#on teaching you how to mask the pain

[namelessweapons]

might make chuuya a sona as a gift

[dimepdf]

★  𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇-𝐀, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇-𝐀, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐄. + 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀

masterlist. / taglist. / tip jar. synopsis. no matter how many times you try to convince yourself that Miguel is the bane of your existence, the way you react during training proves otherwise.

─── ☆ notes. i need fics of miguel being an absolute dick, like a petty bitch just for the hell of it i need more attitude yk? Like if that man isn't calling me a slut it ain't canon! | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ length. 4.3k (33 min read).

─── ☆ genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni | no spoilers | smut, enemies to lovers, maybe mutual pining, fighting and violence, semi public sex, gym sex, mentions of abuse, size difference, pain kink, strength kink, degradation kink, manhandling, power play(?), begging, rough sex, cervix kissing, choking, fangs, biting, marking, cunnilingus, eye contact, hair pulling, creampie, open ended, not an taiyo fic without a few typos.

IF YOU ASKED any of the other Spider-men what they loved so much about being Spider-Man, their answers would all be the same, ranging from "the suit" to "the enhanced abilities." It was a no-brainer that being a superhero came with a few awesome perks.

Which was why your answer was just a bit confusing, "the combat." You would always smile, despite the many eyebrows raises and looks that convinced you you had to be some type of overcover masochist, especially since you would never really go into true detail about why.

Your reasoning behind putting on the mask was similar to all the others: another traumatized kid being thrown into a whole new reality that you never would have dreamed of being possible.

Sadly, you had been raised with the loss of most of your loved ones, and your family was in shambles from the abuse you would go through from them. It was the reason why it was difficult for you to grow up and make many friends, let alone navigate your abilities on your own accord, which was why it was a whole different ball game when you first joined the spider society.

When you first met Miguel O'Hara, you thought he was an overly intimidating man with an even more scary personality. Your aesthetics and morals would clash in the first few run-ins you would have with him.

In all honesty, you first thought him to be a massive dick who surprisingly needed more therapy than you did. From his bored expression to his unnerving glare, it was clear upon the first introduction that you two just would not get along.

Which was why the universe made him the only spider person willing and with enough free time to train you. It came as a surprise to you both, who are usually butting heads. Miguel was adamant about not wanting to waste his time training some little girl who didn't even know how to throw a punch.

With much shit-talking on your part and a lot of teasing claims of him being afraid that you were going to kick your ass, training had quite literally started in full swing.

It was probably a bad move on your part to push the buttons of the guy who was teaching you how to fight. Miguel was clear with his fight-style techniques. He was nimble with his limbs and swift on his feet. It was hard for anyone to get a hit on him, especially since he wasn't the type to hold back his punches. 

His teaching style was the same: your sessions included throwing you around as if you were some ragdoll and picking you up as if you weighed nothing, just to slam you into the ground with full bruising force.

There would be some very rare occasions when you would manage to get the upper hand on him. Miguel was about a foot taller than you, not to mention how pathetically compressed you looked standing next to him. You learned that the only way you could manage to get the upper hand was by using your size difference to your advantage.

All the sessions you won were hosted by you managing to tangle yourself from his claws and climb his towering figure into a headlock, praying that you had enough strength in your legs to make him tap out.

"How is she not dead yet?" Miles would mutter, looking concerned, as he stood from the sidelines of the training room, watching one of your sessions, as the blonde by his side didn't even wince at the sound of Miguel untangling you from the headlock you had him in.

His arms moved faster than you could process as he managed to loosen your hold enough to slam the air from your lungs as you fell back facing against the mat so hard that even Miles was convinced he could feel the blow in the lower spine.

"I mean, at this point, I'm kind of convinced she’s turned into his personal punching bag." Miles strains to watch Miguel not even wipe a sweat as he sprung back on his feet. He stretched out his full body, towering over you, curled flat against the mat, trying to collect your breathing as well as your broken ego.

Gwen nodded in agreement. "I don't even know how someone could hit someone so...squishy? She’s just so cute." She muttered, watching with her arms crossed. 

"This punching bag needs to learn that in the real world, people aren't going to go as easy on her just because she’s cute." Miguel, despite glaring at the two bystanders, leaned down and yanked you back onto your stumbling feet. 

Your fingers combed through the matted curls now drenched in sweat away from your forehead, using your water break as the perfect excuse to help cover up the reaction to the sudden compliment that came from his lips and the way he had made you feel.

"And her being my personal punching bag is completely at her fault, if you want to learn how to fight, you have to learn how to take a few punches." You couldn't help but roll your eyes and wave your hand out in annoyance at another one of Miguel O’Hara’s famous lectures.

"I’m not a punching bag, did you not see the hold I had on him early?" You huffed, almost choking on your water, trying to protest. Gwen humored your claim, the blonde reaching out and rubbing your shoulder out of support as you continued with your defense. "Any tighter, and I would have easily snapped his neck."

Of course, Miguel only smirked as you continued grasping at straws at the point of trying to prove to your friends your improvement, his eyes flitting back and forth at the exchange, expressionless at the sight of you managing to still joke around as if you weren't about to pass out from fatigue at any second.

"And was that before or after the part where I kicked your ass, little girl?" He shot out, chipping away at the final lock that held back your annoyance, you hadn't even had time to process the insult before he bumped his shoulder into you on his way out of the training room.

His rude exit enticed a round of reactions from Miles and Gwen trying their awkward best to comfort the boiling pot of anger they saw written all over your face, rolling your eyes, you pushed past the two, not without grumbling a string of insults in Miguel’s name to the washrooms.

You blessed the spider lords for somehow having the ability to shower under running water, let alone the unexplainable strange amount of amenities that the spider society dimensions had. 

Like a web shooter's wonderland, you quickly shed the sweating clothes you trained in and stepped foot into the cold cubicle shower booth, letting the water run for a bit until enough steam fogged clouded stepping under the stream. Even with the hot water splashing pressure against your aching muscles, no amount of water could manage to wash away the annoying feeling in your legs. 

It was enough of a jab at your pride to even find Miguel attractive in the first place, and here your body was betraying you once more, begging, throbbing desperately for his every touch in its every form, and having the nerve to grow more intense during your training.

The feeling had yet to fully disappear the next day, even with your session starting off with you fueled from yesterday's comments. You tried pushing the feeling as you were just ready to have Miguel mutter another word insult with the ass kick you were ready to give him. It was the only possible explanation for why you were so jittery about getting to training on time.

"It took you long enough." Was the first thing you heard Miguel announce throughout the empty room.

He wasn’t wearing his suit—neither of you did while training—instead, he was wearing dark gray sweatpants paired with some random dark red graphic shirt that fit him a bit too snuggly to leave room for imagination around his arms.

"Almost thought you were gonna skip out."

You were aware enough to spot this quick observation of your outfit as well. Keeping it casual and opting for better mobility, you shimmied yourself into plain Nike shorts that stopped higher up than you had expected them to on your thighs with a loose tank top that peeked out the straps of your sports bra.

Nothing about your clothes screamed attention grabbing—at least that's what you thought before you caught Miguel’s red-tinted stare on the way your shorts hugged your thighs.

He glanced away, muttering something in Spanish you couldn't quite translate the moment your fingers fidgeted with the bottom hems of the shorts, tugging them slightly more down while deciding to break the tense silence that had managed to sneak up on you. "So what are we doing today?"

"Huh, I’ve been thinking." He answered, followed by the clearing of his throat, "We try something a little different." You could never get used to the roughness of his voice or the way he spoke with so much arrogance that it reminded just about everyone that he thought he was better than just about everyone.

Even now that you stepped towards the middle of the mat, standing rigidly just a few paces away from him, you could tell from that stupid, cocky expression as he stood looking down at you that there was no possible way that he would ever see you as a real threat. "I want you to try to hit me." 

Your brows creased together in confusion. 

"What?" was all you asked, which seemed to be the wrong question to ask as Miguel stretched out a sigh from his mouth, his hands coming close to his to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

"I said hit me." He speaks more slowly, making sure to mockingly over pronounce every symbol in every word as if you were a child. "Preferably soon and as hard as you can." A grimace finds itself twisting on your lips before you can even process your bubbling annoyance. Your body moved on autopilot because of your keen senses, jumping over the swing of his left leg with ease.

You couldn't say that swift grace stuck with your attempt at a counterattack. Bending your knee just enough to reach out and kick, you were only met with the bottom of your foot stomping flat against the floor mat and Miguel dodging your kick, standing just a few paces away. "Too predictable," he scolded in that annoyingly deep voice you hated oh so much and totally did not turn on you at all. You sprung yourself up by the heels of your feet and charged at him with full determination to land at least one punch on his stupidly chiseled, handsome face.

It had been your second mistake, giving him too much time to brace himself. Already regretting your emotionally impulsive start, resulting in the punch you swung being easily deflected by Miguel.

His hand wrapped entirely around your wrist, bending your arm almost out of your socket and kicking the back of your knee to the mat with his heel. You feel down to a kneel with a hissing pain in your arm threatening to get worse at any wrong twist.

"Lose that fucking attitude, or you’ll get sloppy." As if your body could radiate any more anger, you knew he was just trying to push your buttons, trying to throw you off your game with smack talk that was not working on you or anything.

"Again," he prompted, letting your arm go and stepping back, egging on another attack from you.

"Give me a damn minute." No matter how much you wanted to snap back at him with something snarky, you knew it would only prove his point entirely—not only that but also the fact that he was mentally hitting you in all the places that he knew counted the most to throw you off your game. 

Biting back the insult you already had threatened to slip from your tongue instead of making a point by rolling your eyes as you stumbled back to your feet. Rolling your sore shoulder back as your eyes scan over his stance, trying to find the best opening for a better attack, you steady your breath and cloud your mind in thought. "You aren't going to get anywhere but dead standing around like that, you know."

So much for wanting to consider your options. Miguel took the first swing at you and was on the verge of kicking you on your ass if it weren't for your shoddy dodge.

"Didn't you just say I had to be less fucking predictable?" You snarled, lifting your foot with most of your weight pointed in the direction of his jaw. Surprisingly, the kick landed just not in the place you wanted it to; instead, Miguel’s arm blocked the blow, much to your annoyance.

"I also said—" All he was doing was using dodging moves on you, swiping your other foot from under you as he held the other one that you kicked up in his arm, resulting in you landing once again flat on your ass. "to lose that fucking attitude."

You had not gone down without a fight, twisting and kicking, trying to wrestle your limbs free by any means. Miguel had almost embarrassingly quickly ceased your squirming, his palm cuffing your arms and pressing hard against your chest as his other hand pressed tightly into your thighs, folding your legs in place under his hips.

The position was interesting, to say the least, but you still had some fight in you, wiggling against his grip with any strength you had left to break free. It was a useless battle, but the man had his grip around you tight as well as an overpowering size difference that blanketed your entire figure like one big rock.

And that's how you caught yourself in another web of misfortune. Your nerves are surging at the feeling of something—him brushing against your calf. Maybe it was all the adrenaline pumping through your veins or the fact that you were practically being manhandled so easily that did another thing to your body, or maybe it was just pure horny instability that your brain couldn't even process the lewd whine that tugged from your throat after the fact that it had happened.

Watching in pure horror as Miguel loomed on top of you, his mouth slightly agape as his chest heaved and his brows pulled together, the embarrassment from his confused, almost offended looking expression hit you fast. Here your body was betraying you once more, this time going absolutely haywire and melting like a stupid pile of putty at the fact that you were being body pressed against some mat with some guy's hard junk pressed into your leg.

You couldn't bear to even look him in the eye anymore, your head tilting to the side, pressing your cheek into the mat, and squeezing your eyes closed, not suddenly envying the spidermen with teleportation powers. "Fucking Christ, can you get off now?"

A beat of silence hovered between the small distance between you two, neither moving nor talking. It was starting to become unbearable how tightly Miguel had folded your legs against him, in the sense that you could already feel his body heat radiating. The close proximity did not help with how unbearably your heart was beating against your chest. "How do you manage after all of that to still have that shameless fucking attitude?"

You stilled at how his voice had managed to cut through your own thick cloud of betraying thoughts as well as the ringing in your eardrums. "Shameless? As if you don't have your dick pressed against me right now."

"By the sounds of it, you don't seem that bothered at all." Miguel taunted, You thought you were bound to die of embarrassment.

Yeah, this is how you went out—by dying from the sheer effect of your own extremely horny though—not some overpowered supervillain with a vendetta against you but Miguel O'Hara and his dick print.

You could already hear the new taunts that he would use against you, "Not even in your fucking dreams." being the only comeback that you could muster, your limbs tingling with slight pins and needles, threatening to go stiff under his unbound grasp. 

"Oh, like you wouldn't love to," he sneered, shifting the weight from his hips flat against your thighs. "Probably thinking about me taking off these tight fucking shorts and having my way with you?" Your body reacted first to the accusation, cursing under your breath as you felt your second heartbeat flutter in between your legs.

His lingering stare hadn't helped one bit, and you watched from the sidelines as his eyes raked over your body with interest.

"I bet this was your plan the entire fucking time, huh?" He asked, leaning in as the distance dwindled until you could feel the brush of his breath against your face. "Put on some sweet naive act in front of everyone, knowing that you're getting yourself off on me throwing you around, touching yourself like some bitch in heat."

You hadn't bothered covering the whine that parted from your lips at the feeling of his erection slowly rutting against your thigh, the cocky smirk on his lips wanting you to melt away against the mat.

Miguel practically growled at the pathetic sounds that parted from your lips, tugging your legs apart to rut his hips down against your core. You shivered at the intrusion of his bulge pressed against your eagerness, the foreign feeling of him grinding against you left your thoughts in a dizzy fog.

"What? Can’t fucking speak now," he said as if he were dangling your most prized possession in front of your face, his fingers creeping into dangerous territory, making it a point for his fingertips to drag down your lower torso only to halt right above the elastic waistband of your shorts. "Go on, use your words."

"...fuck you."

The small amount of distance made the space between you two fall tensely thick, and the words spoken from your lips were different from the feelings that made your heart thud against your ribs. You weren't stupid, you knew Miguel could sense it, he could sense just about everything about your body from how close he kneeled on top of you.

Maybe that was why he had closed the distance so quickly after, letting the tight grip around your wrists give way to his hand finding a new objective, wrapping his fingers around your neck, not bothering to be gentle as he guided your lips towards his. The kiss was as rough as you had dreamed it to be. Eager for each other's kiss, you couldn't even process the noise that vibrated sharply from your throat before Miguel could pull away first, leaving you panting for more of his touch.

"First time I've ever seen you so quiet," his deep taunts were starting to grow unbearable, shifting your hips at the brush of his fangs against the jugular of your neck with every word, "who knew all you needed was some dick?" The harsh kisses he left trailing down to your collarbone made you feel like a hot, needy mess of putty. If it weren't for the tight grasp he had on your body, you were convinced that you would feel like you'd melt into some type of puddle. The growing frustration had only started to build up more as Miguel let go of your thighs, his hand trailing between your legs ruthlessly as the bud of his fingers rubbed against your clothed pussy. 

As for why you shifted your hips up and let him impatiently tug and yank at the bow knotted around the waist of your shorts, breaking away from the red splotching light bruises already forming against your brown skin and wiggling you out of your shorts, Miguel thought it was quite the image, his eyes were fixated on the drooling sight of you under him, so vulnerable with your thighs hugging to your chest, spread open, revealing yourself in your pants.

All sanity was thrown out the window the moment he tugged you closer by your knees, your lower half lifted in his arms just enough for him to sit face to face with your cunt. His eyes darkened, his pupils blown as his tongue lapped over his lips, leaving you feeling restless. It was a slow and almost painful battle of trying to reach down and shove his face closer or buck your hips as his fingers sheathed and explored themselves against the fabric of your underwear.

As if Miguel could read your mind, his fingers hooked the fabric under the bend of his finger, followed by a quick tearing sound. "I’ll get you new ones," the comfort emitting a whine from your throat as you couldn't even scowl at him for ruining your underwear because you were too busy admiring the work his fingers were doing. Without warning, Miguel leans in closer, the warmth of his mouth almost sending you into a frenzy as his fingers spread open your lips, his lips sucking at your clitoral area, prompting you to let out a very lewd moan.

"Too loud," Miguel mumbled against your pussy, too busy webbed up in your own pleasure to even notice how every embarrassedly sloppy wet noise had seemed to perfectly echo throughout the empty room. You couldn't even explain the number of emotions that were flowing through you, from shame from being tongue fucked and fingered against the floor about the one man you hated so much to bashfulness from holding eye contact with him as he lay between your legs and ate your pussy like he was starving for you.

"I can't help it," you whined, shivering at the string of spit that contacted Miguel as he lifted his head in an idea. It took a second to process Miguel picking you up and turning you on your stomach, his hands guiding your hips up and stripping your torn panties down your legs to stuff them in your mouth.

Without a word, Miguel grabbed your ass with another hand, guiding your lower back into an arch as the other made small indents from his nail bearing into your cheeks as he spread them apart.

Before you could even feel embarrassed at the new position, he shoved his face between them, your moan being muffled by your makeshift cloth gag that worked a bit too well in lowering your whines as Miguel’s mouth sought his tongue out for your pussy once more.

"You're close I can smell it," you almost missed Miguel's groan over your building ecstasy, "just let it go, baby, let me take care of you. That's what you want, right?" His voice is drastically different from his usual rough, rude tone, softened to something of a coo that has managed to unknot your pleasure with his tongue. Your body tensed against his mouth for a moment as he had the nerve to suck his fingers clean. No grace period was given before he could lift you once more with a grunt, laying you flat on your back.

Slotting himself back between his legs, Miguel chuckled at the dazed look on your face. "It's alright, baby, I can take it from here." taking the balled up drool covered panties from your mouth and instead replaced them with his lips. The sensual change of pace wasn't enough to stop the shiver that rid your nerves of the feeling of his bare cock rutting against your slit, using his thumb to spread your lips apart to sink his tip inside of you with a low hiss against your mouth.

A gasp left yours as his girthy length intruded deeper inside of you, the burying stretch of his dick having your nails roughly grasping at the nape neck of his hair tugging a handful as his pace hadn't bothered to even get familiar already. Miguel’s hips weren't letting out as he fucked you almost animalistic against the floor. You were convinced he was trying to fuck you into the mat, to be one with the floor, which would perfectly explain the rough pace that left you breathless with each piston of his hips. 

The graphically lewd sounds of your weak groans were nothing compared to the pornographic sound of your skin meeting his, your brain empty with nothing but greed, wanting to take everything and more of what Miguel was giving you. His fingers reach to unwrap your fingers tangled in his hair to intertwine them in his. "That's it, mama, that's it," he whispers against the shell of your ear, earning a whimpering reply from you, almost close to spilling the tears clouding your waterline.

Your mind couldn't process anything other than how good Miguel’s dick felt being shoved inside of you, his cock dragging against your tight, flustering walls with each shaky breath brushed against your ear. Your cunt seemed to react to Miguel’s lashes tickling against your neck as his eyes screwed tightly shut, muttering a string of compliments in his mother tongue.

You weren't lucky enough to be more stable, surprised that your throat hasn't gone horse with how ruined your vocal cords sounded in the pace of his pistoning hips. Only going up an octave higher as one of Miguel’s hands reaches down to pay attention to your clit, he doesn't stop even when your limbs start to tremble from your climax. 

With one last hard thrust, he finally stills, your name being the only thing you could make out through his mumbling as his unfamiliar warm sensation welcomed itself inside of you. 

Groaning right in your ear, he cums inside of you with his entire dead weight pressed against you, caging you against the floor. "Alright," Miguel sighs, settling on top of you once more with his arms holding himself just a few inches away from your face. "Again."

🔖 @adonis-is-dead-lmaoo @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @inumakiiz @iheartlinds @creamyarishi @marzipaanz

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[moonxknightx]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : THE FACE BEHIND THE MASK : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Wade Wilson x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff :))

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: After months of dating Wade Wilson, you ask him to show his face, promising that his scars won't change your love. Despite his fears, Wade reveals himself, and you reassure him that he is beautiful just the way he is.

LIVING NEXT TO WADE WILSON HAD ALWAYS BEEN AN ADVENTURE. From the random explosions at odd hours (he called them "enthusiastic cooking attempts") to the incessant chatter that came from his side of the paper-thin walls, there was never a dull moment. Somehow, despite all the madness, you'd become fast friends. He’d wormed his way into your life with his never-ending supply of sarcasm, absurd humor, and unexpected kindness.

And then, somehow, you’d started dating. It wasn't the conventional type of dating—nothing was conventional with Wade. He’d whisk you away on spontaneous adventures that ranged from fighting ninjas ("It's like cardio, but with more blood!") to watching rom-coms while he provided his own colorful commentary.

But there was one thing that had never happened in those months. You had never seen his face. Sure, you'd seen his mouth, his jaw, the occasional glimpse of his eyes through the mask, but never the whole thing. He was always careful to keep the mask on, only slipping it off when he was sure you weren't looking.

At first, you hadn't pushed it. You knew about his past, the pain he'd endured, and how self-conscious he was about his appearance. But as your feelings for him deepened, so did your curiosity. It wasn't just about seeing the man behind the mask—it was about connecting with him fully, scars and all.

One night, after a particularly wild date that ended with Wade hog-tying a group of particularly rude henchmen ("They were asking for it! Literally, they asked if I could teach them some knots!"), you both collapsed on your bed, breathless and laughing.

"Wade," you said, once your giggles had subsided. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, but if it's about why I wear red, the answer is 'because it hides the bloodstains.' And also, it makes my butt look fantastic."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "No, it’s not that. I was just wondering... why don’t you ever show me your face?"

The room grew quiet, the only sound the faint hum of traffic outside. Wade’s usual banter was noticeably absent, and you could sense the shift in his mood.

"Oh, you know," he began, his tone a little too casual, "it’s just that I’m devastatingly handsome, and I don’t want you to fall even more in love with me. Also, there’s the possibility that you’ll look at me and your eyes will literally explode from the sheer beauty. It’s a risk, really. For your safety."

You reached out, gently placing your hand on his. "Wade, I know you're joking, but I also know this is hard for you. I don’t care about your scars. I care about you."

He hesitated, his fingers tightening slightly around yours. "I just... I don’t want you to see me and then regret everything. I’m not exactly Ryan Reynolds under here."

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. "Well, good, because I’m not exactly Blake Lively."

He snorted, finally looking at you. "She wishes she was as cool as you."

Taking a deep breath, Wade sat up and reached for the edge of his mask. "Okay, but if you scream, I'm outta here. And I’m taking all the pizza."

"I promise not to scream," you said, your voice soft. "And I’m keeping the pizza."

With a final sigh, Wade peeled off the mask, revealing the man beneath it. His face was covered in scars, the skin rough and uneven, a far cry from the smooth, unblemished look he used to have. His eyes, however, were the same—warm, mischievous, and full of vulnerability.

You didn’t say anything at first, just took him in. Then, slowly, you reached out, tracing the lines of his face with your fingers. He flinched at first, but as you continued, his muscles began to relax.

"You’re beautiful," you whispered, meaning every word.

Wade rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. "Sure, if by 'beautiful' you mean 'looks like an avocado had a passionate affair with a much older, uglier avocado.'"

You laughed, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. "No, I mean you’re beautiful because you’re you. And I love you. All of you."

For a moment, Wade was silent, his usual stream of jokes and quips nowhere to be found. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it. "You really mean that?"

"I do."

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "Well, in that case, I guess you’re stuck with me. Scars, bad jokes, and all."

"Wouldn’t have it any other way."

You spent the rest of the night wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten. As you traced the lines of his face, memorizing every scar, Wade made a few more self-deprecating jokes, but they lacked the usual sting. Instead, they were softer, more playful, as if he was finally starting to believe that you could see beyond the surface.

As the night went on, your hands continued their gentle exploration, and Wade's breathing grew steady and calm. For the first time in a long time, he felt truly at peace, his heart no longer burdened by the fear of rejection.

And as you lay there, his head resting against your chest, you knew that no matter what, you would always find him beautiful—because beauty, you realized, was more than skin deep.

I fucking LOVE Wade!

I’m going to make a taglist for deadpool content! If you like to be added, let me know! 🫶

[felinecyan]

When The Night Calls

[Izuku Midoriya x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Your best friend leaving the hero course was enough to make you lose your mind. Especially when he’s suddenly standing across from you with nothing but a tired smile.

WC: 2978

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Vigilante!Deku

Please give this one extra love!! Somehow Midoriya is also very suspiciously difficult to write 👀 (Also, that 3rd-degree burn I gave my hand today is making me want to cry and throw myself in a river. Damn you, AO3 curse!! )

『••✎••』

Seeing that letter taped on your door broke you in more ways than one.

He had been gone for almost a week, but his note left behind made you realize just how long it'd been. How long he had left you with nothing more than a simple explanation of his departure and how it felt like he was never coming back.

The entire class had been on edge ever since. The note even threw Bakugo for a loop, as much as he would deny it. It had everyone wondering where he was and if he was okay.

It hurt you the most, though. He was the closest friend you had and the only one who truly understood your feelings.

But now he was gone.

Aizawa still continued teaching, but with Midoriya absent, the class just couldn't focus. He wasn't as good at making things seem less depressing or stressful, and his lectures were just boring without a green bush to lighten the mood. Or at least, you thought so.

You haven't been paying much attention lately, and you're too busy thinking of your missing friend. Your grades had been slipping, but it wasn't like anyone could blame you. Even if your friends could, they didn't say anything.

They had tried talking to you, but all you could do was give them a half-hearted smile, shake your head, and tell them, "I'm fine."

You weren't fine, and you knew that. But what were you supposed to do? Cry about it? It’s not like he’d come back if you did that.

Ironically, he did technically come back.

That day, Aizawa decided to keep the pain everyone felt about Midoriya buried beneath the surface, so he assigned you all a ten-page essay about the history of quirks.

So, here you were, writing a half-assed essay close to two in the morning. Kaminari was blowing up the group chat with memes and random jokes, but no one seemed to care or even respond.

Well, that was until Bakugo started yelling at him to stop texting because he was trying to sleep.

That went on for about a solid ten minutes, with everyone getting annoyed at the two idiots, but eventually, it died down.

You took a glance at the clock, which now read 2:12 a.m.

Sleep just couldn't come to you. Not now, not when your brain was filled with thoughts of the broccoli boi.

Then, there was a tiny patter against your window, almost like a knock. If it hadn’t been so quiet, you might not have heard it.

You ignored it at first, of course, but it continued, the knocks getting louder and more urgent.

Finally, you stood from your chair, deciding to investigate, but then, the knocking stopped.

You paused, confused, but shrugged, figuring you must have been hearing things.

Yeah, right, because hearing knocks on your dorm window at 2 a.m. is normal.

It turned out to be a good thing you got up because when you turned back around, a figure was directly behind you.

You jumped back in fear, letting out a short shriek before slapping your hands over your mouth. The side eye glance to your window, now open and curtain rustling in the slight wind, had you regretting not locking the damn thing.

The figure let out a small chuckle, his shoulders shaking a bit, and your heart rate sped up.

You could see the person a lot better now that they weren't in the shadows, but the moonlight still kept their face hidden.

All you could see was the curly mess of green hair and a large hoodie with a black mask pulled over the bottom half of their face.

But you didn’t have to see his eyes to know exactly who it was.

Your hands fell limply to your sides as the boy stepped closer. His hand reached the hood of his suit, slowly pulling it off, and his bright, emerald green eyes were staring straight into yours.

The only thing you could do was stare, dumbfounded.

"You did lock it, by the way," the boy's voice said. It sounded hoarse and scratchy as if he hadn't spoken in days. He probably hadn't.

Still, his intuition never failed.

You continued to stare, eyes wide and unblinking.

Midoriya's brow furrowed, a look of worry replacing his smile.

"They really should put more difficult locks on these things. I mean, honestly, all I had to do was twist it, and it opened. If I were a villain, then— hmph!"

Your arms wrapped around his neck tightly, cutting him off. His eyes widened, surprised, but eventually, he relaxed, wrapping his own arms around your waist and pulling you closer.

"I was so worried," you said. You could feel your body starting to tremble, tears pricking your eyes. "Everyone was."

His arms tightened, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"I know. I'm sorry," he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. "I couldn't think of any other way."

You leaned back a bit enough to look him in the eyes. His tired, determined eyes.

"Wait, if you’re here… does that mean...?"

"I need my notebook." He kept his frown, and a sigh escaped his lips. "You have my old notes, right? I need those."

Oh.

That was it.

That was why he was back.

"Oh," You failed to hide the disappointment in your tone. "Right, uh, hold on…"

You pulled away, your eyes looking away from his. You could feel his eyes burning into the back of your head as you walked over to the desk, rummaging through the drawer.

Speaking of, your desk was an absolute disaster. If allowing students in your dorm room wasn't against the rules, Iida would have broken down your door a long time ago, screaming at the top of his lungs about how your room was in utter chaos.

Eventually, you found it. It was covered in sticky notes, and some of the pages were folded. Makes sense, considering the fact that you'd spent the last week reading it, studying, and hoping to find some kind of clue about his whereabouts and the league itself.

But even if it was in your hands, screaming for its owner, you hesitated. He was going to leave again, wasn't he? He wasn't going to stay.

But common sense hit you. You couldn’t force him to stay. It would be selfish of you to even ask.

You turned, walking back over to him. He was staring intently at the ground, his eyes narrowed in concentration, and he had a small frown on his face.

When you were a couple of feet away, he finally looked up, his hand reaching out for the book.

"Here," you said, trying not to let the sadness seep into your words. "Don’t mind the added stickies. Simpler terms, easier to understand, you know?"

"Right, thanks," he murmured, his eyes darting over the cover before flipping through the pages. His brows were scrunched together, and his fingers fiddled with the pages, flipping through them with a practiced speed.

He was so concentrated on the notebook that he didn't see your frown, and he didn't see the sadness in your eyes.

But then, he froze.

His eyes scanned over one of the pages, his fingers tightening around the spine of the book, and his breath hitched.

His eyes flickered up to yours, and his lips were set in a tight line.

"You read this?"

"Huh?" You blinked, taken aback. "Was I… not supposed to read it all?"

"What? No, no, I meant this page."

He flipped the book around, opening it to a certain page, and held it up for you to see.

Oh, yeah, his page. The one where he wrote about himself. Which, proudly, you knew most of what was written in it, anyway. Some things caught you off guard, but not many.

"Oh, yeah, I skimmed over it," you admitted.

"And... how much did you skim over?"

"Um... all of it? I mean, I'm in your hero notes, too. I took a lot more of my time on the page dedicated to me, I have to admit, but uh… What's the big deal?"

Midoriya looked at you, and his gaze was intense. "Did you… miss me that much that you would study my hero notes that closely?"

"Well, I wouldn’t say closely—"

He tilted his head in an almost sarcastic manner, and his eyes narrowed as he leaned over to point at a section in his notes.

A bright pink sticky note, covered in stars, was stuck onto the paper.

It was a small part, a very short paragraph, and you had given your analysis of him and not of his quirk either. It was a list of his attributes, his personality, and the type of hero he was.

To someone else, it would be pretty informative about what kind of person he was and what kind of hero he would be, but you both knew the true meaning behind the note.

Because it was all the things you missed about him.

"… oh, " was all you could say.

The air around you two suddenly became awkward, the silence becoming heavy.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

But, as expected, Midoriya broke the silence.

"I figured since you’re still awake, it must mean that you're working on homework or studying, and you wouldn’t do that at night if I weren’t gone," he began. "I thought that maybe it would be too soon to come back, or even that I should have stayed away, but, well, I really needed my notes, and, honestly, I wanted to see you, and—!"

He was rambling again. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, his brain spitting out more words than his mouth could.

At least he was still himself, you thought.

You decided to cut him off, placing your hand on his arm, and he jolted at the sudden contact, his head snapping back up to yours.

"I’m sorry," you said, looking down.

He looked confused, tilting his head. "What for? You have nothing to be sorry for; you didn't do anything wrong."

"No, I—" You cut yourself off, biting your lip, and looked away. You took a deep breath before speaking.

"I'm sorry," you started. "For not stopping you. For not coming with you. For not helping you. I had no idea what you were going through, and I was too worried about myself, and I didn't—"

"Hey, hey, stop," Midoriya said, placing his hand on your shoulder. You hadn't realized you were shaking. "This is my fight, okay? It's not yours, and I was the one who didn’t want to bring anyone else into this mess. This isn’t your fault, so please don’t beat yourself up about it."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do." You looked back up at him, tears blurring your vision. "I don’t know how to help."

He was silent for a moment, but then, he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you once again, and you buried your head in his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie.

"It's okay," he said. "I don’t expect you to know how to help, and I didn’t come here for your help. Well, technically, I did since you had my notebook, but I’m speaking on a—"

“I know, I know," you mumbled.

Another moment of silence, and then, he sighed, a puff of air brushing your ear.

"I'm not sure when I'll be back, if I ever will, but I promise," he whispered, his breath tickling your ear and his words making your heart skip a beat. "I promise we will be fine. We all will. Me, you, everyone else. It might take a while, but we will be okay."

You nodded, your grip on his hoodie tightening. This was the sound of a goodbye, and the finality of it terrified you.

"It’s just…" you mumbled, and his brow furrowed.

"Just what?"

You hesitated, a lump forming in your throat.

"What?" He repeated, pulling back to look you in the eye. "Please tell me."

You took a deep breath, swallowed the lump, and looked him in the eye.

"It's just that... You’re my not-alone buddy, remember?”

Midoriya froze, his eyes widening.

It was a little game you two had back when things weren’t so complicated. Back when you were just normal students.

You both struggled to make friends, so you made a pact. Obviously, that thought disbanded when everyone else got close, and now you all were pretty good friends, but the friendship between him and you was different. It was a bond between you two that was just special.

Not even ‘Kacchan’ could ruin that, as close as he and Midoriya grew.

You never called him Deku, even after Bakugo and the rest of the class started calling him by the nickname. Sure, it was his hero name, and you could call him that, but you just never felt comfortable.

Todoroki didn’t either, but then again, Todoroki didn't call anyone by their nicknames.

But, back to the point.

"We made a pact, and... that was one of the things I wrote on the sticky notes." You gestured to the book. "It was during my angry denial phase, so I’m not that proud of it, but… it was still true."

"You were angry?" He asked, confused. "Why?"

"Well, first of all, I was worried sick. I knew you were going to go do something stupid, and obviously, I was right.”

He winced at that.

"But I was angry because you didn’t trust me, and I felt like you were leaving me, too," you said, biting your lip. "I know that sounds stupid and selfish, and I get that this was your battle, not mine, and I can't change that, but... I guess I was just scared. You didn’t even tell me before you left, and the note was just..."

You trailed off, a lump forming in your throat again, and your eyes burned with tears.

You didn't want to cry in front of him, so you buried your face in his chest again, and his grip tightened around you.

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

You shook your head. "Don’t apologize. It's not like you're changing your mind."

He was quiet for a moment, his head lowering and his lips resting on your forehead.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Your breath hitched. "Izuku, please don't say it."

He pulled back, and his face was unreadable. He looked determined, his eyes burning with passion, and it hurt. It hurt to know that, despite everything, he still had his mind made up.

"I have to go," he said, and his voice was quiet. "I don’t want to leave you alone. I really don’t, but I have to, and you need to stay safe. Me being here isn't doing anything good, and I can't keep coming back and putting you in danger. So, for now, at least until the Shigaraki is dealt with, please just be safe. Don’t try and find me, and please don't let anyone else know I was here."

He paused, his eyes glancing towards the window.

"Actually, I might come back just to get rid of that lock. I mean, seriously, I barely even touched it, and it came right off. You could easily replace it with something stronger, maybe one of those new locks that only respond to fingerprints! But, then it can be traced back to you, and they can use you to— oh, man, I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

You didn't bother to respond. Instead, you leaned up, pressing your lips against his cheek.

Midoriya's entire face went bright red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

You could feel your face burning, but it was worth it to see his reaction.

"Be careful," you said. "Please, Izu, don’t be stupid."

"R-Right."

He stumbled a bit, his hand coming up to touch the spot where your lips were. His eyes flickered back to you, and you swore you saw him blushing, but then he turned, heading towards the window.

"Oh, uhm, b-by the way," he said, reaching the window. He placed his hand on the frame, glancing back at you. "For Aizawa's essay, you have to also analyze the strengths and weaknesses, not just the evolution of quirks. Make sure to read the whole paragraph in that book he gave us at the beginning of the semester."

He gave you one last smile, pulling the mask over his mouth and the hood over his head. You looked in befuddlement as he stepped out onto the roof, and your hands were wrapped around the edges of the open window.

"How did you—"

"It's Aizawa," His mask was muffling his voice, so he lifted it up a bit, and his eyes twinkled. "What else do you expect from him?"

And then he jumped.

He let the mask drop back down and became just another shadow in the night, with his green lightning trailing behind him.

You didn’t have the energy to laugh, and you didn't have the heart.

You leaned against the windowsill, letting the cool night air wash over your face. You sighed, watching the clouds drift in the sky.

"You're still an idiot," you whispered, closing your eyes.

When the sun rises, this encounter will only be a distant memory.

But for now, the cold night was enough to convince you otherwise. For now, his green eyes were staring up at the same night sky, and he was thinking of you, too.

That kiss on the cheek, as tame as it was, was still enough to make his head spin. You were still his friend, his not-alone buddy, and nothing was going to change that.

And you both were okay with that.

[yawnderu]

Reader giving Ghost attitude and he puts her in her place.

(spanking and backshots😏😏)

RAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!! I actually had this idea for a rivals to lovers thing I'm working on BUT I wanna use it here BHJEFBHJEFBHJ

''All I said was that every single squad seems to have a masked bastard.'' You shrug, trying to seem unaffected by the fact that Ghost was cornering you, using his behemoth frame to keep you in place.

''S'not all you said.'' His gloved hand comes up to your jaw, applying enough pressure to let you know he's not playing. You know what buttons to push, and you push his very often in private. Being Price's niece gives you certain privileges.

''Was it when I mocked your accent?'' You raise an eyebrow, lips puckered when his hold on your jaw gets stronger.

''Fuckin' hell...'' A cheeky smile is all he gets in return, frustration growing within him because truly, what can he even do? He's never been in a situation like that, everyone else simply... respects him, because he's a damn lieutenant and a big bastard with a skull mask, but you're not like them.

"How 'bout I teach you some fuckin' respect instead?" He steps forward, dead brown eyes looking down at you and pressing you harder against the wall and leaning down so you're almost nose to nose. His eyes don't miss the way your pupils dilate, eyes looking down at the movement of his lips despite having the balaclava on.

"You want me to teach you to shut up, don't you?" His hand goes to the back of your neck, squeezing enough to manhandle you into bed before you can keep giving him attitude. It doesn't take long for his gloved hand to strike you ass, cock twitching when he hears your small whine and sees the way your back arches even more.

"Like any of you bastards could ever make me shut up." There it is. He almost rolls his eyes, annoyance growing along arousal as he starts tugging at the fabric of your pants, taking them off with your help and finally looking at what he didn't even know he wanted— your cunt is glistening, grool starting come out despite your attitude. He gives your bare ass another harsh spank, focused on the way the fat jiggles when you flinch, hands busy undoing his belt.

"That right?" He doesn't even deserve an answer— he knows the things he's gonna do to you will shut you up for once, the tip of his cock rubbing over your folds as another whiny moan leaves your lips. He sinks into you slowly, letting you feel every single inch of his fat cock going inside you until he bottoms out with a loud groan.

"You like being put in your place?" He's being a smug bastard, hell, even he realizes it, yet at least you're quiet now, cunt tightening up at his words. His hand presses down on your back, forcing you to arch as much as possible before his hands are grasping your hips in a bruising hold, using your own body as leverage to fuck you harder and deeper.

He looks down ag the way his cock disappears into your tight cunt, the perfect ring of cream on his base and all over your entrance as he pushes himself deeper, spanking your ass repeatedly with one hand just to hear your whiny moans and feel your cunt get even tighter at the pain and pleasure mixing in. His heavy balls slap against your clit whenever he goes too hard and deep, your stretched out pussy feeling every single inch of the man you've been bothering for weeks now.

"Fuck—" You moan out and he starts fucking you harder, the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your wet cunt taking all of him fill the room, mixing in with his deep groans and your moans.

"Ghost... I'm—" You don't even have time or energy to finish your sentence, feeling the tip of his cock hit your spongy cervix over and over, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you cum all over his cock, legs shaking and back aching. It doesn't take long for him to follow, burying himself all the way inside your cunt as he shoots ropes of thick, white cum right into your womb.

[thedragonkween]

King Baldwin IV Headcanons! ♔🤍♕

A/N: So, here we are. I could not resist this mysterious and tormented king's charm. His silky voice makes me dream! These are some headcanons I've collected off the top of my head. The Reader is implied to be female and married to Baldwin IV. Please, do feel free to hit my inbox to ramble about our king because I'm literally dying of pining and yearning.

tags: female!reader x baldwin iv of jerusalem (from kingdom of heaven); reader is married to baldwin iv of jerusalem; fluff; slight angst towards the end

wc: 1150k

reccomended songs to listen to while reading: "Summertime Sadness" by Hildegard von Blingin; "Right Here" by Ashes Remain; "Blood, Sweat, Tears" by BTS (orchestral version)

"Many are the tales of the King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem and of his Queen. Despite the varying accounts of their deeds, each one of them agrees on one aspect: the King of Jerusalem loved his Queen dearly, and the world is richer for it".

Baldwin IV is mysterious, intense, valiant, noble and utterly devoted to you, his Queen. But what does this devotion look like?

Firstly, he would believe in you like no other and would always be ready to give you his best advice whenever the weight of your responsibility becomes too much. Foreign rulers would soon learn of your qualities - there would hardly be a piece of correspondence where the King of Jerusalem does not praise the intellect and insight of his dear wife. He would glance at you from time to time, while you both work at your desks sharing the burden of paperwork, silently thanking God for having sent him not only a beautiful, but reliable life companion as well.

He values your opinions greatly and has the utmost regard for your views on political, military and state matters. Disagreements happen, yet your overall values are aligned, which is why Baldwin understands your vision and where your point comes from. During the discussions regarding complex decisions, he would let you speak and explain, then he would offer his honest thoughts on the matter, should he see another, different way from yours. 

Playing chess is a favorite way of spending quality time together in your chambers, away from the chaos of the court. If you know how to play and are proficient at it, he would delight in the thrill of challenge, as he would finally have found a true equal. If you do not know how to play, he would teach you with patience, taking pride whenever you make an unexpected and astute move. He would be such a nerd while he explains the rules to you and would be delighted to see how your mind works when devising a plan.

"Congratulations, dove. You have a checkmate."

I can also see Baldwin taking you on long rides, if his health allows it. He would sweetly check the reins and saddle on your horse before mounting on his steed and leading you away to enjoy the cool early morning breeze, before the heat of Jerusalem becomes too sweltering. You would have a nice and secluded spot to enjoy and to pretend that you are a couple of young lovers without responsibilities and crowns weighing on your heads.

Your presence brings him safety and comfort, which is what would convince him to remove his mask when he is alone with you and the physicians. He would especially love to rest his head on your la as you gently caress his curls while the physicians tend to his skin. It is a sacred moment. He does not know how he went so long without your presence during this delicate time. Speaking softly to each other, you would distract him from the pain with talk of your hometown, fairy tales from your culture, or even simply reflecting on a happening of that day. On these occasions, you learn how to best take care of him, watching the physician tend to his arm while you tend to the other, delicately dabbing the cloth over his wounded skin. Baldwin feels so protected and safe in your presence. He thinks you are God’s greatest gift to him.

Now, jealousy. Baldwin knows he boasts the honor of having an exquisite flower such as yourself to call his own. As do powerful men and courtiers from distant lands. Many covet your loveliness as one would a precious gem. Should one of these foolish people try to take you from him or even stare at you for too long to be considered proper, they would be met with a pure force to be reckoned with. Should a knight’s eye linger on you for too long, he would be quick to put him in place in his signature glacial, elegant way. Before long, everyone learns not to disrespect the Queen consort of Jerusalem.

“Perhaps you would have understood my point, had you not been so insolently ogling my wife”. He takes out his whip. “On your knees. You will pay for insulting the Queen”.

He would protect you with his life. He swore to protect Jerusalem and, as its Queen, that includes first of all you. Should a courtier doubt your devotion and mistake it for thirst for power, or should he learn of an orchestrated attempt on your life, he would waste no time in employing his best forces in your service to defend you.

His enemies and templars alike fear him, yet with you he is as gentle as the morning breeze that gently caresses Jerusalem. This powerful king who makes armies tremble and kingdoms shake is the same person who holds and kisses your hand (when in public, bringing your fingers to the lips of his mask), who silently admires your loveliness from afar and sighs to himself, who longs for your warmth after a tiring day. 

He would write you letters. Lots of them. And not always when he is away. Maybe he just liked the way the sun reflected in your eyes that morning. Or maybe when you helped a servant, he was moved by your kindness. Your every action inspires him, so much so that he has to let out his thoughts on paper. You have a pretty wooden box brimming with delicate papers penned by Baldwin in your honor. He is not only the King of Jerusalem, but also the king of pining, of yearning. Even when he has you near, he yearns for you.

I love to imagine him letting you accompany him to battle. He would love it too, in theory. You make him so strong, the both of you would be quite the sight, meeting your enemies head on, as one, donning your best armors. Yet, at the same time I cannot imagine him resting easy knowing that a loose arrow, a desperate soldier seeking glory for killing the Queen of Jerusalem, or fatigue and sickness could take you from him. It pains his heart to be parted from you, yet he cannot risk your safety. Instead, Baldwin would trust you with ruling the kingdom. He has absolute faith in your intelligence, willpower and cleverness, especially after all he has taught you about running the realm. He longs for you every second he’s away from Jerusalem, yet his heart is at peace knowing his kingdom is in the most capable hands.

When he feels that his time on this Earth is nearing his end, he calls for his most trusted advisors, including Balian and Tiberias. He would ask them, almost begging, to protect you always, at all costs, when he is no longer there to do so. Balian and Tiberias would exchange a quick glance to each other, vowing to respect their King’s wish until the very end.

“Protect her. Please.” “Always, my Lord”.

Poems, songs and stories would be written in honor of your love even centuries after your passing. Many tales would speak of Baldwin IV of Jerusalem and his Queen. Different pieces of art, such as paintings and ballads, would inspire people from all over the world to find a love as devoted and unshakable as yours. Until the very end.

All in all, to love Baldwin means knowing your time together is limited. As is the time of all creatures on Earth. He would beg you to go on after his passing, to live for him. He shall wait for you and protect you from above. Until the very end.

[familyvideostevie]

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help. 

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable. 

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets.  You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her."  Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

__

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something. 

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[ynscrazylife]

tf141 finds a fallen goddess (tf141 x goddess!reader hcs, can be read as romantic or platonic)

Task Force 141 first finds you lying in the grass, the dirt, the mud in a small clearing while they were scouring the area on a mission. It’s safe to say that all four of them are perplexed to find a civilian here, and even more confused as they take in your fancy jewelry and lavish dress.

As soon as they see you, they all feel a shift in the air, like some aura . . . But they don’t know what it is.

Price is the one who makes the first move, though Gaz, Ghost, and Soap keep their weapons trained on you. He wakes you up, demands to know who you are and why you’re here.

You huff and tell him you fell. He asks from where, a goddamn tree? You point up to the sky.

They’re speechless and unconvinced, and you’re forced to explain that you are a goddess. You even demonstrate your abilities and, upon seeing that and feeling the aura . . . It’s impossible to deny. Many people believe in Gods, TF141 is somewhat knowledgeable about mythology, but it’s still a shock.

It takes a good few minutes of seeing your abilities and hearing your story for Gaz, Ghost, and Soap to stand down. Once they get over being stunned, they’re taken by your beauty and your kindness, and ask how you ended up crashed onto the ground.

“I fell,” you say and try to sit up. To your shock, you are met with something that you‘ve never faced before: pain. Weakness. Gaz moves to help and you allow him to sit you up and support you.

“Ye got anywhere to go?” Ghost asks, thinking that you’ll travel back to the sky or wherever you came from.

But you shake your head. Soap and Ghost look to their Captain and he makes the decision, offering you to come with them. For now.

It’s not much of a choice, so you accept and, held up by Gaz and Soap, go back to their base.

As much as they’re captivated by you, you’re also captivated by them. Ghost has you quite curious with how he wears a mask and none of the others do. You open up about being a Goddess and your culture, your life. They try not to be fascinated, but they are, and endless questions follow. You answer as many as you can, honest but careful.

They tell you more about themselves, too, explaining their duty in the military. They tell you what’s not classified. You haven’t talked to any mortals as much as this and you find yourself asking them questions as well.

There’s not much for you to do except to rest, but the team keeps you company. You even manage to crack Ghost’s tough exterior — eventually.

Price definitely does some research on you, what you have power over, your mythology. He likes you — it’s hard not to — but you’re still a stranger. A divine stranger.

Soap loves to talk. And flirt. He has fun, flirting with a Goddess. It’s definitely an ego boost for him.

Your sweet talking almost has Ghost taking his mask off, until he resists at the last second. “Sneaky lass,” he’ll say.

Gaz is definitely the friendliest. He’s the first of the group to fully put his trust in you.

Price feels guilty keeping a secret from Laswell, but he knows he mustn’t reveal your identity. He doubts she would believe him, anyway.

When the team sees you use your powers for the first time, any doubt they had about you went away. You were breathtaking. Watching you work so effortlessly was a beautiful sight.

After a few days, you feel secure enough to tell them what happened. You explain that you didn’t fall, you were pushed. By another God.

Even though they know how powerful you are, they’re still enraged.

“Pushed from that height???”

They’re protective over you. They treat you deserve to be treated by a Princess. Seeing that the Gods up there have failed to do that, they take it upon themselves.

You decide to stay with them for the time being. There’s not much you can do to help them out, but you try. They teach you about the mortal world and show you care and tenderness that you could hardly believe from four military men.

And, eventually, you do get Ghost to take his mask off.

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, non - con, humiliation, obsessive thoughts, victim - blaming, hinted kidnapping

I'm thinking about the type of man who can't decide if he loves you or hates you - forever lost between these two painful, opposing feelings.

It's not like he doesn't feel the pull - his heart clenching and aching at the mere sight of you, bloodshot eyes watering and cold lips trembling with need. He's not stupid, he knows he feels something towards you. You're sweet and kind and patient - you're the only person who turns to him when he tries to speak up. You smile and chuckle to ease the tension when his mind turns off abruptly, you gently brush your fingers against his as you hand him the documents and wish him a sweet little "Good luck!". You bring homemade cookies and fizzy lemonade to the office parties none of your colleagues care about.

You're a fucking bundle of sunshine and roses - so of course he feels something for you, and that something is hatred.

How dare you act so high and mighty, like you're so much better than everyone else - so much better than him? Do you think you're too good for this dead corporate job that seems to suck the life out of people? Do you think you're some type of Godsend to all the miserable overworked souls? He's sure you do, and it makes it hard to look at you.

It's hard to look at your smile that lights up any room you enter. It's hard to avert his eyes when you try to ask him about his day. It's hard to take in your form in those painfully long bright dresses - hanging just above the knee, teasing the mind with so many possibilities of what's underneath. It's hard to ignore the tightening inside his pants, the heat between his thighs - the way his throat dries up and his heartbeat speeds up when his gaze travels to your wet, glistening lips despite his best efforts. It's hard to be in the same space as you - so it must be hate, right?

Yes, he must hate you. He hates you so much he often fantasizes about pushing you to your knees right there in the office - in front of everyone, and just forcing his length down your eager little throat. He imagines you'd struggle weakly, but would eventually give in - thick wet tears running down your puffy cheeks, your mascara ruined and your red lickstick all messed up as he smears his pre - cum all over your open mouth. You'd sob, your fists shaking against his thighs before your new role as nothing more than his cumdump sinks in and you're made to endure any and all abuse he wants you to.

Other times the setting of his fantasies is a lot more personal - a lot more intimate. Sometimes you're laying in his own bed, sprayed open like a starfish - tied up with your eyes covered, completely unaware of your surroundings. The only similarity that remains consistent is his roughness - even in his hate-fueled dreams he's impatient to touch you, to have you, to ruin you. His strong hands itch to tear apart the only barrier between his fingers and your body, his teeth ache to rip into your soft, welcoming flesh. He's shaking all over, anticipating the sweet little moment when it will become too much for you - the pain, the fear, the unwanted pleasure - and you'd cry out in that adorable tiny voice you used to greet him with.

He hopes you'd feel betrayed. He hopes you'd be repelled, shocked, even disgusted when he pumps you full of sticky warm cum and finally takes off the mask covering your eyes. You'd meet his gaze just as he loses himself in the ecstasy of your vulnerable boy - sparkling eyelashes wet and matted to each other as the gasp dies at your parted lips. Then he'd kiss you - but not gently, not like a lover. He'd violate you with his lips and teeth and tongue, he'd explore every inch of your insides and make you feel defiled. Sullied. Unable to be loved by anyone else again.

Yes, he thinks, he would love to teach you a lesson. It's only fair, right? You drive him mad every single day - so maybe it's time for him to return the favour. And if your tea tastes just a bit off today - and if he's a bit too willing to drive you home, well, maybe you shouldn't have been so nice. You shouldn't have smiled so sweetly at him. You shouldn't have held his hand so tightly.

You only have yourself to blame, really.

[s4ndb0xfung1]

The Shape/Michael A. Myers SFW & NSFW Headcanons MINORS DNI!!!!

Been working on some headcanons for Michael Myers for a while, he is such a lovely slasher I love him so much!. wish he would fill me up irl. also this is a completely Gender less headcanon so nobody will feel left out.

SFW Headcanons

Michael has ASPD because of that he struggles with understanding when you feel hurt by some of his actions, especially when it comes to dragging dirt into the newly cleaned house. or when he is covered in blood trying to lay beside you in your shared beds. But also when he is too rough with you, as well with breaking your stuff.

one time he hurt you really badly by hitting you in the face, when trying to move his mask, he didn't get why you were so upset at him, you cried a lot in your now shared bedroom. you had a dark black eye for over a week after the incident, and michael left you be for the first 3 days. After that he tried apologizing in his own way by spending time with you. 

you had to teach him “treat people like you want to be treated” something children learn young, but you had to remind yourself that Michael did not have a normal childhood nor normal interactions with other kids when he was young, and because of that took it easy with him the first month.

He learned pretty quickly how to behave around you.

Michael is like a cat and would leave dead creatures in your living room, this can be from dead animals like birds, wild turkeys and even one time a deer. The worst he had done was when he brought you a dead cow, you had to explain to him that he could not just steal farmers, animals.let alone a cow.

you had to force him to wash that gross mask, before you swore you could see green stink lines coming out of that gross thing.

he likes to bathe with you whether it be bathing in a bath or taking a shower together, he really likes to be close to you. not just that he likes it when you fuss over him, he likes it when you scrub his hair with the shampoo. or when you wash his body from soap, even when the bath is done and you put on lotion he will just watch you.

you tried getting him to try out the body lotion you have, but he doesn't really get WHY he should put it on and the sensation of being sticky after a bath really makes his skin crawl. He just puts it on his arms and T-Poses until it dries or he can handle the sensation.

originally he would walk around in his dirty overall all the time until you told him you would blend his mask if he did not just take it off to wash it as well as having to wear other clothes for once.

when you went out shopping clothes with him, it was kind of weird forcing him to try out clothes to make sure the shirts and pants where his size,

It took you 3 tries to get the right size for both shirt and pants, this absolute UNIT of a man could not even fit in a large or XL due to his height and density.

You wanted him to try on so.e sweatpants only to be flashed with his package. You quickly gave him an XXL, so he could actually sit in the parts without breaking them at the seams, as well to not flash any poor unsuspecting people.

After the shopping you decided to get some food from. The food court in the mall you went to. And discovered that Michael really liked spicy food even when you knew he hadn't built up the tolerance for it. You came to the conclusion he most likely likes the feeling of pain that comes with eating really spicy food.

You also realized that Michael really REALLY likes sugary stuff, you already knew he had a little sweet tooth due to your chocolate disappearing sometimes, but you never knew how much he actually loved sweets. It was to the point where you felt disgusted he could eat those sugar bombs.

He wears the mask all the time. The only time he takes it off is when he is forced to clean the mask or when you want to take him out shopping.

Due to the fact you are far away from Haddonfield you don't have to fear that much that someone might recognize michael. tough people are kind of freaked out by him. mostly because he wears a black medical mask., but also due to him standing almost completely still behind you while waiting for you to choose the right cereal, and staring like a toddler when people get too close.

mentioning toddlers, Michael and toddlers would stare at each other. until you or the parent interfere, and tell them to stop. While Michael doesn't really show his emotions on his face, you swear he gets really proud when he wins the staring contest.when he is the one losing he pouts.

When you make food Michael will either stand at the end of the kitchen watching you, or sitting on the couch not doing anything. He likes to hear you work but he gets bored quickly if you are not paying attention to him.

He barely watches TV but when he does he gets absorbed into it, almost like a trance. His favorite show is “Too Cute” on Animal planet, not because he finds the animals interesting but because it calms him down for some reason. you like watching it with him.

you try to get him to watch TV shows and movies with him, which he does sit down and watch with you but he does not get that much into it, he just likes to watch it because it is with you. The same goes for music.

When he wants to relax he wears a T-shirt and sweatpants. He likes how soft they are. However, when he has to go to bed you get him some really soft pajamas. He doesn't wear them often because he forgets about them due to his relaxation clothes being just as soft for him. He puts them on when you 2 go to bed right after a bath, or when you have just changed the sheets. though that is because you tell him to.

NSFW Headcanons

Michael did masturbate a lot both when he was incarcerated, he would use it to pass time in the psych ward. He didn't really care that the staff could see him doing it through the cameras in his cell.

His dick is bigger than the average person, being 6,5 inches in length. however he is pretty girthy, and it points a little upwards, he is also circumcised. 

He had no idear of what he was doing when you two first started fucking. He was so bad you had to tell him how to insert his dick into you, and why he could not just ram it in, but had to ease it in.

you also had to educate him on how to use condoms, lube as well as how to make sex pleasurable for the both of you.

Michael is allergic to silicone based lube, and because of that he is also allergic to condoms as well. He is luckily not too allergic to them, only gives him itchiness in his crotch area. When it first happened you both had to wait with sex for a week. you had to continuously put some form of salve on his area, and you also had to continuesly stop him from trying to fuck you after touching him there. 

After that situation you looked out for anything containing silicone or latex based products.

when you two finally had fucked it open up the pandoras box for all the dirty things you two would get up and in to.

you have fucked on the kitchen table on the couch in the shower one time he fucked you against the door of the main intrance. most likely scaring you neighbors. but most of the time he prefers the bedroom, not the bed but the bedroom. it's a place where you two can be left alone so you both cannot get unwanted guests.

Here are some quick kinks Michael discovered with you and when.

He learned he likes to choke you, he learned that when you tried to get up after an orgasm but he wanted you to stay down. He took hold of your throat in one hand and pushed you down into the maddress, not enough to choke you out of breath but to hold you down. he had to stop what he was doing after hearing the loudest moan come out of you, he really liked having that effect over you while also having control.

Michael likes impact play, you were head down ass up position and was moving around, Michael got really angry. He smacked your ass really hard, making you squeal by both pain and surprise. He liked the way he could hurt you while you also feeling pleasurable. He really likes making you feel good.

a similar thing happened when he slapped your crotch hard, he really liked the way you moan and whine.

he likes to restrain you in some way or another, when fucking on the kitchen table he lifted you up, holding you close while roughly hitting your hips together. It was a cold day so having you close was really nice to him.

Some of his favorite positions are the ones where you are off the ground, he likes the fact  you are completely defenseless and at his mercy. it gives him a sense of power, especially over you.

He doesn't talk normally and neither in the bed, however you can hear deep breaths, small whimpers and moans as well a lot of growls, his voice is really deep and it almost gives a little vibration through you.

Michael is still too green when it comes to sex for you two to incorporate toys into your adventures. same with preferences when it comes to if he wants to come in or on you and where he would like to come on you.

[apollogeticx]

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ BIRDS OF A FEATHER ʷᵉ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈ ˢᵗⁱᶜᵏ ᵗᵒᵍᵉᵗʰᵉʳ ♡·˚

— [♡] ; "I know you," he whispers, realizing his six eyes have been seeing what his mind was trying to forget all along. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: amnesia, afab!reader, angst, gore description, trauma, character injury, emotional pain, grief, hurt/comfort, hopeful ending.

wc. 4K

↳ part 1

Gojo Satoru was used to being in control.

He stared out of the window, still confined to his wheelchair, feeling the biting chill of autumn wind against his face. It was strange. For someone who once prided himself on being the strongest, he now felt powerless—his legs refusing to support him and his mind plagued by holes in his memory.

The day Sukuna had cut him down was a blur. The battle was vivid—he remembered the scorching heat of Sukuna's cursed energy, the searing pain as the world cutting slash tore his body in half. But everything after… nothing.

Gojo had woken up later in the infirmary, his body stitched together, his cursed energy flowing weakly through his veins. Shoko had been there, her usual no-nonsense demeanor masking the worry she clearly felt. She told him he'd been saved, healed just in time before it was too late.

By you.

You, the quiet student who always blended into the background. You, who he vaguely remembered seeing around campus, always lingering on the outskirts of his attention. He hadn’t thought much of you before—he couldn’t recall any significant interactions between you two. Yet here you were, the person who had apparently saved his life.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember anything before the moment. Not your face, not your voice. Nothing about you before that night except a strange, lingering feeling of familiarity. It gnawed at him, the feeling that there was something more beneath the surface.

He knew things were missing, moments gone, but the gnawing feeling at the back of his mind wasn’t about the fight. It was about you.

He didn’t have to ask Shoko to tell him who you were—he already knew. He had seen you enough times, felt that strange, indescribable pull toward you whenever you were around. Your presence had been undeniable. But every time you came into view, every flicker of familiarity he felt was marred by the fact that he didn’t really know why.

He knew you had saved his life, but what had you been before that? Why did you feel like more than just another student? He remembered everything so vividly during the fight, that moment was seared into his memory, yet everything before it was just… gone.

Even now, bound to a wheelchair, his legs too weak to support his weight, he found ways to assert his presence.

You weren’t attending his classes anymore. He had noticed that.

There was no sign of you in the usual places he had seen you before he was discharged. No hesitant glances from the corner of the classroom, no stumbling when he teased you. You had vanished into the background, as though you were intentionally avoiding him.

And Gojo hated that.

Satoru wheeled himself through the quiet courtyard, his eyes scanning the training grounds where students often sparred or practiced their techniques. He had no intention of teaching today—his body was still too fragile—but his mind was restless. He needed a distraction. Something to keep him from spiraling into the constant loop of wondering why his memories of you were fractured, why he felt like you was so much more than the one who saved his life.

That’s when he saw you.

You were with another student, guiding them through a series of cursed techniques. Your voice was soft, your movements deliberate as you demonstrated the proper stance, your brow furrowed in concentration. Gojo felt that tug in his chest again, the déjà vu stronger than before. He stopped the wheelchair, watching you quietly from a distance.

And then, just as he had done countless times before, the memory flickered—flashes of you in his class, sitting a few rows back. Shy. Reserved. Your eyes would light up with admiration whenever he made a joke or displayed his immense power. He could remember your blush whenever he looked your way, the way you’d fumble over your words, trying to maintain composure.

But those memories were incomplete, disjointed. He couldn’t place them properly in time, couldn’t bridge the gap between the student you were before and the one standing before him now.

As the student you were training made a mistake, their cursed energy flaring wildly, you reacted instantly. Your hand shot out, channeling your own energy to deflect the errant blast, your expression calm and controlled. It was such a simple thing, yet watching you, something clicked in Gojo’s mind.

He had seen you like this before—competent, talented, someone he had quietly taken pride in. The student who always tried their best, who lingered after class to ask questions, who had gotten under his skin without him even realizing it.

His heart clenched as more flashes of memories began to surface. You, standing just beside him, looking at him with a kind of reverence that no other student had shown. You, with that familiar shy smile, hiding something deeper.

And then it hit him—you had switched classes.

That’s why you weren’t in his lectures anymore, why he hadn’t seen you except in passing. You had distanced yourself from him. Why? Why would you do that after saving him? And why did he feel like he had lost something important with you—something that had been there before he’d nearly died?

Later that day, Gojo found himself wheeling toward the infirmary, where Shoko was going over medical files. She glanced up as he entered, her expression neutral, but Gojo didn’t miss the way her eyes flickered with caution. He leaned back in his wheelchair, arms crossed, knowing he had to approach this carefully.

“You know, Shoko,” he started, voice deceptively light, “it’s interesting how certain students stop showing up for my classes after I come back from nearly dying.”

Shoko didn’t flinch. She was always good at keeping her composure. “Students change schedules all the time, Satoru. It’s nothing new.”

“Right,” he said, leaning back in his wheelchair, arms crossed over his chest. “But you and I both know that’s not what this is about.”

“I already know who saved me,” he began, his voice low and uncharacteristically serious.

Shoko raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you here?”

“I know it was her,” Gojo continued, his gaze fixed on the floor, “but I can’t figure out why she’s avoiding me now. Or what we were to each other before.”

Shoko stayed quiet for a moment before replying, “Does it matter? You’re alive. She made her choice, and she’s trying to move on.”

“That’s not good enough for me, Shoko.” His voice sharpened with frustration. “I know my memories were wiped in exchange for my life. I get that. But this—” he gestured vaguely in the direction of where you’d been, “—this feels wrong. Like I’ve lost something important, and I don’t even know what it is.”

Shoko sighed, setting her file aside. “Satoru, some things... they were meant to be forgotten. For both your sakes.”

“Both our sakes?” Gojo shot back, his eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She didn’t answer immediately, her gaze softening as she spoke. “She saved you at a cost—one you didn’t have to pay. But that cost wasn’t just your memories, Satoru. It was the bond you two shared. She gave up more than you realize.”

Gojo’s heart clenched. The bond you shared. The words hung in the air, echoing through the empty infirmary. His mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. “What bond, Shoko? What did I lose?”

“You didn’t lose anything,” she replied quietly. “She did.”

Gojo stared at her, his frustration mounting. “She lost something?” He felt the burn of anger in his chest, directed more at himself than anyone else. “What did I take from her?”

Shoko hesitated, her expression unreadable. “Not everything can be fixed, Satoru. Some things are meant to be left behind, no matter how much you want to pull them back.”

Gojo’s hands gripped the arms of his wheelchair, his knuckles white. “But I feel it, Shoko. Every time I see her, I feel it. The memories—they’re not completely gone. I see flashes of her. It’s like… like she was more than just a student.”

“She was.” Shoko’s voice was soft, but her words cut deep. “But you don’t remember. And maybe it’s better that way.”

Gojo’s breath hitched. His mind reeled, the fragments of memory swirling together, but never quite forming a full picture. The sense of loss, the echo of something important slipping through his fingers—it was overwhelming.

“I have to know,” he muttered. “I have to talk to her.”

Shoko shook her head slightly, as though warning him. “Just... don’t push too hard, Satoru. You might not like what you find.”

With that, she turned back to her files, leaving Gojo to stew in his thoughts. He wheeled himself out of the infirmary, his mind swirling with unresolved questions, frustration boiling under the surface.

You had saved him, and in doing so, you had lost something precious. And though Gojo knew his memories had been wiped as part of the price to bring him back, the real struggle wasn’t just figuring out what he had forgotten—it was understanding who you had been in his life, and why your absence now hurt more than any physical injury.

The school grounds were quiet today, with most students preoccupied elsewhere, yet his mind was far from at ease. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was slipping through his fingers—something important.

The memories had persisted, more blurred with each passing night. But it wasn’t just his fragile mind anymore. His Six Eyes were beginning to react, guiding him toward something he couldn’t quite understand.

It started subtly. He would catch brief glimmers of cursed energy—faint, barely noticeable—but they tugged at him, pulling him toward specific places around Jujutsu High. He’d seen the traces of cursed energy before, remnants of past battles or training exercises, but this was different. It was familiar. Personal.

It was yours.

The first time it happened was in the classroom.

Gojo had been wheeling himself down the hallway, his body still recovering, when his Six Eyes caught a flicker of energy trailing toward the door of his old classroom. The residue was faint but unmistakable, like the afterglow of cursed energy that lingered long after the moment had passed.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, something shifted in his mind.

A flash—a fleeting image of you sitting in the back corner of the room, your head down, a notebook open on your desk. He could see himself standing at the front of the class, making one of his usual offhand comments that sent a ripple of laughter through the students. But you… you didn’t laugh. You just blushed, avoiding his gaze, and his attention lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended.

The memory was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving him reeling.

Gojo frowned, his eyes scanning the empty classroom. His Six Eyes were still humming with residual energy, drawing him deeper into the room, but he didn’t understand why. Why did your cursed energy linger here? And why did it feel like he had seen this moment before—like it was something precious that had slipped from his grasp?

It happened again a few days later in the training grounds.

Gojo had been watching the students from a distance, his wheelchair parked near the edge of the field. His eyes trailed over the younger sorcerers as they sparred, but then his Six Eyes flared, sensing the same faint residue of cursed energy he had seen in the classroom. He turned his head, and there it was again—your energy.

The vision hit him harder this time.

He saw you, standing a few feet away from him on the training grounds. The two of you were alone, the sun low in the sky as the day began to fade. You looked nervous, fidgeting with your hands, your eyes downcast as if waiting for him to say something. He had been teasing you, trying to get a reaction, but the tension between you was different. There was a closeness, an intimacy he hadn’t noticed before.

The scene dissolved before he could grasp it fully, and Gojo was left staring blankly at the empty field.

Every time he followed the traces of your cursed energy, a new fragment of memory surfaced—always fleeting, never enough to give him the full picture. But the pattern was clear. There was more between the two of you than he could remember. Something deeper, something that existed long before you saved him after the battle with Sukuna.

The rooftop was next.

His Six Eyes guided him there late one afternoon, the wind carrying a chill as the sun dipped behind the horizon. The rooftop was quiet, almost eerily so, but the moment he arrived, another memory struck him.

This one was different—less fragmented, more visceral.

He remembered standing there with you, the two of you leaning against the railing. It was nighttime, the stars barely visible through the city lights. You had looked so hesitant, your hands gripping the railing as if it was the only thing keeping you grounded. He had said something to you, something casual, but the way you looked at him in response—it had left an ache in his chest.

He saw your face clearly this time, the way you avoided his eyes but smiled softly, as if trying to hide how much you cared. There was something raw about the memory, something vulnerable, and Gojo’s heart clenched as the vision faded once more.

The next place his Six Eyes led him to was the staircase on the third floor, tucked away in a hidden corner where the students rarely ventured.

Gojo wheeled himself there in the dead of night, his pulse quickening as his Six Eyes resonated with the cursed energy lingering in the air. This was the strongest trace yet, almost like an imprint left behind from countless moments shared in secret.

As he approached the base of the stairs, the memory slammed into him like a tidal wave.

You were there, sitting beside him, the two of you huddled under the stairs with snacks in hand. It was quiet, the school long since emptied for the day, and the two of you were sharing a rare moment of peace. You were laughing at something he had said—something dumb, probably—but the way your face lit up, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him, it made his chest tighten.

Gojo remembered teasing you, calling you shy, but there was something more in the way he spoke to you. It wasn’t just playful banter. There was affection there, buried beneath the surface, something unspoken that lingered in the spaces between words.

And you… You had been so close to him. Close in a way that made his heart race, close in a way that made him realize just how much he had forgotten.

The memory faded, leaving him breathless.

Gojo sat there for a long time, staring at the empty space where you had once been. His Six Eyes were still reacting, still pulsing with the remnants of your cursed energy, but this time, he didn’t feel the usual frustration.

This time, he felt something else—something warmer, something that made the ache in his chest bearable.

He didn’t have all the answers yet. The memories were still fractured, still elusive. But the more his Six Eyes guided him, the more he began to understand.

You weren’t just the student who saved his life.

You had been so much more than that. And maybe, just maybe, the pieces of his past were slowly falling back into place.

Gojo had thought the staircase would be the last place. He had followed the trail of your cursed energy, unlocking fleeting memories piece by piece, and though he hadn’t pieced together everything, he had been starting to understand.

But his Six Eyes were relentless, tugging at him once more. This time, the pull was stronger, more direct, guiding him down a path he didn’t recognize.

As he wheeled through the quiet corridors of Jujutsu High, his heart beat faster. His eyes narrowed as the faint residue of your cursed energy grew thicker. It led him to a part of the campus he had never consciously visited.

And then, without warning, he found himself outside your dorm door.

He stopped short, staring at the door in disbelief. The trail had ended here.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut—he knew exactly whose door this was, even though his memory of it had been wiped clean. His Six Eyes had guided him here, to a place where something significant had once happened. A moment too important to forget.

Slowly, Gojo reached out and rested his hand on the doorframe, the wood cool beneath his palm. His breath hitched as his Six Eyes flared with intensity, resonating with the cursed energy that still lingered within.

And then it hit him—a memory, sharp and vivid, breaking through the fog of forgetfulness.

The sounds of Yuji leaving to meet Gojo outside echoed down the hall - you heard his footsteps fading, his voices growing distant, until the school fell silent once more. Alone, you remained in your room, the walls closing in around you like a cage.

You had made your decision. The others could go to him, stand by his side in what might be his final battle, but you… you couldn’t. Not now. Not after everything that had been left unsaid.

It wasn’t just the fear of losing him in the battle to come. It was the crushing weight of your love for him, the silent yearning you had buried for so long, knowing it would never be returned. How could you face him again, knowing this might be your last chance to speak your truth?

A soft knock on your door shattered the stillness.

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest. No one had come back yet—not Maki, not Yuji, not Yuta. Which meant…

The knock came again, gentle but insistent.

You rose from your bed, every step toward the door feeling like it took an eternity. Slowly, you reached for the handle, your hand trembling. When you opened it, Gojo stood there, his tall frame filling the doorway.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. He wasn’t wearing his usual blindfold—his icy blue eyes were exposed, the very eyes you had once longed to gaze into, now filled with something you couldn’t quite read. Exhaustion? Regret? Something deeper, something that mirrored your own anguish?

“Can I come in?” he asked, his voice low and softer than usual.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him enter. Your heart raced, and your stomach twisted into knots. Gojo stepped inside your small room, closing the door behind him. The space felt suffocating with him there, not because of his overwhelming presence, but because you knew what this conversation could mean.

He stood in the center of your room, his hands in his pockets, glancing around as if to take in the simplicity of your surroundings. But he wasn’t really seeing anything. His focus was on you.

“I noticed you didn’t come with the others,” he said after a long pause.

You swallowed hard, unable to meet his gaze. “I couldn’t.”

Gojo was quiet for a moment, as if weighing his next words carefully. That in itself was unusual. He was never cautious, never hesitant. And yet, here he was, standing before you with the weight of everything unsaid between you.

“I… I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me,” he admitted, his voice unusually vulnerable.

You felt your breath hitch. Gojo never showed vulnerability, not like this. Seeing him like this—unsure, hesitant—made the pain in your chest even sharper. You turned away from him, unable to face those blue eyes any longer.

“I didn’t know if I wanted to either,” you whispered, the words bitter on your tongue. “You left. Right after we fought to free you from the Prison Realm, you left without a word.”

Gojo flinched, and though you couldn’t see it, you could feel the weight of his guilt.

“I know,” he said, his voice low, almost broken. “I know I hurt you. All of you.”

Silence hung in the air again, thick and heavy.

“I’ve never been good at this,” he continued, his words slow, as if dragging them from the depths of himself. “Being there for people. Connecting.”

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. His words were cutting through you like a knife, reopening wounds you had tried to bandage over.

“You’re good at making people feel small,” you said softly, the accusation slipping out before you could stop it.

Gojo’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. You hadn’t meant to say it, but the truth was too raw to hold back now. You had spent so long pretending you didn’t care, pretending that your love for him could stay hidden, even as he unknowingly broke your heart over and over again.

“I never wanted to make you feel that way,” Gojo said quietly, his voice filled with a sadness that made your chest ache.

You turned to face him, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. “Then why did you? Why did you leave us? Why did you leave me?”

Gojo’s eyes softened, and for the first time, he took a step closer to you, closing the distance between you both. His hand reached out, hesitating for a moment before resting on your shoulder. His touch was warm, grounding, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I thought I was protecting you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “From what’s coming. From me.”

Your throat tightened. “Protecting us by leaving us behind?”

Gojo’s hand tightened slightly on your shoulder. “I didn’t know how else to do it. I’m not good with… this,” he said, motioning between the two of you. “I thought if I stayed away, if I focused on the fight, it would be easier for you. Easier for all of you to move on when… if I don’t come back.”

Your heart sank at his words. He had never admitted it before, never shown even a hint of doubt that he might not survive. But here, now, with you—he was laying his fears bare.

“You think that’s what we want?” you asked, your voice trembling with emotion. “You think we want to move on without you?”

Gojo looked away, his jaw clenching. “It’s what you’ll have to do.”

The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, and you shook your head. “You don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand how much we need you. How much I need you.”

His eyes flickered to yours, something unreadable passing through them.

You took a shaky breath, your voice breaking as you finally let the words out. “I love you, Gojo. And you’ve made it so hard. You’ve made it so hard to love you because you’re always running away, always putting up walls. But I love you anyway, even when you hurt me. And I can’t stand the thought of you going into that fight and never coming back. I can’t lose you.”

Gojo’s expression shifted—shock, guilt, something softer all swirling in those intense blue eyes. For a moment, he said nothing, and the silence was deafening. Then, slowly, he reached up, cupping your face with his hand. His thumb brushed away the tears that streaked your cheeks.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion. “Stronger than me.”

You shook your head, unable to believe it. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Gojo insisted, his voice firmer now. “And I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t… I didn’t let you in.”

His hand lingered on your face, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped. But you knew this was temporary. He wasn’t here to stay. He was here to say goodbye.

“I have to go,” Gojo said, the words like a blade cutting through the moment.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the sobs threatening to spill over. “I know.”

He leaned in then, pressing his forehead gently against yours. It was a rare, intimate gesture, one that made your heart ache even more.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his breath warm against your skin.

Before you could say anything, before you could stop him, Gojo pulled back, his hand lingering on your cheek for just a moment longer before he let go. He turned and walked toward the door, his steps slow and heavy.

You watched him leave, your heart breaking all over again.

The moment flooded back in its entirety, every word you had spoken, every tear that had slipped down your face, every crack in his heart as you laid bare your emotions. Gojo’s hand clenched around the edge of his wheelchair, his knuckles whitening as the weight of that memory settled over him like a heavy shroud.

He could still feel the sorrow In your voice, the pain in your eyes, and the deep, aching love that had tied you to him even when he had repeatedly broken your heart. That last moment you shared together before he had rushed off to face Sukuna… it had been the final thread between you. And he had severed it without a second thought.

Gojo’s chest tightened, the pain of that lost connection overwhelming him. He had forgotten you, left you behind in the wake of his own reckless ambition, and now—now he could see how much it had cost you. How much it had cost him.

And yet… you had saved him. Even after everything.

The realization came crashing down around him. You had given him your heart and your strength, and in return, he had lost every precious moment with you to a forgotten past.

Gojo pressed his forehead against the door, his eyes shutting tight as the weight of it all finally settled in.

You weren’t just the student who had saved him.

You had loved him. And in some way, he had loved you too.

Gojo sat in his wheelchair, the weight of the memories he had regained pressing down on him like an anchor. His heart raced, breaths shallow as the reality settled over him. He could no longer run from the truth that had been right in front of him, waiting to be acknowledged.

“I know you.”

The words came in a breath, so soft, so fragile. His Six Eyes had been showing him the truth for so long, but his mind had tried to protect him from the pain of remembering. The pain of realizing just how much he had left behind.

He glanced at the empty hallway outside your dorm room, then down at his legs. His body screamed in protest, reminding him of the battle with Sukuna that had shattered him physically. He should rest. He should heal.

But Gojo didn’t deserve to be spared that pain. Not after everything.

With a sharp inhale, Gojo braced his hands against the sides of the wheelchair, pushing with trembling arms. His legs, still unsteady, buckled beneath him, but he didn’t care. He staggered forward, catching himself on the nearest wall.

Each step was agony, every inch of movement a battle against his ruined body. But the physical pain felt like the only thing that made sense. His mind had been torn apart, his memories shattered—this pain? It was real, and it was deserved.

His breaths came out ragged, the strain pulling at his injuries, but he pushed forward, dragging his body step by excruciating step. He couldn’t stay seated, couldn’t let this distance between you remain any longer. Not when he finally remembered. Not when he had been blind to the truth for so long.

Gojo collapsed against a wall, panting, his body trembling from the effort. His head spun, his vision flickered, but he gritted his teeth, forcing his feet to move. He wasn’t going to stop. Not now.

Each step brought him closer to you, closer to the one person who had given him everything and asked for nothing in return. The weight of that realization crushed him. You had saved him—your cursed energy had brought him back from death’s edge, and in return, you had sacrificed the connection you had shared. You had been forgotten, pushed into the background, forced to watch from the shadows as Gojo moved forward without knowing who you truly were.

He couldn’t leave It like that.

Eventually, he found you. You were standing alone in a secluded spot near the training grounds, the place where you often went to escape the world, the weight of everything that had happened still pressing down on you.

For a moment, he hesitated, every nerve in his body screaming to stop. What would he say? How could he face you after everything?

Taking a deep breath, Gojo stepped forward.

You didn’t hear him approach at first, lost in your own thoughts, but when he finally spoke, his voice was soft, broken.

“I know you,” he whispered. His eyes, for once, were raw, filled with something deeper than the usual arrogance, something vulnerable and real. “I know who you are.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You stared at him, emotions flickering across your face—surprise, confusion, and something else he couldn’t quite place.

Gojo swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak through the tightness in his chest. “My Six Eyes… they’ve been showing me everything. I just didn’t want to see it.”

His voice broke, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, Gojo felt lost.

“I remember now.” He took a shaky step forward, leaning heavily against the doorframe, his body still trembling from the effort of getting there. “I remember you saved me. I remember… how much you cared. I know I don’t deserve it, but—”

His words caught in his throat, the weight of his guilt nearly unbearable. “I’m sorry I forgot. I’m sorry I left you behind.”

You didn’t say anything for a long moment, and the silence weighed heavily between you. Gojo stood there, vulnerable, stripped of his usual confidence, waiting for whatever judgment you would pass.

Finally, you spoke, your voice soft but steady. “You didn’t forget by choice.”

Gojo shook his head, his jaw clenched. “That doesn’t change the fact that I hurt you.”

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. “And now? What do you want, Gojo?”

Gojo met your gaze, his heart pounding in his chest. “I want to fix this,” he whispered. “I want to move forward. I want… to make things right.”

You shook your head, stepping back, the hurt in your eyes cutting him deeper than any wound Sukuna had ever inflicted. “Some things can’t be fixed.”

Gojo flinched at your words, but he didn’t turn away. “Maybe not,” he said quietly, “but I need to try.”

You sighed, a mixture of frustration and sadness. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” Gojo admitted, his voice barely audible. “But I’m willing to face whatever comes next. I just… I don’t want to lose you again.”

Gojo saw a flicker of hope in your eyes. It was faint, fragile, but it was there.

For a moment, you were silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. Then, finally, you looked up at him, meeting his gaze.

“You broke my heart, Gojo,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Over and over again.”

His breath hitched, his chest tightening at your words.

“But,” you continued, your voice soft, “you came back.”

Gojo swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. Slowly, he reached out, his hand trembling as he gently rested it on the back of your head, pulling you closer. He lowered his head until his forehead rested against yours, just like he had done that last time—when he had left you behind to go after Sukuna.

But this time, he wasn’t leaving.

This time, he was here to stay.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away. It was just the two of you, standing together, sharing a quiet, intimate moment that had been long overdue.

Gojo’s voice was barely a whisper, but the weight of his words carried more meaning than anything he had ever said before.

“I came back.”

©apollogeticx ⋆ all rights reserved.

tag list: @kiel-luvsripples @springsoltice @me-hydrangea @h-------n @lalalandincraz @hachichann @carohlineeee

[madwomansapologist]

blossoming alone over you

Meet Kind!Druid!Tav | More Weirdos | AO3

synopsis: It doesn't matter what their first impressions of you were, they certainly did not expect you to be so important in their lifes. And as the days passes, each one of your companions need to understand a simple fact: they love you. They all love you.

warnings: it's 31st december. i'm drunk. song "pink on the night" by mitsky for wyll. song "working for the knife" by mitsky for astarion. song "abbey" by mitsky for shadowheart. companions (wyll, astarion, shadowheart) x druid!tav. background cast (karlach, kagha, halsin, lae'zel, gale, cazador). tav is used as a nickname. wyll stuttering. astarion seeing draws of himself because he fucking deserves it. shadowheart falling for a druid that can turn into a wolf.

Trust betrayed, secrets spread, lies disguised as facts. That's how life works. It gives you hope, then crushes it front of your eyes. It let's you reach your goal, just to rip it out from your bare fingers.

The cruelty of life is the ultimate sign that gods do exist. There must be a higher being watching its puppets pathetic attempts of conquering an unreachable happiness. There are other proofs, but that's the easiest to perceive.

And they were used to it. From the renowed Blade of Frontiers to the pale elf hiding in the shadows: they all knew what to expect from life. Dishonest agreements, stolen hearts, the cold embrace of loss. Life is painful, so they shielded themselves from any harm.

But not you.

At first they assumed you were naive. The things Shadowheart thought to herself when you reached for a hand stuck in a portal; or how easily Astarion deceived you when he thought you were a mind flayer; even Wyll judged you from time to time.

You let your guard down easily. Instead of protecting yourself, you were helping others. Instead of using your teeths and claws to get what you wanted, you preserved nature.

But naive you were not. You may have trusted them too easily, but you weren't blind. You knew when a question was a order, when a joke was a threat, when a smile was just sharp teeth showing.

You discovered what Astarion really was and demanded he wouldn't maim anyone that didn't deserved it. You convinced Wyll that the evil he so wanted to tear apart was a victim. Saw right throught Kagha's distorted teachings, don't matter how alluring they sounded.

To turn a foe into a friend was your instinct, but you were not hesitant to solve problems with violence if it was needed. And sometimes you even got pleasure from it.

Wyll will never forget your face after finding out about Kagua's deal with the shadow druids. You didn't even allowed the party to rest. All your party received from you was an order to clean the ivy from their weapons.

"Shouldn't we focus on freeing Halsin? He must understand Kagha better than us," Wyll pointed. "You're a druid, but that doesn't mean the groove sees you as one of them. But they will hear Halsin."

"She can hear me," you slammed your staff on the ground, giving strength to your certainty. It pulsed with energy, and its glow matched the beat of your heart. "Or she can die. I can grant her mercy, but I won't give her time."

Wyll felt his body getting warmer, Shadowheart's impressed whistle reached his ear. "O-Of course," he cleared his throat. "After you."

"We'll purge some rats," you smirked at him. It didn't feel threatening. "Can I count with your blade?"

"Always," Wyll answered you, staring at your back. He could stare at your back all day. And he meant it.

Seeing that you weren't naive, Astarion came to a conclusion about you. Meanwhile the Blade of Frontiers stopped seeing your benevolent acts as a signs of impulsivity, the pale elf saw them as a mask. Something meant to cover what others should be paying attention to instead.

After all, who would suspect that something is rotten when the scent is sweet?

You're beautiful. Astarion admit it. Your laugh reverberates through the forests, your tiredness calls for aid, your eyes attract and soothe. Beautiful faces can make up for dirty minds, soft words can hide the lack of a heart, pretty acts are easier to see than destructive intentions.

You're just like him. Astarion sees it, clear as the sea. Your delicate smiles and his gaze full of lust are just as fake. Your sweet words and his dirty innuendos are both rehearsed. In need of this party, it's not hard to understand why you two would act to ensure they don't ever leave.

When Shadowheart cures you first, Astarion's invisible reflection occupies your eyes. When Lae'zel attacks monsters aiming at you, he's your shadow. When Gale puts more food on your plate, Astarion can see his smile on your face.

He wouldn't be surprised to find out that you both look the same.

One may say that your corrupt intentions are nothing compared to the good you've already done, but Astarion is not so idealistic. Sin stains your good deeds, he can see it. You depict yourself as someone better than them, better than him, but that's just your depraved plan to survive.

And he can't blame you. It's working perfectly.

Astarion may despise you for being as dirty as himself, but he respects that part of you. He trusts your plans, your combat skill, your magic. You're good on what you do. Screaming instructions to help during fights, discovering hidden passages, trading for better weapons.

You're not a good person, but there's a reason for why you survived this far. You're competent. That Astarion can respect. That's why he's constantly trying to get on your good side. You are smart and strong. Maybe strong enough to rip Cazador apart.

And if you haven't realize that Astarion is putting on an act to win your heart, than the shame is on you for not realizing that you both are the exactly same thing.

But you had to show him how wrong he was.

At midnight you approached his tent with your sketchbook. Astarion thought you wanted a distraction, using your drawings just as an excuse to talk a bit. Gods know he was dying of boredom before you appeared.

"I didn't knew you were so talented, darling," he praised you.

Illuminated by candles, Astarion let his guards down. Instead of just saying the right thing at the time, Astarion was really impressed at your skills.

It must be nice. To be able to create things with your bare hands. Sometimes he cry at the start of a good book. He don't know why, but it must be because he too would like to be making things. Astarion thinks that creating is the ultimate sign that you're alive, instead of just surviving.

Maybe one day he can become a poet.

"I can't help but notice that you have a muse," it was clear someone had attracted your gaze. Maybe a dear friend you miss, or perhaps another competitor for your attention. "Should I worry about being replaced?"

Astarion expect you to flush, but all you did was to get... softer? You seemed to shrivel up.

Your mouth dried up. He doesn't even recognize himself. Astarion don't even remember how he looked like.

"That's you, Astarion," you told him. "And that's a gift. You helped a lot these past months and... All I'm trying to say is that I'm grateful."

It was the first time you saw Astarion in silence. Paper by paper, he admired your drawings. Do they look bad? You've spent a lot of time training to be able to create something worthy of his beauty, but you admit they're not perfect.

Or maybe it isn't the quality. It's the fact that you spend so long drawing him. How many hours did you spend on those sketchs? How many hours did you spend glaring at him from your tent? Does he feel ofended? Invaded?

"That's how you see me?" Astarion whispered.

You barely heard his words.

"Yes, Astarion," you licked your lips. "I know some can be..."

His hand on your thigh stopped the rant you were about to go on. His bloody eyes were sharp. Just like the day you first met him, his dagger against your throat. Astarion looked pleased, but not happy.

As if he discovered being right about something he rather not be.

What you gave him... this is a treasure. So many drawings, so many angles, so many poses. How many centuries has it been since he last saw himself? How many since Astarion forgot his own face? Sometimes he touches his face, trying to picture it, but his imagination isn't good.

You gave him something priceless.

And when something is priceless that people discover how sunk in debt they really are.

"And now you want me to pay you back," his husky voice made shivers went down your spine. His nails scratched lightly your skin, drawing shapes on your thigh. "Don't you?"

You jumped from your spot, getting away from him. You were flushed, but not in a good way. "From where I came from," you breathed in. You sounded offended. "Something that puts you in debt isn't a gift."

As you turned over to go to sleep, you felt that if you didn't say what you really thought you would end up exploding. You know you don't have the right to speak about his life, but that didn't stopped you.

"Cazador made you believe that you have to sell yourself to be worth of anything, but he's wrong. He was wrong since the very start. We'll lacerate that monster for what he did to you. And that I promise you: it won't be fair. Cazador don't deserve fair."

You felt your nails digging the skin of your palms. "That was a gift. Get used to it."

Maybe Astarion was wrong about you. And maybe he was wrong about himself.

Merciful, but not weak. Gentle, but not naive. Pleasing, but not manipulable. You were a walking question mark. Whenever they thought they understood what you were, you proved them wrong. Not impulsive. Not manipulative. Not stupid.

Until they came up with a word that described you too perfectly. A word that didn't need any buts or explanations. One that everyone cognize, but that isn't used often. That don't deserve to be used often.

You're kind.

It's in your nature to be considerate. You help others because you can. No. Wrong. And that's something that Shadowheart still don't really understand: you help others because you can, so therefore you should.

She has only one goal in mind. Shadowheart needs to make to Baldur's Gate with the mysterious artifact in safety, and if she does everything right... maybe her Lady will grant her what she truly want.

But you make Shadowheart forget about all that.

She must be discreet, she did that her whole life, and still Shadowheart finds herself talking about her goddess to you. Her mission depends on her going straight towards Baldur's Gate yet there she's, following you as you try to solve everyone's problems.

Shadowheart didn't even noticed. She didn't made a rational choice to open herself to you. She just did it. Almost as if you were fundamental part of her forgotten past and her heart couldn't do nothing but to trust you.

You impervious into her prayers. Invaded her dreams. Burned your mark inside her mind. Your name feels like honey on her tongue. Like a sweet treat that she can never get enough of.

You tempted her, luring her with your determination and grace, and Shadowheart proved herself sinful once again.

If only you had judged Shadowheart for her loyalty to Lady Shar. Asking her what her favorite flower is. Listening to her opinions. Even when she was nothing but distant and cold, you were sweet. Toothaching sweet.

Shadowheart was hungry. She'd been hungry for her whole life. Starving for something easy. Something raw. Something more than a beautiful concepts. Something real. And how could a starving person ignore a banquet?

She can't. Shadowheart couldn't. But she should've. Damn, she should've.

You're testing her faith. Constantly. Every smile, every vulnerable look, every act of protection. It's like you're trying to compete with Lady Shar for the control over her mind. Sometimes it feels like you're winning.

She was admiring the sky without stars when the wolf came. All it took was a sight to paralyze her. Shadowheart had a mace, but the weapon was useless in her trembling hands.

The giant beast, wool pale from the moonlight, foamy drool dripping from its fangs. In a golden glow that being of darkness transformed into something.

Into you.

"It's just me," you whispered to her, eyes wide with worry and blame. "I didn't... You're safe. You're fine."

She forced herself to unclench her jaw. "Don't tell any of them," Shadowheart hissed as soon as she knew she could speak without stuttering. "Let this fear I have stay as a secret."

"As you wish," was what you said. No questions, no jokes, no provocations.

You went back to rummage through lost boxes and barrels in the ruined village. You had goblin's blood staining your face, but it didn't seen to bother you. "I wish I had a bag of holdings," you murmured to yourself.

Shadowheart was grateful. Either you decided to change the subject to cease her embarrassment or you just were this easily distracted, it still meant something. Her flushed cheeks went unnoticed.

She leafed through some damp books, trying to find something useful. "Embrace loss," she murmured to you. Now your attention was back on her. "We'll never let you have one."

You gasped. "Moon, why is that?"

Shadowheart ignored how breath turned into a difficult task when you used that new nickname.

"Face it, Tav," she called you by the nickname Gale created to you. "You are a compulsive hoarder. I've seen you keep a rotten apple in your pocket."

"I thought it could be useful!"

Shadowheart smiled. She did not even realized she was smiling. "I bet you did."

You have a soft spots for battles you can't possible win, protecting people in need and turning foes into friends. And apparently you are their soft spot.

Part 2!

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[awkwardauthorwrites]

I Think He Knows

Word Count: 5.2k

Themes: fluff, pining

Summary: Sebastian helps Y/N with an interesting request

Warnings: Potential spoilers for HL. All characters 18+ and in seventh year. I’m not an expert at flirting please don’t take any of this advice on board 

Y/N found Sebastian in the Slytherin common room, tucked into a quiet corner next to the large windows with a book in hand. She smoothed her skirt down as she made her way over to him, thankful that the common room was almost deserted. It was a rare, sunny day and it looked like most of their house mates had taken the opportunity to sit outside, leaving only one or two stragglers to sit indoors.

“Hey, you,” Y/N smiled sweetly at him as she neared and took a seat next to him on the couch, leaving a considerable gap between them.

“Hey, yourself.” Sebastian offered Y/N a charming grin and sat up straighter, his book held loosely in his hands. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I need a favour.”

“Are you about to ask me to go out and battle trolls with you again for potions ingredients?”

“No,” Y/N shook her head with a quiet laugh. “Nothing like that, I promise.”

“Good,” Sebastian set his book to the side and crossed one leg over the other. “How can I help then?”

“It…it’s a bit of an unusual request.”

“Oh?”

“I was wondering if you could teach me how to flirt.” Y/N shuffled in her seat nervously, tucking her legs beneath her so she had an excuse to avoid Sebastian’s surprised expression. She was eternally grateful that he liked being secluded and the other people in the room were too far away to hear her embarrassing request.

“You want me to teach you to flirt?” he repeated. He wasn’t quite sure what he thought she was going to ask him, but it certainly wasn’t that. “Why?”

“Why else?” Y/N feigned a laugh to mask her anxiety and fiddled with her hair. “There’s this guy. He’s quite charming, but every time he flirts with me I freeze up. I want to be able to flirt back and show him I like him.” She could feel her heart in her throat as she said the words and prayed that Sebastian would mistake her red cheeks for the sheer awkwardness of the request.

“So you’ve come to the expert.”

“Don’t start.” Y/N rolled her eyes at him. “If you’re going to make me regret coming to you for help I’ll go to Ominis instead.”

“Ominis?” Sebastian gave her an incredulous look. “Ominis can’t flirt.”

“He’s quite poetic when he wants to be,” Y/N shrugged one shoulder. “Some people like that.”

“I refuse to let you go to Ominis for this,” Sebastian sat up a little straighter and turned his body to face her. “Let me help you.”

“Do you promise to not be a pain?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. Sebastian sighed wearily and nodded his head, acting as if it pained him, when in reality he was trying his hardest not to grin.

“I promise.” He raised one hand and a rare serious expression crossed his face before he was smiling again. “Do I get to know who it is?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t have you teasing me for it.”

“Well, do I at least get to ask if I know him?”

“You can ask, it doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” Y/N couldn’t help but to laugh at his mock affronted expression.

“So I’m meant to help and give you all my secrets without anything in return?”

“I did offer to go to Ominis instead.”

“Not a chance.” Sebastian rolled his eyes at her. “Can I know if he’s a student here?”

“He is.”

“Well, if that’s all you’re going to give me,” Sebastian muttered. He didn’t need to worry about upsetting her with his grumpy behaviour - he knew she could see through his act and that he was just curious as to who this mystery man was. “The key to flirting is to be subtle. You need to be able to get across to him that you’re interested, but you don’t want him to think you’re needy or desperate. Can you tell me a little about him? I can give you some tips based on what he’s like, but just know it’s down to you to make all the pieces fall into place. Not everyone can be a natural charmer like me.” Y/N rolled her eyes and flicked the back of Sebastian’s hand (which was stretched out across the back of the couch in her direction) and thought about how to describe the man in question without actually saying too much about him.

“He’s good looking - unfairly so - and charming, and smart, and funny and flawed but deep down he’s got this heart of gold that he keeps hidden from everyone who isn’t close to him.”

“But you’re close to him?” Sebastian asked, watching as Y/N nodded. “Do you think he likes you back?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N sighed as she admitted it out loud, a pale flush coming to her cheeks. “Poppy and Imelda both reckon he does, but I’m not sure. I told you he’s a charmer, he’s nice to everyone but sometimes he looks at me and it’s…it feels different.”

“You sound like you have it bad.”

“I do,” Y/N groaned and covered her face so Sebastian couldn’t see her burning cheeks. “That’s why I need your help. Please, Seb?”

“I already agreed to help you,” he chuckled. “It just so happens I know the type of person you mean and I can help. You need to start with subtle hints to gauge his reaction - a wink here, a cheeky comment there. If he catches on and looks like he’s enjoying the attention he should do the same back.” Sebastian watched as Y/N nodded thoughtfully, her head tilted to one side slightly as she took the information in. “I know that look. That means trouble.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she laughed and shook her head. “I just…can you help me practise? Pretty please?”

“Trouble.” Sebastian pointed at the expression on her face, but still smiled and patted the space next to him on the couch. “Come here. You need to get used to the proximity that comes with flirting and you can’t do that from all the way over there.” Y/N pretended to grumble, but slid over so that she was sat right next to Sebastian, their legs not quite touching. “What do you think you need help with the most?”

“I think I need help with my confidence.” She twisted her fingers as she spoke and Sebastian couldn’t help but smile softly at the endearing action. “He could literally just tell me my hair looks nice that day and I struggle to reply.”

“So you need to get used to him complimenting you?”

“Yes - but when you say it with that grin I have a feeling I’m not going to like where this is going.”

“Have a little faith, Y/L/N,” Sebastian chuckled quietly as he nudged her, silently asking her if she was ready. She nodded hesitantly and he cleared his throat before a sly smile slowly graced his features. “You know, I heard from a few people that you were beautiful, but I didn’t realise you would be Aphrodite incarnate.” He gauged Y/N’s reaction to his words and was delighted to see a pretty pink blush cross her cheeks. “Oh, you’re adorable.”

“Stop teasing me.” Y/N covered her face and looked away from Sebastian. 

“How can I when you’re so endearing?” He grasped her wrists gently and pulled them away from her face. “If you blush with him like you are now then I’m sure you’ve already won him over.”

“Well then why won’t he say anything?”

“Maybe he’s waiting for you to make the first move,” Sebastian shrugged casually and leant back in his seat again. “Would you like me to try again so you can respond?”

“No, because I’m going to blush again and you’re going to make fun of me.”

“Tease, Y/N. I would never make fun of you. You said you wanted to work on your confidence.”

“How am I ever going to be able to flirt back when I can’t even take a simple compliment?”

“I mean, you don’t necessarily have to. Some guys love leaving a woman speechless.”

“I’m always flustered and speechless with him when he flirts, I just want to be able to do it back and leave him blushing for once.”

“Catch him off guard then. All those things you want him to do - the compliments, the actions, the looks - you do them.” Sebastian was giving away most of his tricks at this point, but he found he didn’t particularly care as he taught Y/N what to do.

“So if I wished he would touch my hand I should just…?” Y/N casually brushed the back of Sebastian’s hand with hers, making it look completely natural as she shifted in her seat. 

“Exactly. Just like that.” Sebastian nodded with a large smile on his face. “You can’t let him have too much control, you need to keep him on his toes. Tell him how good he looks before he can tell you how pretty you are.”

“You think I’m pretty?”

“Shut up, you’re gorgeous and you know it,” Sebastian rolled his eyes at her and ran his hand through his hair. “Some men don’t tend to get too many compliments, so when they get one from someone special like you it’ll stick. And you don’t just have to tell him he looks handsome that day - you can focus on his talents too. Don’t force it, a genuine compliment will earn you his favour far faster.”

“Why are you complimenting me?” Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Isn’t that the point?” Sebastian asked, “to get you used to him complimenting you.”

“Oh, so you just called me gorgeous and special because you’re trying to build my confidence, not because you mean it,” Y/N gave him a teasing smile and raised an eyebrow. Sebastian couldn’t help but chuckle (but not unkindly) as her obvious flirting and shot her a disarming wink. 

“I mean, the fact that you are gorgeous helps. What talents does your guy have? Do you know if he’s good at anything? Does he care about his grades?”

“He’s incredible at duelling. He’s really smart as well, but doesn’t really focus on school work too much. He could easily be at the top of the class if he wanted to.”

“Is he in Crossed Wands?” The words slipped out of Sebastian’s mouth before he could process them, followed by a quiet chuckle when Y/N shot him a playful glare. “Compliment his duelling then, make sure he knows he’s good at what he’s doing. He’s not the top of the class but that doesn’t mean you can’t comment on his potential or intelligence. The goal is to let him know he impresses you.”

“So if I were to…” Y/N took a moment to think before a coy smile fell on her lips. “You were brilliant at the Crossed Wands tournament the other day, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone duel as well as you or look so good while doing so.”

“So he is in Crossed Wands. Wait, please tell me it’s not Prewett.”

“Prewett? No!” Y/N grimaced. “In what world is Leander Prewett charming?” 

“Good. I was starting to question your taste,” Sebastian wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Your admiration for his duelling skills was good, and you told him you find him attractive. That’s two birds with one stone.” Sebastian looked at her from the corner of his eye and a mischievous grin appeared as he turned his head to face her properly. “On that note, I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you look absolutely stunning tonight.”

“Not at all.” Y/N managed to tamper down the blush this time, and eyed Sebastian appreciatively with a soft smile. “You look pretty handsome yourself. Green is a good colour on you.” 

“Why, thank you. I do my best to dress well, although no one can look better than you do.” Sebastian winked at her, feeling slightly proud that she hadn’t gotten flustered at his words and had even managed to flirt back. “You’re getting better at this.”

“Practice helps. I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure you remember how much I like having friends in my debt.” He gave her a smirk before looking out of the window they were next to and out into the lake. “Do you have anything else you want to ask me? Anything I haven’t mentioned or you think I’ve missed?”

“What haven’t you mentioned?”

“A lot,” Sebastian chuckled. “Mostly simple things. You’ve already got down how to respond if he flatters you without me even mentioning it. Give him that smile of yours when you say something nice to him and you should get him all worked up and right where you want him.”

“What smile?”

“That one.” Sebastian pointed at her lips. “Merlin, you really don’t know what effect you have on people, do you?” Sebastian didn’t give her the time to respond before he continued giving her advice. “You should make him work for it if he asks you something more personal - but know your limits.”

“What do you mean?”

“How well does he know you? Does he know your favourite colour, favourite flower, favourite animal? If he doesn’t then make him work for the answer and ask him to guess. Just don’t do it for every question or it’ll get annoying fast.”

“Do people still ask things like that? Do you even know my favourite animal?”

“It could be literally anything but for the sake of it…a horse?”

“Not quite.”

“You’re going to make me guess, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Sebastian groaned as she toyed with him but couldn’t help but grin with pride at how fast she was picking all of this up. “Give me a hint.”

“It’s small and cute.” 

“Is it magical or normal?”

“Magical.”

“A puffskein?”

“Almost,” Y/N laughed quietly and readjusted in her seat, her arm brushing Sebastian’s as she did so. “It has a penchant for shiny objects.”

“If it’s a niffler I might revolt.” He looked at Y/N from the corner of his eye and watched as she grinned widely and nodded. “A bloody niffler?”

“They’re adorable!” 

“Nifflers are greedy little shits that dig through the trash of the wizarding world. Why am I not surprised you like the one creature that was never intended to be appreciated.”

“Alright, what’s your favourite magical creature then?”

“Probably a hippogriff. Or a phoenix.”

“Phoenix’s are probably my second favourite. There’s something poetic about them rising and being reborn from their ashes.”

“Hm,” Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. “I think that’s why they might be my favourite. The idea of death resulting in a cycle of rebirth is strangely comforting when compared to the alternative. It’s nice to be reminded sometimes that life moves on without you, even if it means your own passing.”

“That was…really insightful, Seb. I’ve never thought about it like that before.” Y/N tilted her head at him with a soft smile before looking away with a sudden blush. 

“I do try.” He couldn’t help but be intrigued by the flush to her cheeks and wondered why it had appeared so abruptly. “It’s important to remain genuine even when it’s difficult or may not benefit you.”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to ask me something that I’m not going to like.” Sebastian laughed quietly at this and his arm that was still stretched out along the back of the couch brushed Y/N’s shoulder gently.

“Well, in the spirit of being authentic…why are you blushing?” She pulled a face at the question and the flush on her cheeks deepened.

“The light from the lake was on your face when you were talking and I realised how handsome you look.”

“Oh.” Sebastian blinked once and felt his cheeks start to burn. The compliment had caught him off guard and now that she wasn’t simply responding to one of his own advances he realised how much he liked it.

“Do you want me to spare you the teasing?”

“Please.”

“Only because I’m a bigger person than you.” She watched the smirk appear on his face and gently flicked his arm. “Not one comment about my height.” Sebastian raised his hands in surrender and mimed zipping his lips.

“You said it, not me.”

“Alright you.” Y/N gently hit him with one of the throw pillows on the couch and let him grab it from her hands. “I have more questions.”

“Of course you do.”

“How do I know if he’s flirting with me because he likes me and not because he’s a flirt?”

“Ah, that old conundrum.” Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck while he thought about his answer. “To be fully honest with you, it depends on the guy. You can usually tell by how he acts around you. Is he quick to offer to help you with something? Does he smile and laugh a lot around you? You need to look at the whole picture to find the answer. Does he flirt with a lot of girls or just you?”

“He’s kind of charming with everyone. I don’t think it’s malicious or that he’s a player, he’s just naturally a charming person.”

“From the sounds of it I’d say he’s interested at the very least. Do you like spending time with him?”

“I could sit and talk to him all day.”

“That’s definitely a good sign, especially if he feels the same. Being able to stand a person’s company for hours without getting bored is something to note.” Sebastian placed his arms behind his head and turned to look at Y/N. “What kind of things does he talk to you about?”

“When he’s not flirting, you mean?” she asked. “Just normal things; life, family, school.”

“He doesn’t sound like a player, but you would know better than I do about his motives considering you won’t tell me who he is.”

“Maybe later.”

“Really?”

“I said maybe. I need to be sure of a few other things first.”

“Well, if it’s whether or not he likes you it sounds like he likes you plenty.”

“How do you know that without knowing who he is?”

“I don’t know many guys - let alone players - who would sit and talk about their family with a girl they had ulterior motives for. I can’t guarantee anything, obviously, but make sure he makes you happy before anything else.” Sebastian paused and raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you happy with him? Despite being a flustered mess, do you find yourself wanting to tell him everything?”

“Yes.”

“And he does the same back? Does he share his life and hobbies?”

“Yes,” Y/N smiles and crosses her legs, her knee brushing Sebastian’s thigh gently. "He’s told me a lot about his family. He adores his sister and would do anything for her.”

“Hm.” Sebastian has a small smirk on his face, but didn’t voice his thoughts out loud, instead he turned to her with another question. “Are you always nervous around him, or is that just when he flirts? It sounds like you’re pretty comfortable most of the time.”

“It’s just when he flirts. When we’re just talking I’m fine.”

“That’s completely natural. I’ll let you in on a secret; men get nervous around women we like, too.” He saw the query in her eyes and continued on before she could ask. “Again, this changes from person to person, but if he’s the charming type he’ll probably maintain eye-contact up until you flirt back. If you catch him off guard he’ll more than likely blush and look away. He might become fidgety and scratch the back of his head or rub his neck. Everyone has different tells, but most people tend to have these. Have you noticed any of them?”

“A few.”

“I think you should take the plunge and ask him what he likes about you - you can always play that question off as being platonic. I think he’s flirting with you because he likes you.” There was a look in Sebastian’s eye that Y/N couldn’t quite read, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared as he turned to stretch his arms and legs out. 

“Am I bothering you with all these questions? Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

“No, nowhere I need to be - nowhere I’d rather be, either. Asking questions has never bothered me - how else are you meant to learn without them? Besides, I’m enjoying your company.”

“Well I’m glad, because I’m enjoying talking to you too.” Y/N brushed the arm that was resting on the back of the couch more confidently this time, and even Sebastian couldn’t play it off as an accident. He felt his mouth go dry and felt his face heat up slowly and tried to turn his head so that Y/N wouldn’t catch his blush, but of course, he wasn’t that lucky.

“Are you blushing again?”

“Shut up.” The words came out slightly harsher than he expected, but luckily for him, Y/N only laughed in response and tucked her legs back underneath her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…is it obvious?”

“Not really, it’s only because I’m sitting so close. It’s kind of sweet, you’re cute when you blush.”

“Alright, enough of that. I have a reputation to maintain - I can’t have people thinking I’m a blusher.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Y/N mimed zipping her lips shut and winked at him. 

“Give me a secret in exchange instead. What’s your biggest fear?”

“Spiders.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “I know you’re probably looking for an answer like ‘being alone’, but spiders creep me out.”

“I was looking for an honest answer and you gave it to me. I don’t blame you, to be honest. Remember all the spiders we fought in that cave in fifth year?”

“Don’t remind me,” Y/N shuddered. “Worst day of my life. What’s your biggest fear?”

“Being forgotten.”

“I don’t think anyone who’s met you could ever forget you, Sebastian. I certainly won’t.”

“I’m not that impressive,” he disagreed with a shake of his head. “You, on the other hand, are. You aren’t afraid to show who you really are, or step out of your comfort zone and be challenged. Don’t ever stop being you, Y/N, you’re one of a kind.”

“As sweet as that is of you to say, I’m not all that great at stepping out of my comfort zone. Battling trolls and Ashwinders is one thing but I can’t even tell the guy I like that I like him.”

“You’ve already made it past the first hurdle - admitting to yourself you like him. Sometimes that can be the scariest step. Now you just need a leap of faith and tell him how you feel.”

“I don’t know if I’m brave enough for that, yet.”

“That’s fine.” Sebastian’s fingers brushed her shoulder again as he shrugged. “Start slow and work your way up. Talk to him about something he’s passionate about and listen to him. He might be a guy but he’s still human at the end of the day.” Y/N’s knee bounced nervously as he spoke and tried to push out the words that were on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she was entirely distracted by the light from the lake shifting again to land on Sebastian’s face and lighting up his eyes. She couldn’t say what she really wanted to, but she could always express her admiration in other ways. 

“You have lovely eyes, Seb. They’re really pretty.” Sebastian swallowed heavily and silently cursed himself as he felt his cheeks start to burn again. This woman will be the death of me, he thought to himself as he stared down at the floor with a small smile on his face. He felt something shift between them and knew he couldn’t miss the opportunity to return the compliment - it felt too important to pass by. 

“You’re one to talk, Y/N. You have incredibly beautiful eyes. I love how they light up when you smile.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one. Your eyes are a kaleidoscope of golds and browns. I’ve never seen such a nice colour.” She leaned forward slightly as she spoke, her body shifting closer to him. Sebastian couldn’t help but to sit up so that he could be closer to her, their shoulders brushing gently with every breath. Her breathing had stilled and he could feel the energy radiating from her. Y/N blushed and looked away as his hand skimmed her knee gently.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked her, his voice low. “What do you think about me? Not as a friend, or a classmate just…me.” That look was back in Sebastian’s eye - the one she couldn’t quite put her finger on - and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was flirting with her. Of course, they had been this whole time while she ‘practised’, but something about his low tone made this seem different. It made it seem real.

“You are the kindest soul I have ever met, Seb. You’re funny, charming, ridiculously handsome…” she trailed off as she realised what she had said, her face flushing once more. Meanwhile, Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his face a matching shade of pink as he thought over her answer.

“You’re the most wonderful person I have ever met in my life.”

“Look who’s talking,” she pointed at him briefly, “you’re one of the best people I know.”

“Well now I know you’re lying to me,” he narrowed his eyes playfully. 

“I would never.”

“Never, hm?”

“Nope.”

“Tell me this then, are you flirting with me?” There was a knowing smile on his face, but he wanted to watch her squirm just a little bit. He was enjoying her flirting immensely but a part of him wanted the girl back who got flustered when he so much as winked at her.

“I’ve been trying to for the past hour, but thanks for finally noticing,” Y/N laughed quietly and nudged his shoulder gently.

“As part of your ‘practise’ or…?”

“What do you think?” She gave him a levelled look and Sebastian placed a hand on his sternum dramatically. 

“I knew it, this whole time you were only using me for my knowledge. Shame on you for toying with me like this.” Y/N laughed again and shook her head at his theatrics, her hand coming to rest on his knee. She didn’t pull away this time, didn’t pretend she was only brushing past and so Sebastian covered her hand with his and laced their fingers together. His stomach flipped pleasantly at the contact, and he was absolutely enthralled by the colour that was blooming on her face.

“How ever will I make it up to you?” Y/N asked, hoping he didn’t notice how breathless she had gotten. 

“I guess I can forgive you if you try your best to win me over.”

“And how do I do that?”

“Well, I’d say you’ve made some decent progress by holding my hand.” He gave her a mischievous smile as he gently squeezed her fingers and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I’ll leave you to decide what to do for the second half, lest I make a suggestion you hit me for.” He didn’t think Y/N could blush any deeper, but he was delighted to be proven wrong as her face turned the most enticing shade of red as she looked down at his lips briefly. Sebastian felt his eyes slip close in anticipation as she began to close the gap between them, only for them to fly open again as she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll take the final step to win you over on one condition.” She still hadn’t pulled away from him, her face was so close Sebastian could count the different colours in her eyes.

“Is the condition more questions?”

“A couple.”

“Make them good ones.” He gave her a lazy grin and reached up to brush some hair away from her face. 

“How do I know if he wants to kiss me? Not to say that he did, but because he wants to?”

“He’ll probably be holding your hand,” Sebastian squeezed her fingers again, “look into your eyes, look down at your lips.” His gaze drifted lower to watch as that maddeningly gorgeous smile slowly appeared on her lips. “You’ll feel it in the air too - the energy between your bodies.”

“Should I let him make the first move or do you think he’ll like it if I do it?”

“He would be thrilled if you made the first move.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yes?” 

“Can I kiss you?”

“I would love nothing more,” he said, a knowing smile on his face. He looked into her eyes as Y/N traced his jawline gently before slowly leaning in and giving him a feather-light kiss.

“I have a confession before I do that again.” 

“Darling, you have to give me more credit than that - I worked it out a while ago.”

“Would you just let me tell you I have feelings for you?”

“Well, if it helps, I’m a little fond of you myself.”

“Only a little fond?” Y/N asked, a teasing smile on her face. She covered it well, but Sebastian could see the insecurity in her eyes. He could see how unsure she was about how he felt after she had all but put her heart on the line. 

“Fine, you caught me, I’m completely fond of you.” Y/N rolled her eyes and tried to pull away, but Sebastian slid both arms around her waist and held on to her. “You are gorgeous beyond belief, and I’m utterly smitten with you, Y/N. Do you believe me, or do I need to prove it to you?”

“Prove it,” her answering grin was nothing short of wicked and Sebastian adored it.

“How would you like me to prove it to you?” He was playing into her game now, but he didn’t care. He watched as she faltered slightly, the same beautiful blush coming to her cheeks. He loved leaving her flustered and speechless. He never thought she would have the guts to approach him today and attempt to play him like a violin (because, of course he knew as soon as she mentioned him being the best duellist in the school) but he was ecstatic she had because he was crazy about her. “Well?” After all the progress they had made today he wasn’t about to let her struggle to find the words, but he was patient. 

“I…” She swallowed hard and he could feel her hands shaking very slightly. “I don’t just want pretty words and some kisses. I want you to prove it to me by giving me all of you. I want your heart Sebastian.” He paused, taking in her words - Y/N had just put everything on the table. What she wanted was exactly what he did - a bond that went beyond mere interest and was grounded in both physical and emotional commitment.

“Darling, it was already yours.”

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

Imagine: You’re Sam and Dean’s little sister and they find out your boyfriends been abusing you.

TW: Abuse

You clutched your side as you got out of the Impala and made your way to the bunker. Your boyfriend was extremely aggressive and when he didn’t like something he made sure to teach you a lesson. Tonight he got mad at you for turning the volume down a little bit on the tv without his permission so he kicked you in the ribs over and over again.

He was abusive and you knew that, but you were terrified of him. You were too terrified to stick up for yourself and you were too terrified to end things with him. He told you that he would end your life and everyone you have ever loved if anyone were to ever find out what he did to you. You knew that Sam and Dean could easily take care of him, but he had you easily convinced that they would be dead before you even had enough time to blink. You also never wanted them to find out. They would think that you were weak and incapable of protecting yourself which was exactly the case. You were weak and you couldn’t protect yourself. This is why you were now practically dragging yourself into the bunker right now.

With every step you took you flinched and winced. Your side was aching and throbbing as you thought about how you were going to play this one off. It was around midnight so you were hoping that your brothers were pretty much asleep and that you could blow this off for at least one more night.

You walked into the bunker and to your luck, Dean was at the table. He took in your appearance and jumped up. You silently cursed, he always knew when something was wrong. You had to play this off or everything in your life would crumble. “Hey De,” you sent him a soft smile trying to hide your pain. He squinted his eyes at you, “Is everything okay?” He asked as he stared straight into your eyes.

You gulped as you looked at the stairs in front of you. You literally couldn’t go down them without flinching with every step you took so you were absolutely screwed. You looked back at your older brother as he was starting to stand up, no doubt coming to check if everything was alright with you. You had about 10 seconds to come up with something before Dean cracked you.

You looked down at him, “No,” you whimpered, “I tripped outside and I rolled my ankle really bad. I can hardly walk.”

You were going to mask the pain of your side with the make believe story of you rolling your ankle. This way there would be no question as to why you seemed like you were in pain and it could definitely buy you a few days of not going on hunts.

“It really hurts,” you cried. Deans eyes softened, “Hey, hey, okay, let me look at it.” He hurried up the steps to examine your ankle, but you stopped him. “Can you help me down the stairs first?” You asked. You just wanted to lay down and get the pain of going down the steps over with. “Yeah, sure, kid,” Dean said.

As he picked you up bridal style to take you down the steps, you hissed hissed pain and sucked in a breath. His finger tips were digging into your aching side and with each step you could feel a burning, stinging sensation like no other. You couldn’t take it anymore. You gripped onto Dean’s shirt writhing in pain and let out a sob. “Wow, wow, hey,” Dean said as he set you down on the couch. “Are you okay?” He asked with worried eyes. “Yes,” you whimpered, “My ankle just really hurts.” You lied. Dean’s eyes softened and he looked at your ankle. “Alright, hey,” He looked at you, “I need to take off your shoe so I can get a good look at your ankle and make sure you didn’t break it. It’s probably going to hurt kiddo, I’m sorry.” You made eye contact with him and then immediately looked away. You felt so bad lying and now you had to play into it. “Okay,” you mumbled. As he started to take off your shoe, you let out a cry. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Hey, It’s off.” He said trying to comfort you.

He examined your ankle without touching it. He squinted his eyes, “Okay so it’s not swollen at all. That’s a good thing!” He sent you a smile trying to make you feel better. Yeah it’s not swollen because I’m lying to you, you thought.

You felt so bad that you were wasting his time with some fake injury just to protect yourself. It was pretty selfish of you. Dean interrupted your thoughts, “Alright I have to feel around and move your ankle around a bit so we can figure out what’s going on, okay kid?” You nodded your head and he continued. As if you couldn’t feel worse about the situation, you had to put your best act on again.

As soon as Dean touched your ankle, you whimpered in protest and jerked it away. Just as Dean was about to say something, Sam walked into the room. He looked tired and was rubbing his eyes. “Hey, what’s going on.” He asked as he took in the scene in front of him. You had a tear stained face, whimpering and crying in pain as Dean was kneeled in front of you. He pulled his attention to you, “I heard you crying sweetheart. What happened?” You felt your heart drop. You didn’t mean to wake him and now you felt terrible. All of your emotions were bubbling up and they were about to explode. You started sobbing, “I’m so sorry for waking you Sammy! I just tripped outside and rolled my ankle and it hurts really bad. I didn’t mean to make a scene.” Sam’s face softened as he kneeled down next to you. “Hey, it’s alright bug. It looks like Dean is doing everything he can here to get you better okay? It’s going to be alright.” Sam said while he smoothed back your hair and kissed you on the head. Sam and Dean exchanged looks. “Sam, I need you to keep her leg still while I feel around her ankle,” Dean said shooting you an apologetic look.

Sam gripped one hand on your lower thigh above your knee and gripped his other hand on your upper shin right below your knee. He held your leg in place as Dean felt around your ankle and moved it in different angles. You cried and cried until he ended up wrapping your ankle and putting some ice on it. These were certainly your real painful emotions just not directly related to your fake ankle injury.

Dean sighed and looked back up at you, “Hey kiddo, I didn’t feel anything out of place so it’s not broken, but because of your reaction to me touching it, it seems like it’s pretty banged up so we’re gonna ice it and you should probably rest for a few days.” You nodded still avoiding eye contact with him. You felt so shitty doing this to your brothers. You felt yourself disassociating until you heard Dean again and you snapped your attention to him. He grabbed your hand and rubbed his thumb over your knuckles, “I’ve seen you with a ton of rolled ankles and injuries way worse than this and I’ve never heard you cry in pain like that. Are you sure you’re okay kid and there’s nothing else you need to tell me?” His eyes were burning into yours. This was it. You could tell him. He could keep you safe and he could protect you. You knew this was your chance to get help, but when you opened your mouth to speak nothing came out. You closed your mouth and opened it again, “Yeah, I’m okay. I think I just need to get some sleep. Thank you for fixing me up.” You looked between both of your brothers hoping that they would drop it and to your luck, they did. “Can you just help me get to my bed?” You asked. Sam nodded and picked you up.

With every step Sam took you held back crying out in pain. You knew that if you cried out now that they would know something else was up. You made it to your room and Sam carefully put you on your bed. You laid back while Dean propped your ankle up and put the ice pack on it. You exchanged goodnights and they left your room. Once you knew they weren’t coming back in, you carefully sat up fighting back tears and reached for the ice on your ankle. Once you grabbed the ice pack, you laid back down and put the ice on your side. You were staring at the ceiling, holding the ice pack to your side when the flood gates opened. You cried and cried thinking about what you’ve become. Every cry ached your bones, but you didn’t care. You didn’t even know who you were anymore. You were lying to your brothers and you were lying to yourself. You needed help, but you felt trapped. Your thoughts tired you and you cried yourself to sleep.

It had been a week since everything happened. Your side was now blue and purple and you were still in a lot of pain. You were sure you had a few bruised or broken ribs, but you knew you couldn’t do anything for that other than rest so that’s exactly what you had been doing. You were going to your boyfriends house because you haven’t seen him due to your injury. You weren’t allowed out of bed the whole week under your brothers surveillance because they wanted to make sure you were healing properly. You caught yourself questioning why you were going back to see your boyfriend who did this to you in the first place, but you loved him. Actually you weren’t really sure if you loved him or if you were terrified of not loving him and seeing what he would do to you if he realized you didn’t. You shook away the thoughts as you knocked on his door.

He answered and pulled you in for a hug. You winced as he squeeze you hard. “I missed you so much,” He said pulling you inside. “I missed you too,” you smiled. You knew he really did love you. A few hours went by and everything was absolutely perfect. He was making you a pretty late dinner when you started giggling and snuck a piece of the chicken of the plate. You did it to be goofy and you were just about to compliment him on how good it tasted and how you couldn’t wait to sit down and eat together when you felt a blow to your face.

You stumbled back and reached up to cover your eye that was now throbbing. “I didn’t say you can have any yet, you bitch,” he seethed. You were absolutely terrified and you had an overwhelming sense of needing to get out of that house with him.

You reached for your keys and ran out the door. He ran out after your, but you got into the car and slammed the door shut, locking the doors. You wasted no time peeling out and speeding back to the bunker. The entire drive you spent bawling your eyes out. Your face was aching and it was no doubt going to turn black and blue. You couldn’t hide a black eye from your brothers and that’s when all of your emotions came crashing down. Your secrets were going to be revealed and there was nothing you could do about it. They were going to think you were weak and they were going to blame you for not walking away sooner. Then once they found out, your boyfriend would be out to kill you, but not only you, everyone you’ve ever loved.

You needed to get a grip on yourself and stop being so damn weak. As you pulled into the bunker, you wiped your tears and calmed yourself down. You were trying to think of a solution. For the first time, you glanced at yourself in the car mirror and noticed a huge red bruise. You cursed, you knew he definitely popped some blood vessels and that it was absolutely going to turn black and blue. That was going to be much harder to hide, but you figured you would be able to cover it up with makeup.

You took the next 15 minutes to compose yourself before walking into the bunker. It was pretty late so you figured your brothers would be in their rooms, but then again you never knew with them so you didn’t want to bank on it.

You put your hair in front of the right side of your face to hide the redness before opening the door. You immediately saw Sam and Dean sitting at the table probably working on a case. Thankfully, the side of your face that he punched was hidden from them as you walked down the stairs.

“Hey guys!” You said with high energy. You were pretty much in control of all of your emotions, but you could stop yourself from shaking. “Hey bug, how was your night?” Replied Sam as he looked up from his computer. “It was great!” You said and bounced down the last step making sure to subtly hide your face.

I guess you weren’t as subtle as you thought because while you kept your back turned to them, Dean snuck up behind you. “Something wrong?” He asked while seeming like he already knew something was. Your heart dropped as you squeaked out, “No.” Hoping that that would be enough for you to scurry off to your room, but it wasn’t. “Turn around.” He said and you thought about how you were going to get out of this one. You thought about just booking it down the hall to your room when you heard Dean again. “Turn around right now Y/N/N or I swear to God.” With that you swung around, keeping your eyes on the ground and your hair in your face. “Let me see your face.” Your heart was pounding. This was it. There was no way out of it now.

You looked up at him and moved your hair out of your face. Dean clenched his jaw and Sam gasped, pushing out of his chair. “Did he do this to you?” Dean asked already knowing the answer. You started stuttering all over the place trying to come up with something to say to him. “Y/N, did he do this to you.” Dean asked again. “Yes,” you cried, “but-but he loves me!” You tried to plead with him as you became frantic. You were frailing your arms everywhere, crying and shaking. Dean looked sick and knew you were in panic mode.

He reached forward to grab you. “Baby,” he covered his mouth and gripped it in disbelief, “Someone who loves you wouldn’t do this to you.” He cradled your body and hugged you. He tucked your head into his chest and rested his chin on your head as you cried. As he heard your sobs, he clenched his jaw and looked towards Sam.

Sam was in total shock seeing your shaking body. There was so much pain written across his face now knowing what his little sister had been going through. He immediately made his way towards you in Dean’s arms and placed his hand on your back. “This wasn’t your fault.” Sam reassured you and rubbed your back. Dean repeated Sam sternly, “This wasn’t your fault.”

You quickly gasped pushing away from Dean, “He’s going to kill me.” You said to yourself. Your eyes were wide and you started looking around the room frantic. You hugged yourself while clenching your fists into your shirt. “He’s going to kill me!” You cried, repeating yourself. Then you gasped in horror, letting your shirt go and reaching up to your head and grabbing a handful of hair instead. “No, no, no, no, no,” you mumbled dreadfully. You walked backwards absolutely terrified and panicked until your back hit the wall. “He said he was going to kill the both of you too if anyone ever found out.” You sobbed. Your hands still had fistfuls of your hair as you sunk to the floor unable to breathe. Your brothers rushed to you.

He was obviously tormenting and manipulating you. Your brothers have never seen you like this and you could tell they were in so much pain seeing you mentally and physically hurt like this.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Sam said as he took your hair out of your hands and held them close to him. “Hey, Y/N/N, I need you to look at me sweetheart okay?” You couldn’t control yourself you were screaming, “I don’t want to die PLEASEEEEE. And- and he’s going to kill you too! Oh God please NO.” You were sobbing uncontrollably.

It was like your walls had came crashing down. This guy had to be a complete sicko to be able to manipulate and put this kind of fear into you. Dean couldn’t take any more and anger overcame him. He cursed loudly and punched the wall. Those actions sent you into a frenzy. Sam had to hold your limbs down as you kicked and wailed. He calmly looked at Dean, “Dean, you’re scaring her. This isn’t the time so take a minute to calm down and breathe.” He said motioning to their little sister in an absolute panic and distress. Dean’s face softened, he nodded and took time to compose himself.

Sam turned his attention back to you, “It’s okay, it’s okay. Nothing is going to happen to you bug and nothing is going to happen to us.” You could hardly breathe as your lungs were gasping for air. Sam continued, “You’re safe, we’ve got you sweetheart. No one is ever going to hurt you again. You’re safe.” Sam was stroking your hair, trying to get you to calm down. “You’ve gotta breathe bug.” You nodded and he walked you through breathing in then out. As Sam was calming you down, Dean was grabbing you ice and Neosporin.

You calmed down as much as you could, but tears were still streaming down your face. Sam could still feel your body trembling as he reassured you again, “Absolutely nothing will happen to you or us. You’re safe. Everything is going to be okay.” You were still absolutely terrified. Terrified of facing the truth and terrified of everything that happened to you. Your face was still stained with tears and you were hiccuping. You always got the hiccups after you cried which used to frustrate you when you were little. Both of your brothers knew at the stage of hiccups you would be snapped back to reality for a little while so Dean decided it was best to ask the important questions while he got you fixed up.

He squatted down in front of you while you were sitting in between Sam’s legs on the floor, “Hey kiddo, I’ve gotta put some stuff on this bruise okay? And then we’re going to ice it to help with the swelling alright?” He said to you as he unscrewed the cap to the Neosporin. You nodded as he reached to spread it over your eye.

As soon as he made contact with your skin you flinched and whimpered. “I know kid, I know. I’m sorry.” Dean said as he clenched his jaw and looked away from you. You could tell he was trying to keep his composure for you, but you could see the pain in his eyes.

He turned back to you, “I need to know if he’s done something else to you.” You immediately looked away, God you were so weak. Dean took his finger and put it under your chin. He tilted your head back over to him so you could look him in the eyes.

“Y/N/N,” he whispered. His eyes were soft and encouraging so you broke. “Yeah, I turned down the tv without his permission so he did this to me,” you whispered as you lifted up your shirt to show your black and blue side. Dean clenched his jaw yet again and squeezed his eyes shut. You quickly put your shirt down, “I’m sorry, I lied about my ankle. I didn’t actually roll it, I was just in so much pain because of my side. I didn’t know how I was going to hide my pain so I panicked and I lied. I’m so sorry, I feel so awful.” You said hoping they would find a way to forgive you for being a liar. You were still in between Sam’s legs when you felt his hands start rubbing your back, “This wasn’t your fault.” Sam said. You looked back at Dean and this time his face was flooded with disbelief. “I knew something else was wrong and I should have pushed it. I should have been protecting you, but I failed. I’m so sorry.” Dean said as he locked eyes with you. You felt guilty that he felt guilty. He had no reason to feel guilty because you lied to him and told him everything was okay. “Please don’t blame yourself. I was being sneaky and I lied to you. I lied to both of you and I’m so sorry for that.” You said now leaning away from Sam so you could glance back and forth between your two brothers. This time Sam spoke up, “Sweetheart, you were manipulated and you were harmed mentally and physically. No one could ever blame you for what you did during that time. It’s okay.” Relief flooded your body and you nodded saying that you understood him.

Sam lifted your shirt back up and grazed his finger tips along your ribs. You whimpered in pain and tried to pull away from him, but he kept you still. “Y/N/N these are broken.” He said with a sad voice. “I know, but there’s nothing you can do about broken ribs right? I’ve just been taking the ice you’ve been giving to me for my ankle and putting it on my side.” You softly replied back. Both of their faces fell and Dean sighed. He still had Neosporin on his fingers as he handed Sam the tube to use on your bruised side. “I never want you to feel like you have to hide something like this from us ever again. We’re always here for you Y/N/N and we’ll always protect you. You’re always safe with us.” Dean said as he reached back to your face to smooth the cream over your bruised skin. Sam did the same and gently swiped it across your side. You didn’t care about the pain because you just had an overwhelming sense of love from your brothers. You realized how loved you were and your boyfriend beating you senseless wasn’t love.

“He said he loved me,” you whispered. “And I am so sorry that he made you believe that was love. That wasn’t love Y/N/N, that’s abuse. He manipulated you, threatened you, and gaslight you. He put his hands on you and no one who ever loves you will do that to you. I mean you turned down the tv without asking him first and he did this to you.” Sam said in disbelief motioning to your side he was fixing up. You let a tear slip out of your eye and caught eye contact with Dean. He was visibly mortified by what was being said. He spoke up, “That wasn’t love and it will never be your fault either. There’s someone out there for you kiddo who’s going to show you so much love and who’s going to treat you with so much respect.” Dean said as you choked back tears. “You deserve all the love in the world Y/N/N just wait okay? Because it’ll come and you’ll deserve every second of it. You’re an amazing, beautiful, kind, strong girl. Someone is going to be lucky to have you kiddo.” He finished.

You felt the overwhelming sense of support and love. You leaped into Dean’s arms and clung to him. He wrapped one arm around you and used his other hand to hold the back of your head close to him. “I’ll never let another man put his hands on you ever again.” He whispered into your ear. He held you for what felt like eternity until you heard the sound of wings fluttering. You pulled back and noticed Cas. “Cas?” You asked in disbelief. You all haven’t seen him in months and nobody could get ahold of him. “Dean prayed to me.” He said walking up to you and healing you of your injuries. “I took care of the rotten human. I threw him into the dinosaur timeline. He will never hurt you again.” Cas said then disappeared. You chuckled in disbelief and both of your brothers wrapped their arms around you. As you were being squeezed in the center of your group hug you thought, this is real love, and softly smiled finally feeling safe.

[melukonova]

LOVING SEPHIROTH, sephiroth x reader.

tw. mentions of his hurtful past, emotional abuse that miniroth didn't deserve :( this post can be seen as suggestive but it's left mostly to your interpretation

a/n. for @silverflqmes , my best friend who has inspired me to write yet again for something i love and for writing various requests for me, indulging me in my own happiness. you are never leaving this deep hole of ff7 that i dug for you AHAHAHAH! this is also for the many fans who have made fanfics and such that have shaped me now<3 much love to you all! (i will make more headcanons if this gets love) also sephiroth might be a little ooc since he's new territory of writing for me :,)

info. very lovable and soft sephiroth<3 very short blurbs! inspired by the song everything by lifehouse, i can see him relating about you, the reader, and how he feels for you. enjoy! pre-nibelheim!!!

𐚁. sephiroth's love language can be seen as quality time as seen with the time he spent with genesis and angeal, he grew very attached easily. i can see this in a similiar way since i'm sure once you've caught sephiroth's eye, you're happily in his heart. he enjoys just being together, perhaps he'll teach you how to use masamune (a toy version at least since he wants to protect you from injuries). don't get me wrong, every other love language applies for him too but i know he's happiest with the fact that you're there by his side.

𐚁. he is very awkward with affection so the first time you hold him, i think he wouldn't know what to do but he'll awkwardly pat your back while trying not to freak out a bit by being touched since he was experimented on as a child. please teach him how to love, he didn't get enough as kid... i think being patient with him would also warm his heart with you as well. he isn't the best with people, just in using his sword... which is why it's an anomaly to him if you stuck around for this long.

𐚁. indulging ellie on this one: sephiroth with a kitten. he probably is the one to adopt a kitten out of the two of you except what you didn't expect was him to basically mother the kitten. i think his wounds are still healing from the fact that the locket of his mother was torn away from him.. but you guys both loved that kitten very much, naming saikou which means radiance. it is the radiance of both of your lives and definitely a way to heal from your guys' pain, whatever it may be from your end but i know sephiroth suffers from loneliness and feeling not good enough. he feels this much less because of you though and of course, saikou. saikou is now your love rival... the kitty is his precious baby but you are his most prized treasure.

𐚁. while i said quality time is his favorite love language, i think that he likes physical affection as well since he never really knew what it's like to be loved. he wanted to learn though as well as learn to love you which led to teaching him how to cuddle. still very awkward, he's trying his very hardest as he pats your head and encases you into his body. eventually it led to couch cuddles every time he came home from work, he won't say it out loud but this is his favorite part of being able to be with you. he is so beyond smitten.

𐚁. as sephiroth had been in SOLDIER all of his life, he's not completely sure the best way to comfort you on many things but what he can do is to give you a better night! he'd come home with flowers since somehow zack had talked him into buying flowers from his girlfriend, what can i say? zack was a persuasive businessman and sephiroth had no clue how to be a good boyfriend. he'd probably panic if he couldn't make you feel better, he just wants you happy and would slay his enemies (those who wronged you). he'd indulge you in just about anything that you wanted to do between him trying on your favorite dress, self-care day with face masks, kisses all over to make you less insecure or just to feel more loved, an ice cream date, etc. you name it and it's done. he'd even sneak you into the training room on the SOLDIER floor to take you on a loving date with an even more beautiful sunset but all he could see was his sun, you.

𐚁. you already know his hair care routine since it was leaked from your mail, did i mention you were apart of sephiroth's fan club? he uses a WHOLE bottle of shampoo and conditioner. one day you had to braid his hair, adding in flowers to his hair as you braided it. he loved it since it kept his face clear for combat, meanwhile genesis and angeal snickered at him since his s/o made him look all pretty so none of his enemies would take him seriously. masamune said differently than his hair did. if somebody ruined the artwork of your braiding? they ALSO had a date with masamune.

𐚁. he doesn't like a lot of attention as many would say since he is so famous. this is the big question, how did you enter his life in comparison to the fangirls? you understood him. it was a new feeling for him and he didn't know how much he would end up loving it. no thirsting over how hot he was or saying how strong he had been. just a simple: "i know you've been working hard for so long, you deserve some rest," was enough to make him moved by you. nobody could compare to you in his innocent heart. he was so new to every experience, every hug, every kiss, and every touch you gave him. each time was something new that he had learned to love about you and eventually love about himself as well. you helped him to understand he was more than a monster, more than a soldier, more than just a test subject.

𐚁. what you hadn't expect is to find a loving sephiroth in the kitchen with you, holding you close to him as you listened to italian cooking music (the pasta addict in me thinks he'd want to learn more about pasta and its origin). his head was leaning down towards yours while staring down at your lips as you both had been swaying. his hand had been on your waist and the other had been moving up from your shoulder, over your neck slowly with care, to your soft cheek. capturing you in his lips, the water had boiled over but he didn't care at that moment. the thing he clung onto most was this moment because at this moment, sephiroth just knew. he was in love and he finally felt free as he deepened the kiss. he knew where home was and he was kissing his own home, taking in all of what makes you so lovable as well.

melukonova, 2024. 𐀔

[aurae-rori]

Wanna ask if you have any headcannons for aventio modern au

( cause I am obsessed with modern aus)

hellyeah brother i'm here to serve the masses

hcs about ratio:

still a doctor still has 8 phds

knows about student debt and hates it with a burning passion

has a duck keychain that he puts on his keychain with all of his keys like the keys to his house

once crushed a soda can in his hands during his student years bcs he was that fucking mad about the homework questions not being stated in a clear manner (he just like me fr)

has several duck plushies in his bed and theyre all named after either greek philosophers or roman politicians

can speak latin fluently and mutters curse words and creative expressions in latin during the classes that he teaches because he is that pissed off

used to be a full time doctor, but decided to turn to teaching instead after some time

hyper-empathy due to childhood neglect (he just like me fr)

eyebags that he covers up with makeup, he still has those from his student years and cant fucking get them to leave no matter how many hours he sleeps for

enjoys occasionally a rum & coke

really likes lattes and london fogs

had a british accent once because he travelled to the uk and picked up on it, when he came back he was mortified

fucking loves ducks so much he has a camera roll dedicated to duck photos

he got to pet a duck once he was happy for the rest of the week thats how much he loves them

massive nerd & dork

undiagnosed autism with a side of gifted child trauma

really likes jazz and lofi it calms him down fast and makes him happy

wrings his hands when he's really happy

touch starved

makes really good soup

hopeless romantic

more mentally unstable than you think he is. he is actually suffering from burnout but doesnt want to let people around him down.

doing his best. sometimes on the weekends he just nestles into a cocoon of blankets and refuses to leave. texture....

cannot not wear socks he will die without them

cat magnet for some reason??? all neighbourhood cats are at his doorstep even when he and aven already have three. ig hes just cat dad now

aventurine hcs:

still has those glasses, his eyes are more sensitive to light too

really fucking likes fluffy stuff he loves the fluffy he loves the fluffy he-

big fan of sheep and peacocks

eternally terrified that ratio secretly hates him even when they start dating

bpd & adhd & probably autism (ALL BPD HAVERS FUCKING WIN WITH THIS ONE!!!!! I SEE YALL)

masks so often its insane

used to smoke and drink heavily, but has started to lay off ever since he met ratio

still an adrenaline junkie and still has his stupidly good good luck

really likes coffee too, coffee addict, has horrible eyebags, a shitty sleep schedule, and overworks himself half to death

cant fucking cook what the hell is a kitchen

very fond of stelle/caelus and sees them as his surrogate younger siblings. stelle taught him how to play video games and now he plays with them whenever his thoughts get really bitchy to him

horrible at relying on other people but is slowly unlearning that

can do a backflip (why? idk)

high pain tolerance

has a collection of sheep plushies that his friends bought for him

numby and him get along really well. he and topaz still have that sibling esque relationship.

i think he still works for the ipc in this au but its not as bad as it is in canon

starved of touch and does not really know what a healthy relationship is before ratio comes along

loves blankets he has like ten blankets on his bed at once idk why

once poured monster energy into coffee and then drank it. he suffered the consequences. even good luck can't save you from that

listens to generic pop (lie. he actually loves indie guitar)

MENTAL ILLNESS REP IN THIS MAN

accidentally big brothered some kids. help how does he deal with affection

buys stuff for stelle and caelus too. he buys them sheep plushies. they will defend said sheep plushies with their lives. they buy him racoon plushie in return. he does not cry.

his fingers shake so bad sometimes (PTSD goes hard)

motor skills can and will die on him occasionally

unhealthy coping mechanisms but hes getting better guys

he does relapse occasionally but hes putting in effort. finally got his ass to therapy thanks to ratio :)

second cat dad. he loves his cat children he will die for his cat children.

the cats like laying next to him as he eeps if ratio isnt there. they purr and help him with his nightmares.

(ily people w bpd you deserve this rep!!! enjoy :3)

them together hcs!!!!

ratio already had background information on bpd due to his psych degree beforehand but did more researching into it when he realized that aven had bpd because he wanted to support his partner as much as he could :)

ratio is big on physical touch but aven needed some time to get used to it and he was very big on it

aven really likes spoiling the absolute shit out of ratio and likes getting him gifts because sometimes he doesn't know how to word how much he appreciates ratio

aven likes to wash ratios hair for him and visa versa, non sexual intimacy always fucking wins

ratio still worries about aven and doesn't like him gambling all the time, aven makes an active effort to better himself for him even if it's really hard

at the start it was really fucking shitty between the two of them but eventually aven started to learn how to properly and safely communicate with ratio and ratio learned how to phrase his thoughts in a way that wouldn't trigger something, and although they both make mistakes they are doing their best for one another and generally have a good impact on one another's stages of healing (im not projecting im not projecting i-)

aven will hold ratio in his arms and tell him that he's good enough when the thoughts get really bad

they love cuddling, who's big spoon and small spoon switches regularly because they both like being held and holding the other

aven will stop by ratio after his classes and take him home when hes too tired

ratio shuts down sometimes and aven messes with his hair and just stays with him until he reboots

they kiss <33333333333

they cuddle so much they hold one another going to bed

ratio likes giving aven little headkisses and peppers his face with them

they are gay and in love and healthy actually

they were never toxic yaoi never will they be. they are healthy.

they get married <333

this is so much more than what you asked for probably but here you go.