you look less like a couple of drunk clowns pretending to be a couple and more like two people who could actually be together. It weirds you out, but you promised the whole wedding date experience. In the seconds before the first flash goes off, you tilt your head onto Shigaraki’s shoulder.

Shigaraki startles, and as soon as the flash goes off, he pushes you away – but only so he can tilt sideways. He’s taller than you, enough so his cheek rests against the top of your head. Four photos left. When you glances over at Shigaraki, you see that his tie’s crooked, so you fix it for him, burning another photo in the bargain. The fourth photo is Shigaraki shifting the neckline of your dress to cover your bra strap, which is weird but plausible for a couple’s photo booth experience. He has a birthmark just below the right corner of his mouth. You aim for it when you kiss his cheek quickly for the fifth photo.

Shigaraki startles again, and you sit back – but not too far. You’re still close enough that Shigaraki only has to lean forward a few inches for his lips to meet yours.

You weren’t planning to kiss him. It’s not much of a kiss, and it doesn’t last long, but your heart is still racing as the booth spits out your second sheet of photos. You’re almost scared to look. Shigaraki’s hesitant, too, and when you both flip the sheets over to check, he says exactly what you’re thinking. “Shit.”

The first set of photos were a joke. The second set – either you and Shigaraki are really good actors or you’re both really drunk, because they look way too plausible for comfort. The ones where you’re fussing over each other’s clothes are probably the worst offenders on that front, but you’re most alarmed by the last two. You’re smiling as you kiss his cheek. You can see the corner of your mouth turned up. And you didn’t see where Shigaraki’s hand was when he kissed you, but the photo’s preserved the evidence. It’s right by the side of your face, curved like he wants to cradle your jaw in his hand.

Exactly sixty seconds ago, the two of you were screwing around in here. Now it feels like there’s static running back and forth between you, and you scramble out of the booth in a hurry, almost tripping over your feet. Shigaraki gets out, too, leaning against the booth to steady himself. Without a word, he takes both of your sets of photos and tucks them into his suit jacket along with his sets, then fills your suddenly-empty hand with his own. “Now what?”

The static shock is between your hands now. “My hand is humming,” you say, like an idiot, and Shigaraki tightens his grip. “Um, I think there are some games outside.”

“Fine.”

It’s warm outside, but getting cooler as the sun begins to set. There are a lot of games, and most of them are being ignored in favor of a bunch of the goofiest guys from your office playing cornhole while their girlfriends/boyfriends watch. You determine instantly that you’re not coordinated enough for anything that involves throwing something, which leaves you exactly one option. “How about that one?”

“Jenga?”

“Jenga XL,” you say. Shigaraki snorts. “My hand-eye coordination’s too bad right now for a throwing game. This will be safer.”

Whoever was playing the oversized Jenga last left the blocks in a heap. You and Shigaraki can’t hold hands while you stack them up, and as you do, your assumption that Jenga would be safer than something else gets tested in the most embarrassing way possible – and of course Shigaraki points it out. “You’re short. If this thing falls on you it’ll flatten you.”

“It won’t fall,” you say with more confidence than you feel. “I’m good at this.”

“Go first, then, if you’re so good at it.”

You get a block out without trouble, but you have to rely on Shigaraki to re-stack it for you, which he does, wearing a really frustrating smirk. “You should have worn taller shoes.”

“I can’t walk in taller shoes,” you say. “Or dance. Are you going to want to dance?”

“If it’s part of the wedding date experience, yeah.” Shigaraki carefully extracts his block and sets it on top of the tower. He’s not all that much taller than you. If the game goes on long enough, he’ll have trouble re-stacking. “They don’t exactly teach dance classes in juvie.”

“It’s not that kind of dancing,” you say. Shigaraki looks relieved. “If it’s going to be that kind of dancing, they warn you on the invitation. A friend of mine who got married last year only played swing music at her reception. She sent out a certificate for free lessons with her save-the-date.”

“Control issues?”

“I think she just wanted stuff her way,” you say. You ease another block out of the tower and hand it over to Shigaraki. “Hers was nice. Everything ran on time, and she sent out thank-you notes six weeks after the wedding.”

Shigaraki stacks your block, then pulls out one of his own. You realize with a jolt that he’s missing the index and middle fingers from his left hand. “What’s the worst one you’ve ever been to?”

“Um.” You don’t want to say this. You really don’t – but you drank too much, and you should be honest. “Mine.”

“You’re married?”

“Divorced,” you say. “Three months after the wedding. I didn’t have the ring on long enough to get a tan line.”

Shigaraki doesn’t say anything. The tower is getting unstable, so you’re careful as you wiggle out one of the side blocks on a row about halfway up. You keep an eye on Shigaraki’s shadow as you do it, bracing yourself for him to walk away. Would you walk away if he told you he was divorced? No, but you’re divorced, so it matters less to you. “Three months,” Shigaraki repeats. “How’d that happen?”

“You’re lucky you aren’t asking me that six years ago,” you say. “With how much I drank tonight, I’d have gone off.”

“Go off. I want to hear it.” Shigaraki actually looks interested. “Anyone who fucks this up deserves it.”

He’s gestures at you. You don’t know what to make of that, and you’ve got a block halfway out of the tower. You go back to work on it. “How do you know it wasn’t me?”

“I know,” Shigaraki says. “How’d it happen?”

“This is pathetic,” you warn. Shigaraki gestures for you to go on. You sigh. “We were together since high school. Midway through college I got a bad feeling that we were drifting apart and I couldn’t take the suspense, so I tried to end it. And he popped the question. We got married six months later and three months after that he knocked up my cousin.”

“Damn,” Shigaraki remarks.

“They’re still together,” you say. “The kid’s in primary school this year. And every year around the holidays my aunt and my cousin pick a fight with me about how I need to be nicer to him, because we’re all a family now.”

You finally manage to extract the block, and Shigaraki takes it from you before you can offer it to him. You can’t read his expression, and just like when you sensed things with your ex were falling apart, you can’t take the suspense. “Pathetic?” you prompt.

“Your ex is a loser.”

“You haven’t seen what my cousin looks like.”

“He’s still a loser,” Shigaraki says. He pulls out a block. “I get it, though.”

Your stomach clenches. “What do you mean?”

“If my girlfriend was leaving me because I was dicking around, I might do something like that, too.” Shigaraki sets his block on top of the tower. Your options for blocks to pull are getting slimmer by the turn. “Popping the question. Not knocking up your cousin.”

“I have other cousins,” you say. Shigaraki snorts. “I thought you said you weren’t getting married.”

“I said nobody was going to marry me,” Shigaraki corrects. What’s the difference? “Your turn.”

You’re out of blocks at shoulder height. And chest height. And waist height. You crouch down instead, doing your best to balance in your heels, and start trying to wiggle a block loose on the fourth level up from the ground. Shigaraki’s voice follows you down. “If you were ready to ditch him, why did you say yes?”

Now you’re at a real risk of crying. Six years of intermittent only-when-you’ve-got-the-money counseling hasn’t made a dent in this one thing. You remind yourself that Shigaraki can’t see your face and work on keeping your voice steady. “I was the one who asked him out in the first place, back in high school. I always had this weird sense that we wouldn’t be together if I hadn’t. So when he proposed I thought it meant he was choosing me, like I chose him. Which was a stupid reason to say yes.”

You wanted to believe. You wanted to believe so badly that you were worth it, and now you’re divorced at twenty-eight, barely talking to the half of your family that took your cousin’s side, going on a grand total of one real date in the entire time since then that you got up and left partway through because you couldn’t fake hope or excitement for one second longer. The kiss you planted on Shigaraki in the photo both was the most action you’ve gotten in two years, and you’ve put more effort into the fake wedding-date experience than you have into even looking for a hookup. You’re pathetic. This is pathetic. You should be embarrassed, and you are.

But you got your stupid block out. You straighten up and hold it out to Shigaraki, who stacks it for you. You can’t read his expression, and you’re a little too dysregulated to be anything but blunt. “That’s my tragic backstory. What’s your damage?”

“What, going to juvie doesn’t count?” Shigaraki crouches down to pull a block from the opposite side of the same row you just weakened. He’s doing it right-handed; he’s waving his left with its missing fingers at you. “This doesn’t count? The fact that I don’t have eyebrows doesn’t count? Your problem is being a dumb kid with a shitty family and a shitty ex. My problem is that I exist. We’re not the same.”

He straightens up and drops his block on top of the tower. You can see that he’s tenser than before, and you can’t think of anything to say that won’t sound patronizing. “I didn’t notice about the eyebrows until you said something.”

“Great.” Shigaraki won’t look at you. “Your turn.”

You crouch down again. The row below the row Shigaraki just knocked down to one block seems like the safest bet. You start pulling at it, frustrated at the way it sticks. “Careful,” Shigaraki says after a second. “If you don’t watch out –”

The tower topples. You’re crouched down, with no chance of getting out of the way in time, and all you can do is sit there, stunned, while three dozen giant Jenga blocks crash down around your head. The corner of one catches your temple, digs in, and you flinch. But the blocks are light. You’re startled, and humiliated, and possibly bleeding a little bit, but you’re fine. “Are you okay?” Shigaraki asks. You give a thumbs-up, and he crouches down next to you. “I don’t believe you. You look – shit, your face is bleeding.”

“I’m good,” you say. “It’s a good thing we took pictures already. This is not part of the wedding-date experience.”

“I’m done with that,” Shigaraki says, and your heart sinks. Even though it shouldn’t. Even though none of this mattered to begin with, even though you know better, you hoped. You weren’t hoping for anything much – just to keep having fun, just to not spend the rest of the wedding alone. “You have a purse, right? Do you have napkins in there or something?”

“Your suit comes with a pocket square.” You pluck it out of his pocket and press it to your temple. “I’ll pay for cleaning it.”

“Don’t bother. It was my dad’s. He doesn’t have much use for it in solitary.”

Shigaraki helps you up while you’re still processing that one and tugs you away from the wreckage of the Jenga tower, onto a bench. The view of the sunset is really good from here. Further down the lawn, you can see Himiko and Ochako and their photographer doing a last round of pictures, and you slide your feet out of your shoes. It’s that point in the wedding. You’ll probably stay here for the rest of the night.

“Do you need ice?” Shigaraki asks. You shake your head. It doesn’t hurt, or maybe the fact that the sinkhole in your chest is eating the tarp you put over it just hurts more. “Do you still want to dance?”

“You said you were done with the wedding date thing.”

“Yeah. I’m done with the part where it’s fake.”

Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought you did. “What do you mean?”

“Seriously?” Shigaraki sounds annoyed. “I let you put a flower crown on me.”

“Is that some kind of mating ritual in juvie?” The instant you say it, you feel bad, but Shigaraki laughs. “If you’re trying to say something, say it. I don’t do very well with ambiguity on my best night and I’m still kind of drunk.”

“Same here. Otherwise I’d sit on this, and my friends would spend the rest of their lives listening to me bitch about how I didn’t ask out the girl from Toga’s wedding.” Shigaraki’s hand lifts from his lap, rises to his neck, then falls back. “I want to dance with you. Toga and her wife are having an after-party at their place, and I want you to come to it with me. And I want your number so we can hang out again sometime when we’re not wasted. Because I like you.”

You must have hit your head really hard. “We met three hours ago.”

“So? Toga said she knew she was going to marry the wife the first time they made eye contact,” Shigaraki says. That sounds like something Himiko would say. You’ve met her a few times at work parties and she’s always struck you as a little intense and a little off-the-wall. “Do you want to dance or not? Make up your mind.”

You want to say yes. What comes out is something really stupid, so stupid that you can’t look at him while you say it. “This is the kind of thing that happens to other people.”

“What, meeting somebody who asks you out?”

It sounds stupid when he says it like that. You keep his dad’s pocket square pressed to your temple and try to explain. “The whole thing where you meet somebody when you weren’t expecting to meet anybody and things click, at least on your end, and since you know it’s just on your end you try not to get your hopes up – but the other person tells you that it clicked for them, too –”

“That’s dumb.” Shigaraki doesn’t sound like he’s being mean. You could almost call it affectionate. “Forget who it happens to. I’m asking you out. Do you –”

Screw it. If this is some kind of hallucination, you want to enjoy it. If it’s real, you don’t want to miss out. You turn back to face Shigaraki. “Yes.”

He grins, and you notice a scar over his mouth, too. “Good. Now what?”

You think about kissing him. You decide to try hugging first, which involves getting at least as close to him as you did when you were in the photo booth, on purpose this time. Shigaraki isn’t particularly tall or bulky, but when you hug him, you’re surprised to notice that he’s hiding some muscle underneath his suit jacket. Kind of a lot of muscle. Huh. Shigaraki notices that you’re investigating a little bit. “What?” he asks, his mouth against your ear. “Did you think all I do is game?”

“I don’t know what you do all day,” you say. “We didn’t get to that part yet.”

“We will.” Shigaraki draws back from you, and you loosen your grip even as his hand rises to cradle your jaw. This time you see the kiss coming from a mile away, and this time, you lean in.

Everything’s different this time, except the thing that startles the two of you apart – the bright flash of a camera going off. “Tomura-kun!” Himiko squeals from somewhere nearby. “I told you you’d have fun at my wedding. Who is that? She’s so cute!”

For a second you’re worried Shigaraki doesn’t know your name, but he must have been paying more attention than you thought he was when you introduced yourself, because he introduces you to Toga without missing a beat. “She’s one of my coworkers,” Ochako explains, smiling at you. Even through the smile you can see the incredulity on her face, and you know you’ll be getting a lot of questions about this when she gets back from her honeymoon. “I’m so sorry we had to put you at that table. I wanted to put you with everybody from work, but they all had plus-ones –”

“It’s fine,” you say faintly. Himiko’s photographer takes another picture, this time of all four of you talking. “It worked out.”

“She’s coming to your party,” Shigaraki informs Himiko. “I invited her.”

“Oh, good!” Himiko turns her attention to you. “It’s going to be so fun! We have games and movies and we’re going to stay up all night.”

“You should come inside now,” Ochako says. “There are mosquitos out here, and we’re supposed to have cake soon –”

“And we’re going to do the Time Warp. I put that on the playlist for you special, Tomura-kun,” Himiko says. She glances at you. “It’s the only dance he knows.”

Shigaraki flushes, grimaces, but you tilt your head against his shoulder again, lacing his fingers with yours for the third time tonight. You don’t know what he does all day when he’s not at weddings he doesn’t want to go to. You don’t know if what he said about his dad being in solitary confinement was a joke or not. You don’t know what happened to his hand or where he got his scars, or even where his eyebrows went. But you know he likes you. You know you like him enough to give things a shot, at least for tonight, and that’s better than you’ve felt in a long time.

And you know he can dance, even if it’s only the Time Warp. For right now, you don’t need to know any more than that.

#shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #x reader #reader insert #man door hand hook car door #a bisquared production

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hearts-hunger · 4 months ago

Text

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: Under the soft glow of the purple Halloween lights, Danny is sweet to you like he always is. || Sequel to Kitkat and Honeyglow

Pairings: Danny x Reader | Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort | Word Count: 2.4k | Warnings: drinking, smoking, mentions of wacky tobaccy, me not knowing anything actually about tarot cards (sorry)

A/N: Everyone say thank you to @spark-my-nature and go look lovingly upon this Kitkat 'verse Danny fanart she made that made me cry!!! Every Danny and Kitkat fic is dedicated especially to Miranda now :) I have at least one more fic for these two sweeties up my sleeve this spooky season, and I hope you like this short little fic! ♡

“Damn, Jake, how much tequila did you put in this?”

Jake laughed when you winced after the first sip of your drink, clinking his solo cup against yours.

“Beats me, kitkat,” he said. “You know I measure liquor with my heart.”

“Should start measuring with your liver,” you said, taking another drink anyway. “Lordy. I'm gonna be slap-out drunk after one drink.”

He cackled. “Slap out? That's weird. You're funny, honey.”

You grinned at the sloppy kiss he bestowed on your cheek as he went to rejoin the party, knowing Jake was well on his way to being slap-out drunk already. Most of the partygoers were in various states of intoxication, whether from the counter littered with half-empty bottles of booze or the weed that was being “discreetly” smoked in the back yard. One of the boys' friends had planned this bash to celebrate the beginning of the season at the haunted house attraction they worked for; this was sort of their last hoorah before nights and weekends became dedicated to scaring the bejeezus out of people for the next two months. You knew your boys were looking forward to getting back to work, and even though you weren't the biggest fan of haunted houses, you were happy to come and celebrate this year's reign of terror on the folks of your small town.

You fished a Corona out of the cooler and went in search of your boyfriend, weaving through rooms filled with people talking and laughing and singing along to the Ghostbusters theme song playing at a blinding volume. Some were dressed in their costumes for work, getting in the spirit of things, and you politely sidestepped a ghoul and an undead nurse making out in the hallway. You spotted Danny in the living room, sporting a black hoodie and a backwards ball cap that somehow managed to tame his thick head of curls. He was talking animatedly to Sam, who was giving him a vaguely drunk but comically serious look of attention and consideration.

You'd almost made it to them when somebody in a clown mask started razzing the crowd, hollering and getting up in their faces. They all seemed to like it — it was just another day at the office for them, after all — but you stumbled back a little when he turned to you and held his hands up as if to snatch you.

“Hey, Bri, easy on the fright night with my kitkat.”

Your boyfriend’s kind reminder from behind you had Brian backing off with an applogetic laugh.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, muffled through his mask. “Forgot you weren't into all this. My bad.”

“That’s okay,” you said with a smile, thankful for the quick response. The actors who worked at the haunted house were very good about keeping things light and fun for all thresholds of thrill-seeking, even those as low as yours. Still, Danny's hand on your waist was a welcome comfort as Brian went off to scare somebody else.

“Thanks,” you said, turning to Danny. “I guess I should be used to this sort of thing by now.”

He smiled. “No sweat, kitkat. Brian's just funning you, but it's okay if you don't like it.”

You handed him his beer, and he accepted it with a word of thanks.

“This is my last one tonight, though,” he said, looking at your cup with a wry smile. “Somebody’s gotta drive us home, and if you're drinking some shit Jake made, no way should you be behind the wheel.”

Sam held out his hand for a taste of his brother's concoction, and when you let him have some, he coughed and spluttered.

“God damn, kitkat,” he said as you and Danny laughed. “You’re gonna be on the floor after that.”

“That’s the plan, Sammy boy,” you said cheerfully. You knocked back another swig and shuddered with the acrid taste. “Goes down real smooth.”

Danny chuckled and hugged you close to his side. “Having fun, kitkat?”

“Yeah,” you said with a smile. “Are you?”

He hummed in agreement around a sip of his beer. “It’s fun to be back with everybody. It's gonna be a good season, I think.”

The music crescendoed, almost rattling the windows with the volume of the synth.

“Do you know who you are yet?” you asked.

Danny leaned closer to hear you over the noise. “Do I know what?”

You stood on tiptoe and leaned on his arm. “Do you know what part you're playing yet? At work?”

He nodded. “Ah. Yeah. Werewolf again. It was such a big hit last year that they want to keep it around.”

You gave him a cheeky smile and a kiss. “It was a big hit for me too.”

He pinked a little, liking the compliment and the reminder of how you'd met.

“Glad you're happy, sweetheart,” he said, a little bashful.

Some of his friend wanted him to play a game of darts with them, and you stole one last kiss before you sent him on his way. You knew enough of his coworkers to hang out on your own, and the Kiszkas were milling around somewhere; you went to mingle and talk to some of the friends you'd made over the last year as you'd frequented the haunted house in the off season of repairs and updates.

Cindy, one of the girls who’d worked the zombie maze last year, took you by the arm and let you to where she and a couple other girls were messing around with tarot cards in the dining room.

“Your turn, kitkat,” she said, ushering you into the chair at the table laid with cards and fairy lights. “Time to seek your fortune.”

The girl telling fortunes shuffled the cards and fumbled a few with tipsy hands, and you laughed.

“Off to a good start, I see,” you teased.

“Just you wait,” she said with a grin. She laid three cards in front of you, and you watched curiously as she presented the lovers upside down, the tower, and the moon.

Your draw earned a low chorus of “oohs” from the girls around you. You didn't have the slightest idea what the cards meant and looked around at their faces to see what you could glean from their expressions.

“Bad news?” you asked.

Cindy gave you an uncertain gesture with her cup. “Dunno, kitkat. Looks like your love life is gonna get fucked up, your carefully laid plans are gonna get blown to shit, and you're in for some fear and confusion.”

“Aw, what the fuck?” you protested with a laugh. “Gimme some new ones. I don't like those.”

She waggled her fingers at you. “The cards tell all, babe. Better get with it.”

You let someone else have a turn, and though you enjoyed spending time with your friends, you couldn't help thinking about the cards you'd been given. You didn't want your love life to implode; you liked it just the way it was.

When the girls pulled out a Ouija board, you declined being haunted and excused yourself to find Danny again. He was out on the porch, smoking a cigarette and finishing off his beer; you snuggled close to him in the chilly night air, thankful for his warmth.

“Saw you in there with Cindy,” he said. His handsome features were sharp in the purple lights strung overhead. “What were y’all getting into?”

“The future,” you said mysteriously.

He smiled. “Oh yeah? What'd you find out?”

You downed the last of your drink. “Well, we're about to break up, and then I'm gonna explode and die, probably.”

He laughed. “Well damn, honey. Is that all?”

“That’s all she wrote,” you agreed.

He leaned his elbows on the railing, looking out at the spooky decorations in the yard, and you hugged his arm.

“Dan?”

“Hm?”

“I don't wanna break up and explode and die.”

He turned his face to yours, nudging the bridge of his nose against your cheek. “We’re not gonna break up, kitkat.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, half-serious. Maybe — certainly — it was the alcohol making your head fuzzy and your emotions wobbly, and you knew you were worried way too much about some drunken tarot reading that none of you had done correctly anyway. But you still wanted reassurance, and as he always did, Danny gave of his kindness and patience very generously.

“Kitkat,” he said gently. He brushed his thumb over your cheek. “I’m sure, sweetheart. I'd have to tear my heart out to ever live without you. You hear me?”

You blossomed under his touch, leaning close. “I hear you. I love you, Danny.”

He kissed you, and you felt his smile. “I love you, my sweet kitkat.”

You shared a cigarette under the soft violet lights, talking about the upcoming season and your plans for your anniversary that was only a few weeks away.

“I think we should make it official and start a family,” he said.

You blushed, partly out of surprise and partly out of some insane pleasure at the idea. Of course you weren't ready for kids and he was only messing with you, but you didn't mind the thought of starting a family with him one day.

“Little Danny junior, huh?” you teased gently.

He grinned. “Later, kitkat. Let me marry you first. But maybe we could get a puppy and start practicing.”

You laughed. “Okay, honey. I like that idea. And the one about you marrying me.”

He pulled you snug against him. “I’m working on it. But, you know, rings that a haunted house actor and part time drummer can afford are kinda scarce.”

You slipped your hand under the purple lights on the railing and showed him a light resting on your ring finger.

“There,” you said. “Found a free one.”

He chuckled and kissed you. “You sure are silly, kitkat. I love you. And your free ring. It's very generous of you to find one.”

“Just doing my part,” you said, smiling up at him. You untangled your hand from the lights to brush your fingers over the curls that peeked out from his ball cap. “I love you too.”

When you ventured back to the party, you found that most everybody had settled out in the back yard for a showing of some horror movie on the projector. You and Danny found a spot on the grass to watch, and the Kiszkas joined you. You hoped it would turn out to be a slasher, since you were getting braver with that kind of scary flick, but you quickly found out it was something about ghosts or demons; you didn't watch it closely enough to find out. You hadn't quite gotten over your innate scaredy-cat nature to handle that kind of movie yet. Danny was absorbed in the movie and talking to the boys about it as they all enjoyed it, so he didn't notice that you were hiding behind your hands for a large portion of it.

Halfway through, when the movie was paused to let people refill drinks and snacks, Danny did lean over to check on you.

“How’s it going?” he asked. “This one’s not so bad, is it?”

“Um...” You didn't want to spoil something he was obviously enjoying, but you’d just about reached your limit for terror, even on a movie he thought was tame.

His expression softened with chagrin and worry. “Aw, honey. You don't like it, do you?”

His understanding made you brave enough to tell him the truth. “Not... not really,” you said apologetically. “I’m sorry, Danny.”

He shook his head. “You don't have to apologize, kitkat. I'm sorry I didn't notice earlier. We can go home if you want.”

You looked up as he stood. “Are you sure? I don't mind staying if you want to finish the movie.”

He offered you a hand up. “I don't want to stay if it's scaring you, honey. I'm happy to go home if you're ready.”

You took his hand, grateful for his kindness to you, and you said your goodbyes to the Kiszkas and the rest of your friends. The boys gave you some ribbing about still being a scaredy-cat, but you knew it was in good fun.

On the way home, you and Danny stopped to get something to eat and ended up camped out in the living room at the house he shared with the Kiszkas. You divvied up your Taco Bell orders as Danny queued something up on the tv.

“I think this one's a little more your speed, kitkat,” he said. “But you let me know if it’s too scary.”

The opening to Halloweentown started to play, and you nudged your elbow against his ribs and earned a sweet little giggle.

“Sorry, kitkat. I’m only teasing.”

He consoled you with a kiss, and as you sat together and enjoyed the movie that was indeed much more your taste, you found yourself watching him more than your were watching the movie.

He chewed on his straw. “What?” He offered you his Baja Blast. “You want some?”

You smiled. “No, but thank you. I’m just admiring my lovely boyfriend.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I'm a real hunk eatin’ my weight in tacos and nacho fries.”

You patted his shoulder. “I like a man with a healthy appetite.”

He laughed and gave you a goofy smooch. “Good to know, baby.”

You broke out the candy after a while, grabbing a bag of the fun-sized Skittles and Hershey bars you’d been planning to save for trick or treaters in your more proactive moments. But you could buy more, and the boyish smile on Danny’s face when you tossed the bag in his lap was priceless.

“See, this is why I keep you around,” he said. He fished out a candy for you. “Your special candy, my sweetheart.”

You smiled when you took the Kit-Kat that looked impossibly small in his big hand. “Thanks, honey. I guess it is my special candy, isn't it?”

You broke off half of it and gave it back to him.

“I didn't mean for you to share it with me,” he said, amused and kind. “But thank you.”

You gave him a quick kiss, candy-sweet and full of the easy love you shared, and he smiled as he pulled you close and deepened it.

“I love you, kitkat,” he said. “You know that, don't you?”

There was no way for you not to know. In his kindness and patience, his selflessness and sweet nature, Danny showed you he loved you until you thought your heart would burst with it.

“Yeah,” you said softly. You smiled. “I know it. I love you too.”

taglist: @viagvf @allieisacrybaby @itsafullmoon @spark-my-nature @anthemheatwave @xserenax-13 @musicspeaks @mountain-in-springtime @stardustsecret @alwaysonthemend @madneedshelp @josh-iamyour-mama @dannythedog @thecoldwind @woyayaofdreams @joshkiszkapunchmeintheface @lostoverseer @jakesguitarpick @heartcannotsow @kissingkiszka @gold-mines-melting @lizzys-sunflower @iluvjoshkiszka @musicislove3389

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#wahhh i hope you guys like it!!!#this one's just a short little fic with no plot to speak of but i think it's cute :)#danny wagner x reader #danny wagner fanfiction #danny wagner fluff #greta van fleet #gvf fanfiction #danny x kitkat #kitkat 'verse #maddie writes stuff!

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emeritusemeritus · 10 months ago

Note

Hello!! If it isn't too much to ask, could you make a Fred fic with reader on her period? Mine are absolutely excruciating, especially in the first two days, to the point of crying on the floor and stuff :(( it's totally okay if you don't want to, I just like to imagine Fred trying his hardest to pamper his s/o (and probably freak out a bit because honestly, periods are a nightmare men will never understand). Have a nice day ♡

Anon, it would be my pleasure! I’m so sorry you’re suffering, I had an endo flare up last week that nearly sent me to A&E so you have my full sympathy. You know that feeling when you could destroy the world and everyone in it but then your period starts and you realise that it’s been that all along? 🖤

Warnings: mentions of periods, menstural cycle, PMS, blood, pain. Best friend George, Fred is a sweetheart.

Words: 3.4k

The princess and the period.

You'd had a really terrible day, a horrible, never-ending bore of a day, at least in your mind. It started from the very second you woke up, alone in bed without Fred beside you. You'd slept through your first alarm and had nearly been late for an interview you'd had scheduled for months within the Department of Mysteries. You'd taken the visitors entrance to the Ministry to acquire your required visitors badge and had been held up by some Muggle incident that had rendered London at a near standstill.

The interview, thankfully, had gone well but you couldn't help but fixate on the discomfort you felt in yourself the entire time. Your clothes felt uncomfortable and restrictive and you felt bloated to the point that it was showing through your clothes.

You'd had plans to meet with Arthur after your interview for a cuppa and a catch-up at the small cafeteria whilst he took his break, something you'd been looking forward to all week. You made your way back down to Level two where the department of magical law enforcement was and walked through the mini atrium until you located the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office, only to be informed by Perkins that Arthur was running a tad late, caught up with something that required his immediate attention. Though this was far from unfamiliar, your temper had flared and you had barely managed to contain it, choosing instead to silently seethe as you waited in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs near the main desk. You weren't mad at Arthur by any means, you don't think you'd even been mad at him, but having to stay in uncomfortable clothing and wait when you were already having a bad day was just irritating you further and further as time dragged on, not helped by the incessant ticking from the muggle cuckoo clock on the wall that was driving you mad.

Arthur finally emerged twenty minutes later, apologising profusely as he grabbed his coat and ushered you back into the lift, a bright smile on his face as he began asking you about how your interview went and how his son was. You'd spent a nice half an hour together having a cup of tea and a freshly made slice of cake, something he was keeping a secret from Molly, but as you parted and made your way out of the Ministry to travel home, your mood had almost immediately soured again.

The street was still busier than usual, the noise of people shouting and car horns honking were essentially non stop and you couldn't wait to get home and relax away from the chaos. You had to stop by the shop on the way home for some ingredients for dinner that night and found upon entering the shop that they were completely out of what you needed. You huffed out a breath, feeling yourself getting worked up again and tried desperately to think of alternative ideas to work with what you already had at home but your mind was foggy and unable to concentrate, coming up with nothing. You felt like crying, stood in the middle of a crowed aisle in the muggle supermarket, feeling utterly pathetic. You cursed under your breath and moved away from the aisle towards the exit when you passed the small bakery counter, the sight alone of the small chocolate fudge cake on display enough to make you pause. Without hesitation you bought the cake and walked straight to the checkout, feeling defeat at not getting what was needed for dinner but at the same time, feeling a little victory at acquiring the chocolate cake you were so looking forward to.

You were exhausted by the time you opened the door to the apartment, cursing Fred in your mind for placing the anti-apparition jinx upon the store and the flat above and for not fixing the floo function on the fireplace which had forced you to manually travel into central London and back and then walk up four flights of stairs in your business heels. You were in a foul mood, tired and ready to snap from the day filled with complications and irritations.

You walked into the kitchen to place the cake on the side after kicking off your heels and saw a load of dirty pots piled up in the sink and a mess made on nearly every surface of the countertop, clearly from one of the twins on their lunch break.

You let out an aggrieved groan and slammed down the bag containing the cake on the small kitchen table, huffing and cursing under your breath as you chucked down your wand and walked immediately into the bedroom in a huff.

You rolled your eyes seeing the wardrobe doors open and the bed covers strewn everywhere from your rush this morning and groaned again, now in disdain for your own actions. You walked off once again, now annoyed at yourself and stepped into the thankfully rather tidy bathroom. You started the shower, wanting to wash the entire day away and get out of your uncomfortable clothes immediately which you happily threw onto the bathroom floor without a single care.

The shower helped, feeling a little cleansed by the water and familiar scents of your shower gel, though it didn't remove your bad mood entirely; thoughts of the messy kitchen and lack of dinner ingredients were still playing on your mind only winding you up more. You stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a big fluffy towel and walked into the bedroom to put your comfy clothes on, a big T-shirt that used to belong to Fred and your black joggers, aiming for ultimate comfort. You hadn't heard from George or Fred today except for the nice note they'd left on the fridge door wishing you luck for your interview, though it wasn't unusual, the shop was always busy.

You walked to the kitchen, completely ignoring the mess and pits that were not yours to clean and made yourself a cup of tea, almost crying as you looked at the slither of milk left in the fridge. It was enough for one cup of tea but nothing more and you cursed yourself again for not thinking of grabbing milk whilst you were at the shop.

You sat down in the living room with your cup of tea, wet hair thrown up in a lazy bun and had just pulled open the book you were currently reading when Fred burst through the apartment door.

"Ooh there's my princess, how did your interview go?" He says loudly, bombarding you instantly with a kiss to the head and throwing himself down onto the sofa beside you. You closed your eyes in annoyance, just wanting to relax and on the cusp of being able to before he interrupted.

"It was fine," you replied with a shrug, really not feeling up to explaining your day just now. "They said I'd receive an owl by the end of the week."

"Know you'll get it princess, always have been the smart one," he says, apparently thinking nothing of your rather clipped reply.

"Anyway, we're taking you to dinner tonight to celebrate," he says in a sing-song manner, stretching out on the sofa to put his feet up on the coffee table.

"But I haven't gotten the job," you countered, placing down your book, casting one last sad glance at the cover.

"Yet," he replies, stretching out and pulling open his tie just a fraction, eyes closed with a smirk tugging at his lips.

Any other day you'd have jumped at the chance to go out for a meal with your loved ones but upon looking at your comfy yet completely inappropriate outfit to go out in, your face fell. You'd have to put actual clothes back on, do your hair again and reapply your makeup that you'd just scrubbed off in the shower. You couldn't be bothered, at all. You wanted to sit and read with your cup of tea, switch off your brain and eat your weight in chocolate cake. But then you remembered that you had no solid idea or complete ingredient list for any viable meal and maybe going out would be the only way of eating that night.

You felt another wave of annoyance come over you as you considered having to get all done up again. Couldn't they have warned you? Left a note or something so that you didn't shower the minute you got in? You knew you were diverting into unreasonable territory as they were just trying to do something nice but you couldn't help it, you'd rather vomit slugs than have to get ready all over again and out of your comfort clothes.

"Anyway, best get back or George'll curse my eyebrows off, 7pm gorgeous, wear something sexy," he says, straightening his toe as he wiggles his eyebrows at you before leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, "proud of you sweetheart." And then he's gone and you're left reeling.

Wear something sexy? Who the bloody hell was he to request that? Your boyfriend of years, but still.

You looked down at your outfit again and felt a ridiculous but prominent sense of loss, wanting to stay bundled up forever. You check the clock on the wall and feel aggravated once again as you see that it's nearly 5:50pm and you'd have to start getting ready. You begrudgingly dragged yourself into the bedroom and sat at your little table, staring into the mirror and felt no motivation or desire to get ready, looking at the drawers in front of you but not actually wanting to open them.

That's how George found you a little before 7 as he slipped away from the shop, seeing you sitting at your makeup table in tears. He rushed in as soon as he saw your tears and crouched down to try and comfort you, eagerly listening though it must have been hard for him as the crying was affecting your voice and all that came out were a few unintelligible whines.

"I just don't want to," you say with a hiccup, wiping away your fear from your cheek. You didn't think it would actually get this bad but your curls hadn't gone right, the hairbrush you found was not your favourite and sometimes pulled your hair a little as it brushed through and nothing at all would make you look sexy tonight with your bloating. You didn't want to wear uncomfortable heels again, nor walk anywhere in them and by the time you'd gotten to take a sip of your tea, it was cold.

"Shh, it's alright," George says soothingly trying to calm you. He placed his hand on your shoulder but quickly removed it as he saw your little glance at it. It wasn't that you didn't want to be touched per se, but his touch very heavy on your already uncomfortable body. "We don't have to go, it was only an idea."

You sniffled miserably and looked at your best friend, wiping away the tears. "But we don't have anything for tea, they didn't have any-."

"Then we'll order in, get something delivered or we'll nip out and bring something back," he says, not quite interrupting you but just enough to make you stop spiralling. You nodded meekly, feeling utterly pathetic again. "Right, I'll go tell Fred we're staying in, then we'll close up and order something okay? Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?"

You'd seen his eyes flicker to your still full mug and frown as he entered, figuring it was something that had set you off. You shook your head, already feeling like he'd done too much for you.

"Okay, we'll be back as soon as we can," he squeezes your shoulder and walks out.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, makeup sparingly applied but messed up thanks to your tears and your hair curled but not how you wanted it and sighed, feeling overwhelmed with guilt at shooting down your boyfriend and his brother. They'd only tried to do something nice and you'd completely spoiled it, too selfish and caught up in your own feelings that you'd been unreasonable and unkind. You considered wiping the makeup off your face but thought better of it but you reach for a big scrunchie and tie your hair back into a high ponytail, making you feel a little better.

You threw back on your comfy clothes and trudged into the kitchen, retrieving your wand to cast a few spells that had the kitchen cleared in no time. You poured away your cold tea and put the kettle back on, still seeking the comfort as you had before.

The twins closed up the shop in record time and Fred pulled you into the bedroom with him as he undressed, slipping out of his suit and into his own loungewear.

"Princess you should have said," he says gently, reaching for you, his hand cradling your face as he looks into your eyes, "I didn't mean to pressure you."

"No it's not you, I've just been off all day, everything's irritating me and I just want to switch off," you explained, hearing the remorse in your voice.

"Then relax you shall," he says with a smirk, "kiss first though?" His cheeky smile extends to his eyes and you catch his gaze flicker at your lips. You eagerly reach up on your tiptoes to place a sweet kiss onto his lips and you pull away smiling, feeling like it's the first time you'd properly smiled all day.

George ordered food for you all before hopping in the shower and arrived back in the living room wearing his comfiest pyjamas, pulling you into him for a hug as Fred fired up your favourite muggle movie on the TV, also joining you on the large sofa.

It was pitch black when you woke up, your eyes struggling to focus as you came around, confused as to what had woken you up. You could hear Fred breathing deeply and evenly, sound asleep. You looked at the little alarm clock beside the bed, lifting your head up from the place between the pillow and Fred's shoulder where your head rested and saw that it was 2:34am. As your consciousness begins to clear, you frown, feeling a soreness in your abdomen that you couldn't place, feeling as if you needed the toilet but without the urge to go.

You extracted yourself from your boyfriend's side, which never proved to be an easy feat, and walked to the bathroom, dragging your tired body along. You turned on the light and quickly shut the door to stop the light from disturbing your sleeping boyfriend and sat down on the toilet, turning the tap on out of habit. You pulled down your sleep shorts and underwear and immediately understood why you had an ache in your stomach, and why you'd been out of sorts all day.

Your period.

Every month without fail, the moment you discover your period had started, the pain heightens at least ten notches. You winced as you wiped, kicking off your underwear and shorts that were soiled and dragged yourself into the shower. For the second time, you sighed as you entered the shower, your body screaming at you out of exhaustion as you rinsed yourself off. You grabbed a towel and raced into the bedroom to grab a pair of panties from the dresser and ran back into the bathroom to sort your pad out. You then slipped on some new pyjamas and dragged yourself back to the bed, illuminating your wand to check that nothing had gotten onto the sheets, or worse on your boyfriend sleeping beside you. Luckily, it hadn't.

You suddenly didn't feel tired anymore, body wired from your lukewarm shower. You walked to the kitchen, padding through the flat on barefoot and flicked the kettle on, searching through the cupboard above for a jar of hot chocolate you kept in.

You grabbed your hot drink and flicked on a lamp before you pulled a black cushion from the side of the sofa to sit on, not wanting anymore accidents to happen. You didn't turn on the TV right away but instead chose to sit in the partially illuminated room and try and wind down. You couldn't get comfy at all, wiggling your hips to try and ease the ache between them, feeling like your lower abdomen was being constricted from the inside, shooting pains going down your leg and an uncomfortable pressure in your bum. You could sob with the pain, wanting to curl up in a ball and cry but you couldn't, I'm too much pain to even try and move, your entire energy being consumed by simply existing right now.

Your periods had always been bad, starting just before your third year at Hogwarts and though through time they had evened out a little, they were still unpredictable at best and monstrous at worst. You shifted your hips again, trying to relieve the tension you felt and groaned quietly, wishing that you'd filled up your hot water bottle before sitting down.

Medicine in the wizarding world was spectacularly different from the muggle word though a little less advanced as the wizarding community came with added complications such as diseases and ailments that muggles would never know existed. Witches and Wizards often didn't react well to normal muggle remedies nor pharmaceuticals, something you'd learned at Hogwarts from Madame Pomfrey, something about the magical ability burning through modern pharmaceuticals at a rapid rate, rendering them ineffective.

You placed your mug on your stomach to try and gain some heat from it and rested your head back on the sofa, breathing deeply and trying to calm yourself so that you could go back to bed. Feeling yourself getting sleepy, you placed down your mug and pulled a soft blanket over you, trying to get comfy as you settled into the soft material of the plush sofa.

"Princess?" You heard a quiet voice call out, your eyes on the verge of closing. You opened them just a little, sensing Fred's presence behind you and you twisted in position to look at him, wincing as a bolt of pain shot through your groan at the motion.

"What are you doing out here? George snoring too loud again?" You smiled appreciatively for the joke and reached out for him with grabby hands, needing some comfort. He wordlessly slipped in beside you on the sofa and immediately wrapped you around him, blankets and all as he kept you bundled up. You reached for his large hand, feeling the absurd heat he always radiated under your fingers and placed his hand onto your tummy. The heat from his hand spread over your skin instantly and you could feel it penetrating deeper and deeper, soothing your pain.

"That time?" He asks delicately and you nod into his chest, your eyes still heavy as you breathed in the familiar, comforting smell of Fred. "Want your water bottle?" You paused, considering it but slowly shook you head.

"Not right now, got you," you mumbled into his chest, his warmth and presence soothing you further into sleep. You felt him chuckle, chest rumbling with the vibration and he reach down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

"Out of ten?" He asks, keeping his hand placed delicately on your belly.

"Eight at least," you groan, your eyes closing as your toes twitch out of the intensity of the pain.

"Oookay, what can I do?" He asks, clearly a little freaked out by the high level of pain you admitted, knowing that it really must have been bad as you always had a high pain threshold.

"Just sit with me," you say, feeling depleted.

"Wanna go to bed or are you happy here?" He says after a few minutes. The heat from his hand has begun to feel redundant, your skin now the same temperature as his.

"Water bottle first?" You asked innocently, hopeful that he'd accommodate you. He presses another kiss to your head and tells you he'll bring it in before shoo'ing you into the bedroom where you sink down into the soft sheets, finally feeling comforted enough to close your eyes.

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #requests #period fic #Fred Weasley comfort fic #comfort fic

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katerinaaqu · 3 months ago

Text

The Lament of a Life (Achilles and Antilochus short songfic)

If someone asks me how the lament of Achilles looks like my answer would be the amazing aria with music composed by Vivaldi:

youtube

The lyrics go on a repeat like this:

So today is a bit chilly and so I was inspired by this amazing song and made this! (Sorry itis a random inspiration I had this morning from this piece thus the title "song-fic")

***

His eyelids were heavy. He didn’t feel like getting up anymore. His bed seemed cold and inhospitable and yet he didn’t feel like moving out of it. His eyes opened slowly and looked to the side. It was empty. He looked outside his tent. Also empty. There was nothing left; he didn’t have the subject of his revenge anymore; he had given it back. Hector’s body was buried and celebrated. His revenge had come to an end. And yet, he felt empty. Nothing mattered. Achilles, the Best and Noblest of all the Greeks was no longer feeling anything mattered. What would it matter now that the subject of his vengeance was gone, if the subject of all the affections he could offer to a human being was also gone? His soul was in turmoil throughout the process. He thought on Briseis, the woman that he felt so strongly for; merely a slave and yet so important for him, had started this domino of reactions which led him to the strike; his refusal to fight. Then his refusal led to this terrible result; the death of his other half. The flame that flickered inside him was gone, the moment Patroclus’s eyes turned glassy from death and he wasn’t even there. During Patroclus’s last moments…he wasn’t there! He remembered his wife; a woman he barely knew and yet she gave him a son, a son he adored despite his young years, a son that he never knew and a son that never knew him back. He could be lamenting for them; they wouldn’t see him again possibly. Given the prophecy, he was to die in war. Possibly neither his wife nor his son, were included in the prophecy. He should be crying for them. He should be crying for the people that were around him and yet…he was feeling weak; unwilling to even get out of his bed and eat because of… He slowly forced himself to sit up and he looked at the magnificent urn with two handles that was always within eye gaze from him. The intricate patterns were cold; just like his bed that could not give him warmth.

“Come back…” he whispered in a voice chocked deep in his throat

Tears oozed out of his sea-blue eyes; his throat burning anew.

“I did what you asked…I offered you a burial…come back…! Please…come back to me!”

His hand was shaking as it was reaching for the cold, golden urn; his other fixing the covers upon his naked chest, in a vain attempt to generate some warmth within.

“Please…” he whispered again, “Come back…!”

“Achilles…”

The young and soft voice didn’t surprise him neither made him react. Antilochus was standing right behind him, undoubtedly had entered his tent a little while prior, enough to hear his foolish and childish lament.

“He won’t come back…” the young man said as a matter of fact, “You offered him a burial. He is in the land of Hades now… He will not come back”

More tears arose from Achilles’s eyes as he clasped desperately the covers against his chest; his face buried to the pocket created by them as if his own eyes wanted to confirm what hurt so much was indeed the organ that was pumping his blood, giving him life inside. Yes, he knew. His cut hair was also a proof of that but hearing it again was somehow destroying that foolish illusion that if he begged hard enough, goddess Persephone would have mercy and send back Patroclus to him; his soul to talk to or at least restore his body to hold one more time…

“Soul of my soul…” he mumbled in lament, “My dear as my own heart…”

“Shh…” Antilochus whispered in tears, hugging his shoulders affectionately, “I know… I know… Please don’t do this to yourself… I know it hurts but…he’s gone… No matter what you do…how much you melt…he won’t come back…”

“Heart of my heart…” Achilles lamented again, “I want him back…! I want him to come back…”

“I know…” Antilochus said again, caressing his golden locks with his hands

Achilles seemed almost aged at that point in his sorrow. Antilochus almost felt tempted to look for white hairs in his golden head.

“And I am sorry that I cannot offer you any consolation… Forgive me. I am not him; I cannot take your sorrow away…”

Antilochus softly raised Achilles’s head, cupping his cheeks and making him look deep in the eyes. He moped the tears from his cheekbones with his thumbs.

“I know I am young and foolish…but, please, take one bit of advice from me; stop looking at it! Stop looking at that urn! It will only hurt you more… You need to come back to us too…we need you…”

He looked away.

“I need you…” he whispered shyly, “You are my hero, my idol… I need you back, strong and healthy…maybe some of your previous happiness back… Please…please my dear…we all need you. Above all I do…”

Achilles looked at him and for one moment he looked like a hurt animal facing the peasant that had released him from the hunter’s trap. However then he laughed; it was a dry, humorless, lamenting laugh.

“Don’t be foolish!” he said self-pettily, “No one shall need me! I shall die! I know I will!”

“Don’t talk like that!”

“You can’t deny it, Antilochus! I know it to be true! It was predicted for me! I will die! I will die in this war! My mother told me someday I would die in this war if I decided to fight! I shall never go home! I shall never see my wife and son! I will die now! I know I will and I don’t care! Nothing matters anymore!”

“Don’t say that!” Antilochus retorted again

“I know the truth” Achilles insisted, “I decided it for myself. I know what my fate is! That urn Im staring is waiting for me! I am to die!”

Antilochus looked away. He seemed hesitant; his arm rubbing his upper arm as if he was about to make that confession no one has heard before.

“I’ll tell you a secret…” he whispered, “So am I…”

Achilles seemed surprised and shocked for the first time in that conversation. Suddenly the lament gone; now there was fear in his eyes. Fear for yet another loss.

“My father was hiding it…but I overheard him. An oracle once told him to beware of an Ethiopian. At first I didn’t know…but my father tried to hide it from me. I know now that I am to die somehow by someone from a foreign land… Maybe today maybe tomorrow maybe here maybe at home… I know though that I will die like this…and…”

He swallowed and looked back at Achilles. The elder man gasped seeing tears to Antilochus’s eyes.

“…And I am scared! I am scared, Achilles! I don’t want to tell my father that for he would be ashamed of me and my cowardice but…I am scared! How can you take it, Achilles? How can you live knowing that you will die…?”

“Antilochus…”

Antilochus quickly mopped his own tears, sniffing his nose, trying to find his composure.

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled, “I don’t know what came into me! I just…”

He sighed.

“We need you back” he finally repeated, “You are our strength and our courage. When you are out there we are afraid of nothing!”

“Antilochus!”

And Achilles did something the younger prince never expected; he embraced him.

“Antilochus, dear to my heart…don’t say such things please. Don’t you say that you will die! I will not let you! I…I will protect you!”

“You…you will…?”

“I will!”

Achilles kissed the top of his head and held him close. Maybe for the first time in weeks he didn’t think of death and burials. Right now he was lamenting a life; this young man who was there apparently sharing his pain and fate. No, he wouldn’t see yet another young person close to him die before him in battle!

“I will protect you! I will not let anything happen to you I promise!”

The two men remained there for quite some time, neither wanted to count the time. It was a shared lament for their short lives; a lament that was different than the one for the dead souls. Who would die first? If both of them were destined to die in the war against Troy, who would die first and who would watch the other die? Neither wanted to be the last. Neither wanted to see the other die. What weird and sad fate! Achilles was almost rocking the youth in his arms so worried of his upcoming death while he was almost welcoming his at that point; oftentimes kissing tenderly his temple. Antilochus was trying to evoke some of his warmth to Achilles for he was afraid for his upcoming death; his welcoming of it. He didn’t want to hear fate yet alone his willingness to accept it. It was a weird way to connect that autumn morning. And yet he felt that at least Achilles might have found a reason to postpone his will to die. Antilochus broke the embrace first, standing up.

“Look at us!” he chuckled softly, “Looking like children playing at the gymnasium like this! We have a war to fight! I am sorry…I took your personal time, my lord Achilles…”

“Wait!” Achilles’s voice made him stop, “Stay…please…”

It was a request; a pleading.

“Please stay with me longer…” he almost seemed worried, afraid

“Are you afraid of the dark and shadows?”

“Yes…” Achilles admitted, “More like those inside my heart… Please stay a bit longer…”

Antilochus smiled softly.

“Of course, my lord…” he whispered, “I would be delighted”

Outside the tents, the Greeks were already preparing for the events of the day. The kings were to negotiate their next step again given how the mourning period for Hector was over, how the killings would start anew. It was a sad prospect and they knew their own forces wouldn’t last long. The spies were also informing them on movement on Troy’s part to call upon more allies to arrive to the battlefield. Odysseus was thinking all this as he pranced about the camp. He blew some warm air to his freezing fingers. Autumn was in for good. Soon winter would arrive again.

“Yet another year to the foot of Troy…” he thought miserably, “Yet another year away from our homes…for the sakes of this war…”

He was also worried on Achilles. That last lament period shocked everyone. Achilles had just collapsed and then turned into blind rage. People were afraid on his sanity; that his mind would break. An out of control Achilles was much more dangerous than they would have thought. And their army needed their support. Before the Trojans had Hector to even the odds. Now their strongest warrior was gone. It would be their chance to have higher spirits and yet they didn’t. Achilles was a mess. Once more they seemed to square one… He could only hope he would snap out of his grief enough to fight. His gloomy thoughts were interrupted when he saw old Nestor. Nestor was suffering more than the rest of them from the cold; he had a bear skin over his shoulders to keep his old bones warmer and yet he refused to stand back. Odysseus smiled.

“Good morning, my friend” he said

“Good morning” Nestor replied, “It turned chilly!”

“Yeah…” Odysseus agreed, “Sometimes I envy the young!”

“Speaking of which…my son left the tent earlier this morning. He said he wanted to check on Achilles and I didn’t hear from him since. Have you seen him?”

“No” Odysseus replied thoughtfully, “But I was heading there myself to check on things. Maybe he is still there”

As if on a queue they heard light laughter coming from the direction where the Myrdmidons had camped. The distinct, clear laughter from Achilles made a small smile creep to Odysseus’s lips.

“It’s the first time I hear him laugh in weeks…” he sounded almost hopeful, “Your son is a miracle-worker!”

Nestor smiled back.

“He is…” he whispered thoughtfully, “He is…”

Odysseus’s smile dropped when he saw a shadow in Nestor’s eyes. He didn’t need to ask to know there was something ominous hanging over the two youths.

Yet another time he looked at the cloudy, gray sky and wondered to Athena how all that was even justified…if the youth were to perish and all the others would live…

***

So yeah...Achilles being depressed and Antilochus giving some consolation! TT_TT Achilles hoped to see Patroclus's ghost again (which is what inspired me from that amazing Aria as well!)

Also I wondered if Antilochus knew the warning Nestor got to "beware of an Ethiopian" if he would know or sense the warning was for himself instead of his father...what if he feared it all along...maybe that would be the connection with Achilles!

Set after the mourning period of Hector! As you can see I kept it a bit "homeric" in the essence that I love tenderness in his writing and then leave it unravel!

a small thanking thing in a way too for @smokey07 for honoring me with a mention! Anoher thankng for @h0bg0blin-meat for his sketch to one of my silly headcanons about Achilles and Patroclus! Still makes me giggle my friend!

Also I want you guys check out my brilliant friend's art and mentions on our characters trust me you won't regret it! Many parallels of the epic cycle were added unconsciously to our story! Hahahaha! @artsofmetamoor

My analysis on Achilles and Patroclus can be found here

Antilochus needed some love too there! Hehehe others write scary stories for October but I was like "nope I shall mention ghosts in angst!"

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deansapplepie · 1 year ago

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Can’t promise ya that Sweetheart

Daryl x f!Reader | Established relationship | pos savior war | Dad Daryl | little fluff

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating (not Daryl, of course), memory loss, Negan, a little bit of violence, mentions of death, killing threat, a little part of blood, pregnancy, mentions of birth, mentions of torturing, mentions of cancer. (If I forgot anything tell me) Minors do not interact, 18+.

A/N: This is a small story based on this dream that I had in the end of the last year. Finally decided to write something about it.

It didn’t go exactly what I had planned because of the dream, but here it is. Also, I wanted it to be a small drabble, but I turned it into a big one-shot.

Another thing is… Daryl and Reader have a 6 year old son, but in no moment I wrote his name in the history. I received a critique about reader’s son in The Spitting Image, so I’m still deciding if I’ll continue with DJ in my Dad Daryl fics, or if it will be only for The Spitting Image and I’m coming up with another name in my other fics. Just to make it clear, I have no intention in changing DJ’s name in The Spitting Image.

When the Greenes found you, the world had already ended. In one of Otis’ hunting leaves he encountered you, all bloody, your hair a mess of dried blood and dirty. At first he thought you were dead, but then you let a small cry and he checked your vital signs confirming you were indeed alive. That day he didn’t go back to the farm with good meat, he took you in his arms and arrived at the house urging for help.

The moment you woke up, your mind was blank. There was nothing there. No memories. At least, you still had the ability of speaking, reading and writing, besides that, not a thing. You didn’t even remember your own name. You didn’t remember the world before dead people started walking. Some people said you were lucky, because you couldn’t miss something you didn’t remember, but most of the times it was frustrating not knowing about who you were.

Without a name or a history, the Greenes soon adopted you, giving you the name Y/N, because they said it suited you and their last name. You liked how Y/N Greene sounded, and you liked the people that took you in and soon made you love them and be part of the family. Everyday was a new day to discover what you liked or disliked, to learn something new and learn who you were.

The group from Atlanta came, and with them also came a lot of trouble and a certain mysterious hunter that refused to leave your thoughts. He didn’t even looked at you, why were you dreaming about him? Little did you know you never left his thoughts too, and that was incredibly annoying. The farm burned down and all of you lost your safe place. You took the road, then you arrived at the prison and with the months passing you grew closer and closer to Daryl Dixon, but you were only friends. Until… after the people from Woodbury joined you and an event brought you two together.

And that was how you ended up like this, married to him, a 6 year old son and one more baby on the way. Now you lived in Alexandria a community that gave you a home again, a small sense of normalcy and where your strange family only grew. You had all been through a lot already… the prison fell, you were almost eaten by cannibals and you had survived a war against a group called The Saviors, which leader Negan killed many of your friends and broke and destroyed your husband. The first time you listened to the name of the worst person you heard of it made you feel something strange, just like if your guts were being pulled by an invisible hand, but you couldn’t tell why. Maybe it was just because he was a sick son of a bitch.

He killed Glenn which was like your brother in law as you and Maggie had become instantly sisters. He killed Abraham the gigantic ginger of a big heart and a mouth dirtier than a sailor’s. And his worst crime, in your heart, was what he made Daryl go through. He tortured, humiliated and broke piece by piece of the man you loved, and that you couldn’t forgive. You never got to see him. That sounds strange, but every time he showed up you wasn’t in Alexandria, the missions everybody went you couldn’t go because of your enormous belly that had the biggest baby you had ever saw, damn Daryl and his genes, that baby was hard to push - but yet here you were carrying another one. In the final battle you had your baby Dixon in your arms, so you never got to see the man. Even after Rick almost killed him, but in the last seconds asked Siddiq to save him.

You never had to see the man you despised and hated so much, until now that you were walking on Alexandria streets going to get his food and deliver it to him. You managed to keep the distance from him the past 6 years and nobody ever asked you to do a thing for him. Maybe because he brought back the memories of what he did to Daryl, or maybe because you agreed and supported Maggie about killing him. But now, you were making a favor to Gabriel, Michonne wasn’t in town and Rosita needed him. So why not? It couldn’t be so difficult, you repeated the steps on your head: handcuff him, open the cell, put the tray on the floor, close the cell and release him. After that you just needed to leave and never look at him again, at least you hoped so.

When you entered the dark room only illuminated by the daily light that came from the small window, it sent chills through all your body and you felt your “little pear” get agitated in your belly. ‘Lil pear’ was the nickname Daryl gave the baby you had in your belly, because he was pretty sure that it was a girl this time. You didn’t have an opinion about it, but you knew he would be happy if it was a sweet little girl like his ‘lil ass kicker’. You put the tray on a chair and before catching the handcuff on your pocket, you caressed your already big belly to assure your baby that nothing bad would happen.

“Never thought you’d ever come to visit me.” You heard his voice and once again it was like someone was pulling your guts.

“Believe me, I tried to come for a deadly visit, but I wasn’t allowed to.” You replied, handcuffs already in your hands. “Hands outside the bars.”

“I know you hate me, but you wouldn’t dare to kill me.” He put both hands outside the cage so you could handcuff him.

“Don’t tempt me Negan, or I may take the offer.” You handcuffed him and now took the key to open the cell.

“You really enjoyed fucking Dixon, didn’t you?” People were right he knew so damn well how to make anyone lose their temper. “A precious sweet little boy the one you have.” You had opened the door.

“Never!” You kicked the side of his leg on the height of the knee, earning a grunt in pain from him. “Never talk about my child again! Don’t even look at him!”

“This isn’t how I raised you sweetie… but I’m glad you can take care of yourself in this world.” You went outside the cage to take the tray of food. “But this isn’t the way you should treat your father.”

You gave him an annoyed look. “My father is Hershel Greene, and he’s dead. So, no way a scumbag like you is my father.” Fuck, remembering Hershel made tears surface in your eyes. Damn, fucking hormones.

You lowered the maximum you could to put the tray on the floor and made a mental note to tell Gabriel you’d never help him in such activities again till the end of your pregnancy. He didn’t know how fucked up it was to squat in that situation.

“Your name isn’t Y/N. Your maiden name was Smith. You have a mole in your back, close to your shoulder. You got a scar on your left knee after you fell from your bike, you were 8…” he said and that stroke you in a way you couldn’t explain. Yes, you had a mole. Yes, you had this scar that you didn’t know how you got since you had no memories from your past. You left his cell and closed the door. “Guess, you aren’t Daddy’s pretty princess anymore…”

At that moment the unthinkable happened, a storm of memories hit you running through your mind and you had to hold yourself on the bars, or you could swear you’d fall. Your childhood. Your teens. Memories of an old life you didn’t had anymore, and the day you caught your dad cheating on your stepmom, the reason why you left them not looking back, because you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her and break her heart, but you also couldn’t look at your father’s face and don’t feel anger. A wave of anger that contained all the last years and now also your memories from the past hit you, and when you realized it, you were with your hands on his collar yanking him towards the bars, his face impossibly close to it.

“What did you do to Lucille?” You yelled at him, from all the things you could have asked or yelled at him, he wasn’t expecting this. “What happened to her?! You gave her name to a fucking bat!”

“I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking. Jesus… I couldn’t even kill her turned self.” He confessed. “She had cancer. She discovered it a little after you left… she was still in treatment when the outbreak happened.” And then he told you the short story of what happened and you blamed yourself for not being there for her, she was like a mom to you and you ran away just because you couldn’t tell her your dad was a cheater, but now he was worse, he was a psycho.

You released his hands from the handcuff and stored it on your pocket again. “I’m asking Gabriel to take the tray.” You said, you didn’t even need to tell him anything, but you didn’t know why you said.

“Can you bring the boy to meet me?” He had the audacity to ask. You snorted.

“If it depends on me, he’ll never meet you. You killed my friends, my brother… you tortured my husband, and that sweet little boy had a complicated birth because of what you inflicted in all of us, and do you think you have any right of meeting him?” He could see the tears in your eyes threatening to fall, and his heart clenched just like when you were little and would cry because you were hurt. But you’d not let it happen in front of him. You’d not cry. “If you had remained you, if you hadn’t caused so much pain, this would be a completely different reencounter.”

Once you finished talking you left the small little prison and when you turned to go up the stairs, you saw Daryl up the stairs, the look in his eyes indicating worry. He was probably looking for you, and someone probably said where you were. He saw in your eyes that you were in the verge of crying, you went up the stairs and once in front of him, you urged him to leave the place, you didn’t want him to see you crying.

You entered home, hand in hand and he took you to the sofa, sitting there with you. He put one arm on your shoulders and brought you to rest your head against his chest. “What did he tell you?” He asked and you were sure he was already thinking of a way of destroying the prisoner.

“I… I remember everything, Daryl.” You said, and the tears that you had been holding just fell down. “Negan’s my father.”

He didn’t look surprised, because he wasn’t. He knew it. For years already. Being married with the archer for so many years, made you a little observant like him and in that moment you knew there was something wrong.

“You’re not surprised.” You said, it was an affirmation, not a question. “Did you know?”

He took a deep breath, his hand on your head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how was your past with him. I was afraid it was so messed up that you would break if you got your memories back.”

“Did you never doubt my loyalty after you discovered it?” That was a difficult question, that you were not sure if you were prepared to listen to his answer. You weren’t mad at him, you kneel him and you knew he had no bad intentions on hiding it from you and to be honest, deep down you wished Gabriel had never sent you there.

“Wouldn’t have put another baby in ya if I did.” He didn’t want to be coarse, that was just the way he was and when he said that you knew he’d never doubt you. “I’ve been with ya for years, wouldn’t ever doubt you.”

“How did you discover it?” You wrapped your arms around his torso.

Some days after Negan was taken to his cell in Alexandria, he saw something through the small window that he didn’t expected. You. His daughter that had given her back to him many years ago. When the world ended, Lucille had told him to go and look for you, but he couldn’t do that, he needed to take care of her. Months passed and you never showed up at home, he thought you would try to get home if the apocalypse happened, so he just assumed you were dead. He saw you with Daryl and a cute baby in your arms, and that’s how he discovered you were the pregnant wife he had and everyone talked about, but he never got to meet. Also, you were going by a different name. He’d never think it was you. He was a monster, but he was a father, and he was so glad you were alive and well… but he also knew you probably hated him more than anything. Next time Rick visited him, he talked to him and asked to see you. Of course the ex-sheriff didn’t tell you, he told Daryl and that day the hunter had a ‘nice’ conversation with the ex Savior.

“Ya’re not telling her anything, ya aren’t even going ta look at’er or ma son.” He didn’t want to be controlling, abusive or anything of it, but he knew you were better not knowing it. It would destroy you if you knew you were related to a monster. “If ya try anything, a single little thing, I’m gonna kill ya and feed you to the walkers.”

He listened to Daryl, for long 6 years, but he didn’t have many options since he was in his cell all the time and you never came close to it. Everything organized for you to not do so, Rick, Michonne and Carol knew, all of the three knew and would make everything so you didn’t need to have contact with Negan, that’s until the day you decided to do a favor for Gabriel.

“He wasn’t a bad father.” You said when your husband finished telling you what happened. “To be honest, I have mostly good memories of him. A year before the outbreak, or so, I caught him cheating on my stepmom. I ran away, because I didn’t have the courage to tell her and I was so angry at him. I was dramatic and childish.”

“Nah, you weren’t. That was how ya felt, and it’s ok.” He kissed the top of your head and squeezed you in his arms.

“Do you think it would have made any difference if I had stayed?”

“I dunno. There’s no way to know. But one thing I know, we wouldn’t have met, and we wouldn’t have our precious lil boy or our lil pear on the way.” He caressed your belly while talking and he was right… things happened how they were supposed to happen and there was no way you could know if anything would have been different.

Soon the door opened and your little ray of sunshine came running directly to the living room and hugging you and his ‘little sis’, like he was now calling the baby. You thought it was because Daryl would say all the time it was a girl, but he would always say it wasn’t. ‘Kids know these things, they can feel’, he would say.

“Momma, how was your day? Did my lil sis kick a lit today?” He asked with his little face leaning on your stomack and his big blue eyes shining.

“My day was wonderful baby. Little pear kicked just a little today.” You said, your hand on top of your head. “How was school? Who brought you?”

“It was good. Jude brought me.” He said and then he looked at Daryl. “Daddy, you forgot me.”

“I’m sorry little man.” He sat his son on his lap. “Momma needed ma help.”

When he heard you had been sent to take food to Negan, he forgot about everything and ran to get to you. He was so afraid of what could happen that he forgot to take the kids. It was safe, it was inside Alexandria, but either way he needed to be there, to teach your son could only trust you, he shouldn’t go with anybody to anywhere, unless it was people you really trusted.

“Why don’t you go up, put away your things and wait momma to take your bath?” Daryl told the little boy and he went immediately upstairs.

Daryl got up and headed to the hall, you followed him and saw he was ready to leave.

“Where are you going?” You asked, clueless, you had just arrived home and your kid was back.

“Gonna have a talk with Negan.” He said. He was so good at comforting you that you didn’t notice he was boiling in anger. He had told him to not say a thing and he just opened his big mouth!

“Babe, he’s an asshole. We already know it, just let him be. I guess I made everything clear to him.” You tried to soothe him, both your hands enveloping his face.

“I gave him a warning, and still he made ya cry.” He delicately took your hands from his face and walked to the door.

“Daryl, please… don’t kill him.” You had confused feelings, you hated Negan for so many reasons and now at the same time remembering he was your father…

“Can’t promise ya that, sweetheart.” He opened the door and left.

You didn’t know if you believed in God anymore, but in that moment you prayed to whatever force there were that Daryl could calm down and also that none of this mess harm your son and your unborn baby.

Wanna be added to my tag list? Let me know. (Please tell me if you want to be tagged on everything or just specific series)

Everything Taglist: @lilyevanstan1325

Dividers by @cafekitsune

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #twd #twd daryl #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl fanfiction #daryl imagines #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x you #daryl x female reader #dad daryl #deansapplepie

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little-diable · 10 months ago

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One day you're gone – Tommy Shelby

Let's just ignore the fact that songs are my biggest inspiration, ok? Alright. Inspired by "one day you're gone" by "gavn!". I know this is super angsty, but I think it's a beautiful fic, so please give it a chance. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: She died years ago, and yet he still dreams of her, forced to relive their moments together every single night

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, loss of his wife (sorry for killing us off), this is sad, like really

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (1.3k words)

One day you're here and one day you're gone, you beat to the drum but you keep movin' on, ain't nobody knows when the next name's called, ‘cause one day you're here and one day you're gone

He dreamt of her, hands trembling from feeling his fingers interlaced with hers just moments before waking, heart racing from clinging to her like a blanket made to protect his shuddering body, lips tingling from kissing her breathless, at least in his dream.

Those were the nights where Tommy woke with a cry, unable to wipe away the tears clinging to his cheeks as he choked on his gasps. Ever since he had been a little boy, he had been forced to let go of people, a dull pain Tommy had slowly adapted to. Until (y/n) had been ripped from his side, leaving him and the life they had begun to build together.

He dreamt of her nightly, of their moments together, from childhood memories, to their wedding day. He saw it all so clearly as if he was watching recordings, though not in black and white and without sound, but full of colour. A bright splash of life like she had been, the light in his darkness, the colour in his grey life, the guiding hand that was now one with the soil he still felt clinging to his fingers.

“Today we mourn the loss of our (y/n), daughter, friend, wife.” Tears blurred Tommy’s vision as he stood near the coffin, hands interlaced in front of himself to try and stop his hands from trembling. He, Arthur, some of their friend’s and (y/n)’s father had carried the coffin up to the grave, unable to speak as the weight of their sadness weighed them down.

“Thomas.” The bucket filled with soil was reached out for him to take, forcing his eyes to find the dark ones of their pastor. With a shaky exhale leaving him, he let his fingers disappear in the cold soil, taking just enough to throw it down onto her coffin, covering a small part of the dark wood.

“How could you do this to me?” His voice carried exhaustion, speaking to those who were listening, the holy Father promising to protect those finding his way to him, people like (y/n) who had been ripped from this life too early.

Tommy rose to his feet as his fingers found a cigarette, alighting it before making his way out his empty bedroom. One of the places that held too many memories. One of the places he couldn’t part from just yet because his nose could still pick up on the scent of her perfume, because his eyes could still see her soft frame lying next to him, even though it had been years.

“Oh, Tommy.” She had her back arched off the mattress, legs wrapped around his middle. The two had gotten married hours ago, saying yes to one another in the company of their families and friends, finally reunited after the war. Tears had been shed that day, tears that were falling now once again, though these tears were urged on by desperation, by love, by lust.

His hips met hers with every thrust, drawing moans from (y/n) as his cock nudged her sweet spot. Tommy couldn’t rip his eyes from her features, the beautiful face he had thought of in France, clinging to his memories as if they were the oxygen he needed to survive.

“My beautiful wife,” his words left (y/n) moaning, walls fluttering around his cock. The scent of her perfume wrapped itself around Tommy, luring him even further into the grasp she had on his body and soul, a promise made to last for eternity, a promise broken in only a few months time.

“I love you, Thomas, I always will.”

Rain was pouring from the sky, as if nature was sharing Tommy’s pain, missing the one who had spent most of her time in their garden, the one who had talked to the flowers as if they were her friends, the one who had watched birds pick up the seeds she had left for them as if they were pilgrims sharing her path. A kind hearted soul who had paid the price for a life Tommy hadn’t been able to protect her from.

Tommy didn’t know how to make it through life without (y/n) by his side, he hadn’t lived a single day without her being part of his closest circle, glued together from birth, brought together by their mothers who had been friends for years. Ever since their first days together, Tommy had loved her, first as a friend, then as a lover, then as a husband, and now as a widower.

“Can I kiss you?” Tommy’s voice filled the evening, forcing her wide eyes towards his bright ones.

“What?” Nervous chuckles bubbled out of the young girl. She struggled to hold eye contact with Tommy, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, unable to rip herself away from the boy. It was Tommy’s fourteenth birthday, celebrating his day with (y/n) glued to his side, chasing him through the streets both knew like the back of their hands.

“It’s my birthday wish.” Heat flushed through her as Tommy carefully cupped her cheek. She knew that he had kissed other girls before, locking lips with those she envied, but not once had she been kissed, waiting for Tommy to finally give in.

“Do it.” His lips were on hers in an instant, drawing a surprised gasp from (y/n). It was a clumsy kiss both had to adjust to, but once her nerves finally let go of her, allowing the young girl to get used to the new sensation, she found herself enjoying the new feeling.

With a sigh rumbling through Tommy, he plopped down on the stairs leading up to their house, stairs she had walked with naked feet whenever she had finished her garden work. The garden had withered away with her passing as Tommy hadn’t found the strength to step foot on the grass she had cared for.

Whatever it was that now spurred him on, it forced Tommy back to his feet. The cigarette was long forgotten as he stepped foot on the wet grass, his shirt and underwear instantly soaked through by the pouring rain. He had his bright eyes focused on the weathered flowers, coming to a halt in front of one of many flowerbeds.

His hands started working, reaching for the dead flowers to rip them from the lifeless soil. And for the first time in years, he felt connected to (y/n), clinging to what she had once planted. Tears once again ran down Tommy’s cheeks as he kept working, only halting his movements as his glassy eyes found the rising sun painting the sky orange and pink.

“I’m sorry it took me this long, love.” The words were whispered, eyes unable to leave the sky as he made plans to revitalise their garden. He’d never be able to bring her back, but at least he could keep the memory of his loving wife alive.

Broken bones, you live and learn, ‘cause we don't know that a good thing ends, but someday I hope that it'll all make sense, one day you're here and one day you're gone

#Tommy Shelby smut #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x reader #Peaky Blinders

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candycandy00 · 1 year ago

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The Offering - A Sukuna x Reader Fic Part 1

Once upon a time, Sukuna was a human man, albeit a monstrously cruel and powerful one. Villages across the land worshipped him as a living deity. One such village holds a festival for seven nights in his honor every year, and on each night they make generous offerings to him, including women who are never seen again. On the fifth night, you are selected to be the offering.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Any feedback whatsoever is greatly loved! If you’d like to be tagged when I post another part, comment to let me know. You must have your age in your bio or pinned post and be 18+ to be tagged.

Smut. 18+. Sukuna is a human (my theory is that he got his four-armed body by modifying himself with jujutsu fuckery later in life). Dubcon. Mentions of rape that happened “off screen”. Very rough sex. Blood. Sukuna just generally being a sadistic monster. F!Reader.

Your forehead touched the ground, your entire body bent to bow as low as possible as the honored guest of the festival passed by. You didn’t dare look up at him. You’d heard stories of villagers being instantly beheaded by invisible blades for such an offense.

Even when he was gone, climbing up the steps to the shrine your people had built for him several years ago, you kept your head pressed to the ground. There you and all the other villagers remained until someone announced that Lord Sukuna, your village’s living deity, had gone inside the shrine.

Every year your village held a festival in Lord Sukuna’s honor. It was a week long affair, and each night generous offerings were left at the shrine’s doors for him to partake of. Sumptuous fruits, tender cooked meats, fragrant oils, delicate trinkets made of precious metals, sake of various types, and of course, beautiful women.

Lord Sukuna remained inside the shrine for the entire seven days and nights, then left until the next year, when the process began again. The women offered to him were never seen again.

On the fifth day, you were helping your mother prepare a basket of fruit for an offering. There were juicy pomegranates, glossy apples, and ripe peaches. They smelled heavenly, and you smiled as you arranged them to look as beautiful as possible.

A sudden voice at the entrance to your home caught your attention, a man speaking to your father. “Please try to stay calm,” the man was saying, “but your daughter has been selected to be tonight’s offering.”

Your mother wailed beside you, clutching you in her arms as if she could keep you from being taken. Your father turned to look at you with an anguished expression. You yourself simply felt numb. A part of you knew this could happen. You were of age, unmarried, and had been told you were pleasing to look at. It was only a matter of time, really.

So you stood in your home, your sobbing mother still holding you, as three shrine maidens walked in. They were quiet, older women dressed in white robes with downcast faces. They bowed to your parents, as if thanking them for their involuntary sacrifice, then took you by the hands. One of them helped your father pry your mother’s arms away from you as the other two led you outside. You didn’t even have time to say goodbye to your parents.

You went with the shrine maidens willingly. To struggle or resist would mean death for you and your family, and then another girl would be in your place, being pulled out of her home while her parents cried. It would happen to someone regardless tomorrow night, but at least this would spare one family the misery.

The shrine maidens took you to a small temple that sat at the base of Sukuna’s shrine. There they removed your simple garments and had you step into a large, warm bath. Floating in the water were near countless cherry blossoms, giving the entire room a sweet fragrance. You looked at the pretty pink flowers and, upon realizing this was the last time you would see them, began to cry.

One of the women came closer and rubbed your shoulder in a comforting manner. You looked up at her in surprise. The shrine maidens were normally quite stoic, keeping to themselves, maintaining Sukuna’s shrine between festivals, and helping to prepare offerings and see to the Lord’s needs while he was there. From your understanding, they were the only people besides the village elders who were allowed to have any contact with Lord Sukuna at all.

“Try to keep your head down,” the shrine maiden whispered, “and don’t look at Lord Sukuna until he tells you to. In fact, don’t do anything until he tells you to. Try to please him in whatever way he asks.”

You wiped your tears with your hands and looked at her sadly. “Does it even matter? Has any woman pleased him enough to survive?”

The shrine maiden’s grip on your shoulder became slightly more firm. “It does matter! If you please him, he might give you a quick death. We’ve been forced to clean up the remains of many women who displeased him. Believe me, you don’t want to be among their number. There are far worse fates than being beheaded.”

You shivered at her warning, but decided on the spot to follow her advice. Although the shrine maidens had remained silent about what happened to the other offered women, only confirming their deaths, rumors had drifted among the village for years. Stories of women being skinned alive, having their eyes ripped out of their sockets, having every bone in their bodies broken and their mangled limbs twisted into nightmarish shapes. You’d always hoped they were merely stories made up by the more morbidly curious villagers.

You composed yourself and then asked the older woman a question. “What is he like?”

The woman glanced back at the other shrine maidens who were preparing a garment for you to wear, then said in a low voice, “Lord Sukuna is cruel. He has no mercy for anyone. He is a monster.”

You felt your heart sink. You would be taken by this man tonight, and you’d never even laid eyes upon him.

When the bath was finished, you stepped out and were dried off by the women. They then dressed you in an extremely thin white robe. It was so thin that you were certain anyone could see right through it, making you feel embarrassed at the thought of walking into the shrine this way. Then you reminded yourself that he would probably rip it from your body anyway.

They lightly painted your face and combed out your hair, leaving it unadorned. Then they opened the doors and motioned for you to follow.

As you climbed the steps to the shrine, the shrine maiden who had spoken to you before gave you instructions.

“When you enter, keep your eyes down toward the floor. Lord Sukuna will be seated on a dais before you, but you must not look up at him until you are given permission. Once you reach the dais, bow down as low as possible and remain that way until commanded otherwise.”

Your heart was pounding as you neared the end of the stone steps, and the end of your life. You stopped in front of the doors and took several deep breaths to try and steady yourself, then you lowered your gaze to the space in front of your bare feet as the women opened the shrine.

You could feel his eyes upon you from the moment you stepped inside. The shrine maidens did not accompany you, and closed the doors behind you, leaving you to your fate. You slowly walked forward, keeping your eyes down, feeling a terrifying sense of pressure emanating from the dais that was supposed to be in front of you.

The walk toward the dais was nerve wracking. You didn’t know how close or far it was, and you felt naked in the sheer robe, your cheeks no doubt burning red at the thought of this man staring at you.

When you saw the edge of the dais come into view, you stopped and immediately knelt down, pressing your face to the floor as you always did with the other villagers every year. Then you waited.

For several minutes, you heard nothing. No breathing, no movement. Then a smooth, deep voice said, “You may look up now.”

You shuddered, then worked up the courage to raise your head slightly while maintaining a posture of submission. When you did, your vision was suddenly full of the man your village worshipped, the dreaded monster called Sukuna.

He was a man, not a beast, and you were shocked by how handsome he was. He sat not on his chair but across it, one leg drawn up at his side and the other hanging down, in a surprisingly casual pose. He wore white robes, the front open to his waist to reveal a muscular torso that drew your eye.

His face was lined with strange tattoos, and in his eyes there was an intensity that nearly took your breath away. You remained perfectly still even as your heart thundered in your chest. You didn’t know what was happening, why you suddenly felt drawn to this man. You could feel the danger, you had the sense that he would rip you to shreds without a second thought, but you couldn’t take your eyes off him. Something about the terror he provoked also excited you. With a spike of alarm, you realized you wanted to touch him.

When he spoke again, his voice had a silky texture that made you feel weak.

“There are three types of women who end up here,” he began, looking down at you as if you were an insect he was about to stomp on. “There are those foolish enough to think they can seduce me. They feign love, and I let them live in their delusions, right up until I take them to my bed. The delusions shatter pretty quickly then.”

His lips curved up into a fiendish smirk, and you were left wondering what terrible things he did to those women in his bed.

“Then there are the pathetic ones who cry and beg for mercy from the start” he went on. “Unfortunately this is the most common type. I have my way with them and then utterly destroy them. It’s what they deserve for boring me.”

Were these the women who displeased him? The ones who received the most brutal deaths? The cruelty of it stunned you, that the weakest and most frightened women were given the most horrific fates.

“The last type is my favorite,” he said with a haunting grin, “the ones who fight and scream and claw. These provide me with the most amusement, but sadly are the most rare. It’s hilarious, you see, to watch them slowly realize they never had a chance in the first place. I enjoy breaking their bodies and their spirits. And to reward them for the entertainment, I have them on my plate after having them in my bed.”

Your eyes widened as his words sank in. Plate? Meaning he ate them? He kept grinning, perhaps guessing what you were thinking. You felt a wave of nausea hit your stomach, but you kept your breakfast from coming back up through sheer force of will.

“I wonder what type you are,” he said, his red eyes boring into you, his unusually sharp teeth bared in his smile. “Try not to disappoint me.”

He stood up then, and his height was imposing, even more so because you were still kneeling on the floor.

You kept your expression blank, but your mind was racing. What type were you? None of the three he described matched how you felt. You had initially resigned yourself to your fate, and had planned to simply be quiet and obedient until he tired of you and killed you. But now that you were in his overwhelming presence, you couldn’t suppress the thrill you felt, the animal-like attraction to this brutal yet beautiful man.

The rational part of your brain was filled with terror and dread. Lord Sukuna was going to do indescribably awful things to you this night, then murder you and discard you as if you were nothing. But a bizarre little piece of your brain, one you’d never realized was there before now, was growing more excited by the moment.

“Stand,” he commanded, and you hurriedly got to your feet. You felt your face burning again when his eyes roamed over your barely concealed body. He turned and walked toward the back of the shrine, looking over his shoulder at you to say, “Follow.”

You obeyed, walking after him, careful to remain several steps behind. You soon came to a room marked off by sheer curtains, which Lord Sukuna pulled back to reveal the most lavish, ornate bed you had ever seen. Unlike the thin futon you were used to, this bed was thick and elevated off the floor. There were silk pillows and a satin-lined blanket, and the fabrics had apparently been perfumed, as they carried a heady, floral scent.

When Sukuna reached the bed, he stood beside it and turned to face you. “Remove your robe,” he said in his rich voice.

You nearly buckled right then and there. The fear and shame were mixing with arousal, and you thought you might collapse. With shaking fingers, you untied the thin sash around your waist. Then, with Sukuna watching intently, you opened the robe and slipped it off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

You’d never been bare in front of a man before, and it felt as if your skin burned wherever his gaze fell as his eyes moved up and down your form.

He stepped closer and looked down at you, into your eyes. Did he see the turmoil inside you? The raging war between horror and lust?

His hands fell upon your trembling shoulders, and his touch felt electric. Finally, his hands on your skin! But then he jerked your body around so that you faced away from him, and those hands roughly explored your exposed flesh. One of them squeezed your right breast while the other moved down to grope between your legs. You gasped at the sensations, at being touched in this way for the first time, at the realization that you didn’t hate it even though his touch was harsh.

One of his fingers slipped into your folds, and your breath hitched in your throat as he grazed over a particularly sensitive spot. You felt him pause, both hands going still, and then he suddenly turned you back around to face him. He seemed to study your face for a moment, and then a smirk spread across his features.

All at once you were thrown onto the bed, your little cry of surprise ignored as Lord Sukuna slowly climbed on top of you. His hands were upon you again, grabbing and kneading the soft, plush areas of your body, his grip strong and bruising. He moved down, then pushed your knees up toward your chest, opening your thighs obscenely wide apart.

There was a strange look in his eyes as he gazed down at your most private place, and again that smirk. He bent down, his face getting so close to your body that you could feel his breath. You couldn’t help blushing at the closeness, and then you felt something warm and wet glide up your slit. When you looked down, his tongue was extended from his mouth, a string of clear fluid attaching it to your body.

A shudder rippled through you as he dove back in, this time pressing his tongue in between the folds of flesh to lick your swollen and sensitive clit. “Ah… ahh!” The small quick moans escaped your lips before you could stop them, and you felt a stab of fear when Sukuna looked up at your face. You were told not to do anything without his permission, so you had refrained from speaking. You didn’t want to displease him in any way, so you were trying to be completely silent. But when his tongue returned to your clit, circling it and then pressing into the top corner, even more moans came out.

Lord Sukuna continued until your body stiffened, your hands gripping the silken sheets as pleasure shot through you and one last, long moan broke free. He pulled away from you and looked down, watching you pant as you started to drop your tired legs back down. He grabbed them before they could straighten and touch the bed, pressing your knees back up.

You looked at him just as he opened his own robe, revealing the same pattern of black tattoos all over his body. It was a strangely alluring sight, but your eyes were quickly drawn to the very large and imposing organ between his legs. It stood stiff and ready, and you knew what was about to happen.

Sukuna looked you in the eyes as he shoved himself inside you, so deep and so hard that you could only describe the motion as violent. He didn’t give you even a moment to adjust before he was thrusting viciously into you. It hurt, and even as naive as you were, you understood that he wanted it to hurt. He was clearly being as rough as he possibly could without literally tearing you apart, and tears stung your eyes as you bit back a scream, using one hand to cover your own mouth.

Sukuna pulled your hand away from your face, then leaned down close and spoke into your ear, a whisper that that sent shivers through you despite the pain you were in, “Cry for me. I’ll allow it. Let me hear your voice.”

Hearing that, you let out a cry of pain before beginning to sob. You looked up him with wet eyes and found him grinning, enjoying your suffering. He truly was a monstrous man. His motions only became rougher, his hands gripping your thighs so hard you thought he might crush them.

“Please… L-lord Sukuna…” you managed to cry out.

“Please what?” Again, that voice in your ear, that self-satisfied smile while watching you cry.

“I-I don’t… I don’t know…” You didn’t know what you wanted. Did you want him to stop? You wanted the pain to end, but you didn’t want him to climb off you.

“Really? Then I won’t let up.”

Unbelievably, he was thrusting even harder, even deeper. When you could no longer bear it, your hands that had been clenched at your sides flew up to wrap around his neck. He would probably kill you for touching him without permission, but you couldn’t stop yourself. Clutching him in your arms somehow made the agony between your legs subside just a little.

If he was angered by your touch, he didn’t show it. Instead, he laughed as if he were amused by your desperation.

Finally, when you were nearly at the limit of what you could withstand, you felt Sukuna’s cock twitch, his body go tense, and then warm, sticky fluid shoot inside you. Your arms slipped down from his neck as he pulled out of you and let your sore legs fall to the bed. Somewhere in your dazed mind you knew this was the end. He’d had his fun with you and now he would kill you, just like all the others. You saw him stand up from the bed and wrap his robe around himself, but before he could even turn around, you passed out.

*****

Sukuna looked down at the offering, feeling slightly annoyed that she had given out so quickly. She had held out better than most, however.

Despite what he’d told her earlier, over half the women offered to him never even made it to his bed. They were crying too loudly or shoving their fake affection in his face or even having the gall to try to attack him. They ended up as chunks of meat in front of the dais.

But this girl had been frustratingly blank and silent. He’d considered beheading her, but on a whim had decided to force a reaction out of her, thinking she could provide some entertainment. The reaction he got was not what he’d expected.

Sukuna was fully capable of making a woman become aroused, but it was always after applying plenty of stimulation to certain areas, not because he wanted to pleasure them, but because fucking them felt better for him when they were wet. This girl, however, was practically dripping from the moment he first touched her. And when he’d looked at her face, he’d seen reddened cheeks and lusty, glazed eyes. He also saw fear, and that mixture was too delicious to waste.

Those sounds she’d made, from the little hitching breaths to the soft moans she’d struggled to hold back, to the screams and cries of pain, had all been irresistible. He wanted to hear more of them.

He stood looming over the bed, watching the growing red stain beneath her naked, still open thighs, and wondered what he should do with her. He could kill her right then and there as she slept, but that would be boring. Much better to listen to her sweet death cries.

He reached up and absently touched the back of his neck. He could still feel her weak arms clinging to him. He stared down at the bruised and bleeding girl in his bed, at her sleeping tear-streaked face, and came to a decision.

He summoned one of the shrine maidens, who entered the room with her eyes on the floor. She pointedly avoided looking toward the bed, probably afraid of what she would see.

“Inform the village I won’t be needing a woman tomorrow night,” Sukuna told her. “I’m not finished with this one yet.”

The shrine maiden’s face lifted very slightly, the shock so much that she nearly forgot her manners. She quickly bowed again and said, “Yes, Lord Sukuna,” before hurrying out of the room.

He sat down on the bed, then sighed before pulling a thin silken sheet up and draping it over the offering’s body.

“Sleep while you can,” he murmured, a wicked grin returning to his face. “Tomorrow you’ll be entertaining me again.”

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