#that this happened to us and me and now its all tangled up inside everything we / i do

[nottriddlethis]

- -Rumors- -

Mattheo Riddle

Summary: friends to lovers <3

Warnings: smut, pinv, virgin!Reader, fingering.

AN: too.much.words.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - <3

The first thing I felt was warmth.

A solid, familiar weight pressing into my back, an arm draped around my waist, fingers flexing against my belly. The scent of firewhisky clung to the air, mixed with something Mattheo—spice and warm. That in itself wasn’t unusual—I had grown used to the way he snuck into my bed on sleepless nights, how he sought me out when the world outside felt like too much.

He had snuck in again. But tonight, something had shifted. My breath hitched.

I knew Mattheo well enough to recognize when something was wrong. The way he was holding me—clinging, almost desperate, too firm.

His legs tangled with mine, his chest flush against my back, his breath warm against the curve of my neck. His other hand found its way into my hair, fingers twisting through the strands with slow, absent strokes. He was seeking comfort. I shifted slightly, whispering silencing spell around us.

"Mattheo," I turned my head to him "What happened?"

Nothing. No response. Just the slight hitch in his breathing, the faintest tremor in his hold.

I shifted again, trying to turn fully toward him, but his grip tightened. His fingers digged into my hip, pulling me closer, he pressed his nose deeper into my neck.

"Mattheo," I tried again, softer this time. I reached out my hand and touched his palm.

Still nothing.

My heart was pounding against my ribs. What is wrong? He wasn’t drunk—not fully. He was lucid, aware. But whatever had driven him here tonight was something heavier than alcohol.

Minutes passed in silence. The only sound was the quiet crackle of the fire still burning inside the dormitory walls. Then, slowly, Mattheo moved, and I caught the opportunity to turn around in his arms.

He pulled back just enough to see my face, his dark eyes locking onto mine. His hand slid up, fingers brushing gently over my cheek, pushing my hair back with an unfamiliar tenderness. My heart sank at this gesture. Unspoken pain in his eyes.

And then, so quietly I almost missed it—

"Should I really let you go?"

I froze. My breath caught in my throat, my fingers clutching his shirt immediately. Then a sticky fear grip me from his words.

"What?" I whispered. "No. No. Why would you say that?"

Mattheo exhaled sharply, jaw tight. His gaze flickered, something unreadable swimming behind it.

"I heard something," he muttered. His voice was lower now, rougher. "Pancy said your family is preparing for your wedding this summer." A pause. "To some family friend. Rich and already in good standing with the ministry."

A beat of silence stretched between us. I felt the panic recede, dissolving into nervous, silent laughter.

"That's not true, nothing like this is happening", He didn't move at my words. His fingers were still tangled in my hair, his face hovering close—too close. His body remained tense, but something in his expression softened, just barely. "Hey, I promise, Pancy just..." I cut myself before certain words escaped my mouth. And I reached for him.

My fingers brushed over his temple, trailing down to the curls resting against his nape. I ran my hand through his curls again, slow and deliberate, the way I knew he liked. Mattheo shuddered under the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as his body finally—finally—relaxed against mine.

A quiet whisper, almost a vow, left his lips. "Then why from all people it's your close friend who talking about this?"

He pressed his forehead against mine, his breathing steadying. His arms remained around me. But when I didn't answer he opened his eyes looking worryingly. He pulled back just enough to see my face.

I swallowed, my fingers still threaded through his hair. This close, I could see everything—the way his pupils were blown wide, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. His gaze flickered down to my lips, just for a fraction of a second, before he quickly looked away.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I shouldn't be thinking about this. About him. About the way his hand still rested on my waist, the way his thumb was brushing slow, absentminded circles against the fabric of my nightshirt. It started long ago for me. Long ago my feelings for Mattheo became something more.

For Mattheo, who teased me relentlessly, who stole food off my plate, who always found me in a crowded room without needing to look. Mattheo, who had been in my life for years, slipping between the cracks of my walls without ever asking permission.

Mattheo, who was still looking at me like that.

And suddenly, I was hyperaware of everything. The warmth of his skin, the slight press of his leg against mine, the way neither of us had moved away.

"I said Pancy that I like you...like a lot" my whisper - hot against his lips, my words - fast mess. "and she said you like me too, but of course not, and it's okay, but she might be..."

He called me by name—lower, rougher, like he was about to say something he shouldn't.

I wet my lips. "Yeah?"

Mattheo hesitated only a moment. Then, instead of answering, he lifted his hand slowly. His knuckles brushed against my cheek, the touch featherlight, and I shivered.

Because we had always been close. Always touched without thinking. But this—this was different. The way his eyes changed, the way his fingers trailed down, past my jaw, lingering at the side of my neck where my pulse was racing. His eyes darkened.

I knew, in that moment, that he could feel it.

The space between us disappeared when my body leaned into his without hesitation, my lips parted slightly when his thumb traced my jaw. I was shivering. This wasn’t just friendship. Not anymore. More or nothing.

Mattheo’s fingers curled slightly, his hand resting against my throat for the briefest moment before he pulled away, rolling onto his back with a sharp exhale.

I stared at the canopy above us, pulse still hammering against my ribs. My breath came too fast. Too shallow.

"I don't know when it started.. Just one moment I realized that I'm too into you, too care, too much think. And after all the time Pancy found it out, she said you too... like me..i guess it's her stupid plan" my voice came to the lowest and I felt silent.

I turned my head, looking at him in the dim light filtering through the canopy. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, his jaw clenched, his hands fisted in the sheets like he was trying to hold himself back from something.

Like he was fighting himself. Something was going to break inside me.

"Mattheo"

He didn’t answer, but I saw his throat bob, his fingers tightening against the fabric.

I reached out before I could stop myself. My hand skimmed over his arm, the tension in his muscles thrumming beneath my fingertips. He was wound so tight, like he might snap if I pushed even the slightest bit further.

So I did.

I ran my fingers up, over his wrist, curling lightly around it. I grabbed his little finger with mine as we often do. The second I did, he moved.

Fast.

Suddenly, he was above me, pressing my body into the mattress, his weight caging me in. Both of his hands caught my face, pinning it to the pillow, his thumbs caressing my cheeks.

I gasped softly, but not out of fear. Never fear.

Because this was Mattheo. My Mattheo.

And he was looking at me like I was the only thing holding him together and breaking him apart all at once. His breathing was uneven, his curls falling over his forehead. His grip loosened, sliding down to to grab my jaw in his fingers.

"I like you?" he exhaled. His voice was raw with emotions. "I love you, I want you, I desire you so bad that I'm afraid to break all we have."

My surprise was expressed by a weak moan. His grip tightened slightly. He growled my name, "you've always been only for me".

The words sent a shiver down my spine. Something in the lower part of my stomach twisted into a pleasantly aching spasm.

I parted my lips, my fingers curling into his. A plea. "Kiss me please."

Something snapped in his expression.

Then he did.

Not gently. Not softly.

It was all fire and frustration and something that had been building for far too long. His lips crashed against mine, his grip lowered to my waist pulling me closer.

I didn't even think before kissing him back just as fiercely. My free hand slid into his hair, tugging, and Mattheo groaned softly against my mouth. He deepened the kiss, angling my jaw the way he needed to slid his tongue. His fingers skimming under the hem of my shirt, pressing against the bare skin of my waist and higher.

It was overwhelming. It was everything when his hands slide up my sides, fingertips grazing the sides of my breasts under the shirt.

"May I..?"

"Take it all off Mattheo"

A low, approving groan rumbled in his chest at my request. His hands slowly slided up my sides, in one smooth motion, he pulled my shirt up and over my head, tossing it aside, then he repeated it with his own. For a while we were devouring each other. His eyes darken with desire as he took in the sight of my bare breasts, nipples already hardened from arousal. He was hovering over me, and I was observing every inch, every detail of his toned chest and strong arms and flexing muscles.

Leaning down, Mattheo placed a tender kiss on my collarbone before trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses down to the valley between my breasts. I threw my head back and my mouth opened in a silent moan. My fingers dug into his curls to keep myself from falling endlessly. Because he took one of my nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. His hand came up to knead and caress the other breast, rolling and pinching the nipple between his fingers.

The world behind the canopy ceased to exist, it's only me - nothing more than arching underneath him, panting softly.

When his hand slid far down my stomach, I had absolutely no control over the way my thighs clenched. Matteo's fingers slid deeper and I felt his hot breath on my lips. "I know this is your first time, babygirl.. trust me please" He kissed me lightly, and I reached for him.

He presses his forehead against mine, nose nuzzling against my cheek affectionately. His fingers push my panties aside, a middle finger tracing my slit, feeling all the wetness. He groans softly. "But you're so soaked for me, my girl". He circles my clit with the pad of his finger, applying the slightest pressure. I moaned in approval and lifted my hips closer to him. His other hand slides under my knee, hitching my leg up higher on his hip.

He silences my moans with another deep kiss, as his finger slips inside me. Even tight for one. He starts with just the tip, pumping it in and out gently before pushing in deeper, curling it to stroke my so needy spot. I arched at his every stroke and every brush of his thumb over my clit. His other hand slides under my other knee, hitching the second leg up as well so I'm essentially wrapped around his waist. He starts to thrust his finger faster, adding a second one, stretching, scissoring me gently, and I whimpered.

"I need to stretch you, you're so tight..for Salazar sake", his hot, dirty whisper made me want him more. "I'm gonna finally feel you wrapped around my cock." He leans in to murmur in my ear. And it was the first time when I felt my pussy started to clench over his fingers, awaiting for something more and more bigger.

I felt my walls started to flutter and clench around his fingers, signaling impending orgasm. As I hit my peak, he captures my mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing my cries and whispering into my mouth "My girl..my good girl, go on, go on". My pussy spasmed and gripped his fingers tightly as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over.

He works my shaking body through it.

But didn't stop. He tore out of me another powerful orgasm and whining moans.

Literally nothing was left of me except trembling and pleasure. When I felt him take his fingers out of me and run over my slit, gathering more of my juices, I opened my eyes. And I saw what I expected: him sitting before me and looking, and looking, his eyes hooded in pleasure, his lips licking every drop of me from his fingers.

"I would've died if I could never touch you", my words are barely above the whisper, but he of course heard.

"I've been dying every time I touched you and was unable to go further," his words spread like sweet pain in between my tights.

Mattheo reached down to undo his jeans, pushing them and his boxers down just enough to free his hard, aching cock. I watched as he stroked it a few times, biting back a groan. His eyes were roaming over my body, coming back to meet my eyes. Merlin. So big and so..needy.

"It's gonna hurt a little babygirl," he brushes my hair back from my face, cupping my cheek. Then he takes a deep breath, and I felt he tip of his cock against my slick heat. He applies the slightest pressure, just enough to start pushing inside and I gasped for air.

"Good girl, good... relax for me, please" he groans softly at the tightness, having to pause for a moment to collect himself. I closed my eyes, my pussy around his cock was burning. I nodded and Mattheo left soft kisses over my cheek as he starts to push in deeper, inch by inch. I felt so clear how my walls stretching around him, gripping his hard length.

"You're big Mattheo"

He groaned in irritation mixed with pleading in his voice. His cock twitched inside me. "Don't do it. I have to be gentle with you for now."

He pushes in a little further, feeling my hymen stretch and then give way. His instant growl mixed with my whimpered moan, when free from the obstacle his cock slid much further.

Panting softly, he paused, letting me adjust to the new sensation. "It's okay, it's okay, breathe". He kissed my forehead tenderly, caressing my cheeks with his fingers. I leaned against his touch and when I nodded he whispered: "You are gonna feel good I promise."

When he started to move again, sliding in deeper, his hips pressing against mine, the pain seemed to loosen. I wrapped my hands around his neck as he sets a slow, steady rhythm, not wanting to overwhelm. Despite little soreness I feel incredible being wrapped around his cock like this. Being kissed with his lips.

His slow movements little by little became more jerky, his breathing heavier. My walls starting to flutter around him, gripping his cock tighter and deeper, sucking it fully inside me. His name escaping my mouth as much as I exhale. Mattheo set a more intense rhythm. The bed creaks softly beneath us with the motion, the room could've been filled with the sound of skin against skin if I hadn't casted charms.

Mattheo was the first who felt my walls clenching and spasming around his throbbing cock. For one moment I got scared of what was going to happend and shifted under him. He groans deeply, fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hips as he holds me tight, not letting me move away from the intense pleasure.

"Matt... Mattheo, Mattheo..." I moan and moan his name coming harder and shaking even more.

He doesn't stop his thrusts, continuing to drive into me with deep, powerful strokes, making loud sounds of my wet pussy. The bed shakes and creaks beneath us, the headboard slamming against the wall with the force of his thrusts. Until he found it difficult to push his cock in because of how tightly my spasms were squeezing him. He sat on his knees, his cock pulsing in me.

His breathing grows ragged, "Fuck... You feel like my own heaven. I need to fill you up, baby..may I.." I didn't protest. He pants, again his hips moving faster, driving into me with abandon. I spread my legs more for him, digging my nails into his arms, as he - on his kness - hold my hips up thrusting inside.

With a final, hard thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside me, his thick cock pulsing and throbbing as he finds his release. He spills his hot seed deep inside my fluttering walls, coating me with his essence. I was suffocating.

And so he stayed - with his eyes closed, not moving, his mouth slightly open in pleasure.

I admired him: as his chest heaved with ragged breathing, as beads of sweat slid down his arms and toned torso. My whole soul vibrating with excitement. So handsome. So finally mine.

Mattheo opened his eyes and his gaze fell on mine, and then went down to where our bodies were still connected. He slowly pulled out his cock, and his seed flowed out of me in hot drops. Mattheo watched and watched before he collected everything with two fingers and pushed it back in me.

When he licked his fingers off again I was ready to cum. My hips jerked uncomfortably.

"Sweeter than I ever imagined all this time", he murmured. He noticed my reaction and traced his hand over my inner thigh and up. His finger pads almost touched my clit.

When he finally pulled back to me, he rests his forehead against mine, looking into my eyes with a satisfied, loving gaze.

He brushed my arm all along and capturered my little finger with his. "I love you so much", he whispers, still trying to catch his breath. "And I'm pretty sure that you can give me another one.."

His hand left my little finger and dived between my legs again, giving me the desired touch.

[damneddamsy]

falling | joel miller x fem!oc (part xi)

ZERO CROSSING—The moment everything inverts, and the axis breaks.

summary: Joel is too far from home, travelling and surviving once again, for a purpose.

a/n: buckle up, this is a looooong one. I wanted to share all the journey and the loss in a single chapter, initially, I wanted to break it into two, but it only made sense here to have it done with. Please take this with a grain of salt, and understand the world of TLOU is difficult and irredeemable. bad shit happens, you can't stop it. okay, let's do this!

word count: 19,000 + [ I had an ask from a sweet anon who wanted this included. hello! I hope you can estimate your reading time now, thanks for letting me know :) ]

DAY 1: EN ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES - APPROX. FOURTEEN HOURS SOUTH OF JACKSON, SOMEWHERE PAST SALT LAKE CITY.

Regrets and worries. Joel knew now—they weren’t the same. Not even close. Two different beasts, pulling in opposite directions. One stalked behind you, the other ahead. He had both nipping at his heels.

Regret caught up fast enough. It had already happened, and there was no undoing it. Hated that shit to the core. And worry? Well, he was so used to seeing its back before him now, just waiting for it fuck up. Together, they twisted in his gut. Frayed wires, snarled and buzzing, so tangled he couldn’t tell which was which anymore.

Not here, not now—lying on the splintered floorboards of some half-collapsed home, walls paper-thin against the hiss of falling snow outside, air cold enough it bit the inside of his nose when he breathed too deep.

The cabin was barely standing. Roof half gone, one wall caved in, and wind came through the boards like breath through teeth. It was shelter in the loosest sense��four walls and a place to keep his back to. That’d have to be enough.

The stew sat like lead in his stomach. Came out of a battered can, label long gone. Might’ve been beef. Might’ve been dog food. Probably expired a decade ago. He didn’t care. Shoved it down like punishment. Energy was energy. Didn’t matter how it tasted going in—only that it stayed down. Now, though, his gut churned like it disagreed. Violently.

With the rifle close at hand, Joel sat with his legs stretched out, boots frozen stiff with slush, snow melting slowly off his jacket shoulders. He hadn’t bothered stripping out of his gear. No point. Cold like this, alone out here, you didn’t sleep long anyway.

He’d been riding for fourteen hours. Maybe more. He’d stopped keeping track somewhere past hour ten. Through rough terrain, past the last of the patrol lines, past roads that weren’t really roads anymore, just veins through snow-covered land that didn’t feel real. The map crumpled in his jacket wasn’t worth shit now. Just paper soaked with sweat and hope.

And fuck this snow. It wasn’t just cold—it was fucking brutal. It soaked through seams, dulled the edges of his vision, and turned the horse into a slipping mess of nerves and bone. He couldn’t wait to hit the open heat again—past Vegas, past the mountains, back where the sky turned gold and didn’t bite.

Vegas. Jesus, he’d be riding past it soon. What a weird thought. He’d never liked that place. Clinking noise and vice and strobe lights that didn’t mean anything. Still, the thought of it almost felt like an assurance now—like anything would be better than this stretch of cold emptiness.

The sun had set and risen without his permission, and the horse was starting to limp. He’d have to rest it come morning. If there was a morning. This part of the country didn’t feel like it had days anymore—just gray stretches of silence between dusk and deeper dusk.

And still, sleep wouldn’t come.

He rolled something between his fingers—small, brass, worn, warm from the heat of his palm. A button. Not from anything he’d owned. Probably from a coat someone lost before the world went to hell. Maya had picked it up off the road during the summer, on their way back home from dinner at Tommy's. He remembered her squealing when she spotted it, stubby fingers plucking it out of the dirt like gold, and handing it to him later, bestowing him a treasure, her tiny gummy smile vast as anything.

He’d kept it ever since. Didn’t matter what it came from. The button was hers, then his. It hadn’t left his pocket since.

He squeezed it between his fingers, thumb brushing the grooves, meeting his lip just once, and tucked it away again.

He hadn’t said much when he left. Tommy met him in the barn before sunrise, lit only by a lantern swinging from a nail. The horses had been restless. Cold was coming in through the slats, and Joel had cinched the saddle like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Tommy had offered to go—thrice. Said it didn’t sit right, Joel riding out alone. But Joel had shaken his head.

“You stay here. For my girls.”

He didn’t trust anyone else to watch over them. Not the way Tommy would. “Just make sure they eat and sleep. That they know I'm doin' fine. You hear me?”

Tommy didn’t argue after that. Just handed him the reins and clapped his shoulder once. It was enough, maybe more than enough.

He’d ridden out before the light touched the mountains, the sound of the gate swinging shut behind him like a period at the end of a sentence.

Just yesterday—just yesterday—he’d been home. His home. The big white house, on the edge of Jackson with the bramble bushes out back and Leela’s cursive handwriting on the walls in pencil, tiny indelible equations scrawled between coat hooks and door frames.

Maya had held onto his finger compliantly, in her too-thick coat, dragging her plastic basket across the frost-hardened ground, and crouched beside him in the garden beds as they picked out what her mama had wanted for dinner. Carrots, lumpy and sweet. A head of cauliflower. All collected in her basket, while Joel wondered out loud to her, that maybe Leela was making that spicy stew of hers, with sumac and saffron.

And that night—he’d had Leela’s breath in his ear, her hand latched around his. They’d curled up together under that white duvet, head resting close, her thumb drawing soft, slow circles into his palm until he drifted off.

Now here he was.

Cold. Dirty. Bone-tired. Alone. Chasing ghosts toward a city he hadn’t seen in decades.

He leaned back until his head tapped the wood behind him, and let out a breath. It fogged up in front of him and vanished.

“Screw it,” he muttered.

The backpack was by his side, half-buried in snow-dust. He pulled it closer, unzipped it with numb fingers. Inside, wrapped tight in old linen, was Leela’s notebook—the one with her proofs, her ideas, the kind of math that gave him a migraine. The one he was risking everything to deliver.

Tucked beneath it were two small tape recorders. But—there were two of them, same make, scratched from use. He’d grabbed both in a rush. One of them had her logs, her working thoughts on the Riemann Hypothesis. The other… who knew.

It didn’t matter. He needed her. Her voice. Even if it was just numbers and theorems he didn’t understand. Even if it was her being brilliant in a way that left him in the dust. Something to make the world feel less far.

Joel held one to his chest a moment. Closed his eyes. Thumb hovering over the play button for a moment before he pressed it.

The machine clicked. The static cleared. A brief hiss.

And then, for a second, all Joel could hear was the wind scratching at the seams of the broken-down cabin. Then came her voice—soft, unsure.

He smiled, exhaled, and let the recorder rest on his chest. Ready for sleep.

X

L.REED MAYA INFANCY DEVELOPMENT LOG – AUDIO FILE #9

(Click. The soft static of the recorder kicks in. There's a rustling sound, like someone adjusting a blanket or shifting in bed. Then, Leela's voice—gentle, low, a little breathless, like she’s just settled in beside someone small and wriggly. Maya.)

“You wanna say 'hi'? Hi?”

(Maya hums. Coos softly before saying—) “Hah.”

(Leela laughs.) “Close enough. Okay, so. It is August the seventeenth. Time is… very late.” (A soft snort.) “Um, two-twelve a.m. Bedroom. Maya, age eight months.”

(A soft, gurgling coo interrupts. Then a thump-thump—like a baby kicking her feet against the mattress. Leela exhales a smile into the mic.)

“Baby girl is vocalizing consistently. Her consonant-vowel chains are stronger. Lots of ‘ba-ba’, ‘ga-ga’, ‘ta-ta’, occasionally ‘da’. This morning, I caught her mimicking Joel yawning and singing. She’s watching his lips more, listening to intonation. Repeating the pitch, if not the structure.”

(More babbling now. Higher-pitched. Happier. Leela’s voice quiets slightly, as if leaning in.)

“But just now…” (a pause, soft disbelief flickering in her voice) “…she said ‘Mama.’”

(There’s a quiet moment. A little sniff from Leela, then a huff of a laugh.)

“I was holding her, rocking her. She had her hand on my lips, just as I taught her to express ‘I love you’. Looked me dead in the eye. And said it.”

(Maya giggles, wet and delighted, then says it again—muffled but distinct) “Mamamamama.”

“That. Right there. Did you hear that?” (Leela’s voice wavers, thickens with emotion she’s trying not to name.) “Omigosh, baby.”

(We can hear Maya closer now, her soft breaths, her curious coos.)

“You wanna say that for me, please? Can you say 'Mama' one more time?”

(Soft, adorable, Maya speaks.) “Mama.”

(Leela giggles.) “Yeah?”

(She's excited, seeing her mother smile.) “Maaaa!”

“Maya's first word. Not just a sound. Not just noise. She meant me.”

(Another pause, the rustling of blankets. Leela’s voice softens even more, almost like she’s speaking to herself now.)

“My baby is growing so fast, learning, laughing daily, and it's all Joel. He speaks to her so much, it's no wonder she wants to talk right back at him. But I don’t know what I expected. I mean, I’ve studied this a little from that old baby book Mom had lying around in storage. I know the milestones. The phoneme acquisition timeline. But hearing it…”

(She stops. A breath. Then, quieter—) “It made me feel real. Like I didn’t just survive her. Like maybe I was meant to be her mother after all.”

(Maya babbles in the background, then lets out a little sigh and flops back against the mattress. Leela chuckles softly, tired.)

“She does this cute thing with her hands when she’s trying to form new sounds. Presses her fingers to her mouth like she’s shaping the word. Like she’s building it.”

(A beat. Then Leela's voice dips into playfulness—dry, teasing, a rare glint of humor.)

“She’s smarter than me, I know it. It’s totally fine. I’ll just be the one who cuts up her fruit and explains Hilbert spaces until she’s old enough to tell me to stop.”

(The door creaks open. Joel’s voice enters the room, low and gravelly, but softened with affection.)

“You still up, darlin'? Jesus, go to bed already.” (His boots thud quietly against the floor as he steps in. A pause. Then the sound of a kiss—quiet, slow. A press of lips to Leela’s temple.) “Doin’ experiments with the poor kid again? Hi, baby girl.”

(Leela hums, leaning into him whilst Maya squeals in excitement at Joel's arrival.) “Infancy development log for future purposes. Joel, come sit. Listen, listen. Maya said her first word.”

(There’s a beat. Joel exhales like he’s trying to hide a smile. He shifts closer—more rustling, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight as he sits beside them. Maya lets out a soft coo.)

“Yeah?” (His voice is quieter now, touched with awe.) “What’d she say?”

(Leela pauses. Her voice is a little breathless when she finally answers.) “She said 'Mama.'”

(Joel is quiet. Then—he laughs under his breath, low, warm and a little stunned. A laugh that carries years in it.)

“Course she did. Trouble and a traitor.” (A kiss, this time to his baby’s head.) “Smartass, just like you.”

(Maya babbles off-screen—happy nonsense, punctuated with a triumphant little—) “Mama!”

(Leela half-laughs, disbelieving) “Hear that? Again and again. No prompting, Joel. Just—‘Mama.’ Like she knew.”

(Another tiny voice from the baby.) “Maaaaaama.”

(Joel sighs like a man personally betrayed.) “Wow. She’s on a roll.”

“You seem jealous.”

(Joel, in mock offence) “Psh. Jealous, schmealous.” (Then addresses Maya directly, lowly.) “You know how many nappies I’ve changed for you, trouble? How many times I’ve walked you around this house at two in the damn morning?”

(He leans closer, pitching his voice hopeful and coaxing.) “Say Da-da. Come on, baby girl. Just once. Da-da.”

(Maya hushes. Then lets out another cheerful—) “Mama.”

“She’s doin’ it on fuckin' purpose.”

“She’s a baby.”

“She’s my baby. Which means she’s bein’ a pain in my ass on purpose.”

(The static is filled with the sound of Joel scooping her up, lifting her overhead with ease—Maya giggles, squeals, kicks her feet.)

(Joel playfully threatens.) “That it? You say 'Mama' one more time and I swear to God, I’m throwin’ you in the trash.”

(Maya hiccups out another: “Mama!” then laughs like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Leela bursts out laughing behind the recorder.)

“Right, you're with the raccoons now. C’mere, you lil’ menace.” (He smothers a chuckle with a deep kiss against Maya's cheek.)

(Leela's teasing does not cease.) “Go ahead. She’ll climb back out.”

“She’s got your damn mouth. And your attitude.”

(Leela’s voice, still recording, drops into a whisper—proud and fragile.) “Cannot believe she picked me.”

(Joel snickers.) “Yeah, baby. But we’re all hers now.”

(Click.)

X

DAY 2: EN ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES - APPROX. TWENTY-SIX HOURS SOUTH OF JACKSON.

You know how when you're completely alone, and there’s nothing left to look at but the walls, nothing to hear but the ticking of your own breath? When there’s no noise, no job, no person, no purpose to pull you away from the one thing that's been haunting the edges of your mind?

That’s where Joel was. No goddamn purpose except forward.

The road stretched ahead like a savage scar across the earth—silent, broken, endless. The only sound was the dull rhythm of hooves on packed dirt and the occasional creak of the saddle under Joel’s weight. His ribs throbbed with every breath.

No talking. No laughter. No baby cries. Just him, the horse, and the wind. It was in that kind of silence—complete, bone-deep—that the memory found him. The quiet made space for things he didn’t want.

It wasn’t even something big. Not some major milestone, holiday, or sweet, cinematic moment he could cling to like a lifeline.

Just a soft thing. A quiet day. It had been raining since morning, their first wave of summer storms.

It was not hard, not a downpour, just that steady mountain drizzle that turned everything gray and soft, that blurred the windows and hushed the world, made the house smaller and cozier. Inside this cushy room he'd made for his little girl, the air was scented of old cotton, wood, and whatever Maya had wiped on his shirt earlier.

Joel had stood in the nursery, one arm braced on the crib’s rail, the other setting down a freshly folded onesie on a small, lopsided pile. The window had been cracked, just an inch, enough to let in petrichor and the patter of water on the roof. The rhythm of it folded itself into the room like background music—so familiar he barely noticed it anymore, like a breath or heartbeats.

The laundry was warm from the dryer, and the little pink crib had become a makeshift laundry basket—tiny socks, soft bloomers, onesies with Leela's sweet embroideries of bears, owls, stars, and moons, all heaped together like a colourful cloud.

Maya, just a hair past eight months, sat squarely in the middle of the pile, the clean laundry heaped around her like a nest. She had one sock in each hand, neither matching, and looked at them like she was weighing philosophical truths. Her dark curls were sticking up in fuzzy snares. Her legs were crossed, her posture oddly regal—like she’d appointed herself queen of the sock mountain.

Joel glanced at her, then down at the onesie in his hand. It had a bear on the front, kind of wonky, with one eye stitched lower than the other.

He let out a soft huff through his nose. “I keep meanin’ to ask your mama to patch that bear’s eye. Looks like he’s been through some shit, right?”

Maya blinked at him, then looked back at her socks, utterly unbothered.

Joel folded the onesie and stacked it. “Yeah. Damn garden’s gonna be drowned if this rain keeps up,” he muttered, rubbing at the back of his neck. “See, I told Mama not to put that basil down near the low spot, but she won’t listen. You’ll see when you’re older—ain’t no one listening to the man with the shovel.”

Maya scrunched one of the socks in her hand, held it up, and gave him a look like, Is this even a sock or is it something greater?

Joel chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Socks. Don’t make no sense, huh?”

He reached over and gently tugged one of the matching pairs out of the pile. “This your big contribution?” he asked. “You fold this one? Looks like it got run over by a possum.”

Maya made a quiet noise—something between a hum and a grunt—and waved both socks in the air like streamers. Joel looked up again, and this time, he softened.

“I see you, baby girl,” he murmured. “Workin’ real hard.”

She blinked at him, pleased with herself, and stuck one sock on her foot over the other one she was already wearing.

“That’s it,” Joel hummed. “Yeah, two socks on one foot. Tyra Banks, you are. You’re gonna revolutionize the whole town.”

And suddenly she was a firecracker of excitement in her double-layered socks. She was up on her feet, squealing, “Da-da-da-da!”

Her little bare feet thudded softly on the crib mattress as she twirled, arms stretched out like wings. The flannel dress—a new one, made by her Mama, cut from one of Joel’s old shirts—fanned out around her like a pinwheel. The plaid knots at her shoulders bounced with every turn, and the fabric spun around her legs with a gentle swish, like the hush of wind through leaves.

Maya made a breathy sound with each spin—a little “hah!” like surprise was bubbling out of her chest. Her curls, puffed up from the static, lifted with each whirl, a halo of chaos above her head. She looked like joy personified: loose, unselfconscious, free.

Joel, sock still half-folded in his hands, couldn’t help but watch. Something about her face in that moment—the pure glee, the trust in the world—grew a warm ache. The kind you didn’t know how to carry, because it was too good. Too fleeting.

“Look at you,” he said, quiet. “You like that dress, huh? That’s Daddy’s old shirt, you know.”

Maya squealed but didn’t answer, too caught up in her spinning. Until her balance gave out. She toppled sideways into the cloth hill with a wild, delighted shriek, caught herself on her hands, and let out a giggle.

He opened his mouth to warn her to slow down—when the thunder cracked.

It came like the snap of a tree limb overhead—sharp, sudden, alive with force. The windows rattled in their frames.

The sound wiped the joy clean off her face. Her arms dropped. Her breath caught in her throat. She pivoted toward the window, her expression one of stunned betrayal—like the world had just raised its voice at her for the first time.

Then she moved.

Ran straight at Joel, flung herself against the crib rails, fingers latching onto his jeans like she could climb up into his skin. She didn’t cry, not yet. But her whole body was taut and trembling. Her face was still turned toward the glass, mouth parted, trying to understand the sky.

He saw the tiny tremble in her lower lip, the way two fingers picked at them nervously, the way her eyebrows drew tight, a wrinkle forming between them like a shadow.

Another thunder roll followed. This one longer, deeper. It crawled over the house like a prowling animal, ploughing into the roof.

Maya let out a whimper—not loud, but helpless. She looked up at him, big eyes wide, uneasy, and in a voice cracked with fear, she whispered, “Da-da, mhmm. Up, pease.”

Joel didn’t answer. He moved first.

In two strides, he was at the open window. He reached up and slammed it shut with the heel of his palm. The muffled silence afterward was almost a relief, just the soft percussion of rain on the roof.

“There we go. Nothin', it's gone now.”

Then he came back to her, crouched down, arms open before she even reached him. She crashed into his chest with a panicked little cry, climbing up him like he was a tree, tiny fingers clawing for purchase in his shirt, breaths shallow.

“I got you, honey,” he murmured to her as he stood, lifting her up against him. “You’re alright. I got you, baby girl.”

Another boom rolled over the mountains—long, low, rumbling—and she whimpered, her face pressed into his neck, her whole body trembling against his.

He gathered her up and lowered himself slowly to the rug. Sat cross-legged, grunting, settling herself in the crook of his chest. He curled himself around her like a shelter, drawing her in until she was tucked fully against his chest. Her bare toes nudged under his arm, one arm trapped between their chests, the other clutching his collar in a death grip.

“It’s just the sky talkin' to you,” he said, soft against the crown of her head. “Ain’t nothin’ but the sky being all big and loud for its favourite little girl.”

Another crack of thunder, and she jumped.

“Ahh, no, no, no da-da!”

“Okay, okay. Ssh.”

That’s when Joel gently brought his hands up to her ears—those big, calloused palms, rough from years of labour but soft now, careful as he cupped her tiny head. He didn’t press, didn’t smother—just curved them over her ears like a living shield. Just enough to hush the worst of the world.

“There,” he whispered, voice tucked low in his throat, like a secret just for her. “That better, baby?”

She only sagged into him, her whole weight melting down like her bones had gone soft. Her breath came fast, shallow little gasps against his neck, her cheeks hot and wet where her tears were soaking straight through his shirt.

Joel’s chest clenched.

“Shh, hey now,��� he murmured, rocking her gently, like he’d done when she was still small enough to fit in one forearm. “Ain’t no storm gonna touch you. Not while you’re right here with me.”

He pushed a kiss to her temple—warm, lingering—then rested his cheek against her curls, letting himself sink into her warmth too. Her curls were soft against his stubbled jaw, but still quivering like a frightened baby bird. Every flinch of hers felt like a blow to his own ribs.

The next clap of thunder rolled in, less sharp now but still loud, echoing through the valley.

She flinched again—hard—and bowed into herself even tighter, like she was trying to disappear inside his chest. Her lip quivered, her little shoulders jumping beneath his hands.

Joel tucked her closer, wrapped himself around her, every muscle taut with the instinct to protect. To cover.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, peppering kisses wherever he could. “Almost over, sweetheart.”

His hands moved—slow, pacifying—one cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades. He could feel her heart racing under his palm, tiny and frantic. Like a hummingbird. But with each pass of his hand, it began to slow, just a little.

Outside, the thunder rumbled again. Softer now. Farther away. Tired, fading.

Joel didn’t move his hands. Just kept holding her, kept being the still point in the storm, the rock she could anchor to.

“You hear that?” he said, reaching down to brush his thumb against her eyes and wipe the tears away. “Storm’s gettin’ tired. Runnin’ outta gas.”

And as the rain gentled on the roof, Maya’s breath began to slow. Her tiny fists, once knotted in his shirt, loosened, fingers going slack. Her lashes fluttered against his collarbone like moth wings. Not asleep—but safe. Settled.

After a minute, she shifted. Pulled back just enough to sit upright in his lap, still nestled between his knees. Her legs folded beneath her, toes peeking out under the hem of her dress. She didn’t say anything—just found one of the buttons on his shirt and started turning it slowly with her fingers, brow furrowed.

Then she looked up. Big, brown, still-wet eyes. A pout like a petal turned down, cheeks sticky with the last of her tears. Her curls were a damp halo, and her bottom lip wobbled, just a little.

Joel leaned in, forehead leaning gently against hers. Let their warmth meet in the middle.

“Hey. Doesn’t stand a goddamn chance against you and me, right?” he asked in a whisper.

Maya blinked up at him. Then touched her fingers to her lips—soft and sweet—and pressed them to his. That little 'I love you' trick again. She gave it off so freely sometimes, to Ellie all the time, to Maria, even Tommy, who bugged the hell out of her.

He gave a breath of a laugh, quiet and rough-edged. His eyes closed as he felt her tiny hand against his mouth.

“I love you too,” he murmured, catching her little hand between two cautious fingers, rubbing the bare lines there. His fingertips barely spanned her palm, this tiny little thing that trusted him to hold her through her first storm.

Let it thunder, he had thought then. Let it break the whole damn sky. It wouldn’t get to her. Not here. Not while he was breathing.

That memory bloomed behind Joel’s eyes like a flame in the cold.

He blinked, slow, pulled back to reality by the enduring rhythm of the horse’s hooves. Wind whipped around his straight collar. His ribs ached with every breath.

Forever was a grandiose fucking myth. That soft, rainy day might as well’ve been a dream. A world made of cotton and woodsmoke and spinning plaid dresses. Twenty hours behind him. Maybe a thousand miles. Maybe gone forever.

And if she was scared now? If the thunder came again and she reached for him, he wouldn’t be there.

All he had now was the ghost of her breath on his neck. The echo of her trust. The weight of his baby girl he could still feel in his arms, though she wasn’t there.

Joel hunched deeper into his coat, reins pulled taut, leather digging into his palm.

Because the storm hadn’t left him. It had just moved inside.

X

DAY 2: EN ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES - APPROX. TWENTY-SEVEN HOURS SOUTH OF JACKSON, JUST PAST GRAND JUNCTION, COLORADO

The first thing that hit him was the same goddamn cold.

Not the kind he was used to, that stung his fingers or turned his breath white—but the kind that stole. That lung-squeezing, bone-hollowing cold that came with being slammed headfirst into a river in the middle of no-fucking-where.

It engulfed him whole.

Joel’s skull cracked against stone. He barely had time to curse before the water closed over him. It was an aggressive silence, all muffled roars and bubbles, blood rushing in his ears. His body spasmed on instinct, legs booting, hands clawing for something—anything.

His face broke the surface with a sharp gasp, just before a boot came down, hard, and shoved him under again.

He went back under with a strangled snarl, teeth bared in the dark, throat filling with river. He thrashed—unseeing, feral, like a dog tangled in barbed wire, hands scraping across riverbed rock. Something thick and ugly filled his chest—not just water, but rage. Blind, instinctual, living within his very marrow.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

He didn’t even know where the trap had sprung from—just that one second he was crossing that busted-out bridge, cold wind at his back, and the next he was flying sideways, skull and ribs screaming as they hit the bank. A flash of movement, then mud, then water.

Now his gear was scattered, his rifle somewhere downstream to the Gulf of California, and the weight on his back was not budging.

Had to give it to him, the guy was strong. Not smart. Sloppy, wild. But strong as fuck.

Joel twisted, spine screaming, hips torquing. A crack of pain lit up his ribs—he didn’t have time to wonder if they were broken. He got one knee up in the current and drove it backwards—boot connected with something soft. The man grunted. Joel surged, body arching, hands fumbling. His fingers closed around something slick. A stone, maybe. Maybe a piece of his own gear. He didn’t look. Just swung it upward.

There was a crack of bone. The weight lifted.

Joel broke the surface like a corpse pulled from the deep. He choked, spat, and coughed, the sound raw and ragged. His whole body was trembling, muscles stuttering from the cold.

He had half a breath in him before the guy was on him again.

“Sonuva—” he bit out through chattering teeth.

Big, ugly, one of those loner types. Eyes wide and bloodshot. Beard crusted with something black. Stinking of rot, blood, sweat and boots that’d walked through worse places than this.

Joel didn’t waste time—got a hand on the man’s face, fingers clawing for the eyes, gouging. The other hand dropped to his belt—the knife was still there. Thank God. He drew it, fast, but his wrist was shaking and his grip was off.

He wasn’t thinking. He was moving. This wasn’t the first time someone tried to kill him. And it wouldn’t be the last.

The blade found flesh—but not where it needed to. It glanced off the bastard’s side, shallow, not enough. The guy roared and drove a fist into Joel’s temple. Stars burst behind his eyes.

His boots skidded on slick river stones. He went down hard.

The weight came again. Pinning him. Crushing.

The man’s knee jammed into Joel’s chest, ribs shrieking under the press, full body leaning in. Joel felt something crack. Pain ripped through him like lightning. The knife slipped from his hand.

Shit—

“You're fuckin' dead, asshole.”

Alright. Bring it the fuck on.

The guy was growling in his ear, teeth gnashing, breath hot and putrid. Hands clawing at his throat. Joel struggled, arms scrabbling. His body was giving out. Water dragged on his clothes. His lungs were still half-full of the river. His legs were kicking, but they felt far away.

Too tired. Too fucking slow. Too fucking old.

A knee jammed into his chest. His own vision flickering. The sky above him was a fair smudge between barren tree branches.

Not like this.

He saw her face. Maya’s. Then Leela’s. Ellie’s. Faces he’d left behind to protect. Faces he wasn’t ready to forget. Just a little more time. One more chance. Go back home, forget this whole damn thing. Just live.

Not like this, not like this, not like—

BANG.

The body on top of him jolted. A spurt of red bloomed across his shoulder, steam rising from the impact.

BANG.

Closer this time. Blood misted across Joel’s face. The man slumped. Collapsed. Dead weight, sudden and slack.

Joel lay there for a second, breath snagged in his throat. The silence came back—but it wasn’t tranquil. It was sharp. Expectant.

He eventually gasped furiously, chest heaving, struggling to pull air through raw lungs. Hands numb, shaking. His ears rang. Blinked the blood out of his eyes.

Then slowly, painfully, he shoved the corpse off and rolled onto his side. Coughing. Wheezing. The river soaked into his bones like poison. His fingers dug into the pebbles just to remember what solid ground felt like.

A third gunshot wasn't coming.

He turned his head, half-expecting a hallucination, knife still in hand—every nerve sparking. His body was coiled, heart pounding in his throat, soaked through, freezing, half out of his mind—

And standing there, staring at him with wide, shit-scared eyes—

Ellie.

Still holding the pistol two-handed, her arms locked, face pale and furious and terrified. Her breath ghosted in the cold, breathing hard, like she’d run all the way here. Snow dusted her hair, melting into her collar. Hair messy, sleeves pushed up, a smear of blood on her cheek—he didn’t even know if it was hers.

She looked like a goddamn kid again, that shock in her.

Joel stared at her for a moment that felt like the world had paused—like time itself needed a second to understand what the hell just happened.

She took a step toward him, lowering the gun.

“Joel—” Her voice broke halfway through his name.

And then, behind her, out of the trees—Leela.

Moving quick but steady, wrapped in that old worn coat of hers, fur-lined, hair tied up into a big, tight bun, eyes locked onto Joel like she’d been hunting him through a warzone. Her hand was clenched around something that looked cobbled together from broken bottles, tubing, and copper wire, rigged with metal scraps and cloth. A bomb, crude and half-melted, glass fogged with something dark and hissing inside. Acid, maybe. Of her own damn making.

A fucking acid bomb.

He stared at them both, still on his knees in the water, stunned, soaked, heart clawing its way back into his throat.

For a split second, he thought he was dreaming. Thought maybe he’d finally cracked. That maybe he died in that river, and this was what his mind made up on the way out.

But unfortunately, no.

Ellie was still holding that pistol, shoulders tense. Leela was here, real as anything, her breath catching when she saw the blood on his face.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel rasped. He staggered upright to his feet, knees buckling, one hand pressed to his broken ribs. His voice was hoarse with cold and panic. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

Ellie didn’t answer. She was staring at him like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to hug him or shoot him for leaving her like that.

Joel was still dripping, clothes ungainly, cuts stinging on his hands and face. His fingers flexed around the knife hilt, but he let it drop, slowly. His voice, when it came again, cracked with cold and fury and fear.

“Have you lost your goddamn minds?!”

He didn’t care how raw he sounded. Didn’t care that his legs were shaking. Because what the hell were they thinking?

Jackson was safe. He left them there for a reason.

Joel turned his gaze to Leela, eyes wild. Still couldn't believe this shit. No, he was definitely imagining this.

“You—you brought her out here?” he rasped to Ellie, the words stumbling out, shredded at the edges.

His voice cracked with wrath, but beneath it was something else. Something jagged and terrified. He wasn’t yelling at her—he was yelling because if he didn’t, he might fucking break.

But Leela didn’t move. Just stood there. Still as a statue, wet snow clinging to her sleeves, her mouth parted like she couldn’t speak. And her eyes—no.

She looked at him like she didn’t recognize what she’d found. Like she’d expected someone else. A stronger man. One who wasn’t half-drowned, bloody, and shaking from the cold. A man who didn’t have someone else’s blood running down his neck.

She’d come all this way, and this was what she got.

He wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore. This was the whole reason he’d left. So she wouldn’t have to see this version of him. The one he tried to keep locked up in the dark.

The bleeding one. The broken one. The furious one. The one who failed and lost—over and over again.

Joel’s lungs seized. His ribs ached like something inside had torn loose. Not broken, just bitterly bruised. He didn’t know if it was the pain, the grief, or just too many nights without sleep.

“I told you to stay the fuck back,” he growled, staggering forward, fury spilling out of him just to cover the terror underneath. He took a step forward, wet boots dragging in the muck. “Do you even know what the hell I’m walkin’ into? You think this is a joke? You've just killed yourselves!”

He wasn’t shouting at her anymore. He was shouting at the world. At himself.

But Ellie’s voice cut through the fog like a blade. “He would’ve fucking killed you. How about a 'thank you'?”

“Coulda blown my goddamn head off,” he grunted.

“You scared the shit out of me, Joel! You just—” she rubbed her wrist against her nose, to quiet a sniffle, “When she came to my door with the kid, crying her head off, I thought you were... God, you're such a fucking asshole!”

Joel stopped.

Her hands were shaking. The gun still hung in her grip, barrel down, smoke curling from the muzzle. Her eyes were glassy, but she wasn’t crying. Ellie never cried, not where he could see it.

He wanted to argue. Tell her she shouldn’t have been here, that she was reckless, that she’d risked everything—

But he couldn’t. Because she was right.

So instead, he looked away. His jaw clenched. Hands flexed uselessly at his sides, fingers twitching with adrenaline that had nowhere to go. The cold came creeping back in.

He didn’t know what the fuck this was anymore. Didn’t understand how they’d followed him this far. Didn’t even understand why. All he knew was that the two people he’d tried to protect by walking away were now here—wet, cold, bleeding. Standing in the wreckage of his silence.

And for a second, it felt like the whole damn universe had flipped inside out.

Then he muttered, hoarse and quiet, almost to himself, “I ain’t sure what’s what anymore. Stupid kids.”

He barely had time to let the words settle before Leela moved. Past Ellie. Past the smoking pistol still loose in her hands. Past all the invisible lines she obeyed—the ones built of silence, of distance, of dignity too scarred to name.

She moved like he had finally broken open inside her. And all he wanted was to just bring her close, sink her into his chest, all her warmth and strength, be grateful she had come all this way, and she was still alive. His good arm opened to do just that.

Until she hit him. Hard.

Joel didn’t even register the motion. Just the crack—a sharp, ringing pop against his cheekbone, like someone had fired a shot next to his ear. His head snapped to the side, mouth open in dumbfounded silence. The cold air lit up against the raw skin like fire on ice.

He barely managed to turn his head, blinking, confused, lips parting to speak—the fuck—to find her eyes, to demand something, anything—

When the second slap landed. Harder.

Across the opposite cheek, this one sent him a half-step back. His balance rocked. His knees gave a warning lurch. His vision blurred at the edges.

Ellie, though, came through with a hollow, “Jesus.”

The ringing in his ears drowned out everything. Even the birds had gone still. The only sound was that awful, hollow rush of blood in his head. His jaw ached. His mouth tasted of copper.

He didn’t know whether to be infuriated or stupidly impressed.

Leela was small. Smaller than him by a long shot. But she had those arms—those long, welder’s arms. He’d seen her rip stubborn rusted bolts loose like paper tabs, carry piping half her weight over her shoulder, hold Maya in one arm and stir sauce on a pot without breaking for a full hour. All that strength—he felt it now, blistering across his jaw. Twice.

She stood before him, chest rising and falling too fast, few loose curls clinging wet to her cheeks, lips parted like maybe she was about to say more—but didn’t.

And Joel just stood there, wordless.

The cold didn’t exist anymore. The bruising in his ribs didn’t matter. His back could be broken for all he knew, and he still wouldn’t have felt it.

Because all that existed now was her.

Leela. Storm-eyed. Livid. Trembling. Hot, if he might brainlessly add. And something else—something behind all that rage. A breaking point.

He had never seen her like this. Not once. Not even in the worst moments. Not even when Maya was screaming from frequent colic at two in the morning and Leela hadn’t slept in days. Not when the generator blew and she spent a week hauling scrap in snow up to her knees to get the lights back on. Not even when he'd practically roared at her for taking up that supply run with Tommy all that time back.

She always held the line. Quiet, astute, controlled. Too benumbed, sometimes. Too in her head to react. Never like this.

Then—her hand was on him again.

But this time, not to strike, but he did flinch though. Her slaps hurt like a bitch.

Her fingers curled into his scruff—rough and fast, like a wrench clamping down on rusted metal—and she yanked his face back toward hers.

He tried to look away. Tried to drop his gaze, tried to vanish into the pain, the shame, the damn noise in his skull—oh, she didn’t let him.

Her grip was iron. Her eyes locked with his, and what he saw wasn’t just rage. It was worse than rage.

It was finality.

“Listen good, Joel. I left my one-year-old daughter behind to travel for two days through stinking shit, trying to find your dumbass. And when we get back to Jackson after this,” she said, her voice low and flat, steel cooled just before it cracked. “I’ll make sure you never touch a goddamn hair on Maya's head again.”

She let go, just like that.

Her fingers unhooked from his chin like she was cutting a rope, severing the last thing tethering them together.

And he—well, he didn’t fall, not exactly. But his spine bent, his head dipped, and his shoulders slumped like something inside had gone slack. Like the immaterial weight he carried every day had finally doubled, and he’d just let it.

She stepped back, stiff, her breath catching now, arms trembling—whether from rage or the cold or the crash after adrenaline, he couldn’t tell. The acid bomb still dangled from one hand like a fucked-up metaphor—glass, cloth, something sharp—as if she didn’t even realize she was still holding it.

Joel didn’t move. Couldn't force another word out.

He stood there in the destruction of it—soaked to the bone, shaking, cheeks stinging red, the blood of a stranger drying on his collar. His pack and rifle, drenched. His bearings were lost. Everything that had once made him sure of the next step.

And now—that one sentence—rattling around his skull like a bullet in a spent chamber, louder than the gunshots, louder than the river, louder than the slaps.

Leela meant what she said. And there was no fire, no flood, no click of a rifle or scream of infected that disturbed him more than those words.

He’d lost her for good. Not in some hypothetical, not in a nightmare. He lost her, in truth. In the cold light of consequence.

And he was losing Maya too. Not to death or sickness.

To himself. To the choices he made, trying to keep them safe.

He swallowed hard. It felt like glass going down. His eyes, dull and sunken, drifted sideways—to Ellie.

She hadn’t said a word through all of it. Just stood there, in the dying light, watching. Her eyes were too sharp, too old for her age. Her mouth set in a line like she was biting down on something jagged to keep it from spilling out.

She didn’t say I told you so. Really didn't have to.

Joel straightened up, rolling his shoulders. Slowly. Felt every snap and creak in his spine. His breath shuddered through cracked ribs. His jaw clenched once. Twice.

Then he did what Joel always did. He put it all in a box—every shattered piece—and shoved it deep, where the other shit festered, where it couldn’t get in the way. Where it couldn’t slow his hand if the trigger needed pulling. Where it wouldn’t matter.

Because they were still alive. And that meant the work wasn’t done.

So he cleared his throat. Almost a cough. And nodded once at Ellie. Then, he spoke in a voice low, steady, already shifting back into the man he had to be.

“We gotta get movin’.”

Ellie blinked at him. Leela didn’t turn.

The stinging wind picked up around. Joel looked toward the trees—branches swaying. The river was still coursing around him, still loud in his ears, but fading now.

He adjusted the straps of his pack on his shoulder and shook out the water from the rifle. Pocketed the revolver and a knife he couldn’t remember drawing.

He didn’t ask if they were ready or reach out. He just started walking ahead.

Because there were still threats out here. Still ground to cover. Still two people behind him who might not want him anymore—but they needed to make it back home.

And if that was the last thing Joel could give them, then by god, he’d give it. Even if it broke him for good.

X

Now, Leela knew everything.

It wasn’t about how much she knew—it was how deep it cut. And worse, how much she must hate him for it. There was no middle ground left. No soft place to land. Whatever warmth she’d once kept lit for him—whatever delicate belonging he’d built with her and Maya—it was probably gone. Extinguished.

They made camp off a deer trail, tucked under a collapsed ridge where the wind didn’t bite quite as hard. The sun was long gone, dragged under by the tree line, and the cold had come thieving in.

A fire snapped to life with Ellie’s careful work, dry bark and pine needles catching under flint sparks. It cast a low amber glow, flickering over ash-stained hands, over their little circle of silence. They were three bodies, orbiting the same silence. One fight too many.

Joel sat against a stone, one knee bent, the other leg stiff with bruises. He pressed the heel of his hand into his ribs—each breath was a blade. A cracked rib, maybe two. It'd heal in some time. His cheek throbbed where Leela’s palm had landed square beneath the eye. There was still the taste of blood in his mouth from the split inside his cheek, and he didn’t spit it out. He kept it there. Felt like something he owed.

But the rest—the real pain—had nothing to do with flesh.

His knuckles were broken open again. Skin peeled back, raw and crusted with blood. They hadn’t been torn like that in months. Not since Maya. Not since he swore to himself that those days—those versions of him—were done.

He found a patch of old snow, tucked in the roots of a fallen tree, and jammed his hand in it without thinking. The sting cleared his head for a second. Not long. But long enough. Better that than thinking about what he'd lost in the last twenty-four hours.

Across from him, just past the fire’s reach, Leela sat hunched against the bark of a maple, her knees to her chest, arms wrapped tight. Her silhouette was tense. A wire pulled too far. Her face was turned away, but he could still feel the gravity of her silence.

She hadn’t said a word since the fight. Since the slap. Since she told him he’d never touch Maya again.

Joel didn’t blame her.

He couldn’t look at her too long. It felt like staring at something holy that you’d already shattered with your own hands. Like the moment before a deer bolts—only this time, the deer had every reason to tear you apart instead.

Ellie passed around rations—some real food for once, not the dog-food shit Joel had been choking down since he left Jackson. Canned venison. A half-stale biscuit. Dried apples.

Leela barely took a bite. Just lifted the fork, stared at it, waited for the appetite that wasn't coming, and handed it back to Ellie with a quiet shake of her head.

“C'mon, Leela,” Ellie tried. “You can't just—”

“It's okay. You need more energy than I do,” she reasoned. “I'm really fine, honey. Thanks.”

Of course, she wouldn’t eat it. She wasn’t built for this kind of hunger. She could stomach a hundred theorems, burn through chalk and paper and sleepless nights like they were fuel, but this—this fire pit, this blood-caked survival shit—he never wanted her to have to endure it. He’d promised her safety. Comfort within their big, white house with walls thick enough to keep the world out.

But he’d dragged her right into it.

Joel watched her movements like they were coordinates. Markers of the damage. Not one bruise on her skin, but she looked like she’d been through hell. Not the kind he was inured to. The parent alone kind. The watching every shadow in case it takes your child kind. And he’d left her in it.

He cleared his throat. The words scraped coming up. “You two ate somethin’ on the way?”

Leela didn’t respond. Didn’t even twitch.

Ellie glanced between them. Her voice filled the space like a thread trying to stitch up a wound that wouldn’t close. “She foraged,” she said. “I had rations. We got by.”

Joel nodded, though it didn’t ease a damn thing. Getting by wasn’t the point. One day was enough. One day without Maya, not knowing where she was—what she needed. Whether she’d cried herself to sleep. Whether she’d asked for her dad.

His hand throbbed inside the patch of snow he’d buried it in, and he left it there. A self-inflicted punishment that didn’t go deep enough.

He glanced across the fire again.

Leela hadn’t moved. She looked fossilized—ancient and delicate, trapped in amber. Beautiful, brittle. Ready to break under the wrong kind of breath. He wanted to go to her. Kiss her palms. Her feet. Kneel, grovel even. Say anything.

I’m sorry. I did this for you. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m here now. I’m here. Take me back.

But he didn’t move. Didn’t trust his legs. Didn’t trust her to want him near. Didn’t trust himself not to ruin something worse.

“Who’s got Maya now? She okay?” he asked instead, softer this time. Barely a whisper.

Ellie shrugged. “Tommy has her.”

Yet, something in Leela shifted.

She turned her head toward him slowly, like a hinge rusted from disuse. Her eyes gleamed amber glass in the firelight—not soft, not tearful. Eyes that used to flinch from cruelty now dared it.

“Oh, you care so much all of a sudden?”

Joel shrank back. Not from the words—he could handle words. It was the disgust behind them, the truth he could hear in the marrow of her voice.

“Of course I fuckin’ do—”

He stopped himself. The old Joel—the one with fists and fury and pride—wanted to bark something back. But the man in front of her now? All of that had caved inward.

“It’s all I care about,” he said instead, quieter, shriveled on the way out. “She’s all I care about.”

Ellie glanced between them again, saw the scene for what it was, and without a word, she got to her feet with a grunt.

“I’m gonna go scout the area,” she sighed, a quiet, nonsense excuse. Her voice didn’t carry judgment—just tired understanding. And wise enough to leave broken things alone until they stopped bleeding.

Joel barely heard her leave. His eyes were on Leela. On the streak of dried dirt down her neck. The way her free hand curled into a fist at her side.

Leela’s glare didn’t soften. If anything, it sharpened. Her mouth twisted, barely restrained.

“If you did care,” she continued slowly, “you wouldn’t have left her, you lying coward.”

Joel stared into the fire. His ribs ached with every breath. His hand stung. But none of it compared to that.

Coward. That one fit. And still, all he could think was—you deserve it. Every word. Every second of this.

“You nearly cost my daughter her father,” she went on. “The one you promised you’d be. All for your self-righteous, noble bullshit that I never even knew about.”

Our daughter, he wanted to say, but it caught in his throat. It rose halfway up his throat before dying there, stuck in that place where pride and sorrow went to rot. Because maybe it wasn’t true anymore. Maybe that word—our—was already gone.

Joel stared into the fire. His ribs throbbed. His knuckles ached. But none of it hurt like her voice.

“I left to protect what is mine,” he muttered. “I left because—”

“Because what?” Leela cut in. “Because you didn’t think I could handle it? Because you thought sneaking off in the middle of the night was kinder than just letting me choose with you?”

Joel blinked, and it hit him in the gut: she wasn’t exclaiming because she didn’t need to anymore. Because maybe she was done needing anything from him at all. It was worse this way—each word a clean and precise incision, a scalpel gliding through flesh. Pain wearing the skin of rage.

Grief had taken root behind her eyes, and it had teeth.

“I don’t care that you didn’t tell me about LA sooner,” she said. “I don’t even care that you thought you were loving me by keeping it all to yourself—because you’re a dense, selfish, sad, angry bastard, Joel, and I knew that from day one. I chose you anyway.”

His mouth opened. Closed. Hollow. Stupid. Like a man reaching for an apology after the fire’s already burned down the house.

“I hate your goddamn nerve,” she spat. “I hate that you thought you were sparing me. I hate knowing that if you died out here, I wouldn't even know where to bury you.”

Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. That calm—that cutting calm—was worse than rage.

Joel tried to speak again, defend himself, make her understand. Nothing came. Just breaths. Just fire.

“I hate that you thought you were protecting me,” she said. “You always think that you know what’s best. That you can carry it all on your own. That if you just bleed enough, it counts as love.”

Joel leaned forward. His cracked rib barked in protest, but he barely registered the pain. “I wasn’t tryin’ to—”

“Yes, you were,” she snapped.

She turned her face back to the fire, as if looking at him hurt worse than the memories. “You don’t get to decide what I can survive, Joel.”

His hands shook now. Tremors he couldn’t hide anymore.

“I do,” he rasped. “I fuckin’ do. I’m the only one who does.”

Leela laughed. Not from amusement—but something bitter and jagged that barely passed for a laugh at all. “You think that makes it better?”

Joel looked down at his hands. At the crusted blood, the swollen joints. The man they belonged to.

“You haven't seen what I've seen. Fought, bled, and starved with this shit. Leela, there are slavers out here,” he said, eyes dropping to the fire. His voice was unraveling. “And if you get away from that, there are people who try to eat you. Hunters. Raiders. Rap—”

He stopped. The word stuck like a bone in his throat. A single syllable, too heavy to lift up. Don’t say it. Don’t fucking say it.

But they both heard it anyway.

Leela flinched like she’d been struck. In half a moment, her shoulders straightened, eyes steel again.

“You think I don’t know that?” she said, sharp as shrapnel. “I have been living with it in every breath I take.”

Joel wanted to disappear. Not walk away—vanish. Just cease. Be unmade.

“I left because I thought I could do something for you,” he said, voice low, cracking open at the seams. “Find someone. Anyone. Get them your proof. Make it count. That way, maybe everything wouldn’t just sit there in the dirt and rot, like you said. That is what you wanted.”

The fire popped. A spark shot upward, fizzled, and died in the cold air.

Leela stared at him. And in that look was every sleepless night. Every muffled sob she’d buried in Maya’s curls. Every second of silence and solitude he’d forced her to carry alone.

“You think I needed you to go fix it for me, Joel? What are you, my partner or some god?” she asked. Her voice was raw now. Stripped to the bone. “You don’t get to disappear and say it’s for our own good. No. You don’t get to wrap your guilt up in goddamn sacrifice and act like it’s some kind of gift.”

His lips parted, then closed again. His throat constricted like it was physically rejecting words.

Because what was he going to say? That he did it for them? That he didn’t tell her because it would’ve broken her heart that he kept from her this long?

That he thought maybe—just maybe—if he made it out to LA, if he delivered her precious legacy, if he gave the Fireflies her working theory, maybe then he wouldn’t have to carry the guilt anymore?

He was supposed to carry it. That was the deal. That was the role he’d carved out for himself after all the blood, after every goddamn life he'd taken and every one he'd failed to save.

But Leela didn’t see it that way.

All she saw was the door closing. The boots gone from the threshold. A child wailing at night with no arms strong enough to lift her.

And all Joel could whisper—quiet, hollow, useless—was: “I needed to do the right thing for you.”

She stood. Slow. Heavy. Like her joints were made of stone. The firelight curved around her, throwing shadows under her eyes, painting her tired skin gold and gray.

“I needed you to stay. To talk to me, to trust me.”

And that was the kill shot. It landed clean.

Presence over preemption. That was all it was to her, only he realized too late.

“I didn’t need some far-off maybe or prove yourself to someone who knows you,” she said. “I needed you. Here. I needed to step outside the house without worrying if she’d choke or fall or cry herself raw. I needed her dad to hold her so I didn’t have to do it all alone. I needed someone to watch her grow with me. Because that is what is real, Joel.”

Joel closed his eyes.

And he saw her—Maya—small and warm in his arms. Her tiny fist tangled in his shirt collar. Her big, bright, brown eyes blinking up at him. The way she said Dada like it meant safety.

He’d traded all of that for an empty road. A mission. A maybe.

And now here he was—blood dried on his collar, ribs cracked, knuckles split, and heart hollowed out like the carcass of some roadkill he hadn’t even seen in time.

He’d gone looking for hope. Thinking he could trade blood and sweat and scars for redemption. For Ellie. For Tess. For Sarah. That if he walked far enough, bled hard enough, proved his love with enough miles and silence and pain—he’d earn something back.

But Leela was right. He’d dressed his guilt in duty. And called it love.

And now all he had to show for it was this—The wind in the trees. The crackle of dying fire. A man lost.

He wanted to go to her. To hold her back, take her hand, press his forehead to hers, say the words he couldn’t ever seem to find.

But he didn’t move.

He just sat there, broken and burning, his only fallback left to survival. The fire crackled on, spitting cinders into the dark.

And Joel—protector, survivor, fool—just watched it, and hated the man he’d reverted to.

X

DAY 3-5: EN ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES - APPROX. SIXTY HOURS SOUTH OF JACKSON

“We're seeing this through. So I'm not leaving, and neither is Ellie,” Leela had finalized for him outright.

“Look, I can't—”

“I don't need you to. I said I'm not leaving, Joel.”

Stubborn fucking mama.

And Joel didn’t fight them on it anymore.

He should’ve. He told himself that. Told himself it the morning since they saddled up and rode out together—that if he were the man he used to be, he’d have grabbed both of them by the arm, dragged them back into Jackson, forced them to stay where it was safe.

But Leela had made her choice. And the truth was, he didn’t have it in him to push her away again.

So now, they rode.

The world around them unspooled like a reel of forgotten film. Dry plains gave way to rocky scrub, sagebrush rustling under the winter wind. They passed old highways cracked wide with weeds, a rust-eaten railroad bridge swallowed half by floodwater, a small burned-out town swallowed whole by silence. The road south stretched endlessly ahead, its shoulders littered with bones of the old world—billboards sun-bleached to blankness, gas stations gutted, houses like open, parched mouths.

The cold had let up somewhere past Idaho. By the fourth day, they’d started peeling off their outer layers, stripping down to threadbare flannel and undershirts. The sun was sharp now, almost springlike in the way it bore down around noon. Nights were still bitter, but the frost no longer clung to their boots come morning.

Ellie named every strange cactus they passed, tried to make him laugh by pointing out skeletons shaped like they died mid-dance. One, half-buried in the sand, was hunched like it was tying its shoe; another leaned back, arms splayed, the skull twisted toward the sun.

He gave her a few hums in response, nothing more. His attention kept drifting behind her—to the woman riding pillion, quiet as a shadow.

Leela didn’t speak much. Not to him. Just to Ellie. She wasn’t angry anymore. That was the worst of it.

Anger had a shape, volume—one he could understand, parry, push back against. This silence was weightless and permanent. Like the ash after a burn.

At night, she curled in close to the fire, wrapped in her own coat. She didn’t sleep easily, just like old times. Joel noticed the way her body stayed curled too tightly, like she was bracing for something. And sometimes, when it was his turn to take watch, he’d hear her stir behind him, restless, breath catching in her throat.

She’d wake with a sharp noise, legs thrashing, hand flying to her side like she expected something there.

Joel would glance over, pretend he hadn’t noticed. But he always did.

One night, she jerked upright so fast her hood fell back. Her breath came fast, shallow, and she folded forward with her arms around her knees, head ducked low like she was trying to disappear inside herself.

“Darlin’, you alright?” he had tried to call to her once.

“I—I wasn’t sleeping, just...” she drawled off, voice dry with exhaustion.

He nodded. “Okay. I'm right here.”

Joel turned his gaze back to the dark horizon, giving her that thin veil of privacy she always clung to. But when he heard the rustle of her coat, the soft scrape of her boots in the dirt, he realized she hadn’t lain back down.

Instead, she stayed awake beside him. Didn’t say a word. Just sat there with her arms folded, eyes watching the fire.

This happened more than once. Sometimes she’d wake from those dreams and never return to sleep. Other times, she didn’t even bother lying down—just sat with whoever was on watch, a silent shadow, her eyes rimmed red and distant come morning.

Joel didn��t ask. He wouldn’t push her, not about that.

He knew the ghosts that came back louder in the quiet. Knew how the wilderness could turn remembering into something sharper, hungrier. How it could whisper the worst things back to you in your own voice. And even if she didn’t say it, he knew exactly what kept her awake. What she was afraid of.

Sometimes he wondered if she thought Maya would be safer if she’d stayed behind. If she questioned the math, the risk. If she blamed herself, the way people like them always did.

But even like this, she was still… same old Leela. Which meant she was still incredible.

She knew how to move through this land, the way a bird knows when to migrate. He caught her one afternoon scaling the knotted side of a tree that had grown wild across the ruins of a collapsed overpass. She gripped the bark like she was born to it, legs coiled beneath her, moving with deft efficiency. She tossed down a fistful of small, yellow apricots, slightly underripe, and a few wild pears with bruised skins that thudded onto Joel's waiting jacket. Later, he watched her dig up something near the riverbed—root veg, maybe burdock or wild carrot—and clean it carefully, rubbing the dirt off with her sleeves, pressing them to her nose, testing if they were sweet or poisonous.

Joel lowered himself beside her with a grunt, his knees stiff. He held open her pack as she added more roots, careful not to crush the fruit she’d wrapped in a handkerchief. Woodsmoke wafted through the air from the fire that Ellie had just started uphill.

“You always know what to look for,” he said, keeping his voice low. “The stuff that won’t kill us, I mean.”

Leela didn’t look up. “You get good at it when you’re tired of throwing up pine bark.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Pine bark?”

She picked up another root, brushed the dirt from its ridges. “Good for the heart.”

Joel nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I'll take some of that when we get back home.”

She doesn't say anything more. His sentence hung in the air, almost shaping into a misreality.

He kept looking at her hands—fast, continued, precise. She wasn’t being cold. Just simple. Honest. It was a fact of the earth, same as everything else she pulled from it.

Evidently, she hated canned food. Always had. Joel remembered how she used to nudge the tins aside, which he'd brought her from patrol, grimacing at mushy peaches and synthetic meat stew like they were poison. So now, she gathered what she could. Built fires. Let the fruit and roots roast slowly over the open flame.

That night, he found three apricots—peeled, pitted, still warm from where they’d sat on a flat rock near his sleeping bag.

Didn’t let him go hungry.

And in the morning, when he stirred against the half-deflated camping mat, shivering from the cold ground, ribs smarting, there it was—her jacket draped across his shoulders, fur tickling his nose. That puffy green one she always wore, the one patched at the elbows. Smelled faintly of smoke and lavender soap. She must’ve covered him sometime before dawn, when the fire died low and the frost crept back in. His fingers curled over it without thinking, bringing it to his nose. He didn’t want to let it go.

Didn’t let him freeze either.

“Take care of your own damn self out here,” he muttered to her that afternoon, when Ellie had wandered off to check a sound in the brush. “I’ll be fine.”

Leela didn’t answer. Maybe she’d heard it too many times before.

Soon enough, they were moving through the shell of a city—some old Vegas township gutted by time and flame. Dust coated everything like it had fallen just yesterday and never stopped. Storefronts with sun-bleached awnings sagged in silence, windows cracked or blasted clean through, their displays long since picked over—or left to rot. An old jewellery store stood crooked between a payday loans kiosk and a shuttered vape lounge, its signage hanging by one rusted chain.

Joel didn’t like it. Too many angles. Too much open space.

Ellie pushed open the busted glass door.

“Gimme a sec,” she called over her shoulder. “Might be something useful in here.”

Joel stayed out on the sidewalk, scanning the street, back set against the tilt of the wind. Leela had wandered across the way, squinting up at a streetlamp that had snapped clean in half and was tangled in telephone wires like a dead limb. Her coat tugged in the breeze, hair pulled back tight today.

Joel kept half an eye on her, the other on Ellie.

From the inside, Ellie’s voice floated out through the cracked window. “Ooh, now this is romantic. Joel, check it.”

Joel let out a harshened sigh. “Don’t, kiddo.”

“C’mon,” she said, grinning, holding up an old velvet ring box missing its jewel. “Little shiny thing like this? She’d probably cry.”

“She doesn’t want all that,” he muttered, eyes tracking the rooftops. “Doesn’t want anything from me. The way she's goin' about this, I might have to move out again when we get back.”

Ellie snorted, still rummaging. “Sure, that’s what she says. But I dunno, man—if I survived the apocalypse and the kind of shit you two been through? I’d want some credit. Maybe a bouquet of barbed wire. Something symbolic.”

Joel gave her a flat look through the broken window. “You done yet?”

Ellie wiggled the ring box again, then tossed it onto a dusty counter. “You’re no fun. What happened to carving rings from bone for her?” She held up the sign of the horns. “Disgusting, but metal as hell.”

Joel huffed through his nose, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Leela turned back then, catching his eye from across the street. She didn’t wave. Just nodded—barely—and returned her attention to the crumpled lamppost, fingers brushing the wiring like she was piecing something together.

And then came the gunfire.

No warning. Just the sudden crack-crack-crack of it, echoing off old brick, and Joel flinched sideways as the sharp hiss of a bullet splintered stone inches from his ear.

“Down, down, move!” he roared, rifle up in a second.

Ellie hit the floor, crawling fast toward the back exit, already firing through the jagged window glass. “Joel!”

Joel ducked behind a rusted truck frame, adrenaline flattening his breath. The street flared with gunfire, loud and close. Somewhere to his left, Leela had disappeared from the sidewalk. Goddamnit, where was she? Where was she?

“Ellie,” he growled, crouching low as he swung around the corner of the car, “head down, c'mon!”

“Yeah, I got it!” she shot back, sharp with focus. “You see Leela anywhere?”

“I dunno,” he muttered. His heart punched harder. Maybe she found cover nearby. Dammit, that stupid ring joke didn’t feel so funny now.

Ellie ducked and returned fire without hesitation, pushing herself into the side of a rusted-out car. Joel followed suit, rifle up, stock tight against his shoulder.

“Fuckin' ambush,” he grunted. “You see that? Two o’clock—rooftop. Gotta be fast, kiddo.”

Ellie scoffed. “I know, I ain't blind, old man.”

They’d walked right into it. Fucking scavenger crew—hunter types, the kind that circled ruined cities like vultures. Not Fireflies. Not FEDRA. Just the kind who didn’t blink at killing for shoes or rations.

Shots tore through the air like thunder cracks. Joel’s head snapped to the sound—figures ducking behind a flipped bus, another peeling off to circle left. Four, five, six—too many.

His gut tightened.

“Ellie, no. Stay down!”

“I got it, Joel!”

She broke cover, darting low. But she didn’t get far.

One of them—tall, fast—slipped out from the wreckage like a fucking shadow, got behind her, arm around her throat, dragging her back behind a wall.

Joel stopped breathing.

Everything else—gunfire, shouts, the pounding of his own heart—fell away. The world narrowed to that one point: Ellie being taken.

He saw red. And he pushed forward.

Not tactical. Not planned. Just rage and instinct.

He exploded from cover with a snarl caught in his throat, moving like he had a purpose and a goddamn clock ticking down. His revolver barked—once, twice. The first man went down with a bullet in his chest. The second—gutshot—dropped screaming. Joel didn’t blink.

He was already on the third.

The one with his arm wrapped around Ellie’s throat.

Joel hit him from behind, slamming him into the wall with bone-cracking force. The man grunted, tried to turn, but Joel hooked his elbow and wrenched—shoulder dislocated with a wet pop—and drove a knee into his spine, once, twice, until he dropped Ellie with a choked gasp.

She hit the ground, coughing.

Joel didn’t stop.

He fell on the bastard like a dog on a carcass, knife already in his hand. It wasn’t quick. He didn’t want quick.

First strike—base of the neck, just above the collarbone, angled down to sever the artery. Second strike—lower, ribcage, a twisting motion that made the man buck and scream.

Blood sprayed warm across Joel’s chest, his hands, soaking into his shirt. His knuckles were already skinned raw from impact. He drove his boot into the man’s hip when he tried to crawl. Then the knife again, this time straight into the chest.

Between the ribs. In and out. Faultless. Practiced.

Joel didn’t stop, grunting, letting the man bleed, until the man went still.

And even then, for a moment, he just crouched there—knife dripping, chest heaving, the silence crushing.

Then he heard it. Not Ellie. Not gunfire.

A gasp.

Joel’s head whipped up.

Leela.

Ten feet away, half-shadowed by the remains of a splintered awning. Her boots frozen mid-step in a puddle slick with oil and blood. She wasn’t crouched, wasn’t armed, wasn’t anything but exposed. Frozen. Not moving. Not blinking. Her hands had lifted halfway—toward her mouth, toward her wide eyes, he couldn’t tell.

Not just the scene. Not the blood. Not the body crumpled beneath him, throat torn wide, chest leaking into the cracked pavement.

Him.

Joel. The man who traced the outline of her ribs under cotton sheets. The man who kissed her slowly as breakfast sizzled on the stove, called her ‘darlin’’ until she broke out a grin, danced slow with her in the living room to the record player, Maya on his hip, all honey and drawl. The man she let in, trusted, after all she’d been through.

But he wasn’t that man now.

Only this was left. This feral thing she’d never seen before.

Blood up til his elbows. Wild-eyed. Panting like a fucking animal. Knife still tight in his broken fists. He didn’t know how long he’d been on top of the guy. Didn’t remember the last stab. Couldn’t even tell where the screaming had stopped and his breathing had started.

And she saw it. All of it.

Her expression—it gutted him more than the fighting ever could.

She didn’t look angry.

No, she looked like she’d just walked through a door into another life, and one she hadn’t agreed to. There was fear there—not loud, not flailing—but silent. Contained. Like someone who’d learned a long time ago that panic didn’t save you.

“Leela—” His voice was gravel, torn and rasped and nothing soft.

She flinched when he stood. Not away—just a jerk of her shoulders, like she’d been struck once and braced for the second.

And that—was the fucking worst of it.

Because Joel had seen her scared before. Seen her tense up in the dark, eyes scanning for shadows that didn’t exist. Seen her sit up from a nightmare with her hands clenched into fists, her breath short and strangled.

But she’d never looked like that at him.

He didn't get to go to her. Get to explain. He wanted to wipe the blood off his hands, off his chest, off the whole goddamn world. But it was too late. Because right then—

“C'mon, we have to go!” Ellie’s voice splintered through the space between them. She was already pulling on Leela’s wrist. “Now, now, go, go, go!”

Joel heard the shot before it echoed. Close.

He saw Leela’s fingers twitch—like she might reach for him, or maybe just steady herself. For one splinter of a second, he felt everything—her horror, her disbelief, the silent question in her eyes: Is this the man I love? The one Maya sweetly calls da-da?

And then that old, festering and terrible being in him took the reins. The hunter. The killer. The man who always fucking survives.

“MOVE!” he barked, voice cracked open by fury and urgency. A dire command.

Leela jolted. Her head ducked. Her feet moved.

And they ran.

They didn’t stop running until the city was a smear behind them—just smoke and ruin on the horizon, softened by distance and dust.

They found cover in a half-collapsed service station half-sunk into the dirt, the roof bowed like a snapped spine, windows blown out, desert wind whistling through the hollow bones of what used to be civilization.

Joel sat slumped against a concrete pillar, elbows braced on his knees, hands stained and stiff. Dried blood mapped across his knuckles, under his fingernails, along the creases of his palms like some fucked-up tattoo he hadn’t earned but couldn’t wash off. His shirt clung to him, crusted dark across the chest.

He hadn’t changed. Couldn’t. Didn’t deserve the comfort of clean clothes just yet. No river around to wash off in any way, and even if there had been, it wouldn’t scrub out what was under his skin.

He hadn’t looked at her. Not once.

She sat maybe too far away. Back to a wall. Her pack in her lap, unzipped. She wasn’t cleaning a weapon like methodical Ellie—not Leela. She didn’t carry guns. Joel would never let her.

Instead, she was threading a needle.

Or trying to.

He watched her from the corner of his eye, head bowed like he wasn’t. Her hands—usually so steady, precise—were quivering. The needle slipped from her fingers twice. She picked it up again, quietly, without swearing or sighing, and tried again. Her knees were drawn up. The strap she was stitching had only a small tear, maybe half an inch—but she worked it like it held her together.

He’d seen her sew before. Months back, she once fixed the lining in his jacket in less than three minutes with the same damned needle. She’d repaired most of Joel’s clothes back home, stitched her own strappy little tops, embroidered tiny designs into Maya's clothes, humming while she did it, threading them with ease, her fingers confident and graceful.

Every stitch is a solution, she'd say to him when he watched her, and the design is just the equation. A measure, a numeral. Now she looked like she didn’t even remember how to hold the damn thing.

Because every so often her eyes slid to him.

No, not to him. At him.

The difference. His hands. His shirt. His boots, still stained from when that last bastard had coughed blood all over the ground and it had splashed up onto Joel’s shins.

And she’d seen it all.

The way he’d moved. Not just fast. Not just angry. But precise. Like he knew the exact spots to hit to ruin a man. Like it wasn’t new. Like he’d done it before. Because he had. More times than he could count.

And she knew that now.

She’d seen what was under the soft Texan drawl, the morning coffee, the warm, calloused hands that tucked Maya’s curls behind her ears when she ate. She’d seen what that tenderness was built over.

Violence. Unapologetic, unflinching, survivalist violence.

And Joel couldn’t scrub it off. Couldn’t fold it up and stash it away before she got too close. He almost wished she had screamed and told him he was a monster. Asked how the hell he could do what he did. At least then he’d know where to place her in all of this.

Joel swallowed, jaw tight. A vein throbbed at his temple. His heart had slowed, but it still kicked, irregular, like a motor trying to start after a crash.

What the hell was he supposed to say? Sorry you saw me gut a man alive? Sorry I turned into the thing you’ve spent a year convincing yourself I wasn’t?

He’d been brutal before. She just hadn’t seen it.

Only now she’d seen what he truly was. The old world didn’t raise kind men—it bred survivors. And Joel had survived every way a man could. Through pain. Through blood. Through choices that never stopped echoing even now.

The only thing he managed to say, finally, low and gruff and barely louder than the wind scraping across the station floor, “We’re still a full day out. We’ll keep movin’ at first light, so get some rest.”

X

And look, Joel was trying to rest. Trying and failing, but still.

His head was a goddamn mess. Static. Replay. A loop he couldn’t break. Blood. Breath. The sound that bastard made when the knife went in—wet and sudden, a choke of surprise right before the silence.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose. Closed his eyes. Let his head fall back against the cracked concrete wall, cool against the sweat on his neck.

And then he heard it. Soft at first. Half-whispers. Barely there.

“I’m Leela.” A pause. A breath. A shift of cloth behind the shattered doorway of what used to be a bathroom. “Leela... no. Leela. I want to tell you—no. I have solved—my parents and I have solved—no.” A frustrated exhale. Then, quieter, “I am Leela… dammit. C’mon.”

Joel opened one eye. Turned his head.

The light in the bathroom was dim—barely a glow from some scavenged flashlight she’d propped up near the mirror. He couldn’t see her, but the words carried, echoing off tile and porcelain. She must’ve thought she was whispering. Must’ve thought no one could hear.

Across the room, Ellie was propped up on her elbow, her face lit faintly by that same flicker. She was grinning, eyes alight with mischief.

“Been goin’ on for ten minutes,” she snickered, voice hushed, like sharing a secret. “It’s adorable. I think she's nervous to meet these Firefly folks.”

Joel didn’t smile. Just raised an eyebrow. Looked back up at the ceiling.

Adorable. Maybe. Or maybe it was a bad sign. A red flag waving itself stupid in the middle of the dark.

Practicing your own goddamn name. Stumbling over words like they were bricks in your mouth. That wasn’t adorable. That was pressure. That was fear, chewing at the edges. That was a person so wound up she didn’t trust herself to say hello without screwing it up.

His jaw tightened.

There was a part of him—a stupid, reckless part—that wanted to get up. Walk over there, nice and quiet. Knock on the doorframe just once. Let her know she wasn’t alone. That she didn’t have to rehearse anything. That if she needed to talk, he’d sit there and listen, no matter how long it took.

But the other part—the bigger, meaner part—kept him pinned down.

Because he still hadn’t earned the right. Not after what she saw. And the last thing she needed was him looming over her, making it worse.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Exhaled slowly. He was a complete fucking idiot.

“You’re an idiot, Joel.”

For a moment, he thought he had been the one to say it out loud.

He blinked and turned his head again. Ellie. Still watching him. Smirking now, like she’d been waiting for him to figure it out.

He grunted. “Not in the mood, kid.”

“You’re never in the mood,” she shot back, flopping onto her bedroll. She rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite behind it—just the kind of tired, familiar sass that came from too many nights like this. “Doesn’t stop you from being a total dickhead.”

He gave her a look. One of those long, dead-eyed stares that usually shut her up. The kind that said, Don’t push me.

Not tonight.

She just grinned, hands behind her head. “You really think she came all this way—through all those cities, with people trying to kill us every ten miles—just to tell you to fuck off?”

He didn’t answer. Not right away.

“She cares about your hardass, just as much as I do,” Ellie muttered.

So, maybe Ellie saw all the things Joel didn’t let himself see. Or maybe she was just better at hope.

Because he had thought it.

More than once, he’d pictured it—that she’d reach the Fireflies, hand off whatever math magic was burning a hole through her skull, nod her thanks, and go. Cut the thread. Return to Jackson. Return to their—her daughter. Back to her life before he bulldozed into it like he always did with anything good. Maybe she’d have the decency to leave a note at the door when kicking him out.

Joel, please just leave us alone. I don't want a psychopath raising my daughter.

Maybe he deserved that.

He sat there a moment longer, thumb working absently along a notch in the stock of his rifle, tracing the smooth edge over and over. The kid was right. She had come all this way. Across states, through wasteland, through gunfire and ash, and sickness and silence. She’d fought beside them. Saved his life once. Slept with one eye open, traded warmth for distance, wore her grief like it was stitched into her coat. All of that. And not just for some cause.

She left Maya behind.

The thought hit like a hammer to the sternum.

Maya. His baby girl. His sweetheart, who barely fit in his arms anymore, yet so small she could tuck her frightened face under his chin when it thundered. He’d seen it. Seen the way Leela held her now, so different from all those months back—no fear, just pure maternal instinct. Even when she was dead on her feet, her touch was protective. Fierce.

You don’t leave that kind of love behind unless you got no goddamn choice. Unless whatever’s out there—the person, the reason—is worth the risk of not coming back.

He ran a hand down his face. Felt the rough scrape of beard under his fingers. Closed his eyes for a second. “Jesus,” he muttered. “Goddamn.”

Because no matter how many times he tried to tell himself she’d come for the Fireflies, for the math, for the cause—every time he looked at that bathroom door and heard her voice cracking around his name—he knew better.

She’d come for him.

A tangle of shame and wonder and raw, stupid hope in his chest made him feel like a little boy again. A dumb, dangerous feeling.

But his eyes slid back to the thin light under the bathroom door. The edge of her pack catching a sliver of glow. The sound of her voice still faint, repeating those words, again and again, as if she was willing herself into belief.

I am Leela.

Joel sat up.

His joints popped in protest, old aches coming to life as he rose slowly to his feet. The room tilted for a second—blood loss and no real sleep—but he steadied himself with a hand on the wall.

“Wipe that smile off your face, you little shit,” he hissed to Ellie.

“Whatta marshmallow,” Ellie mumbled, just watching him go, her smirk softening.

The door wasn’t fully closed. He nudged it open with two fingers.

The bathroom was dim and damp, smelling faintly of rust, infection and old mildew. A cracked mirror stretched above the sink, fractured down one side like a spiderweb frozen mid-snap.

Leela, hunched over the filthy porcelain basin, arms braced, hair falling around her face and body like a curtain. Her bare shoulders, under that black tanktop, rose and fell with shallow, controlled breaths. She hadn’t heard him yet. Or maybe she had and didn’t move, too far gone in whatever loop she was caught in.

Joel stepped in.

Quiet, like muscle memory. Like coming up behind her at the kitchen counter, when she was at the chopping board or scribbling on paper. In that quiet way he used to do, just to let her know he was there, he wanted her near, that he didn’t need her to talk.

He slid his hands around her waist.

Her body tensed.

Not a flinch exactly—but enough. A subtle stiffening beneath his palms that made his chest cave in a little. His heart fractured in that single instinctive reaction.

He didn’t pull away. Because as it had been established, he was selfish fucker. He stayed and didn’t say anything.

Just rested his forehead against the back of her head, where her hair smelled faintly of soap and smoke and salt. His eyes shut. He couldn’t bear the mirror. Couldn’t look up and see the condition of them—this makeshift version of a life that should’ve been warm, and home, and full of sweet nothings.

He’d had a picture in his head.

Them, side-by-side at a clean sink, still damp from the shower. Brushing their teeth together while Maya babbled from their bed outside, waiting to be put to sleep. Arguing about whether to fry the rice or save the eggs for pancakes. Leela nudging him with her elbow because he always hogged the mirror.

That was the image. The one he clung to.

Not this. Not her hands shaking just barely, gripping the sides of a stained sink as she tried to convince herself she still belonged to something greater than this broken world.

He didn’t speak at first. Just breathed her in—like maybe that alone could calm the blood in his veins. His hands were splayed over her powerful middle now, warm through the thin fabric of her shirt. She was too still. Not pulling away. Not leaning in.

So he moved slowly.

Pushed her all her thick, long hair gently over one shoulder, careful not to tug. It slipped between his fingers like threadbare silk. Then he bent forward, kissed the shell of her ear. Just once. Just enough.

“There’s a part of me that—I never wanted you to see that, darlin',” he whispered, the words nearly breaking in his throat.

She didn’t move.

Joel’s forehead pressed to the side of her head again. He closed his eyes. “That… thing. That man with the knife. That’s what’s left when I run outta reasons. When I think I gotta protect somethin’ I already lost.”

Silence buzzed in the air.

He wanted to tell her exactly that he’d do it all again to keep Ellie safe. That sometimes you didn’t get the choice to be gentle. That the world didn’t work in softness and she should wake the fuck up. But all of it sounded like a goddamn excuse, and worse—it sounded like the truth.

His voice faltered off. “If you hate me… I get it. I ain’t askin’ you to forget what I did. I just—”

God, what was he thinking? He wouldn't want her apologies anyway.

His chin lifted a little. “But I’m still me, Leela. Still Maya’s. Still yours, if there’s any part of you that wants that.”

There was no dramatic pause. No breath held in hope. He said it like a man naming his failures in the dark. Mum. Certain. Not because he thought it would change anything—but because it was true. And because she deserved to hear it out loud.

Maybe she was remembering what it meant to let something dangerous that close. Maybe this was the moment she realized she couldn’t love him. Maybe this was the moment he proved he didn’t deserve it.

He didn’t blame her.

Then he felt her shift. Just barely.

Her hand came up and back, platting into his hair. Her fingers scraped lightly at his scalp, a slow, grounding motion—not tender, not affectionate, not forgiving. Just there. Present. Real.

She didn’t say it’s okay. She’d never needed to wrap things in softness. Sadly, she knew what it meant to be ruined.

To be taken apart and put back together with pieces missing. She’d lived in the wreckage of her own skin, patched herself up with logic and reason, with equations and notebooks, trying to make sense of something that defied sense.

And still—he loved her. Not in spite of it. Not around it. Just through it. All the way through. So what if he’d split a man open like kindling? What if she’d been split first—by someone who’d never deserved to touch her in the first place?

She was here. She’d come. With her voice cracking in the dark and her hands braced on a sink like it was the only thing keeping her upright. She was still herself. Still trying.

Joel let out a breath against her neck.

And then, quiet—low and splintering—she said, “I’ve been dead before, Joel. This is not what kills me.”

The words lodged in his chest like a nail. No dramatics. No trembling voice. The truth. Her fingers kept moving, dragging slow circles in his hair.

And when she turned her head—just scarcely—he saw her in the mirror. Saw the red-rimmed eyes, the taut mouth, the exhaustion etched so deep into her face it looked like it might never fade.

She met his gaze in the cracked glass. A long moment passed.

There was a change, not in her body, not in the set of her jaw or the tremble of her breath, but in the way she looked at him. Like seeing a wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding and finally understanding why the bandages never worked. A clarity there he was familiar with.

Joel just watched her eyes, the way they softened and steeled in the same breath. The way grief and love could live in the same goddamn face.

He saw her swallow. Her throat worked once, twice, like the words weren’t forming—they were fighting their way up.

And then, without turning fully, she said, “It’s horrible. How grateful I am that you can become... that.”

He blinked. His heart gave a slow, brutal thud against his ribs.

“Because it means no one will ever touch her. Not Maya. Not while you’re breathing.”

And just like that, he had to bite the inside of his cheek. Hard. To keep from falling into whatever that was curling up inside him. All that shame and pride and an ache so old it had turned quiet.

Her head stayed dipped, his mouth just a breath away from her skin.

The silence between them wasn’t hollow anymore. It had mass. Weight. Like a room full of smoke that they’d both learned to breathe in.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t dare. His hand remained at her waist, palm flat, fingers barely curled. He could feel the heaves of her breathing—still tight, still not stable. But alive. Still with him.

He should’ve said something. He knew it. Should’ve said I’m sorry, even if it wasn’t enough. Should’ve said you can hate me, I’ll still kill for you. Should’ve said you can take Maya away, and I’ll still be at your back the rest of my life.

But every sentence that came to mind sounded like another wound. Another wrong turn.

So he stayed quiet. And waited. Let her have this moment to leave—if that’s what she needed. But then—

She turned. Just a little. Enough that her shoulder brushed against his chest. Enough that he saw her face not in the mirror, but right there—real and close. Red-rimmed eyes. Lips chapped from the cold, pale, parted just a bit.

There was no invitation. No demand. Just presence. And that—God help him—was what crushed him.

Joel raised his hand, slowly. Let his knuckles ghost across her jaw like he was scared to touch her too hard, like she might shatter.

She didn’t lean in. She didn’t lean away. She just stood there. Breathing still.

That was all the backing he needed.

The kiss he prompted was not soft. Not romantic like the hundred before. It was dry, cracked and laced with grief. His mouth moved over hers like he was memorizing the shape of her pain, and hers opened to him with something like surrender—not of will, anything but.

They didn’t move or deepen. Didn’t gasp or moan or pull or want or seek anything more.

They just connected. Two broken things, sealed at the seam for a single breath of repose in the storm.

Joel’s hand stayed on her cheek, rough thumb grazing the edge of her temple. His other hand, the one still resting at her waist, gripped just a little tighter, like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go now. Not after everything. Not after seeing the worst of each other and still not walking away.

He didn’t know if this meant anything, if it was the beginning of the end. Or just a flicker of what used to be.

But when they pulled apart—slow, wistful, just inches—her eyes opened again.

Clear. Tired. Still full of all the rage and grief and brilliance that made her who she was.

“You’re still in there, Joel,” she whispered. Not accusing. Not forgiving. Just observing. Like she was taking stock of a fire that wouldn’t quite die, even after the smoke had choked the sky.

Joel held her gaze for a moment, and then dropped it—couldn’t take the weight of it. He exhaled, slow and heavy, eyes closing. His voice came low and coarse, barely brushing the air between them.

“Don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

He leaned in, pressed a kiss just below her ear. A whisper of a thing. A thank you. An imprecise I’m sorry. A Jesus, what the hell are we now?

Outside, the wind pushed against the walls of the small bathroom like it wanted in. The fire crackled somewhere in the next room, Ellie’s shadow moving quietly near the doorway, always vigilant, giving them space.

Inside, Leela didn’t speak. But her fingers—still trembling—moved to cover his on her abdomen. Held them there. No tighter. No looser.

Just there.

Joel let the moment breathe, let the silence settle. His throat worked once before he spoke again, voice barely a rasp.

“When we get to California, whatever happens… I just…” He paused, brow furrowing. “You don’t gotta decide anything yet. I just need to know I’ll still get to see my little girl.”

A flicker passed through Leela’s eyes. She didn’t flinch or draw back, but she didn’t soften either.

She looked at him like she was trying to hold him in focus through a haze of old pain and newer fractures. Behind her gaze, where he lived, there it was—subtle, distant.

Her fingers didn’t move from his. But her voice, when it came, was quiet. Neutral. Like she was choosing every word as if it could tilt the precarious balance in this world.

“Let’s see what happens first.”

That was all. Not yes. Not no. Not never. But not enough either.

Joel’s jaw worked. He almost nodded—but didn’t. Almost pulled away—but couldn’t.

Instead, he kept his hand where it was, over her belly, where Maya used to sleep once, safe and tiny. Where Leela had once felt the flutter of her little feet and hands through her skin, long before she had her pretty name.

“You don’t gotta do it for me,” he said at last. “But she’s mine too. I need both of you.”

Leela didn’t argue. Her silence said she knew. Said she’d always known. But knowing didn’t always mean trusting.

Still, she kept his hand where it was.

X

DAY 7: CALIFORNIA INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY, PASADENA, CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES - APPROX. EIGHT-FOUR HOURS SOUTH OF JACKSON

The sun stretched long over the broken streets of Pasadena in the Golden State, just as much, casting amber behind a veil of smog. The quiet clip of hooves on cracked asphalt echoed like a heartbeat in a place long hollowed out. Joel rode just a pace ahead, his rifle slung low, boots scuffed from days on the road. Ellie was beside him, reins loose in her hands, a sliver of calm in her eyes. Behind her, Leela fidgeted with her hair again—first the braid, then a ponytail, then nothing, then the braid again.

She’d done it twice in the last hour.

Not out of vanity. Joel knew that. It was nerves. Restlessness. That same rhythm she used to have with a pencil—tap, scribble, flip a page, start again. Always thinking. Always fighting something unseen.

She hadn’t said much since sunrise. None of them had. The weight of what might be waiting ahead pulled the air taut between them.

“Do you think we could stay for some time when we get there?” Leela asked, not looking at either of them.

“Sure thing. I wanna see the beach, too,” Ellie replied without pause, smiling and all loyal, already craning her neck for the first sign of the Caltech buildings.

Joel said nothing. But his hands tightened just a little on the reins.

Stay. Stay for what?

See, if there were scientists there—real ones, still working on things like cures and vaccines—then it wasn’t just Leela they were walking into that place for.

It was Ellie. It was the blood in her veins. That cursed miracle pulsing just beneath her skin.

His mind was running ahead of him, tearing through what-if after what-if. What if they were here? What if they had the equipment, the knowledge? What if they looked at Ellie like she was the key again? What if they asked—no, expected—the same sacrifice?

And Joel—he knew himself too well by now. Knew the panic that twisted up in his gut and tried to claw its way out. He didn’t let it show. Not in his face or voice. But it made him nudge his horse forward just slightly, pace picking up, eyes scanning rooftops and blown-out cars and anything that might look like trouble or, God forbid, hope.

They crested a slight hill, and Caltech unfurled below.

Golden light skimmed the cracked concrete and broken signage like it was trying to remember what wonder looked like. Ivy crawled up the old physics building, curling over shattered windows, draping across the once-grand entrance like a shroud. Palm trees stood like sentinels over long-dry fountains.

Joel pulled his horse to a stop beside Ellie’s, her body swaying forward slightly with momentum before sitting back straight.

For a moment, no one spoke.

They were here.

This was it.

“This is where they're supposed to be,” Joel murmured, more to himself than to either of them.

Or what was left of it.

Buildings, sure. A few were still standing proud. Brick and steel and glass, scabbed over with vines and scorch marks and time. But no movement. No guards. No posted signs or perimeter watch. No sound beyond the dry creak of trees and the hum of wind through broken fencing.

Joel felt it like a gut punch before anyone said a word.

The front of the building looked like it had been blown out from the inside—glass scattered across the steps like a trail of brittle petals, black scorch marks clawing up the stone walls. Half the Caltech signage still hung above the arched entryway, its metal frame twisted, under layers of ash and grime.

Joel dismounted first. His boots crunched over the broken glass, rifle already in hand. Ellie hopped off behind him, lighter on her feet, but just as alert. Leela stayed on the horse a beat longer, her eyes locked on the faded lettering above the entry. ‘California Institute of Technology for Advanced Research.’

She whispered it aloud like it was something sacred. “Wow. We're here.”

Joel motioned for her to stay close. Light slanted in through fractured skylights above, catching on overturned desks and moldy file boxes. Drawers like mouths wide open. A bunk with a Firefly logo stamped on the wall above it—old, faded, forgotten. Emergency cots folded and stacked like they'd been waiting for orders that never came. A faded banner still hung across the far end of the lobby, reading proudly:

‘INNOVATION FOR THE NEXT CENTURY.’

Oh, what a big fucking joke.

You try to innovate, you end up like this. You pick up a gun, you get to live. The world they lived in now.

Now, what they hadn’t expected was the smell.

The moment they stepped inside the physics building, it hit them—thick, wet, and metallic. Like mold and meat. Old rot. The kind that stuck to your tongue. He knew what it was already. Joel raised a hand, signalled Ellie behind him. Leela paused just inside the threshold, her face blanching.

“Get back outside,” Joel said to her. “Don’t need you in here.”

But Leela didn’t move.

She stared down the hall like she could still pretend it was just dust and old desks and the smell of something dead not walking.

Until the first one came.

It staggered out from a lab at the far end, skin sloughing off in ribbons, yellowing mouth open in a wet click-click-click. Ellie didn’t hesitate—she dropped to one knee and put a bullet through its eye. But the goddamn Clicker wasn’t alone. From the shadows, they came dragging, stumbling, clicking—two, three, five of them—some already burst open with fungal bloom, their faces split by time and Cordyceps.

“Shit,” Joel muttered, rifle already up. “Leela—go, get out of here!”

She bolted off. He didn’t watch where.

The gunfire echoed in the narrow halls. Joel moved with brutal efficiency—tight shots, clean execution. Ellie flanked him, nimble and fast, clearing corners. They moved like they'd done this a hundred times. Well, because they had.

But Leela was new to it. She waited outside, pacing, clutching the straps of her bag so tightly her knuckles nearly bled. Her eyes flicked to the windows, to the flashes of movement inside.

She hadn’t come for this. To watch them both die at the end.

When the last echo faded, Joel emerged from the stairwell, blood on his sleeve and a tight grimace on his face. “All clear.”

Leela didn’t answer. She pushed past him, boots scraping on tile as she made her way deeper into the building. Joel wanted to hold her hand back, tuck him into his side.

“Maybe they were Fireflies?” Ellie muttered, nudging one corpse with the toe of her boot.

Joel didn’t respond. He didn’t want to think about it, even if he knew the signs.

This wasn’t an outpost.

It was an exodus.

He pushed the doors open into the next wing—a long hallway flanked by glass-walled rooms, some still scrawled with chemical equations and 3D renderings of gene splicing. Dust hung thick in the air, swirling in lazy spirals, disturbed only by their presence. The deeper they moved in, the clearer it became: this had been a research hub. State of the art. Once.

Now it was just dust and silence.

Ellie was the first to call out. “Helloooo? It's Dr Leela here with your math magic miracle! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Her voice echoed down the empty walkway. And no answer.

“Shy buncha nerds,” she harrumphed.

“Ellie,” Joel sighed.

Leela drifted toward one of the labs as they moved up to the second floor, climbing over debris, her hand brushing against the edge of a metal table. There were still beakers here, clipboards thick with faded paper, broken monitors, glass casings. Her fingers hovered over them like she didn’t know whether to read or weep.

Joel had gotten used to failing so much, this didn't hurt anymore.. He’d brought her all this way. Let her believe.

Now, he stood in the doorway of the ruined lab like a man caught between two times—one where hope had still been breathing, and the one he was in now, where it lay stiff and cold on the floor.

Joel’s eyes were drawn, inevitably, to the skeleton, slumped against a bank of monitors, mold climbing up one arm like ivy.

It wasn’t the first dead body he’d seen. Not even the hundredth. But this one was different. There was something almost edifying in the way the figure was wilted—propped against the monitors like they’d died mid-thought, clinging to some last hope that didn’t pan out. What had they been hoping to see? A breakthrough? A miracle? A sign someone else had made it?

The bones were dressed in a lab coat, name badge still clipped to the collar. YAMADA. What was left of the face was caved in, probably from the gun still lying on the floor beside them. A personal choice, Joel figured. Easier than turning, for sure.

But it was the recorder nearby that made his stomach knot.

He watched Leela reach for it like she was reaching for her own fate. Slow, careful, fingers trembling despite all her control. She glanced back at him—asking for what? Permission? Support? For him to tell her this wasn’t what it looked like?

He gave her the nod because it was all he had.

And because he couldn’t lie to her anymore. Whatever that device held, bad or worse, he had her always. What were another hundred miles? Perhaps another boat, a storm in the ocean, another open city, another ten years on the road? He'd do it with her if she wanted to.

Leela pressed play.

As the recorder whirred to life and that ragged, weary voice filled the silence, Joel’s heart dropped to somewhere cold inside him. Every word was another nail in the coffin.

“This is Dr. Kichiro Yamada. March twenty-third, the time is four-twenty-four in the evening. If you’re hearing this, then you’re too late. Or maybe you’re lucky. Jury’s out.”

Joel stared at the monitors. The screens were dead, cracked, and flecked with grime. Whatever brilliance had once flickered there had gone out long ago. There were notes on the desk, too, curling with rainwater. He couldn’t read half of them, and didn’t understand the other half. But he recognized the desperation in the handwriting. Bold strokes turned frantic. Numbers blurring. Whole pages scratched out. A slow unraveling.

“We gave it everything. Years. Two whole decades. All of us. There were twenty-four of us here once. Distinguished faculty of professors, scholars and dedicated students—from aeronautics, biochemistry, theoretical physics to fucking art history—working toward a common purpose. Persevering in the face of extinction. Then we dwindled. Nine of us, then four. Then Dr. Connelly, now it's... just me. See, the world didn’t wait for us. Supplies dried up. People got scared. We had raiders come in once or twice, and butcher some of our best. Most of them left. Some went east, to survivor settlements. I stayed until the end. I made it this far.

Joel looked over at Ellie. She was still. Watching Leela. Watching him.

“To whoever finds this... you’re standing in the last Firefly outpost in California. Maybe the whole goddamn continent. Shit, I don't know anymore. We had data. We had hope. And then we had death. I’ve just managed to upload everything we had and researched to the central terminal. If you’ve got the brains to use it, maybe it won’t be for nothing. Help yourselves. Save yourselves.”

A long silence. He thought of how long they must’ve laboured in here, chasing answers. How much belief it took to type that much down.

“This place was supposed to save the world. We were supposed to make a difference. What a fucking waste.”

Click.

Joel let out a long-suffering sigh. Ellie hovered near the door, her jaw set, eyes wide, trying to take it all in, trying not to crumble.

Leela stood motionless, eyes fixed on the blank recorder. Her shoulders started to tremble, slow at first, then all at once—tight, pulled inward, trying to keep from flying apart.

She didn’t cry.

She just knelt down beside the desk, knees hitting the floor in a slow, mechanical motion, folding over her own legs like her body had given up on standing. Her hair—braided, unbraided, ponytailed, undone—hung limp down her back, as if it too had finally settled into stillness. No tears, no words. Just the quiet shape of someone who’d hoped too hard for too long.

Joel stood there, unsure if he’d made her kneel or if the world had.

He swallowed hard.

He’d brought Leela here. Not just her—her hope, her faith, her genius, all bundled into that same quiet determination she wore like armor. She had believed in this place. Believed in the people who’d once lived here. She’d believed him, maybe worst of all.

And now? Now it was just another tomb. Another place the world had forgotten how to care about.

Joel clenched his jaw. “Wasn't supposed to end like this,” he said softly. But the words felt hollow the moment they left his mouth.

And yet, somehow it always did.

The world didn’t care about minds like hers. It didn’t give a damn about brilliance or sacrifice or the people who tried to fix what was broken. It just… moved on. Swallowed the light whole. Buried the good with the bad and let it rot in the dark.

Behind him, Ellie spoke, her voice quieter than usual. “Hey, we should check out that terminal.”

Joel nodded once, not looking back. “Yeah.”

He moved slowly, boots scuffing against the floor. That terminal—an old monitor, half-sunken into the desk, still humming faintly—blinked as they approached. He expected nothing. Expected it to flicker out, dead and useless, like everything else.

But somehow, when he moved the mouse, it lit up.

“C'mere, baby,” he called out, trying to will what he had left into her. “Let's see what this is.”

Leela had already started typing. Her hands trembled, but she typed anyway—quick, practiced keystrokes, as if her muscles still remembered how to do this even when her heart didn’t.

Lines of data filled the screen. Pages and pages of it. He didn't know what the fuck it was. Research logs. Complex equations. Genetic markers, timestamps, decay models. Scans of buildings and servers. Plant growth charts. Vectors and resistance patterns, and computational models he didn’t understand, but recognized by the sheer significance of them.

She stared at the formulas like they were the names of the dead.

Joel knelt beside her, slow, as if any sudden movement might shatter her.

He didn’t reach for her. Not yet. Didn’t deserve to. Just stayed near, let his voice reach across the inches between them.

“You did what they couldn’t,” he said, hoarse. “You're a goddamn saviour, Leela. You did it all.”

Her eyes didn’t move from the screen. “They were supposed to be here.”

Joel glanced toward the body by the monitor, the fingers still curled like they’d meant to hit save and didn’t make it. “They left it behind for you,” he said. “They wanted it found. You found it.”

Leela turned to him, finally. Her eyes were dry—but there was nothing behind them. No fire. No fight. Just a dull, hollow ache where everything else had been scorched out.

“It’s not enough, Joel.”

“No,” he whispered. “It ain’t. But it’s all we got.”

And he couldn’t stay away any longer.

He reached out. Gently. Palms callused, hands unhurried.

This time, she let him pull her into his arms. She didn’t fall apart. Didn’t cry, or shudder, or whisper anything dramatic. She just leaned—slow, silent—against him, her face resting into his shoulder like the grief was too dense to lift her head anymore.

It wasn’t forgiveness she gave him. It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t even warmth. And for the first time in days, Joel didn’t feel guilt, or fear, or even that thick, choking regret.

Just the excruciating, quiet ache of being alive.

He turned his head, pressing his cheek to the top of her hair. She smelled like the road. Like leather and firewood. Like survival. Like the kind of person you meet once in a lifetime and never again.

He almost didn’t hear the footsteps—soft and measured.

Ellie, framed by the last of the sun bleeding in through the broken glass. She crossed the room slowly, past ruined dreams, past rusted lab equipment and flickering terminals, past the slumped skeleton and the shattered hope. She didn’t speak. Just knelt beside them, her shoulder bumping gently against Leela’s other side.

Joel looked at her just in time to see her hand reach out—hesitant, hovering for a second—then settle across Leela’s back.

Not in comfort or even empathy.

Recognition. Kinship. Guilt.

Leela was everything Ellie wasn’t—older, brilliant, composed—but in this moment? They were the same. Two people who gave their hearts to something that’s gone.

Ellie's fingers splayed across the jacket, tentative at first, then firmer. She didn’t look at either of them. Her face stayed turned, eyes down, jaw clenched. Simply being there.

Joel could see it in her—the way she held her breath, the way her lips were pressed into a thin, white line. That familiar cyclone behind her eyes. The echo of so many other losses.

He didn’t say a word.

Because in that lab, surrounded by failure and rot, the three of them formed something that had no name. Not victory, hope or even survival. Just austere, tangible proof that they were still here.

He looked at the recorder lying in Leela's palms like a gravestone, and as she hit rewind, that last line rang in his ears like a verdict:

“...What a fucking waste.”

Joel closed his eyes. He didn’t know if the voice was talking about the science, the building, the people, or the whole damn world.

But whatever it meant—however it was intended—it felt right now. And maybe all the brilliance in Leela’s head, all the years she’d clawed her way through loss and theory and impossibility—maybe even that had nowhere left to go.

He knew this one all too well. The one that told him some endings weren’t explosive or tragic or heroic.

No last stand. No meaning. Just a hush. A breath. A door that closed without ceremony.

Some endings just... stopped.

The storm comes, you crawl into shelter. Find something—someone—to hold onto. And when it's over, you are left to breathe in the quiet afterward.

Waiting for the next storm. The next door.

X

taglist 🫶: @darknight3904 , @guiltyasdave , @letsgobarbs , @helskemes , @jodiswiftle , @tinawantstobeadoll , @bergamote-catsandbooks , @cheekychaos28 , @randofantfic , @justagalwhowrites , @emerald-evans , @amyispxnk , @corazondebeskar-reads , @wildemaven , @tuquoquebrute , @elli3williams , @bluemusickid , @bumblepony , @legoemma , @chantelle-mh , @heartlessvirgo , @possiblyafangirl , @pedropascalsbbg , @oolongreads -> @kaseynsfws , @prose-before-hoes , @kateg88 , @laliceee , @escaping-reality8 , @mystickittytaco , @penvisions , @elliaze , @eviispunk , @lola-lola-lola , @peepawispunk , @sarahhxx03 , @julielightwood , @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi , @arten1234 , @jhiddles03 , @everinlove , @nobodycanknoww , @ashleyfilm , @rainbowcosmicchaos , @i-howl-like-a-wolf-at-the-moon , @orcasoul , @nunya7394 , @noisynightmarepoetry , @picketniffler , @ameagrice , @mojaveghst , @dinomecanico , @guelyury , @staytrueblue , @queenb-42069 , @suzysface , @btskzfav , @ali-in-w0nderland , @ashhlsstuff , @devotedlypaleluminary , @sagexsenorita , @serenadingtigers , @yourgirlcin , @henrywintersgun , @jadagirl15 , @misshoneypaper , @lunnaisjustvibing , @enchantingchildkitten , @senhoritamayblog , @isla-finke-blog , @millercontracting , @tinawantstobeadoll , @funerals-with-cake , @txlady37 , @inasunlitroom , @clya4 , @callmebyyournick-name , @axshadows , @littlemissoblivious } - thank you!! awwwww we're like a little family <3

[itsnesss]

hii i was thinking if you could do a KA12 fic with the song "i miss you im sorry" or "i love you im sorry" by gracie abrams? Plus love your style of writing!💗

𝐢 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | you receive a call from kimi, who apologizes for everything and admits he misses you

warnings | angst, emotional conflict, broken relationship, unresolved feelings

word count | 1.2 k

🖇️ more ka12 🖇️ f1 masterlist

The hum of the city outside your apartment window felt distant, like it belonged to someone else, to another life. Inside, it was quiet, almost suffocating. Your room was tidy, too tidy for the kind of chaos that once filled it. The bed, the desk, the walls—everything was in its place, but it didn’t feel like home. It felt empty. And it wasn’t just the space. It was the absence of him.

Kimi.

You hadn’t spoken in months. It seemed like a lifetime ago, that time when you couldn’t escape him, when every argument, every laugh, every touch felt like it was imprinted on your soul. But now… now everything was just an echo. His name on your phone screen was the first reminder of how much time had passed.

You sat there for a long while, just staring at his name. Kimi Antonelli. A knot tightened in your stomach. The memories hit you harder than you expected, crashing over you like a wave you couldn’t outrun. The good, the bad, the moments of pure joy, the moments of furious fights, all wrapped up in one tangled mess. And somehow, they all led back to him.

The first time you met him felt like destiny—chaotic, unexpected, but inevitable. He was brash and loud, never afraid to speak his mind. He’d challenged you in ways no one else had, pushing your buttons, testing your patience. But somehow, it worked. In the midst of it all, you found something beautiful in him, something real. You both fought, you both disagreed, but at the end of the day, there was always the promise of something more.

The sound of your phone vibrating again snapped you out of your thoughts. You hesitated, the weight of your emotions pulling you in different directions. But then, as if against your will, you answered.

"Hello?" Your voice was hesitant, unsure, the cracks in your facade showing. The silence on the other side of the line only made your heart beat faster.

"Hey." Kimi's voice was soft, but it carried the weight of everything that had happened. "I… I’ve been thinking about you."

You closed your eyes, a wave of emotion flooding over you. It was the kind of ache you couldn’t ignore, one that lived inside you, gnawing at you, growing louder the longer you tried to suppress it. You wanted to say something, anything, but the words were stuck in your throat.

"I miss you," he added quietly, as if it were a confession. "I’m sorry for everything, for how things ended. I shouldn’t have let it go like that."

His words hung in the air, heavy with regret and longing. You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "Kimi… why now? Why are you calling me after all this time?"

There was a pause, a long one, filled only with the sound of his breathing. When he spoke again, it was slow, measured, as if he was carefully choosing his words.

"Because I can’t get you out of my head," he admitted, the vulnerability in his voice raw and real. "I’ve tried, but… I miss you. I miss us. I miss the way we used to be."

You felt a tightness in your chest, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. His words had opened a door you thought was long closed. The pain, the hurt, the fights—it all rushed back. And yet, there was something else, something deeper. The longing. The love. The part of you that still wanted him, despite everything.

"I miss you too," you finally whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "But it’s not that simple, Kimi. It’s never been that simple with us."

You could hear him exhale on the other end, the sound of frustration mixed with relief. "I know," he said. "I know it’s complicated. I know we’ve both messed up, but… I can’t help it. I keep thinking about the fights. About how we’d scream at each other and then… and then everything would be fine again. And I don’t want to lose that."

The memories flooded your mind. The arguments that started over something small and escalated into something huge. The yelling, the harsh words, the broken dishes. But then, like magic, it would all disappear. The apologies would come, and somehow, despite the chaos, you both found a way back to each other. You remembered how those fights, while painful, were a part of you. How you both knew how to hurt each other, but also how to heal. You missed that. You missed him.

"Do you remember that time in your old apartment?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "When we fought about everything, and we broke a plate? And then, just like that, we made up… but I didn’t know how much it meant until now."

There was silence again, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if he was savoring the moment, remembering it just as vividly as you were.

"I remember," Kimi said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "I remember everything. I never wanted to hurt you, but sometimes… sometimes I didn’t know how not to. I guess we both got lost in the chaos."

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. "I don’t want to go back to that," you said softly. "But I can’t pretend it didn’t mean something. I can’t pretend I didn’t feel it. All the fighting, all the chaos—it was just… us. And now it’s gone."

Another long silence. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know if you were ready to face the reality of what he was offering, of what he was asking. The past was painful, but it was also familiar. And sometimes, familiarity was all you had left.

"I don’t want to let go of this," Kimi said, his voice almost a plea. "I don’t want to lose us. I miss you, and I’m sorry for everything. I didn’t realize what I had until it was gone."

The weight of his words settled on you, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to feel everything. The love. The pain. The regret. All of it.

"I miss you too, Kimi," you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek. "But I don’t know if I can go through that again. The fights, the pain… I don’t know if I can handle it."

He didn’t answer right away, but you could hear him breathing, steady but heavy. "I don’t know either. But maybe… maybe we don’t have to go through it again. Maybe we can start over, and this time, we can try to make it right."

You closed your eyes, thinking about the possibility. Could you really go back to him? Could you find a way to let go of the past and build something new? You didn’t know. But for the first time in months, you wanted to try.

"Maybe we can," you said softly. "But we have to promise, Kimi… we can’t keep repeating the same mistakes. We have to be better."

"I promise," he said without hesitation. "I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work. I just want you in my life again."

And for the first time, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you could try again. You could heal. You could forgive.

"I miss you," you whispered again, your voice filled with the weight of everything you hadn’t said in so long.

"I miss you too, he replied, and in those words, you found the beginning of something new.

[daylighted]

i am OBSESSED with dean x baby!reader. i need moreeeeeeeeee whenever you have time. i love love love your writing soo much

AHHHH THIS IS SO SWEET <3 !!! AND UGH FINEEEE FINE I'LL WRITE MORE FOR HER FINE 1!!!! YOU'RE PULLING MY LEG SIGH GUESS I HAVE TO :/ LMAOFIJOKFEGDFJ I'M KIDDING SHE'S MY BABY (hehehe) RN BAD

how about ... dean and baby!reader cuddling <3 like a lil sequel to the last one !!

you were out like a light the moment that dean sank into the other side of the mattress next to you. he couldn't imagine how you were comfortable - too big jeans and a leather jacket being all that you had on - but there you were, all of the blankets bunched up under your chin, and snoring.

dean was sat there like an idiot, watching you sleep, somehow, through sam's additional snoring, like you were right at home. maybe you were. this was the first bed you'd slept in.

he expects to get a few more minutes of his (slightly) creepy staring done before he rolls over. that's what he tells himself. just a few more minutes, and he'll flip over, and pretend that his car is not a girl, and you weren't in his bed.

but you have other plans. from what he's seen of you so far, you always seem to do the last thing that he expects.

dean goes to flip over, and his back barrels into yours. he freezes in place, his face scrunching up in temporarily horrified confusion. one glance over his shoulder and the fear is confirmed: he shifted slightly away from you and so you pressed up right into him.

now he's in a predicament. you're warm. of course you were, you'd stolen all of the blankets without a thought about it. he wasn't mad, just like he wasn't mad at you stealing his drink, earlier. you didn't really know any better.

can't turn back over, because everything in the world would shift and change if he made any move to hold you. can't finish turning over, because you'd still be touching him, and he'd still be a goner.

so dean stays flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, while your spine presses against his arm. and he could have fallen asleep like this - was planning on it, as soon as he stopped focusing in on the fact that you were pressed against him.

but you let out a sleepy, long breath of a sigh, and you turn again, and now your breath is on his cheek.

breath on his cheek, arms latched around the one closest to you, and he is so, so damn gone. you cling to him like physical comfort was the only thing that you'd been kept away from. dean feels a little, unfairly, guilty about it. should have, like, rubbed your steering wheel a little more, or something. anything more at all, so this predicament wouldn't happen again; you holding him like you'd never been held before.

he's a goner. damned from the beginning. his arm wraps around your shoulders, slipping beneath your heavy, dozed off head, and tugs you in closer. your legs tangle with his, the denim of his jeans faded and worn against his legs. the leather of your jacket smells just like the inside of his car used to. black ice in the rearview mirror, traces of his cologne, and car wax.

his earlier guilt disappears. he did take good care of you. and you were so damn sweet, and so attached to him, because of it.

dean drops his head enough to bury his nose into your hair, just as your hand finds its way across his chest, placed lightly overtop his heart, nails scrunched up lightly against his t-shirt like you didn't want to risk being taken away from him.

his eyes close. "m'not lettin' you go anywhere, baby," he mumbles into your hair. you and sam were always his most loyal companions, even if you, literally, had only been along for the ride. the way you clung to him was proof enough that it was so much more than that, and went so much deeper.

he traces his fingers up and down your spine as he holds you closer, pressing a kiss into your temple. "i promise it, baby," he murmurs, reassuring himself more than you, at this rate, "no one's gettin' between you and me."

[xoluvx]

cause i wonder; b.eilish ❥₊ ⊹

as the decade would play us for fools and you saw my bones out with somebody new

stay with me ya'll cause i'm feeling a bit emo. just imagine billie seeing you after you've broken up. the first time she's seen you since it all went down. you quit each other; no contact only painful blistering ache. it harbored in your hearts. you carried it like an anchor sinking to the pit of your stomach. it was debilitating and all consuming and now you were at her show. standing with your friends like you weren't hanging on by a thread threatening to snap any second. like you weren't completely shattered on the inside.

she'd spotted you almost instantly. when your eyes met, all the noise drowned out. all you could hear was the sound of your heart beating rapidly, wanting to jump out of your chest and run right up to her on stage. she looked away and tried composing herself, but you could tell she was off. she was confused. you were confused and you couldn't outwardly feel any of it. not in this crowd. not with your friends. not even with yourself because you'd both chosen this.

it could've been so easy to fight for it, but you didn't. instead you lived with the pain and regret and the tears forming in your eyes and the quiet sniffles and excuses to go to the bathroom because you couldn't bare to carry the pain and you couldn't bare pretending it was all okay when you were both walking with open wounds.

so if i sell my apartment and you have some kids with an internet starlet, will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon like it never happened?

could it be enough to just float in your orbit?

wounds too large to heal. you almost prayed they didn't heal because you could still feel her in every fiber of your being. in every step you took and every song you listened to. twirled in your thoughts and your memories. intimate memories of arms brushing, fingers lacing, legs tangling. soft whispering and gentle caresses. longing moans and tender sighs. hands touching while lips kissed. tongues tussling while nails clawed. whimpers and shivers down spines. they all replayed in your head like a cruel fucking joke.

all you could do was wish you could go back to your bubble and hide from the world like you didn't exist. longing to go back to your safe space instead of standing in an arena of people chanting her name. you reverted to spacing out just like you did every day. going about in a daze. everything losing its color and taste. coffee bland. eyes blank. heart bruised. bubble bursting suddenly leaving you raw and shivering. so you watched her from afar doing what she loved. smiling faintly when your friends tugged on your arm forcing you to dance. clapping when she bowed.

she was your sun and you just existed to orbit around her. you would've done it for decades if she'd asked you to.

and if you want to tear my world apart say you'll always wonder. cause i wonder.

but neither of you could admit to the love still festering in your hearts and neither of you could admit to the pain you both caused. neither of you would pick up the phone and admit defeat to the cruel game with no winners. you were two losers yearning for each other. clapping at your seat. wondering who was waiting for her backstage. who she was going to wrap her arms around. who she was longing for. so stupid and oblivious to the fact that her heart still belong to you. searching for you in the sea of people while you still wondered.

[loganspet]

౨ৎ ‎ ♡₊˚・₊✧ This is based off of a nightmare within a dream I’ve had, about him in conclusion I’m ill!!

Hurt/Comfort/Fluff

Pairing: Logan x Gn!Reader

Warnings:

Mentions of vomiting, anxiety ,panic attack

Terms of Endearment/Petnames ౨ৎ ‎ ♡₊˚・₊✧

. . .

The soft hum of the apartment was the only sound, the kind of quiet that settled around you after a long, full day. Logan had already fallen into a deep sleep beside you, his breaths slow and steady. But you weren’t sleeping. A nightmare had shaken you to your core, ripping you from sleep with a sharp, breathless gasp. The remnants of fear lingered in your chest, suffocating you as you tried to shake off the lingering dread. Your heartbeat was erratic, an anxious pulse that wouldn’t stop thumping in your ears, and your mind raced with images you couldn’t quite escape. Your fingers trembled as you reached for the side of the bed, but before you knew it, you were stumbling out of the sheets, desperate to escape the suffocating darkness of your own mind.

Panic overwhelmed you instantly. Jagged feeling of worries clawed its way up your throat, and before you knew it, you were rushing to the bathroom cold, smooth tile of floor felt like ice against your bare feet as you kneeled by the sink, pressing your palms against the cool porcelain. The room spun around you as nausea bubbled up in your stomach. Then, it hit. You threw up violently, your body convulsing in waves of sickness and sobs, tears blurring your vision.

Logan’s sleep was broken only by the sound of your breathing, now erratic and strained. He’d always been able to sense when something wasn’t right, and tonight was no different. The absence of your warmth beside him had him stirring, his instincts waking before his mind did. His eyes snapped open in the darkness, the sound of your muffled sobs piercing the silence.

His heart clenched as he shot out of bed, his movements swift despite the grogginess that still clung to him. His senses immediately picked up on the faint sound of your weeping—barely a whisper in the vast quiet of the apartment, but enough to send him into action. Logan’s feet thudded softly against the hardwood floor as he rushed to the bathroom, He was used to protecting you, and something inside him snapped when he found you on the floor, disoriented and shaking, tears streaming down your face. —Kneeling on the floor, trembling with your hands pressed against the sink.

Your sobs racked your body, and when you saw him, it only seemed to make it worse. You were shaking uncontrollably, eyes wide and unfocused, still trapped in the aftermath of the nightmare. Logan’s chest tightened, a familiar ache spreading through him. He kneeled in front of you without a second thought, his large hands hovering for a moment, unsure of what you needed but knowing he had to act.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay, sweetie’,” his voice was rough but soothing, a deep, gravelly sound that seemed to wrap around you like a blanket. He cupped your face gently, his rough thumb brushing away the tears that had fallen freely. “Look at me, baby ,” he coaxed, his eyes softening as he searched your face, his gaze filled with concern. “Talk to me. What happened?”

You turned to him, your eyes wide with fear and confusion. The tears didn’t stop, and you could barely get the words out—your voice breaking under the weight of it all. “I—I couldn’t… Logan, I couldn’t—” The words tumbled from your lips in a tangled mess, your chest heaving with sobs.

Logan’s hands moved to pull you toward him, and without hesitation, you fell into him, burying your face against his chest. He was warm, solid, and so unbelievably present—everything you needed in that moment. His arms wrapped around you, holding you so close you could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. He didn’t ask any more questions, didn’t push. He just let you cling to him, his large hand smoothing over your back in slow, even strokes. The rhythm of his touch was steady, unyielding, like the man himself. You were small, vulnerable, something so precious and fragile.

He spoke low, his voice soft as he rested his chin against your head. “I’m here, darlin’… I’m right here. You’re safe, okay?”

You nodded against him, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more. You needed him to remind you that everything would be okay, that the nightmare wasn’t real, that you weren’t alone.

“I’ve got ya, sweetheart,” he murmured, his arms tightening around you, not to restrain, but to offer comfort, as if to say that nothing—nothing—would hurt you while he was around. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes warm but searching. “You’re safe here with me. Always.”

He brushed your hair back, fingers gentle as they ghosted over your skin. Logan’s voice softened as he spoke again, his tone a quiet reassurance. “What you saw… it ain’t real, I promise. But you’re here now. And you’re okay.” His hand moved to your cheek, his thumb running along the curve of your jaw as he looked at you, his eyes searching for any hint of comfort you might need.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Logan murmured, his hand stroking through your hair,. “Just breathe, darlin’.”

His big hand gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your lips, before he pulled you in close. His kiss was slow and tender, a soft press against your lips that lingered, grounding you in the moment, making sure you knew he was here, and nothing else mattered. You let yourself melt into him, your body finally starting to relax as you felt the weight of his care wrap around you.

When he finally pulled away, his lips brushed your forehead. “C’mon, baby,” he said, his voice low, rough. “Let’s get you some water, alright?

With one arm wrapped securely around you, Logan guided you to your feet, holding you steady as you stumbled toward the bed. He was gentle, never rushing, always there to catch you when you needed him. He handed you the glass of water, his eyes never leaving you, watching for any sign that you weren’t okay, that you weren’t healing.

When you finished, he took the glass and set it aside before he crawled into bed beside you, pulling the covers over both of you. He didn’t let you go. His arms were around you again, warm and strong, the kind of embrace that made you feel like nothing could touch you. His lips found yours again, this time a brief, loving kiss. “I’ve got you, darlin’,” he whispered against your lips, the words full of the quiet intensity that only he could convey. “I won’t let anything hurt you. Not now, not ever.”

“Better?” Logan asked quietly, his hand moving to cradle your face again, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

You nodded, “Thank you Lo” your eyes meeting his for the first time since the nightmare. There was something in his gaze—something soft and full of care—that made your heart ache in the most tender way. Without thinking, you leaned into him, closing your eyes as you let him hold you. His lips brushed your forehead in a kiss that was so gentle, so full of love, it left your skin tingling.

. . .

“I got you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple next, his hands securing you against him as he laid you down in bed, his body following you. He moved with ease, tucking you against his chest, enveloping you in warmth and safety. He wasn’t going to let you go. Not now, not ever.

“You’re safe now,” Logan murmured softly, his voice rumbling against you, sending a wave of comfort through your body. “I’m right here, sweetheart. Nothing’s gonna hurt you. Not with me here.”

As his lips pressed gently to the top of your head, you felt the last of the fear slip away, Your breathing slowed as you settled into him, the warmth of his body pressing against yours, and you allowed yourself to relax in his arms. Logan’s steady, rhythmic heartbeat was the lullaby that carried you back to sleep, the terror of the nightmare slowly fading into nothingness.

Lying there, nestled in his arms, you turned your head up to look at him, your voice thick with emotion as you whispered, “I love you so much, Logan.” Your words were soft but full of everything you felt in your heart. You never needed to say it, but tonight, in his arms, it felt like the most important thing you could say.

His gaze softened as he looked down at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I love you, too, baby,” he murmured, pressing one last gentle kiss to your forehead before settling in beside you, pulling you even closer.

[asce-of-hearts]

Okay yandere robin HSR, like she was In her lowest after Sunday case and now he was with astral express, robin get scared that the reader will leave her alone too so she do anything to keep the reader even to extreme way (sorry bad English) okay how about just those manhwa? A tree without roots, I thought it would fit for robifly tho (robin x firefly) but firefly is the top

Anything at all

Contents: Yandere!Robin drabble (gn!reader)

more Robin content here

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A/N: Haven't read that manwha but I definitely think that Firefly tops in the relationship between the two of them, in general I think Robin is very much a pillow princess lol

WARNINGS: SOFT YANDERE, DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND DEATH, ROBIN BEING IN LOVE WITH READER BUT READER NOT KNOWING.

Loneliness leaves you with the time to do a lot of things.

Practice singing, read books you never got around reading, and also, think. You're left with a lot of time to think about everything that happens and has happened.

And that is making Robin feel like she's being eaten from the inside out.

There's people who care about her, sure. You, for example. and her brother, who is currently imprisoned, or dead. She tries not to let her thoughts wander too much to that dark place. Think positive thoughts, sing positive songs. Anything really, as long as it takes her mind off the fact that her brother could be dead, and if she isn't careful, you could die anytime as well.

She hates herself for being so paranoid, for being such a loser at times. The thought of never being able to talk to you, to feel your warmth when you hug, to never hear your voice or laughter again makes her feel like she will go insane at any moment. She stares at the thousand pictures you and her have together, her mind wandering to places it shouldn't. Between your face and body, sometimes the way your hands wrap around her waist. She sighs, lovingly, defeated, smitten.

She desires nothing more than to be close to you all the time, so close you can no longer tell where she ends and you begin. Even worse, she wants to trap you, cage you like a bird. Keep you cradled between her delicate hands in such a way you'll never be able to escape, she tries, she's trying to not succumb to that. To not succumb to the thought of tying you up and leaving you to rot in her room just so you won't escape, of building a cage with the money she has spare so she can trap you there, make you dance to her singing. Or a thought she doesn't like so much, she hates it to the point she has to bury her head in the pillows whenever it comes to her. The thought of actually killing you, of using her own two hands to take your life away from you. Imprisoning and killing, there's Sunday in her mind again. What a joke.

A knock to your door in the middle of the night startles you. You open it enough to peek at the delicate, petite silhouette standing behind it.

"Robin!" You say, surprised as you let her in. "Can I... help you? Is something wrong?"

She shakes her head, forcing herself to put on the most genuine smile she can.

"No, it's nothing. Just... just had a feeling something was going to happen to you, and came to check." You smile at her as well, and shake your head.

"Nothing wrong with me," You answer, and sit over the bed and invite her there with you. "But if it eases your mind, you can stay here with me. That's what friends are for, right?"

"Yes, of course," Her eyes darken as she lays down next to you, closing her eyes as you let her wrap her arms around you, and you do the same. Tangled like rope, a mess of limbs and body heat. "Friends..." She murmurs. "How much are you willing to do for a friend?"

You hum as you think, staring at the wall as you think about it. The smell of her hair, strangely floral, easing you.

"Well, depends on the friend," Its a simple answer, one that makes her feel uneasy. "For you for example... a lot of things. Because you're important to me." You smile, and she does as well. Her hands come to cradle your face.

"I would do a lot of things for you too, ___," She whispers, a dark glint in her eyes. "I would do anything to make sure you're safe and happy. To make sure we're together forever."

"Anything at all, ___."

i should do a more in depth character analysis for Robin as a yandere i actually think shes a very interesting character.

hope you enjoyed this!!!

have a great day night!!!

COMISSIONS INFO

TAGGING: @eeelieschariot @exactlyzealouslady

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[pankowcrumbs]

The brothers I love X Tom and Mattheo Riddle part 1 (requested)

Reader x Mattheo Riddle and Reader X Tom Riddle

MasterList

Harry Potter Universe Masterlist

Story plot: what happens when I fall for my boyfriends brother.

Part 1 Part 2 Mattheo ending Tom Ending

Loving Mattheo Riddle was like embracing a storm. wild, unpredictable, and all-consuming. He was a force of nature, chaotic and reckless, yet I had fallen for him without hesitation. His laughter was infectious, his presence addictive, and when he looked at me with that mischievous glint in his eyes, it felt like I was the only person in the world.

So how had I ended up here, tangled in something I never saw coming?

It all started subtly.

Tom Riddle had always been an enigma to me. He was everything Mattheo wasn’t. calculated, composed, and impossibly intelligent. Unlike Mattheo, who thrived in chaos, Tom operated in silence, watching, analysing, understanding people before they even understood themselves. He unnerved me at first.

I never meant to get close to him.

But somehow, I did.

Maybe it was because of Mattheo. He was impulsive, easily distracted, always drawn into some fight or another. He had a way of vanishing into the night, pulled away by trouble, leaving me alone in the vast halls of Hogwarts. And in those moments, Tom was there.

At first, it was nothing more than passing conversations. Short remarks exchanged in the common room, an occasional comment about a book I was reading. He was never unkind, just distant. But the more time passed, the more he seemed to linger.

“Why do you spend so much time with him?” Tom had asked one evening as we sat across from each other in the library, both pretending to be engrossed in our studies.

I glanced up at him, furrowing my brows. “Mattheo?”

Tom nodded, his dark eyes locked onto mine.

I sighed, shutting my book. “Because I love him.”

Tom didn’t react right away. He leaned back slightly, considering my words as if weighing their meaning. “Love,” he mused, “is a peculiar thing.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Don’t tell me you don’t believe in it.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. “I believe it exists. I just fail to see its purpose.”

I shook my head. “That’s because you don’t let yourself feel it, Tom. You shut everyone out.”

His expression darkened for a moment, but then he tilted his head slightly, curiosity glinting in his gaze. “And yet, you talk to me.”

I didn’t have an answer for that.

Maybe it was because Tom had an unnerving way of making me feel like I was the most interesting person in the room. Maybe it was the way he listened, truly listened, as if he was dissecting my very soul. Whatever it was, it had drawn me in.

And that was my first mistake.

The shift was gradual. I started noticing the way Tom’s eyes lingered on me for just a second too long, the way his voice softened when he spoke to me, different from the sharp, cold tone he used with everyone else.

Then came the realisation.

Tom Riddle had fallen for me.

And suddenly, I was drowning.

I loved Mattheo. I did. But I couldn’t deny the bond I had formed with Tom. He had become someone I confided in, someone I trusted. And now, everything was unravelling.

I tried to ignore it, tried to act as if nothing had changed. But one night, Tom confronted me, and there was no escaping the truth anymore.

We were alone in the Astronomy Tower, the stars casting pale light over the cold stone walls. I had come up here for air, needing space from the tangled mess of emotions inside me.

Tom had followed.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

I swallowed, keeping my gaze on the horizon. “I’m not.”

“You are.” He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body. “Why?”

I exhaled shakily, closing my eyes for a moment. “Because you’re making this difficult.”

“This?” His voice was barely a whisper now.

I turned to face him, heart pounding. “Tom, you know what I mean.”

He held my gaze, searching for something in my eyes. “Tell me you don’t feel it too.”

I flinched. “Don’t do that.”

“Tell me.”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Because I couldn’t lie to him.

His expression shifted, something like pain flickering across his usually unreadable face. “You love him,” he said finally, as if trying to convince himself.

“I do.” My voice was barely audible.

Tom took a slow breath, his jaw tightening. “And yet, you are here. With me.”

Guilt twisted in my chest. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“But it did.”

I shook my head, stepping back. “This. whatever this is. it can’t happen, Tom.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Why not?”

I laughed, but it was hollow. “Because I’m with Mattheo. Because he loves me. Because I love him.”

Tom’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And yet, when you look at me, there’s something there.”

I had no answer to that.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. “I could give you everything, Y/N. You wouldn’t have to chase after someone who doesn’t prioritise you. I see you, in ways Mattheo never has.”

Tears burned at my eyes. “Stop.”

“Why? Because you know it’s true?”

I turned away, gripping the cold stone railing so tightly my knuckles turned white. “Because it doesn’t matter.”

Silence hung between us, heavy and suffocating.

Then, quietly, Tom said, “It matters to me.”

I closed my eyes, forcing back the tears. “I can’t, Tom. I can’t break his heart.”

Tom let out a bitter laugh. “But it’s alright if you break mine?”

I spun around, my chest aching. “That’s not fair.”

He shook his head, stepping back. “No. It isn’t.” His voice was sharp now, no longer soft. “But life rarely is.”

I watched as he turned to leave, his back rigid, his usual composure slipping just enough for me to see the hurt beneath it all.

And as I stood there alone, under the cold glow of the stars, I realised something.

I had fallen into something far more dangerous than I ever imagined.

And I had no idea how to fix it.

[rosekeu]

[ Moonlight on the River ]

Sypnosis: The final battle came way earlier than you expected, and amidst all the chaos, your lover got wrapped up in its twisted fate. How were you supposed to react when you couldn't do anything to save the boy you had loved since childhood?

A/N: manga spoilers, implied death, hurt no comfort, angst. 1.7k words. listen to moonlight on the river by mac demarco or space song by beach house.

[ ao3 link ]

”Gojo, please you need to listen to me. Please, you don’t get it.” You violently sobbed, gripping your mentor’s wrist, pleading with him to listen. His eyes swept over you making sure you weren’t hurt.

Blood began to drip from the gash on your neck as you paused to take a couple shaky breaths trying to calm your nerves. “Please, you can’t kill him. I need him. He’s still Megumi.”

“You can’t do this to me…please Gojo.”

“I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT HIM PLEASE!” He stayed silent. You waited for him to say something, anything.

You stared back at him, clenching your fist as your eyes darkened, “I don’t care what happens to me, I need him back no matter what.”

You glanced at the figure looking past Gojo, it was wearing Megumi's face and body but the rest belonged to the evil man, the curse, who destroyed the place you used to call home. The same man who stole your friend's humanity away. Even more tears began to fall down your face as you turned to Gojo with a defeated expression, sadly still containing a miniscule glimmer of hope. A tiny part of you hoped that your lover could return safely. A tiny part of you naively believed.

“Is she alright?” Gojo asked Yuuji, who wasn’t standing too far away, still avoiding your piercing gaze. “Except for the gash on her neck, there’s only a few bruises on her so she should be okay…for now.”

As Gojo started to free himself from your grip, he threw Yuuji a knowing look. And suddenly, you were trapped in Gojo's arms. “No, no, no. GOJO! PLEASE NO!” You struggled in his hold, but he only tightened it in response

"Everything will be okay.” Your mouth fell open as your eyes widened. You could feel your chest tighten as the panic rose within you as Gojo’s hold on you tightened. “Just leave it to me.”

You begged him to change his mind, desperate to get away, but his expression was unwavering.

“LET GO OF ME! PLEASE!”

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” You pleaded, tears streaming down your face, hoping that your desperation would somehow break through to him.

As Gojo walked towards Yuuji he handed you over to him. The boy with pink hair had a strong hold on you while wearing a solemn expression.

“NO! PLEASE GOJO ITS MEGUMI!“ You started screaming out to your teacher once more, your voice breaking. Despite your agony, Yuuji knew this was for the best. It was the right decision for you to suffer.

"PLEASE, I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT HIM!” Your words were ignored as the King of Curses fought with your teacher, while using the body of your lover as a puppet. You could feel the desperation rising inside of you as the fight progressed. You felt utterly helpless when you realized that your pleas had been ignored.

“Yuuji. Let me go, I need to stop him.” You seem to be in dire need of anything to occur. Something that is going to alter Megumi's destiny. since you were aware that one of them would die if they got into a duel. There was a sense of impending disaster hanging in the air, pressing you to do something.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

You attempted to escape his hold, thrashing in his arms but it was in vain as his grip on you only tightened. Yuuji led you to the sidelines where the rest of your comrades were watching the battle take place. You cried out in pain, anger, and most of all sadness.

The raven haired boy you grew up with was going to be killed.

You never got to say goodbye.

There were so many unspoken words between the two of you.

You needed more time.

You needed a chance to unravel the tangled emotions and express what you truly felt.

The weight of those desires lingered, leaving a deeply rooted seed of regret. But alas, moments slipped through your fingers like sand, and now all that remains in the haunting presence of what could've been.

You needed to hug him one last time.

You needed to kiss him one last time.

As if pleading with the universe

You needed to see him smile again

You needed to hear him laugh again.

You needed to touch him again.

Would the universe make you forget his face after all this was over? Would the universe grant you the mental peace of fading memories and erase the pain which would linger in your heart? Or would it be a cruel and unforgiving reminder, tattooing his face deeper into your mind, tormenting you with what might've been?

Unfair. Unfair. Unfair

Why did it have to be him?

Why did fate choose to intertwine your paths, only to keep you both apart? So many questions and no answers, only leaving you to wonder about what a cruel twist of destiny the world had granted you. In the midst of the chaos all around you, thoughts of you and him kept flooding into your mind.

“The stars... they look really nice tonight–” You spun around to face Megumi. “Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He but he was too busy focusing on you, instead of those stupid stars. To him you were much prettier.

He acknowledged the beauty of the stars. But compared to you, they were a dull contrast. You shined brighter than any star imaginable.

He cast a long glance at your lips before the two of you locked eyes. Before you could respond, he captured your lips in a passionate kiss. He cupped your face with one hand and wrapped the other around yours. You couldn’t help but smile as you melted into his touch.

Another memory rang through your mind.

Fushiguro sat with his back against the wall, statue-still and cold. You reached out to hold his hand but he quickly withdrew.

You tried again but he said. “Don’t.”

His voice was laced with contempt. After today's mission, you were injured severely. And even though all of you came back alive, he couldn't spare himself from the guilt of not being by your side.

“Don’t what?” you asked, flatly.

His jaw locked, and he stared at you with empty eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

He glances at your bruised arms and fist. “I don’t–” He started and then he looked at the bandage that wrapped around your head and the limp you seemed to have on your right leg. “I don’t know what to–”

So that's what it was about. Your injuries…He wasn't mad at you.

He was mad at himself.

You place your hands on either side of his face with a firm hold. “Stop it.”

His eyes still avoid my gaze like the plague. “It’s not your fault. Everyone got a bit roughed up–”

He cut you off. “You were injured the most out of everyone else. And we were just facing a grade 1 curse, imagine if it was a special grade.”

You paused and pondered, what would've happened if the curse was special grade? Well, it didn’t matter now. The important thing is that you were alive and breathing. “There’s no point in thinking about that now. Stop torturing yourself.”

Megumi’s expression didn’t waver.

“I wasn’t there.”

“You were there when I needed you to be.” You said, hands sliding off his face to hold his hands. “I can take care of myself.”

“I swore I would be there for you and I wasn't. I swore to keep you safe and you weren't.” His words pierced your heart like a dagger. You wanted to reassure him that you were okay. That a few injuries meant nothing to you. And that it shouldn't be to him.

“I’m–”

“You were terrified.” His voice was filled with turmoil as he interrupted you. “When you called out to me, I’ll never forget your voice.”

Before he could keep going, you gently placed a finger on his lips, silencing him. "I understand why you’re upset," you whispered softly, "But please trust me when I say that I am stronger than you think. Plus after a few days I’ll be as good as new!” You smiled, and you leaned in to kiss him.

As your lips met, you could feel the mixture of relief and longing in the kiss. It was a bittersweet moment for Fushiguro, as he realized that while he was relieved to have finally expressed his concerns, there was still a lingering sadness knowing that he could have done something to change the outcome.

That was the first time you had seen him so worried about something or someone. “I love you.”

Punches were thrown at the concrete, causing the ground to tremble, and you were pulled back into reality. Yuuji was still holding you in his lap and Yuuta was healing you in the meantime applying his reversed cursed technique.

You grabbed him unexpectedly, mumbling softly, “Yuuta... I need him back...” He smiled sadly at you.

“I need to tell him that I love him one last time...” Your voice breaks at the idea and your eyes well up with tears. Yuuta’s hand cups your cheek, thumb caressing it gently.

“He knows.” Okkotsu reassures you, healing all your wounds successfully,“I promise.”

With a trembling voice, you whisper, "I don't know how I'll go on without him." The weight of your emotions hangs heavy in the air, as if silently begging for a miracle to bring him back.

Your face loses all emotion as you wrap your arms around Yuuji’s neck. To help you feel a little better, he holds you close and gently rocks you back and forth. You experience defeat. You can’t help but let your sorrow and regret consume you. As you bury your face in Yuuji's shoulder, you feel a mix of comfort and despair. The weight of your emotions becomes unbearable, leaving you feeling completely helpless. It's as if the world around you has come crashing down, and all you can do is surrender to the overwhelming grief. Your will to live escaping your bloody grasp.

"I’m home, there's moonlight on the river. Everybody dies."

[blankwashed]

shattered.

tw: (one swear word)

you didn't believe it to be true. it wasn't possible. the both of you had two children together, megumi and tsumiki. they were both bright students, always polite and wonderful children. never you had thought that their father would hide such truths from you.

toji fushiguro, the man you had given everything to. your body, your time and your heart. he became the center of your universe and yet...he chose to betray you. the pain in your gut made you want to throw up.

maybe it wasn't who you thought it was?

maybe it was his sister?

the sound of the door opening shut brought you back to where you were standing. toji, exuding his usual confidence walked in. his eyes met yours, biting his lower lip, confusion was plastered on his face.

"what happened, doll?" he asked.

you didn't respond immediately, you couldn't. you were afraid to spew out allegations that might not be true. your mind was tangled in a web of uncertainty and betrayal. instead all you did was to grab the phone and showed him the messages, all from a single person, a person who he named as "❤️".

his eyes bulged, his jaw tightened and the gears in his brain were processing the situation. "it's not what it looks like doll," he began, but as his words flew out of his mouth, you could feel that he wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.

"then what is it, toji?" you demanded, your voice breaking. "tell me what it is, because from what i've read, it looks like you've lied to me. cheated on me, all this fucking time..." you said as you scrolled through his messages with her.

his silence was deafening. the anger and betrayal simmered inside you, boiling over the words you had never imagine saying. "how could you do this to us?! to me?! the children we have! after all we've been through, have you ever thought, just one second that you'd be throwing all of this away?!"

toji took a step closer to you, pushing a stray hair back behind your ear, "doll..".

"don't doll me. don't come any closer. i don't even know who you are anymore."

"please, just let me explain." he pleaded. "it was a one time thing, i don't know why she kept texting me. and trust me doll, i was thinking about you the entire time. i just had to get it out my system.."

shaking your head, with ugly horrendous tears running down your cheeks, "i trusted you, toji. i gave you a chance, a chance to prove to me that you're different. and you threw it all away for what?! just one night with someone else?!"

he looked down, unable to meet your gaze, and the sight broke something inside you. this was the man you had thought you'd spend your life with, drinking tea at the porch when both of your kids would be working. laughing with each other while staring at the sky.

"i never meant to hurt you doll, i told you, its just a one time thing. satoru. satoru was the one who talked me into it!" he tried to defend himself once more and even trying to push the blame onto his co-worker.

"actually," you started "if you'd truly love me, you'd tell your useless friend to bug off. now, you hurt me more than i ever thought was possible."

the silence stretched between you, a hole dug too deep to be repaired. you wiped at your eyes, trying to compose yourself, but the pain was too raw like a knife cutting through your heart.

"i think you should leave," you finally said, your voice trembling. "let me think over what should be done now, where the kids should stay."

as the door closed behind him, another flow of tears came down your cheek. you sank to the floor, your body wracked with grief.

hours passed, you were still sprawled on the floor, lips chapped, stomach empty and heart shattered.

finding his jacket draped over the back of a chair, you went against your mind, clinging on to the fabric. memories came flooding back to you - nights where you spend wrapped in his arms, the cute little smooches you'd give his scar and promises of forever. all of that now thrown in the trash.

why? the question screamed in your mind. were you not enough? were you getting ugly? after giving him 2 kids, were you considered ugly?

you fell on your bed, the sanctuary for both of you where many memories were made. many firsts but now it all look like lasts to you. curling into a ball, clutching his jacket as if it were a soft toy, you wished it could somehow bring the old him back.

sleep took over your body after you were out of tears. the betrayal cut deeper with each passing minute, a wound that seemed impossible to heal

weeks later, you've found yourself healing. from the help of trust worthy friends, lots of binge-eating of ice cream and time for your hobbies. you were beginning to find a sense of peace, a fragile hope that perhaps one day, you'd be whole again.

megumi and tsumiki were still staying with you as you couldn't be so heartless to let them live with their father. after what he'd done to you, he looked as if he was the largest criminal wanted on earth to you.

"it's okay mama, you have us. we would never look for another mama," tsumiki said, while having her breakfast cereal.

a tear dropped from your eye. innocence. oh how you wished toji were as innocent as the both of your children.

suddenly, the doorbell rang, pulling you away from your thoughts. slowly, you made your way to the door, the weight of your heart on your shoulders. when you opened it, toji stood there, looking more broken than you'd ever seen him.

"please," he said through the grills of your door. "can we talk? just you and me."

you swallowed hard, the sight of both your children and their dirtbag dad. "i don't know if i can do this," you whispered, your voice trembling.

a hand came through the grill of the door, wiping your tears away. "i understand but i need you to know that i love you. i always have, and i always will.."

the words hung in the air, a bittersweet reminder of what he used to always remind you. you took a deep breath, the ache in your chest nearly unbearable. "i loved you too, toji. but after what you've done..not anymore."

he cupped your face gently with his hand, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to remember the warmth of his touch, the safety of his embrace. the cloud 9 that you always are on whenever he's with you. but then you stepped back, the distance between the both of you a reminder to yourself to treat yourself with more dignity.

"goodbye toji," you said softly. "i'll tell the kids you said hi and......take care of yourself. and her." you said as you closed the door on him.

you could only imagine what was happening behind the door. was he sobbing? was he feeling guilt? was he happy that he can finally leave you? your broken heart was heavy, mind too full of negative thoughts at that moment.

all, when the door closed.

[bianotbia]

— 𝐈. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋 : 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 [ 𝐚𝐬𝐫𝐚 𝐚𝐥𝐧𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐫 ]

main masterlist | series masterlist

˗ˏˋ upon seeing once again a lonely path before him, asra decides to go to unthinkable lenghts to bring his lover back ˎˊ˗

⤷ upright : innocence, new beginnings, free spirit | reversed : recklessness, being taken advantage of, inconsideration

⤷ a/n: this is the same fic I posted a long time ago but now quite improved, anyway I revised this right after revising my thesis so excuse me while I try to recover from it :')

⤷ contains:*spoilers – asra pov*, very sad and angsty, but a bit fluffy in the end [ wc : 1.7k ]

⤷ now playing : don't wanna cry by seventeen

I don’t wanna cry

I don’t wanna cry

Because I love you, because saying “I love you”

Isn’t enough, no matter what words I say

Leaving me, who cherished only you, where’d you go?

Did you go far away because you didn’t like me anymore?

Like a bad omen the red scarlet sky loomed above Vesuvia on that dreary afternoon, the usual buzz and agitation among the streets weren't there to welcome me like the other times I returned from a trip. With hesitant feet and a bad feeling settling in the bottom of my heart I unconsciously made my way to Julian's lab. Piles and piles of books and loose notes were scattered around every empty surface of the room, “Julian?” hidden behind countless vials of suspicious appearance his lowered head quickly rose up, haunted and exhausted bloodshot eyes looked deep into mine and even though drama ran deep inside him that tortured expression couldn’t be a great sign. “Julian…what happened?” with furrowed brows he opened his mouth but nothing came out of it. Lost on all that mess was a necklace I gifted you a few birthdays ago, the very one you swore to never take off. In that eerily silent night Julian finally let out a faint whisper “I'm sorry, Asra… I'm so sorry”, without any more words being said I desperately headed to the shop unable to believe what my heart already knew.

Don’t play around, I know you’re there

It feels like you’ll appear, so I wait aimlessly

I need to go find you, go find you

Because if I cry right now, I might not be able to see you, so

I don’t wanna cry

I don’t wanna cry

Although I have a lot of tears

I don’t wanna cry

Even after a tiring journey, with feet full of blisters and pain radiating through all of my sore body, still I ran tirelessly across every deserted street of the city wishing to be greeted by you when I arrived. But unlike its usual appearance everything was now dark, cold and silent, and most worrying, no trace of any kind of magic left behind. With only a few pained moans coming from outside, the cards seemed eerily silent now, apparently too scared to even reach out to me. Everything seemed to be the exact same if it wasn't for little heart wrenching details, like our teacups that would usually sit together on top of the counter and now laid broken on the floor, unreadable notes all over the table we used for readings, tangled white sheets and blood stains spread on the pillow cover. The world crumbled all around and my legs finally failed me, I gripped the soft fabric of the bed hoping that any sort of familiar scent other than death could still have been left behind, “No, no, no…please…this can't be real” were the only words echoing over and over in my thoughts as uncountable hours drifted by through the night. Exhaustion washed over me as the pitch black sky finally brightened outside and the first morning rays made their way across the room to my bloodshot eyes, the dawning of another day while the light of my life is no longer by my side felt like a sick joke played by destiny, and if that night I could have been able to be asleep even if for a single minute I would have hoped to never wake up again if that meant to live even a day without you.

This path that used to be familiar, now feels unfamiliar

Asking me once again if this is the path I know of

Could that person be looking for me?

I’m looking for you right now

The following days dreaded over me like a curse, working on the palace alongside Julian’s never ending laments, Nadia's countless complaints over her headaches and Lucio's profanities screamed over my ears about his worsening condition made the clock’s arms drag through the day. If you were here perhaps none of this would matter, maybe I wouldn't notice any of their remarks. As days pass by the cards still remain silent and I can't seem to connect with them anymore for a piece of me has been lost forever just like many other parts of myself, a piece I never thought would take so much of me. Now desperate to find a solution for this endless nightmare, once again just like a fool I find myself longing for the unknown and hoping for the uncertain.

Don’t play around, I know you’re there

It feels like you’ll appear, so I wait aimlessly

I need to go find you, go find you

Tears are building up and starting to blur my vision

I don’t wanna cry

I don’t wanna cry

Although I have a lot of tears

I don’t wanna cry

In an unusual quiet morning at the palace the only sound around is Julian’s incoherent mutters as he scribbles on his notes like a mad man, after tapping his fingers on the edge of the table and running them through his disheveled hair he finally let out an exasperated sigh “Why did you like them so much?” with widened eyes the words took a while to process inside my head, he turned to me with his usual tired gaze only this time with a deepened sense of guilt “Sorry… this didn't really come out the way I wanted… I mean you’ve met so many people in this life, but you can't deny that you practically worshiped… them” for a brief moment my entire mind went black and suddenly for once in so long I finally felt a hint of your magic in the air “Why were they so special, Asra?” Julian asked. A forgotten memory took over my head and started playing right before my eyes, a faded afternoon after we were closing the shop, with already two cups of steaming hot tea on the table “Did you know I can do palm reading?” you said with a grin growing over your lips “Oh, you do?” concentrated while organizing the cards still I let out a chuckle, you took my hand into yours slowly tracing unknown patterns into it, following each line and bend, a faint magic started coursing through my veins coming from your addictive touch, your gaze finally met mine after bursting out in laughter. “You don't even know what you're doing, do you?” the clear sound of your laugh played over my ears like a heaven’s calling “You did fall for it, silly—”. Echoes of happier times slowly fade away as the scent of the cold tea in my hands makes its way to my nostrils, back to Julian's question that he expectantly waits for an answer, the only thing I can think of is “They made a really good tea”.

I’m alright (I’m not alright)

I don’t want to see you (I really want to see you)

I need to say it

These lies that don't even come from my heart

Unbearable days, endless hours and uncountable minutes have passed since you've been gone, yet our memories still repeat over inside my mind like a never ending dream, or perhaps a nightmare that lasts for an eternity. For weeks I’ve been looking into every book trying to find a way to bring you back. Lucio has been more restless than usual, muttering things under his shaky breath and whispering curses along the halls, matters of life and death. Days after, just like every other year, on the night of his birthday the count threw a magnanimous party for all the kingdom with feverish lights dancing upon the crowded streets of Vesuvia making the veil from dream and reality as thin as the finest linen from the eastern lands. That night he called all of us over for a feast with the finest meats and drinks of the kingdom, but in the blink of an eye the air started to get heavier while the other guest voices also got more distant by every minute, a familiar voice finally spoke to me “Well, well, well… I wasn’t expecting you to actually carry out with this mad plan Asra” the Magician’s voice finally echoed through my ears “I’m afraid it’s the only way for them to be saved” each breath burning over my lungs “Who do you want to save, them or yourself, Asra?” the smoke stings my eyes while a single teardrop traveled down my face reflecting the blazing flames before me “Please, just bring them back to me”.

But my heart won’t listen to these words as I thought

Come back, come back, come back

When half of me is gone, how can I live as one?

I don’t wanna cry

I don’t wanna cry

Although I have a lot of tears

I don’t wanna cry

The memories of what happened that night now lay hidden among the many other secrets that support our lives. The morning after dawned upon me as if I drank every drop of wine on Vesuvia, with a light buzz on my head I still can feel the suffocating atmosphere lingering on my lungs, a dizzying sensation that takes over my sore body along with ancient voices that I’m far too familiar with, I believe the cards want to to you and upon a split second of enlightenment my feet lead me to the very woods that once held safe both of our laughter echoing through it. Blinded by hope and desperation I stand before the whimsical cave while hearing faint whispers calling me up to the depths of it, just like a string pulling my heart, I let myself be guided through its shadows grazing my hand on its damp colorful walls. Just like waking up from a fever dream I find myself standing in the middle of the water, luscious lights dance around my body when I finally grasp something that sends a slight sparkle of magic through my whole body. Among desperation and adoration our eyes at last meet again, tears go down my face and as much as I want to say a million things, I restrain myself to just hold you again in my arms and never let go of you.

I don’t wanna cry

When we see each other again

I don’t wanna cry

the images aren't mine! all rights reserved to © bianotbia 2024. please do not claim, translate, copy or modify any of my works as your own. reblogs are appreciated! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[inthedarkshadows000]

Can you write a Suguru x fem reader where she has hair just as long as Suguru’s or heck EVEN LONGER? (Mine is past my knees 😅) would they do hair routines together? Brush eachothers hair ? Braid it? Anything and everything that you can think of 👏

No. No No no not this again! not right now!!!! This CANNOT be happening to me when I have the most beautiful of all humans waiting for me outside.

"Kitten?! All good? I heard things fall... multiple things..." Suguru knocked at the washroom door.

"Just peachy... don't worry, I'll be out soon." I glanced nervously at the door before tugging at my hair brush. Again. Nope! Still stuck.

"Alright, but lemme know if you need anything." He said, before I heard him walk away.

"Definitely!!..... gimme functioning motor skills if you can, that's the only way I'll be saved." I muttered looking at my reflection with an eyeroll.

I obviously couldn't tell the suguru geto, the man with the most perfect hair, that I couldn't perform a simple task of brushing my hair without having it tangled up in my brush.

So, with a shrug, I decided I wouldn't. I am an adult, adult enought get a hair brush out of my hair. Totally ignoring the fact that it was me who let get stuck in the first place.

I took a deep breath and tried again. Trying to reach the brush by flipping my hair to the front, with no luck. It awkwardly remained half and half on my shoulder in such a way that it was impossible to reach it properly.

"Kitten, what's happening? You have been gone ages. I am worried. Let me in, please. I need to see if you alright for myself. "

"Ru, no. I.. I.. magic!!! "

"Magic? Are you trying to tell me that you are practicing sorcery in there?" I could hear him chuckle even from inside.

Wtf? Magic? Seriously girl!!!?

"Yes. That's exactly what I am doing." I stick to my lies, ok!!! no matter how stupid.

"Then I believe as your boyfriend I have the right to see this... extracurricular of your, don't I? Open up kitten. Now." By his tone I knew he was done playing around.

"Boo... you are no fun" I grumbled as I flicked the lock of the door and moved back infront the mirror to continue my failed attempts. Totally not because of embarrassment.

"Well, now that the jig's up, I don't have magic tricks, well other than my beautiful smile and my talent to tangle my hair up. To ridiculous levels." When I didn't get any reply I looked up to see him leaning against the wall, lower half of his face covered by his long fingers.

"You can laugh, it's chill." He just hummed but I could see his eyes watering with the effort to control his amusement.

"Seriously, let it out. I don't want you to die of suffocation because I will not be attending your funeral with hair-brush hair." I couldn't help but roll my eyes as he burst out. Like stomach holding, Bending over and knee slapping laugh. It made me giggle too.

I tried to hit him with my toothpaste tube, as I whined about how rude he was being, but he just continued wiping his eyes and gasping at my expense.

"So glad my misery is entertaining for you. Now if you could please be useful and help."

"Right, of course. Come on out and sit on the bed. I just gotta pee because of all that laughing." That earned him an elbow in the belly.

.

.

.

"And that girls how your generous and smart Dada helped out your clumsy mama." Suguru told our girls as he finished braiding their hair. His lips in his signature bad boy smirk that made me fall for him.

"That's not how it happened and you know it!!! I actually was doing magic and it was just a part of the performance." I huffed.

"Its OK mama, we know you are clumsy but we still love you." Nanako giggled.

"Oh! you little monsters, you better scram before I show you clumsy." And they rushed out throwing a good night as they rushed, still in fits of giggles.

"Part of the performance, huh?" Ru was leaning back on the bed, his legs in a manspread and looked at me with those lazy bed room eyes.

"Yep!! How else would have I gotten you to take care of my hair without playing damsel In distress? How else would I have convinced you to have dinner with me every night so you could also brush my hair?" I grinned cheekily, taking my place on the floor so he could brush and tie my hair too.

Just like he had been for the past 4 years without fail.

It was true though, apparently my lack of coordination made his protective side dominant. He was especially fond of my hair and refused to see them take the brunt of my quirky personality.

Hence, it was quickly decided that hair care was his department since. I obviously had no issues. We had easily fallen into the nightly routine of hair massages, oiling and brushing. Me, ofcourse only sat and looked pretty while he did the work.

Easing of knots in my hair with so much care, learning different hairstyles so he could do it for me and not importantly sharing his hair secrets, that he protected with his life. It even applied washing my hair because according to him WE DONT KNOW WHEN MY TALENT COMES FORTH, SO CANT RISK IT.

Of course, I had gotten better over the years, I like to tell myself that, but he refused to let go. Loving the routine we exchanged, even I didn't fight to hard. Why would I, when it was our love language.

Eventually the girls were born and obviously they were included in this.

I couldn't help but thank myself for my.... magic that he so willingly accepted and fit into. Maybe, it wasn't my magic rather his, to mold and fit into any crevice of my life like molten gold in cracks, to turn it from broken to beautiful.

.

I would like to apologise if there are any mistakes because I got hair as short as pixie. Never had hair longer that my neck. So I really hope I did justice to your request.

[quartz-crow]

The Ranger (Reader x Halsin)

Modern AU! Reader x Halsin (BG3) Stranded in the middle of a dark, icy forest with nothing but a broken-down car and a dwindling phone battery, you find yourself fighting off panic and the biting cold. Just when you begin to lose hope, a giant, rugged stranger offers unexpected help. Updates to come soon! Added notes: Sorry I've been absent for way too long... Life stuff - but hey, I'm back into writing and I've got so much planned 🌿

Chapter 1

“Fuck.”. You grit your teeth as you feel your car slowly come to a trudging stop. The wind howls around you, battering the already loose car windows, creating a dreadful noise beside your head. Thankfully, your headlights remain on, but you know all too well they won’t last long with your car’s faulty battery. "Fucking piece of shit." You grumble as you reach for your coat in the passenger seat and wrap it tightly around your body. Of course—of course, this happens to me.

The stress of the day lingers, refusing to let you find peace. You had spent the last few hours walking around the forest—your chosen escape after a stressful day at work. The smell of pine and the sight of the sunset had certainly helped ease your worries… for a while. But now, as the forest's tranquillity turned into an icy, dark nightmare, you feel the blood rising to your ears once more.

As you opened the car door, the howling wind slapped you across the face. You could feel the temperature dropping rapidly. “This is dangerous” you murmured as you looked up at the last bit of light as it disappeared behind the skyline. The tall pine trees surrounding you seemed to scream as the wind whisked through their sharp branches. The darkness was almost palpable, and gods - you could feel its oppressive weight pressing down on you. After fighting against your frozen fingers, you fumbled with your phone for a few seconds, before finally managing to turn on the flashlight. To your annoyance, the weak beam of light did little to cut through the darkness…. but it was all you had. You trudged towards your car’s bonnet, every step a struggle against the biting wind.

Mechanics were never your strong suit. Hell, they weren't even your weak suit - whatever that meant… you swear the cold was making you go delirious. Racking your brain, you tried to remember a single piece of useful information from your last MOT. The frustration builds, each second feeling like an eternity as it dawns on you… Almost choking back tears, you realised just how ill-prepared you were for this situation.

Your breath shot out in quick, visible puffs, mingling with the cold air. Popping the hood open, you peered inside - but it was hard to make out anything with the flashlight's beam wavering with your shaking hand. Everything looked like a tangled mess of metal and wires to you. They may as well have been organs, or wet spaghetti for that matter. Despite trying to remain hopeful, you truly had no idea what you were looking at, let alone how to fix it. The sense of helplessness grows, feeding your frustration. The cold seeps quickly into your bones now, and you couldn’t help but curse under your breath. Your phone’s battery was draining alarmingly fast, the flashlight dimming slightly. Panic started to rise in your throat. There’s no one around, no help in sight, just you and your broken car in the middle of nowhere.

In a moment of blind range - you kicked the tyre, but it only caused pain to shoot up your leg… which only added to your aggravation of course. “Fuck!” you yell into the night, the wind swallowing your voice. Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm yourself. You knew that you needed to think clearly if you had any chance of getting help - but the cold and the dark grew relentless, gnawing at your resolve. You closed the bonnet, resigning yourself to the fact that there’s no way that you’re going to fix the car here and now. Where you stood with your broken car, deep in the forest, you quickly decided that your only option was to get back in your car… and just hope you didn’t freeze to death.

Wrapping your coat tighter around yourself, you quickly climbed back in your car. Although the car itself wasn’t warm at all, the break from the relentless winds made you sigh in relief. You checked your phone again and what you saw on the screen made your heart drop - your phone only had 2% left. With a slight whelp, you threw your phone into the glove box and slammed it shut. You promised yourself then that, even though you had no signal, your phone was strictly for emergency use only.

The darkness outside was thick, oppressive, and the usual comfort you found in the wild was replaced by an uneasy feeling that crawled up your spine. The forest that night felt different, sinister almost, and the thought of stepping back out into the cold, black void was terrifying. You tried to calm your racing heart, reminding yourself that you loved nature, that you had come here to relax… But the rational part of your mind was losing the battle against the primal fear of the dark. You shakily reclined the seat, hoping to get some rest until morning. The wind howled around you, making the car creak and groan as if it were alive. You wrapped your coat tighter and closed your eyes, trying to block out the eerie sounds of the night. Sleep, however, escaped you. Every rustle of the leaves, every snap of a twig, made your heart jump.

Minutes felt like hours as you lay there, eyes shut tight, trying to will yourself into a state of calm. The cold seeped through your coat, making you shiver uncontrollably. Your breath came in short, shallow bursts, and you could feel the beginnings of a panic attack creeping in. The darkness seemed to press down on you, making it hard to breathe… and to think. Then, in the distance, you saw it. Headlights, faint at first but growing steadily brighter, cutting through the blackness like a knife. Your heart skipped a beat and then began to race. Someone was coming. Someone or something. The forest, which had felt deserted and empty, now seemed to close in on you, each shadow hiding unknown threats.

You sat up quickly, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The headlights grew closer, the beam illuminating the trees and casting long, sinister shadows. Panic surged through you. What if it wasn’t someone here to help? What if it was someone dangerous? Your mind raced with possibilities, each more terrifying than the last. You fumbled in the glove box for your phone, hands shaking - but you stopped yourself. If this wasn’t an emergency, you didn’t know what was, but you couldn’t waste the battery now. Not yet. You needed to see who it was first, you needed to be sure.

You could barely breathe. You felt trapped, the dark, cold forest on one side and an unknown threat on the other. The panic clawed at your chest, your vision narrowing as you struggled to stay calm. The car slowed as it neared yours, its headlights glaring, blinding you momentarily. You shielded your eyes, heart hammering in your chest. This was it. The moment of truth. You watched as a large, no, huge figure climbed out of the 4x4’s driver door. The man walked slowly towards you… And then you realised - he had an axe, or at least something axe-like, in his hand.

You screamed as your whole body shook violently. Despite the howling wind, you heard his heavy footsteps come closer and closer. Your vision began to close in on you - and before you knew it, everything went quiet.

[rebelpapermaker]

I'd like to throw my hat into the ring of modern FNAF theories:

Michael is the rogue indie developer.

Hear me out:

There is a clear divide right now in the FNAF games: games sanctioned by Fazbear Inc (Help Wanted, the racing game) and the games that came before. Help Wanted is supposed to be a VR recreation of those early games, right? But where are the details? They'll reference little things, inside jokes, but they won't go over the actual plots of these games, the biggest example being Sister Location and Pizza Sim. They have to change those plots completely, turning Sister Location into a more standard FNAF experience and Pizza Sim into a minigame.

Maybe we've been looking at "Michael is the protagonist of FNAF" the wrong way, although I do think he is a character we play as in each of the first six games; maybe the story of FNAF is initially told to us by Michael through these unsanctioned games, including all the gory details that only he could possibly know. Who else could possibly be around who knows not only the details of the multiple bite incidents, but what happens to Michael in Sister Location, as well as pizza sim- and for that matter, FNAF 4 with its intricate nightmare scenario.

"how could Michael have made the games if he got scooped?"

Canonically, remnant heals the body. I agree with everyone that purple zombie Mike is way more fun, but the cutscenes with ennard wearing Mike around actively tell us this: when ennard leaves, it forces its way out his mouth- why not leave through the gaping hole it entered in? Unless that hole was closed up now. Mike turning purple could be from the constant bruising being puppeted around by a robot would give you, faster than the remnant could possibly repair it.

Also, zombie learning to code to share a company's dirty secrets is pretty fucking funny.

"Michael died at the end of pizza sim"

I think that's a convenient thing for Michael to imply, with several reasons why he chose to. Number one, if Fazbear Inc is actively trying to find the person exposing the company for its past, telling them one of their major suspects is dead could be helpful. Number two, why were we told in the game that a way out was planned for us? We are explicitly told a way out exists, and then once we get to security breach, we see that the tangle is running around- something that shouldn't be possible. There is the possibility that the tangle found the way out, but consider the more compelling option: Michael took the way out, and the consequence of that was monsters escaping. And once again, it's Michael's fault, though not on purpose, that the horrors continue. Michael should have stayed, and that regret is reflected in the game. Everything would have come to an end if he had.

The wall code in the sister location room in security breach is also a big hint to me. Clearly we're supposed to associate that room with Michael. I've heard many theories on who could have written the wall code; none of them make much sense combined with Michael's room. They make sense on their own, but we have to take where the code is placed into account too!

I do think that if this theory is true, robot Gregory is also true, but that's a very long other post lol. And ultimately I have no fucking idea if this is right!! This is FNAF, we may never know, but might as well toss another idea out there.

(it's also been pointed out that glamrock Freddy's manner of speaking, if we're going to compare it to characters we've heard talk, is much closer to Henry, both character and speech pattern-wise. We don't hear much from Michael, granted, but combined with the comments we see him make in the logbook, he doesn't match Freddy's demeanor very well. There's also AI in there of course, but I think it's worth noting)

[angeliqueiguess]

Hidden Notes (mk.l)

020. The Walls We've Built (Final)

The apartment was quiet when Y/n stepped inside, the soft creak of the wooden floors under her feet breaking the stillness. The city outside felt far away now, the distant glow of streetlights slipping through the blinds like memories fading into the night.

She stood in the silence for a moment, her thoughts still tangled in the night they’d just lived. The performance. The music. The moment Mark had spoken her name in front of that crowd, his voice steady and full of something deeper than gratitude—something real. It had been electric. Emotional. Honest.

Mark had poured everything into that stage. His fears, his passion, his story. And somehow, in front of hundreds of people, he’d managed to speak directly to her. He had made that moment theirs.

She exhaled slowly and walked to the small desk near the window. Her fingers drifted across its surface without thinking, searching for something to anchor her. That’s when she saw it. A crumpled piece of paper, half-hidden beneath a mess of old magazines and receipts. It looked like it had been there for a while—forgotten, almost.

But the second she picked it up and turned it over, she recognized the handwriting. Mark's. Her heart caught in her chest.

She unfolded the note with careful fingers, not sure what to expect. It wasn’t long. Just a few lines. But the weight of it hit her instantly.

Y/n,

If you're reading this, it's probably because I chickened out and didn’t say this to your face. Or maybe I was scared the moment wouldn’t be right. But I needed to say it somehow.

You were the person who kept showing up when everything felt like it was falling apart. When I couldn't hear the music anymore—when I didn't think it mattered—you reminded me why I ever picked up a guitar in the first place.

You didn’t try to fix me. You didn’t push. You just stayed. And that was everything.

Whatever this is between us—whatever it becomes—I just want you to know: none of it would’ve happened without you.

Thank you for helping me find my way back.

—Mark

Y/n’s breath caught as she read the last line. Her eyes burned, but she didn’t cry—not right away. She just stood there, feeling the full weight of everything they had been through. The late-night conversations. The breakdowns. The breakthroughs. The quiet moments no one else saw.

This letter was more than a thank-you. It was a confession, in the only language Mark had ever truly trusted: the written word.

She folded it gently and set it on the desk, her fingertips lingering for a second too long. The quiet felt different now. Not empty—but full. Like it was holding space for everything they hadn’t said aloud, and everything they finally could.

Her eyes drifted across the room and landed on his guitar—his old one, the one he always claimed was too out of tune to play but never seemed able to let go of. It was resting on the couch like it had been waiting for her.

She picked it up, sat down slowly, and strummed a single chord. The sound wasn’t perfect, but it was grounding. Real. She let her fingers fall into a rhythm she didn’t have to think about—half muscle memory, half instinct.

Mark had found his voice again that night. And as she sat there with the guitar in her lap, Y/n realized that maybe it was her turn now. She wasn’t just someone in the background of his story. She was part of it. A collaborator. A co-writer. The reason he had a second verse to sing at all.

Just then, the front door clicked open behind her.

Mark stepped inside quietly, the hallway light casting a soft glow around him. He paused when he saw her, a smile already forming at the corners of his lips.

“I had a feeling you’d be here,” he said, walking toward her.

She looked up at him, her hands still resting on the guitar. “I found your note,” she said, her voice soft but clear.

Mark blinked, clearly surprised, but he didn’t look embarrassed. If anything, he looked relieved. “Yeah?” he said gently. “Guess I didn’t hide it that well.”

“It wasn’t hidden,” she replied, a small smile playing at her lips. “It was waiting.”

He moved closer and knelt in front of her, his hand reaching up to rest over hers on the guitar. “Everything I said in that letter… I meant it. I know I said some of it on stage tonight, but that was for the crowd. The letter? That was for you.”

Y/n felt her throat tighten. “You didn’t have to thank me.”

“I did,” he said, his gaze steady. “Because without you, I wouldn’t be here. Not just on stage. Just… here.”

She set the guitar aside, her hand reaching for his. “You did the work. I just reminded you who you were”

He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “You did more than that. You reminded me who I wanted to be.”

They stayed like that for a moment—no music, no crowd, no pressure. Just silence. The kind that says everything when there’s nothing left to explain.

Then Y/n gave a soft laugh, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “So... what now?”

Mark smiled and stood up, offering his hand to her. “Now? We keep going. We write the next song. Together.”

She took his hand, steady and warm in hers, and stood.

And as they sat side by side on the couch, the guitar between them, fingers brushing strings and chords taking shape, Y/n realized something: the music wasn’t just his anymore. It never had been.

They were writing a new story now. One verse, one note, one heartbeat at a time.

Together.

previous // next masterlist

angie's note: i'm back my pooks!! Hope you liked the final of this fic!! And remember, take care of yourself, drink lots of water and make sure you eat! Love ya!

taglist: @thegracerammy @kittydollzz @nmlee @haluenx @vampgege

[flamboyant-king]

I'm trying to write out passing conversations/mundane moments that would fill in the days of Cammy and Harvey, because it's the little things that make up life. So here's what one day would be like, maybe it's nothing, but to them, it's everything.

(Harvey wakes up from a nightmare early morning and Cammy senses it from outside. Cammy flies into Harveys room to comfort him, transforming into their human form for maximum hug-ability)

Harv: It's happening...Camellia...

Cammy: (holds his hand)

Harv: Help me...come back...

Cammy: Do you remember what we did yesterday?

Harv: We were on a walk...you talked to a bird...

Cammy: Do you remember the kind of bird?

Harv: A blue one...which is different...I usually only see sparrows or...robins around here...haven't seen a crow in a while...

Cammy: What did the blue bird say?

Harv: Tweet?

Cammy: Oh, right. (Giggles)

Harv: Hehe...

Cammy: (caresses Harv's hand) The bird said an old man was giving her nice oats in the morning because she looked beautiful. But she looked beautiful all the time, so the man gave her oats every morning.

Harv: That's nice...do birds have teeth?

Cammy: I don't think they do.

Harv: We'll have to look that up later...

Cammy: In the bird's mouth?

Harv: (chuckle) No, like on the Internet.

Cammy: Oh, right. (giggles)

Harv: Thank you, Camellia. I think I'm getting there.

Cammy: Does that mean I can hug you now?

Harv: Not yet. Let's talk more.

Cammy: Are there any birds you used to see in the Philippines?

Harv: Ah...My family used to raise a couple chickens...they used to wake us up in the morning...I don't remember what happened to them. They either got stolen or we ate them.

Cammy: Huh!?

Harv: From what I remember...there used to be deadly cock fights where...they'd put the chickens against each other...stick blades to their feet and let them--

Cammy: Harveeeeyyy...

Harvey: Sorry...

(Harvey hugs Cammy in apology, but he needed that hug too. After holding the moment, Harvey assures Cammy he's alright and Cammy leaves through the bedroom door. Harvey does his morning routine and makes his way downstairs)

Cammy: The sky is clear and it looks very hot out, Harvey, perfect for lemonade and macarons! (Opens the sliding door)

Harv: We can take a few lemons...from the next neighborhood...

Cammy: Harveeeey, we can't just steal lemons, you told me not to do that!

Harv: They won't miss a couple lemo--

Cammy: EEP!

Harv: What?

Cammy: Someone fell on my head.

Harv: (takes a peek) Ah, it's a lizard...

Cammy: Oh dear, I hope they don't get stuck in there.

Harv: I got you. (Tries to pull out the lizard. The lizard crawls deeper into cammy's floof)

Cammy: That tickles, teehee~

Harv: Your hair is a forest of tangles...

Cammy: Its not tangles! It's curly! Ow!

Harv: My hand got stuck...(The lizard crawls out of Cammy's hair and onto Harv's arm) but the lizard is unstuck.

Cammy: That's good!

Harv: Camellia, would you like me to... comb your hair?

Cammy: Huh? Really? That's so nice of you~ Will you tell me any stories you have about lizards.

Harv: Here's one thing... (frees his hand from Cammy's hair) In the Philippines, we call them butiki. They would be all over...the inside of our house. (The lizard crawls off Harv's arm and onto the ground) I remember I would catch them...and put them outside.

Cammy: That's so nice of you~

Harvey: One time, I saw one fall into...our air conditioner...I heard many thumps and a whine...I think it died in there...

Cammy: Um-

Harvey: In the living room...we had a ceiling fan...and I remember sitting there and a few lizards crawled...onto the fan...so I turned on the fan...and watched them go flying.

Cammy: Harveeeeeyyyy...

Harvey: Sorry...I'll go grab a brush...sit right here.

Cammy: Grab some macarons too. (Lizard climbs onto cammy's arm)

Cammy: For me and the lizard. (A second lizard falls on cammy's head.)

Cammy: EEP!

(Harvey and cambly sitting on the back "porch", Harvey combing Cammy's hair with his fingers because the brush was hurting cammy's head.)

Harv: Your hair must be really long... if we straightened it.

Cammy: I don't know how you'd straighten it. It's naturally curly.

Harv: There's this heating device that...people use to flatten out hair so it's not...curly.

Cammy: I like my curly hair.

Harv: Your tangled hair?

Cammy: No, it's noooot.

Harv: Heh. Your hair is really soft... I don't really see you shower.

Cammy: Huh?

Harv: I mean, I'm not watching, but...do you use soap?

Cammy: Are you saying I'm smelly?

Harv: No, no. I'm just wondering cause...I thought soap is a human thing.

Cammy: I use oils and I bathe in my fairy form since it would take up less water and oil!

Harv: Makes sense. Oil really helps get rid of tangles...so I don't see why you have so many tangles.

Cammy: Harveeeeyyy!

Harv: Sorry, sorry.

Cammy: I like you messing with my hair, though. It's nice and calming on a beautiful day like this~

Harv: That's good. You can...mess with my hair later...if you want.

(a peaceful hour passes by)

Harv: The tangles are mostly gone...your hair is still curly.

Cammy: (bounces) Thank you Harvey, now it's my turn!

Harv: Okay...

Cammy: (stands up and kneels behind Harvey) Teehee, your hair is so soft.

Harv: Try not to get crumbs in there.

Cammy: I'm cleeean~ Your hair is as fluffy as mine~

Harv: That's surprising...I did shower this morning.

Cammy: Smells nice too~

Harv: Thanks...I was thinking I need to cut my hair soon...but not so short like when I was...

Cammy: Maybe a trim, so it's not so messy, but maybe just combing it back would make it more neat! (Pushes his hair back and looks at his face) See! Handsome~

Harv: Heh...I think I grew out my bangs to try and cover my scar...it's not like...a big deal now but I think unconsciously...that's what I did, but also just got lazy to take care of myself.

Cammy: If you ever find it hard to care for yourself, I'll take care of you. (Looks into Harvey's eyes and smiles)

Harv: ... (Harvey gazes back)

Harv: And I'll do the same for you.

(A lizard falls on Harvey's head)

Cammy: EEP!

(time passes, they tend to the garden, and come back home after a quick walk in the park)

Cammy: A beautiful day followed by a beautiful night!

Harv: It's late night barbeque weather.

Cammy: This sounds like it has a story attached~ Oh! (A firefly hovers by Cammy) A lightning bug!

Harv: I call them fireflies. Those little guys are a sign...of a true summer's eve.

Cammy: Hm~

(Enjoying the silence and the occasional firefly glimmer)

Harv: I believe it was high school...we would have parties at Tito and Tita's house...the backyard was big...enough for Eli to run around and stuff. The campfire and grill smoke kept the bugs away...from the food. But the front yard...that's where all the fireflies were. They were the only thing that lit up the yard...other than the stars. It felt like I was in the sky with the stars. (A firefly lands on Harvey's sleeve) It was magical.

Cammy: There is magic everywhere, Harvey. (Smiles)

Harv: Yeah...We tried catching the fireflies in plastic cups...just to see them up close. (The firefly leaves Harvey's sleeve.) But like always, the magic never lasts. (The firefly lands in cammy's hand.)

Cammy: Hello. (Cammy whispers to the firefly before it flies off.)

Harv: What did it say?

Cammy: It said "just one moment."

(More fireflies enter their backyard. Landing on the leaves of various plants, some land on cammy's hair and Harvey's shirt.)

Harv: I see now...

Cammy: I hope you don't try catching these ones, they were nice enough to show off.

Harv: Nah...some magic can't be contained.

Cammy: They can be if you have a really good jar. I should know, I've been in a few of them, teehee~

~~~

I wanted to draw this but ya know how it is with me, so it shall stay as words for now. I would love to see the firefly scene drawn out, but maybe one day~