#sometimes I can just look away and move on. but sometimes when. let's say I stumble on a blog

[ashes-of-rozes]

When It Happened to Me

Relationships: Jason Todd x FEM!Reader

Warning(s): torture, scars, medical inaccuracies

“…by! Baby!”

You’re jerked awake, panic and fear instantly filling your veins. Warm, gloved hands cup your face, “Hey, look at me?” Your eyes snap up, meeting a familiar red helmet. “Ja…son?” The word is cracked, throat sore and deprived of water for days. A soft, muffled sound and then his helmet is coming off and you can catch his eyes.

A beautiful blue. Yet darker with fear and worry when they look at you. Gloved hands gently touch your face and you wince. Your body aches. Everywhere. Breathing hurts. Blinking around dry eyes. He immediately removed his hand and you whine, missing his touch. Even if it was painful.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, reaching above you to quickly and efficiently remove your bindings, “I’m getting you out of here.” Less than a minute later, the last knot is undone. Arms weak, feet hanging above the ground— you fall. Jason catches you instantly. You can’t help the pained whine that leaves your throat but you lean in closer to him. Ignoring the pain.

Jason’s here.

You’re okay.

“It’s raining,” he whispers, voice soft. He’s always soft for you. The next thing you know his jacket is draped over you like a blanket it. The leather wet, but the fabric still holding his previous body heat. Your eyes fall heavy again.

He kisses your forehead. Soft. Barely felt. But no less caring than every other one. “Stole the Batmobile,” he mumbles, “You’ll be comfortable in the back. You can heal properly back at the cave.” A soft noise of protest is all you can manage.

You just want him to take you back home. Let your fiancé bathe you, feed you, and then sleep. Who cares about all your injuries? Jason’s all that matters. But you barely managed to say his name without crying out in pain. So no arguing.

Your eyes are heavy and closed. Your soul floating just out of your body as you let the sounds of distant sirens and the soft patter of rain drown you. It feels wonderful.

Your body is in constant pain but it’s dulled under the water from the sky. Each drop hurts. But at the same time, you feel nothing but warm Gotham-polluted water.

A soft click and then Jason’s gently laying you down across the warmed up black leather seats.

Seat warmers, you think distantly, letting yourself be maneuvered. Once you’re secure enough for your finances liking, Jason kisses your bare, injured ankle and gently closes the door. The warmth from the heater, Jason’s jacket and the leather seats lulled you to sleep.

⌑ ⌑ ⌑

When you open your eyes again, bright fluorescent lights are shinning above you.

A groan escaped your lip and you immediately close your eyes again.

“How are you feeling?” That’s Tim’s voice.

“Like I got tortured for a week,” you mumble, slowly sitting up, ignoring the pain. “Welcome to the club,” he mumbles. Slowly, head pointed at the ground, you flutter your eyes open. The light stings but it’s temporary compared to the rest of the pain.

You look around, noticing you’re in the cave’s med-bay. Jason’s passed out at the foot of the bed. Tim’s in the corner of the room, typing away on his laptop. “How long has he been like this,” you ask, voice still rough. Throat still dry. “He hasn’t slept since you were taken,” Tim says, “Passed out pretty much the moment Alfred said you’d be okay. Hasn’t moved in almost a day.”

Guilt slammed into you.

“And you,” you ask, “Why are you here?”

Tim finally stops typing on the laptop, looking up at you.

Sometimes you think all of Bruce’s sons are genetically related. They all get the exact same look when they don’t want to talk about their feelings.

“Bruce is taking up the rest of the cave—“

“Tim,” you interrupt. He stares at you with that same look for minutes. He looks guilty. Embarrassed, almost. Ashamed, definitely. “I should’ve found you sooner,” he says, closing the laptop and running a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry.” “Why are you sorry,” you ask. “If I found you sooner maybe you wouldn’t be— Jason could’ve—“ He paused. “I have one job. To track down what goes missing. And yet …”

You smile. Sad. Painful. It hurts to lift your lips. “Tim, it’s not your fault. You look dead. Please tell me you got more sleep than Jason?” Tim blinks and looks away. “Go,” you scold softly, “Bed.”

“But—“

“Bed, Timothy.”

He sighs and reluctantly stands, heading towards the door.

“Tim?”

He pauses, looking over his shoulder and back at you. “Thank you. For finding me.” Tim returns the smile, soft and tired and walks out.

“He’s actually going to bed.”

You jump, eyes falling in the source of the voice. Jason’s eyes are still closed but there’s a soft, content smile on his lips. “I knew I wanted to marry you for a reason,” he mumbles. He sits up slowly, eyes falling on your bandages, your bruises. His hand finds yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“How ya feeling,” he asks. “I’ve definitely felt better,” you smile reassuringly, “Could go for a glass of water. Or gallon. Or tank. Which ever is easiest.” He laughs and stands, leaning over to kiss your forehead, “I’ll be right back.”

Jason’s lingers a moment longer before slowly exiting the room. Reluctant to let you out of his sight. Even now. Even safe.

He comes back a few moments later with a glass of water and a pitcher. He hands you the water which you take with almost greedy hands. He smiles, running his fingers through your hair as you chug down the cold liquid inside. “Easy, ma,” he whispers, “Alfred said your throat will be sore for a while…”

His hand falls to his side.

“Jay…”

He sighs, slumping back in the seat at the foot of your bed, “I’m sorry.” You frown, setting down the water. “I should’ve,” he swallows and you can see the tears in his eyes, “I should’ve been with you.” He was. The night you were taken, you and him planned to have dinner together but Dick needed help. “There’s no way you could’ve known what was going to happen,” you try to reassure.

“We live in Crime Alley! It’s right there in the name,” he shouts, voice shaking. “Two years, love. And nothing like this has happened—“

“I got comfortable. I let my guard down,” he stands up so fast the chair clatters to the floor, “And you paid the price for it!” He’s spiraling again. He groans, running his fingers through his hair, tears of anger and self-hatred streaming down his face, “This is all my fault. You’re not safe with me! Maybe we should postpone the wedding or—“

You rip out your I.V. and pull off the patches on your chest. The monitor flatlines. Jason’s gaze is on you immediately, panicked. There’s just enough adrenaline in your veins for your legs to not shake when you stand.

“No— lay back down,” he takes a step forward, reaching out for you. “Jason,” he gently take his outstretched hand, “I am marrying you.”

“Ma—“

“Do you love me,” you ask. Jason looks offended, “More than anything.” The tension in your muscles ease a little. “I want to marry you,” you say, “This doesn’t change a thing.” “It should,” he gently squeezes your hand, “You should hate me.”

“I don’t,” you insist, “This wasn’t your fault. Or Tim’s. Or anyone else who is blaming themselves. It was horrible but it was not your fault.” Jason blinks, tears slowing down. He steps closer, wrapping his arms around you, “I’m so lucky to have you in my life.” You return the hug, arms shaky and weak but determined to hold him.

“I love you, future Mrs. Todd,” he mumbles into your neck.

“I love you too.”

⌑ ⌑ ⌑

Epilogue:

Jason’s hands were on you the second you stood in front of him.

His thumb gently brushed across your wrist, where scar tissue circled all around. You smile. Jason loves the scars you gained. Worships them.

“The veil,” you whisper. Jason blinks and shakes his head, smiling. He lets go of your wrists and lifts the veil. He brushes his knuckle across the scar on your neck, smiling.

Tim clears his throat, “Jason. Hands to yourself.” Jason glares at his brother, “She’s my wife—“

“Not until I’m done. Hands to yourself,” Tim smirks, smug. Jason scoffs but complies.

Tim goes through the officiating process.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Jason cups your face with one hand, the other on the small of your back and bends you down, lips crashing against yours.

As your dress falls to the ground that night and Jason is on you instantly. He doesn’t stop till the sun comes up. And only then it’s a break. And then he’s on your again.

Praising you. Loving you. Worshipping you.

Yeah. This was the right choice.

masterlist

[kuurechr]

You get easily jealous ... and that bides terrible for Sukuna, who's mosy trusted servant has been reincarnated as a woman.

"That girl's made googly eyes at you for the past like, fifteen minutes," you grumbled to Sukuna, as he sat down with his McDonalds order. You had eaten well with Mayumi and Toji, and you thought Sukuna had, too. He had his fair share of different types of meat but by the time you both got in the car, he decided he wanted to make a stop at McDonalds and get some food.

He was expecting a comment on the fact that he got a McFlurry, since Sukuna was old and didn't really didn't like super sweet things, but you being jealous was way better. "Come on, woman," Sukuna grinned. "You still let these things bother you?"

"It is like one in the morning and you made me drive us to McDonalds so you could eat a sugary snack that you're just going to complain about, and I am complaining about one thing, so let me have this."

You took in a deep breath, and then slowly let it out.

Sukuna just ate the McFlurry. He could feel the stare on him though.

You looked up to check if the girl was still checking Sukuna out, and she still was! You couldn't believe it! "Look, I know you're attractive– Shut up." Sukuna already had a big ego. Your compliments just made him cockier. You looked at the girl behind him warily, and rubbed your hands together.

"Wanna go to the car? I can eat in there," Sukuna offered, eyeing your expression. He knew you had a good sense of curses, when you believed them to be a threat. Sukuna brought his hand to the back of his head and scratched it – he used that as a cover to create an eye on the back of his hand.

He stared back at the girl who quickly stood out, with the way she stared.

She had cursed energy. A fairly powerful amount. It took a couple moments for Sukuna to realize.

Uraume.

Sukuna brought his hand down, focusing on looking at you.

"No, eat," you grumbled, glaring at the girl, still. "You deserve it for putting up with me today..." Sukuna was about to say it was fine, but your eyes suddenly widened. "'Kuna?"

He hated how timid your voice sounded sometimes. You sounded scared. Sukuna easily focused on Uraume's cursed energy, which moved towards your table. Sukuna stood up slowly, getting out of his seat. "I'll deal with her."

You nodded, and watched as he walked over to the girl.

Once Sukuna neared her, Uraume began to lower her head and crouch down, and Sukuna was quick to stop her. "Don't be stupid," he hissed. Uraume froze. She – He glanced over at you. You sunk into your seat and looked away.

Uraume squinted his eyes on you. "Is that...?"

"Yes," Sukuna nodded. "I found her a couple years ago." He eyed Uraume's reincarnation. "I didn't think you'd remember everything. Figured only I would be put here."

"I'm the same, besides my body," Uraume answered.

"Which sucks for me," Sukuna grumbled, gesturing back to you. "She's gonna get the wrong idea, with my luck so... meet me in that alley behind here tomorrow at lunch. Let's catch up, Uraume."

Uraume fought back a grin, and pretended to let his lips wobble before nodding and turning around. Sukuna almost wanted to laugh at the performance. But he turned around and looked over at you, gesturing to the door.

You nodded more enthusiastically than you'd intended, grabbing Sukuna's mcflurry and hurrying over to him. He kept his hand on your back, leading you outside. You glanced back at the girl, who sat back down. She had her eyes trained on you for a second but she quickly looked down – and that was because Sukuna glared back at her.

Sukuna's voice went soft as he leaned in closer to you.

"Come on, dove. Let's go home."

[brnbeexx]

first kiss with megan??? 😋😋

THAT'S ACTUALLY SUCH A CUTE REQUEST 😭

ok, we'll be talking about a shy megan, as always. You and Megan have been friends for a few long years and she has always tried to show you that she enjoys having your company. Whether it was days she spent by your side, days she called you to spend some time together just to have your company, days she would make you handmade gifts, or a mile-long letter about how great it is to have your friendship on your birthday.

However, you never picked up on the hints. As obvious as they may be, you are used to her showing affection and you never really found anything romantic in these acts.

One day, at a pajama party, the girls (Manon, Sophia, Daniela, Lara and Yoonchae) were talking to each other, doing a truth or dare or something. You excused yourself and went to the kitchen to get water, the chatter tired your throat.

Hearing footsteps behind you, you turned to see the redhead, shorter than you. Her hands clasped together, timidly playing with the hem of her pajamas, her head down.

“Shit, Meg- You scared me.” You just laughed. The room was dark, lit only by the dim light from the balcony next to the kitchen. Noticing Megan’s stillness, you set your glass aside and took a step forward. “Is something wrong?”

She doesn't answer right away, she just looks up. Her mouth opens, threatening to say something, but she stays quiet. “Y/N..” she murmurs, her voice strangely shaky. You give her a worried, but certainly welcoming look. Your friend, usually so lively and outgoing, quiet like this? “I just, I.. I wanted to talk to you, you know? I like you, really– I've already talked to Sophia about this and.. she said it would be good for me to tell you this, but–.. it's been like a few months and..–” You didn't understand a single word. She said it quickly, jumbled up.

Interrupting her, you let out a weak laugh. “Megan, slow down..” Gently, you tuck a lock of her red hair behind her ear. Despite the dark place, you can vaguely see her blush.

“I-... Y/N.” She begins, now looking only slightly more confident. Her hands seek out yours, and you see her run them over her pajamas as if to wipe away the sweat, probably because of nervousness. “I like you, Y/N. No, I- I like you, I like being with you, I.. I'm in love with you. And it's not a little, it's a lot, I- I just wanted you to know, even if you don't feel the same way. And if by any chance you don't feel the same, I ask – better yet... I beg that we can continue this friendship that we have, that I appreciate so much.” This time, you understood everything. The words were timid, sometimes trembling at crucial parts of the sentence, and the hands seemed uncertain about continuing to hold you.

You said nothing, your smile appeared, relieved. You pulled her gently in a way that she wouldn't even be surprised. You hugged her, and you two stayed like that, curled up, for at least 2 minutes, waiting for the redhead's breathing to calm down.

When you separated, she opened her mouth to ask something, but you shook your head. As if you were close to prey, you approached, your hands going down to her waist. She quickly picked up the signal, and approached as well. Her arms wrapped around your neck and your lips met. Surprising no one, her lips were as soft as silk, her cherry gloss lightly smearing across yours.

She seemed inexperienced, her hands unsteady and she didn't know she had to move her head at first, causing your noses to end up bumping.

However, none of this made you feel embarrassed, nothing. It was just you and Megan. And as soon as you separated, she looked at you, satisfied with life. The girl hugged you, hiding her face in the crook of your neck and leaving a quick kiss.

“I love you, Y/N.” Megan murmured, putting emphasis on "love".

[littlelostmabari]

I am broken y'all. Medical issues for days, going through a bout of "hey what if you couldn't use ___ body part for a few days" but spin the roulette wheel every week on which body part we are celebrating. A free ache with every spin! Wheee!

So, what else am I to do but write headcannons for my beloved fictional men with a LI with chronic pain. Should be gn. Mostly fluff, tiniest bit of angst with Arthur.

Headcanons for Cullen Rutherford / Gale Dekarios / Arthur Morgan x ChronicPain!Reader

Cullen Rutherford:

Knows exactly why you are limping / taking deep breaths / not getting out of bed today. He's been there with the Lyrium withdrawals. He sometimes sees it before you admit it, because he watches you when youre not looking (hes done this ever since he met you. He can tell if an attack is coming by how often you bite your lip the day before).

Most of his pain is radiating from his head and spine, so he has his tricks for that. Walks you through his stretches. When those don't work, he knows soldiers who have had pain where you have, maybe they know something.

Maker help you if deep tissue / compression helps you, the man is more than happy to put his entire weight on you even if you don't need it. If it helps? You don't need to ask twice.

He also has been wearing heavy armor for more than a decade, which means his joints are fucked. He has tonics hidden away in every corner of his room and office, one within arms reach at all times. There will be one in your hand the moment you even look like you're about to wince.

The withdrawals also cause nausea, so if you have anything GI related, he's got one word to a runner and you have fresh warm and damp clothes with herbs soaked into them. He's a little squeamish with anything that's not like... battlefield related, but it's you so he'll take care of it.

It's rough when your bad days overlap, but you both have been dealing with this for long enough that you have your emergency kits near the bed. You might beg him to knock you out if anything heavy is nearby though.

The difference between you and him though is that he will move mountains to keep you resting in bed when you need it. Inky or no, he will cross coordinate with Josie to make sure everything that you are responsible for is taken off of your plate. Unfortunately he doesn't know the meaning of the word "break" because yes absolutely "Josie will handle that" but as soon as it's something he could hand off to Rylen or one of his other lieutenants, you can be damned sure he's up until 3 bells past midnight making sure its done. (This is actually useful knowledge once you realize that you can ask him what he'd tell you if the roles were reversed...)

The "you should be with someone who isn't broken" talk is... Well, it's kind of hilarious. I don't know who would bring it up first, but the other of you will just laugh and admit you had the same thoughts. Cullen deserves someone who can get up with him every morning without trouble? Well you deserve something better than a washed up Templar with withdrawal issues. It's a tie.

Gale Dekarios:

Another chronic pain girlie. He knows precisely what it feels like when you say that your insides are trying to claw their way out of your body. The nice thing about Gale though is that he doesn't make it about pain Olympics. I think it would be really easy for him to be like "oh well, is it a Netherese orb? Come back when your insides are trying to eat the sheer existence of magic". No, he goes the route of "Unfortunately, my dearest, I know exactly what you mean. What do you need of me? Let me try to allieviate your distress."

During the game events, he dotes on you. The man is love-starved and will do whatever he can to be useful, despite his own pain and suffering. The most useful thing he does, though, is distract. He distracts the others from bothering you too much about it, and he distracts you using whatever means he can, including illusions and bad puns.

During and after the game, the man can cook. He will make you his mother's late season game stew that will perk you right up. Tara mentions offhand that his mother doesn't have a late season game stew, which tells you that he's trying to not only comfort your body but also your mind with images of home and comfort.

After the game, when things have settled, the folks down at the temples of Life domain deities think that he must be studying to become a cleric the way he is inhaling their tomes on pain reduction. If magic can't remove your ailment altogether, the least he can do is minimize your suffering.

The nice thing about living in a wizards tower with unseen servants and all manner of enchantments, is that you can spend time away from your other responsibilities. The house cleans itself, laundry hangs itself, books can be lifted in front of your gaze and pages turned without you lifting a finger. You can spend your energy on existing. (Gale will insist on reading to you, whenever he's home, because he likes to hold you as close as you'll let him... Nevermind him warming and cooling his hands along your back in appropriate intervals to reduce inflammation...)

You bring up the "someone who isn't broken" talk, and he tries to interrupt you the moment he knows where this is going, but when you put a hand up and ask him to let you get through this, he does. He sits patiently while you tell him all the reasons he deserves better, how you're holding him back, and he does not scoff or laugh. He gets a deeper and deeper frown, though, and when you're done, he sinks down from the couch where you are sitting to kneel at the ground at your feet because damn his terrible knees, you need to know that he's not with you because of sympathy or because you are a "project". He's with you because you are the light of his life, his moon and stars, and he wants to have the whole of you. Even if your bad days outnumber your good ones, the fact that he gets to be here, with you, on your bad days is more blessing than he has asked for. You are the reason he isn't Netherese vapor, and, no, he is not with you out of some sense of obligation, he's with you because the man is devoted to you, body and soul. He will spend the evening kissing every inch of you, especially the places you think are ugly or broken, because it would be impossible for him to love you if he didn't love every part of you.

Arthur Morgan:

We would need to break this into high honor and low honor, and low honor Arthur is no fun in these headcannons so HIGH HONOR IT IS. And also no bad things happen to Arthur ever because this is my HCs and Rockstar owns enough of my tears.

If youre in the gang, you manage to hide it from him, from all of them, for the longest time. Grimshaw knows first, and you and she had a long talk when you joined the gang about carrying your weight. You have to work double on your good days but for some unknown reason (it's because you're kind to her, unlike some folks **coughKarencough**) she lets your bad days slide.

Arthur comes back after a haul and there's no reason for you to be holed up in your tent. He understood when you got this way after moving camp, but it's a bright sunny day, the best kind of day to take his girl out riding. But you're huddled on your cot, tonic half drunk because it tastes like ass, eyes pinched shut to the sunlight that streams in as he lifts the flap.

It takes a minute for him to understand. The issue is that he has all those aches and pains, but he deals with them, like everybody else. It's part of living. You have to remind him that his pain goes away, while yours lingers. It's debilitating, and no, you won't be joining him fishing today unless he's willing to remove the part of your body that is on fire and also carry you literally everywhere and not expect you to carry a conversation.

If you're not in the gang, maybe you're a sweetheart he picked up before the shit show in Blackwater. The truth is he doesn't really want to be out and about in the city, which means he's perfectly fine staying home with you. He doesn't understand at first why you move so slowly, like every step is across broken glass, but you get there in the end and share your meals and your fire and your bed.

He is never able to fully empathize, but he's able to take grasps at the idea that you'll never be able to do everything the others do. He thinks he's okay with it until you give him the "you should be with someone who isn't broken" talk.

The talk goes poorly. He doesn't understand why you're sending him away, and when you tell him it's because you love him and want the best for him, it triggers his memories of Mary and he will NOT do that again. He will not give up a good thing, not give up a place where he is needed, where he is wanted so desperately, for the thought that he deserves someone... Better? But it takes a couple days after he storms out for him to drag himself back to your feet. Darlin, he's a bad man. He's done a lot of bad things, the blood on his hands would drown you if you knew it all. If you'll let him love you, even just a little bit, even for a few days here or there, maybe it means he's doing something alright. And you let him because even if he doesn't understand, he does make it better. Even just a little bit.

Arthur is gone a lot more than you'd like, but you know you're on his mind all the time, when he comes home with new tonics, new herbs, something that some doctor said in the closest city to the job he was meant to focus on for Dutch. He lights up when something helps because it means he helped, he helped, he was needed. If it doesn't, he's taking on your extra chores load to make sure none of the others call you a layabout like Uncle. (The first time Micah does it, Arthur lays him out flat.)

Any downtime he has, he'll sit with you. He can't magic away your pain, but he fills your days with the two of you even when you can't get out of bed. Sometimes he draws (his journal is filled with sketches of you sleeping). Sometimes he will call Hosea in for a story from before you joined the gang, or he'll read to you from your favorite books that you already know by heart.

And if he's around for a good day, he's pulling you out of your hidey-hole and making sure that you get enough proper sunshine and a swim and food and maybe a glad or two of the good stuff to make sure you are building happy memories regardless of the days that you spend away from all of those comforts.

Even if he has to carry you. We all know Arthur is strong. If he can use that strength for something other than hurting, he's leaping for it every opportunity. More than once Grimshaw has had to shake her head because she knows you're having a good day, but Arthur insists.

Anyway please take care of yourself and take your pain seriously and find you a partner that is gentle with you on your bad days. Xoxo ~ Mabari

[imsofthelp]

Small Matsukawa Issei drabble. I want to eat that man UP.

cw: big dick issei (what’s new), belly bulge

Issei has you bent over the edge of the bed, his big, warm hands running over your sides and your hips soothingly, lips kissing away at the curve of your back to help distract you from the stretch.

The thing is, he knows he’s big. Knows from the way the rest of the Seijoh 4 gasped and laughed and made jokes about his cock killing somebody when they gpt too drunk and did a dick measuring contest. Knows from the way most people only take half of him before they’re wildly tapping at his hips and pushing at his abs to make him pull out. Knows from the way your pretty, sparkling eyes widened when he slid his boxers down after making you orgasm on his skilled tongue for the nth time.

You whimper and grip at the dark sheets of his bed when the first half slides into you, fitting snugly. Issei does a soft shhh, his hand coming down on top of your fingers, thumb running over your knuckles.

“I knooow, baby.” he coos, admiring how your skin breaks out in goosebumps, how your perfect lips pop open, your eyes screwed shut, “It’s a lot to take, huh?”

“…A lot.” you parrot, already almost braindead to the world. You never knew someone could have such a huge dick. The thing betwen Issei’s legs was something only found in porn or a perticularly intimidating dildo that your friends would point out at a sex shop jokingly.

“Yeeah, sweetheart’s cunt is too small for my dick?” Issei continues to tease, trying to bite down his smirk when you whine after he pushes another inch in, “Can you say, ah, big streeetch?”

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, lips opening and closing, trying to find your words. Issei’s eyes look down to where the two of you are connected, how your cunt is struggling to accomodate his dick, how your body trembles involuntarily.

“Bi-big stretch.” You manage to repeat as your voice breaks into an abrupt scream of his name as Issei slams home in one harsh thrust.

He doesn’t move, just stays there, calloused fingers slithering underneath your body, rubbing at your sensitive clit, making you whine.

“Like ripping off a bandaid, huh?” Issei jokes, his frree hand running down your hair in a gesture that’s supposes to be soothing.

“Fu-fucking asshole.” you murmur, blinking away the spots dancing across your vision.

Even if the pain is there, even if he’s not even moving, his cock is big enough to hit all the right spots. Life was definitely unfair sometimes.

“Yeah, yeah, hold on tight, baby.”

“Wha-“

Your words are knocked out of you as Issei pulls out until only the tip of his dick is left inside of you, admiring the way your clear juices are making his skin glitsen in the low light and slams back inside, his hips smacking against your ass, the noises of skin againsy skin ringing our throghout the bedroom.

Issei sets a steady pace, his toned body falling over yours, skin hot and flushed and sweaty. You can’t even find it within yourself to mind the weight, just moaning and whining and scrambling to hold onto something.

Issei’s fingers accidentely slip off of your clit, and he actually gasps. Before your drowsy mind can conjure up a question, or a complaint, he’s dropping to the floor, not even pulling out as you land on top of him, crying out when his cock goes even deeper at the new angle, the tip brushing against your cervix.

Your head tosses back against his shoulder, before he gets his breathing under control, grabbing your chin and making you look down.

“Look. Fucking look how deep I am.”

Right underneath your belly button, there’s an bulge protruding. Unmistakably him.

“Holy fucking shit.” Issei pants, shaky hands grabbing on your hips, maneuvering you like a puppet on his cock, slamming all the way down, as if he can’t leave even an inch of his cock bare of the warm comfort of your pussy, “Holyyyy fucking shit, I’m never letting you go, baby.”

[themindofachronicdaydreamer]

Suites & Sweets

freshman year at Jujutsu University Tokyo seems like it will be uneventful. and, well, that's true... until you meet the boys in the suite across the hall, and one in particular piques your interest.

satoru gojo x reader | jjk college au | no curse au | fem! reader | fluff, angst, & slow burn | SMAU & writing <3

introduction | previous

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ˋ°•*⁀➷˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 38. 𝓘 𝓛𝓞𝓥𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 ⍣ ೋ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ... wc: 870

It’s been a month since the whole thing with Naoya.A month since he looked at you with his stupidly beautiful blue eyes, kissed you in that dimly lit bathroom, and told you he loved you.

He hasn’t said it again since that night in the bathroom. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s waiting. You can feel it in the way he looks at you sometimes, in the way he holds your hand a little longer than necessary, in the way he traces invisible patterns against your skin when he thinks you’re not paying attention. He’s giving you space, letting you set the pace, as if afraid that pushing even a little might send you running.

But you’re not running.

Either way, right now, Satoru isn’t thinking about that. He’s stretched out across your dorm bed, one arm behind his head, the other draped across your stomach as you sit beside him, legs curled up under you. There’s some random movie playing in the background on your television. He’s half-watching some random movie he picked, the flickering light from the TV casting shifting shadows across his face. But really, neither of you are paying attention.

"Did you even see that scene?" you ask, shifting slightly, causing his fingers to brush against your side. "You’re the one who insisted we watch this."

Satoru grins, eyes barely cracking open as he shifts his head slightly to look up at you. "Mhm. Totally saw it."

"You’re such a liar."

"Not my fault you’re more interesting than the movie." He taps his fingers lightly against your side, his touch lazy, absentminded. "Besides, I’ve seen this one before. It’s not as good as I remember."

You roll your eyes, but you don’t move away. His presence is warm, comforting in a way that makes your heart ache if you think about it too hard.

You should just say it.

The thought sneaks up on you, settling in your chest, making your pulse quicken. You love him. You know you do. Maybe you’ve known it for a while now, but the words have been stuck in your throat, caught somewhere between fear and certainty.

When is the right moment with Satoru? When he’s teasing you mercilessly? When he’s laughing so hard he forgets to breathe? When he’s holding your hand like it’s something fragile, something precious? Maybe there’s no such thing as the right moment. Maybe it’s just now.

But right now, he’s just there. Completely at ease, long lashes resting against his cheek, his breath slow and steady. He looks so soft like this, so undeniably yours.

Your fingers twitch, the urge to reach out almost overwhelming, and before you can second-guess yourself, you do. You brush your fingers against his cheek, barely a whisper of a touch, but it’s enough.

Satoru’s eyes open immediately, sharp despite the drowsiness in them. His lips curl into a lazy smile, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. "What’s up, angel?"

You hesitate for half a second, your heartbeat loud in your ears. Then, before you can stop yourself, before you can overthink it, you let the words fall.

"I love you."

His expression shifts instantly, his body tensing, his blue eyes going wide. The teasing glint in his eyes disappears, replaced with something softer, something you can’t quite name. His fingers twitch where they rest against your skin, like he can’t believe it, like he’s trying to make sure he’s not dreaming. He blinks once, twice, and you think for a brief moment that you’ve actually broken him until all of the sudden, he grins. Not the cocky, smug smile he wears when he knows he’s being a menace, but something real. Something soft. Something just for you.

"Say it again," he breathes.

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but your face is warm, and you can’t help the way your lips twitch upward. "Don’t push it."

But he’s already moving, already shifting up so that he’s right there, so close you can feel his breath against your skin. His hands squeeze your waist, fingers curling just slightly, not to hold you still, but to ground himself.

"Say it again," he repeats, voice quieter this time, more breath than sound. "Just once more. Please."

You huff, but there’s no real exasperation behind it. Instead, you cup his jaw, your thumb brushing over the smooth skin of his cheek.

"I love you," you whisper.

And it’s like something inside him finally unravels.

Satoru makes a sound that’s part laugh, part sigh of relief, and then he’s kissing you. It’s soft at first, hesitant, almost like he can’t believe this is real—but then his hands tighten at your waist, and he deepens it, all warmth and sweetness and something that tastes like happiness.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. His hands haven’t moved from your waist, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he lets go.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

"Yeah," you say, matching his smile. "Yeah, I do."

And you swear, in that moment, he looks at you like you just handed him the entire world.

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TAGLIST:

@kentozwife @inthedarkshadows000 @yoimiya-m @makeshiftproject @frogfishie

@therealanxiety @kaged-kitty @pellucid-constellations @fuckisthatahotghost

@harryzcherry @briezy04764 @ohio-gyatt-mega-sigma-rizzler @babysoo-meu

@sorenflyinn @raquel12 @ermbehindyou @bxnfire @muli-wam @emlient

@diearama @miscellaneous-misty @blubearxy @twoderanged @kisakunt

@fallingpinkstars @rosiewantstowrite @blushinkchapters @chosolovrrr

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eek!! it's finished !! sorry this took so long, i've been preparing my next series (it's fifteen chapters long already) which i willlllll be posting the intro to soon. but ty ty for reading this and following along with angel & toru! this was so difficult to write but also so rewarding, and im happy so many enjoyed this series. thank u all love you see u SO soon <3333

ICYMI: the soundtrack of angel and toru <333 (check it out!!)

[anotherjheastan]

This Will Be Our Year - A Jey Uso x Rhea Ripley Fanfic

CW: suggestive, mentions sex (not descriptive)

Chapter 10 | Chapter List

Chapter 11: Clear the Air

September 18, 2024

Rhea sat on the deck in her backyard, watching her dogs run around. She had thrown some tennis balls for them every now and then. Her phone rang and she felt nervous. It was Jey on FaceTime for their big chat. It wasn’t a big deal really. But she was worried about saying the wrong thing. What if it turned out they weren’t actually compatible? 

“Hi,” Rhea said, smiling.

“Damn girl,” he said, smiling. “Got the sun shining down on you.”

She giggled. “Shut up.”

“You look good,” he said.

“Thanks,” Rhea said, glancing away from the phone. 

“Alright, back to the agenda,” Jey said.

Jey had actually sent an agenda yesterday: 

Communication style - how do you deal with conflict?

Expectations - rules of this relationship

Let’s talk about sex - likes, dislikes, hard no’s

He said it was to give them time to seriously think it over. And Rhea had. 

“How I deal with conflict is by talking about it right away,” Jey said. “I don’t like going away angry or sad when we can work through it now. What about you?”

Rhea chuckled. “I prefer space depending on the conflict. If I’m really mad or upset, I need time to process. Otherwise I’ll just scream and it still won’t be resolved.”

Jey nodded. “Is a day good? Or do you need longer?”

Rhea shrugged. “Depends. Most of the time, a day is good.”

“Noted.”

“I also have anxiety so sometimes I’m just in my head. That just affects my general communication sometimes,” Rhea said.

“Okay,” Jey said. “Is there a way you would like me to handle that?”

“Umm just keep being patient, I guess,” Rhea said. She touched her cheek, thinking about the other night. How he called her out for being in her head, gently stroking her cheek. “Thanks for being patient with me.”

“No problem. I can do that,” he said, smiling. “Anything else on your mind for communication?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. 

“Cool,” he said. “Ready for expectations?

Rhea shifted in her seat, crossing her legs. “Yeah.”

“How 'bout you go first?” He asked.

“Oh I…I think it’s okay if we see other people,” Rhea said. 

Rhea had decided this begrudgingly yesterday. She felt her roller coaster of emotions were too much for Jey. That he should keep his options open. Even though the thought of Jey with another woman turned her stomach. 

Jey’s eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. Rhea pulled at the hem of her shirt. 

“I mean it’s so early, you know? We’re still trying to figure this all out. And just when I feel ready to move on, something happens with Dom.”

“I don’t want us to see other people,” he said. “I’m selfish. I want you all to myself.”

Rhea blushed, looking out to her yard at her dogs. They were resting in the grass. 

“Part of the reason I think we should be exclusive is because of your feelings for Dom,” Jey said. “It’s a lot. Figuring out what you feel for him…and what you feel for me. I’m not asking for any other sort of commitment right now. I just want you to have the space to explore without any distractions.”

“But what if you meet someone while I’m sorting through all my emotions?” she asked.

“I don’t want anyone else,” he said. 

“But—,” Rhea started, but Jey was shaking his head. 

“I only want you,” Jey said. 

Rhea looked away from him. She didn’t want to believe him. Memories of Dom promising forever, making plans for after SummerSlam came to the surface. She stood up and called Barry and Bella. They followed her inside. She settled back down on the couch, wiping her watery eyes.

“I know that might be hard for you to accept right now,” Jey said. “But it’s true. And if it makes you uncomfortable for us to be exclusive, we don’t have to be.” 

Rhea looked anywhere but her phone. She felt flattered and nervous and scared. Too many things at once. 

“Rhea,” Jey said. She looked at her phone, at him. “Do you want to stop? We can talk about this stuff another day.” 

Rhea laughed half-heartedly. “But we were about to get to the fun part…”

Jey gave her a half-smile. “How about you call me back when you’re ready?”

“What if that’s not today?” 

“That’s fine too.”

 A few moments of silence passed. 

“I’ll call you back,” Rhea said quietly. A tear fell from her eye. 

“Bye Rhea,” he said. 

“Bye Jey.” 

He looked at her for a moment before hanging up. Rhea sighed. She felt her anger towards Dom building. He had just moved on. Why couldn’t she?

Because you aren’t a lying, cheating bastard, she thought.

Rhea got her journal and started writing. She poured all her emotions on the page: cussing Dom out and craving Jey. Jey felt like a cupcake before cheat day. She didn’t deserve him. But she knew she didn’t just want him because Dom rejected her or because he was interested in her. She genuinely wanted him. And she felt like she was failing at showing him. His patience was starting to feel more like indulgence and he deserved better. But how could she tell him that? 

Maybe you’re being too hard on yourself, a thought popped up. Rhea froze. Maybe you should let him love you and then you’ll find a way to show him you love him too. 

Okay, maybe not love. Rhea felt silly, reasoning with herself. But let him care for you and you can show him you care for him. 

After Rhea ate dinner, she called Jey back.

“Hey,” Jey answered. His hair was wet and he was shirtless. “I just got out the shower.”

“I see,” Rhea said, letting her eyes wander. 

Jey smirked. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to continue our conversation from earlier, but I can call you back…” 

“Naw, we can. I just won’t be on screen the whole time.”

Rhea bit her lip, keeping her thoughts to herself. Jey laughed. 

“I know you probably want me to be on screen, but I’m keeping it PG.” 

“Until we talk about sex,” Rhea said. 

“Yeah, we will definitely not be keeping it PG then,” he said, winking at her. He put his phone down and she could see his ceiling. 

“So where were we?” Jey asked. 

“Umm, to be exclusive or not,” Rhea said. 

“And have you made a decision?” 

“Can I be honest?” Rhea asked. 

“Always.” 

“I didn’t want us to be exclusive because I didn’t want you to miss out on someone better for you.” 

“Someone better for me?” Jey repeated. 

“Yeah. One minute I’m fine, the next I’m dealing with old feelings. You deserve someone…healed.”

He picked up the phone. His hair was a mess, half towel-dried. 

“Rhea, I want all versions of you. I’m not afraid because you’re going through something. I’ve only ever wanted to be there for you. But I get how it can be a lot.”

“I only want you,” Rhea said quietly, glancing away from her phone. “I only want these feelings I have for you.”

“You’re human, Rhea. You’re allowed to feel more than one thing at a time,” he said.

Rhea looked at him, slowly accepting what he said. “We can be…exclusive. No titles.”

“No titles,” Jey agreed. “Just dating.” 

Rhea nodded. Jey smiled. “I’m gonna put my phone down again, but I’m listening.” 

“Okay.” 

“Any other expectations you have?” he asked.

“Umm, probably just make sure we hear from each other at least once a day. Text or call,” Rhea said. 

“Yeah, I like that.” 

“I think that’s it.”

“Ready for the fun part?” Jey asked.

Rhea laughed, shifting in her seat. “Sure.”

Jey picked up his phone. His hair was a little more manageable. He had on a white tank top. He laid back on his bed. 

“So let’s talk about sex,” he said. “Tell me what you like.” 

Rhea wished she was still looking at his ceiling. He had a slight smirk on his face. He was trying to play it cool. She glanced away as she talked, the room getting hotter as she talked about letting go and being dominated and her favorite positions. Jey was cool listening, but he stuttered when it was his turn to share. Rhea crossed her legs, listening intently. She made several mental notes. 

“Why didn’t we have this conversation in person again?” Rhea asked. 

“Because we wouldn’t have finished it,” Jey said, half a smile on his face. 

Rhea nodded. “We definitely wouldn’t have.” 

They watched each other. Rhea was definitely thinking about the fact that they were only 15 minutes apart. Why wait any longer? Rip the bandaid off. 

“I’m gonna get something to eat,” he said, sitting up. 

Rhea grinned, biting her tongue. “Okay.”

Jey smirked. “Nasty. I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

“Me? Nasty? I’m an angel,” Rhea said, winking.

“Okay, ‘demon in your dreams.’ Bye.” 

Rhea laughed. “Bye Jey.” 

Previous Chapter

[nighkinty]

Midnight Comfort

A Killermare fanfic

By @nighkinty

If you want to dub this then you don't need permission! But please tag me on YouTube. (My YT channel is MoonlightSkellie.)

PART 1: Nightmares...

Everything was quiet in Nightmare's castle... everyone was asleep... or at least almost everyone... Nightmare was still up after a nightmare... he decided to get up and do some of the paperwork crowding his desk...

As his pen scribbled on the paper he heard a soft knock from the door. Hearing this, he looked up and mumbled "Come in."

Killer opened the door to his room, looking at Nightmare with a tired expression, he mumbled:

"It's late... Shouldn't you be asleep?"

Nightmare looked at him with a deadpan expression.

"I could ask you the same question." Nightmare mumbled, standing up to walk over to his bed and sit down, gesturing to Killer to sit beside him.

Killer walked over to Nightmares bed and sat next to him.

"What happened?" Nightmare asked. He obviously knew something was wrong because Killer didn't normally wake up like this...

Killer shuffled a bit trying to get comfortable...

"I had a nightmare and couldn't fall asleep again..." He mumbled, rubbing his eye sockets and smudging a bit of the rotten determination from his eyes.

How ironic... Nightmare thought to himself...

"Well, I can give you some melatonin... I'm not sure how else to help..."

Killer sat there for a moment... before speaking up and asking a rather strange question.

"How come whenever one of us touches you, you get all upset as if we stabbed you or something? or well whenever we get close?"

Nightmare didn't respond... well... not at first anyways. He sighed.

"I don't like physical touch because of what happened when I was younger..." Nightmare said looking away. "It... scares me sometimes..." He admitted.

Killer stared at him for a long moment before simply saying: "Oh..."

PART 2: Unexpected affection

After what seemed like forever, Killer moved closer to Nightmare. Upon doing this, Nightmare glared at him with suspicion.

"What are you doing? I just told you I don't like when other people are close to me."

Killer looked at him with a rather serious expression.

"And I want to help change that."

Nightmare looked at him utterly puzzled.

"What are you-"

Killer gently grabbed Nightmare's hand and held it, the sudden action cause Nightmare to flinch.

"I want to help you overcome your supposed fear of physical touch... I mean... everyone deserves affection I want you to be able to receive affection without getting all scared and jumpy."

Nightmare stared at Killer for a long moment before relaxing. his regular uncaring expression returned, and he let out a small huff of annoyance.

"Fine... I'll allow you to help only this ONCE." Nightmare mumbled.

A smug smirk appeared on Killer's face as he gently brought Nightmares hand to his teeth to give it a light kiss.

Nightmare's face almost immediately turned a cyan color, and he shoved Killer away, making him fall off the bed with an "oof"

"Now you're just trying to flatter me... it's not goin' to work..." Nightmare mumbled looking away.

Killer snickered from his position on the floor. "Sorry Boss..."

Nightmare sighed before using one of his tendrils to help Killer stand.

"It's getting late... we should probably try and get some sleep."

Killer's smug smirk widened.

"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Killer asked.

Nightmare snapped his head to look at him with a dumbfounded expression and bright cyan cheeks.

"E-Excuse me, what??" Nightmare stuttered.

Killer let out a snicker before asking the question again.

"Can I sleep with you tonight? just this once?"

Nightmare paused for a moment, before he reluctantly sighed.

"Fine... but only this ONCE. after that I better not hear you ask me again." He scoffed half-heartedly.

(Lazy at this point so uh yeah)

That night, Killer and Nightmare did indeed sleep together... Nightmare had eventually clung to Killer during the night. Killer on the other hand had deliberately stayed up to watch Nightmare sleep. that only lasted for a good 30 minutes before Nightmare called him out for it.

Nightmare belongs to @/jokublog

Killer belongs to @/rahafwabas

Again, if you dub this then please tag me on YouTube.

[salty-autistic-writer]

Written for @bucktommyangstweek, Day 3

Summary: Buck decides no one else is going to leave. (Tw: Everything I would say is a spoiler, so be advised that this is dark and has an unhappy ending!)

Buck stares at the cake in the oven. It’s almost finished. It will have to cool off first before they can eat it, of course.

The sweet smell of chocolate that floats through the whole house doesn’t excite him anymore. Buck has had enough cake to last a lifetime. But Tommy likes cake. So Tommy is going to get cake.

Tommy shifts and clears his throat where he’s sitting at the table, radiating concern as he watches Buck moving around. “Evan …”

Buck closes his eyes. He knows what Tommy is about to say. But he doesn’t want to hear it.

“We should talk about this,” Tommy says, in that awful gentle tone. “We really should.”

“There’s no need to talk,” Buck says. There’s no need to make decisions. Or to argue. Not anymore. “We are right where we should be. And we are going to stay here. We are going to eat cake. And be happy.”

“Evan. It doesn’t work that way.”

Buck curls one hand into a fist. Tight. Tighter. His nails dig into his own flesh. “It does if you want it to work.”

“So … You want us to pretend everything is fine? We are just going to ignore the issues? We are going to act like we didn’t break up? Like I didn’t leave you?”

“You are here now. That’s all that matters. And you’re not going to leave again,” Buck says quietly.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tommy asks, stunned.

“It means that no one is leaving. No one’s leaving ever again,” Buck says, turning around to face Tommy. “Because I’m tired of it!”

Tired. So tired of being left behind. Tired of having to say goodbye. Enough. He’s had enough.

Tommy stares at him sadly. „Evan … Do you really think this is the right thing to do?“

„It’s not about doing the right thing. It’s … it’s about things going back to how they were supposed to be,” Buck insists, throwing his hands up. “Everything was fine! I was finally … happy. And then everything just spiraled out of control. Well. No more. I am in control now! No more leaving.”

Tommy smiles sadly. “You can’t keep me here forever, Evan. You wouldn’t. You’re not the kind of person who would make someone stay against their will.”

“Are you sure about that?” Buck asks, looking at his blood-specked nails, the half-moon wounds in the palm of his hand pulsing rhythmically Because sometimes not even I am sure who I am anymore.

In the beginning, Tommy is gentle with him. Careful. He’s tiptoeing through the house, keeping his voice down and his movements slow. Almost as if Buck was a spooked animal. It’s kind of funny.

Buck forces himself to be patient with Tommy. He hopes they will fall back into a routine eventually. He’s making dinner for them when Tommy approaches him and puts a hesitating hand on his shoulder. “Evan. I have to go.”

“No,” Buck says, his brows furrowing in irritation. “There’s nowhere else you have to be. You’re right where you belong.”

With me.

* “Evan, darling, you have to let me go.”

A mug drops. Shatters on the floor. Silence.

“Why do you have to make this so difficult?” Buck asks, breathing heavily, staring at the shards. “Why … Why do you keep trying to leave me? Do you really want to destroy our happiness again? What did I do to you to deserve that?”

“I don’t want to leave you forever, Evan. I will come back.”

“That’s what you say. But how do I know that’s not a lie? People lie all the time,” Buck says bitterly.

“You will have to trust me. Evan. You do know you can’t stay in this house alone with me, forever right? People would start to ask questions. You have a life. A job. A family. Friends. Do you really think they wouldn’t start to notice something is off?”

Life. Family. Friends. Buck swallows. His heart aches. It really sounds like his life is full … Like he should be grateful. But how can he trust any of it? Every time he dares to allow himself to be happy, something or someone gets taken away. His heart being torn into pieces until nothing is left.

“I don’t want them here anyway. No one’s coming here. I made sure of that,” Buck says grimly. “It’s just you and me.”

* Buck might be having a mental breakdown. He’s not sure. He does know something is wrong because he can’t stop crying.

His eyes are red and swollen. The world is blurry. Shadows missing contours. A mess of colors and movement. Buck balances on the edge between numbness and desperation. What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?

“It might be a good idea to call for help,” Tommy tells him softly.

“No,” Buck sobs. “I can’t. They … They are going to take you away from me. They can’t!”

And then it’s going to be real.

He shakes his head. “You’re going to stay. You … You’re going to be there when I wake up a the morning. We are going to cuddle and … and you are going to tell me how much you love me. Tell me. Tell me now. I want to hear it!”

“Evan …”

“Tell me!” Buck yells.

Tommy winces.

And Buck’s heart sinks into his stomach. He’s behaving like a bad person, right? He … Oh God. He basically kidnapped Tommy! 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his eyes filling with fresh tears, one hand reaching for Tommy. “I’m so sorry. I … I would never want to hurt you. You are right. I’m not that kind of person. But … But I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to lose you again. Please. Don’t leave me.”

Stay.

Stay with me.

Forever.

“I’m here, Evan,” Tommy tells him quietly, his hand brushing Buck’s chest, where his heart is jackrabbiting against his ribs. “I’m here. Right there. Always.”

* Someone knocks at the door. Several times. Buck forces himself to open it, after inspecting his face in the bathroom mirror. His eyes are still red from all the crying. But maybe it’s just the postman …

It’s not. It’s his sister.

“Maddie.” Buck blinks, surprised. “What … What are you doing here?”

She smiles at him, her eyes scanning his face. What she sees clearly worries her. “I’m checking in on you of course, how are you doing?” She hugs him.

He swallows. “Doing okay.”

“I know you said you need some time alone, but …” She bites her lip. “Is it okay if I come inside?”

Inside. Tommy is inside. What is Maddie going to think of him?! 

Buck frowns and scratches the back of his head. “I … I didn’t really clean.”

“That doesn’t bother me, Buck,” she says, already moving to enter. Buck sighs in defeat. If she sees Tommy, he will have to explain. Explain that … Well. That this is not what it looks like? That they’re working things out? Something like that. 

“So,” Maddie says when they reach the living room. “Did you, uh, think about it? About going?”

“Uh,” Buck nervously wipes his sweaty hands on his pants. “I … I can’t. Go. I can’t go.”

Maddie gives him a long look. Her eyes fill with sadness and something like … pity.

“Buck … Everyone is going. I think you should come too. It might help you with … with processing, hm?”

“Processing,” Buck repeats numbly.

“Yeah,” Maddie encourages, her hand reaching for his, gently squeezing it. “I know it’s hard. But you have to start somewhere, okay? You’re not going to be alone.”

Alone.

Buck glances to the side, to where Tommy is standing at the door, watching them.

Tommy gives him a small sad smile. “I told you, Evan. You can’t keep me here forever.”

Buck freezes. He can’t breathe. He can’t …

“Buck? Buck, what’s going on?”

Oh God. Oh …

“Buck?”

No …

He’s hyperventilating. The world blurs. Tommy fades. Until … he’s gone.

He’s gone?

He’s gone. Oh God. Tommy is gone. The date of the funeral is circled in the calendar. No. Yes. Buck’s hand snaps up, reaching for his chest. It hurts so much. His legs buckle and he almost collapses, Maddie reaches for his arms, asking what’s going on, as he slips to the floor, all his energy drained with the settling realization that he lied to himself all this time.

Buck was living a fantasy. Because reality was too painful.

He licks his dry lips, not even able to remember when he drank something the last time.

“Buck,” Maddie says, her hand on his forehead. “Oh Buck.”

“I … I think I need help,” he tells her weakly, before passing out, the ghost of Maddie’s voice calling his name following him into the darkness.

(AO3 Link)

Prompts: Kidnapping, Major Character Death

[sturnsblogs]

WHISPERS AND WHIMPERS

Warnings- Nothing really just kissing..a very needy chris.

Dealer!Chris X Bsfwb!Reader

People ask why you’re doing this stupid friends with benefits thing with Chris, and honestly, the only answer you can give is something you can’t say. Well, there are many reasons—he’s hot, he’s sweet sometimes, and he’s needy. But, of course, he’d never tell anyone that. And the biggest thing?

He whimpers.

He doesn’t admit to it, but you know. And who doesn’t love a guy who thinks he’s tough as hell until he’s in bed and he’s whimpering?

The first time you heard it, it caught you off guard—his usual confidence, his cocky attitude slipping away as he moaned softly under his breath. That’s when you knew. You couldn’t get enough of it. The sound of his voice, all shaky and desperate, like he couldn’t keep up the tough guy act when you were touching him the way he wanted. It made your pulse race.

Another thing that drives you insane is when he’s super drunk. That’s when he gets so whiny, so needy. And God, that’s what gets you soaked. The way he forgets how to act—like the guy who always has control—turns into someone pleading for you, asking for you like he can’t breathe without you. And of course, he doesn’t “remember” any of it in the morning. How he begged for you, his voice slurring but still so desperate, saying things like “Y/N, please… m’good boy… for you,” or, “Please… need you… so bad.”

But tonight?

You’re not giving him the chance to forget.

You move, your body leaning forward until you’re straddling his lap, your thighs pressing against his as you settle yourself comfortably. Chris doesn’t say anything, but the way his hand grips your waist tells you everything you need to know—he’s not used to this kind of closeness, not in this way. But you’re not backing down.

His lips brush your neck, sending a shock of heat down your spine, and you can’t help but softly kiss his jaw. His hands move to your hips, fingers digging in gently, pulling you closer as he exhales a low breath against your skin.

“Angel…” he murmurs, voice strained. He’s trying to keep himself composed, but you can feel the way his hands tighten around you, like he’s holding back. You lift your head slightly, lips grazing his neck, and that’s when you hear it.

A soft, barely-there whimper escapes his lips, the sound so raw it makes your breath hitch.

His grip on your hips tightens, and you can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s struggling to stay in control. But you know what you’re doing. You know how to make him lose that control.

You kiss his neck, moving your lips lower, letting your body press fully against his as you feel the heat of his breath against your skin. His chest rises and falls faster now, and you feel his hands trembling slightly, betraying him. His voice is barely audible, but you catch the words.

“Please… need you…”

You shiver, your body reacting to the sound of his plea. His eyes are dark, clouded with something desperate, but he’s trying—desperately trying—to stay in control. You smile, brushing your lips over the edge of his ear, whispering, “You can have me, Chris. Just… let go.”

Another whimper escapes him, this one more urgent. He moans softly under his breath, his voice barely holding itself together. “Y/N… I need you…”

You can feel him trembling beneath you, his hands pulling at your shirt, but still, he’s not letting himself give in completely. You tilt your head, looking down at him. He’s too proud to admit it—he won’t ever tell you, but right now? He needs you more than anything.

And for once, he’s not hiding it.

A/N- Thought of @grace-sturnz while making this cause of her bio 🙌

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @jimmasterflashh @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys

[wisteriaiswriting]

Sending Their S/O Into A Coma

Words: 646

Request:  Hi :) I can’t remember if I’ve sent this ask before. If I have, then just ignore ^^’ How would the mercs react to accidently friendly firing on their s/o and they end up in a coma? If not all then maybe Engineer, Sniper and Soldier

He is distraught as soon as he realises what he did. It doesn’t matter who was actually in the wrong, he’s bringing you over to his gear and watching over you for the whole match.

He’ll drop all his gear to bring you to Medic, just hoping he didn’t do much damage, which with Medic, not much could be too much.

Nearly dropping to the floor when Medic tells him that you’re in a coma. And as it turns out, the respawn machine doesn’t do anything to wake you.

So you have to say in the infirmary until you do wake up, which causes him to nearly be put in there himself.

With the help of the others he’s able to stay healthy, but the fights don’t stop for one person. During the fight he’s being eaten with guilt, just wanting to go back.

But when you do finally wake up, it’s either one of two ways.

Either he’s already there, sitting right next to you just waiting for this moment. Throwing himself at you when he notices, but making sure you’re fine.

Or he’s stuffed himself in his workshop, so Medic accompanies you there. Watching you two embrace for a moment before leaving, well, not before embarrassing you two when giving the instructions of care.

If he somehow shot you, he was likely trying to shoot someone else right behind or next to you, only for you to move at the last second. Which causes you to go down immediately, but also has the other team leaving you alone.

He fully expects you to respawn soon enough, and with being in the middle of a fight, he has to look away. Hoping to see you again, he kinda has to apologise for that.

But you don’t show up again. Not even when everyone is in the locker room putting their stuff away, he asks around but no one saw you.

Ignoring and declining their help to look, he rushed out. And very quickly finding your knocked out body, in the same spot he last saw you.

Of course Medic ignored Sniper ignoring him, so he was able to help quickly. Or rather… try. You didn’t respawn which means something more serious than dying happened.

Turns out the shot somehow put you into a coma, something he found out couldn’t be quickened at all.

So he visited the infirmary much more due to you, which Medic didn’t mind honestly. Sniper was more than willing to watch over you for hours at a time.

So he was definitely there when you awoke, hesitating for a second before embracing you. And of course Medic had to interrupt for checkup.

I’m sorry, but if you’re hit by him I don’t know how you’re alive, much less a coma. But it happened I guess.

The blast sent you flying across the battlefield, hitting your head which knocked you out. And somehow no one saw you, or they didn’t have time to come get you.

Filled with adrenaline from battle, Soldier missed your absence, only realising later when you weren’t around, at all.

Finding you when he went for one of his long walks around the battlefield, yelling out to you but getting no response.

Holding you in a bridal carry, he rushed back to base shouting for Medic. Who wasn’t happy hearing Jane, only to rush over when he saw you in his arms.

It was quite hard to get him to understand that; You’re in a coma, no, the respawn machine will not help you (They’ve tried) and can you leave already?

He is the clingest man by far, sometimes Medic has to physically drag Soldier out because he’ll hang out for days at a time.

This man almost crushes you when you wake up, so Medic again has to intervene. But he lets Soldier stay for your checkup.

[venusinthesun]

ok who are the women that you personally think are loser yearners within the fandoms you have currently written for. Like they just strike the vibe of yearning for you while stalking watching you from afar, dreaming of the day they tell you how they really feel

Obey me, genshin, wuwa

Cw: implied yandere and mentions of 18+ topics

This was so fun to write! Also if anybody else is reading this, my asks are open for these fandoms :) I may not respond to all though!

Fem! Obey me:

Leviathan takes number one, no question. She just thinks so lowly of herself, locking herself away in her room and playing anime games all day. She can’t possibly imagine coming up to you—the most perfect, gorgeous person she’s ever seen in her life! She’ll absolutely watch you from afar, looking up from her Nintendo switch at the dinner table to sneak a glance. She’s obsessed. When she shamefully opens up her more 18+ tabs at night, she looks for characters that look like you.

Mammon is a close second, but less…greasy. As your number one, she will practically follow you around everywhere. Around the house, around the school, around the everywhere. Unlike her sister, she actually talks to you! She’s fun and charming, and you have no idea how much she wants you. She likes to imagine little fantasies during class about you two together, and she wants the perfect day to come by when she can finally make you hers.

Hear me out on Simeon doing something like this. She’s such a perfect angel, proud of her wings and celestia…and she absolutely yearns for you. She wants you so badly as you two talk, her eyes capturing every detail about you and to save it for later. She knows it’s wrong, to watch over you like this, but she needs you. She can’t let demons ruin what’s hers.

Fem! Genshin:

Kaveh anon this is for you

Kaveh. She tries her best to play it cool, being the calm and collected person she knows she can be—but you make it so hard. She’s watching you from across the room, scanning over everything about the way you look today, the way you smile. She has so much work to do, and so little sleep, talking to you is basically out of the question. But that doesnt mean she can’t get a little close while throwing away her trash, getting to see your face just a little bit closer this time (it’s her new favorite memory).

Xiao, definitely. She’s too nervous to do anything that watch you from treetops or while you sleep. She makes her way inside your hotel room while you visit the Inn, looking over (she likes to call it protecting) while you sleep. Sometimes you see her, staring at you while standing on a tree branch. It’s a bit scary, but it doesn’t stop you from coming over to say hi! Unfortunately, it also doesn’t stop her from vanishing and trying to rationalize why she didn’t just go for it.

The original “I’m scared of people”, shenhe. She doesn’t come into the harbor often, choosing to stay in the abode with her master more than having to control herself around large groups of people; but it is a treat when she sees you around the city. Shenhe chooses to stay more in the back, the shadows between alleyways as she follows you. Shenhe doesn’t even quite know it’s creepy, just that she wants to know more. She goes back to cloud retainer with a new thing to think about, dreaming of you.

Wuthering waves

Shorekeeper. Mostly in part to the fact for a long time she couldn’t really…move without using her hologram. She likes seeing your around the blackshores, making sure to keep extra tabs on you and where your going. She wants you badly, and when it gets so bad, she sometimes sends a little blue butterfly your way. Shorekeeper is also prone to using any information saved about you in the system to learn more.

[followyourfleart]

𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑩𝒊𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝑭𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌

Chapter 11 -

Traveling to the dam, trying to save a place you've called home for the past 10 years, you knew it would have its ups and downs. It wouldn't be easy, but you never imagined day 1 to start and end like this.

....................................................

Trigger Warning:

Blood, violence, murder, attempted murder, interrogating, and choking.

Please be cautious when reading this chapter! Your mental health matters.

Word Count: 9.6 k

Previous/Next

Snake River Trail was long and winding, and very frozen over.

You stared over the ice, the falling snow landing softly on the surface, disappearing into the white expanse. The river stretched endlessly ahead, a winding path carved into the wilderness, flanked by skeletal trees weighed down with frost. The wind howled through the valley, cutting through the layers of your coat, biting at your exposed skin.

You pulled your scarf higher over your nose, breath fogging up the fabric. It had been years since you last walked by this river, back when it was the only thing guiding you and Cade to safety. 

Joel walked ahead, his rifle slung over his shoulder, boots crunching steadily against the ice-covered path. His posture was stiff, shoulders squared against the cold, but you could tell his mind was elsewhere.

“How far do we have to go?” you asked, voice muffled by your scarf.

“‘Bout an hour,” Joel responded without looking back. “Give or take.”

Horses neighed and huffed, their breath fogging around them. You can hear the tense conversations, the clanking of rifles and the occasional murmur of someone adjusting their gear. The group moved in a slow, cautious line, the weight of their task settling over them like the thick winter sky. No one spoke more than necessary—not when the cold stole the breath from your lungs, not when the quiet pressed in too tightly.

Your fingers curled inside your gloves, aching from the cold despite the layers. The trail ahead was treacherous, patches of black ice hidden beneath the fresh snowfall, and you kept your gaze lowered, watching where you stepped. The last thing you needed was a broken ankle in the middle of nowhere.

Joel walked a few paces ahead, his head tilted slightly, always listening. His hand hovered near his holster, an instinct so deeply ingrained in him that he probably didn’t even realize he was doing it. You recognized that posture—it meant something was gnawing at the back of his mind, something he wasn’t saying.

You took a few hurried steps to close the distance between you. “You’re quiet,” you said, keeping your voice low. “That usually means bad news.”

Joel’s jaw flexed, muscles tightening beneath his scruffy beard. He didn’t look at you, just kept his eyes on the river, it's dark surface rippling under the early evening breeze. “Just thinkin’.”

You waited, letting the silence stretch between you, hoping he’d fill it. He usually didn’t—Joel had a way of keeping his thoughts locked up like a vault, iron-clad and impenetrable. But sometimes, if you were patient enough, you’d get a glimpse of what was going on in that stubborn head of his.

When the quiet lingered too long, you sighed through your nose. “About?”

He shrugged, shifting his weight slightly. “Ellie, mainly.”

You didn’t expect any different answer. Your eyes softened as you followed his gaze over the water, watching the way the last of the sunlight shimmered against the current. “Yeah,” you murmured. “I get that.”

Without thinking, you reached out and rested your hand on his elbow, a small, grounding touch. His flannel was warm from the heat of his skin, the fabric worn and softened over years of use. You felt the way he tensed under your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“She’ll be fine,” you reassured him, tilting your head to look up at him. “She’s with Mrs. MacGregor and the other kids.”

Joel finally turned his head, his deep brown eyes settling on yours. There was something unreadable there, something heavy. His face was cast in shadow, the fading sunlight catching the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the lines carved deep into his forehead.

“I know,” he said gruffly, but he didn’t sound convinced.

You hesitated, squeezing his arm gently before letting your hand drop. “Joel…”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. “She just—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening again. He rubbed a hand over his face, fingers dragging down to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“You guys fight or something?”

Joel scoffed, the sound dry and humorless. “Fight is puttin’ it lightly. More like claws out, ready to cut me to death.”

You raised a brow. “What’d you do? Piss in her cereal?”

The joke was meant to lighten the mood, but when Joel turned to look at you, the flicker of pain in his eyes stopped you cold. It was quick—just a flash of something raw, something breaking at the seams of whatever held him together—but it was enough. Enough to tell you this wasn’t just about some petty argument.

Then, just as fast as it appeared, it was gone. The wall slammed back into place, and Joel turned his gaze toward the horizon, his expression unreadable again.

“I’ve… just been keepin’ her from somethin’,” he muttered, voice low. “Somethin’ she wants real bad.”

A weight settled in your chest, thick and unspoken. Whatever this was, it wasn’t just an argument—it was something deeper, something Joel was afraid to say out loud.

His silence was answer enough.

You took a step closer, lowering your voice. “Joel… what are you not telling me?”

His shoulders stiffened, and for a second, you thought he might actually tell you. The wind whistled softly through the trees, the town murmuring in the distance, but in this moment, it felt like it was just the two of you standing on the edge of something neither of you could name.

Then, Joel shook his head. “Nothin’,” he said gruffly. “It’s nothin’.”

You knew better than to push. Pushing made Joel build higher walls—ones you hadn’t yet mastered how to climb. All you could do was wait. Wait for him to peek from behind them and decide, in his own time, if he’d let you in.

“You’re probably right,” you said after a beat, kicking at the snow with the toe of your boot. A chunk broke off and tumbled into another patch, burying itself in the frost. “Father and daughter secrets. Don’t wanna get in the middle of that.”

Joel didn’t say anything.

You glanced up at him, half-expecting the usual grumble, some kind of deflection—but it never came. He just stood there, staring out over the horizon, his expression carved from something heavy and unshakable.

And that silence told you more than words ever could.

To say you felt strange about his relationship with Ellie was an understatement. You’d seen fathers and daughters before—how they moved around each other, how love and exasperation wove between their words, how a bond like that could survive even the end of the world.

But Joel and Ellie? They weren’t like that.

He protected her, fiercely, like she was something he could tuck away and keep safe. But he never let himself get too close—never in a way that made them feel like a real father and daughter. You’d noticed the way he hesitated when she reached for him, how he sometimes looked at her like she was something fragile and breakable, something he wasn’t sure he was meant to hold.

At first, you thought maybe it was just the world that had made him this way. Maybe losing Sarah had taught him to keep his love at arm’s length, to make sure he never let it get so close again that it could destroy him.

And maybe that was all it was.

But deep in your gut, there was something else—a whisper at the back of your mind, an unease that sat too heavy on your chest. It gnawed at you in quiet moments like these, when Joel’s silence stretched too long, when the weight in his eyes looked too much like guilt.

Something wasn’t right.

And that scared you more than anything.

You exhaled through your nose, biting your lip before shaking off the thought. None of your business, you told yourself. Not your right to know.

“Well,” you said, forcing some lightness into your voice, “let me know if I need to break out the referee shirt. I’d pay good rations to see you and Ellie in a yelling match.”

That got you something—just the smallest flicker in Joel’s expression, the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile, but close.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You let the moment settle, your breath misting in the cold air as the quiet stretched between you again. The wind had picked up, cutting sharper against your face, carrying with it the distant scent of damp earth and wood smoke.

Up ahead, you spotted Molly, her dark braids twisted into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, Nathaniel beside her. He leaned in as he spoke, just a little closer each time, like he was drawn toward her without even realizing it. She didn’t push him away—if anything, she tilted her head ever so slightly, just enough to let him in.

Cute.

A small warmth bubbled in your chest at the sight of them. It was rare, moments like that—where people found something soft, something worth holding onto. In a world that had taken so much, it felt like a quiet kind of rebellion to see someone still reaching for more.

The moment didn’t last.

The line was long, the village near the dam still a trek and a half away, and every step forward made the air feel heavier. Boots crunched against snow-packed dirt, the sound swallowed up by the empty expanse around you. You weren’t the only one who noticed it—hands clenched a little tighter around guns, shoulders squared against the biting wind.

Eyes wandered more. Joel’s. Tommy’s. Maria’s. Everyone’s.

Tommy and Maria had positioned themselves at the front, scanning the treeline as they walked, the weight of quiet tension pressing over the group like a thick fog. 

Just like Joel had said, an hour had passed before the crumbling rooftops of a village—more like a small town—appeared on the horizon, breaking up the endless stretch of white. Snow blanketed the ruins, softening the jagged edges of collapsed buildings, but it couldn’t hide the years of decay.

The town had been picked clean long before now. Twenty years was a long time. But that didn’t stop people from spreading out, rifling through whatever was left. Radshacking, as Tommy called it. Not that anyone expected to find much.

You adjusted the strap of your rifle and followed Joel as he moved through what used to be a main street, your boots crunching through frost-covered debris. A rusted-out pickup sat half-buried under a collapsed awning, its windows shattered, its tires long since stripped. A faded sign dangled above a boarded-up storefront, swaying in the wind, the paint too worn to read.

“This place is a ghost town,” Nathaniel muttered, kicking at a chunk of ice-covered rubble.

“Means less trouble,” Molly answered, pulling her scarf up higher over her face. “Let’s just find what we can and get moving.”

You nodded in agreement, but as your eyes swept the ruins, something about the place set your teeth on edge. It wasn’t just the emptiness. It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Joel felt it too. You could tell by the way he moved—slower, more deliberate. His fingers flexed near his revolver, his eyes scanning each alleyway, each darkened doorway.

“This town have a name?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

“Used to,” Tommy said from up ahead. “Sign back there, said ‘Milton.’ Ain’t much of it now.”

You and Joel exchanged a glance.

“Tommy.” Joel’s voice was low, firm. “We movin’ through or stayin’?”

Maria answered for him. “We need supplies,” she said, pulling her coat tighter around herself. “And shelter for the night. Weather’s turin’. We push through now, we’re risking a storm catchin’ us out in the open.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned to you. “Stay close.”

It wasn’t a request.

The group spread out, moving in pairs as they searched the remains of the town. You stuck to Joel’s side, sweeping the inside of a gutted diner while he checked behind the counter. Broken glass crunched underfoot as you picked your way through overturned chairs and a rusted-out jukebox covered in dust. A faded menu board still clung to the wall, its letters cracked and peeling. Coffee—$1.50. Breakfast Special—$5.99.

A lifetime ago.

Joel moved with practiced efficiency, opening drawers, checking under counters. You did the same, but it was clear—there was nothing left. Just scraps.

“Anything?” you asked.

Joel shook his head, shoving a broken cash register aside. “Nah. Place is bone-dry.”

You sighed and leaned against the counter, rubbing at the chill in your fingers. Your breath fogged in the air. “Could’ve told you that before we even walked in.”

Joel smirked faintly but didn’t respond. He was already moving toward the door.

Then—

A noise.

Distant, barely there. A thump, muffled by the wind. Joel froze, his fingers immediately stopping midair. You did too, your pulse spiking.

Another noise. Closer this time. Something shifting, scraping against stone.

Joel’s hand was on his revolver in an instant. He flicked his chin toward the door. “Move.”

You didn’t argue.

Slipping out of the diner, you scanned the street. The others were still searching—Tommy and Maria near what looked like an old general store, Nathaniel and Molly picking through the remains of a house. No one else seemed to have heard it.

Joel stood beside you, body tense, head tilted slightly like he was listening. Then, quietly said, “Second floor.”

You followed his gaze to the second floor of the diner. Seemed to be where the old owners lived. Half-collapsed, with a gaping hole in the roof. The windows on the upper level were shattered, but behind the jagged glass, something moved.

A flicker of motion.

Then—gone.

Your stomach twisted. Clickers?

Joel glanced at you. “You ready?”

You swallowed and nodded, heart hammering as you raised your rifle. Together, you both entered again, boots crunching over ice and debris. This time, you found a door with an employee only sign, and jerked it open. 

Inside, the air was thick with dust and the scent of rot. The stairs were the only thing, long and tall as it went up into the dark, another door blocking it.

You didn’t see anything.

But you felt it.

Joel gestured toward the stairs. “Stay behind me.”

The wood creaked beneath your weight as you ascended, slow and careful. Your grip tightened around your rifle, sweat slicking your palms despite the cold.

At the top, a long hallway stretched before you, doors hanging open on either side.

Joel moved forward, his steps measured, his breath steady. He reached the door—paused—then nudged it open with the barrel of his gun.

Nothing. A simple living room with an old TV that had seen better days. Vintage couches that were torn and missing parts. Glass was everywhere, and snow had made its way inside. 

He moved. Still nothing.

Then—

A sound. Soft. Ragged, like breathing. Not the gurgling, clicking sound of the infected. Something else. Your stomach knotted. Joel glanced at you again, his eyes dark and unreadable, and then to the door to what seemed to be a bedroom. He raised three fingers. On three.

You nodded.

One.

Two.

Three.

Joel kicked the door open, gun raised.

Inside—

A person.

A man, slumped against the far wall, half-hidden beneath a pile of old coats. His clothes were torn, his skin pale and feverish. His eyes snapped open at the intrusion, wild and bloodshot.

And in his hands—

A gun.

Joel moved faster. In an instant, he had the man pinned, his revolver pressing against his temple. The stranger thrashed, weakly, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Who are you?” Joel demanded. “You alone?”

The man coughed—a wet, awful sound. “P-please—” His voice was hoarse, cracked from thirst. His fingers twitched around the pistol, but he was too weak to raise it. “Don’t—don’t shoot.”

You stepped closer, picking up the man’s thrown gun. You then threw it to the other side “Answer him. What’s your name?” You had less resolve in your voice than you liked to admit. The man’s eyes flickered up to you.

“James! I’m James. James Berewen.” He repeated his name, as if that would free him. Joel’s eyes flickered up to you, then back down to the man.

“What are you doin’ here? Comin’ here to catch us?”

“N-no! Self-defense.” He whimpered as Joel pushed the gun harsher into his temple. 

Joel didn’t ease up. His grip on the revolver stayed firm, his expression unreadable as he studied the man—James.

“Self-defense, huh?” Joel muttered, voice flat. “Ain’t lookin’ too good at defendin’ yourself.”

James let out a shaky breath, his whole body trembling. “I—my brother and I—we were passing through, just trying to find shelter.” His voice cracked, his breathing uneven. “We didn’t know they were here.”

“Your brother?” You repeated, your stomach knotting. Sympathy you shouldn’t be feeling seeps its way into your skin “And… who are they?”

James swallowed hard, his gaze darting to the window again. He hesitated, and Joel pressed the gun deeper into his skull. “I—I don’t know who they are,” he stammered. “Hunters, I think. Raiders, maybe. Came through yesterday, maybe the day before. Took my brother. They—they left me for dead.”

Your hands clenched into fists. Shit. If hunters had moved into this area, that meant they were definitely here for the dam.

Joel’s jaw twitched. He was thinking the same thing.

“How many?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” James winced. “Six, maybe seven. There could be more, I—I didn’t see all of them.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression hardening. “And why’d they leave you?”

James hesitated, his fingers curling weakly against the torn fabric of his coat. “Because I was already dying,” he admitted. “Got sick. Ran out of food. They took my brother and left me behind.” His voice wavered. “Please—I just—I just need water. Please.”

You glanced at Joel, watching the way his brow furrowed slightly. He didn’t lower his gun, but you could tell he was considering.

“Joel,” you said carefully, keeping your voice steady. “He’s not gonna make it without help.”

Joel huffed, his gaze never leaving James. His fingers twitched near the trigger. “He might turn on us,” he muttered.

Your brows furrowed. “Joel,” you repeated, firmer this time. “He needs help.”

“We need help too.” His voice was oddly emotionless—more than it had ever been. “Ain’t no one givin’ us a free case.”

You could feel your frustration bubbling up. “Are you kidding me? What are you gonna do, kill him?”

“What do you think?”

His words sent a cold shiver down your spine.

“Tommy wouldn’t let you—” you started, but Joel cut you off.

“Tommy would do the same thing in a heartbeat. Maybe worse if it jeopardized anything.”

You physically recoiled. No. That wasn’t true. Tommy wouldn’t—he couldn’t. Because if he did, then what did that say about the man who saved you? Who gave you a home?

Your mind flashed back to that day—the one you never liked to think about. The blood, the screaming, the way Tommy had pulled you from the wreckage and told you it was gonna be okay.

If that was a lie, then what else was?

“Hey.”

Joel’s voice yanked you from your thoughts. You refocused on the scene.

James was crying now. Silent, pitiful tears streamed down his dirt-streaked face, mixing with the grime. His body trembled, half from cold, half from exhaustion.

Joel exhaled sharply, looking back down at him. “He’s sick,” he muttered. “What chance does he have to survive this? None.”

You swallowed hard.

It was true. James’ skin was pale, waxy, and under his coat, you could see the tremors racking his frame. If starvation didn’t take him, the cold would. And if that didn’t, the sickness creeping through his body surely would.

But that wasn’t the point.

“We don’t know that,” you said, voice quieter now. “We don’t know anything about him.”

Joel shook his head. “That’s exactly the problem.”

Silence stretched between you. Outside, the wind howled through the ruined village, whistling through broken windows and collapsed rooftops. The snowfall was getting heavier, thick sheets of white drowning the landscape. It’d be dark soon.

“I don’t want to die… I don’t want to die…”

James’ voice trembled as he chanted those words, over and over, like a desperate prayer. His breath hitched, his body curling inward as if he could make himself disappear. The words echoed in the cold, empty space between you.

You could only stare at Joel’s face.

Not the Joel who laughed dryly at Ellie’s bad jokes, not the Joel who sat in Tommy’s house, drinking quietly, shoulders slumped in exhaustion. No—this was a different man. A man shaped by the world before Jackson, the man who had survived twenty years in the dark.

This was Joel’s true face.

“Leave him here then,” you tried to compromise. Your voice felt too thin, too fragile against the weight of the moment. “Maybe he’ll find a way on his own—”

Joel didn’t look at you. His fingers gripped James’ jaw and forced his face toward him, studying his profile like he was searching for cracks in a mask.

“He would  just follow us back to Jackson, ruin it all there…,” Joel muttered.

James’ mouth kept opening and closing, his lips trembling like he was trying to repeat the same words but couldn’t force them out. His breath hitched, turning to wet gasps.

Your stomach churned.

“Then you’re just going to kill him?” You forced out. “Joel, you can’t… that’s not you.”

Finally, Joel looked at you. His eyes darkened—so much so they were nearly black. James’ chanting grew louder as Joel let go of his face. 

“Then you don’t know me at all.” The words had barely left his lips before—

Crack!

The impact sent Joel reeling. His head snapped violently to the side, his body staggering under the force of the hit. His gun wavered in his grip, barely held aloft as pain flared white-hot across his jaw. Blood welled from the fresh split in his lip, the coppery taste flooding his mouth. His breath hitched in shock. He wasn’t expecting that.

James gasped for air like a drowning man, his chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. He swayed unsteadily, eyes unfocused, limbs trembling as though he could barely hold himself up. And then—

He crumpled.

The gun slipped from Joel’s grasp, tumbling onto the frozen floor with a dull clatter.

Everything happened too fast.

One second, James was collapsed on the ground, his breath ragged and his fevered body barely holding itself together. The next—

He lunged.

It was sudden, desperate, and filled with all the wild, feral strength of a man with nothing left to lose. He barreled into Joel with enough force to send them both sprawling. They hit the ground hard, the breath punching out of Joel’s lungs as James scrambled atop him.

“Fuck!” Joel snarled, arms coming up to shield himself as James swung blindly, fists connecting wherever they could—his ribs, his shoulder, his jaw. Each hit was clumsy but brutal, fueled by pure fever-driven rage.

You didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

You threw yourself into the fray, grabbing a fistful of James’ shirt and yanking hard. His skin burned beneath your fingers, blazing hot like an open wound. He was sick. Sick and dying, and yet he fought with a strength that made your stomach churn.

James thrashed wildly, clawing at Joel, at you, at anything he could reach. His elbow slammed into your ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs, but you held on.

“James—stop!” you gasped, voice raw with desperation. Your fingers dug into his fevered skin, nails biting down in a desperate attempt to hold him back.

But he didn’t stop.

Didn’t hear you.

Didn’t care.

Your eyes darted frantically, searching the frozen wooden floor for the gun. Where the fuck was it? Your pulse thundered in your ears, drowning out everything but the sound of ragged breathing and the scuffle of bodies against the dirt.

Joel twisted beneath him, his body straining as he fought to throw James off. With a sharp, violent jerk, he finally managed to shove him aside, sending you and him stumbling backward. James was panting, hunched over, his chest heaving, but his eyes—his eyes were wild. Unfocused. Like an animal backed into a corner.

Joel rolled onto his knees, hand darting for his knife.

James saw it.

So did you.

The snarl that tore from James’ throat was so raw, so guttural, it barely sounded human. He lunged, but before he could reach Joel, you tackled him midair, slamming your full weight against him.

The two of you hit the ground, a tangled mess of limbs and violence. You twisted your body, forcing him beneath you, pinning him down. But he was too fast. Too strong. His fever had robbed him of reason, but not of power. His arms broke free of your hold in seconds, and before you could react—

He shoved you off.

Your back hit the ground, knocking the wind from your lungs. Before you could recover, James was on top of you, pinning you beneath his fevered, burning weight.

Joel lunged forward, trying to pry him off—

But James lashed out, shoving him away with a surprising burst of strength. Joel stumbled back, grunting as he hit the floor hard.

And then—

Fingers clamped around your throat. Air vanished from your lungs in an instant.

Your mouth opened on instinct, but no sound came out—just a strangled wheeze as your body fought for air that wouldn’t come. Your hands shot up, clawing at James’ arms, fingers scrambling uselessly against his burning-hot skin.

He didn’t react.

Didn’t even seem to see you anymore.

His eyes were distant, unfocused, lost in some fevered trance as he pressed harder, tighter, his grip merciless.

The edges of your vision blurred. Your chest convulsed as your lungs begged for air, but none came. A deep, crushing pressure built behind your ribs, your body screaming for relief that wasn’t coming.

Dark spots danced in your vision.

No, no, no—this couldn’t be it. Not like this. Not in some forgotten, frozen hellhole of a town. Not in a place that would never remember you.

Your fingers weakened, grip loosening. Everything felt distant. Heavy. Like your body was slipping away from you.

Cade.

His name bloomed in your mind, bright and warm, like a candle burning through the dark.

Sweet Cade.

You’d see him again. You’d get to hold him, run your fingers through his curls, listen to his endless, breathless stream of questions. You’d answer every single one, and when he ran out, you’d beg him to think of more, just to hear his voice a little longer.

The blackness surged forward, swallowing the last flickers of light.

And then—

The pressure vanished.

You collapsed, rolling onto your side as your body gasped for air, ragged and desperate. A terrible ringing filled your ears, drowning out the world. Your fingers clutched at your throat, the bruised skin molding to the shape of James’ hand. You wheezed, struggling to remember how to breathe.

Through the haze, the first thing you saw was red. It pooled on the floor, smeared across the walls, dripping from the ceiling in slow, sticky trails.

James’ body twitched beneath Joel, jerking with every violent, downward thrust of his arm. His movements were fast, frenzied, too quick to track. For a moment, you couldn’t even tell what he was holding.

Then, the ringing faded.

And you heard it.

Flesh being torn apart.

Wet, gurgling gasps.

Joel’s low, guttural grunts of exertion, over and over and over, like a man possessed. A sickening wet crunch filled the air. James’ body gave one last shudder—then stilled.

Somehow, your limbs found the strength to move. You pushed yourself up onto weak, trembling elbows, body swaying. You tried to say his name, but your voice came out as a broken, useless squeak.

Joel froze.

His hand faltered mid-swing, the knife slipping from his fingers. The second his eyes locked onto yours, something in his face cracked. He dropped it and scrambled toward you.

“Shit, shit.”

You barely heard him. Barely registered the way he touched you, hands hovering, unsure where to hold.

There was so much blood. His? James’? It was impossible to tell. It soaked into his clothes, smeared across his face, streaked down his arms in thick, wet rivers.

You tried to speak again, mouthing the letters of Joel’s name. But no sound came out.

Your throat burned, every muscle tight and raw, choking back the words before they could form. You could still feel James' fingers there, crushing, suffocating, leaving behind the ghost of his grip like a brand seared into your skin.

Joel saw it.

His gaze dropped to your neck, and something in his face twisted—an ugly, guttural kind of fury that made his blood streaked features look even more unhinged. His breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts, hands still trembling from the violence that had just torn through them.

He looked—

Feral.

Like he hadn’t quite come back to himself yet.

But then, his name shaped itself on your lips again, silent, broken, pleading.

And just like that—

He was moving.

“I gotcha, I gotcha.” His voice was hoarse, rough with something that almost sounded like fear. His hands—shaking, stained red—cupped your face with startling gentleness, as if afraid you might break apart under his touch. “Breathe, moonshine, c’mon.”

You did. Or tried to. But the air was sharp and thin, rattling through your bruised throat, and the moment it hit your lungs, it sent you coughing, doubling over as pain seared down your ribs.

Joel flinched, as if the sound alone cut him.

“Shit—okay, easy, easy. I need—fuck.” His hands hovered uselessly over you, unsure where to touch, what to do. He was panicking. You could feel it. See it in the way his body tensed like he was ready to fight something else, someone else.

Finally, when the air didn’t seem so painful, and your throat produced a sound “Are… okay?” The words scratched the inside of your mouth.

He closed his eyes, exhaling so harshly out of his nose. When he opened his eyes, they were steely. He made his way to the guns, picking up his own and James and pocketing them “I’m fine. Come on.”

His hands moved to you, slipping beneath your arms, hauling you up with a strength that sent another jolt of pain tearing through your ribs. You let out a sharp, pained gasp, body stiffening against the pull, but Joel was already adjusting, already slowing down, already muttering, “Just hold me.”

And you did.

Because what else was there to hold onto?

The room swayed, blurring at the edges as you fought to stay upright, muscles screaming in protest. Your throat still burned, each breath dragging like barbed wire down your windpipe, but Joel was solid, grounding, the warmth of his body seeping through your frozen clothes as he guided you forward. His arm stayed wrapped tight around your waist, holding more of your weight than you wanted to admit.

Somewhere behind you, James' body lay motionless in the blood-slicked wood. You didn’t look. Couldn’t.

Joel didn’t either.

His grip on you tightened as he steered you toward the door, jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle twitch beneath his beard. He was still breathing fast, still soaked in blood—James’ blood—still trembling in that barely-there, too-controlled way.

“Joel—” your voice cracked over the single syllable, but his reaction was immediate.

His head snapped toward you, dark eyes sharp, searching. “What? What is it?”

You swallowed thickly. The words wouldn’t come. Not properly. Not when your body still felt like it had been wrung out, twisted, pulled, and crushed under the weight of what had almost happened.

"I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…" The thought trailed off as you both shuffled out of the bedroom, your steps uneven, your body screaming in protest with every movement. The walls seemed to sway, the dim light of the lanterns flickering in and out of focus. "Shouldn’t have doubted you."

Joel didn’t respond. His expression was unreadable. Cold.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating, until he finally muttered, “He’s dead.” His voice was flat, distant, as if stating an irrefutable fact. Then, without hesitation, he spat blood onto the floor. “Not much to think about.”

You took a shaky step down the narrow stairwell, moving in tandem. The walls pressed in too close, the air too thick, too heavy with something unspoken. You could still hear it—his knife slashing into James' face, over and over again, until the body beneath him stopped moving.

The stairs creaked beneath your weight, each step a struggle, your bruised throat making it difficult to swallow, let alone speak. But you forced the words out anyway.

"Then… you wouldn’t have killed him." Your voice wavered, but you pushed forward. "I saw you, Joel—"

“Did what I had to.” His words cut through yours, sharp and final. His grip on your arm tightened, firm, unwavering. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

You reached the bottom of the stairs, your boots scraping against the old wood as you stepped into the diner. Once there, Joel released you, taking a small step away from you. You couldn’t get the smell of iron, sweat, and something rancid.

Your stomach churned. "He was sick." The words barely escaped past your raw throat.

Joel turned to you sharply. "That supposed to mean somethin'?" His voice was low, but there was something dangerous laced beneath it, something that made your skin prickle.

You hesitated, swallowing past the lump in your throat. "It means he wasn't in his right mind. He didn’t know what he was doing."

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "That man would've killed you. He almost did. Didn’t matter if he was sick or crazy or just plain evil. He put his hands on you, and now he's dead. End of it."

You looked at him, really looked at him. His jaw was clenched, his knuckles still smeared with drying blood, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. He was still wired, still ready for a fight, his body coiled tight like a spring waiting to snap.

You opened your mouth, but before you could speak, the door jangled open, the cold wind rushing in behind it.

“Joel! Where the fuck have you been? We’re setting camp—”

Tommy’s voice cut off so fast it was like the air had been stolen from his lungs. His boots scuffed against the floor as he came to an abrupt halt, eyes widening at the scene before him.

Joel stood there, drenched in blood. It painted his hands, smeared across his face, soaked into his clothes so deeply it looked like it had seeped from his own skin. His shoulders were hunched, fists clenched tight at his sides. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

Tommy's breath stuttered, nostrils flaring. For a long, horrible second, he wasn’t looking at his brother—he was looking at something else. Something old, something buried deep but never quite dead.

Like a ghost crawling out of the past, clawing its way into the present.

Joel met his gaze, silent and unmoving. He didn’t flinch, didn’t offer an explanation. Just stood there, breathing slow and deep, blood drying in thick, ugly streaks down his forearms.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” Tommy finally muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flickered to you next, taking in the way you clutched your bruised throat, your breath still shallow, the way you leaned against the wall like your legs might not hold you. His expression darkened.

“What the hell happened?”

Joel didn’t move “There’s raiders. Been ‘round here the past two days. Might be more at the dam.” Without looking back, he brushed past Tommy, whispered something close to his ear, and stepped back onto the street.

Tommy looked at you, and you looked back. He breathed out “Fuck me.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The campfire crackled near the wall, sending embers spiraling into the night, their brief glow swallowed by the darkness above. The moon had crept over the sky, half-shrouded in thin, ghostly clouds. The air was heavy—thick with the scent of damp earth and charred wood.

Everyone had gravitated toward Joel, drawn in like moths to a flame. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was the blood still caked under his fingernails, the dried streaks on his arms, the new cut that lined his forehead and could be covered by his hair. It was a silent warning of what he was capable of.

And with that, word had spread fast.

The others approached him with cautious ease, some offering nods, others murmuring quiet words, testing the waters. A few tried to strike up a conversation, probably searching for reassurance.

Joel, being himself, gave them nothing.

“Yeah.” “Mhm.” “Dunno.”

Gruff, short, clipped answers that shut you out before you could even get close. His body did the rest—arms crossed, jaw tight, gaze locked on the fire. He was avoiding you.

Not once had he looked your way. Not once had he tried to speak to you.

It had been hours since James died. Since Joel saved your life. Since you stood there, breathless, watching him nearly bleed out on that freezing cabin floor. And now, when you tried to talk to him, he wouldn’t even acknowledge you.

The final straw came when you stepped closer, blocking his view of the flames. He didn’t flinch, didn’t react. But when you moved right in front of him, his dark eyes finally met yours.

For a second, you thought he might say something. Might let you see whatever was running through his head.

Instead, he turned and walked away.

Your hands clenched at your sides. Fine. Be an asshole.

But the anger didn’t last long. Because the moment he disappeared into the shadows, the worry crept back in.

What if James had a knife? What if Joel had been too slow? What if he had lost?

The thought made you feel sick. You hadn’t eaten since it happened, and you doubted you could now. So you grabbed your bag and found a quiet spot on the porch of an old store, where the snow hadn’t touched.

You sat, arms wrapped around your legs, watching the night stretch out around you. Cold. Still. Unsettling. The moon stared down at you, its full attention on you. It illuminated the night, letting you see those on first watch standing at strategic points. Molly was near the store on the opposite side, rifle in her hands.

Closing your eyes, you let your head drop between your knees. Sleep wasn’t even coming to you, no matter how tired your body was.  

You don’t know how long you were there, just sitting, but then you heard it, footsteps coming your way. Your muscles tensed, instinct taking over as your hand went to your bag for your knife. Raising your head, you found the face of the most irritating man. 

Joel.

You didn’t move, didn’t lift your head any further. Just listened as he stopped a few feet away, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure why he was there.

Silence stretched. Long, unbearable.

Then, finally—“You should eat.”

Your fingers curled into your sleeves. That’s what he had to say? After everything?

You huffed a bitter breath, lifting your head just enough to glare at him. “I’m fine.”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, looking away. His jaw ticked, muscles in his face tightening like he was holding something back. “What are you doin’ out here alone? Get closer to the group.”

You wanted to shake him. To yell. To demand why he was suddenly acting like he cared when he had spent all night ignoring you. But you swallowed it down, forcing your voice steady. “I’m good. Thanks.”

Joel scoffed, shifting his weight. “Don’t act like Ellie. It’s annoying.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Like what?”

“Like everyone’s fuckin’ against you.”

He stepped closer, boots scraping against the frozen wood. The porch groaned under his weight as he came to a stop right in front of you, his shadow swallowing up the pale moonlight.

Your fingers dug into your sleeves as you slowly lifted your eyes to him. His face was shadowed, unreadable, but his stance told you everything—tense, rigid, exhausted.

“I’m not,” you said, voice quiet but firm. “I’m trying to sleep.”

Joel’s gaze dropped to your curled-up posture. “Some position.”

“What do you want, Joel?” Your patience was gone. Your body ached from exhaustion, from hunger, from the weight of everything that had happened. “Stop bothering me.”

You turned your face against your knee, pulling yourself in tighter, as if making yourself small enough would somehow make all of this disappear.

For a long moment, Joel didn’t move. He just stood there, a looming presence, heavy with something unspoken, something pressing down on both of you like the weight of the cold night air.

His arms were crossed, shoulders hunched against the wind, but his expression stayed unreadable. Then, finally, his voice cut through the silence, low and firm. “I did what I had to do. You’re actin’ like killin’ ain’t ever been necessary before.”

Your stomach twisted. A sharp, ugly feeling coiled in your chest, but you forced yourself to look at him, to hold his gaze even as anger burned at the edges of your voice. “He was sick, Joel. Terrified. We pushed him, and he fought back.”

Joel’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue.

You swallowed hard, feeling your breath hitch. “No one should spend their last moments like that.”

The wind howled between you, but he didn’t look away. His face was set in stone, rough, unyielding. “He wasn’t gonna make it. You know that.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head, the sound harsh in the cold night air. “Does that make it easier for you? Justify it in your head so you don’t have to think about what you did?”

Joel’s expression darkened, his shoulders tightening as he stepped forward. The weight of him pressed into the moment, forcing you to see him, to hear him. “I don’t need to justify shit.” His voice was quieter now, but sharp, cutting through the space between you like a blade.

“No,” you shot back, your breath fogging in the cold, “you just need to be a dick to me because my thoughts and choices aren’t like yours.”

His eyes flashed. “Choices that almost got you killed!”

His voice rose, rough and frayed at the edges, the anger rolling off him in waves. Before you could react, he dropped to one knee, leveling himself with you, his face just inches from yours. His breath was warm against the cold, but his eyes were burning.

“You know how fucking terrifyin’ it is to see you on the ground?” His voice cracked slightly, but the anger didn’t waver. “The very life choked out of you?”

Your chest tightened. The memory hit hard, sudden and vivid—the weight of hands crushing your throat, the desperate struggle for air, the way your limbs had started to weaken.

Your hands clenched against your knees, nails digging into the fabric of your pants. “I didn’t ask you to do that,” you whispered, guilt creeping into your voice. “I didn’t ask you to kill him.”

Joel let out a breath, slow and steady, but his eyes never left yours. “Didn’t have to.”

Something inside you cracked.

You didn’t want this conversation, even though you were itching for him to talk to you. Strange, how that worked. Your throat tightened. You turned your head, staring past him, past the snow-covered ground, past everything that felt too heavy in the moment. “I can’t—” Your voice wavered. “I can’t just be okay with it, Joel.”

“I know.” His voice had softened now, quieter, but still firm. “But you’re gonna have to live with it.”

Your eyes snapped back to him, your frustration flaring again. “And what about you?”

Joel was quiet for a moment. Then, his jaw clenched, his gaze hardening just a little. “Been livin’ with worse for a long time.”

“It’s not fair!” Your voice rose, cracking at the edges, frustration boiling over into something raw. “You shouldn’t have to do something like that for me! I can’t—” Your breath hitched, your fingers digging into your arms. “To have that on your mind just for me… it’s not worth it.”

Joel remained quiet.

The silence stretched, thick and unbearable. It was just like him. He never had something to say, always looking at every piece moving without a word.

And you hated it.

You hated the way his eyes bore into you, like he could see right through the anger, the guilt, the tangled mess in your chest. Like he was waiting for you to stop lying to yourself.

So you let the words roll on, spilling out before you could stop them.

“I don’t want to be another weight on your back, Joel.” Your voice dropped, quieter now, but no less desperate. “You’ve lost enough, you’ve done enough—”

Joel’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “Don’t you finish that sentence.”

You swallowed hard, but it was too late. You knew what you had been about to say. You don’t need me adding to it.

“Ain’t your call to make,” he said, voice low, steady. “I decide what’s worth it to me.”

Your breath caught.

Joel exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “You think I did what I did just ‘cause?” His voice had a rough edge, something worn and weathered. “You were dyin’, and I—I didn’t have time to think. Just—” He gestured vaguely, like the words wouldn’t come out right. “Did what had to be done.”

Your chest ached. “But you still have to live with it.”

You wanted to fight him on it. Tell him he didn’t have to carry it, that you could take it all on yourself. That it was your burden, not his.

But that would be a lie.

You weren’t the only one who had to live with it.

Joel wasn’t looking at you now. His gaze had shifted to the snow-covered ground, his fingers flexing like they could still feel the ghost of the knife in his grip. Like he could still feel the life he had taken in order to save yours.

Your throat tightened. “Joel…”

He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Don’t.”

That single word made something inside you crack wide open. You could feel stupid tears welling up in your eyes. Dumb, idiotic tears that you knew Joel would not appreciate.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and kept your face away from him, letting the tears spill. Better here where he couldn’t see them than in front of him. Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe, didn’t push you away, didn’t pull you in.

Just stood there, hardas a statue, arms hovering like he wasn’t sure whether to hold you or break away entirely.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your face against his shoulder, your breath shaky. You weren’t even sure why you did it—whether it was for him or for you. Maybe both.

Maybe neither.

The weight of everything you hadn’t said pressed against your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs until you felt like you might choke on it.

“I hate this,” you whispered, the words trembling out of you.

Joel exhaled, a sharp, tired thing. “Yeah.” His voice was rough, strained, carrying more than just exhaustion.

His hands hovered near your back before finally settling there, hesitant but firm, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to hold on. You shifted slightly, turning your head just enough to press your forehead against his collarbone, your breath ghosting over the fabric of his shirt. His scent—woodsmoke, sweat, and something distinctly him—filled your senses, grounding you and unraveling you all at once.

You weren’t even sure why you were doing this. Comfort, maybe.

Or maybe it was something else.

Maybe it was the way the night stretched endlessly around you, the cold settling deep in your bones, the weight of everything unsaid pressing against your ribs until it hurt. Maybe it was the way Joel, for all his rough edges and sharp words, stayed.

He could have walked away. He should have. But he didn’t. And somehow, having him here, solid and real and warm, was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

His body remained tense, like he was fighting some internal battle you couldn’t see. His hands, still hesitating at your back, twitched slightly, like he wanted to pull away but couldn’t quite bring himself to.

You swallowed hard, feeling the press of his shoulder against your temple, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your fingers. His warmth seeped into you, chasing away the cold that had settled deep in your bones.

A strange thought crept into your mind, quiet but insistent.

When was the last time someone held you like this?

Not out of obligation.

Not in passing.

But really held you?

You couldn’t remember. And maybe that was the worst part.

You hadn’t realized how tired you were, how much the weight of everything you carried had begun to press down on you, pushing you closer and closer to breaking. The exhaustion settled into your limbs, dragging at you, making your eyes grow heavier with each passing second.

And Joel—Joel was steady. He didn’t rush to fill the silence. He didn’t try to fix what couldn’t be fixed. He was just there.

For some reason, that was enough.

With a slow, shuddering sigh, you pulled away, forcing yourself to create space before you sank too deep into this—before you forgot yourself entirely.

Still, the absence of him was immediate, the cold rushing back in the second you moved away.

You forced a small smile, trying to ease the strange weight that had settled between you. "You're such a good hugger, Miller." Your voice was softer than you meant it to be, almost teasing, but not quite.

Joel didn’t respond. Didn’t smirk, didn’t scoff, didn’t throw out some gruff remark like you expected him to. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze dark and unreadable, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes.

Then, slowly, he shifted back, putting more distance between you. A deliberate, careful movement. “Go to sleep.”

His voice was quieter now, but still firm. A line drawn. A barrier was placed.

Another beat of silence.

You should have let it go. Let him walk away, let the night swallow the moment whole. But something about the way he said it—like he wanted to leave, but didn’t—made you speak.

“Are you on patrol duty?”

Joel shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. “Came to check on you, that’s all.”

You patted the floor on the right side of you, the fabric of the sleeping bag soft beneath your palm. “Then sit with me.”

Joel didn’t move at first. Just stood there, looking at your hand like it was something foreign, something dangerous. He was thinking, you could see him thinking, weighing the options, measuring the cost of staying.

Then, with the biggest sigh you had ever seen him release, he closed his eyes, exhaled sharply through his nose, and lowered himself onto the porch beside you.

The wood groaned under his weight, settling, adjusting, just like you were. 

He didn’t sit close, but he didn’t sit far either. Just enough space between you that it wasn’t quite intimate, but not distant either.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The wind stirred the trees, rustling the bare branches above, carrying with it the distant howls of the night—wolves or wind, you couldn’t tell. The cold bit at your exposed skin, but Joel’s warmth was there, grounding you, even if he didn’t realize it.

After a long stretch of silence, you glanced at him. His hands were clasped together, elbows resting on his knees, gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the tree line. He looked tired. Not just in the way a man does at the end of the day, but in the way that settled deep, like it had lived in his bones for years.

You studied his profile—sharp lines and rough edges softened only by the flickering glow of the firelight from a bonfire just around the corner.

“Your head okay? Knew you took a tumble there” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes drifted to the new scar he’s earned. 

“I’m fine, are you okay… your neck…” His own eyes drifted down to your neck, which you touched with your hand.

“Sore, I’ve never been choked like that before. First time for everything?”

The first time all day, Joel let out a low, laugh that rumbles in your own chest. Then, it’s back to silence, and staring at whoever passes by with a rifle on patrol.

You met this man only a couple of months ago. How has he saved your life already, made you feel so safe yet so scared of what he could do. Your eyes drifted back to the moon, its shine falling onto your hand. 

“Did you really just come to check on me?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s jaw ticked, the muscle there tightening before he finally answered. “Yeah.”

Something about the way he said it—gruff, clipped, like he was reluctant to admit it—made you swallow hard.

You pulled your knees up to your chest, resting your chin there. “Why?”

Joel didn’t answer right away. Just exhaled slowly, like he was rolling the thought around in his head, trying to decide how much of it he was willing to share.

Finally, he muttered, “Because I knew you wouldn’t talk to anyone else about it.”

Your stomach twisted. He wasn’t wrong.

You should have said something. Thanked him, maybe. But instead, you just sat there, letting the quiet stretch between you, thick with all the things neither of you were saying.

The world outside kept moving. The night deepened. The cold pressed in.

But for now, just for now, Joel stayed.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Hey, hey, get up, you big sleepy rock.”

A firm shake rattled you from sleep, and you sucked in a sharp breath too fast, coughing as your bruised throat protested the sudden intake of air. The pain lanced through your neck, reminding you of the night before—of hands gripping, of struggle, of Joel’s knife cutting through the dark.

Molly’s face hovered above you, her eyelids heavy, exhaustion written in every line of her expression.

“Sorry,” you rasped, running a hand through your tangled hair, trying to force yourself into wakefulness. “Give me a second. Not exactly young anymore.”

Molly gave a small, tired smile but didn’t throw out her usual teasing remark. That alone was enough to tell you how drained she was.

“Your turn for patrols,” she muttered, rubbing at her eyes.

“Wonderful,” you exhaled, forcing yourself to sit up despite every muscle in your body protesting. The cold hit you immediately, sinking deep, curling around your limbs like a vice.

You reached out instinctively, hand seeking the warmth of someone who wasn’t there.

Your fingers brushed empty air.

Blinking, you looked beside you—where Joel had been. Your stomach twisted slightly at the sight of the empty space. The imprint of his body was already fading from the sleeping bag, the heat of him completely gone.

Not a surprise.

Your hand lingered for a second longer before dropping.

“Looking for a ghost?” Molly’s voice held the hint of a joke, but her exhaustion dulled the usual sharpness of it.

You forced a small smirk. “No, it’s nothing.”

Molly hummed in response, but she wasn’t looking at you anymore. Her gaze had dropped, focused on something else entirely.

“Hey,” she said, tilting her head. “You find that somewhere? It’s nice.”

You followed her eyes.

Your lap.

A tan, worn-out jacket had been draped over you, the fabric pooling around your legs. You stared at it, your sleep-addled brain sluggishly connecting the dots.

You lifted the jacket slightly, your fingers tracing over the frayed edges, feeling the worn patches of fabric that had softened with time and use. The weight of it settled across your lap.

Joel’s jacket.

Your chest tightened, a strange pressure settling behind your ribs.

You hadn’t even noticed it when you woke up. Hadn’t felt him place it over you before he left, hadn’t registered the quiet care in the gesture. The thought of him doing that—making sure you were warm before disappearing into the early morning cold—made your throat feel tight.

“Yeah…” you muttered, voice rough with sleep. “Found it a while ago.”

Molly raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across her face. “Shit, if you don’t want it, my closet is gladly open.”

You glanced up at her, and she held out a hand, wiggling her fingers in invitation. You huffed out a small breath, something close to a laugh, and reached up. Her grip was firm as she pulled you to your feet, steadying you when you stumbled slightly. Your limbs were still stiff from sleep, and your bruised throat ached as you swallowed against the morning chill.

“Nah,” you said, fingers curling a little tighter around the jacket. “I think I’ll keep it around for a while.”

I just wanted to say something about the publishing frequency… Yeah, I've kinda given up on every Monday, lol. I feel like I produce a lot more quality work when my chapters aren't pushed forward due to deadlines. So from now on (or if I say something else that completely changes everything...), it will be random.

But expect a chapter release at least every month! You can still find the a03 version here!

Anyway... I LOVE THIS CHAPTER. My fave so far, omg I worked so hard on it, and it was so so worth it. Happy Reading!! ♡♡♡

[blackcatxmagic]

"Maybe you could show me once we get to my place," Dimi suggested, and then he realized what he was saying. He'd essentially just asked Felix if they wanted to their their pants off at his house. "Okay, that probably sounded weird," he acknowledged. "You don't have to do that." Hopefully Dimi hadn't ruined this before it really got started. He pivoted away from the moment, instead nodding and saying, "Yeah, I bet there are some areas that would hurt really badly. I knew a guy in college with tattoos on his knuckles. He tried to be all badass about it, but once while drunk he admitted it hurt like hell. We kind of never let him live that down." Dimi laughed, telling Felix, "I know that sounds kind of mean, but he could be kind of a dick. The tattoos he had on his knuckles were 'F-U-C-K and Y-O-U-!,' one of each knuckle. But he messed up and did it backwards, so if someone was reading them left to right, it would say 'YOU! FUCK,' which is a very different declaration." Again Dimi laughed; he wondered what that guy was up to. Bending down slightly to look at the tattoo, Dimi smiled. "Of course you had to get your namesake tattooed on you," he said. "It seems only right."

"Trust me, you're very charming, whether you think so or not," Dimi told Felix. "I mean, you've been charming me since the moment we met. Of course you had an assist from Oscar too." Dimi pet the cat, smiling at them both. "I feel like you're the type of person who could find something to talk about with anyone, which is actually a really important skill." Dimi had so far really enjoyed talking with Felix, was really glad they had met, and he was looking forward to spending more time together. Once they were outside and loading the other's bike into the car, Dimi looked at it and said, "Yeah, it definitely has character, that's for sure." He laughed as he said this, but he wasn't making fun of the bike, and he told Felix, "It looks well-loved too. I can tell that the two of you have been through a lot together." Dimi wondered if Felix held onto the bike because of what they'd endured, as if their experiences had bonded them. He supposed everyone had something like that in their lives.

In the car now after getting the bike and the cats settled, Dimi said, "She'll be home from school in a couple of hours. You're welcome to wait around until then while Oscar and Alex play with all the new toys I just bought." The longer he called the cat 'Alex,' the more Dimi knew he'd have to convince Ozma to go with that. Maybe he'd just tell her that that was the cat's name; he doubted his daughter would care. "The good thing about owning my own business is I can make sure to be there when she gets off school if I can't make other arrangements," Dimi told Felix as they drove toward his house. "Ozma's mother...uh, isn't around, so she really depends on me." Sometimes Enzo helped, but he had his own life too; it was enough that he had let Dimi and Ozma move in to begin with. "Maybe I can make us something to eat while we wait?" Dimi suggested. A few minutes later, they had arrived at the house, and he told Felix, "Just leave your bike in the car. I'll drive you home later, whenever later is." He wasn't sure how long this would go, but he wasn't looking to end it any time soon. They headed inside, each of them laden with cat supplies and the cats themselves.

‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎  “It stops above my pelvis. I’m not gonna lie… that hurt. But it looks cool. You’ll have to wait until the weather gets warmer to see that, though. I can’t go stripping in a pet shop parking lot.” They laughed as Dimi asked if they had any cat tattoos. “Oh, I have a cat tattoo. It was my first tattoo, and I did it myself, which is why it, uh, well. It looks well loved, kind of like a kid’s drawing. I didn’t do my leg sleeve - honestly, I probably would have passed out if I tried. Tattooing over bone hurts.” As they spoke, they lifted their left pant leg, showing a stick-and-poke Felix the Cat tattoo which had very wobbly linework. “It’s kind of fun, though. I feel like a Clark Kent and Superman when I pull out the ink.” 

‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎  Felix laughed at Dimi’s remark about charming clients. “Me? I doubt it. I don’t know if I’m very charming, really. I just like to talk.” They didn’t feel like a charming person. If anything, they felt the opposite and constantly worried whether someone would like them or not. Placing their hand over their heart, they continued, “It’s really nice seeing people’s reactions when they look in the mirror after getting something. It never gets old.” 

‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎  “Oh, don’t worry. It’s fine. It’s more loved than falling apart, promise.” They waved their hands dismissively. “I just never got a new one after moving here. It’s got a lot of character, really. Scratches, stickers, the like.” They left Oscar with Dimi and Alex, and then went to retrieve their bike. It had a basket on the front for the cats, which, admittedly, was the nicest part of the bike. The rest of it looked 12 years old, with most deeper scratches and bent areas covered with stickers, which were an amalgamation of skulls, band stickers, rainbows, cats, and health sigils.

 ‎‎‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎  They smiled at Dimi’s words, then said, “They already rule our homes, the rest of the world is just a formality at this point. We’re witnessing the beginning of a very complicated alliance.” Settling into the car, Felix felt a tinge of excitement in their chest. “I’m excited to meet her, I love kids. And being someone who gets to see her reaction to a new cat feels very fun. It’s like I’m part of an exclusive club.”

[dizzybevvie]

boy how do you reblog such great things

been cultivating my dash for years. i also found most of them in my drafts

[lovinglin]

I honestly need to discipline myself more to just, look away whenever I stumble on something I don't like.