#one punch man kin

[kincalling]

This is probably a long shot, but I'm a Metal Bat fictive from One Punch Man. I'm looking for Garou or Zenko mostly but I guess anyone can interact if they want. The body is 19 so keep it in mind if it makes you uncomfortable. I can be found @metal-batty but I'll also check back to this post.

🎧

[dilfphoenixlover]

I’m finally brave enough to post this, tbh I’m a bit ashamed for obsessing over Opm (idk why really) but I love this anime sm 😭

[otherkinotd]

Today's otherkin of the day is Watchdog Man, who is dogkin 🐶

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ STREETS !

summary :: over 20 years of kenji’s life has been spent preserving the surviving scraps of innocence from his childhood. since then, he has been desperately searching for anything to fill the rotten void in his chest. when a news reporter gives him everything he could ever ask for by merely existing, kenji fears the man he may become without them near.

word count :: 8.3k

content warnings :: mdni! yandere!kenji, obsessive!kenji, g/n reader, blood/violence, alcohol, stalking, drugging, kidnapping, nausea/sickness, mentions of sex, use of ‘daddy’ honorific (but nothing sexually explicit occurs).

kenji sato's yandere traits are . . .

nurturing, heroic, & smothering

──── Over the course of his childhood, Kenji possessed the same desires every child had. The same wishes he’d whisper to planes he mistook for shooting stars.

He remembers climbing the blunt limbs of the oak tree in his backyard, pretending to be a hawk and searching the grass for any delicious rodents to sink his claws into. He can still feel the dirt under his fingernails when he’d get lost in the woods, pretending to be a tiger and barring his teeth to any predators after his kin. His only worries would consist of his next meal and where he'll settle in for the night, instead of the loneliness that resided back home.

However, as all stories go, Kenji grew up. As the years passed, though, the more constricting his grip became on this childhood dream. For every candle Kenji blew out, he only wished to be one with the great outdoors and rid himself of the expectations shoved upon him. As any child innocently wanted.

Now in adulthood, every candlelight snuffed out was a silent plea for peace. And so desperately, he is trying to protect the bird nest he intricately crafted. Woven with strands of his young, raven-black hair, chunks of sidewalk chalk, tufts of fur of his favorite stuffed animals — every forgotten, sacred piece of his childhood that still remains unscathed.

Year after year, the relentless abuse of the world and his responsibilities reign down on him, prying their violent, eager fingers into his beloved bird nest. Today, Kenji holds whatever scraps still remain close to his chest, nestling them beneath a canopy of creativity and everlasting hope. Protecting whatever bits of innocence and childlike luster that survive the weight of the world.

When he pictured his father’s role of Ultraman as a child, he imagined perseverance and bravery. Now with that title bequeathed to him, Kenji is anything but. He is clumsy, reckless, and negligent. The very last thing he wishes to do now is follow his father’s footsteps, but alas, he has been given no choice.

The Neronga waltzes through the city streets, exuding chaos with every step it strides. Tossing around chunks of buildings and fistfuls of debris. And begrudgingly, Kenji trails after it like a parent trying to tame their exuberant child. 

A booming roar echoes from the beast's throat, angry bolts of electricity sparking from its horn. One swift punch to its jaw and the creature is out cold, leaving miles of destruction and disorder in its demise. With the threat neutralized, now comes the clean-up. He plucks citizens like they are tiny dolls and drops them to safety, who all thank him profusely for his aid. All except one.

Several bystanders crowd over a pile of rubble, waving their hands in an attempt at garnering the attention of Ultraman. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming, I’m coming…” Kenji mutters, stepping over passing cars as though they’re scatterings of colorful legos. 

Piece by piece, he brushes past the lumps of bricks and metal. Disinterred from beneath the rubble is you. Hauntingly beautiful in your unconscious state. 

“Oh…” He exhales breathlessly, chest rising and falling with rapid pants. 

And there it is. 

That canopy of creativity enveloping him; that bird nest suddenly overflowing with rebirth and life. Everything bursts in colors so prismatic, Kenji finds himself at an impossible balance between feeling weakly heavy and ecstatically light. Never has his soul been so completely satiated before, even in the brightest days of his childhood.

Love, that’s what this must be! Love, warmth, happiness — every inkling of light this world has to offer! How could he ever feel dejected again with this angel now in his-? 

“Your heart rate is spiking.” That familiar, robotic voice interrupts. “You know what happens when Ultraman gets stressed.” 

Like clockwork, his color timer blares in distressful hues of light blue and sharp red. Though, how could Kenji possibly pay attention to such trivial matters when he’s holding you in his hands? How could he pay attention to anything else? 

Unfortunately for his sake, reality tears him away from his entranced state by brute forcd. A blinding flash of white permeates the street and in a blink, Kenji has returned to his normal self. He is back to being the notorious baseball player, worldwide heartthrob, and, most notably, smaller than his heroic alter ego.

When he shifts his gaze up, he finds you descending from the grasp he once held you in. Just like the fearless prince in every child's imagination, he scurries to catch you before you meet the unforgiving ground.

When his bare hands meet your skin, a gasp is yanked from his chest. His heart lurches, obtaining speeds he did not deem possible. Even sprinting from base to base did not garner this physical reaction out of him. You just feel so good against him, so perfect. Like the missing puzzle piece he’s been tearing apart the house looking for, now within its respected place. Bound to be cemented there forever – that sounds good to Kenji. 

“Ken, they can see you!” Mina’s frantic voice interrupts once again. 

When he pulls his vision from you, he finds a collage of people begin to surround the adjacent area. Their mere gaze threatens to jeopardize his identity once and forevermore.

“I’m sorry, ‘m so sorry, baby.” Kenji whispers into your ear.

Pressing a hard kiss to your cheekbone and relishing at the sensation of your skin beneath his lips, he reluctantly guides your limp body atop of the rubble. A few final caresses to your warm flesh and he is scurrying off into the night, completely inconsolable with these brand new emotions. New emotions he fears terribly, but has now clasped all coherent function in his body.

A single week had passed since the city's last Kaiju attack. These several days have proven to be nothing short of torturous for Kenji.

He has been rendered miserable after latching onto the light he’s been chasing for years, only to have it torn from his hands like candy from a baby. All because he’s been forced into a gig he never signed up for. Kenji has lost the love of his life and nothing can reprimand the grief it has left behind. 

Through extensive, but fruitless effort, he has assigned Mina the task of dissecting all of Japan in search of you. With only a description of your face, coated with dirt and blood, there is very little the efficient robot can do. And once again, his desires are left to collect dust in the hollow corners of his soul.

Kenji now resides in his ‘man-cave’, as he so confidently calls it. “Healthy body, healthy mind.” Mina teases, displaying the assortment of coconut water stacked in the fridge. With a sigh of defeat, he takes a resentful sip and cringes at the horrid taste. His efforts to stuff his face with junk food like some heartbroken blonde in a chick-flick were rejected by Mina, as she is always pushing him to pursue greater health. Waving his white flag, he asks for Mina to just turn the TV on, searching for anything to mend the pain poisoning his heart.

“Ken. I wonder if you might consider taking a break.” Mina confesses. 

He stares at the robot, searching her metal face for reasoning.

“From TV?” 

“From finding that citizen.”

His face scrunches in disdain. 

Quit you? Is she serious? How could he ever do that? Could he even survive such a predicament? 

“Give up the one thing that puts a smile on my face?” Kenji questions. “Sorry. No. TV, please.”

Some sincere praise from saved citizens will surely fill the hole in his chest, he assumes. Help him in his efforts to protect that bird nest he cradles close. 

The TV flickers to life and presents Channel 7 News, the place in which Kenji is featured most on. Seeing his most recent work with a bold “WOUNDED NERONGA AFTER ULTRAMAN EXIT” beneath the scene granted no surprise to him. 

What does stun him into a defying silence is when the screen shifts and your face fills up the expanse. Bandage on your scalp and microphone in your hand, you inform viewers at home of the recent neutralized threat and your new status here on the channel.

“Well, this has been quite the warm welcome! I’ve just arrived here in Japan and I’ve already been greeted by the Neronga, evident in this bandage on my noggin’.” 

The coconut water in his mouth spews out like a sprinkler when Kenji spits out the beverage. He chucks the open can across the room, ignoring the stain it will inevitably leave on his lavish carpets.

“That’s them! That’s them, that’s them, that’s them!” He exclaims to Mina. 

Shuffling off the couch, he crawls over to the television as though his legs had completely given out beneath him. His hand caresses the surface where your cheek is. 

“Sources tell us you were rescued by Ultraman himself!” A news anchor speaks. 

“Yes, that is true. Unfortunately, I was a bit too woozy to thank him properly, but he did save my life. It is heroic acts like Ultraman that help keep this city alive.” 

Unbeknownst to you, your words made a certain baseball player melt into putty. Hearing your praises, even when it is probably written on a script behind the camera, is nothing short of heavenly. 

The anchors, third-wheeling between two soulmates, continue to blabber about other fresh events taking place in Japan. Pressing languid kisses to the fuzzy static, all Kenji can listen to, all he can focus on, is you. Every twitch of your brow, every curve of your skin, every stretch in your smile — it all has him mesmerized. Like a siren lulling a fisher into the sea, where he would dive straight into oblivion had it been you in the deep waves.

“This was Y/N L/N with Channel 7 News.” 

Your name sits like honey on his tongue. Sickeningly sweet and absorbing of every word. 

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.” He repeats your name like a magic spell, almost as if you’d manifest into existence had he whispered it enough.

“Signing off.” 

The screen cuts and you vanish from the screen, overtaken by irritating advertisements. As though you were physically there with him, Kenji reaches for you. Desperate to bring you, his Y/N, back into his unwavering embrace.

Now, if there is anything renowned about Ken Sato, it is his charm, which also serves as his most powerful superpower. So, with enough flexes in the mirror to give himself a good ego boost, his “put a ring on Y/N’s finger” plan has now ensued in full effect. 

The foundation of this plan resides in who you are, what intricacies and threadings course through such a marvelous creature. He demands Mina, stronger than he ever has before, to learn every little detail there is to know about you. There cannot be a stone left unturned. Kenji needs to know everything. 

And every fragment of information she delivers to him binds his presumption furthermore: you two were made for each other. You’re like a page torn straight from an ancient fairytale. Crafted by God himself to hold his hand. He’s sunk his fingers into your background, your dreams, your hobbies, and he has nestled them all into his bird nest, entwined with the elements of himself. Bound to remain at one another’s side for eternity.

To enlighten you on these matters, however, Kenji has to find clarity through the whirlwind of emotions overpowering his senses. Then, he is positive he’ll be granted the ability to finally speak to you. However, the thought alone is enough to send a sun-hot shiver down his spine. He’ll need some thorough caresses to his ego before he can garner the confidence to merely stand in the same room as you.

It certainly does not help when everyday is spent battling the intense waves of euphoria, obsession, and of course, the suffocating guilt.

He left you behind. He abandoned the one thing that matters most to him and nothing can atone for this mistake. All because of Ultraman being most imperative, which Kenji had been force-fed to believe. Never again will he choose his occupation over you. Or anything, for that matter. You outweigh everything in terms of vital importance. 

He begins these efforts with baby-steps. To start, he assigns Mina to leave expensive gifts upon your bed. Bouquets of flowers, lush clothing, rich chocolates, luxurious jewelry, action figures and plushies galore! All you have to do is look at something in the store for more than a picosecond and it’s wrapped in a bow for you the following day. You also cannot forget the amount of times you’ve arrived home to find your favorite meals freshly made on the kitchen table.

In your overworked, lethargic brain, you assume everything is left by your sweet, elderly landlord who misses her grandkids and needs a fresh face to spoil rotten. You just choose to ignore how the gifts are impossibly far out of her budget.

Miles away from you, Kenji is tearing himself apart as he assumes your lack of recognition to be rejection. He knew he should’ve purchased those shoes in a different color! What was he thinking buying you roses instead of carnations, God, how cliché can he be!? 

He should’ve known you wouldn’t lend him your heart in return for his riches. You are not that foolish or shallow; you’re far more meticulous than the greedy pigs he’s so accustomed to feeding. 

Kenji will not claim defeat yet, though. He is never one to waver so easily, especially when it is you that is the golden prize. If he cannot flaunt his riches, why not himself? The richest item of all? And if his money cannot slither himself into your heart, he is positive it can push him in the intended direction. 

He’ll leave lumps of cash in the hands of massive corporations, all to cast his face wherever it can reach. On billboards, on buildings, on blimps — whatever place you may possibly be. Inevitably, you will have no choice but to see his gorgeous face and fall head over heels with him. The same way you so easily made him fall for you. 

Unfortunately, though, there are not enough cans of coconut water or buckets of chicken drumsticks in the world to bring you to his doorstep, there to fall into his arms and promise forever at his side. Kenji has failed in claiming your heart as his, once again, but another failure is not nearly enough to get him to welcome defeat. Not when it is you he is promised, never when it is you.

From here, he’ll pursue grander efforts. You’ll be occupied in the studio, skimming through your lines while makeup artists poke and prod at you. A squeal of excitement will permeate through the expanse, shouting out for a man by the name of Ken Sato.

Loud rumbles echo through the city streets as Kenji revs the engine to his motorcycle, complemented by his famous hair-flip and heart-throbbing wink. And feverishly, he scrutinizes every face behind the window, desperate to see those gorgeous features smile and melt at the sight of him. Then, he can spring straight into your studio, gather you in his arms, and race off into the sunset with you. Just like the fairytale dream you deserve. 

But alas, the universe refuses to give him such a privilege. You’re too engrossed with the tasks at hand, not some money-obsessed athlete who adorns the walls of teenage girls across Japan. 

If he could hear your assumptions, he’d assure you are sorely mistaken. Kenji doesn’t want the accolades, the riches, the fame. He just wants you. The one who showed him what it truly meant to be wild; the one who showed him what it truly meant to be free. So desperately, he wants you to know this, as well. To feel it with every beat your heart passes, to feel it imprinted in your skin with every kiss and caress he leaves. He could lose everything, just not you. God, not you. 

The man is speeding off with the pieces of his shattered heart before you can even process what had even occurred.

Kenji, once again, is met with another revelation. If it is not his name that can bring you into his embrace, then maybe it is his second self, the one you so wholeheartedly praise for his heroic acts.

Dressed in these ridiculous garbs, Ultraman leads danger towards your direction to “save” your life, all other innocent bystanders be damned. These efforts do not ever bridge on being dangerous. Merely a quick scare or two. And it definitely pays off, oh, does it pay off. Watching the fear in your eyes ease into relief at the sight of him never fails to get him numb with rapture.

“Fear not, citizen! Kenj- I mean, Ultraman will save you!” 

The last occasion he ever abused his role consisted of an orchestrated car accident. Nearly caught in the crossfire, you ever-so-gracefully dove away from the scene and skidded your knee in the process. A thundering “NO! BABY!” rings through the air. So absorbed in adrenaline, you do not even process the volume of the sound. 

What does grasp your attention is Ultraman taking you into his hand and lifting you far, far away from the ground. You ensnare yourself around his finger in response, clinging to him like a lifeline. Kenji melts from the action, as well as the underlying implications. You, relying on him, your silver-armored prince, for protection — that is everything he could ever wish for sat right in the palm of his hands. 

“Shh… It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay… Daddy’s here…” 

The words, shaky as they are, fall from his mouth like water through a cracked dam. It’s all just so easy, assuring you of his protection and comfort. The only way of preventing him from caring for you is to end his life. And Kenji has a lot of fight in him before he’ll allow himself to be separated from you.

You remain in his hands until an ambulance arrives. For the umpteenth time, he is forced to let go of you again. He cannot hide the perceptible agony it brings him to watch you rely on somebody else for aid. 

One day, it will be him, he assures himself. One day.

In the meantime, your rejection continues to take a heavy toll on him. Kenji is now famished without you, emaciated and starved to the bone. In some feeble attempt at satiating this hunger, he’ll try to find these fragments of you in others. He will drink himself ill then bring a blurry face to bed, all to shake the memory of you out of his head. These efforts, once more, only result in failure.

This time around, a harrowing guilt rots in his chest. There is no one else like you, he should’ve seen it clear as day. Kenji was a fool to ever think there could be. Now, he has cheated on the one who matters most to him. And there is nothing to placate the anguish he’s tormented by.

This perceptible ruination does not go unnoticed by journalists, either, who do not waste the opportunity of an eye-grabbing headline. Articles about him flood the web, detailing his miserable failures out on the field. Crawling to base seconds too late, sprinting directly into walls, and receiving more strikes than anyone can count — Kenji and the famous Sato name are falling apart by the seams.

He examines the glistening trophies and signed baseball cards in another attempt at protecting his ego and its butchered remains. None of it is enough, though. None of this success is notable without you at his side.

In a fit of rage, he throws his Giants helmet against the basement floors, landing with a harsh thud.

“They reject me? Ken Sato!? Best baseball player of all time!? The one and only Ultraman!?” 

His poor helmet is victim to his abuse, once more, as he leans all his might into a forceful kick. 

“Nobody can resist Ken Sato!” 

Another attempt at thrashing around in anger results in his knees buckling beneath him, sending his body to the cold ground. That was the final failure Kenji needed to break down into a sobbing fit. Head buried in his palms, he begs, pleads, for mercy. 

“I… I’m doing my best, okay? God!”

His body curls into itself, like pathetic prey trying to protect itself.

“I buy you everything you want, I save your life again and again, I-” 

Kenji cuts his tangent short by choking on a gagged cry. His fist clenches over his heart, overwhelmed from the sheer pain the organ is enduring. His chest stutters and twitches from the force of his blubbering. Globs of snot and spit gush across down his face, some clumps managing to pervade across his tongue.

“Ken? Are you crying?” A monotone voice speaks. 

“No! I’m… Not crying!” 

His coughing whimpers and wet face reveal the truth. Weakness is something he was taught to be ashamed of, after all. What kind of man would he be if he let himself crumble over such petty matters? Would you ever fall for him after witnessing such a dramatic sight?

“Want me to load up Y/N? That might make you feel better.” 

A few snivels through the silence and Kenji answers her. “Yeah… Yeah, I-I’d really like that…”

Maybe this is what he needs, just a few hits of his favorite drug to keep him in stable condition. Then, he’ll utilize the newfound strength to revive his honor, finally earning your affection in the end.

Pixels unfold in varying colors across the ground, spreading across the walls and ceiling like a reaching wave. The scene overtaking the basement now displays a romantic scene. Cherry blossom trees dance with the warm wind, petals drifting through the Spring air. A grand waterfall descends from a moss-covered mountain and leads to a river, where fish swim along with the stream. As he stands to his feet, Kenji finds himself at an arched bridge stretching over the river as the gentle melodies of nature sing around him.

When his gaze drifts around, he feels his heart practically plummet into the pit of his stomach when he sees you. Leaning over the wicker barrier and tossing out handfuls of kibble for the hungry fish.

Turning over your shoulder, you look up at Kenji with those glittering eyes, causing his breath to get caught in his throat. To make matters even worse for Kenji’s weak self, your face then breaks out into a candy-sweet smile. You are so innocently oblivious to how you’ve reduced his heart rate to an old engine, stuttering miserably. That smile could make even the devil repent, he’s sure of it. With luminosity like that, the greatest evils would have no choice but to succumb to their contrition.

Dusting your hands off, you frolic over to where Kenji stands. A lighthearted giggle escapes past your lips in the process, nearly bringing him to tears from how precious the sight is. Your hand slips into his and he might as well have crossed the pearly gates of heaven. Fuck, why hasn’t he made Mina do this before?

“Come on! Come feed the fishies with me!” You cheer in that captivating tone. That adoring voice could ask so sweetly for death and he’d deliver you buckets of blood. Just keep talking to him like that.

The impact you have on him is so immense, in fact, Kenji falls to his knees. The throbbing ache that his fall courses through his body might as well have been background noise, not when his senses are overwhelmed with how blissful your presence is.

His arms enclose around your legs, burying his face into your fuzzy sweater. With an amused hum, you sink your hands into his dark locks. The gesture makes him dizzy with elation. Spinning around the merry-go-round of devastating jubilation.

“Tell me you love me.” Kenji whines, his sensitive voice muffled against your stomach. 

With another giggle that squishes his gooey heart, you respond.

“I love you, Ken.” 

… Ken? 

No! No, you wouldn’t call him that! 

You’d call him Kenji, or better yet, you’d conjure up some adorable nickname in that witty head of yours. Anything but Ken; anything but what everyone else sees him as. 

And just like that, the fantastical facade shatters and reveals what really lies beneath. None of this is real. As much as he wishes it would be, as much as he’d throw away everything for you to be beside him in this moment, all of this is merely a figment of his imagination.

“No! You’re not real! Y/N- They would never-!”

The tears return and leave his body through broken wails. Once again, he has been forged into a mess of cracked hiccups and ground-shattering sobs.

His clenched fist meets the solid ground, piercing pain invading his entire arm from the impact. The punch was thrown far from where you stand. Even as a hologram, Kenji cannot bear to hurt you. He couldn’t wish violence upon you even if he wanted to. 

The dreamscape stood before him crumbles as quickly as it was formed. Darkness spreads once again and the romantic scene of cherry blossoms and fish kibble fades away. A physical manifestation of what he has become without you present.

Chasing after a sliver of your attention has now thrust Kenji into a staggering state of despair. His sob playlist shakes his house with its ear-splitting volumes, pushing more tears down his face while he stuffs his mouth with donuts. 

The weight of the pain pushes him toward drastic measures, as he is now a hollow shell of who he used to be. Measures he assured himself he would never come to, but has inevitably crashed landed in.

If you do not fall for his riches, his charm, his fame, then Kenji will just have to… “persuade” you towards that goal.

Cameras flash and flicker in his face as he charms his way through another press conference of millions. Only this time, he has ground-breaking news to share. 

“Fans have seen you blow supposed kisses to someone outside the venue. Is there a special someone in your life?” 

Directly across the field is your studio, but he will not tell others this fact. It is his duty to protect you, after all. But, scattering a few breadcrumbs won’t hurt anyone.

“Yes. Yes there is.”

The room erupts in hushed gasps and the rushed scribbling of pens. Another wave of questions tumbles toward Kenji’s way.

“They mean everything to me. I owe all my success to Y/- I mean, my baby.” 

A knowing smirk grows on his face. The Sherlock’s of the internet will surely connect the dots. Netizens will also fawn over how misty-eyed he became speaking of you, while others will rage in jealousy over their dream man falling for someone else. No matter what occurs, he will protect you during your sudden shift to fame. You have his word on that.

Days later, Kenji receives an email. And he almost considers admitting himself into a hospital for the near heart attack he receives upon reading it. 

Signed by none other than Y/N L/N, you ask him to meet with you in order to “clear the air” and “sort out this drama”. 

Several times, he scans the username to find some sort of fault, something that shows him it is just the works of an envious hater. However, his suspicions are never confirmed. The message is purely and undoubtedly you, no online troll or basement hologram in sight!

Without another second to waste, he responds to your email with a place and time, that being two hours from now. Kenji intends on fulfilling his role of the dashing boyfriend and to drive you there himself, flaunting his sumptuous motorcycle in the process. Mina, however, has since been programmed to detect every potential danger in your path, even something as minor as a crack in the pavement. When she displayed the graphic results of recent biking accidents, his heart lurched in his chest.

For now, he will simply have to meet you at the luxuriant restaurant he booked the best table for. In the future, he will convert to safer forms of transportation and your foot will never touch a pedal again. Not with your prince charming around.

Arriving an hour early, Kenji bursts through the bathroom doors and wipes the beads of sweat seeping down his face. All the makeup and detail he put into his appearance, all melted to a mess because of the anxiety you pump through his body. 

It is almost comical. He, Ken Sato, is nervous? He’s done the classic dinner-date over a zillion times, delivering his suggestive pick-up lines and swift winks. Staring at his exasperated face in the mirror, he is at a loss of where to go from here. What will he even say? What famous lines can he use? How can he give you his black card and a copy of his house key without you running away? 

Kenji finally sits down at the reserved table, located on a far balcony and looking over the grand city. His wristwatch blares red and presents the stack of missed calls from his dad, of which he willfully ignores. He went twenty years without his father and survived. Meanwhile, he went one week without you and thought he was on the cusp of death. He cannot bring himself to care about anything else. Not when he’s finally got a hook on you.

A waiter then asks him if he was feeling alright, concerned over the sight of his pale skin, shivering body, and twiddling thumbs. Kenji assures the man he is alright as he restlessly taps his foot, stalking the door ahead for the face he loves most to saunter through. The building could just about crumble to ash and he’d still sit here, waiting for your arrival.

And just like a movie, you pass the threshold and rob all the air from his lungs. 

You merely walk his way, but to him, you resembled a fawn frolicking through a green meadow, an angel wandering across roads of fluffy clouds. Those sporadic nerves die at the sight of you, rendering him to a melted pile of twitterpated nonsense. You tread closer and closer and closer and Kenji does not know how much more his body can handle before you completely dissolve him into a puddle.

“You have five minutes.” 

Your voice perfuses into his ears like birdsong, real and raw this time. That noise greeting him every morning is the only wish he’d ask from a magic genie. 

“Wh-Wh-?” He stutters like a lovesick loser, mentally slapping himself across the head for such a pathetic introduction.

“I said you have five minutes to explain yourself. Then, I will le-” 

“I love you.”

Surprise eases out your scrunched expression. You’ve never met this man before. Yet here he is, spewing out this gibberish. All of this has to be some form of joke, you assume. Where those irritating Youtube pranksters will sprint out from their hiding spots and shove their cameras in your face, cackling like hysterical hyenas.

“I am in love with you.” 

Maybe this is just his way of leading partners into bed with him. A powerful effort to add another name to his lengthy body count. And for whatever reason, he plans to jot down your name on that list.

“And you are worth more to me than anything.” 

You scrutinize his face for some inkling of rationality, something to explain what the fuck he means by that. Your efforts prove to be futile, as those teary, doe-eyes peer into your soul with nothing but sheer, unadulterated devotion. As though you were both fresh newlyweds enjoying the luxury of your honeymoon, complemented by the glimmer of your new wedding rings.

“Okay.” You swallow dryly, unease bleeding through your body. “You get another five minutes to explain yourself. On one condition.”

Kenji perks up at your proposition as though you had offered your hand in marriage. 

“Yes! Yes, whatever you want!” 

The man in question ponders over what riches you could ask him for and how elated he’d be to give you them. Taking you on shopping sprees and serving as your adoring husband, paying every penny and carrying your bags for you while you peruse to your liking. Just say the word, maybe flutter those pretty lashes, and he’ll personally deliver the very planet into your hands.

“I want you to leave me be.” 

If it weren’t for the fact this man was a complete stranger, you’d feel a sting of guilt over the perceptible emotion that washes over his face. Kenji anticipated the demand of clothes, foods, travel tickets, of which he would gleefully fulfill. Not this. Anything but this. 

“Alright, f-for how long? 10 minutes? 20?” 

“Forever.” 

You might as well have surged your fist into his chest cavity and torn his heart out, stomping out the ba-bump beneath the force of your boots. You might as well have climbed the tree behind his childhood home and ambushed his bird nest, tearing apart the array of twigs and squishing the healthy eggs. You might as well have just killed him right then and there, as nothing could pain him more than such a fate. Forever without the one he loves most is a life you couldn’t pay him to suffer through.

His bottom lip begins to tremble, stomach gurgling with nauseated shock. A few gags masked by coughs go unnoticed by you, as you could’ve sworn you saw a bright flash of white in the distance. Did someone… Take a picture? 

“... What’s wrong, baby? What are you looking at, huh?” 

Shifting your gaze back to Kenji, you find his features sheen with sweat and sickly-green from the queasiness you’ve forced upon him. What you especially notice is the accent of smugness beneath it all, etched into the smirk stretched across his lips.

Hushed whispers in the distance accelerate in volume, until the entire restaurant erupts in flashing lights.

Paparazzi!? What the fuck are they doing here!? 

Kenji leans back into the chair and slings an arm around the back post, seemingly posing for the photographers invading your conversation.

“Oh, no! We’ve been caught! The horror! Whatever will we do now that our secret is out…?”

If it weren’t for the sake of your career, you would’ve socked that smile clean off his face. Maybe even knock out a few teeth while you’re at it.

Critics have now officially cleared the name of Ken Sato due to his recent spike in excellent performance. Sports commentators even toss around jokes of how Sato’s new partner has knocked some sense into him.

Another game of hundreds and the cologne of arrogance around Kenji could suffocate the entire arena. A recent report detailed by you is casted on the billboard outside your studio. He blows yet another kiss your way as he jogs onto the field, ignoring the shouting fans who seethe with envy. He has made it official across the nation that his heart is sewn into your hands. And not even God could level the happiness coursing through his body. 

That is, until an uninvited visitor opens his mouth. The Swallows catcher begins to taunt him about his lover on the big screen, unaware of the lethal consequences it would harbor.

“You let the team hit, Sato? Shit, I might talk to coach about a transfer so I can get a piece of th-” 

The baseball bat in Kenji’s hands collides with his jaw before he can finish his sentence. 

Several more plunges into his skull and a swarm of teammates swarm around to break apart the scene. The crowd is alive with excited hollering, drowning out the noise of the blood-stained threats Kenji barks his way, strings of saliva spurting from his mouth like some feral mutt. 

The onslaught of players quickly, albeit with struggle, overpower him, successfully retrieving the weapon from his grasp. The edges of his manicured nails dig into the meat of his palms, forming maroon crescents in his flesh. Blind with rage, more threats that will surely put him behind bars are screeched into the air.

A few harsh yanks from the group of men and Kenji is finally pried from the catcher. He is dragged off the field past the rushing paramedics before he can fulfill his promises.

“And now it looks like there are words being exchanged between Sato and the Swallows catcher... Oh! Oh, no. We haven’t seen a brawl like this in a long time! Both benches have cleared. They’re throwing punches…” 

Soothing his sore muscles in an ice bath, Kenji watches the recording of his public meltdown with trepidation. Your eyes are not far and surely, you will bear witness to the violence his hands are capable of. He fears you daring to think he will treat you as such and his chest aches from the thought alone.

All he wants at this moment is to tear down the door to your apartment, take your precious face into his hands, and speak the utter truth as he assures you he will never bring harm to you. He’ll inform you of the context of the fight and what sparked such a reaction out of him. Then, you’ll thank him profusely for his heroic defense and drown him in your sugar-sweet kisses. Just like he has dreamt of every night, often waking up in the morning with his puckered lips against his knuckles.

Now, however, Kenji has surely destroyed any chances of gluing you to his side forever. You resent him for that stunt he pulled at dinner, and now, you are afraid of what he and his baseball bat may do. The ongoing success of Ken Sato has crashed and burned, resulting in the loss of what he cared for most.

“Ken!” Mina calls out to him. “I have something to show you!” 

Assuming it is another plan of millions to stamp the title of ‘lover’ all over you, he rushes out of the bath and throws his clothes on. Venturing into the basement, he is met with the very last thing he expected.

The containment unit has been raised. Inside is you, fast asleep with a bow on your head. Wearing just his jersey and holding onto a plushie designed after himself. 

“Surprise!”

Mina’s robotic arms stretch out, presenting the gift she captured retrieved for Kenji.

In addition to your permanent presence, the containment unit has been extensively decorated. The adornments are all pink and fluffy, like a cloud draped over a sunset. A circle-shaped bed is strung above the ground, supporting the weight of you and the mess of plushy comforters. It rocks you from side-to-side like a fussy baby who skipped out on naptime.

The scent of lavender pervading the air eases you into a deeper slumber. Tranquil white noise hums from the surrounding speakers, suffusing with the sounds of a light rainstorm. There are even holograms of shimmering stars and a full moon hovering over you, like some colossal mobile strung above a crib. Among the stars is a constellation, of some sort, that reads “Y/N SATO” in glittering letters.

And poor Kenji doesn’t know if he wants to beat Mina into shambles of wires or give her as many HTTP cookies her synthetic heart could ask for. For now, he is too woozy to make a coherent decision regarding her well-being. As he stated before, you always remain of utmost importance.

“My God…” He gasps out through stuttering breaths. 

His heart pounds so violently, he can barely hear the sound of his own voice over the persistent thumping. Kenji wobbles over to you as though he had just stood on his two legs for the very first time. He is almost positive there is a certain air suffusing from your body, entering his bloodstream and choking him with fervent stress. Every step forward renders his body weaker and weaker.

Images then begin to haunt his mind, preceding what may happen in minutes time. Kenji sees your weeping face, crying to release you from this bird cage. He can hear the thundering volume of your voice declaring you will never fall in love with him, how you’ll soon vanish and leave him to forever rot in solitude.

The emotions these thoughts garner stir in his gut like a meal that doesn’t agree with him. Gags poke and prod at his throat, threatening to release the butterflies fluttering around his stomach. A glob of bile then spurts from his mouth and splats against the floor. Kenji, horrified and sick with worry, races away from the scene before he spills his guts in front of you and humiliates himself even further.

What on Earth is he meant to do now?

When you finally awaken, you’re convinced you’ve been melted into jelly. Maybe even restrained in a tank of thick oil. Limbs weak at wet spaghetti, you cling to any fragments of energy in your system as you try and discern your environment. 

“Well, look who woke up!” A female voice greets you. “Do you want to see daddy?” 

Something globe-shaped hovers around the barrier you’ve been ensnared in. If it weren’t for your groggy state, you’d verify it to be a robot and not a talking basketball. 

“’Daddy’? What the hell are you talking about?” Your confused voice protrudes broken and sluggish, still stained with the sleep you’ve just woken from. 

A screen forms above you and before your distorted vision, you find the very last sight you wished to see. Ken Sato, your own personal parasite, sits stiff in the living room just upstairs. Bouncing his leg in an anxious rhythm, he seems to be engrossed by a video on his laptop. As you listen further, the contents become more distinguishable.

“When the moment is right, lean into your partner slowly and tilt your head to avoid bumping noses.” 

The robot clears her throat in an attempt at grasping his attention, but fails to do so.

“Close your eyes and let your lips connect naturally. Match the pattern of your partner to-” 

Another noise of acknowledgment from the robot and Kenji’s attention is finally held. Barely, that is.

“What, Mina?” He answers curtly, eyes refusing to part from the information he is currently absorbing.

“Someone is waiting for you down here.”

In all the years you’ve lived on this planet, you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone move so fast before. Not only did Mina’s words arouse a visceral reaction out of Kenji, but they practically shoved him off the couch from the sheer force of her insinuations. His foot even gets caught behind a chair leg and causes him to land splat on his face, but this is not nearly enough to deter his acceleration. 

The screen you were studying then folds into itself as an elevator descends from above. Through the cyan, blurred exterior, you see the frame of no other than Ken Sato. The doors open a mere inch before the man in question is squishing himself through the tight space. Always the acrobat he is, he gracefully trips onto his face, once again, before clumsily scrambling to his feet.

Now, you’re given the ability to absorb his appearance. Messy locks of black hair lack their normal gelled accentuation. Dark eyes are blown wide as though he were some feral animal. Tan arms are covered in red scratches from the relentless, anxious scratching he abused his flesh with.

The bold ‘ICON’ on his shirt mocks you. Is that what he is? Is that what he expects you to perceive him as? Would an ‘icon’ do such a thing like this?

You ponder over how much time has passed since you’ve been brought into this horrid basement, how much time has passed before friends and family have deemed you missing.

Kenji knows the answer to your questions. It had only been a day; twenty-four full hours of crazed, restless worry. He even skipped out on the championship for this moment, just to ensure you remained safe in the basement. He trusts Mina, of course, but he cannot rely on her to restrain you. The grasp he has on you is dangling by a thread, worn thin by his own stupid antics from before. 

He knows now that if you were to take one step out the door, you’ll be gone forever. And Kenji will die before he allows that to happen. 

Meanwhile, you’re still trying to garner pieces of your memory together. After returning to your apartment from a hectic day at the studio, you allowed yourself to indulge in the hot meals always waiting for you at your kitchen table. Normally, you’d chuck them in the garbage out of distrust. Tonight, however, you were so overwhelmed with lethargy, you couldn’t conjure enough energy to cook yourself a meal. So, the magic dinner-fairy would receive your blessing in the meantime.

One bite in and you were out like a light, oblivious to what exactly is waiting for you once you wake.

What was waiting for you now dashes toward the edge of your dog kennel, as you’d describe it. Kenji places a hand to the surface and his forehead lands against the wall with a light thud. His quickened, gasping breaths fog the glass. He does not leave even a centimeter between himself and the barrier separating both of you. The legs that have scored him more wins for the Giants than any other played in history suddenly grow weak, trembling as they try to support his weight. 

Kenji’s half-lidded gaze is devoted to you only. A curl forms between his brows from the fervency of his emotions the longer he stares. His cheeks go red as two ripe cherries while he just stands and watches, all dewy-faced and blushing.

“Lower the containment unit.” He pants breathlessly, the sheer tone of love drooping from every syllable that parts from his mouth. Like pockets of honey seeping from a honeycomb. 

“Ken. That might be a bad idea. We cannot anticipate how they will react.” 

He presses lazy kisses against the glass as her words go through one ear and out the other. Ignoring her warning, he assures her of these concerns.

“I got ‘em, I got ‘em… My baby…”

To your horror, the walls plummet and grant this monster full access to where you lie. Kenji collapses, again, not realizing he had been leaning his full weight against the walls of the containment unit. This sudden intrusion causes you to flinch and you crawl away from him, attempting to shield yourself beneath the thick covers. 

Body shivering with feverish need, his hand grasps onto the corner of the mattress to stabilize himself. Mere inches away from your foot. His chin lifts to look your way, his eyes only needing to bathe in the sight of you forever. Within his irises, you find swirling pools of darkness illuminated by specks of glitter. Sparkling for you and you alone. 

A smile pokes at Kenji’s lips, bright and formidable, before he addresses your sour expression. 

“Aww, why the long-face? Is my baby hungry, maybe?” 

At the foot of the bed, a fraction of the floor folds open and rises a platter. On this platter is an array of all your favorite foods. Snacks, candies, sodas, juices, whatever your heart could possibly desire. Mina has correlated an all-you-can-eat buffet just for you. Similar to the dishes left for you back in your apartment.

As it spins, displaying every inch and corner of its delicious offerings, you curl further into yourself. You do not want nourishment, you want to leave! To part from this maniac and never hear of his name again! 

With your refusal to eat, Kenji determines the reason behind your dismay to be because of him. Or, in his egotistical brain, the lack of him. The works of an absurdly large ego, you’d surmise. 

“Do you… Do you need… Me?” The hope in his voice is akin to a child in disbelief over receiving surprise tickets to Disneyland.

And Kenji just melts from how gut-wrenchingly adorable you are. By simply existing, you’re yanking at his heartstrings like a puppeteer, guiding him further and further towards the edge of sanity. With eyes peering up at him like that, he’ll welcome the predicament warmly.

“Oh… I’m right here, baby. Daddy won’t leave you.” He coos in your ear, the warm cadence practically oozing into your brain. 

Still overwhelmed with exhaustion, you do not have a morsel of strength left in your body to fight off his affections. Despite how desperately you wish to. Instead, you have to remain pliant as Kenji guides you onto your back, soothing and shushing you as you sink further into the plush surface.

Tearing his shirt from his body, the loss of the ‘icon’ status, he crawls beneath the opulent covers with you. His arm snakes around your waist, while the other cradles your cheek. Hands shuddering and heart pattering as he presses himself against your back, he wonders how he had not simply died right in this moment. You’re too perfect. It’s too much for his poor heart to take. Cupid may as well have discarded the pink-hued arrows and plunged a knife straight into his chest.

Kenji leaves an array of kisses on the back of your neck as you drift back into a tranquil slumber. All those wishes he set on shooting stars have finally returned and placed you directly in his beloved bird nest. All to stay at his side forever.

All to never leave.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ WHY CAN'T I FIND

NO ONE LIKE YOU . . . ? ❞

gif creds .

[evilminji]

Oh god :Dc a Danny Summons Contract

No you guys DON'T UNDERSTAND-!

Just. Danny! Only Danny! He fucked up. Some ancient Warring States Ninja fucked up. They BOTH agreed to NEVER talk about it again.

Cause like? That ninja? Was a GROWN ASS MAN. A qualified BAMF of the highest order. He WAS the Danger, thank you very much. So, he? Will NEVER live down being saved by...well...

*holds up wildly struggling, noodle limbed, sad wet raccoon havin a terrible day lookin, meat thresher on legs*

THIS.

It's a BABY. Honestly, his Clan's TODDLERS know how to throw better punch. This scrawny infant baby child is both? His new son. AND an embarrassing trainwreck in motion. FFS kid, that's not how you- No! NO! Don't you DARE bite that opponent! You don't know where they've B-!

Kid they could have BEEN POISONED!!! Spit um OUT! DROP UM! Drop that RIGHT NOW! What are you? A dead Inuzuka? A god forsaken Hatake!? DROP IT!!!

It...sure is An Adventure™.

One of many early "here's how you DON'T make a Summoning contract" experiments, that Clans without seal masters were attempting. He's honestly lucky HIS attempt ended with him still... you know... ALIVE. Problem, though? After bunking for like... a few months? A year? In the command center?

And you know, terrorizing the GIW into complete collapse. Parenting him through some pretty serious life changes. Somehow making Sam MORE terrifying. And a whole host of off screen ninja shenanigans? They figure out? Oh. Only way to send him HOME is to either accept or refuse a Contract.

They gotta make one.

First they head to Frostbite for a recommendation, then? Off to a reputable Ghost Lawyer they go! They have to camp in the waiting room for like... a week. But? Worth it! The contract is AMAZING. And terrifying! Protects them both. Can't be used against EITHER. And that loophole you're thinking off? Ten pages worth of point 4 script, twenty three yards down, for why it's a BAD IDEA and breaks contract~!

Neither of them can make the other do SHIT! Only fully consensual, mutually beneficial, ass kicking here! If we FEEL LIKE IT!

Ninja dad insisted. Never sign a contract with anything less then extreme paranoia, kid! Leave no "implied" or "spirit of the rules"! Loopholes are holes in your armor, with which your enemy stabs you in the back!

Danny, tearfully, sends ninja dad home.

Gross. Emotions all over his armor. If only there wasn't all this sand in his eyes, he'd definitely complain about it. *stoic ninja hug*

Danny? Become a king. One of many. An Ancient. Becomes FUCKING HUUUUUUUUGE. Like? "Aw, your city is so pwecious~☆ n smol~♡! Whats it called again? New York?" Huge. A fuckin LEVIATHAN made of void, stars, and space ice. A Winter corpse, marked by lightning, that became the night sky itself. With a crown of aurora borealis, ever shifting, like flame.

Proportional, in a way, to Summon Bosses. Just as a normal human is to a normal toad, a normal cat, a normal slug. So too, is Danny LARGER then them.

You know... when he feels like it.

The contract? Passes down. Ninja dad does warn his kin. Prooooobably not gonna answer you. He only answers ME cause I'm, well, ME.

Fuckin BET. They declare. And lose. Repeatedly.

Time marches on. The Senju and Uchiha has their Drama. Dear KAMI do they Have Their Drama. Please Stop, says everyone. They... do not. The contract? Fuckin STOLEN. Because of course it is.

It's a HUGE, glowing, death radiating Summons Contract kept in a shrine behind like... SO MANY seals. It makes anyone less then a full grown JOUNIN physically SICK to even touch! Prolonged exposure kills people! Of COURSE it gets fuckin stolen. It's obviously a super, mega, ultra rare AMAZEBALLS Summon Contract... right?

Eeeeeeeeeeeh *so-so hand motion* KINDA!

It IS technically that.

They ain't wrong. Cause Danny IS an Adult now. A King. Connected to the Zone. An ANCIENT. Beyond and Above his mortal origins, even as, by being a Halfa, he is utterly the same. That contract is as close as one could GET to having a contract with the Sage himself.

You know... if he answered you.

Felt like your petty bullshit was worth getting up off the couch for.

Not to MENTION? He can make clones! Like.... billions of them now. Has a skeleton army. Is kinda one of the stronger Ancients. But that's not the point. The POINT? Clones. Don't have to be EQUAL facets of self.

You CAN make a .00001% clone of yourself!

Behold *summons poof noise* Lil Baby Man!

The harbinger of Danny! Here to Test Your VIBEZ™. He sends them each time. To be an adorable menace. Cause problems on purpose. Be gremlins, chew on table legs, maybe. You know, the works! They RADIATE his " I Am Death." Energy. But also his "winter, protection, and starlight" vibes... if you're brave enough to LOOK.

If you don't flinch away from a spirit of the dead. Can embrace the chaotic nature of a Zone ghost. Are kind to something that isn't what you expected, that you can USE, that appears weaker then you. Something that seems dumb. Distractable. Useless in battle.

Can you be kind? Do you immediately give up? To recognize a test when you see one? Is your first impulse cruelty? Distain? It tells Danny a lot. Saves him time.

Which? Is how a young Itachi, freshly Jounin'd, gets thrown through an old and rotting wooden gate into what LOOKS like a vaguely demonic death shrine. Hmmm, concerning. Baby 'tachi has been separated from his teammates. Is having a Bad Time™. The crows can't really help much here.

And, well, that IS a Summoning contract...

He's outnumbered. Low on both weapons and Chakra. Refuses to do anything BUT return home to his family. His baby brother. Is it WISE? No. It is in fact, incredibly, incredibly UNWISE. He has no idea what he'll be agreeing too. But... so long as he live just a bit longer...

He slams an earth wall against the entrance.

Falls back to the Glowing Contract.

Stumbles, as even landing near it makes his insides revolt. His skin prickle and burn. Colder then the nine tails Chakra, emptier, yet somehow endlessly more ABSOLUTE.

It's like the very Chakra in his body screams against it. Rejects it's mere presence. As though all thing alive REFUSE it with desperation and fear. He has no time to muse upon this. It hurt his hand to touch. He does so anyway. Struggling to hold the earthwall against enemy attacks.

He doesn't bother to read the contract. Flings it from the pedestal, to unravel, so he may sign quickly. There. With a practiced motion, he nicks his finger, and scrawls his future away. Whatever demons may come. Whatever monsters this brings. Please... let him live long enough to say goodbye.

The world CRACKS as he summons.

Death and the Shinigami are not the same.

Even those without the ability to sense are battered by the tsunami of... not killing intent. No. There is no intent. No killing. Just... knowing. Heraldry. That Death comes for us all. You can not escape. Foolish and small, is this what you waste your existence on? Ants before a god. Dust before the heavens. He... he can not... breathe...

Frozen. Eyes wide. Sharigan spinning, spinning, spinning. Capturing the delicate lace of nothingness, absence of life, as it drifts by. Unable to move from where he kneels, bloody hand pressed to the ground, in a Summoning.

What Has He Done?

Outside there is panic. Screaming. They flee. He... he wishes he could flee. W...why can't he-? *THHHWAP!* Mmmmph?! Something small and almost bird shaped smacks into his face like a flung ration. Tiny arms spread wide to cling to his bangs and dangle. The deathy power fades... almost... almost as though it were... a threat display?

He focuses on the tiny creature whining and hugging his face. It... is a floating snake toddler? Or is it dragon? They have sharp little claws and stars along their face, a tiny whispy mane of white. Likely a dragon child then. They stick their small tounge out slightly, eyes the blankly trusting stare of small children everywhere.

He clearly want to be carried. Ah. Of course, little one.

Did... did he agree to raise a dragon?

Just?

Itachi, smol. Serious. With lil baby man floped on his head or tucked lovingly in his arms. The TEXTBOOK definition of "he don't bite" "YES HE DO!!!" For everyone but Itachi and Sasuke. To whom he is, of course, an INNOCENT BABY who has NEVER done anything wrong EVER. An angel! Why is everyone being so MEAN to poor innocent baby man? Boo hoo~!

It fucks up SO MANY plans.

Because Itachi. A smol child. INSISTS he is a Father now. What are you going to do? Say he can be? Why? Because he's a CHILD? Which is it? Is he a Jounin or a Dependant? An adult in the eyes of the law or a child to be protected by said law from pushing him off to war? Old enough to die, old enough to parent his dragon son!

And SORRY Father, he CANT join Anbu. Who would be there for his child? Ah, he should join a parenting group. *various competent parent instincts go haywire over this tiny Uchiha child in need of parenting* Danzo? For some reason his son seems to really, REALLY hate him. Better avoid him. His child doesn't know yet not to bite respected elders.

Sasuke? Gets to be an UNCLE! To a DRAGON! He takes his job very seriously.

It's the best PR the clan has ever had.

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @hypewinter @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @legitimatesatanspawn @lolottes @mutable-manifestation

[vanilleandclove]

the meadow in which you lay | 7

ser erryk cargyll x arryn!reader | chapter seven: body and soul

Tensions rise in Dragonstone as Rhaenyra took off in search for Lucerys's corpse, the only vice being the husband she left behind whom has a shorter temper than that of a child.

word count: 1.5k | warnings: strangulation (daemon you cunt), non-sexual nudity, oral sex (f recieving), ERRYK IS A MUNCH! grief. | a/n: two more parts perhaps, until we are all wishing the worst on criston cole himself.

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taglist: @wolvestitches @holb32 @callsignwidow @fwaeriys @hummusxx @erysione @snixx2088 @opheliax98 @celestialstar111

"Ser Lorent, have you seen Daemon?" you asked Ser Lorent as you strutted down the steps in Dragonstone leading into the war room, Erryk opened his arm for you to balance onto as courtesy, you earned a bow from Erryk; Rhaenyra named you "Hand of the Queen" just before she set forth to look endlessly for Luke's body, nearly several days ago.

"Last I have seen the Prince, he was dressing into his armor, very set on the words 'a son for a son'" Lorent answered you, giving Erryk a slight nod, "I believe he is in the Dragon's quarters my Lady Hand".

"Please, just call me Lady" you smiled dimly, Erryk was pleased to see you smile, you had not in days upon hearing of Luke's death. Every single night filled your chambers with violent sobs and screams, Erryk having to restrain you in order for you to gain your composure once more, making sure you were hydrated upon the hour, and combing through your hair to soothe you, cooing in your ear like a mother does a babe.

You looked at Erryk and nodded as well, signaling to him that you were sound, able to walk to Dragonstone's Dragon pit on your own to confront Daemon; upon arrival it seemed Rhaenys had already finished the job. Though, it never hurt to weigh in, especially to a hot-tempered man like Daemon.

"Where were you off to?" you questioned the Prince, "Thank you Rhaenys, may you and Meleys rest, your efforts are great" you then celebrated the Princess, earning a whisper from her.

"Give him hell".

"You forget it is the Queen whom makes the decisions in war Daemon" you continued, Daemon looking like a near child whom was patronized by their parents.

"You forget your ranking Lady Arryn, as well as Valyrian blood. Had this been my war-".

"Had it be your war, you'd turn the realm against itself, the kingdoms receding from your Valyrian blood. I may not be Targaryen nor a fucking Prince, but I am the one the Queen entrusted with her hand" you told him sternly, hearing the steps of Erryk and Lorent enter the corridor.

"Who knows perhaps we may hear of House Arryn usurping the throne next. You forget yourself Y/n, there is always a reason Alicent ostracized you from conversation to get into Rhaenyra's head, you were the only one with sense; granted I believe now that you know how it is to have a cock inside you, you've lost it" Daemon insulted, looking to both you and Erryk.

You lost your temper at the insult, smacking the prince blankly in the face, "Your wife's son is dead! You do not wish to kill Aemond to avenge Lucerys's death you wish and desire for power, it kills you from the inside that your kin was slain not in the manner of grief but in the manner of ego!" you shouted, only earning a distressful look from the prince before he began to size you up, quickly wrapping his hand around your neck. Hearing a sword drawn from behind you as well seeing Daemon punched in the face, the sword of Lorent was drawn, the fist belonged to Erryk.

Upon the hour, you stood in your chambers to rest, Erryk had joined you. He examined your neck and the light bruising that painted your skin, now tender and ached.

"I would have killed him had I not sworn an oath to the Queen" Erryk spoke with venom laced in his tone, "Forgive me".

"For what?" you questioned, you had sat down on your bed as Erryk was standing between your legs, looking up at him.

"I fear loving me comes at an expensive price as the days pass seeing that it is not just oaths that prevent us from loving each other- body and soul".

You scoffed lightly before bringing the knight to his knees in order to be at eye-level with you, "I would take thousands of strangulations and petty insults to love you Erryk- body and soul", you kissed his lips once you saw the twinkle in his eye, only to be interrupted by the roars of Syrax, distinctive they were, signaling your cousin's return.

As Erryk and yourself hurried down into the war room, seeing everyone gather around the map of Westeros, Erryk taking his post and you taking your place on council. "Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the first of her name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm" Erryk begun to announce as Rhaenyra made her way into the room. Daemon being the first to greet her, asking if she had found solace and purpose now that she had found Luke, just as Syrax found Arrax, grieving mothers they were.

"I want Aemond Targaryen" were the only words your cousin spoke, pure hatred and anger laced in her voice to the near sound of her brother's name, as you all bowed, you had quickly followed your cousin to her chambers.

"Let's wash you up" you spoke softly, looking to Erryk who was walking strides behind you, you nodded, once again signaling that you both were sound.

Opening the door to Rhaenyra's chambers, you were met with the handmaids who had already drawn a warm bath. You quickly shut the door and began to help your cousin undress, her lightly shuddered, her jaw clenching and unclenching repeatedly, slight sobs left her mouth and goosebumps cascaded along her body. You looked to Elinda, simply entrusting her to handle your cousin from there. Speaking up to say, "I will be in my chambers, okay? Alert anyone if you wish to see me, I will be here immediately".

You walked out of your cousin's chambers, being met with Erryk who was taking the time to sharpen his sword. "May you help me?" you startled the knight by breaking the thick silence.

"Always, what is it my love?" he immediately responded without second thought.

You quickly guided him to your chambers, undressing as the water now grew ice cold from the bath the ladies drew for you hours ago. "I need you here, with me" you pointed to the water, "Please".

The knight looked uncertain before seeing your eyes coated in tears, he nodded before beginning to strip of his armor and his undergarments, your eyes seeing the scars that riddled his body clearer. Allowing him to enter the bath first before he guided and aided you to enter the water, his warm body helped ease you into the bath. His arms wrapped around your body as you went slack against him, the water painted your body like varnish, how beautiful you gleamed under the moonlight that peaked through your chambers. Your scent intoxicated him but, he did cloud his judgement, allowing himself to begin cleaning you, not missing any spot or curve of your body. You took the liberty to pepper kisses along his neck and chest, before choosing to kiss his lips yearningly.

With enough time having passed that of your love holding you, Erryk removed the soap with ease from your body before standing up and holding you securely to his chest, carrying you out of the water, your nipples perked and body shuddering from the coldness. He gently set you down on your bed before looking up at you, "Let me please you tonight my love", earning a nod of consent from you. His lips laid kisses along your body, his beard tickling parts of you that you were not aware could be tickled.

As his mouth made its way further down, the growing heat within your body soared as the knight then was met with your cunt. Kissing the inner portion of your thighs gracefully, earning a whine from your vocals, he saw it as an invitation to kiss the bud that sent blissful pleasure to your body all over. He quickly felt your cunt become wetter and wetter by the second, easing himself to licking your cunt with vigor, nibbling at your clit slightly to send yourself to disrepair. Moans left your mouth, you reached for Erryk's hand that laid on your stomach, as both of his arms secured themselves around your hips to prevent you from squirming. His beard sending you over the edge, as his nose teased the upper portion of your cunt and his tongue worked masterfully on your cunt. You reached your peak upon minutes, seeing white and a combination of stars. The man had known to pleasure you, body and soul.

[rachetmath]

Family

Ruby: F*** you!

Raven: F*** you!

Yang: F*** you!!

Raven: F*** you!!

Qrow: F*** you!!!

Jaune: Why are they screaming at each other?

Nora: I don’t know. Probably, because Raven abandoned them and is the worst mother ever.

Jaune: Isn’t that your mom then?

Nora: F*** you.

Jaune: Yep. Anyways… Yo!

RYBB: WHAT?!!!

Jaune: Can’t you all talk about this? You know like a family.

RYBB: f-

Jaune: Try me. Try me and see what happens. Understand, you all can be or are on my shit list. I already have my issues with my family. I already talked to Winter about hers. I will humble all of you. 

Raven: Look kid this has-

Jaune: It’s crazy how you know about family but abandoned your kin for a bunch of strangers.

Raven: … 

Jaune: It’s crazy how you’re your daughter's biggest stalker but just like one you can barely have a conversation with her.  And attempt to take her life the moment your views differ from one another.

Raven: … 

Jaune: It’s crazy how you risked your tribe, only to give the relic to your daughter, probably the only present you’ll ever give her out the years of her life. And what’s insane is you did all that because you didn’t want to deal with Salem even though she held your tribe hostage. Speaking of your tribe where are they now?

Raven: *silent*

Jaune: Sit you no leadership, die-hard shogun ass down.

Raven: *sit down*

Qrow: Well damn kid-

Jaune: Bitch I’m older than you now but even before that I was more man than you.

Qrow: Now hold-

Jaune: I will admit you showed up when Tyrian came. However, you want to know why I was pissed and made those assumptions?

Qrow: I mean I saved Ruby and your lives.

Jaune: Yeah. You were watching us from a distance. Good. But you were late. Which means when you were late we encountered Grimm. Now what could cause that?

Qrow: Um…

Jaune: You were drunk.

Qrow: Well-

Jaune: Back to the journey to Mistral and after you could have been more useful in almost every event.

Qrow: Woah kid I was-

Jaune: Dude when you couldn’t find any hunters, you didn’t even bother trying to help any of us improve. When we were trapped in a room with Salem's allies and your sister, your first thought was to stand around, do nothing, and find out.

Qrow: Okay b-

Jaune: Raven kicked your ass. Hazel punched your back out. And the only one you were protecting was Oscar. What happened to Ruby and Yang being your nieces? Speaking of Oscar didn’t you punch him in the face and never apologize for it?

Qrow: That was for Ozpin.

Jaune: In Oscar’s body, don't try to defend this. Suppose a huntsman saw that, would you not be arrested?

Qrow: Okay now that I think about it-

Jaune: Oh, and when Oscar went missing what the f*** were you doing? Getting drunk, again.

Qrow: I was having a hard time.

Jaune: Screw you.

Qrow: Well at least I didn’t endanger my friends.

Jaune: At least I didn’t get one of my friends killed. Like with Clover. Which I will say, great job in letting Tyrian escape. It’s crazy how even sober you are still an idiot. Also, you’re a fraud. Qrow: Well I-

Jaune: Like now there is no comparing us, I’ve been through more shit than you will ever imagine. And I wasn’t given a choice. You were. And that’s misfortunate. Your nieces almost died a couple of times and you weren’t there to help them. I was. God I’m starting to realize why your team is a mess and why, Tai, hates you. You are both a downer and a deadbeat. Pick a struggle.

Qrow: *silent and sits with Raven*

Jaune: *stares at Ruby and Yang*

Yang and Ruby: *sat down immediately*

Jaune: So what are you all going to do?

RYBB: Talk like a family.

Jaune: Good. Now you excuse me I need to write a letter to my mother who I am not on the best of terms, right now. Bye.

Nora: Jaune? Jaune, is there something you want to talk about? I’m openly available.

Jaune: F*** you too, Nora.

Qrow: How long was he on that island?

Ruby: Uncle Qrow, we had our first argument on that island.

Qrow: Oh… s***.

[lunalikestowriteanddraw]

I think Gricko was the first one to catch onto Kremy’s crush on Gideon, and I’m certain he caught on VERY early on into their friendship

Because, think about it. Gricko—as a Druid—is very in tune with nature, animals and beasts specifically. And Frost and Kremy (and hell, I’d even argue Torbek as well)—while being obviously different to their animal brethren—still have some connections to their beastial cousins. Even if it’s minor things, like Frost having some cat mannerisms (pushing things off of shelves, catching/eating small rodents, phasing in and out of existence whenever he pleases), or Kremy having some lizard/gator tendencies/anatomy (like the alligator death roll he did that one time, as well as most likely having a cloaca)

So like, imagine early on into their friendship (fuck, I’d say within the first week), Gideon would beat someone to death, and Kremy would let out a low bellow while watching him (because, let’s be honest here, Kremy totally gets off on Gideon punching people to death. Did you see how he kept trying to get people to call Gid a bitch during episode 28? That fight with Chuckles either awakened something in Kremy, or he was mentally saving that imagery to use for another day iykwim). Kremy may not even realize he’s doing it, but Gricko notices. Fuck, I’d say that Gricko’s hearing is so well tuned for animal sounds that he hears it, even when the others can’t.

So Gricko has his suspicions at this point, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he watches Kremy and Gideon interact—paying more attention to Kremy than Gideon. And at one point, I’d say during dinner or something, Gideon and Kremy are sitting beside each other, talking, and Kremy subtly bumps his snout against Gideon’s neck or under his jaw (since Gid doesn’t have a snout of his own, and is also slightly taller than Kremy). Not hard enough to really be noticeable or felt by Gideon. But Gricko notices.

And at first he thinks nothing of it. “It was probably an accident or something”. And then it happens again. And again. And again. This starts happening nightly, especially during meals, and sometimes several times during one meal.

Eventually, Gricko hunts Kremy down and asks him outright if he and Gideon are together. Kremy sputters and says the typical “oh, we’re just friends, a couple of guys, partners in crime” spiel. Gricko then asks Kremy if he WANTS to be Gideon’s partner, and Kremy says a bunch of other shit, but nothing he’s saying is a no. Kremy asks Gricko how he even got the idea of Kremy and Gideon being romantic partners, and Gricko points out all the very obvious signs, like the bellowing (“wait I…I mean, what the fuck are you talking about!?” Kremy asks, knowing exactly what Gricko means by the bellowing), the snout bumps (“well, I have to look up to make eye contact when he’s talking” Kremy argues. “Kremy, you were practically sitting in his lap and doing the snout bumps. It was very much intentional” Gricko rebuttals), and hell, Kremy’s tail wags like a fucking dogs whenever Gideon does as much as smile at the gatorkin.

I mean, why else would GRICKO of all people be one of the biggest Coalecroux shippers within the party. Yeah, the other members know Kremy and Gideon’s VERY obvious feelings for each other, but the only ones actually trying to get the two together are Twig (who I’m pretty sure clocked them within the first hour) and Gricko. Except Gricko is slightly more subtle about it, because I imagine he is just trying to give Kremy a nudge in the right direction in confessing to Gid without explicitly getting in the way (if that makes sense?)

Idk man, I feel like Gricko would have a weirdly easy time reading Kremy and Frost compared to the others because of their connection to their animal kin and his connection to nature and animals/beasts in general

[chosoloz]

𓈒 ۫ ᧔ ᧓ ָ֢ muryo! ☕ ۫ 𖹭 ︵

🐈‍⬛ . . ! ♡ he/him , 9teen . ͏͏͏ ͏

♩⠀bttm , male reader ⠀ׂ ⠀ ㅤ᳥ ⁽ ´ ` ᳥ ᪲⁾

⌯ ABOUT ME .ᐟ

hi hi! i mainly post my works on ao3 (which are all just ship content) but the lack of male readers there makes eughh! the amount of female reader works i’ve resorted to reading is uncountable at this point so of course, i’m gonna start writing for myself. dw, i take requests just check my rules before you do! [a simple side note; i do also write dark content, i will be tagging it as such but just a slight heads up] "૮₍ •⤙•˶...

i am also absolutely up for moots !! i barely have any friends but you can chat or send me an ask if you wanna become moots with me; i probably like almost everything on the internet but just for conversation starters, here are my interests ::

⌯ ANIME/MANHWA.

saiki, jujutsu kaisen, blue lock, chainsaw man, lookism, manager kim, he is a high school girl, s-rank class i raised, quest supremacy, viral hit, true education, madoka magica, one piece, haikyuu (still on season one), when the killer falls in love, my father-in-law is my wife, killer peter, hunter x hunter, bleach, bungou stray dogs, kotaro lives alone, etc, etc..

⌯ BL’S.

dangerous convenience store, dear door, black mirror, double trap, kill me if you can, dreadful night, the pizza delivery man and the gold palace, the pawns revenge, bj alex, shutline, the best luck of my life, topsy-turvy, taming the tiger, stranger, crucial point, punch drunk love, etc, etc. (get out of here with codename anastasia, roses and champagne and jinx cause y'all fucked in the head 🗣️)

⌯ CHARACTER I KIN.

shoko, megumi, hange, saiki, reo, tenya, kaminari, atsushi, daniel park, hobin.

have fun reading my works 😜 !!

[errihaienx]

HQ CAPTAINS : when someone tries to flirt with them ♡

(pre-timeskip , aged up characters)

quick disclaimer: these scenarios don't affect the original plot of the series. any information or events that contradict the original plot are purely fictional. (i do not own any of the characters)

warning: could be suggestive (Terushima's) and some inappropriate/cuss words

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: ʙᴏᴋᴜᴛᴏ, ᴜꜱʜɪᴊɪᴍᴀ, ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ, ᴏɪᴋᴀᴡᴀ, ᴋɪᴛᴀ, ᴅᴀɪᴄʜɪ, & ᴛᴇʀᴜꜱʜɪᴍᴀ (ɪɴ ᴏʀᴅᴇʀ) ꜱɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: ʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴀᴄᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴛʀɪᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜰʟɪʀᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ

Doesn't really notice that someone is trying to flirt with him, or to be blunt he doesn't care. 

But he will unknowingly embarrass the girl

"Eh? Why are you clinging your hands– Oh! Y/n is always like that to me omfg she's so cute."

Your name can be heard all the time, so the bitches won't stand a chance. Every person he sees and interacts with fails to grab his entire attention since all he can think about is his woman.

If a girl comes up to him he'll think of: "Woah that hairstyle doesn't look good on this girl, OMG DID I JUST IMAGINED MY BABY WITH THAT HAIR?! SHE'S SO DAMN FINE IM GOING NUTS" he'll be smiling and the girl might think that it was because of her :/

NO. JUST NO.

But okay, if someone will approach him he will walk out. But of course, if it's an important matter he will respond. And his response will be very dry

"I do not give my number so easily for Y/n's peace of mind, I shall take my leave."

Then he'll march his way to you, giving you a little smile acting like he didn't broke someone's heart just a minute ago.

He's a cute flirt only to you though

So girls be throwing themselves at him, but he doesn't give a fuck.

If someone will talk to him especially when it's a girl, openly showing their attraction towards him, he will converse with them and if they'd confess or ask him if he's available he will politely reject them.

"You always look hot Kuroo-san..."

"Thanks"

"How about we meet–"

"I am already deeply in love with someone. please excuse me."

He then turns around smirking, he's thinking of bragging it to you. He just wanna see your annoyed jealous face, he assures you that you're the only one for him. 

Oh please the guy literally have fans

His supporters actually knows about his relationships, like every girl's name that he dated has their name and 'stats' on his fans' memos. The fans also concluded that his typical dating period with someone is 2-3 months.

He's very alluring, and he's also welcoming and so people think it's okay for them to flirt with him. 

You had a couple of arguments with him about this matter. And because he doesn't want that, he will try his best to avoid them.

"Oikawa-san! My birthday is coming could you go out with me?"

"Ohoho, Happy birthday! But I don't want to sleep outside so.......I won't. You can have Iwa-chan right here-"

*/got punched by hajime

Despite of being straightforward, blunt, and gives off idgaf-with-your-feelings vibes he's still popular with girls

Even if the girl isn't done talking he'll leave immediately

He will simply tell them that he's in a relationship already, but that doesn't solve the situation. It ignites the girlies' desire to have him even more. He then eventually thought of a way on how he'll get rid of those kind of situations by involving one of the twins.

"You can ask me to be your date when Atsumu finally decided to leave volleyball alone."

"B-but Kita-san isn't that i-impossible?"

"That's the point."

The man is fine as  fuck so the girlies love him

He will politely turn down them, you know. Your man is good 😌✨✨

"You are the karasuno's Captain, right? Oh my! The whole team's hot but of course the captain is way more-"

"Ah, no... Please spare me."

Some even visit his afternoon club practices just to interact with him, taking advantage of the fact that you are not in the same school as him.

This mf is a chick magnet

He has a habit of sticking out his tongue, and that's where his piercing prevails and with that girls flock around him. 

He kinda likes the attention but of course, he's only yours. you two had arguments about this too but with terushima's personality you just gave up and told him that as long as the girls respect his boundaries as someone's man it is fine for you. 

"OhmYgOsh tOnGuE pIerCiNg!?!? I bEt tHaT pIerCinG cOulD dO sO mUcH~ iT's  sO cOoL!"

"I know right!?! I can make Y/n scream with just this!"

"Lucky Y/n!"

"No no no no! I'm the lucky one, heck I love her so much!!"

[starstruckwillows]

♡ try again - f.w ♡

requested by @reasontobebeautiful <3

fred weasley x slytherin!reader, pureblood!reader, platonic!sirius black x reader, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, swearing

sirius black ensuring fred weasley doesn't make the same mistakes he saw many war-stricken kids make

there’d been a cruel edge to his words that he hadn’t quite meant.

fred’s scathing indictment of your family wasn’t any different to the things you usually said about your kin, and it didn’t bother you for others to agree. but to be part of that perception was probably your worst fear.

you’d been so excited turning up at the doorstep of grimmauld place, suitcase in hand, bright beam gracing your face.

fred had frowned. he’d been ignoring the way your smile made him feel for a long time.

“why are we having death-eaters round for christmas dinner?”

molly had scolded her son then, “george! i mean, fred!”

he’d rolled his eyes, mumbling, “might as well get her whole family out and kill some muggles for the christmas spirit.”

it was the association. your family were one way, you must be too.

maybe that’s how it was for the weasleys, at least four generations of ginger gryffindors shooting for the stars in their respective fields. ministry, dragons, pranks, quidditch.

maybe that’s how it looked for you, at least four generations of slytherins serving whichever tyrannical supremacist reigned at the time.

you found a lot of your time was spent trying to convince people that wasn’t you. but gina lomotey, whose dad had once punched professor snape, didn’t have to walk around assuring people she didn’t attack teachers. and kosi berry, whose parents had a short lived music career, never had to explain she had no interest in singing.

reene west’s mum hijacked a broom race, ford green’s dad did a stint in muggle prison, carson denny’s eldest brother lived full time in st mungos due to an unhealthy obsession with lions.

none of them faced half the crap you did for their bloodlines.

sirius had come to see you, heard you vent about this once again.

“and it’s almost like... i mean i’m not saying you had it easier, you didn’t, it was worse for you in different ways. but, it’s like i have to work so hard to prove i don’t have my families prejudice, because i am a slytherin. you had the argument of a different house to help your case, in school anyway. but i wear the same colour robes my family did, so people never believe me.”

somehow your feelings for fred were brought to the surface of the conversation. maybe that’s what made it harder.

“i’m so tired of having to make them believe me. i’m not a bad person.”

so you didn’t grovel, and try to prove your innocence, because you were well and truly tired of being pre-judged. it wasn’t as if the two of you met on a battlefield. sirius had invited you here. dumbledore approved, he trusted you. you’d never given fred a reason to dislike you.

the boy in question, banished to the other side of the house by his own anger (and shame), was glowering at a wall.

his mum told him his response had been impolite. george told him he was smack out of line.

he knew they were right.

especially when sirius, a man fred had got on with well, had knocked on the door, greeting him with a slight scowl.

“i want you to apologize.”

no beating around the bush.

“i’m not sorry.” lie. you sound like a petulant child.

“yes you are.”

fred blinked.

“i am old enough to recognize the feelings of teenagers. i spent seven years watching my friends fall in and out and in again with love. i watched james pine for lily, i watched them fight. i watched marlene and dorcas take five years to get over their differences.”

fred jested, "sounds creepy.”

sirius smiled, but continued his story, “do you know what marlene and dorcas’ main difference was?"

he shrugged.

“marlene was a gryffindor, dorcas a slytherin, and it took them a good fraction of their lives to move past that. they died young. they spent more time denying their feelings for a school, house rivarly, than the time they got to spend loving each other. we’re approaching a war again, kid. don’t repeat their mistakes. take it from me.”

fred remained uncharacteristically silent for a few minutes, and although it was unsettling, sirius stayed. it was clear the boy had questions.

“your family were death-eaters.”

sirius nodded.

“but they rejected you, for being in the wrong house.”

“correct.”

“if... you’d been a slytherin, and they accepted you... would you have rebelled? or would you have become a death-eater.”

sirius shrugged, “i know why you’re asking, but i have no answer for you. if i was in a different house, i would have a different character, and any alternate character would mean very different decisions. all i can tell you is i know her. you don’t, yet. she is not her bloodline. she's cunning, and ambitious, but her ambition is not to participate in genocide. talk to her. you might be surprised at what you find.”

fred had made up his mind. sirius was right, and he wanted to know you. he wanted to see your stupidly pretty smile, he wanted to cause it, and he wanted to know your favourite things. he wanted to know what made you feel, what made you sleep. he wanted to talk to you.

which proved incessantly difficult, because you were avoiding him like dragonpox. every once in a while, he would catch your eye and you'd blink rapidly before looking away, fiddling with your sleeves.

christmas day rolled around a few days on, and fred still had yet to successfully get you alone. as everyone begun unwrapping their presents, he was only staring at you, waiting for a reaction, hoping you'd know the unlabelled gift was from him.

you did, eyes widening and shooting up to find him in the room, visibly taken aback.

“do you like it?” he mouthed, tilting his head as the firm grip of insecurity tightened his chest.

with your lips slightly parted in surprise, you nodded your head. the same feeling lay at the base of your heart, wondering if it was going to turn out to be a prank.

he jerked his chin towards the kitchen, question in his eyes, and tried to not take your hesitation to heart. especially as you stood up and walked his line of sight. when he was sure nobody else was paying attention, he followed you.

“hey...” he rubbed the back of his neck, the awkwardness between you heavy in the air.

but fred was fred and he still kept eye contact, a steady voice, an easy stance.

“i’m sorry.”

you shrug, “okay.”

the word is uttered so nonchalantly, as though your stomach wasn’t erupting with unruly butterflies.

“do you... could you forgive me?”

“maybe. if you mean it.”

he nodded, “i do. i’d like to know you, actually know you, not think i do.”

“i’d like that.”

—

taglist:

@anordinarymuse @ell0ra-br3kk3r @kingshitonly

[kittievampire]

Kin of the Demon Prince

Warnings : Cursing, Smut, Childhood Trauma, Mention of drugs, Mention of alcohol, Angst, MC is a fuckin unit, Female MC, Pregnant MC, Single Mom MC, MC x Diavolo

Link to part 2

Link to part 3

Link to part 4

Link to part 5

Link to part 6

Link to part 7

Link to part 8

Link to part 9

Summary: After a passionate night and tearful goodbye between Lord Diavolo and MC, she finds out that she is pregnant with his child soon after her return to the human realm. She had planned on telling her lover the news, but receives a horrible response. This leads to her raising her child on her own in the human realm. However, as Solomon’s cloaking spell wears thin, and Diavolo is made aware of his beloved and child, the truth unravels itself. Enjoy.

Your whole life had been a train wreck. 

You had the misfortune of being born into a family with very little. Your father was in and out of jail, your mother was either drunk or high a majority of the time, and you were left to raise yourself. When your family decided to be part of your life, you became so used to the abuse, you didn’t think twice about the number of bruises you had on your body. 

Your teen years weren’t any better. While you did not partake in any violent or illegal activities, you were surrounded by such things, whether it be your friends or family taking part. 

You were focused on your studies for the most part, finding any reason to stay on the school campus because you didn’t feel safe at home. However, you weren’t exactly safe outside either. People were violent.

To survive, you had to adapt. 

You couldn’t afford to be a pacifistic quiet kid, so you became a quiet kid who knew how to throw a punch. That didn’t mean you enjoyed it, though.

Eventually, you had become so attached to your grades, solely for the purpose of leaving that hellhole you called home. After you turned 18, however, your entire world changed.

That’s when you were sent to the Devildom for an exchange program. You were greeted by a man with tan skin and red hair, his golden eyes glowing as he smiled down at you. Beside him was a man in all black, red eyes piercing your figure. “Welcome, human!” The man in red spoke loudly, causing you to internally cringe in annoyance. “The fuck is going on?” You huffed out, completely disregarding the man’s greeting. “Language, human,” The man in black spoke, earning a small chuckle from the man in red. “Relax, Lucifer. It’s obvious she is quite spooked from the journey down here. Apologies, human, I foolishly neglected to introduce myself and my partner here. I am Diavolo, Prince of the Devildom. This is Lucifer, and those men at his side are his brothers.”

You remember it like it was yesterday. For it was the day you met the love of your life. 

You didn’t have a lot of trouble adapting to life in the Devildom. The same rules applied down there as they did where you lived. Always look like you know where you’re going, always watch your back, be home by a certain time, and never go outside past dark. 

Diavolo would always find reasons to invite you to his castle. Whether it be for tea, exposing him to human culture, or "reviewing" human and Devildom movies. Those nights, you usually ended up falling asleep with one of his arms wrapped around you.

Despite this, that redhead continued to appear out of nowhere to make sure you were adjusting to life here. At first, you’d try to keep conversations with him as short as possible, but he was persistent in getting so personal with you. You couldn’t make any sense of it. However, there were a few times when he’d gotten you out of trouble.

All your life you had no one protecting you from making bad decisions, but Diavolo spoke to you about such things in a way that didn't make you feel like a child. At the same time, however, it soothed the scared little girl that you used to be, just the slightest.

He was always so open about his feelings. That's what you loved about him. You wished you could do the same, but it was just so difficult for you.

You'll never forget the day you asked him out. Finally.

"MC, I didn't expect to see you here," Diavolo called out as he entered the room you and Barbatos were in. The butler had just set down the warm tea in front of the two of you and dismissed himself as soon as the young prince was seated to give you two some space.

"O-Oh! Yeah! I-I, uh... Just kinda figured I'd... You know, stop by." You stammered out, immediately slapping yourself internally for sounding like such a dork. You felt especially awkward when Diavolo stared at you and took a sip of his tea. "I... I have something to s-say..." You said softly, composing yourself as much as you can. However, the situation becomes too intense and you found yourself infatuated with the artwork on your teacup.

Diavolo wasn't an airhead. Well, not completely, at least. He had an idea of what this was about, but he continued to feign ignorance, despite the shit-eating grin he wore on his face. "Yes, my darling?" He spoke softly, causing you to shiver in delight.

The moment you caught his gaze, you decided that if you thought about it any more than you already have, nothing would be done about these feelings you had for him. You knew exactly how he felt about you, he told you almost every day how much he loves you, despite the flustered cursing as a response. "I love you, Diavolo!" You declared, your eyes screwed shut.

Diavolo let out a relieved sigh. "My little human, my darling MC," He stood, gently grasping her wrist and lifting her to her feet so he could embrace her. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear those words!" You were trembling a bit in his arms, the result of your stress just a few seconds before. You looked up at him, placing a hand on his cheek as you gazed into his soft, loving, gold eyes. Slowly, your lips met in a tender kiss. This first kiss lived in your mind for the next few years.

Soon, the time came to leave the Devildom, for good this time. The night before your departure, the two of you found yourselves unable to let go of each other. Your fingers intertwined with his as you moved your hips up and down, letting out loud moans in pleasure as the tip of his manhood kissed your cervix. Diavolo grunted softly. “Fuck, MC…” You whined in response, loving the way your name sounded in his mouth. “Dia… m’gonna miss you,” You whimpered as you quickened your pace. The demon smiled up at you. “My love, I will move the Devildom and the Heavens to see you again in this lifetime. I promise I will come to visit you. As frequently as possible.” He groaned a bit after his sentence as his free hand gripped your hip, thrusting upwards at a brutal pace. “F-Fuck, Dia!” You cried out his name as your orgasm racked through your body, his thrusting remaining unfettered as he continued to seek out his climax as well. You leaned down and pressed your lips against his, a more sensual and needy kiss, as you know you won’t be getting one for a long time. You felt the warmth of his seed filling your womb and he held your hips still, groaning into the kiss before pulling away. He reached up, placing his hand on the back of your head and pulling you towards him so your forehead rested on his. "My darling Queen. I'll see you again. Hopefully, we'll be able to make your place in my kingdom official..." He said softly, gently caressing your ring finger with his thumb and index.

Once you got back to the human realm, you'd left your neighborhood and moved into a safer suburban area. Solomon would visit quite often, him being your easiest way to contact the Devildom. However, after you'd left, Diavolo had gotten busier, according to Solomon. Whenever you tried to get a hold of him, there'd be no answer. But when you needed him most was right now.

Your neighbor was worried about your sickness and suggested the idea that you were pregnant. You took a pregnancy test, sitting down on the floor of your bathroom. You bit down on your thumbnail, not knowing how long you were supposed to wait or if you were even supposed to wait at all. Maybe you should've gone to a hospital? Your eyes landed on the pregnancy test that was slightly visible on the counter top, a shaking hand reaching up and grabbing it.

You were pregnant.

Once you held it in front of you, you felt your heart drop for a moment. You stared at the positive pregnancy test, taking a moment to process.

With Diavolo's baby. Your beloved. Your heart fluttered and a smile formed on your face as tears welled up in your eyes. A baby. Half you, half him. You placed a hand on your stomach and allowed your tears to fall.

_

Solomon's eyes widened at the news, Florentine blue eyes looking down at your stomach and then back at your face. He paused for a moment before smiling. "Wow. That's great, MC!" He said, earning an eager nod from you in agreement. "This is amazing!" You exclaimed, "I wonder what Diavolo will say. He's mentioned that he wanted kids before, so I think it's safe to assume that he'd be pleased, yes?"

Solomon paused once more.

"Yes. I couldn't imagine him reacting any other way to the news. Would you like me to relay the information to him?" "As soon as possible!" You excitedly say, placing a hand on your stomach once more.

"Let me know his reaction. Every single detail! I wanna know what he says and how he looks like when he hears the news!" You clasped your hands together in excitement. You knew that Diavolo wanted kids, but he never really asked you to carry his child. He knew that a human carrying and giving birth to a demon child would be very difficult, and he didn't think it was a part of your agenda. At least, not yet.

Solomon smiled at you. "I see. I will relay as much detail to you as I can."

_

It had been about a month since then. You hadn't seen Solomon in a while, but you figured he got a bit busy. Nonetheless, you kept yourself busy as well. You were offered maternity leave, so you mainly stayed at home. Even though it was so early in your pregnancy, you couldn't help but start buying baby clothes and items. Red and gold onesies, pacifiers, and little bat toys. Life was going rather well.

Solomon finally visited. You were ecstatic when you opened the door to find him there. However, the smile on your face faded once you saw his. He looked troubled. "Solomon... Is everything okay?" You asked softly, stepping aside to let him in. He walked inside and you closed the door behind him.

"I don't have much time, MC. I had somewhere to be soon, but I have to tell you this while I have the window of free time..." Solomon spoke softly. "You might want to sit down."

You swallowed the lump of saliva that formed in your throat. Your anxiety spiked as you sat down on the couch in front of him. Solomon placed his hand on the back of his neck and sighed softly. "How... Do I put this...?" He asked himself. You fiddled with your hands, not really knowing what to do with yourself. "Solomon, just tell me," You begged slightly.

Slowly, his eyes looked up to meet yours.

"I told him the news..." He started slowly. Your heart raced. If he heard the news then why was he acting this way? Wasn't this supposed to be a joyous event?

Solomon clenched his jaw before seemingly forcing himself to spit out the next part.

"He said... He didn't want anything to do with you anymore..."

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[k-liight]

some random Mojo Jojo headcanons because I've been brainrotting over him so much lately

he's very well-groomed and takes good care of his hygiene- probably uses the fanciest fucking shampoo to make his fur nice and soft, keeps his hands moisturized (the gloves prevent him from getting them dirty), hell maybe he even uses those face masks with the cucumbers over his eyes and everything LOL

at the same time though he doesn't mind getting his hands dirty if it means his work comes out better- sometimes if he's working on something in minute detail he'll take the gloves off so he gets things more precise

he'll never admit this but he enjoys dressing up and donning disguises whenever the situation calls for it. he's a fashionable monke

sometimes he has to be forced to have fun because he's usually so focused on his work that he feels he doesn't have enough time to let loose. he can be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud sometimes even if he denies it

at the same time though being evil kinda is his idea of fun which like... yes but also no. he gets so stressed out by constantly trying to keep up with the Puffs somebody help him-

on a related note, he's a good dancer but it's not exactly something he brags about often

and if he lets himself, he will kill it at karaoke

his passion is so strong that he never half-asses anything he does, he always puts his heart and soul into it even if he doesn't really want to do the thing LOL he always has to flex at every opportunity

he isn't aware of his tendency to repeat himself/paraphrase the same thing he just said- he is, however, fully aware of the fact that he overexplains everything and, as shown in Mo'Linguish, considers such speech more proper and eloquent than simple sentences where one could more easily be misunderstood or misheard

he actually is a good chef and skilled at the hibachi- he just doesn't make the kind of food that children typically enjoy (hence why the Puffs didn't care for the fish and shrimp he cooked for them LOL)

I like to think that, because he got to be the way he is due to the same Chemical X-plosion (haha) that created the Puffs, he can occasionally gain some of their same powers- most notably flight- but he can't control it as it only happens when he really loses his temper and flies into a fit of rage. this would explain how he suddenly appears able to fly and punch the shit outta a giant alien robot in Forced Kin lmao

however, he's already stronger than he looks even without any sudden effects of Chemical X; he can easily lift things that are more than even his own weight

personally I like to think he's more built than the cartoon lets on- he's not insanely ripped of course but like, I feel his legs would be a bit thicker than they're drawn to be (I know he's meant to have an exaggerated top-heavy design but shush) and if you squeezed his arm you'd feel some pretty solid muscles under all that fur. this monke is fit

this is something else he'll never admit but he loooooooves being complimented. tell him how good he is at his villainy and mans is just glowing

he enjoys classical music but he also likes oldies crooners (think Frank Sinatra or Harry Belafonte) and early rock n' roll from the 50s. he's not entirely sure why he enjoys the likes of Elvis Presley or Chuck Berry but he just does

he likes to take things apart just to see how they work. he's a naturally curious chimp, okay?

despite his villainous nature, Mojo Jojo is, if you can believe it, a gentleman at heart- if you get on his good side and treat him with basic respect he will repay you and then some

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

Allow me to introduce,,,,,,, the Sea Monster AU,,

(can also be thought of as ‘selkie au, but Afton’d, sort of’)

The premise: Reader is a selkie that was tricked and wounded by a group of scumbag sailors who wanted their sealskin, and in an attempt to save their own life, they fought back, ripping the entire crew of the ship to shreds. In their fatally wounded state, they find themselves changed and warped into something no longer their kin: a monster warped by shapeshifting and the magic of the sea to survive their tragic circumstances.

They are later found unconscious amongst the wreckage of the boat by Pirate Eclipse, who, curious, takes them in and treats their wounds. When they wake they are afraid, skittish, and loathsome of what they have become. Eclipse feels empathy at their struggle, and over the course of their healing, the two become close and eventually, ofc, fall in love!

(More concept art below the cut, tw for blood and such)

Some extra tidbits:

Eclipse is an infamous pirate! Sun and Moon are respectable sailors and have no interest in associating with him.

SeaMonster-Reader thinks they are hideous- a horrible, ugly monster, and a murderer on top of that. They often hide themselves in sheets or large clothes, both to bring back a similar feeling as their (now lost forever) selkie skin and to shield their appearance from the world.

Eclipse thinks they are beautiful. He tells them so very often. They are easily overwhelmed by his affections and get emotional a lot. He thinks this is very cute.

Not long after they start bonding, an enemy crew attacks Eclipse’s ship. Seamonster Reader attacks instantly and viciously as soon as they detect the hostility, tackling the opposing captain over the edge of the boat and dragging him down below the water. Several seconds later, they claw their way up the side of the ship and attack the second in command, claws and fangs dripping with sea water and red, frothy blood.

Eclipse, of course, thinks this is hot

The opposing crew flees and stories start to spread of a pirate who keeps a blood thirsty half-man beast alongside his ship, a thing that can crack a hole into the belly of a ship or rip man in two.

Eclipse is pleased to be feared, but is outraged that people describe Reader as a hideous animal-like thing, and counters their tales with stories of his sea-folk lover, beautiful and precious and made by the sea with loving care, a force of life and love

One of the first words seamonster-Reader learns to say is ‘you’, then ‘thank you’. The first time they say Eclipse’s name, he is sucker punched by Cupid’s arrow

Eclipse he loves to soothe seamonster Reader, rubbing their back or touching their fins. Reader is flustered by this, but trusts Eclipse and eventually starts to enjoy it, sometimes (timidly) seeking it out. Eclipse wants to smother them in kisses every time they do

Eclipse calls them his beauty, or angelfish. Seamonster Reader calls him ‘Clipse’ or sea star

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

birthday countdown 2024, day 2: pre-canon with uta snippet

the countdown keeps counting down, the days getting away from me… somehow, there are only two days left until my birthday! 🎉🎉 today, i have for you a bit of buggy pov on the story i’ve been calling the pre-canon uta fic:

“Buggy.  ’S this a dream?” Buggy gives him a flat look.  “You dream about me a lot?” Shanks shrugs, and nearly tips over.  “Now and then.” Sighing, Buggy hoists one of Shanks’ arms over his shoulder and starts marching them along the road back to the port.  “Sure, it’s a dream.  You fucked up, got hurt bad and can’t get back to your ship, and now you’ve gotta rely on the kindness of strangers to keep you and your kid from getting killed or, at the very least, screwed over.  Why not imagine good ol’ Uncle Buggy coming to your rescue?” Shanks snorts, leaning heavily against Buggy.  “Now I know it isn’t a dream.” “Oh?”  Buggy gives Shanks a curious glance out of the corner of his eye. Shanks stays silent for long enough that Buggy wonders if he’s passed out.   Then, quietly, he says, “In my dreams she doesn’t call you ‘Uncle Buggy.’”

(800 words below the cut)

“Hey!” the kid yells at a red-headed figure slumped against the wall of an unimportant alleyway, a hand pressed over one eye.  This must be Daddy Dearest.  “Are you sleeping?!  Look, I found a captain who said he could take us!”  She tugs at Buggy’s arm like she hasn’t seen it pop off, all but dragging him to her dad’s side.

Buggy wriggles free of the kid’s grip.  “Yeah, uh, hey kid, why don’t you scram for a minute, let me and your old man handle the topic of…” The red-head looks up, and fuck Buggy’s entire life, he’s not a red-head, he’s the red-head.

He’s Shanks.

They stare at each other for a long, silent moment, before Buggy remembers to finish his thought. “…payment.”

“Okay…”  The kid doesn’t understand the weird energy here—of course she doesn’t, why the hell would Shanks tell his kid about Buggy—but, looking for something useful to do, she grabs their supplies (Shanks’ sword, Shanks’ coin purse, and a cute little backpack no doubt full of a kid’s idea of important supplies, like toys and candy) and says, “Then I’ll just… take our stuff to your ship, Captain Buggy.”  Frowning at the stare down, she says, “He’s… he’s gonna be okay, right?”

Not looking at her, Buggy says, “Oh, he’d better be.”  She runs off.  Once she’s out of earshot, Buggy mutters, “Fuck’s sake, Shanks, what the hell happened to you?”

Shanks shrugs, feigning nonchalance.  “Oh, you know, got into a fight I wasn’t sure I could win from the start.”

Buggy tsks, peeling back the bundle of cotton Shanks has balled up over his eye.  He gives the three parallel cuts a knowing look, replaces the cotton, and strips his glove to press a bare hand to Shanks’ forehead.  “How many times did I tell you that guy was a monster?  If this isn’t infected already…”

“Not enough times, I guess,” Shanks mumbles, swaying dangerously on his feet.  “Buggy.  ’S this a dream?”

Buggy gives him a flat look.  “You dream about me a lot?”

Shanks shrugs, and nearly tips over.  “Now and then.”

Sighing, Buggy hoists one of Shanks’ arms over his shoulder and starts marching them along the road back to the port.  “Sure, it’s a dream.  You fucked up, got hurt bad and can’t get back to your ship, and now you’ve gotta rely on the kindness of strangers to keep you and your kid from getting killed or, at the very least, screwed over.  Why not imagine good ol’ Uncle Buggy coming to your rescue?”

Shanks snorts, leaning heavily against Buggy.  “Now I know it isn’t a dream.”

“Oh?”  Buggy gives Shanks a curious glance out of the corner of his eye.

Shanks stays silent for long enough that Buggy wonders if he’s passed out.   Then, quietly, he says, “In my dreams she doesn’t call you ‘Uncle Buggy.’”

Buggy stops in his tracks.  “The hell?  Why not?”  Is he not good enough to be family to Shanks’ kin?  The thought hurts unexpectedly, like a haki-infused punch after years of East Blue weaklings.

Shanks laughs and immediately winces.  “Never mind.”  He sighs, and sags against Buggy, hiding his wounded eye from passerby in a way that makes Buggy look like a sailor escorting a drunken crew mate back to their ship.  Perfect.  You’d almost think he planned it that way.

Buggy walks them up to the Big Top to see the kid arguing with Cabaji, both hands wrapped defensively around her father’s sword (which is longer than she is tall, so it’s quite a feat).

“It’s not for sale!” she insists.

“Come on, kid,” Cabaji says, leaning over her and leering.  He’s still pretty green, but he knows a good sword when he sees one.  “You’re the one who said you needed a ride, and passengers have to pay…”

“Leave it, Cabaji,” Buggy snaps.

Cabaji jumps to attention.  “Captain!  I was just—this kid—” He sees the stranger bleeding on Buggy’s shoulder and shuts up.

“This kid and I have already arranged for her and her father to travel with us,” Buggy explains, nudging the kid further up the gangplank with the side of his foot. She sidles around Cabaji, sticking her tongue out at him.  “Hey, none of that, brat!  You’re sailing with me, you respect my officers.”

She scowls, but nods, and gives Cabaji a mumbled apology.  “Sorry.  But he shouldn’t have tried to take the sword!”

Buggy rolls his eyes.  “He’s a pirate, kid, that’s exactly what he should’ve done.”

She holds onto the sword ever tighter, giving Buggy a suspicious look.

He cackles.  “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not gonna take it from you.  I know how your dad works, he’s too honor-bound to not pay me what he owes.”  Over his shoulder, he says, “Tell Mohji to find me, and then get us off this island ASAP.  The Marines haven’t spotted us yet, and with these two aboard we really don’t want them to.”  Back to the kid: “Come on, I’ll set you two up in our sick room.”

[projectionistwrites]

EQUIFINALITY | WINTER

PART ONE, sequel to GESTALT

Joel Miller x afab!reader (7.3k+)

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: angst, grief, mentions of death and injury, age gap (not mentioned), reader is kinda harsh, no smut in this part DISCLAIMER: although this is a continuation of my series titled GESTALT, it could potentially be read as a standalone. however, i strongly suggest reading the first series to provide context for the reunion and background on the relationships between the characters. ALSO, before any joel apologists come after my head, i LOVE mister joel miller but this chapter does kind of call him out on his bullshit. try to contextualize everything with the events of the first series and remember where the reader is coming from before getting mad at me. :) NOTES: this part takes place during episode six of the last of us tv series, titled “kin.” the next installments will occur after the finale episode, when ellie and joel return to jackson.

next part →

43.4799° N, 110.7624° W.

Good luck, cowboy.

Joel’s fingers fiddled with the softening, worn edges of the cockled scrap of paper in his jacket pocket. Ellie was packing up her things further back in the cave, the crackling of the fire between them settling into a pile of smoldering embers and cinders as the sun began to rise. He didn’t need to take the note out again to know what it said—he had the entire thing committed to memory by now. He’d been mulling the numbers and letters over in his head for months, nagging at the back of his brain and gnawing an ulcer of uncertainty into his stomach.

They’d reach the coordinates within the next day. They were close. Just across the bridge over the River of Death, or whatever Ellie had taken to calling it. He wasn’t sure what they’d find—maybe Tommy and a small group, alive and well; or maybe Tommy, cold and alone; or worse, Tommy in an unmarked grave, six feet under the frigid tundra soil.

But cowboy.

The nickname felt like a punch straight to the gut, and shotgun shell straight through his chest. The message had come in three weeks after Tommy had stopped responding to his transmissions—Joel had already been planning on packing up and heading West from Boston to search for him, but he figured he’d stop to check once more with Abe. Maybe Tommy had finally responded, maybe he was alright.

But when he’d marched through the line of people in the cramped hallway and slipped the parcel of cigarettes across the table to the man in question, he was actually surprised to hear that he had, in fact, received a response.

It just wasn’t from Tommy.

“Listen, Joel, this is good news, isn’t it?”

Abe had asked, watching Joel over his thick-rimmed glasses as his eyes swept over the note in this hands.

“How d’you know it wasn’t Tommy?”

Joel breathed lowly, his chest feeling tight. The scrawled letters on the paper in his fingers were all jumbling together in his mind, eyes losing focus.

“Because I do. Came in late the other night. No signoff, no updates, no name. What you have in front of you is all I got.”

Joel’s head was swimming. Was this some sick fucking game? Would Tommy really stoop so low, to manipulate him into a false sense of hope by using that nickname, just so he’d follow in his footsteps?

“Look, Joel.”

Abe sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He leaned forward conspiratorially, taking a drag from his smoke.

“Those coordinates—I did some digging.”

He gestured for Joel to retrieve his map, and he obliged, laying it out flat on the desk in front of him. Abe picked up a dull pencil and prepared to mark.

“It ain’t too far off from where Cody Tower is—where the messages have been comin’ in from your brother.”

He made a small dot on the paper, somewhere in the middle of Wyoming.

“—and those coordinates, over here.”

He swiped another pencil stroke a short distance away, across the river on the map. He looked up at Joel.

“All open country, out there. No telling what you’ll find, and we don’t even know who it’s from—”

“Thanks.”

Joel had muttered, and it was the closest thing to gratitude Abe had ever received from the man as he stormed back out the door, the note clutched tightly in his right hand.

And now he was here. Cody Tower had been a ghost town. All these miles, all these months—he’d lost Tess, and Bill and Frank, and Henry and Sam. There was a lingering doubt in his throat—he’s come all this way. What if he didn’t find what he was looking for? What if—what if this had all been for nothing?

This wasn’t just about Tommy anymore. But then again—it never really had been, had it?

“So... who’s Y/N?”

Joel’s blood ran cold. His grip on the sniper tightened as his neck snapped around. Ellie was staring at him expectantly, fingers wrapped around the straps of her canvas backpack. His lips pressed into a line.

“The hell did you hear that name?”

A shadow crossed over his face, but Ellie knew better than to be intimidated. Still, she could tell she’d struck a nerve. She trekked forward, bumping into him playfully as she passed.

“You still mumble in your sleep. Say it a lot.”

Joel slung his backpack over his shoulder, tucking his leather jacket into the strap as he and Ellie trudged onward through the snow.

“…was she someone special?”

The insinuation in her tone was hard to miss. Joel swallowed. Months ago, he would’ve shut her down completely, probably chided the girl and iced her out, but now, after everything, he just sighed.

“Just someone I used to know.”

She knew better than to press any further. If the tick of his jaw was any indication, she had to tread lightly on the subject. They continued in silence of awhile, snow packing beneath the weight of their heavy boots, before Joel spoke again.

“S’was my neighbor. Lived next door, back home.”

“In Boston?”

Joel blew out something reminiscent of a chuckle, scratching his head.

“No. No, in—in Texas. Before—all this.”

“Hard to believe there was ever a before.”

Ellie muttered, and Joel hummed in agreement.

“Yeah. Was a long time ago. Doesn’t matter anymore.”

The girl's eyes narrowed as she watched him in her periphery.

“Seems like it still matters to me.”

Joel gave her a hard look, but she smiled innocently up at him, widening her gait just a bit to put some distance between them. He let out a long sigh, running a tired hand down his face. It didn’t matter—it shouldn’t matter. But he still tasted your name on his lips; still heard your laughter in the back of his mind, mingling with the innocent giggles of his late daughter; could still see the tears flooding your eyes and spilling down your cheeks as you fell to your knees before him, sobbing for him to stay, Joel, please, I am begging you, don’t do this, I love you, please—

They’d reached the bridge. Towering steel columns lined the path ahead of them, cold and unforgiving. To Ellie, cold and unforgiving seemed awfully familiar.

“The River of Death.”

She announced in a menacing voice, eyes wide for dramatic effect, and Joel shook his head, trying hard to fight the tinge of a smile that was making its way onto his face.

“What do you think is over there?”

Joel shrugged, cautiously taking his first step onto the platform before gesturing for Ellie to follow.

“Guess we’ll have to see if it lives up to the name.”

Joel could feel the familiar tightness in his chest as he clumsily swatted at the tears below his eyes, purposefully avoiding his brother’s sympathetic gaze.

The smell of sawdust once would’ve soothed his frazzled nerves, but the workshop in Jackson reminded him too much of home—a place he could never go back to.

And now Tommy had a home. And a wife. And a kid on the way—Joel had traveled hundreds and hundreds of miles to save his brother from some inevitable doom, but he was perfectly fine without him. No, it was worse—Tommy was better off without him.

I’m failin’ in my sleep.

The whole reason he’d agreed to take Ellie was because he was already planning on heading West himself—and now he was here, and it was just another dead fucking end. Another failure. All the people he’d lost, all the pain he’d suffered—it’d all been for nothing. He wasn’t rescuing his brother from something—he didn’t get to play hero. He should’ve fucking stayed in Boston. Then he’d still have Tess, and Ellie would’ve been better off with Marlene anyhow—and Y/N. Of course you weren’t here, of course Tommy had sent that radio transmission, of course Joel had been kidding himself all along—

“Come with me.”

Tommy’s voice pierced the silence that hung in the air, and Joel flinched at the sound. When his glassy eyes finally turned to his brother, he gestured with a nod of his head to follow him out of the woodworking shed and into the chill of the evening.

Joel grunted as he forced himself into the new boots Tommy had given him—they were snug, and warm, and way nicer than the weathered pair he'd been sporting up until this point. He stared down at them once he’d laced them up, wondering when in God’s name a new pair of boots had become such a fucking luxury.

“Joel.”

Tommy urged, and the man finally stood, following his brother outside and into the town square. As they walked beneath threaded strands of yellow lights, past decorated Christmas trees and families making their ways home, Joel was disgusted to feel a pang of resentment fleet briefly through his mind. Tommy had actually managed to find—create—some semblance of normalcy, of comfort, and Joel was jealous. It wasn’t fair—how could life still go on when so much had been lost?

Tommy spared him a look as he paused in front of a large wooden door, and Joel’s eyes flitted upwards to read the carved sign hanging above the entrance—MEDICAL. The building was right on the edge of the square, a decently sized structure with harshly tinted windows and a tiny handwritten card plastered beside the door—in black letters, with a tiny reversable placard beneath it.

THE DOCTOR IS: IN.

A bell chimed when Tommy shouldered the door open, holding it so Joel could step in beside him. The waiting room was cozy, filled with a mismatched collection of armchairs and recliners, a coffee table in the center with coloring pages and crayons strewn about. In the far left corner was a repurposed dining table that obviously served as a makeshift reception desk, although the chair behind it was vacant. There was only one door in the place, seemingly leading back into the examination room, and from just beyond, Joel could barely make out the sound of a child’s laughter.

Tommy lifted a hand to gesture for Joel to remain where he was before walking towards the door and slowly lifting his fist to knock. Joel felt anticipation well inside of his stomach, a swirling pool of uncertainty beginning to settle in. Tommy’s knuckles rapped against the wood.

“Hey, doc?”

He called softly, and Joel heard a woman’s voice over the sound of giggling.

“Yeah, just a sec, boss-man.”

Joel’s brows furrowed as Tommy came to stand back beside him, watching his expression shift carefully. He cleared his throat just as the door in front of them popped open and a little boy came bursting out.

Joel felt the breath get caught in his throat as two women followed the young child from the room, chitchatting animatedly with each other. One of the women was young, seemingly the child’s mother, but the other—

It was you. He watched as you threw your head back to laugh at something the woman across from you had said, you hand flying out to pat her good-naturedly on the bicep. The woman thanked you quickly before she chased after her child, the bell chiming as the pair exited—but Joel couldn’t hear it as your eyes met his.

You looked—the same. Or at least, more so than he had imagined. Your hair was shorter, and darker, not sun-bleached from long summer days spent out in the Texas heat. Your figure had filled out; even beneath the pair of pale pink scrubs you were wearing he could see that your soft curves had toned into a sturdy layer of muscle. Your eyes were lined with crow’s feet—wrinkles indicating that even after all this time, you’d never stopped smiling, never stopped laughing, and as your gaze met his, it was just...you. The same gleam in your eyes as the last time he’d seen you. The only notable change was the long, thin jagged pink line running down from your forehead and cutting into your right brow—a fully healed scar, indicative of some sort of injury from long ago.

The man was frozen, and suddenly all too conscious of his own lackluster appearance—he wondered how different he seemed to you, if behind his graying hair and deteriorating body you could still see any trace of the man you knew all those years ago. He wondered if he bared his sins through the lines on his face—if you could somehow see every horrible thing he’d done just by sparing him a glance.

But if you could, you didn’t show it. Instead, your lips flickered up at the corners, just barely, but enough that there was the notion of a grin on your still perfect pink lips.

“Joel.”

You acknowledged, although you didn’t make any move further to greet him. He was shocked at your ability to remain so collected—he was flustered, speechless, his mouth opening and closely dumbly like a fish out of water. He didn’t know what to say—didn’t know what to do. He wanted to pull you into his arms, wanted to apologize for everything he’d ever done to harm you, wanted to fall to his knees and thank a God he didn’t even believe in that somehow you’d made it.

But instead, he snapped his jaw shut and cleared his throat, shuffling his weight a bit awkwardly on his feet. Tommy glanced at his brother in his periphery—saw the tension that hovered over him and rendered him practically incapacitated. With a sigh, he decided to throw him a bone, and turned to you.

“Just thought—Just thought you two might like to, uh, catch up.”

Tommy offered sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders to display his discomfort. You leaned against the doorframe.

“Does Maria know about this?”

Joel watched as you quirked a suspicious brow at his brother, a small smirk on your face. Tommy’s eyes widened in panic.

“Well—no, but I just figured—look, please don’t tell her, I know—”

“Relax, boss-man, I’m just teasin’ you. She brought in the girl to see me earlier today.”

Joel was startled to learn that.

“You—You met Ellie?”

Your eyes snapped back over to him, as if surprised he was actually able to speak. You regarded him softly.

“Yeah, I met Ellie. She’s a fuckin’ pistol. Only fourteen?”

You clarified, and Joel nodded. You whistled lowly, smiling mischeiviously.

“Jesus, cowboy—two decades ago, you thought 22 was too young.”

Tommy’s hand flew to his mouth in an attempt to cover up the bark of a laugh that spilt out. It took Joel a few seconds to register your comment, but when he did, his entire body stiffened, eyes widening in blatant offense and, frankly, incredulity.

“The hell is wrong with you? She’s just—”

“Oh, chill out, cowboy, I was just joking.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. Joel narrowed his eyes, and just like that, the tension between you was back, but Tommy was not oblivious to it, this time. He cautiously made a move towards the door.

“Well, I’ll just leave you two to—”

“No!”

You exclaimed, sounding borderline insulted.

“You’re just gonna leave? The fuck do you want me to do with him?”

Joel scoffed at the way you were referring to him, your hand gesturing to him as if he were a child you were being forced to babysit. Tommy threw his hands up in defense.

“Easy, doc. I gotta go see the missus—we’re puttin’ him up in 38, right across the street from us. Just—I don’t know, Y/N, just do your doctor thing and then walk him over there. You’re fine.”

“And whose idea was it to put him in 38?”

You glowered threateningly, the scar on your face contorting with the expression, and Tommy swallowed at your clear disdain.

“Actually, that was Maria’s.”

“Fuckin’ classic.”

You murmured angrily, and when Tommy turned to leave once more, you waved a dismissive hand towards him, scoffing in distaste. The door banged shut behind him, and just like that, you and Joel were alone.

His eyes flitted from the door and back to you, finding your eyes already on him. He could see the maturity in them—you seemed older, wiser, your gaze more calculating and scrutinizing. Even with the new scar that you adorned, you were just as beautiful as the day he last saw you. Your shoulders sagged in defeat before you jerked your head to the side.

“Come on, then, cowboy. Time for your appointment.”

Joel silently walked towards you, shuffling past you and into the examination room. He felt the heat of your body as he brushed past you, and fuck, you still smelled like—like you, all these years later. Clean, like freshly folded linens or laundry straight out of the dryer, with just a dash of citrus.

He paused in the threshold, taking in the room. It was fairly spacious, with a steel examination table pushed up against one wall and your desk on the other. The wall straight across from him was lined with shelving that contained more medical equipment than he thought existed—jars of various medications, bandages, gauze, pads and tampons, antiseptic and antibiotic ointments, and other various supplies that he didn’t even know the name of.

“Well, up you get.”

You nudged his back with the knuckles of your right hand, gesturing towards the steel examination table. He shot you a silent glare, but you masked your satisfied smirk as he hoisted himself up onto the surface, leaning back against the wall to face you.

You sat in your threadbare office chair, rolling it away from your desk so you could face him. He watched as you reached into a jar full of tiny white pills on the corner of your desk, grabbing a few and tossing them back into your mouth with ease. His jaw slackened.

“Ain’t that against your bylaws, or somethin’?”

He managed to jab, quirking his brow, and you rolled your eyes at him, chewing the tablets in your mouth.

“They’re sugar pills, dumbass. I give ’em to the kids when they get hurt—placebo effect. You want one?”

You picked up the glass jar and tilted it towards him, but he just shook his head, never taking his eyes off of your face. You rolled your eyes at him, stealing one more from the jar before tightening the lid back on and sliding it back onto the shelf.

You spun your chair back around to face him again, folding your hands in your lap as you watched him. He just stared right back, jaw set stiffly, arms crossed over his chest, mask impenetrable. You pursed your lips, stubborn enough to not want to break the silence that befell you. Joel finally cracked.

“You’re a long ways from California.”

His voice was gruff and husky, but even beneath the rough edge, you could make out a hint of familiar softness. You blinked at him.

“You’re kiddin’, right?”

You started, and the man’s brows furrowed more, indicating his confusion. You laughed incredulously.

“Twenty years, you’ve had to come up with a conversation starter, and that’s what you settle on? Jesus, Joel.”

You huffed, leaning back into your chair and reclining slightly. Joel’s jaw rippled at your mockery.

“Well, hell, forgive me for not meeting your expectations, darlin’.”

He expected you to fire back at him, to humor him with the witty back-and-forth banter that he’d missed so much, but you just sighed, sinking further back into your chair and shaking your head softly to yourself.

“Took you long enough to get here. I was startin’ to think you hadn’t gotten my message.”

Joel felt his heart skip a beat, and his guarded expression briefly exposed a look of realization.

“So it was you.”

You let out a humorless laugh, avoiding his gaze.

“Yeah, Joel, it was me. But I hope to God you kept that to yourself—Maria would kill me if she knew I’d contacted you.”

“Get the sense that she’s not my biggest fan.”

Joel grumbled, leaning his head back against the wall behind him. He was surprised to see your hardened eyes soften a bit, full of something resembling pity.

“She’s just—she’s protective. Tryin’ to keep me and Tommy safe.”

He tried not to read into your words too much, but he felt himself grow defensive.

“Safe. From me.”

You tilted your head back, squeezing your eyes shut and drawing in a sigh in an attempt to maintain your composure.

“Well, you’ve certainly earned yourself quite the reputation, Mister Miller.”

You scoffed, and Joel felt his face fall slightly, his mouth turning into a frown.

“So you’ve heard about me, then?”

You still avoided his eyes, your own arms crossing over your chest.

“I mean, just things from Tommy, but I doubt he told me everything. Still, Maria—Maria doesn’t think you were the best role model for your brother.”

“And what do you think?”

Joel leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and you swallowed, opening your mouth to reply just as the door to the clinic abruptly slammed open, the bell nearly flying off the hinge from the sudden rattling. You and Joel immediately burst into action, and you raced out of the exam room to investigate the intrusion.

Joel paused behind you when you slowed, taking in a relieved deep breath when you realized there wasn’t an immediate threat. The young boy from earlier had barged in, tears trailing down his round, rosy cheeks as he stared up at you with a look of almost betrayal. His mom was attempting to catch her breath, standing in the doorway hunched over, and young girl was standing to her right, presumably her daughter, who looked to be barely older than ten.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,”

The mother began to explain, her hand pressed against her chest to try to regulate her breathing.

“We were heading back to the mess hall for movie night but Jenny made a comment to Ben about his splinter, and—”

“Why don’t you wan’ me to get better?”

Ben interrupted, more tears falling from his wide eyes as he pouted, holding up the index finger of his left hand to showcase the bandage that you had put there earlier.

You startled backwards.

“What are you talkin’ about, Ben? Of course I want you to get better, that’s my job.”

“Then why didn’t you use your powers on me?”

He stamped his foot in frustration, and Joel stood back, watching the scene unfold before him with furrowed brows. Your eyes snapped over to his older sister, Jenny, who was trying to hide her amused smile behind her hand. Finally, you knelt down in front of the young boy, who sniffled and avoided your eyes.

“You’re right, Ben, I totally forgot. I’m so sorry. Can I fix it now?”

You asked carefully, holding your hand out for him. He contemplated for a minute before nodding carefully, offering you his left finger extended in front of him. Joel felt a weight settle onto his chest as you carefully pressed your lips to the pad of his injured finger, making an exaggerated smooching sound as you pulled away. The young boy’s face immediately brightened, and you smiled at him.

“There! Did the magic kiss make it feel all better?”

You leaned down to look into his eyes, and he nodded at you happily before quickly turning back towards the door and running into his mother, clinging to her legs.

The woman smiled at you, both apologetically and gratefully.

“Thank you, Y/N, and again, I’m so sorry—”

You waved a dismissive hand.

“No worries, Beth. Seriously, it was my fault, I should’ve remembered. Thanks for the reminder, Jenny.”

You winked at the older girl teasingly, and she hid her face further behind her hand, biting her lip to hold in her laughter. As the family turned to leave, you shouted a reminder to them.

“Be careful on the benches in the mess hall! They haven’t been sanded well and I don’t want him to get any more splinters!”

The door shut behind them and Joel watched your shoulders immediately sag when they left, your lungs exhaling a long, exhausted sigh. When you turned around to go back into the office, you jolted slightly, as if you’d forgotten that Joel was there. He studied you carefully, analyzing you, and you hastily pushed past him and back into the exam room.

“Sorry about that. You know how toddlers are.”

You settled back into your office chair, but as the door clicked shut behind Joel, he remained standing, leaning back against the wood with his arms crossed. You were looking at some paperwork on your desk before your eyes lifted to glance at him. He remained stoic, silent, and you sighed.

“Ellie’s a cute kid. Reminds me of someone.”

You gauged his reaction, watching his muscles tense and his jaw clench at your admission, his eyes casting down to his feet. He didn’t respond—you decided not to push it.

“How’d you get stuck haulin’ the walking cure across the states?”

That caught his attention. He stood abruptly upright, his eyes widening as he stared at you, a brief look of panic rising in him.

“How—she told you?”

You made a motion for him to calm down.

“Relax, it’s fine, seriously. I saw her bite marks. Pretty fuckin’ wild, though.”

“Why’d she tell you?”

Joel seemed unsatisfied with your answer, taking an intimidating step towards you, his voice low and threatening. He seemed to be forgetting the fact that his fear tactics wouldn’t work on you.

You rolled your eyes.

“I’m easy to talk to. Good at makin’ people feel comfortable. Besides, she said she’d heard my name before. Apparently you talk in your sleep?”

Joel’s arms fell to his sides, his jaw clenching rhythmically and hands balling into fists. His eyes dropped to the floor, but you let out a short, bright laugh.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind. That’s actually one of the first things Tommy told me when we met back up.”

Joel threw his head back with a frustrated groan, particularly annoyed when he heard you cackling from your seated position in front of him, obviously deriving great pleasure from his discomfort. When you’d finished laughing, however, the mood quickly soured once again, his dark eyes fixing you within them carefully.

“You can’t say a word to anyone about it.”

“What, about you dreamin’ about me?”

“Y/N. You know damn well what I’m talkin’ about.”

He was practically growling at you, his eyes narrowed as he took another menacing step closer. You were getting fed up with his attempts at intimidation.

“I’m not gonna say anything, okay?”

“Swear to me.”

To your surprise, Joel leaned down and grabbed the arms of your office chair, spinning it so you were facing him completely. He leaned down in front of you, eyes level with yours, only a foot away as he challenged you silently with his gaze. Up close, he could see the jagged edges of the healed cut through your forehead, marring your perfect complexion.

“Swear to me, you won’t tell Maria, or anybody.”

You scoffed, surprising Joel by leaning closer towards him instead of away, not breaking eye contact as you fixed him with your own intense stare.

“I promise. Besides, you already know that I’m great at keepin’ secrets.”

He pulled away from you harshly, abruptly, your chair sliding back a few inches at his sudden release of its arms. You smirked to yourself, somewhat satisfied with your ability to still get under his skin, even after all this time.

“Now, go sit back down, and tell me everything. From the beginning.”

Joel opened his mouth the protest, but you pinned him down with a glare.

“Don’t. This is my town, Joel—you’re the outsider here, not me. Which means I get my answers first.”

He pursed his lips, trying to come up with some way to contradict you, but he knew deep down that you were right—you had the upper hand in this situation. Begrudgingly, Joel pushed himself back onto the table across from you, grunting with the effort as he settled back against the wall. You rolled your chair a bit closer to him, leaning back and watching him intently.

“Alright, then. Tell me the story about how the cowboy and the little firefly managed to survive their journey out West, searchin’ for a brother and a cure.”

Joel regarded you carefully, fighting the urge to correct you.

And searching for you.

Instead, he opened his mouth and began to speak.

Joel’s brows furrowed as you rejoined him on the gravel street from the house you had stopped by. Your arms were holding a variety of clothing items, pressed tightly to your chest as you nodded for him to follow you.

“What was that about?”

He asked, maintaining several feet of distance between the two of you as you lead him further away from the town square.

“Stopped by to see Mary-Ann. Her husband is about your size, and I figured you wouldn’t object to a new set ’a clothes.”

You jokingly looked him up and down, scrunching up your nose in disapproval at his current attire. Even with your teasing, Joel felt gratitude sneak up on him as he watched you.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He spoke lowly, and your quick pace faltered slightly at the tenderness that breached the surface of his words. Your smile wavered.

“Yeah, I know. S’really not a big deal.”

You shrugged it off, refusing to expose any vulnerability to the man. You were bound and determined to keep your head up in the face of his sudden reappearance in your life—the last thing you needed was for Joel to think he still had power over you.

“What’d you trade for it? I’m sure there’s somethin’ I can—”

“Joel, s’fine.”

You snapped, harsher than you had intended. You sighed.

“I’m the town doctor, and I treat everyone and don’t expect anything in return, so when the time comes that I actually need somethin’, people are more often than not willing to help me out.”

He didn’t respond, and you continued your trek through the snow in silence. After a few more tense minutes, you reached house number 38, pausing when you saw light peeking through the curtains in a room upstairs, the window cracked to let cool air into the stale home.

“So, this is you. Ellie’s already upstairs, m’sure.”

You paused in front of the door, turning to face the man head-on. The familiarity of looking up at him like this, his brown eyes regarding you with undivided attention, filled you with a deep sense of melancholy. The proximity was dizzying. You refused to acknowledge the sensation.

You offered him the clothes in your arms—a fleece-lined burgundy flannel, a pair of jeans, boxers, socks, and an undershirt—and he accepted them gratefully.

“Tommy and Maria are right across the way, and... I’m, uh, right next door if you need anything.”

You tried to hide the resentment that soured your lips as you told him where your own home was located, and although he didn’t say it out loud, you saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes that you were, once again, neighbors. How serendipitous.

You hesitated, staring at the ground in between the gap of yours and Joel’s boots, contemplating. Finally, you figured you’d extend an olive branch.

“Listen—after you get cleaned up, if you wanted—I mean, I have to talk to Maria quick, but ’m probably gonna stay up for awhile, so if—you know, if you’re not too tired, I wouldn’t mind—”

“Thanks.”

Joel interrupted your senseless rambling, indicating that he understood your winded invitation for his company. You blew out a breath, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you met his eyes once more before stepping around him and closing the short distance to the house across the street. Joel watched as you walked away.

He was fuming, but his flaming hot anger was quickly tempered by a lingering sadness that threatened to consume him. Ellie had some fucking nerve—bringing up Sarah, trying to manipulate him into taking her the rest of the way. He felt nauseous, his jaw clenched tight as he sat on the edge of the bed in his own bedroom, his eyes flickering up to stare out the window that shrouded him in moonlight.

There was a cool breeze filtering in through the crack in the window, but when he looked out, he saw you. You were staring up at Ellie’s window, your hands buried in the pockets of your winter coat and your face painted with discomfort. It was only then that Joel realized Ellie’s window had been open, as well—how long had you been standing there? Had you heard everything?

Joel found himself rising, walking to stand up against the window. The movement caught your attention, your gaze briefly shifting as you made eye contact with him. The silvery-pink skin of your scar seemed translucent beneath the streetlights. You stared up at him, wordlessly confirming that yes, you’d heard every goddamned word before you turned and stomped over towards your own home, downtrodden and damaged.

He wasn’t consciously in control of his body as he swiped his jacket from the end of the mattress and descended the stairs, exiting the front door just in time to see yours slam shut. He swallowed, letting his exhale cloud out in front of him in the frigid air before he followed your snowy footsteps, pausing on your front porch and staring at the closed door.

You wouldn’t want him to join you anymore, surely—not after you’d been subjected to his aggression towards Ellie. Your silence signaled your disinterest, or so he told himself. Still, he hesitated. His calloused fingers brushed against the doorknob, twisting sharply, and to his surprise, the door swung open easily.

An olive branch.

The hallway before him was dark, but there was a soft yellow light emanating from deeper in your home, and he could hear the clanking of dishware and cutlery as he stepped into the threshold and closed the door behind him.

His heavy footsteps echoed loudly against the creaky wooden floor as he followed the sounds, the hallway opening up to a small kitchen where you were facing away from him, the smell of coffee filling Joel’s lungs as he breathed in deep. Real coffee. Even better than goddamn liquor.

He watched as you poured two mugs of the dark, steaming beverage, setting the pot back on the counter before picking up the mugs and turning to face him. You still didn’t speak, didn’t even look at him as you squeezed past him and set one mug on the end of the round wooden table before sitting down on the opposite side. Joel took the hint, the legs of the chair scraping the hardwood as he pulled it out and cautiously seated himself, his hands instinctually coming to cradle the warmth of the mug in front of him.

“You heard all that?”

He croaked.

You took a small sip, your head turned to stare out the back window and into the darkness of the trees outside. He waited, silently, for you to set the tone of the meeting. He watched your jaw clench as you finally opened your mouth the speak.

“Just—”

Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat. There was grimace on your face, words wobbly and cautious.

“Just when I think you can’t possibly let me down even more, you somehow find a way.”

He scowled, but felt his beating heart sink, an anchor weighing him down at your confession. He didn’t say anything—just kept watching your face. Your features always betrayed you; you wore your heart on your sleeve. He could read every expression with practiced precision, and now, he studied you diligently.

You finally turned to look at him, eyes glossy and sad. He swallowed.

“You know, I—I stuck my neck out for you. To Maria. Even after all the shit I heard from Tommy, even after everything, I still thought—still thought there might be at least some trace of the man I knew all those years ago.”

“That was your first mistake.”

His gruff voice interjected, posture stiff.

“I ain’t the same person I was. And neither are you.”

“You’re wrong.”

You shook your head with such conviction that Joel faltered.

“I haven’t let the world harden me, Joel. I’ve grown, and I’ve learned, but I’m still the same person I’ve always been."

“You’re lucky to be alive, then. Naive to think that you can still care about people in a world that doesn’t care about you.”

You studied him, cold and calculated, before nodding sharply, a look of disapproval in your eyes. The scar that ran through your brow curled as you scowled.

“You just feel so fuckin’ sorry for yourself, don’t you?”

Joel was utterly taken aback, blinking once, then twice, before his eyes narrowed.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You think—you think you can use your grief, your pain, to justify your actions, like it can excuse the person you’ve become. We don’t have control over anything that happens to us, Joel. Shit happens, and the world still spins. The only thing we do have control over is the way we react to it—how we choose to let it affect us.”

You were glaring daggers through him, resentment contorting your attractive features into a snarl, your scar pinched inward with the furrow of your brow.

“Ellie was right. You’re not the only person to lose someone. Your grief does not justify your actions. I’ve heard about the things you’ve done, Joel. The horrible things. You don’t get to say that the world forced you to become what you are—you made that choice. You let your grief consume you, you let it control your life, you let it turn you cold and callous and spiteful and cruel. That’s not the world, Joel—that was you."

He felt his chest grow tight, stunned by your words. There was anger growing in him, blazing hotter.

“Don’t—”

“No.”

You snapped, and Joel could see his own rage reflected in your eyes.

“No, Joel, you’re gonna shut the fuck up and listen to me, for once. I’ve waited too damn long to say it, and you at least owe me this.”

He silently seethed, fists clenching beneath the table as his leg began to bounce with anxiety.

“Look around you. All of these people—me, too—have suffered, have been put through so much, but we’re still here. We’re trying. We’re fighting. We found hope where there wasn’t any, in spite of everything, we’re choosin’ to move forward. So you can’t say that the only way to survive is to become as hateful as the world around you—there’s still good left.”

He stayed quiet, head silently shaking at your words. HIs jaw was rippling as it clenched. You grew silent for a moment, before hesitantly speaking up. Your tone was much softer, now.

“You’re not the only person to lose her, Joel. You’re not the only person who lost Sarah.”

His eyes snapped to you, his expression turning stony at the mention of his daughter. He despised the look of pity in your eyes—the look of sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry about Sarah, I can’t even begin to understand how hard it must’ve been for you to go through that, but—but you don’t get to own that. That grief doesn’t belong to you.”

You swallowed. There were tears welling in your eyes, threatening to fall.

“Do you really think this is what she would’ve wanted you to become? What she—”

He stood abruptly, anger bubbling over and spewing from him as he shouted at you.

“You have no fucking right—”

“I loved her, too, Joel!”

You screamed, standing to meet him, and the man recoiled, flinching as tears began to track down your cheeks. You fumed.

“I loved Sarah, and I loved you, and I spent every single day missing you and hoping that by some godforsaken miracle, you—my family, was okay.”

My family. His gaze dropped to his shoes as he swallowed thickly.

“And when I heard from Tommy what had happened, I just—my heart broke for you, Joel, of course it did, but that little girl—I know she wasn’t mine, but I loved her, too. And don’t tell me I have no right to talk about her, because I did know her. I spent every day for five years with her, watchin’ her grow up, and—and I know it’s not the same, but you can’t take that from me. As hard as you try—as hard as you tried—to erase me, to push me away... I’ve never stopped loving you. Either of you.”

You turned away from him, trying to mask the pain that was erupting from deep within you—years and years of repressed anguish spilling from every pore.

Your back was to him, your shoulders rising and falling with shaky breaths, your sobs subdued by your willpower alone. As much as he tried to fight it, Joel felt guilt nesting within his soul.

“I know your world ended that night, I know you lost everything—but my world ended the night before.”

His lungs felt like they were shrinking.

“Y/N—”

“I’m gonna ask you something, Joel, and I already know the answer, but—but I need to hear you say it.”

You turned to face him once again, your sadness briefly replaced with cool calculation as you scrutinized him. He gave a barely perceptible nod.

“Did Sarah die that night, thinkin’ I just up and left without saying goodbye? Without knowing the truth?”

He felt the blood drain from his face, his mouth dry and tongue like sandpaper. He didn’t respond—he didn’t need to. You saw it in his eyes, the silent resignation, the shadow of shame that crested his features, the way his jaw rippled. You nodded slowly, the last of your tears drying up as you sniffed, and Joel could see the resentment slowly taking control.

“Darlin’, I—”

“When I saw you with Ellie, I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was still a part of you in there that could love, that could care, that could be a father. Ellie is someone’s daughter, Joel. What if it was Sarah? You can’t—don’t turn your back on her. Please. Don’t—don’t break my heart again.”

He swallowed thickly, unable to meet your gaze. You shook your head again, an uncharacteristic calmness suddenly possessing you.

“I’ll pack you a bag and put it on my porch for you to take tomorrow morning. Some rations and clothes and everything you’ll need."

You started walking towards the door, as if ready to lead him out, and he shook his head frustratedly.

“I can't take her, Y/N, I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

You clipped, a glare piercing through him as you opened up the front door for him.

“Because if you don’t, m’gonna have to listen to you bitch about how much you regret it for the rest ’a your sorry life, and I’m not willing to put up with that.”

True to your word, there was a new backpack sitting on your front step early the next morning. Joel knocked twice on your door, but if you were home, you ignored him. He rifled through the contents quickly—you’d even included a makeshift first-aid kit, a thermos of coffee and some grounds.

As he shouldered the bag, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. It was a note, messily scrawled in your familiar handwriting. He felt his heart skip a beat as he reread it, over and over, his lips parted in shock.

Cowboy—

I kept my eyes closed, but five minutes is starting to feel more like twenty years—but I'm still waiting. I'll always be waiting for you, Joel.

Good luck. Maybe when you get back, you can hold up your end of the bargain. I've learned to be patient.

Your perpetual neighbor, Y/N

P.S. I'm sorry. And I forgive you.

You remembered.

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