#that was the first time i received a paragraph about my fic

[dogbounds-reblogs]

@angryvampire you added 4 years to my lifespan that day

yeah sex is cool I guess

but have you ever had someone leave a comment with a paragraph-long review of your fanfic containing genuine praise, thorough criticism, and an in-depth analysis of all the lore hints you dropped that you spent ages intricately crafting

[stylesispunk]

"Did the love affair maim you too?" | Part ii

Joel Miller xf!reader

part one | next part

chapter summary: After getting back his memories, Joel and you slipped away again.

word count: 15,3k (yes, it's longer than the first chapter)

warnings: angst, perhaps fluff, mentions of death, mentions of blood, and more angst, you will find out why Joel is mean in this chapter. I know I'm a teacher, but I didn't proofread, so I apologize for any mistake. paragraphs in italics indicate flashbacks.

a/n: Hello! The awaited part 2 of this story is here! I want to say thank you for the amount of love the previous part received, it was so nice to see all your reactions to this one! It was also my first fic reaching 1k> in less than a week and was overwhelming (positively). THIS IS NOT THE LAST PART, so stay tuned for the next! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! happy reading and PLEASE tell me what you think. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

For a mere second of time, wanting was enough for you. In a harsh reality where a tender love couldn’t be part of the writing pages of a tragedy that had changed the plans destiny had for humanity, even a simple glimpse of a spark was enough to initiate the fire.

Finding a reason to wake up was enough. Joel was enough for you, even when it was a path with not a clear ending.

A lie.

A maim affair engulfed in fire burning your lungs.

A tragedy.

You looked up from your work as you sensed people entering at the place, your eyes meeting Joel’s for the first time. His expression was hard, his eyes narrowed as he sized you up. He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you with a guarded look that made you feel like you were being evaluated.

“Can I help you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady under his intense gaze.

“She needs that looked at,” he said, his tone brusque as he gestured to Ellie’s arm.

You nodded, motioning for Ellie to sit down. As you began to clean the wound, you could feel Joel’s eyes on you, watching your every move. It was as if he was waiting for you to make a mistake, to prove that you didn’t belong there.

“So, you’re infamous nurse” Joel said after a moment, his voice still cool and distant.

You looked up from your work, meeting Joel’s eyes briefly before returning your focus to Ellie’s wound. His words hung in the air, a subtle challenge beneath the surface.

“Infamous?” you repeated, trying to keep your tone neutral. “I didn’t know I had a reputation.”

Joel shrugged, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze never leaving you. “Small town. People talk.”

You nodded, understanding that this was as much about sizing you up as it was about Ellie’s injury. You’d heard about Joel—everyone in Jackson had. He was a protector, a survivor, and not someone who trusted easily.

“I’m just here to help,” you said, keeping your voice steady as you wrapped Ellie’s arm with a bandage. “That’s all.”

Ellie, sensing the tension, glanced between the two of you, her eyes wide. “She’s okay, Joel,” she said, trying to ease the atmosphere. “It’s just a scratch.”

Joel didn’t respond to Ellie; his focus remained on you. There was something in his eyes—a guardedness, a wariness that told you he was waiting for you to prove yourself, or perhaps waiting for you to slip up.

“I’ve been in Jackson for a few days” you continued, finishing up with Ellie’s bandage. “Just trying to do my part.”

“Everyone’s got a part to play,” Joel said, his tone still clipped. “Just make sure you know yours.”

You felt the sting of his words but didn’t let it show. Instead, you nodded, stepping back as Ellie hopped off the table.

“Thanks,” Ellie said, giving you a small smile.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, managing a smile in return.

Joel pushed off the wall, his eyes still on you as he motioned for Ellie to follow him. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice softening slightly when he spoke to her.

As they walked towards the door, Joel paused for a brief moment, his hand resting on the doorknob. He turned back, his eyes meeting yours once more. There was something in his gaze, something more than just suspicion. It was as if he was searching for something in you, trying to read who you really were beneath the surface.

For a second, the hardened lines of his face softened, but just as quickly, the guarded expression returned. Without another word, he turned away and led Ellie out of the infirmary, the door closing behind them with a quiet thud.

You felt like breathing again.

By the moment you had reached your house, the sun had barely risen, casting a pale light over the quiet settlement. A few people were starting their duties as you walked with dried tears on your face, just wanting not to be perceive and being able to take a shower and follow your routine as you always used to die it since your arrival, but the ache was bigger than your wiliness and you ended up lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, the horror on Joel’s face kept replaying in your mind. The heartbreak was raw and overwhelming, making it hard to breathe, let alone face the day.

You didn’t even notice you had fallen sleep until a knock came at your door, it took a moment for you to register the sound. You dragged yourself out of bed, wiping at your newly fresh tears from your eyes and trying to compose yourself as best as you could.

Opening the door, you found Maria standing there, her expression concerned.  “Hey,” she said softly, her eyes scanning your face. “Ramirez told me you didn’t show up at the infirmary this morning. Thought I’d check on you.”

You forced a weak smile, stepping aside to let her in. “Thanks, Maria. I just... fell asleep”

Maria nodded, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. She glanced around, taking in the disarray before turning back to you. “You don’t look like you’ve slept much.”

“I had a pretty good sleep” you said, voice breaking at how you so could still picturing Joel’s eyes looking at you with adoration last night “But morning came” you said, voice breaking “Joel got his memory back.”

Maria's eyes widened with concern and understanding. She moved closer, gently placing a hand on your arm. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry.”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes again. "He doesn't remember loving me, Maria. He thinks I took advantage of him. He hates me."

Maria's expression softened, and she pulled you into a comforting hug. "I can't imagine how painful that must be for you. But you didn't take advantage of him. You both shared something real, even if he doesn't remember it now."

You clung to her, "I don't know what to do. I feel so lost right now."

Maria pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "Take it one step at a time. Give yourself permission to feel what you're feeling. And remember, you have people here who care about you. You don't have to go through this alone."

You nodded, trying to find some comfort in her words. "Thanks, Maria. I just... I don't know how to face him now."

Maria squeezed your hand reassuringly. "You don't have to figure it all out today. Take some time for yourself. Maybe stay away from the infirmary for a today? give yourself a break."

You sighed, feeling lost. "Yeah, maybe that's a good idea."

Maria smiled softly. "We'll figure this out together, okay? You're stronger than you think, and you have a lot of people who care about you."

You managed a small smile. "Thanks.”

She nodded, giving you another comforting squeeze before standing up. "I'll check in on you later, alright? And if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

As she left, you felt a small sense of humiliation, as if what had just happened was just a small piece of gossip to feed a community.

You stare at the wall for a minute, getting your stuff together. If you could get over what happened before arriving to Jackson, you could follow your life. That’s what you were making yourself believe.

So, you changed into new clothes, placing Joel’s shirt under your bed to not having sight of it again. And with a deep breath you left your house, walking to de infirmary to get your job done.

A broken heart wasn’t really a big issue in an already broken world.  

As you walked to the infirmary, the weight of the morning's events lingered in your chest. The usual bustle of the settlement seemed distant, like a muted backdrop to your internal turmoil. Every step felt heavy, but you kept moving, determined to focus on your responsibilities and find some semblance of normalcy.

Upon arriving at the infirmary, you were greeted by the familiar soft hum of activity. People glanced at you with curiosity, but no one asked any questions. You were grateful for their unspoken understanding, and you quickly immersed yourself in your tasks, finding solace in the routine.

Hours passed in a blur of tending to some Jackson residents, organizing supplies, and ensuring everything was in order. The work kept your mind occupied, though it couldn't completely drown out the ache in your heart.

As the afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you saw Maria standing there, her expression gentle yet firm.

"Hey," she said, her voice soft but steady. "How are you holding up?"

You managed a small, tired smile. "I'm getting by. Staying busy helps."

Maria nodded, understanding in her eyes. "I'm glad you're here. I just wanted to check in and see if you needed anything."

You shook your head. "I don’t want to talk. It’s over” you said, avoiding her gaze.

She placed a reassuring hand on your arm. "I know you said you don't want to talk, but I'm here if you change your mind," she said softly. "Sometimes it helps to just let it out."

You looked at her, the pain still fresh in your eyes. "Thanks, Maria. Maybe... maybe later. I just need some time now."

She nodded, respecting your need for space. "Take all the time you need. Just remember, we're here for you."

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, a bit of rage simmered.

“You all were the ones who told me to go for it. You told me Joel was in love for me and him recovering his memory wouldn’t break what was there, but this morning he treated me like a whore and broke my heart.”

Maria's eyes filled with sympathy and regret. "I know, and I'm so sorry for what you're going through. We all believed it would be different. Joel... he's complicated. The things he's been through have left deep scars. But that doesn't excuse how he treated you."

You took a shaky breath, the pain still fresh and raw. "I just don't understand how it could change so quickly. One moment, we were so happy, and the next... he hates me."

Maria reached out, placing a comforting hand on your arm. "Joel's been through a lot, and sometimes people lash out when they're scared or confused. But that doesn't make it any easier for you. You deserve better than that."

You nodded, tears welling up again. "I just wanted to be happy. I thought we could be happy together."

Maria's grip tightened slightly, a gesture of support. "You will be happy again. It might not feel like it now, but you will. You're strong, and you have people who care about you. We'll get through this together."

Maria gave your arm one last reassuring squeeze before stepping back. You watched her leave, feeling of sorrow. The pain was still there, but you knew it would take time, but you also knew you wouldn't have to face it alone.

Later that evening, the emotional turmoil still roiling within you, you decided to head to the bar. You hoped the familiar atmosphere and a drink might help numb the pain, even if just for a little while. As you pushed open the door, the hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses filled the air, a stark contrast to the quiet despair you felt inside.

You made your way to the bar, trying to avoid looking around too much, but it was impossible not to notice Joel sitting at a table in the corner. His arm was wrapped around Lori, and they were laughing together, looking every bit like a happy couple. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut, the wound from the morning’s confrontation ripping open all over again.

Taking a deep breath, you walked up to the bar and ordered a drink, trying to keep your hands from shaking as you waited, Rick, the bartender, sensing your mood offered a small smile.

“What’s wrong with your face, darling?” he asked, concerned on his eyes.

You graced him with a small, tired smile at the question. “Just a rough day,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded understandingly, setting your drink in front of you. “Well, here’s something to help take the edge off. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks,” you said, taking a sip of the drink. The warmth of the alcohol spread through you, momentarily dulling the pain.

As you sat there, trying to lose yourself in the comforting anonymity of the bar, you couldn’t help but glance back at Joel and Lori. Their laughter and closeness were a stark contrast to the emptiness you felt. You turned away quickly, not wanting to see any more.

“Is it Joel?” Rick asked gently, his voice cutting through your thoughts.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down.

He sighed sympathetically, shaking his head. “Love can be a real mess sometimes.”

You chuckled bitterly. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

The bartender gave you a knowing look. “It’ll get better, you know. It might not seem like it now, but time has a way of healing these things.”

You took another sip of your drink, hoping he was right. “I hope so.”

“If you need anything, just ask me, okay?” he said, smiling at you before going back to his task.

You took another sip of your drink, hoping he was right. “I hope so.”

You nodded, trying to muster a smile in return. As the Rick moved away, you felt the weight of the day pressing down on you again. Lost in thought, you barely noticed the person sitting next to you until you felt their presence.

Turning slightly, you saw Joel, his expression unreadable. Your heart skipped a beat, a mix of emotions surging through you, all the pain, anger, and a lingering trace of love.

Perhaps he was here to apologize.

Joel cleared his throat, looking almost as uncomfortable as you felt. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty.

You stared at him, trying to gauge his intentions. “Hey,” you replied, your voice strained.

Joel shifted in his seat, glancing at the drink in front of you. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to say much more. The sight of him so close, the contrast memories of his tender touch last night and the harsh words from the morning still fresh, made it hard to breathe.

He took a deep breath, his eyes finally meeting yours. “Look, about this morning…I was asking myself if I should let my door open tonight for you to come in the lure or something?”

The laugh he made after that cracked your already broken heart. The sound was harsh, cruel, and it cut through you like a knife. Your eyes widened in disbelief, and you felt your entire body tense.

“You think this is funny?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with hurt and anger. “You think what happened between us is something to joke about?”

Joel’s laughter died on his lips as he saw the hurt and anger in your eyes. “I- “

“What did you mean? you interrupted, your voice rising despite your efforts to keep it steady. “Because it sure as hell feels like you’re entertaining yourself by making jokes right now.”

Joel's face twisted into a bitter expression. “What do you expect me to say? That I suddenly remember everything and I'm head over heels for you? Life doesn't work that way, princess”

Your heart sank further, the cruelty of his words stinging more than you wanted “You don’t have to be cruel to be funny, Joel. You could at least try to understand what I’m going through.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms defensively. “Understand what? That you’re upset because you tried to rewrite a history that doesn’t exist between us? I’m sorry, but I can’t change how I feel—or don’t feel.”

You shook your head, feeling an anger bubbling within you. “You don’t get it.” You said, simply. Taking a seat on the stool, again.

Joel’s expression hardened. “You’re too busy living in a fantasy to see that whatever you think happened between us is over. I don’t remember it, and I don’t care to. Move on.”

You looked at him, fighting the tears. “I will move on from you. You’re not that important.” You looked towards the direction he had come from, not breaking the façade. You immediately spotted Lori who seemed amused at Joels treating you badly. “Go back to your woman, Miller”

Joel’s jaw tightened at your words, and he leaned in closer, his voice low and laced with anger. “You know what? I will. At least she knows where we stand. Unlike you, clinging to some fantasy that never existed.”

Your vision blurred with anger and hurt as you stared at him. “You really think you’re better than me.”

He smirked, a cruel glint in his eyes. “I’m done with your drama.”

The words hit you like a slap, and before you could stop yourself, you balled your hand into a fist and swung at him. The punch landed squarely on his jaw, causing him to stagger back, a look of shock and pain flashing across his face.

The bar fell silent as everyone turned to witness the commotion. Joel touched his jaw, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you, anger and something else—something more vulnerable—flickering in his gaze.

“Don’t you ever talk to me like that again” you spat, your voice trembling with the intensity of your emotions. “You are the worst mistake I’ve done here.”

Joel's eyes blazed with a mix of anger and shock, but he didn’t say anything. You could see his jaw clenching, and the vulnerability in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, hardened look. The silence in the bar was deafening, every eye on you.

You didn’t wait for his response. You turned on your heel and marched towards the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The weight of your emotions threatened to overwhelm you, but you refused to let Joel see you break down.

As you pushed the door open, the cool night air hit your face, offering a small respite from the intensity of the bar. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the tears you had been holding back finally spilled over. You wiped them away angrily, not wanting to show any more weakness.

As you stormed out into the night, the tears mingling with the cool air, you heard the door swing open behind you. Heavy footsteps quickly followed, and you knew who it was before you even turned around.

"Hey," Tommy called out, his voice filled with concern. "Wait up."

You spun around to face him, your anger and hurt bubbling over. "What do you want, Tommy?" you snapped, your voice trembling with emotion. "Did you come to see the fallout of your brother's words?"

Tommy stopped a few feet away, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I came to check on you," he said softly. "I saw what happened in there. Are you okay?"

You laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and broken. "Do I look okay to you, Tommy? Your brother just ripped my dignity there?”

Tommy's eyes were filled with sympathy. "I know Joel can be a real asshole sometimes. But he's just confused. This whole memory thing has messed with his head."

You shook your head, the tears streaming down your face. "No, Tommy. This isn't his memory. He doesn't care about me. He never did. He never will”

Tommy took a step closer, his expression pained. "That's not true. I know my brother, and I know he cared about you. He's just scared. He doesn't know how to handle this."

You scoffed, the anger boiling over. “Care about me?” you laughed. “He was just dumfounded. What you saw inside is the real him.”

Tommy's face twisted with concern, his eyes pleading for you to understand. “Look, I know it seems like that right now, but Joel’s been through a lot. This memory thing has him all messed up.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling. “No, Tommy. You didn’t hear the things he said. He thinks I took advantage of him. He doesn’t remember any of the good times, any of the moments we shared. He just sees me as some... some opportunist.”

Tommy sighed deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what to say. Joel’s always been stubborn, and this whole situation is making it worse. But you’re not alone in this. We all care about you.”

“Caring about me doesn't fix what he did," you said, your voice breaking. "He treated me like I was nothing.”

“I get it. I really do,” Tommy replied, his voice softening. “Just... give it time. Maybe things will get clearer.”

“Time won’t change what he said. It won’t change how he made me feel,” you replied, the bitterness in your voice evident.

Tommy opened his mouth to speak but then closed it, realizing there were no words that could ease your pain. He took a step back, giving you space. “I’m here if you need me. Just remember that.”

“I don’t need the baby miller protecting me.” You spoke. “From now on, I’m just the nurse and if you need me patrolling, I don’t want Joel near me.”

Tommy's face fell slightly, but he nodded, understanding the gravity of your words. "Alright. I'll make sure to arrange things so you don't have to cross paths with him."

You could see the concern in his eyes, but you didn't have the energy to address it. "Thank you," you said, your voice hollow. "I need to be alone now."

Tommy hesitated for a moment, then gave a small nod. "Take care of yourself, alright?" He turned and walked back towards the bar, leaving you standing alone in the quiet night.

As you watched him go, you felt a mixture of relief and sadness. The night air was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to find some semblance of comfort.

Turning away from the bar, you started walking, not sure where you were heading but knowing you needed to move. Each step felt heavy, but you forced yourself to keep going. You would find a way to heal, even if it felt impossible right now.

One step at a time, you told yourself again. One step at a time.

Week one.

You had promised yourself to not having. And Joel had had started to have punctuating headaches.

When he arrived, he noticed another guy standing where you used to be. The unfamiliar face caught him off guard, and a sense of unease settled in his stomach.

"Where's the nurse?" Joel asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

The new guy, a young man with sandy hair and a nervous demeanor, looked up from his preparations. "She asked to be reassigned. Said she didn't want to do patrols anymore."

Joel's heart sank. "Did she say why?"

Before the guy could answer, Tommy walked over, overhearing the conversation. "I'll take it from here," Tommy said, looking at the new guy, who nodded and walked away.

Joel turned to Tommy, his expression a mix of confusion and worry. "What's going on, Tommy? Why'd she ask to be reassigned?"

Tommy sighed, crossing his arms. "She didn't want to be around you, Joel.”

Joel felt a pang of guilt and frustration. "I didn't mean for things to get this bad. I was just... I was trying to deal with everything, I think I handled it wrong."

Tommy nodded. "Yeah, you did. And now she’s moving on as you asked her to.”

Joel's chest tightened at Tommy's words. "I didn't think she'd actually was…I- I thought she’d... I don’t know, understand.”

"Understand what, Joel?" Tommy asked, his tone sharper than usual. "That you were scared and hurt, so you took it out on her? You made your bed, now you’ve gotta lie in it."

Joel ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his mistakes. “Okay what’s so wrong? Since when she is in love with me?”

“Did you know she was the one who brought you back here when you feel and hit your head so hard you forgot about her? Or about all this past year?” Tommy said exasperated, “She was there for you every single day and man, she was scared of letting you in because she knew all this was going to happen.”

Joel's mind reeled as Tommy's words sank in. "She brought me back?" he echoed, a wave of guilt washing over him.

"Yeah," Tommy said, his voice heavy with frustration. "She did everything for you. Every single day. And you just pushed her away like she meant nothing."

Joel felt his heart constrict. He had been so consumed by his own confusion and pain that he hadn’t stopped to consider what she had gone through. "I didn't know. I didn't remember."

"That’s the point, Joel. You didn't remember, and instead of trying to understand, you lashed out at her."

Joel nodded slowly, trying to absorb the pieces of new information.

"You can't just fix this with a few words, Joel.” Tommy added, as if he had just read his brother’s mine. “She had gone through much already.”

“What do you mean by that?” Joel asked, concern came from nowhere.

Tommy sighed deeply, looking away for a moment before meeting Joel's gaze again. "She went through hell before she even got here, Joel.”

Tommy’s words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken pain. Joel's brow furrowed as he tried to grasp what his brother was saying.

"What do you mean?" Joel asked, his voice low and hesitant, the concern now unmistakable.

Tommy looked at him for a long moment, as if debating whether to reveal something he wasn’t sure Joel was ready to hear. Finally, he sighed, his expression softening with a mix of empathy and frustration.

"She was on her own for a long time before she found Jackson," Tommy began, his tone measured. "Lost her family, everyone she ever cared about. Saw things that would break most people. But she survived. She made it here, and despite everything, she decided to stay and help us. She didn’t have to, but she did. And when you came back hurt and lost, she put everything into helping you, even though she knew it was a risk."

Joel felt a lump forming in his throat as Tommy spoke. He had been so wrapped up in his own struggles that he hadn’t seen the depth of what she had endured.

"And you," Tommy continued, his voice thick with emotion, "you were her last straw, Joel. She let her guard down for you, and you crushed her.

Joel’s heart ached at Tommy’s words. He felt the sting of regret deep in his chest, knowing that he had only added to her pain.

"Tommy, I..." Joel started, but the words failed him. What could he say that would make any of this right?

"You need to understand something, Joel," Tommy said, his voice firm but not unkind. "She’s not just some woman who’s here to patch us up and send us on our way. She’s a survivor, just like us. And she deserves a hell of a lot better than what you gave her."

Joel nodded, feeling the full weight of his actions pressing down on him. He realized now just how much he had taken for granted, how much he had failed to see.

That same afternoon, the weight of his guilt and determination pressing heavily on his chest, Joel made his way to the infirmary. He had rehearsed what he would say a hundred times in his head, but the closer he got, the more uncertain he felt. He needed to talk to you, to apologize, to start making things right.

When he arrived, he hesitated at the door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open. The familiar smell of antiseptic and the soft hum of activity greeted him as he stepped inside.

You were at the far end of the room, organizing supplies and preparing to leave for the day. Your back was turned to him, and for a moment, he just stood there, unsure of how to start. But then you sensed his presence and turned around, your eyes meeting his.

For a brief second, something flickered in your gaze—recognition, maybe even surprise—but it was quickly replaced by a cold, distant expression.

"Hey," Joel said, his voice sounding more tentative than he intended.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you continued with what you were doing, organizing a stack of medical supplies. It was clear you were trying to keep busy, to avoid engaging with him.

"Can we talk?" Joel asked, taking a cautious step closer.

You paused, your hands stilling for a moment before you turned to face him fully. Your expression was unreadable, your eyes guarded. "I'm busy, Joel," you said, your tone clipped and distant.

Joel felt a pang in his chest at your coldness, but he knew he deserved it. "I know. I just... I wanted to apologize. For everything. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry."

You looked at him for a long moment, your expression hard. "I don’t need your apologies," you replied, your voice steady but laced with an edge of bitterness. "What’s done is done."

Joel swallowed, feeling the sting of your words. "I understand that, but I still want to make things right. I want to try."

You shook your head, a small, bitter smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "You can’t just fix this with a few words, Joel. You made it clear how you felt. I was so pathetic for seeking tender love in a world like this, and I was so pathetic for accepting it from you."

Joel flinched at your words, the harsh truth of them cutting deep. He opened his mouth to respond, to say something—anything—that might reach you, but you were already moving past him, grabbing your coat and heading for the door.

"Wait," he said, reaching out to stop you, but you brushed past him without a second glance.

"I’m done with this conversation, Joel," you said over your shoulder, your voice cold and final. "If you have something to say, save it for someone who cares or maybe for when you fuck Lori.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move, his heart pounding in his chest as he replayed the conversation in his head. The way you looked at him—so detached, so unlike the sweet person you were—shattered any remaining hope he had of mending things between you. Joel clenched his fists frustration welling up inside him.

And with that, you were gone, leaving Joel standing in the infirmary, the empty room echoing with the silence of everything left unsaid.

Week two.

The distance between you and Joel grew even wider. You kept yourself busy with your duties at the infirmary, throwing yourself into work to avoid thinking about him. Jackson was large enough that it wasn’t hard to avoid each other, especially since you made a point to steer clear of any places where you might run into him.

Joel, on the other hand, wasn’t faring as well. The days felt like they were dragging on, each one heavier than the last. The guilt and the lingering regret of how things had ended between you, was starting to take a toll on him. He found it harder to concentrate on anything, his mind constantly wandering back to you, replaying your last conversation over and over again.

Things hadn’t started bad between the both of you. There was a time, not too long ago, when things between you and Joel had been different—better. When you first arrived in Jackson. He was wary, of course, just as everyone. People with big walls up for protecting the same from the dangers from the outside.

Initially, he had kept his distance, observing you with a cautious eye. But as days turned into weeks, something shifted. You’d taken on the role of a nurse with a quiet determination, and your compassion and dedication gradually began to break through the walls Joel had built around himself.

There was one particular evening when you both found yourselves at a small community gathering. It was one of those special moments for people to unwind and reconnect. Joel, usually reserved and gruff, had shown up with Ellie in tow, and you were surprised to find him engaging in casual conversation, a rare sight indeed.

You and Joel had ended up chatting while sitting around a makeshift bonfire. The conversation had started with practical matters—how best to handle a certain type of injury or a recommendation for new supplies—but soon it evolved into more personal topics. Joel had shared stories from his past life, and you found yourself opening up about your own one.

The old versions of two people trapped in the endless tragedy

The atmosphere was relaxed, and for the first time, you saw a different side of Joel.

Joel was seated across from you, a relaxed look on his face that you rarely saw. His eyes, usually so guarded, were softer tonight. Ellie was nearby, occupied with a makeshift game she’d crafted from scavenged materials.

“So, you actually went through all that trouble for a single, mediocre meal?” you asked, chuckling at Joel’s tale of a particularly botched cooking attempt.

Joel grinned, a rare and genuine smile that lit up his face. “You’d be surprised what we went through to get even a half-decent meal back then. We were pretty desperate.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t imagine. I’m just grateful for what we’ve got now, even if it’s not gourmet.”

Joel nodded in agreement. “Yeah, things are better here. A lot better than they were.”

There was a comfortable silence between you, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire. You glanced at Joel, noticing how his eyes softened as he spoke. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to have someone who understands what it’s like out there.”

Joel met your gaze, his expression sincere. “And I’m glad you’re here too. You’ve done a lot for everyone. For Ellie, especially.”

For Joel, dealing with all of this started to become unbearable the moment migraines hit. They had started as a dull ache, a constant pressure in his head that he could push through if he focused hard enough. But as the days went on, the pain intensified, becoming sharp and unrelenting. The pounding in his skull would come in waves, leaving him dizzy and disoriented. He tried to hide it at first, not wanting anyone to see him weak, but it wasn’t long before people began to notice.

He’d find himself gripping the edges of tables or leaning against walls to steady himself, his vision blurring as the pain surged through him. He hadn’t had migraines like this in years, not since the early days when the world had first gone to hell. But these were different, more intense, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were somehow connected to something else.

Maybe someone, his thoughts screamed.

Tommy noticed too, of course. He had been keeping a close eye on his brother ever since the confrontation in the infirmary, and it didn’t take long for him to realize that something was wrong.

Joel had just returned from patrol; his face pale and his movements unsteady. As he walked through the door of the house, he winced, his hand pressing against his temple. The migraine had hit him hard, and he was struggling to keep it together.

Tommy was already in the kitchen, grabbing a drink when he noticed Joel’s distress. He set the cup down, crossing the room quickly. “You okay, Joel?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Joel tried to force a casual shrug, but the pain in his head made it difficult. “Yeah, just—” He hesitated, trying to find a plausible excuse. “—just got a bit of a headache. My new patrol partner’s been causing me more stress than usual. You know how it is.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Your new partner? We’ve only had him for a few days. Doesn’t seem like he’d cause this much trouble.”

Joel rubbed his temples more vigorously, trying to stave off the waves of pain. “It’s been rougher than I expected, okay? Just one of those days.”

Tommy didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push the issue further. “Alright, if you say so. But if this keeps up, you should get it checked out. Don’t let it go too long.”

Joel nodded, grateful for Tommy’s concern but unwilling to admit the full extent of his struggle. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just need to rest.”

Joel couldn’t even convince himself. He just didn’t find strength to face you.

That evening, the bar was lively, filled with the hum of conversation and laughter. Joel sat at a corner table with Lori, Tommy, and Maria. He was trying to focus on the conversation, but the throbbing pain in his head made it difficult. Lori, noticing his discomfort, kept a concerned eye on him, occasionally reaching out to touch his arm reassuringly.

As you walked in, the bar’s ambient noise seemed to momentarily quieten, and Joel’s gaze instinctively shifted toward you. You moved with purpose, but your demeanor was cold and distant. Tommy and Maria spotted you first and greeted you warmly.

“Hey, it’s good to see you,” Tommy said, waving you over.

Maria offered a friendly smile. “Yeah, come join us.”

You returned their greetings with a nod, but when your eyes met Joel’s, you turned your attention elsewhere, ignoring him completely. Joel shifted in his seat, trying to hide his discomfort, but the strain was visible in the tense lines of his face.

Lori noticed the awkwardness and frowned. “You could at least hide you jealously and stop being a mean bitch” she said to you, loud enough for everyone around to shut.

The bar’s noise seemed to drop as Lori's words cut through the air. You felt every eye on you as the tension escalated.

You turned to Lori, your face hardening. “I’m not here to entertain you or play nice.”

Lori’s face flushed with anger. “Well, if you can’t be civil, then maybe you shouldn’t be here at all.”

Joel, trying to defuse the situation, interjected, “Lori, that’s enough.” His voice was strained, both from the growing migraine and the emotional weight of the confrontation. “We don’t need to make this any worse.”

“No! I’m tired of this bitch being a pain to us just because you don’t love her back” she continued, calling you out.

Joel’s face tightened with a mix of frustration and pain. “Lori, seriously, stop. This isn’t helping anyone.”

You stood tall, your voice icy as you spoke. “I don’t need a lecture from you or anyone else. I’ve been nothing but professional, and this—” you gestured between yourself and Joel, “—is a personal matter. I’m done being the target of everyone’s frustration.”

Joel’s gaze wavered, his eyes reflecting the hurt from your words. “You don’t have to be like this.”

“No,” you snapped, “I don’t have to be here at all. If you want to know why I’m acting this way, it’s because I don’t want to be around someone who can’t see my worth.” Your voice cracked with emotion. “You can keep Joel. I don’t want a man who can’t appreciate me.”

You sighed, taking a deep breath. “I’m so done with all your pity because the man I’m in love with doesn’t remember loving me. But life moves on, and so do I. I’m done being the center of anyone’s misplaced sympathy.” You sighed a little, embarrassment creeping up your body “I’m just- I want you all to stop talking about me as if I’m a broken little girl, please.”

With a final, resolute glance at the group and the rest of people inside, you turned and walked out of the bar. The door swung shut behind you, the muffled noise of the bar fading as you stepped into the night.

Joel froze there, the harsh sting of your words lingering.

The man I’m in love with.

Why did you even love him?

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest as he processed your words. The sting of your rejection mixed with the searing pain in his head, making it hard to think clearly. He stood frozen for a moment, watching you leave, his mind racing with regret and confusion.

After a few seconds, he shook himself out of his daze. He could feel Lori’s eyes on him, her frustration still palpable. Ignoring her, Joel pushed himself up from the barstool, his movements tense and hurried.

“Sorry, I need to go,” he muttered, his voice rough and distant. He didn’t wait for a response and headed for the door. As he stepped outside, the cool night air hit him, offering a brief reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere of the bar.

Joel saw you standing just outside the bar, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed tightly over your chest. The cool night air seemed to accentuate the solitude you radiated, and the flickering streetlight cast uneven shadows over your face. Joel’s heart ached as he approached, the intensity of his migraine fading into the background compared to the weight of his regret.

He stopped a few feet away, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "Hey," he said, his voice rough but gentle. "I didn't mean to... to make things worse tonight."

You looked up, your eyes meeting his. They were red-rimmed, a sign of the emotional toll the evening had taken. "What do you want, Joel?" Your voice was quiet but edged with defiance.

Joel shifted uncomfortably, the words coming out in a rush. "I know I screwed up. I know I can’t undo what’s been done. But I want you to know that I’m sorry. I was a damn fool, and I didn’t see how much you were hurting."

You shook your head, looking away. "It’s too late for apologies. You made your choices."

“I know,” Joel admitted, his voice heavy with sorrow.

“Go back inside to your woman” you said, voice steady yet the truth of the words cut your throat.

Joel looked at you, his eyes filled with an aching with regret and yearning. He could feel the pounding in his head lessen, as if your presence, though tense and fraught with pain, was soothing the storm within him.

He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "I don't want to go back inside. I came out here to talk to you. I need to explain—"

You cut him off, your voice colder now. "I don’t want explanations, Joel. I want you to be honest with yourself and with me."

Joel's expression faltered, his usual resolve wavering under the weight of his migraine and the emotional strain. "I don't know what to say," he admitted quietly. "Every time I try to make things right, I just seem to make it worse."

"Look," Joel said, taking a step closer, though he kept a respectful distance. "I know I can’t fix everything right now, and I know I’ve hurt you more than I ever intended. But if there's any chance at all to mend things, I want to try. I need to try."

You glanced at him, feeling the strange mix of emotions. His presence, his apology, even his struggle, created a confusing pull. You nodded, not trusting your voice.

"Just... take things slow," you said finally, your voice softening slightly. "Show me, don’t just tell me."

You gave him one last, lingering look before turning away, the night air feeling strangely lighter as you walked back toward your house. Joel watched you go, a fragile sense of relief mingled with the lingering weight of his migraine.

Joel nodded, his heart aching.

Week three

The situation between you and Joel remained tense and unresolved. Despite the brief moment outside the bar, there was still an emotional chasm between you two. Meanwhile, Joel's migraines continued to worsen, each one more debilitating than the last. The pain had become a constant companion, gnawing at him, making it difficult to focus on anything else.

Tommy had been watching his brother closely, his concern growing with each passing day. He had noticed how Joel winced at the slightest noise, how he gripped the edges of tables to steady himself, and how he often retreated to dark corners to try and alleviate the pain. Tommy knew something had to give, and he wasn't sure how much longer Joel could keep this up, especially with patrols still on the agenda.

During the morning, as the patrol assignments were being handed out, Tommy pulled Joel aside. “You sure you’re up for this?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “These migraines… they’re getting worse, Joel.”

Joel nodded, though the movement sent a sharp pain through his temples. “I’ll be fine,” he muttered, not wanting to admit how bad things had really gotten. “Just need to keep moving, keep my mind off it.”

Tommy sighed, not entirely convinced. “Alright, but I’m pairing you up with someone who won’t hesitate to call for backup if things go south.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, wondering who Tommy had in mind. His answer came when you walked into the room, your expression unreadable as you glanced at Tommy, then at Joel.

“You’re on patrol with Joel today,” Tommy said, his tone firm, leaving no room for argument. “Consider it part of the consequences for that little outburst at the bar the other night.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but then closed it, seemingly deciding against saying anything. Instead, you simply nodded, surprising both Tommy and Joel.

Due to your situation with Joel, you would have argued, pushed back, but you didn’t. Whether it was out of a sense of duty, or because you had your own reasons for going along with the assignment, neither man could tell.

Joel looked at you, his expression hard to read. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he knew that this patrol was going to be anything but ordinary. The tension between you two was palpable, and the fact that you hadn’t fought the assignment left him uneasy.

As the two of you geared up and headed out, the silence between you was thick, neither of you willing to break it first. The path ahead was familiar, but the atmosphere was charged with unresolved emotions and the weight of things left unsaid.

As you and Joel prepared to head out for patrol, Tommy pulled you aside, his expression serious. “Listen, I know things are tense between you two, but if Joel starts feeling bad, you come back immediately. No heroics, no pushing through it. Understood?”

You nodded, not meeting Tommy’s eyes. “Understood,” you replied, your tone neutral. The truth was, you didn’t know how you felt about being on patrol with Joel, but you weren’t going to argue with Tommy’s orders.

Tommy looked at you for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but he held back. Instead, he just gave you a small nod before turning back to Joel, who was adjusting his gear a few feet away.

Joel caught Tommy’s eye, and there was a silent exchange between the brothers—Tommy’s concern evident, and Joel’s stubborn determination clear.

Once outside the gates, the silence stretched between you and Joel, heavy and uncomfortable. The forest around you was quiet, the only sound was the crunch of your boots on the dirt path. You kept your eyes ahead, focused on the task at hand, but you couldn’t help but be aware of Joel’s presence beside you.

As you walked, you noticed something strange. Joel, who had been rubbing his temples and wincing in pain earlier, seemed to be a bit more at ease. The tight lines of pain on his face had softened, and he wasn’t clutching his head like he usually did.

You didn’t want to think too much about it, but you couldn’t help but wonder if your presence had something to do with it.

Joel, too, was aware of the change. He had been bracing himself for another wave of pain, expecting the migraine to hit hard as it had been for days now. But instead, he felt… better. The pain was still there, lurking in the background, but it was muted, manageable. And the only thing that had changed was that you were with him.

As you continued walking, the strange shift in the atmosphere didn’t go unnoticed. Joel glanced at you every now and then, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he was trying to figure out what had changed. You kept your focus straight ahead, but the weight of the unspoken tension between you two was hard to ignore.

After a while, you slowed down and finally came to a stop, gesturing for Joel to halt as well. Without saying anything, you walked over to your horse and untied a small bouquet of flowers that had been carefully wrapped and secured to the saddle.

Joel watched, puzzled, as you held the bouquet tightly in your hand. "Just... just wait for me here for a bit," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. There was a softness to your tone that caught Joel off guard, and he nodded, sensing that whatever you were about to do was important.

You walked a short distance off the path, through the dense trees and underbrush, until you reached a small clearing. The air was still, and the only sound was the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Joel stayed where he was, leaning against his horse, but his eyes followed you, curiosity and concern mingling in his expression.

In the clearing, you knelt down beside a small, unmarked grave, the earth slightly raised from where you had buried your boyfriend two years ago.

You placed the bouquet gently on the grave, your fingers lingering for a moment on the petals. Your heart ached with the familiar pang of loss, the pain of carrying love for someone who was no longer here. It was a pain you had learned to carry with you, but it never really went away.

As you knelt there, a few silent tears slipped down your cheeks, and you quickly wiped them away. This was a private moment, one you hadn’t shared with anyone, not even Joel. He had no idea about the depth of your loss, about the man you had loved and lost before arriving in Jackson.

When you finally stood up and turned back toward the path, Joel was still waiting, his expression unreadable. You walked back to him in silence, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice soft as his eyes studied your expression.

You didn’t answer right away, your fingers brushing lightly against your jacket. Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "This is where I buried him. My fiancé."

Joel’s heart sank as he remembered the voice of Tommy telling him some things he didn’t even remember about you. And now seeing you here, in this quiet, sacred place, made the weight of your grief all the more real.

"I didn’t know," Joel said, his voice laced with regret. He felt a pang of guilt for not being there for you when you had gone through this, for not understanding just how much you had carried with you all this time. "I’m sorry."

You nodded slowly, still staring at the grave. "It’s been a long time since I’ve come here. I didn’t think I’d be able to handle it, but… I guess I needed to say goodbye again. Properly."

Joel stepped closer, his presence a comforting warmth at your side. He didn’t know what to say, but he knew he needed to be there, to offer whatever solace he could.

"He was a good man," you continued, your voice stronger now. "He was kind, patient, everything I could have asked for. But this world… it takes everything good and leaves you with nothing but memories."

Joel clenched his jaw, feeling the familiar ache of loss that never truly went away. He knew all too well the pain of losing someone you loved, the emptiness that followed, the way it changed you forever.

"He deserved better," you said, your voice cracking slightly. "He deserved a future, a life. But instead… he got this."

Joel rested his hand gently on your shoulder. "I’m sorry," he repeated, the words feeling inadequate but all he could offer.

But instead of finding solace in his touch, you flinched, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. The grief, the anger, the overwhelming sense of loss—it all came flooding back, and you couldn’t handle it, not right now.

“Don’t touch me, okay?” you said, your voice trembling as you pulled away from him, putting a small but significant distance between you. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you needed space, needed to breathe without feeling like you were suffocating under the weight of your emotions.

Joel froze, his hand lingering in the air for a moment before he slowly lowered it, the rejection hitting him harder than he expected. He swallowed, trying to push down the rising tide of guilt and pain that your words had stirred up.

“Okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew better than to push, knew that you needed time to process everything on your own. But it didn’t stop the sting of your words from cutting deep, reminding him of all the ways he had failed before, all the ways he had let the people he cared about slip through his fingers.

“Peter was the only man who deserved my love,” you said, your voice laced with a mix of bitterness and sorrow. The truth of it stung, cutting through the air like a blade. You didn’t mean to be cruel, but the words slipped out before you could stop them, a reflection of the turmoil swirling inside you.

Joel swallowed hard, the hurt in his eyes evident as he processed what you had just said. He knew you were grieving, that you were speaking from a place of pain, but it didn’t make the words any easier to hear. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond, his mind reeling from the sudden shift between you.

“I get it,” he finally said, his voice tight with emotion. “You loved him. And he was… he was a good man. Better than me.”

He looked away, unable to meet your gaze, feeling the weight of his own inadequacies bearing down on him.

 “Yes, he was” you said without a doubt. “And that killed him.”

Joel’s heart clenched at your words, the blunt truth of them landing like a blow. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, the weight of your statement pressing down on him. The silence between you grew thicker, charged with the grief and anger that neither of you could fully express.

“He and I had a kid” you confessed, you heart clenched at the memory of that little boy you took care of for five years of your life.

Joel’s head snapped up at your confession, his eyes widening in shock. The weight of what you had just revealed hit him hard, leaving him momentarily speechless.

“He and I… we had a kid,” you repeated, your voice trembling as you forced the words out. Your heart ached at the memory of the little boy you had taken care of, loved, for five years of your life. The pain of losing him, of losing the family you had built, was still fresh, a wound that hadn’t even begun to heal.

Joel’s expression softened, the anger and frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface giving way to something deeper—compassion, understanding, and an overwhelming sense of sorrow for everything you had lost. He could see the pain etched into your features, the way your shoulders slumped under the weight of your grief, and it broke something inside him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He didn’t know what else to say.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you quickly wiped them away, not wanting to break down in front of him. “His name was Sam,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was just a baby when we found him, abandoned… we took him in, raised him as our own. And then, one day” you sobbed, “They killed him…Those fucking soldiers killed him.”

“Peter and I had planned on how leaving all behind, he had hear about Jackson from a friend, and then he trusted the wrong people.”

Joel’s breath caught in his throat as he listened to you, the horror and anguish in your voice cutting through him like a knife. He could see the pain etched deeply into your features, the way your body trembled with the force of your grief. The image of what you had endured—losing not just your partner but the child you had raised together, taken away in such a cruel and senseless way—was almost too much to bear.

“They killed him,” you repeated, your voice thick with emotion as tears streamed down your face. “They took everything from me… from us. We just wanted to be safe, to give him a life that meant something. But those soldiers… they didn’t care. They saw us as a threat, as nothing more than collateral damage.”

Joel’s fists clenched at his sides, anger surging through him at the thought of what had been done to you and your family. He knew the kind of world you were living in, where trust was a dangerous thing, and hope could be ripped away in an instant. But knowing it didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“I’m so sorry,” Joel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He wanted to say more, to find the right words to ease your pain, but everything felt inadequate in the face of such a profound loss.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as you continued. “Peter and I… we had it all planned out. We were going to leave everything behind, start over in Jackson. He had heard about it from a friend, and it seemed like the only chance we had. But… he trusted the wrong people.”

Your voice broke again, the sobs coming harder now as you relived the nightmare. “They promised us safe passage, said they’d get us out. But it was a trap. They turned us over to the soldiers, and Sam… he didn’t stand a chance. He was just a little boy. He didn’t even know what was happening…”

Joel felt a lump in his throat, his own emotions threatening to overwhelm him as he watched you unravel before him.

Without thinking, Joel stepped closer, pulling you into his arms and holding you tightly against him. He didn’t say anything, didn’t try to offer empty words of consolation. He just held you, letting you cry against his chest, his hand gently stroking your back in an attempt to soothe you.

The world had gone eerily quiet after the gunfire ceased, the only sounds left were your ragged breaths and the distant cries of crows circling overhead. You could still feel the heat from Peter’s body fading beneath your hands, his blood soaking into the earth beneath him. The image of his lifeless eyes, staring blankly up at the sky, was seared into your mind, a horrific reminder that he was gone, that the man you loved, the father of your child, was never coming back.

You had been too stunned to cry, too numb to feel anything beyond the cold realization that you were alone.

Hours seemed to pass in a blur before you finally forced yourself to move. You couldn’t stay there, not with Peter’s body cooling beside you, not with the knowledge that those men might come back to finish what they started. So, you rose on shaky legs, your heart pounding in your chest, and stumbled away from the scene of the massacre, your mind numb as you left him behind.

The sun had begun to set by the time you found the old cabin, hidden deep within the woods. It was small, decrepit, with broken windows and a door that hung askew on its hinges, but it was shelter, and that was all that mattered. You pushed open the door and stepped inside, the musty smell of decay filling your nostrils as you surveyed the dark, empty space.

It felt wrong to be alive, to still be breathing when Peter wasn’t, when Sam wasn’t. But survival was instinctual, and something inside you kept pushing you forward, kept you searching for a way to stay alive, even when all you wanted was to curl up and disappear.

You sank to the floor, your back pressed against the rough wooden wall as the tears finally began to fall. They came slowly at first, like a trickle, but soon they turned into gut-wrenching sobs that echoed through the empty cabin. You clutched your knees to your chest, rocking back and forth as the storm outside began to roll in.

The wind picked up, howling through the trees and rattling the cabin’s fragile walls. Rain began to pour in heavy sheets, drumming against the roof and leaking through the cracks, pooling on the floor around you. Lightning flashed, illuminating the dark interior in brief, blinding bursts, and the thunder that followed was so loud it shook the very foundation of the cabin.

You were alone for the first time in years, truly, devastatingly alone. The weight of that realization crushed you, making it hard to breathe, hard to think of anything other than the emptiness that stretched out before you. The storm outside mirrored the chaos inside you, the violence of it a reflection of the torment that raged in your heart.

Maria and a group of people found you two days later

And you had become terrified of storms ever since.  

You stiffened in Joel’s arms, the overwhelming flood of emotions too much. You couldn’t let yourself be comforted, couldn’t let someone else get close, not after everything you’d lost. The fear of opening up, of allowing yourself to be vulnerable again, was suffocating.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you stepped back, pulling away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

Joel’s arms fell to his sides, the rejection clear in his eyes as he took a step back, giving you the space you needed. The hurt in his expression was evident, but he didn’t push, didn’t try to reach out for you again.

“You just feel pity because you see me as a broken doll” you said.

Joel’s expression tightened, his brow furrowing as your words cut through the air like a knife. He opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, clearly struggling with how to convey what he was feeling. The accusation hung between you, heavy and bitter, and the silence that followed felt suffocating.

“I don’t—” Joel started, his voice low and rough. He took a breath, trying to gather his thoughts, but the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable. “I don’t see you that way.”

“Then why are you here, Joel?” you demanded, your voice rising with the pent-up frustration and pain. “Why are you trying so hard to be… whatever this is? You didn’t care before, but now you do because I’m broken?”

“How were you so sweet to everyone after what happened?” he finally asked, his voice tinged with a mix of confusion and a hint of disbelief. It was as if he couldn’t comprehend how you managed to keep going, how you could still find kindness within you after everything you’d endured.

You looked at him, your expression softened by the lingering sadness, but there was a strength behind your eyes, a resilience that had kept you moving forward. “Because I didn’t lose them because of you all,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the pain that laced your words. “I wasn’t going to become angry at the people who gave me another chance.”

The truth of your statement hung in the air, a stark contrast to the turmoil you felt inside. You had chosen to protect the small bit of humanity you had left, to hold onto the kindness that others had shown you when you needed it most. But that didn’t mean the anger, the grief, or the pain had disappeared—it was still there, buried deep, threatening to consume you if you let it.

Joel looked down, his shoulders sagging slightly as he absorbed what you said. He understood the weight of guilt, the way it could twist inside you, making you question everything. He had carried his own burden of guilt for years, but hearing you speak those words, seeing the strength it took for you to hold onto the good in the face of so much loss, it humbled him.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, the words barely above a whisper. “I wish I could take it all back, change what happened. What I did to you and how I treated you the morning you woke up in my bed” he sighed, “Sorry for not remember what happened between us”

You looked at him, your eyes filled with a quiet, resigned sadness. “It doesn’t change anything, Joel. It’s done. I can’t change the past either.”

Joel’s shoulders slumped, the weight of your words settling heavily on him. The finality in your voice, the distance between you, made him feel even more lost, and he turned away, the ache of regret and loss deepening with each step he took.

Joel walked away, his steps heavy and deliberate. The weight of your words hung over him, a constant reminder of the things he couldn’t change, the pain he had caused. Each step felt like a step further from any hope of repairing what had been broken.

You watched him go, the solitude of the moment pressing in around you. The quiet was suffocating, filled with the echoes of the past and the weight of unspoken words. You turned back toward the grave, the memories of what you had lost mingling with the present pain.

A simple affair, torturing you.

+

Grieving the death and grieving the living were taking a tool on you.

Week four

A week had passed since that tense confrontation. The days had been a blur of activity and emotional exhaustion, the storm within you a constant companion. The quiet conversations with others and the daily routines in Jackson offered little distraction from the lingering sadness, but they kept you moving forward, one step at a time.

Everyone could say than a simply affair would dissipate with the time, that each week would make you unlove Joel, but you couldn’t take a complete distance from your lingering feelings.

And Joel? Joel had kept his distance, following your request for space. His presence was felt in the background, a reminder of the unresolved tension and the feelings that had been left hanging in the air. You had seen him around, in passing, but there was an unspoken agreement that he would not intrude upon your space.

He couldn’t bear to face you.

One morning, as you prepared for another day at the infirmary due to Tommy’s request, you found yourself in the familiar surroundings of the clinic. The routine was a small comfort amidst the chaos of your emotions. The soft hum of medical equipment and the scent of antiseptic filled the air, offering a sense of order and control.

As you were organizing supplies and checking on your patients, a familiar voice broke through the calm. “Hey.”

You looked up from your tasks to see Joel standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of hesitation and resolve. He seemed slightly out of place in the clinical setting, but there was a determined look in his eyes.

“Joel,” you greeted, your voice steady but tinged with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Joel took a step inside, his gaze scanning the room before settling on you.

“I’ve been trying to find the right time to give this to you,” Joel said, his voice a bit rough, as if he was struggling to find the right words.

Curiosity mingled with the apprehension you felt. “What is it?”

Joel took a deep breath, stepping closer but still maintaining a respectful distance. “It’s a little something I thought might help. I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I wanted to offer it to you anyway.”

You hesitated for a moment before reaching out to take the package from him. It was small and wrapped simply, the gesture surprisingly thoughtful given the circumstances. You carefully unwrapped it, revealing a worn leather-bound journal. The cover was embossed with a delicate pattern, and as you opened it, you found pages filled with blank lines, waiting for your thoughts and feelings.

“You can write on it,” Joel said softly. “And I thought maybe, if you wanted to, this could be a place for you to put everything that’s been on your mind. It’s not much, but I thought it might help.”

The gesture was unexpected, and as you looked up at Joel, you could see the genuine care in his eyes. It was a small attempt to bridge the gap between you, to offer something meaningful despite the unresolved pain.

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of gratitude and sadness. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice almost choked with emotion. “It’s… thoughtful.”

Joel nodded, a small, almost relieved smile touching his lips. “I hope it helps, even just a little.”

There was a moment of silence between you, the weight of the past week settling in the air. Joel’s eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of the connection that had once been there, while you felt the tug of conflicting emotions—appreciation for the gesture, but also the lingering pain of his actions.

“How are your migraines doing?” You asked.

Joel looked slightly taken aback by your question, the personal nature of it a stark contrast to the more distant conversation that had been unfolding. He studied your face for a moment, perhaps surprised by your concern.

“They’re getting worse every day,” he admitted, his voice carrying a weight of weariness. “But today, I’m feeling a bit better. It’s been rough, though. The migraines have been relentless.”

You felt a rush of blood to your cheeks, concern and embarrassment at the question. “Tommy mentioned it,” you said quickly, wanting to clarify your source of information. “I just—well, I wanted to know how you’re doing.”

Joel nodded, his eyes softening slightly. “Thanks for asking. It means a lot. It’s been tough, but I’m managing.”

The vulnerability in his admission made you feel a pang of empathy. It was hard to see him struggling, especially when you had your own unresolved feelings and painful memories.

“Well, I’m glad you’re having a better moment today,” you said, your voice steadying as you tried to offer some comfort.

Joel’s expression grew more thoughtful, and he gave a small, appreciative smile. “Yeah, I’m holding onto that. Thanks for checking in.”

The silence between you was charged with unspoken emotions. You both stood there, the weight of your recent conversations lingering in the air. Joel looked like he was about to say something else, but instead, he gave a nod and started to walk away.

“Take care,” you called after him, the words carrying a genuine warmth despite the emotional distance that remained between you.

You had settled onto a barstool, a glass of whiskey in hand. The amber liquid was smooth and comforting, its warmth spreading through you as you took a sip. The effects of the alcohol were starting to take hold, making everything feel just a little more relaxed, a little more bearable.

Joel was at the bar, nursing a drink of his own. He hadn’t been particularly social that night, just sitting in his usual spot, lost in his thoughts. As the evening wore on and you became tipsier, you found yourself drawn to him, the comfort of familiarity outweighing the shyness that normally kept you at a distance.

You slid off your stool and made your way over to Joel, the room spinning slightly as you approached him. “Hey,” you said, your voice a bit louder than intended, carrying the cheerful buzz of someone who’d had a few too many drinks. “Mind if I join you?”

Joel looked up from his glass, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. “Sure, have a seat,” he replied, gesturing to the empty stool next to him.

You plopped down beside him, the warmth of his presence surprisingly comforting. “You know,” you said, leaning in slightly and grinning, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here this early before. You’re usually so… serious.”

Joel chuckled softly, the sound of a low rumble that was both soothing and grounding. “Yeah, I guess I am. Just needed a drink tonight.”

In the afternoon, the usually calm atmosphere of the infirmary was disrupted by the sound of the door swinging open with a sense of urgency. Joel stumbled inside, his face pale and etched with pain. He moved slowly, his usual steady gait faltering under the weight of his unbearable migraines.

You looked up from your work, your heart sinking at the sight of him. He was clearly in distress, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to shut out the world. You quickly set aside what you were doing and hurried over to him.

“What do you want?” you asked, intending to sound too rude.

“I—” Joel started, but the words were interrupted by a sharp grimace of pain. “I can’t take it anymore. The migraines… they’re just too much.”

“From one to ten? How much is the pain?” you asked.

“What’s that bullshit?” He cried out.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your own frustration in check. Despite the roughness of Joel’s response, you could see that he was in genuine distress, and you needed to get a handle on his pain level to help him effectively.

“It’s just a way to measure how bad the pain is,” you explained, your voice firm but compassionate. “On a scale from one to ten, where one is no pain and ten is the worst pain, you’ve ever felt, where are you right now?”

Joel clenched his teeth, his face twisted with agony as he tried to focus. “It’s… it’s an eight,” he finally managed to say through gritted teeth.

He had saved that ten.

 The ten was the amount of pain he had when he lost Sarah.

A ten was the pain his heart felt when he looked at you from the distance.

You nodded, quickly assessing the situation. “Alright, I’m going to get you something stronger for the pain. Try to sit down and breathe slowly. I’ll be right back.”

As you hurried to prepare a stronger medication, you felt the weight of the past few weeks pressing heavily on you. The bitterness in your words and his pain seemed to intertwine, creating a tense atmosphere that was hard to ignore. But your focus remained on getting Joel the relief he needed.

You quickly gathered the necessary medication and made your way back to Joel, who had seated himself on one of the examination tables. As you approached, you noticed his breathing was uneven, and his eyes were squeezed shut as if he was trying to block out the pain and your presence.

"Let me check your head," you said softly, your voice gentle despite the tension that hung between you. "I need to make sure there's nothing else going on."

Joel nodded slightly, his face still contorted in discomfort. As you leaned in to examine his head, your proximity made his breath catch in his lungs. The closeness between you seemed to amplify the charged atmosphere, making the air around you feel heavy.

You carefully placed your hands on his temples, your touch light but firm as you assessed his condition. Joel's breath became shallow and uneven, a sign that he was acutely aware of your closeness. He tensed under your touch, the intensity of his pain mixed with the vulnerability of the moment.

"How's that feel?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady as you moved your fingers over his forehead and the sides of his head.

Joel swallowed hard, his eyes still closed as he tried to focus on your touch rather than the pain. "Feels… a bit better," he managed to say, though his voice was strained. "Just… don’t know if I can handle this much longer."

You gave a reassuring nod, trying to offer comfort despite the lingering tension. "You're doing great. The medication should help soon. Just hang in there a little longer."

You both could feel your breathing mingling together, the agony of the closeness taking everything from you.

Joel closed his eyes for a bit, feeling you scent and your fingertips on his temples. In the haze of his agony, there were fleeting glimpses of a night that felt both distant and achingly familiar. He remembered the warmth of your touch, the softness of your lips against his. The kiss you had shared the night before he got his memory back began to resurface, bringing with it a surge of emotions he had long tried to bury.

The kiss had been tender. Joel could almost feel the echo of that moment now, a soft, lingering taste of intimacy that was both comforting and heartbreaking.

He remembered the way you had looked at him, the way your eyes had softened with unspoken words. The image of your face, so close to his, the way you had smiled before the kiss, replayed in his mind with a clarity that cut through the pain. It was as if your closeness was pulling these memories to the surface, forcing him to confront them once more.

Joel’s breath caught as he recalled the warmth of your lips, the way it had felt to hold you close. It was a vivid contrast to the overwhelming pain he was experiencing now, and it made him realize just how much he had missed and lost. The memory of that kiss, the feeling of being connected to you, made his heart ache with a mix of longing and regret.

He let out a slow, shaky breath, trying to ground himself in the present while the memories swirled around him. As much as the past few weeks had been a struggle, this moment of closeness with you was stirring up feelings he had tried to keep buried. Joel’s eyes opened slightly, looking at you with a vulnerability that he hadn’t shown before.

“Sun…” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

The sound of "Sun" coming from his lips felt almost foreign, yet deeply familiar. It was a term of endearment he had used before his memory loss, one that had held a special place between you two.

“Sun…” he repeated, the word carrying tenderness and longing.

Your heart skipped a beat, the nickname a bittersweet reminder of the bond you had shared. It was a small yet significant piece of the past surfacing, offering a glimmer of connection despite everything that had happened.

You felt a rush of conflicting emotions, the glimmer of hope mingling with a deep-seated fear of revisiting old wounds. The nickname, the touch, the faint echo of past affection—it all stirred up feelings you weren't sure you were ready to confront.

Taking a steadying breath, you stepped back, your hand moving quickly to hand him the medication. “Here,” you said, your voice steady as you handed him the small packet of pills. “This should help with the pain. You should head home and rest.”

Joel looked up at you, a flicker of understanding and disappointment in his eyes. He could sense the shift in your demeanor, the way you were putting distance between you both. “You sure you don’t need any help?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You shook your head, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “No, I’m fine. Just… please, go home. A storm is coming, and you should get back before it hits.”

Joel hesitated for a moment longer, but the look in your eyes told him that you needed space, that pushing further would only cause more pain. With a reluctant nod, he took the medication and turned to leave, his steps heavy with the weight of what was left unsaid.

As he walked out of the infirmary, you watched him go, the storm outside a stark parallel to the storm brewing inside you. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady yourself against the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. The fleeting connection, the memories stirred up—it was all too much to handle right now.

You were a bit tipsy, the effects of the whiskey making your steps a little unsteady. Joel walked beside you, his presence a steady anchor amidst the haze of your inebriation. You were both quiet, the conversation from the bar having dwindled into comfortable silence.

As you approached your house, you turned to him, a small, tipsy smile playing on your lips. The intimacy of the evening and the warmth of his proximity were too comforting to ignore. Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his lips. The action was impulsive, driven by a mix of affection and the blurred boundaries of alcohol.

Joel's reaction was immediate. He responded to the kiss, his arms finding their way around you as he deepened the connection. There was a brief moment where the world seemed to hold its breath, the kiss a sweet and tender promise of something more.

When you finally pulled back, your faces were flushed, and you looked at him with a mixture of uncertainty and contentment. Joel’s eyes were filled with a mix of surprise and warmth, the kiss having ignited something within him that he hadn’t anticipated.

“Good night, Joel,” you murmured, your voice soft and slightly slurred as you turned to go inside.

Joel watched you enter your house, his thoughts swirling in the wake of the kiss. He felt a strange blend of hope and confusion, uncertain about what the kiss meant for both of you. But the feelings were there, undeniable and strong.

The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a soft glow in your bedroom. You woke up with a throbbing headache, the remnants of last night a blurry haze. As you shuffled through your routine, the details of the previous evening remained frustratingly out of reach. The bar, the tipsy laughter, Joel walking you home—these were fragments, but the kiss itself was a complete blank.

When you encountered Joel later that day, you greeted him cheerfully, assuming nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Hey, Joel. How’s it going?”

Joel’s response was curt, his eyes avoiding yours. “Hey. I’m alright.”

You noticed the shift in his demeanor, the coldness in his tone. It was as if he was keeping you at arm's length, his usual warmth replaced with a frigid distance. You tried to brush it off, attributing it to a possible bad mood or personal issue.

Joel had resolved never to bring up the kiss, his feelings of hurt and confusion simmering beneath the surface. He’d come to see the incident as a miscommunication, a misunderstanding that he’d decided to keep buried rather than confront. The bitterness of feeling forgotten and dismissed had solidified into a quiet, unspoken rift between you.

Joel found himself unable to shake the feeling of the day's events. The migraine had ebbed slightly during the patrol, but as soon as he was back in his house, the pain returned, gnawing at him with a persistent, dull ache.

The house was quiet, save for the steady patter of rain against the windows. The storm outside was fierce, the wind howling and the rain pouring down in relentless sheets. Joel’s mood matched the tempest outside—stormy, unsettled.

As he was trying to organize his gear and get ready for bed, his eyes fell upon something on a chair near the door. It was the blouse you had lost that morning when he pushed you away from him, a soft, familiar fabric that he recognized immediately. He picked it up, holding it gently, and his mind replayed that morning events.

Joel held the blouse up to his face, breathing in deeply. The scent was faint but unmistakable—a mix of the outdoors, a hint of your perfume, and something more personal, something that reminded him of you. As the scent reached his senses, it hit him with a wave of emotions he hadn’t fully processed until now. He felt a rush of regret and longing. The migraine that had been a constant presence in his head now seemed to fade slightly as he held the blouse. The emotional weight of his actions, the pain he had caused you, and the gulf that had grown between you all came rushing back

You sat in the dimly lit living room of your small house, wrapped in a blanket, trying to find some semblance of comfort amidst the chaos outside. The storm had intensified, the wind howling and the rain slashing against the windows with a ferocity that made the walls tremble. Every rumble of thunder and flash of lightning felt like a jolt to your already frayed nerves.

You tried to focus on something—anything—to distract yourself from the fear that had settled deep in your chest. The living room was sparsely decorated, the bare walls and simple furnishings reflecting the practical, no-frills life you had tried to build for yourself. But tonight, it all seemed cold and empty, unable to offer you the comfort you so desperately needed.

You glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight, and sleep was elusive. The noise of the storm outside seemed to drown out any thoughts of rest. You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, trying to stave off the chill that had little to do with the temperature and everything to do with the lonely feeling that had enveloped you.

As you huddled on the couch, the flashes of lightning illuminated the room in brief, stark bursts. Each flash cast eerie shadows on the walls, making the storm outside feel even more menacing. You found yourself jumping at every crack of thunder, your heart racing with each one.

Part of you wanted to reach out to someone, but who? The distance between you and Joel felt insurmountable, and you had made it clear that you wanted to be left alone.

The living room was filled with the sound of the storm, punctuated only by your occasional sighs and the rustling of the blanket around you. You tried to focus on breathing deeply, calming yourself in the midst of the chaos. But as the storm raged on, so did the turmoil within you.

It was during a particularly intense flash of lightning that you heard a knock on the door. Your heart leaped into your throat, and you froze. Another knock, louder this time, followed by a faint call. “It’s Joel. Can I come in?”

The voice was muffled by the storm, but it was unmistakable. Your emotions were a whirlwind of confusion and surprise. You hesitated, wondering why he would come here, why he would seek you out now, but the desperation in his voice made you move towards the door.

You opened it cautiously, the cold wind rushing in and mingling with the warmth of the living room. Joel stood there, drenched from the rain, his face lined with worry and a mixture of other emotions that you couldn’t quite place.

“Joel,” you said, barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here?”

He looked at you with an expression that was a mix of regret, concern, and something softer that you couldn’t quite define.

Words weren’t need for moments like these. Two hearts beating as the silence felt like freedom of the remised prisoner love victim of the passage of time, the destiny or perhaps the fate of cursing spells.

It was there for you to see it and it was there for him to see it, but blindness was his curse. Not remembering was his curse. Joel wasn’t incapable of loving someone, but he was terrified of the pieces of the old him coming to the present where losing people was a daily occurrence.

Joel was terrified of loving and losing the last flame of goodness left in this mad world that had tainted people, but you. There was a pure innocence in your eyes, in your actions and in your kindness and he had come to face his old him through you, the old him that had died with his daughter years ago.

Joel’s gaze lingered on you, his eyes reflecting the soft light from the flickering candles. His voice was a murmur, almost lost in the howling of the storm outside. “You’re afraid of storms.”, he said quietly, his voice low and gentle. It wasn’t a question. He was stating a fact, something you had confessed to him when the love affair between you was burning. 

You looked at him, the realization dawning on you like the slow break of dawn. “You remember.” You whispered.

And you could only hear the steady beat of your own heart and the sound of Joel’s breathing.

I tagged everyone interested in part 2 but I couldn't tag everyone because all got mixed () if you don't want to be tagged you can tell me, if you want to be tagged, you can also tell me

💌 tags: @dreamtofus @paperstarzzz @chewie-bars @hotleaf-juice

@riedswifts @dizzyforyou @prideandaesthetic @chateaujoon

@18dmlk @orcasoul @whirlwindrider29 @frogjumps-world @camy-nyancat @sarahhxx03 @jasminedragoon @cuteanimalmama @eleganthottubfun @skysmiller @nana90azevedo @astralqueenoc

@missladym1981

[luffington]

OMG im obsessed with the fic with Cora and Doffy X Reader! i was wondering if i could request just Corazon X Reader? im absolutely crazy about the idea of sweet Cora having those repressed sadistic urges, and his struggle with wanting to be soft and kind, but cant help liking the darker and meaner, its just. UGH SO GOOD

Maybe the reader could have picked up on that a bit and is teasing him into giving in to those urges (which they're totally into lol)

Also i love your fics sm! keep up the great work <3

✧.* art credit!

➤ pairing: donquixote rosinante (corazon) x gn!reader

➤ word count: 1.3k

➤ warnings: dom!corazon, possessive!corazon, dacryphilia, oral (m receiving), praise kink, established relationship, fem reader

RIGHT ITS SUCH A GOOD CONCEPT!!! we barely know anything about cora outside of what law experienced and we'll probably never find out more so.... character interpretation!

my first draft of this had a paragraph where the reader acted bratty to try to coax out his mean side and he almost starting crying.... i took it out because i couldn't do that to him (ㅠ‸ㅠ)

this ended up being pretty similar to the other fic (read here) but i hope you like it!

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Corazon was the sweetest man you’d ever met. Sure, he was a master of deception – hiding his Devil Fruit powers and tricking his brother into trusting him was definitely not an easy feat. His anger issues could use some work, even though the reasons behind his outrage were always justified. But his loving personality and strong sense of morality were very real.

He never doubted your kind heart, either. You had joined the Donquixote Family simply because you had no other options, and dealing with his crazy older brother was better than starving on the streets. Corazon was able to relax around you, be silly and affectionate without being judged by his cold-hearted coworkers, and finally speak after long stretches of staying silent.

But there was more to him.

Doflamingo seemed to be the black sheep based on what little you knew about the biological Donquixotes. A rare case of madness in an otherwise well-intentioned family. However, the brothers still shared the same genes and the same horrific childhood. And even though Corazon never discussed his experiences in the Navy, he certainly witnessed terrible things that still weighed on his mind.

Your boyfriend tried his best to keep any deep-rooted darkness away from you, but it was unhealthy for him to repress every negative emotion. You wanted him to feel comfortable around you. He didn’t need to be an angel all the time.

One time, the eternally clumsy blonde almost fell trying to hover above you in bed. Not wanting to crush you with his ten-foot tall body, he caught himself by grabbing your arm. Hard. You squeaked in surprise and he immediately apologized, but dark blue fingerprint-shaped bruises stained your skin by the end of the night.

Early the next morning, when he thought you were still asleep, he lightly traced the marks over and over. You caught him staring at them throughout the day, too, looking more intrigued than upset. He littered your neck, chest, and thighs with hickies the next time you fucked, and you realized inflicting pain wasn’t what turned him on – he didn’t want to hurt you, he wanted to mark you. Those were his fingerprints on your arm.

So much was taken away from him at a young age that of course he wanted to claim you as his own. Hickies were more conventionally sexy than bruises, so he was less ashamed about admiring them in front of you and telling you how pretty you look. Even gently rubbing a large one on your neck during a Family meeting, which made his brother huff and tell you to get a room. Corazon did get a room after that – pulled you aside into a private bathroom and fucked you against the sink while making you stare at yourself in the mirror. Whispering in a deep voice about how the color of your hickies matched his plum-colored lipstick.

A few weeks later, he came home in the middle of the night after being away on a mission with Diamante and Trebol for nearly a week. Thunder boomed outside the window and his feathery black coat left behind a trail of rainwater as he stumbled into your shared room. His tall frame visibly shook with anger, his dark sunglasses barely covered the fury burning in his eyes. You got out of bed to greet him and asked how the operation went, but he just pulled you into a very wet hug and mumbled, “I don’t want to think about it ever again.” 

You blinked slowly and whispered, “I can help you forget.”

The blonde threw his half-burned cigarette to the floor then smashed his lips against yours. He didn’t bother taking the time to build up to a heated kiss. Immediately biting your lower lip raw before pushing his long tongue inside your mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut, easily submitting and letting him take whatever he wanted from you. The smell of smoke caught both of your attention. Corazon instinctively stomped out the cigarette ashes smoldering on the throw rug without tearing away from the kiss for even a moment. 

“Let me use you.” He looked as desperate as he sounded. “Just for tonight, can you be my little doll? I’ll make it up to you later, I promise, I’ll be so good to you.” Heat shot straight to your core and you nodded fervently, clutching onto his drenched clothes like your life depended on it.

Which is how you ended up with his lengthy cock down your throat, your bare ass in the air and body wedged between his sprawled-out legs. Calloused fingers tangled in your hair to firmly guide you up and down. Graciously giving you time to relax by letting you swirl your tongue around the swollen tip, though he never pulled you entirely off his dick. He looked so pretty like this – damp hair clinging to his forehead, pale cheeks turned pretty pink, subtly squirming on the mattress, pupils fully blown out with lust. 

Corazon suddenly thrust upwards to hear you gag, several inches of his cock forcing their way into your tight throat. Tiny teardrops reflexively lined your eyes as your gag reflex kicked in. You expected the blonde to panic and immediately stop – even though it was just your body’s natural reaction and you were enjoying every second. But instead, he licked his lips like he wanted to devour you. 

There were those Doflamingo genes.

But unlike his selfish brother, Corazon asked if you were comfortable with everything happening for the second time that night. You gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up, obviously unable to verbally confirm with his dick stretching your mouth to its limit. His cock drooled salty precum onto your tongue as thick globs of your drool dripped down to his balls. 

You used both hands to stroke the rest of his length that couldn’t fit in your mouth – the huge man had a huge dick to match. Corazon swatted them away, held your wrists in one giant hand then pushed down hard until every inch of him was deep in your throat, messy blonde pubes tickling your nose. He was glad he set up a sound barrier, otherwise the entire Family would’ve heard the debauched moan that spilled from his lips.

After a few moments of admiring you and the prominent bulge in your throat, your boyfriend released you just before it became too much. “Good girl,” Corazon panted with a dazed smile. “Such a good girl, taking it all like you’re supposed to.”

He gave up trying to hold back after that, bucking his hips against your face and rambling about how pretty and perfect you looked like this. He pressed your head all the way down again just before he hit his peak, shooting a large load of cum directly into your stomach. When he saw your ruined state, a dark pit formed in his stomach. Tears stained your cheeks and spit dripped down your chin as you gasped for air, and he was turned on by it. 

Corazon quickly pulled you close to press soft kisses against your cheek and make sure you were okay. Nothing you said seemed to convince him, so you brought his hand between your thighs. When he swiped a finger through your folds, his eyes widened at how wet you were. He admired the way your sticky juices webbed between his digits, then immediately began toying with your cunt.

“I would’ve stopped you if you didn’t like it,” you grinned, shamelessly rutting against the palm of his hand. “Ruin me with your cock more. I’ll be a good toy for you.”

Corazon gulped, stomach fluttering with sinful excitement. “O-Okay, if… if you’re sure that’s what you want.”

Both of you knew he wanted it more than anything.

[theguyinthemathexamples]

From the Beauty, to the Creation

— to celebrate my beloved Argenti coming home after i first lost to Bronya (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

— C/W : trying a new fic format, extremely self indulgent, possibly ooc 😞, spoilers?, my first sahsr/sahsrau fic‼️

Being the vessel of an Aeon that was thought to have long since passed was no easy feat, as it required other Aeons to set their sights on you first.

Some call Them the Aeon of Creation, others the Aeon of Fate; the IPC have yet to decipher their time of arrival, much less their motives. Though, most theorize that they materialized long before the first atom had started moving, only to stay dormant in a state akin to hibernation after setting the universe up for self replication and ever expansion.

(more utc‼️‼️)

Their presence felt like home, a warm embrace, maybe even a light in the dark, or perhaps a form of escapism. Everyone is sure of one thing: once you accept Their calling, and accept the Astral Express's conductor's invitation, there will never be a way to turn back.

To others' eyes, a faint string can be seen reaching the heavens itself, tracing down a vessel, caressing their whole beings like a forced blanket thrown at their face.

An almost addicting bliss could be felt after these possessions, before that moment of ethereal release comes crashing down. Though, those that are used to always moving around — those with more stamina — don't usually feel this drawback as much as the others.

More often than not, the feeling of being watched and dazed dissipates and a feeling of fatigue sets in — intense tiredness, and even a slight chance to feel dizziness, had been reported from these... events.

But most importantly, a voice could be heard. A voice that many described as one which contained a thousand choirs, perhaps millions.

Among those was Argenti, a man of excellent talents that walked on the Path of Erudition, though claims to walk that of Beauty. One of the most recent vessels, per say.

He first felt this presence after accidentally hitting the Astral Express with his own ship, the "One and Only", he called it, the faint strings caressing the being of three out of the six Trailblazers.

To exude such a warm, calming aura around one at all times is truly a magnificent display of beauty, he thought.

The second time, however, it was quite a sudden moment. A strange letter was penned to him, claiming that it could make his goal of spreading the Beauty, if he used the golden ticket provided inside, a dozen steps closer.

The weirdest aspect was that he kept hearing faint whispers around him. Was this how vessels gained an invitation?

Though, feeling hesitant about this strange letter, he chose to send it instead to the Commander of the Silvermane Guards, Lady Bronya Rand, so that someone else could experience such a wonderful event.

The letter warned him that he must accept this invitation, were he to receive such a letter once more.

Third time's the charm, as they say, as not only did Argenti get another letter not too long after, the voices were much louder this time. They were more persuasive, more hoping and, most importantly, more enticing.

The letter beforehand told him of the earlier warning, and this one did not hesitate to emphasize it in the second paragraph.

And, left with no other choice, he had to accept this invitation. He truly didn't expect getting treated with such warmth and excitement seeping through every vein in his body.

He briefly caught sight of the Aeon in all their glory — was this a sign that his fate towards meeting the Beauty was slowly coming into fruition?

Being blessed by two Aeons, even briefly catching their attention, was a feat unlike any other, but being chosen as an active vessel by one? What a truly great achievement.

Along with the Trailblazer that caught him, four others stood behind them. A master swordsman that went by Yanqing, the owner of Neverwinter Workshop, Lady Serval Landau, the Commander of the Silvermane Guards he'd given the invite to earlier, Lady Bronya Rand, and a child that waved at him who called herself Lynx Landau.

Quite an interesting group of people, but a beautiful bond of friendship swirled among them nonetheless.

Slowly, he could feel himself getting stronger, even more so than before. This mysterious Aeon had gifted him so many things already, yet it doesn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

From the creations of the acolytes of the Aeon of Remembrance, Lightcones, to relics which were created from anomalies caused by the Antimatter Legion, and more — all were given to him to make him more powerful.

It was as if meeting and becoming the puppet of this Aeon could make you undeniably better than your former self, even after you thought you were already at your peak.

The world doesn't revolve around you? The creator of the universe lovingly revolves around me 24/7, thank you very much.

In a place unknown, a black haired Stellaron Hunter sneezes, causing two others beside him to sneak a small glance.

He merely huffs, averting his own gaze away.

... Ignorance is often bliss.

This is my first time writing my beloved so I'm sorry in advance if he's ooc 😞😞

I hope you all liked this cuz i def liked making it hehe

Next on the agenda? My thoughts on sahsr/sahsrau :DDD

[dreaminrainbows]

Happy 28th lovies!

September was such a hectic month, i had three concerts in the span of a week, one of which was Louis', the end of the Festival Louis Era, the start of uni and my fav F1 driver being dropped (i was also deep in my Veronica Mars feels for a chunk of the month). It has been a rollercoaster of emotions to say the least but here are all the fics i read this month that made it a million times better!

Consider leaving comments and kudos, feed your authors the attention they deserve!

My Hands at Risk, I Fold by yourgorgeouscolors | [43.7k|

"Sometimes, when Louis first wakes up, he thinks he’s back in the hospital, and panic hits him." Or, Harry is a famous popstar, Louis is a famous football player and one injury changes everything.

Deemed and Delivered a Crime  by LetTheMusicMoveYou/ @letthemusicmoveyou28 | [35.4k]

Harry keeps his voice low and calm. “I need you to listen very closely because I’m only going to say this once.” When he’s only greeted with silence on the other end, Harry continues. “For every hair that is harmed on Louis Tomlinson’s head, I am going to break one of your bones. And then when you’re reduced to a pathetic little pile on the floor, my men and I are going to kick around your limp carcass in my garden for footie practice. Do you understand?” There’s a few more beats of silence, before the voice on the other line answers. Still sounding calm and unbothered by Harry’s creative threat. “I’m glad you received our message Mr. Styles. Are you ready to settle on a suitable sum for Mr. Tomlinson’s release?” (Or the one where Harry is the most feared mob boss in London. Louis is his ex-husband who left that violent life two years ago to teach Uni. His peace is shattered when he’s kidnapped by Harry’s rivals).

you are half of me (and I am all for you) by angelichl/@angelichl | [24.7k]

One Direction, an obscure indie rock band, is about to embark on their first cross-country tour, living out of Louis' beloved van named Patricia. Harry is in love, and Louis is oblivious. Or is he? Featuring skinny-dipping in Texas waterfalls, getting lost in the desert, stargazing under the New Mexico sky, performing in front of crowds that grow in size each night, and falling in love on the road during the greatest summer of their lives.

Please Tell Me That You've Got Me by ColourfulSuitmoon/@colorfulsuitmoon | [20.6k]

“This was a pleasure, ladies. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Louis says. He then turns to Harry and gives him a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow too, kitten.” Harry is stuck staring at the door where Louis just disappeared through. “Did he say…” Harry starts. “Kitten,” Florence says with a nod. “Harry…” “No, it’s just a fluke. It doesn’t mean anything,” Harry says firmly. Or a world where the nickname your soulmate will call you appears on your chest on your 18th birthday and Harry wakes up with the only name he hates.

Chasing Feelings by Neondiamond/@neondiamond | [20k]

When homicide detective Louis Tomlinson first gets assigned to work with detective Harry Styles, the newest addition to the Doncaster police station, on the biggest case of his career, he’s less than enthused about it. There’s a serial killer on the loose, and Louis has no time to waste working with a newbie, despite how attracted his inner Alpha may be to Harry’s sweet scent. Along the way, he finds he may have been too quick to judge the Omega.

Language Of A Petal by bittersweetsin/@bittersweetsin | [15k]

“Wait, you're reading Divin-“ “-Divined Souls? Yup,” Harry finishes for him. Starving off a grin, Louis says, “Have you actually been stalking me all this time and just lied about not knowing me?” “Guess we’ll never know.” or Louis is a librarian, and Harry comes in all the time to return books he’s finished reading. Every time Louis opens the book to check for any damages, there’s always a flower hidden in between one of the pages, specifically on a paragraph that has a deep meaning.

Heat and Greet  by HoldingOnToChaos/@holdingontochaos | [12.4k]

Harry and Louis are co-workers who are excited to represent the company they work for and do an important presentation at a week-long conference in Yosemite. It's just their luck that Harry slips into heat while there. Panicked at the thought of missing the presentation, Harry asks Louis to help him through it. And how could Louis deny the omega he's been dreaming about since they met?

I Feel It When My Heart Beats by QuickedWeen/@becomeawendybird | [10.6k]

Harry offers to be her best friend Liam's fake date to his work Valentine's Day party, and the night takes an unexpected turn.

One Minute Old by crimsontheory/@ireallysawanangel | [9.2k]

“And he left you,” Niall interjects, the venom clear in his voice. “That asshole left you high and dry and broke your heart.” Of course, Niall remembers that. Louis may have told him everything—minus the sexy parts—and Naill, being the overprotective mother friend that he is, took offence to that. “He didn’t break my heart,” Louis refutes. He was hurt and confused by it but he wasn’t heartbroken. And apparently, he’s still hurt by it if the way it felt seeing Harry yesterday was any indication. “You were pretty smitten with him and then you spent days moping around your apartment after he left. I think that’s called being heartbroken,” Niall points out. “Okay, okay, I was upset. We get it,” Louis says, trying to move past it. This isn’t ‘poke fun at Louis’ emotions hour’. “Anyway, I called to tell you that he showed up at my door yesterday.” “To beg for your forgiveness I hope.” “No, he’s—” Louis stops, unsure how to phrase it. “He’s pregnant. And I’m the father.” Or, a one-night stand of Louis' that he never thought he'd see again shows up at his door six months later.

Ride My Sleigh Tonight  by kingsofeverything/@kingsofeverything | [9k]

In exchange for free food and drinks at Liam’s office holiday party, Harry pretends to be his boyfriend. But this is not that story.

Tight As A Tourniquet by reminiscingintherain/@reminiscingintherain | [7.4k]

“Mum?” “Yes, poppet?” “Could I do your job when I’m a grown-up?” “I don’t see why not, sweetie,” she agreed. “You can do anything you want, as long as you put the work in, and dedicate yourself to it.” Louis Tomlinson has always wanted to be a midwife like his mum, but in a world where it's expected for Omegas to be the caregivers, how is he going to manage his career when he presents as an Alpha?

Now That I've Found You by allwaswell16/@allwaswell16 | [6k]

Harry Styles has a great job working for his brother-in-law’s construction company. He has just one small problem. His concrete sub-contractor just quit, and he needs a foundation built as soon as possible. One fateful turn brings him exactly what he’s been looking for—an experienced concrete construction company that happens to be owned by the most beautiful man he’s ever laid eyes upon. Or Louis is a long haired, sweaty construction worker. Does anyone really need to know more than that? Harry doesn’t think so.

There's No Better Love by QuickedWeen/@becomeawendybird | [5.3k]

Louis has just started seeing this girl, and he can't stop thinking about her. Turns out the power of positive thinking is real.

The Nest by Blue_Green28/@bluegreen28fics | [5k]

Harry is a very particular omega who doesn't like to have items of Louis' in his nest until he secretly starts to steal them for it. or, 5 times one of Louis' personal items is missing and 1 time he finally finds them.

Profound Bond by babyhoneyhslt/@babyhoneyheslt | [4.6k]

Harry Styles, an Angel Of The Lord, is sent on a mission to save hunter Louis Tomlinson from the deepest pits of Hell in order for him to fulfill Heaven's plan.

The World Will Open Its Arms by lululawrence/@lululawrence | [4.5k]

Harry scrubbed at the countertop. It wasn’t even dirty, but it was three in the morning and the girl who was supposed to relieve him over an hour ago never showed. He was now on hour ten of his shift and his feet hurt and his back ached and he was trying not to cry, thanks to more fucking judgmental alpha truckers who could smell it on him. Of course they could. He practically lived at the diner. The entire place reeked of it. Unbonded pregnant omega.

Alone and Back Again by LadyLondonderry/@londonfoginacup | [4.4k]

Harry Styles has very few enemies, and even fewer friends. On the outskirts of the village, past the stream but before the river, sits a small one-room cottage, cool in the summers but draughty in the winters. In that one room cottage sits a cooking pot over a fire, a smaller selection of woodworking tools, and a nest of furs that is the pride and joy of one lonely omega. Or, what does one do when a feral alpha shows up in town ready to be executed?

The Rose & Dagger  by galastyles | [4k]

The first time Harry went to a session at The Rose And Dagger, he told himself it was a one time thing. The second time, he said it was to get the idea out of his system. By the fifth visit, he stopped making excuses.

Up on the Roof with a School Girl Crush by HelloLovers13/@hellolovers13 | [3.9k]

Harry was just trying to get some work done and have a quiet night in. He did not expect to become host to a drunken Louis, who had overestimated his Halloween costume's ability to fly.

He's An Angel  by cc_horan28/@cc-horan28 | [2.7k]

As the sun set over the horizon and they reeled their lines in, Louis saw a glint off the beach. They began to head back to where the horses were tied, and the glint solidified, turning into a vague shape that was… Coming out of the sea? Louis couldn’t believe his eyes as he saw what looked like a man just walk out along the shoreline to where their rides were tethered. The shopkeepers and locals were all whipping to stare at him, but the man seemed completely unbothered.

Just a Little Taste, Babe by allwaswell16/@allwaswell16 | [2.6k]

Harry’s been pining over Louis Tomlinson since their sixth form days. Now, he’s backstage at Louis’ concert and trying not to embarrass himself.

HOT TO GO! by allwaswell16/@allwaswell16 | [2k]

When Harry does something weird at the barricade, he leaves Louis’ show devastated and hoping he can somehow make things right. Or the accidental pervert fic

A Tight Space  by haztobegood/@haztobegood | [2k]

Niall pushes the bedroom door open. A huge mass of brown fur bolts between his legs. Louis startles with a hand to his chest. “What the fuck was that?” “Oh, that’s the cat. I told you Liam found a stray a few days ago. That’s him.” “Are you sure that’s a cat?”

and in those rare moments by we_are_the_same/@so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed | [2k]

London, May 23rd, 2025 Interview with Harry Styles, popstar, bisexual icon and philanthropist, by Louis W. Tomlinson.

for your eyes only (i’ll show you my heart) by moon_rose25/@darkinfinity | [1.9k]

Louis quickly opened his eyes and scanned the room, his eyes stopping on the sofa on the far left side. There was a man, turned with his back towards Louis, and based on his slow rise and fall of his back he guessed he was sleeping. If he had to guess, it was probably an omega, based on the faint scent. Or omega Harry has touch depri and finds comfort in alpha Louis’ scent

How to Fire a Tailor by LadyLondonderry/@londonfoginacup | [1.8k]

Harry Styles is a tailor. His best paying customer is an eccentric duke. Also Niall is there.

Singing Like a Bird 'Bout It Now  by QuickedWeen/@becomeawendybird | [1.8k]

Dr. Louis Tomlinson is worn to the bone, but only has a few patients left before the end of the day. One of those appointments takes quite a few twists and turns.

Cosy Cashmere  by red_panda28/@red-pandaaa | [1.5k]

“Hey,” Harry smiled back, stretching out a hand. “So, I was thinking,” Louis started as he stepped closer to the couch, tangling the finger of his unoccupied hand with Harry’s. “We could go get some new nesting stuff for my upcoming heat? Well, I’m gonna go anyway, but I thought I’d ask if you’d like to come with me.” “Alright, give me like, fifteen minutes to change and then we can go,” Harry said. OR Louis and Harry go shopping for new nesting stuff

Curiosity by HelloLovers13/@hellolovers13 | [934]

Fae Harry lets curiosity get the best of him. Human Louis is intrigued.

Expresso by reallynotmemoi/@reallynotmemoi | [880]

Louis falls in love at first sight with a boy from his Tuesday lectures, and proceeds to make a fool out of himself in front of said boy. But maybe not all is lost…

****

saccharine desire by DaddyAlphaLouisBabyOmegaHarry/@bottomhaztoplou | [682]

During Louis' rut, a new kink is discovered.

Tumblr only allows me to add 30 pics BOOHOO!!

Anyways Happy reading!

Don't be shy leave comments and kudos!

You have no idea how appreciated they are!!

[soelstress]

Take Charge

Happy Friday Lovelies! First of all, I’m absolutely blown away by the responses I’ve had to A Shot Of You & Silent In The Library. Thank you so much for liking and sharing, it means so much to me 🥹

I’m currently working on several pieces (quite a few Bucky themed which I hope will please some of you) and four entries for two writing challenges.

I’ve been writing lil fan fic snippets on and off for about 14 years now but never shared anything. Earlier this year I started watching Law and Order SVU… and the plot bunnies haven’t left me alone since. This is the first piece that was more than a few a paragraphs and my first real smut piece.

Pairing: Elliot Stabler x female!reader

Summary: You help Elliot deal with the stress of his work

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI , nsfw , explicit sex / smut , p in v sex , unprotected sex , some language , oral sex (male receiving) , vaginal fingering

A/N - Do not steal, copy or plagiarise any part of my work. Please let me know if I’ve missed any warnings.

You woke with a start. The room was dark, curtains preventing moonlight or street lights from invading. Taking a deep breath, you tried to discover what ripped you awake. 

“No…” 

You felt Elliot behind you. He moaned again, the sound desperate and pained. You reached over to turn on a lamp, the soft light illuminating the room but not bright enough to rouse Elliot. Shifting, you saw his body was taut and his hands gripped the sheet beneath him.

You slowly reached out to touch his shoulder. The next moment you found yourself pinned to the bed. Elliots eyes were open, blank and unfocused. He had your hands clamped at the wrists, squeezing tightly. You whimpered at the pain but tried to remain calm, knowing that fighting him could make things worse as he was stronger than you and unaware of the pain he was unintentionally causing. 

“Elliot” you murmured softly, watching his face closely. He froze, not moving but not loosening his grip either. “Elliot wake up” you said in a firm clear voice. 

Blue eyes found yours, the haze of sleep slowly lifting. “Honey?” He frowned in confusion. “What happened?” 

“You had a nightmare”. 

Blinking, he shifted to move but stopped when he noticed where his hands were. He knelt back carefully, loosening his grip and examined your wrists which currently showed no marks but you knew bruises would form from his tight hold. He rubbed them gently then looked at you. “I’m so sorry” he said hoarsely. Standing, he began to pace the room. Tension settled over him as he rubbed his face.

“It’s not your fault, El. You were dreaming”. Your heart broke to see him so troubled. “Please, come back to bed”.

Shaking his head, he headed out the door wearing only his boxers. “Give me a few minutes”

You sighed internally. His work in the Special Victims Unit had an effect on him, sometimes leading to restlessness or anger but nightmares rarely occurred. Elliott could only reveal the vaguest details about his cases but seldom did so, saying he didn’t want to scare you and that it was his burden to handle. You cursed his father for the zillionth time out of annoyance. His words and actions had led to a negative impact on Elliot, preaching that only the weak showed emotion and that Elliot was a failure.

You glanced at the clock and realised that Elliot had been gone for 30 minutes, but hadn’t returned. Concerned, you slipped on the button-up shirt Elliot wore earlier and walked down the hall to the room that you used as an office and where Elliot kept his weights. Grunting and soft curses filled the air as you approached. Elliot raised and lowered the barbell, flexing like a well oiled machine as you stood in the doorway watching. Though he was panting and sweating he showed no sign of slowing down. You were about to make him aware of your presence when he raised the barbell onto the rack and sat up breathing heavily. 

“It’s not working” he said. “I have this energy and it’s not going anywhere”. His gaze was on the floor. “I pinned the perp to the wall in the interrogation room. I squeezed, trying to make him feel some of the hurt he’s caused…” He looked up, pain on his face. “And I wake up to find I’m hurting you”. Standing, he slowly walked over and stopped in front of you. He opened his arms in cautious invitation. You stepped forward into his familiar and comfortable embrace.  “I’m still in interrogation mode and I can’t stop”. Restless, he ran his hands up and down your back. “I need to take control” he murmured, his hot breath blowing against your ear.

A shiver of desire ran through you at his words and the feeling of his body against yours. You reached for his hand, gently placing it against your throat.

“So be in control”.

Though the words were whispered he heard them clearly. Elliot pulled back to look at you. He tried to remove his hand but you kept it still. 

“Baby?”

“I think this is what you need right now”. 

His eyes never left yours as he inhaled deeply. “It’ll be rough”.

Longing filled you. “I like rough.” Holding his hand in place, you used your free hand to reach between your bodies. Before you could do much more than brush your fingers against his boxers he grabbed your hand. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I trust you, El”

He flexed his fingers around your throat, pressing just enough to show the strength he possessed. You were at his mercy. Bending forward, he guided you to kneel on the floor. Straightening he pushed his boxers down and stepped out of them. He was rock hard and your mouth grew wet wanting to taste him. 

“Suck me”. Without hesitating, you slowly slipped him in your mouth and began to work him, running your tongue up and down. “Good girl” he growled. You looked up to see his head thrown back. His hands wove into your hair, guiding you as his thrusts sped up. “Suck me harder. I want to fuck your mouth”

Moaning at his words, you placed your hands on his thighs and increased your efforts. “Yes” he hissed. Whimpering, you took him all the way into your mouth and felt him hit the back of your throat. Your eyes locked with his as you let out a loud moan. “Fuck babe, I’m gonna cum”. Growling, he gripped your hair firmly and worked through his orgasm using your mouth. You swallowed and licked him clean before kissing his tip. 

Elliot pulled you to your feet and captured your mouth in a ferocious kiss. Dazed, you didn’t notice he was moving until your back pressed to a wall, his hand cushioning the back of your head. 

Nipping at your lower lip, he soothed the sting with his tongue. Trailing down, he licked and nipped his way from your lips to your jaw and up to your ear. He tugged the lobe and you moaned. 

“You like that, baby?” The hand supporting your head wrapped in your hair and he pulled. He nipped at your exposed neck and at the same time you felt a feather light touch - his fingers gliding over your sex. He slipped a finger between the folds, avoiding your clit. “Fuck baby, you’re soaking for me” Grinning wolfishly he suddenly plunged two fingers inside, making you cry out at the unexpected and furious sensation.

“Please” you begged him.

“You’re so wet, can’t wait to have my cock inside you”. His thumb slowly massaged your clit, contrasting to the speed and roughness of his fingers.

“Elliot” you moaned, your fingers rose to the base of his neck and scratched his scalp. His ministrations sped up, a familiar heat rising in your belly. 

“I know sweetheart. I feel your hot wet pussy squeezing my fingers… come for me honey”

Moaning his name you exploded and pulled him closer. He gave you a moment to recover and leant back. A small part of you thought “Cocky bastard” at the look on his face but there was no denying the man had skills. You wanted more of him. 

Elliot removed his fingers, soaked in your arousal. He started to raise them to his lips but you captured his hand. Eyebrow cocked, his eyes locked with yours as you licked and sucked them clean. Moaning, you nipped each finger tip and kissed them. His eyes darkened with lust. Breathing heavily, he reached for the shirt you wore and ripped it open sending buttons flying. Impatiently, he pulled it off and bent you over the desk. You gasped at the cold on your overheated body. He nudged your legs wider apart, one hand keeping you flat on the desk while the other guided his cock to your entrance. He slammed into you. “Fuck” he groaned as you cried out. He stilled for a moment. “Baby?”

“You’re so deep. Fuck me El” you moaned.

He spanked you.

“You telling me what to do?” 

“No”. His palm connected with your other cheek, the sting paling in comparison to your desire. “Please fuck me. I wanna feel your cock pounding into me”

He pistoned his hips, his cock moving deep within your body. You took him, aroused by his movements and his growled words. “You’re so hot and wet, I can feel you soaking my cock… I’m gonna make you feel so good… squeeze my dick, make me come…”. Moaning loudly, your insides began to quiver. The hand pressed to your back moved around to your throat. Gently squeezing he guided you upright with your back flush to his chest, head on his shoulder.  “Come on honey, I want to feel you come on my cock”

You gasped as his fingers circled your clit. “Fill me up baby, I want to feel you cum inside me”. His fingers flicked your nub. “Elliot!” You writhed as the orgasm rolled through your body.

Elliot slammed into you twice more, stilling with a shout. “Oh shit - baby!” Spent, you started to fall forward  but he held you tighter, one arm propped on the desk for support. He slowly pulled out and you whimpered at the loss of contact. Elliot turned you around, his cerulean eyes searching your face. The agitation had left him, nothing but love and gratitude softening his expression. He planted a chaste kiss on your lips. Leading you to the bathroom, he tenderly cleaned both of you. Softly, he applied bruise cream to your wrists and kissed them. In the bedroom, he put on another pair of boxers and offered you one of his t-shirts.

“I like when you wear my shirts” he said with a small smile. He climbed into bed.

Snorting, you slipped the t-shirt on and crawled in beside him. “I can tell by the way you ripped it off me”. He grinned and pulled you down to lay on his chest. “Shame though, I liked that shirt on you”.

“I’m sure the buttons can be sewn back on. Or I’ll just buy a new one”. You heard the amusement in his voice. there was a pause before he inhaled deeply. “Baby?” Curious, you tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “Thank you”. He kissed you deeply and you reciprocated, pouring all your love and affection for him into it. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. You laid down, hearing the steady thump of his heart. Feeling his arms wrap securely around your torso, you silently swore to always be his safe place, as he was yours.

[veronicaphoenix]

the first time | samurai!noah

Pairing: samurai!noah x his princess | Words: 6.2k | Reading time: 20mins aprox. | Series masterpost 🤍

Summary: noah and princess' first intimate night.

Can be read as a one shot ✨ but it’s part of the samurai!noah fic (this takes place before the main storyline and before "let me worship you").

Tags & trigger warnings: forbidden love, clandestine rendezvous, fluff, loss of virginity (both f. and m.), reader is 18 and noah is a few years older, sexual content including fingering and f/m intercourse (p in v, unprotected) NEVER DO IT UNPROTECTED ON YOUR FIRST TIME!!! Condoms did exist in feudal Japan and they were called kawagata/kabutogata, but considering they were made of leather, animal intestines, or tortoise shells, I preferred to go for unprotected sex in this one 😶‍🌫️. There are also allusions to Noah and her having had sexual encounters before, meaning that she was a minor when they happened, but it was always consensual.

Author's note: This is based on an idea (aka brainrot 🤭) from @somebodyels3, so say thank you to her and send some flowers because she deserves to be showered in them. (I love you, Kells 🌸 all the flowers and hugs and smooches in the world for you 🌺🌹🌼🌷💐 thank you for always keeping me motivated and loving my stories sm 🥹).

I've also shared the first few paragraphs from the epilogue (part one) at the end, where Noah and his princess are about ten years older than in this one shot :)

THE FIRST TIME 🤍

I was less than five minutes into my eighteenth birthday when a sharp knock on the balcony doors of my room startled me, prompting me to turn my head quickly toward the sound. 

My heart skipped a beat, but I instinctively turned my gaze toward the doors leading to the hallway, half-expecting my father’s soldiers, who often patrolled outside, to come and investigate the noise. If they had heard it, they might barge in any second. 

Two minutes passed, and when no one appeared, I threw back the sheets, slipping out of bed. My fingers brushed the curtains aside, just enough to see the balcony overlooking the village. The moonlight cast long shadows across the stone floor, but no one was there. However, a small rock lay conspicuously in the center, tied with a thin piece of string.  

Cofusion might have overwhelmed me—had this been the first time I’d received such a delivery. But it wasn’t. I knew exactly what I was looking at. I stepped outside into the cool night air and knelt to pick up the stone. Attached to it was a note, yelllowed and slightly crinkled. My heart fluttered. Before I even unfolded the paper, I knew whose handwriting awaited me on the other side. 

Standing outside in the moonlit stillness, I carefully opened the note, biting my lip. The sight of the familiar script nearly brought tears of elation to my eyes. Noah’s handwriting was beautiful—elegant strokes that had, over the years, become more than just letters on a page. His hours of studying calligraphy, forced upon him by my father’s insistence on training even his soldiers in the art of refinement, had not been in vain. I couldn’t help but wonder if, one day, the hands of a samurai might possess more grace than those of a princess. There was something poetic about the idea, about the balance of strength and delicacy in Noah’s fingers. For the past two years, he’d sent me notes like this, and each one meant more to me than the last.

I kept each of his letters hidden beneath my futon. He would send two every year, timed precisely with the solstices, as if marking the turning of seasons mirrored the unspoken passage of time between us.

I still remember the day I stumbled upon him in the woods when I was thirteen, disobeying my parents’ strict orders to stay within the castle grounds. Noah was a few years older than me, already tall for his age, with the quiet strength of someone training to be a samurai. I found him sitting under an ancient oak tree, hunched over a piece of parchment, deep in thought.

When I greeted him, he startled—springing up with the reflexes of a warrior-in-training. In his rush, the paper slipped from his fingers and floated down at my feet. I remember the curiosity that had sparked within me, the rebellious streak that had always simmered just below the surface. Without thinking, I picked it up and read it, never realizing in that moment how that small act would change everything between us.

The letter had been meant for me, but he’d never planned on delivering it. 

Sweet how it turned out. 

I could have fallen for his charms just from how delicate and thoughtful his prose was, but truth be told, I already had eyes for him from long before. The letter only deepened the feelings I’d been trying to suppress for the forbidden soldier boy.

For years, my mind had been a battlefield of thoughts, fantasies, and a thousand impossible scenarios. As a kid, and then as a teenager, I had wondered what it would be like to hold his hand, to let him hold me, kiss me. What it would be like to lay next to him in the grass and let him play with my hair until I fell asleep. I wondered what it would be like if we ever ran away, if we ever battled for a life together. 

I had wondered so many things. I had had so many dreams… Still had them. 

Tonight one of them was about to come true. Noah was going to end this endless waiting, this dread of wanting something I thought I could never have.

The message this time was short and simple: 

Meet me in half an hour at the old heiya by the river.

My fingers trembled as I clutched the note as if it were some rare treasure—like the words themselves were a gift, even though the real present, the one I had been waiting for, was the promise of what Noah had planned.

Quickly, I slipped back into my room and closed the door behind me, pulling the curtains shut to ensure no one could see in. My heart pounded against my ribs as I hurried to the lacquered chest at the foot of my bed. I opened it, my eyes falling on the delicate kimono I had carefully chosen for tonight—a deep red silk embroidered with golden cranes and blossoms. I thought it was a good representation of my youth but also a hint at the woman I was becoming.  

I dressed quickly, sliding the obi around my waist and tying it in place. The silk was cool against my skin, but it did little to soothe the heat rising within me. I reached for the kanzashi combs adorned with tiny jade flowers and secured my hair in a loose yet elegant style. I kept it simple, knowing he loved when I left it flowing freely, but tonight, I wanted to look a little more grown-up—more like the woman I was. I didn’t want Noah to doubt that I was ready. 

I carefully slid open the door to my balcony and stepped out into the night again. This time I paid notice to the air, fresh and fragrant, carrying the scent of summer blooms mixed with the earthy aroma of the forest that bordered the castle grounds. I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and began my descent down the side of the castle.

It wasn’t the first time I had done this. The vines that clung to the stone walls had become familiar, their sturdy stems and leaves providing enough cover for me to climb down without being seen. Still, I moved cautiously, aware that one wrong move could send me tumbling to the ground considering the kimono I was wearing. It wasn’t heavy, but the length of the folds could give me trouble if I wasn’t careful. 

My heart raced as I neared the bottom, my feet finally touching the soft earth of the garden below.

I hesitated for a moment, listening for any sounds that might indicate a guard on patrol, but there was nothing. The castle was asleep, unaware of my departure. With a final glance back at the towering structure, I turned and slipped into the shadows of the forest.

The path to the heiya was one I knew well; well enough to know it was alive. The rustle of leaves, the chirp of crickets, the occasional hoot of an owl… Each sound kept me on alert, but it wasn’t fear that quickened my pace. It was anticipation, a heady mix of nerves and excitement that spurred me forward.

As I walked, the soft rustle of my kimono joined the night sounds, my sandals barely making a sound on the forest floor. The trees gradually thinned, and I caught my first glimpse of the old heiya by the river. It stood there, half-hidden by the foliage and under the moonlight, a relic of a time long past.

The heiya was a simple structure, built of wood and thatch, its walls weathered by time and the elements. It had once been a place of worship, a shrine to the spirits of the forest, but now it was abandoned, replaced by a bigger and more fortified one closer to my father’s estate, and left to the mercy of nature.

There was something different to it that night. A soft glow emanated from within, as if there were candles burning up inside its walls. I could see the flickering through the windows. My breath caught in my throat as I approached. The door was slightly ajar, and I pushed it open slowly, stepping inside.

The interior was warm, the air thick with the scent of wax and wood. There were a few candles all placed in safe spots, their flames dancing in the darkness, casting long shadows on the walls. In the center of the room, there was a simple futon covered with soft white bedsheets and pillows, its mattress suspiciously new, as if it had been placed there with purpose. The rest of the room was filled with the remnants of the past—cracked wooden beams, broken pottery, and dried flowers that had once adorned the place.

I stood there for a moment, taking it all in, my heart pounding in my chest. 

“Noah?” I called softly. 

The silence that followed made me doubt for a moment that he was even there. 

Before I could turn, his breath brushed against my ear. 

“Happy eighteenth birthday, princess.” 

His voice was low, roughened by the years and the nights we’d spent in secret, and it sent a thrill through me that I couldn’t suppress. I turned quickly, elation bubbling up inside me, nearly giggling as I spun around and threw my arms around his neck. He caught me easily, pulling me close, his arms wrapping around my waist.

The scent of him—fresh pine, the tang of steel, and something uniquely his—invaded my senses. I buried my face in his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the layers of fabric. He was strong and solid, a pillar of strength that kept on growing and that I had come to rely on more than I should have. 

I didn’t care. 

I was safe here, in his arms, far away from the duties and expectations that awaited me back at the castle.

The joy of seeing Noah quickly faded into a familiar fear. I could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, feel it in the slight tremor of his fingers as he held me. No matter how hard we tried to forget it—if only for a few moments—the fear of getting caught was always present. Tonight was no different.  

“It’s okay,” I whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his brown eyes. My hands rested on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palms. “It’s just us. Nothing can ruin tonight.” 

“I know,” he said, but the hesitation in his eyes betrayed him. He didn’t believe his words. But he would try his darmnest hard to believe mine. That’s how it had always been. He would do anything to turn my hopes and dream into reality, as if my faith alone was enough to make the world bend to us.

I pressed a kiss to his jaw, savoring the warmth of his skin, then pulled away slightly, my hands still flat on his chest as I looked around.

“How did you…? When did you prepare all this?”

Noah stayed quiet, his responses measured, guarded. It wasn’t just that he was worried we would get caught. Even now, in this stolen moment, he clung to his samurai discipline—always the soldier, trained in control and restraint. He’d been a soldier officially for a few years, but he’d been mine for far longer.  

“I wish I could’ve done more,” he murmured, not quite meeting my eyes, as though ashamed. 

That’s when I understood. 

It wasn’t just the fear of being discovered, or the burden of his samurai duty. 

It was also the fact that tonight would be a first for him, too. 

I could sense his nervousness, for it mirrored mine, and I found it unbearable sweet. My heart ached at the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide. 

I smiled, tilting my head to catch his eye.

“This is already enough, Noah. I wasn’t expecting anything more than...” My cheeks flushed, and I lowered my gaze to my fingers resting on his chest. “I just wanted to be with you.” 

After a moment, his fingers found my chin. He lifted my face until our eyes met. His gaze was intense, as if he was searching for something. 

“I want to make this night memorable. For you. For me. Just tell me if you’re ready. Otherwise, I will wait. I will wait as long as you need me to.”

My heart swelled with an overwhelming love for him—this man who would give me everything without asking for a single thing in return. He had always been this way, even as a kid—selfless in the quietest of ways. 

Standing on my tiptoes, I kissed him softly, letting my lips brush against his with a tenderness that carried the weight of all the years we had spent longing in silence. 

When I pulled back, I guided his hands to the knot of my belt, my eyes never leaving his, steady with certainty, with the answer he had been waiting for. 

“You already know I am.” 

What followed were slow, hesitant movements; unsure ones.

We had touched each other before—months ago, I had practically begged Noah to explore me with his fingers, guiding his hesitant hand beneath the folds of my kimono. But tonight was different. This wasn’t a moment of curiosity of rebellion. It was more. 

Noah’s hands shook slightly as he fumbled with my obi, his fingers clumsy in their nervousness. I had to stifle a giggle, the tension breaking for just a moment as we both realized how unpracticed we were at this. But there was something endearing about it, something pure and tender about the way we navigated this new territory together.

Slowly, the layers of my kimono slid off, the silk whispering against my skin as it fell to the floor. Noah took his time. His gaze intense, heated,  filled with a mixture of awe and desire as he revealed more of me to him. When I stood naked before him, I felt my cheeks flush with both shyness and anticipation. I was not a girl but a woman now, and I wanted to be his. 

Noah was too shy at the time to let his gaze linger down at my breasts or at the spot between my legs. Instead, his breath hitched audibly, and rather than look, he bent down and kissed me with a softness that made my heart ache.

It was his turn now. I reached out to help him, my hands steadier than I expected as I untied the knots of his hakama. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, revealing the lean, fit body that had been hardened by years of training and that now belonged to a man rather than a kid. I was certainly more unashamed than he was. My fingers grazed the ridges of his chest as my breath hitched at the sight of him. A couple of tattoos adorned his chest and his ribs—the last one he got, a design of sakura flowers that looked so undeniable pretty on his fair skin. The tips of my fingers patted tentatively the area around his navel, right above where a trail of dark hair descended until it joined his pubic hair. I already knew the size of his length and how hard he could get, but now I could see it. 

I swallowed. 

Noah’s fingers grazed my cheek, calling for my attention. I saw the worry in his eyes, and I shook my head, dismissing him.

His breathing grew heavier as he pushed me back gently, laying me down on the thin mattress. He hesitated for a moment, just staring at me. He wasn’t much more experienced than I was. As I would later learn, his “knowledge” came only from overheard conversations between soldiers—their crude jokes and dirty confessions about what it felt like, the things a man could do to a woman, what women were supposed to do. Noah just wanted to make sure that whatever we tried tonight provided pleasure not just for him, but for me, as well. 

Under his soft, brown gaze, I felt like something out of a dream—my long hair spread around me, my pale skin glowing softly in the flickering candlelight. A sudden wave of shyness rushed through me, and for a moment, I couldn’t meet his eyes. I stared at the ceiling instead, my heart pounding in my chest. 

Then I felt his hand, tentative and slow, exploring my breasts. It wasn’t the first time he’d touched them, but it was his first time doing so while having me totally bare under him. His touch was curious. He squeezed gently, as if trying to memorize their shape, their softness. His fingers traced over me with a reverence that made me feel worshipped. 

He leaned down, his weight carefully balanced on his arms as he positioned himself between my legs. He was strong, yet his touch was still so gentle, making me feel safe beneath him. He kissed my face—my forehead, my cheeks, my lips—before I felt the soft brush of his erection against me. He rubbed himself against me a few times, making sure I was aroused enough and eliciting the first of my moans. 

But as Noah began to press into me, a sharp, increasing sting made me tense. The pain was unexpected, and I couldn’t stop the discomfort from showing on my face. He noticed immediately, his movements halting as his eyes filled with concern. 

“It’s okay,” I whispered, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice. “Keep going.”

But Noah shook his head, his jaw set. “No. There has to be a way to do this without hurting you.”

He moved slowly, carefully, trying to find the right angle. I could see the concentration on his face, the way his brow furrowed in thought, the layer of sweat that was beginning to coat his forehead. Every movement, every pause was for me. He was trying so hard, and it only made me love him even more.

After what felt like an eternity, something shifted. His length eased inside, every inch sliding in until it felt like my body had molded to his. My body relaxed, and the pain began to subside, limiting to a sweet stretching. My eyes fluttered open, meeting his, my face glowing with relief. He was fully inside me now, buried deep, and it was okay. I was okay. He was…

“Noah?”

He let out a shaky breath. 

“I didn’t—I didn’t know it would feel like this,” he confessed.

“Me neither,” I whispered back, my hands gliding over his shoulders in a soothing rhythm. “You can lean on me. I’m okay.” 

I saw the reluctance on his face, in the way he looked down at where our bodies joined, as if we were some delicate puzzle he was afraid to break. But as he shifted again, slowly, tenderly, I smiled up at him.

“Let me—Just let me make sure…” he continued.

“I’m fine,” I repeated. “We’re doing this together. It’s all right.”

But he was so careful, barely letting his weight press against me, his arms supporting him as he moved. 

Each thrust was slow, his focus never wavering from me, watching for any sign of discomfort, reading every expression on my face. As we continued, I could hear the soft groans slipping from his lips, feel his sharp, unsteady breaths as he fought to maintain control. I had never heard him like this before—so unguarded, so raw. The muscles in his back tensed under my hands, and I noticed the thick vein on his neck pulsing with effort. 

His eyes squeezed shut, and he bit down hard on his lower lip, trying to restrain himself. But I didn’t want him to hold back. I wanted him to let go of the walls he had been taught to keep so carefully built around himslef. This was our moment, and I wanted to share all of him. 

Then, before I realized it, Noah let out a deep, throaty groan, the sound so intensely erotic it sent a wave of pleasure through me. Instinctively, my body tightened around him. His breath came in ragged gasps as his composure began to crumble. I could feel him struggling, trying so hard to prolong the moment, to give me as much pleasure as he was feeling, but his body had other ideas. He let out a low curse, his fists clenching the sheets as his control finally slipped.

With one final groan, he pulled out just in time, his release spilling onto the sheets beside me. For a moment, the air was filled with heavy breaths and the faint scent of sweat and something else—something new. Then I saw the look in his eyes—flushed cheeks, his face clouded with embarrassment, guilt pooling in his expression.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice thick with shame. “I didn’t mean to—,” he swallowed and cursed under his breath, struggling to meet my eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

I frowned, then a soft giggle escaped my lips as I grabbed him by the nape of his neck and pulled him down to me to kiss me. 

“It’s okay. It was… beautiful.”

He pulled back, clearly uncomfortable, looking at me with disbelief and a hint of anger aimed at himself. 

“How can you say that? I didn’t make you come.”

There it was again, the hard, determined expression of the Samurai, etched into his face. He was so serious, so focused on what he thought was his failure, as if pleasure could only be measured in a single way.

I shook my head, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “We were together,” I said softly, my voice filled with warmth. “That’s what matters to me. It was perfect just as it was.”

No matter what I said, nothing could have soften the disappointment Noah felt in himself. I could see it in the way he shook his head, the way his eyes locked onto mine, almost scolding me for trying to ease his guilt. I should have recognized it then—that fierce, unyielding determination in him. Raised as a soldier, surrounded by discipline, commands, and roughness, Noah needed control in everything he did, even here, in the most intimate of moments. I didn’t realize it at the time, but this would be the last time he allowed himself to lose that control.

Before I could speak again, Noah silenced me with his lips closing over one of my taut nipples, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin. A gasp caught in my throat, but before I could release it, I felt his fingers sliding down my belly, tracing the line of my body until they reached the wet warmth between my legs. Without hesitation, he sank them inside me, and my body responded instantly, arching off the bed.

My hands instinctively gripped the bedsheets as his fingers moved inside me, matching the slow, deliberate rhythm of his tongue teasing my breast. Every movement was calculated and precise, as if he was determined to make up for what he saw as his earlier mistake. His free hand reached for my wrist, his fingers sliding between mine. He intertwined our hands, bringing them up beside my head, pinning me in place as he continued his ministrations.

 And he held me, his grip firm, until I bit down on my lip as hard as I could when my body tensed and trembled with release. 

A while later, Noah’s tension seemed to finally have melted. I was wrapped in his arms as we lay together on the futon. The candles around us had burned low, their flames flickering in the dark, casting a golden glow over our entwined bodies. His embrace was warm and secure, and for the first time that night, I felt him truly relax.  

His index finger traced the tender spot on my lip where I had bitten down too hard. 

“Don’t do that again,” he said. “I can’t stand the sight of you bruised.” 

“It was for a good reason,” I teased, tapping his clavicle with my fingers. 

But Noah wasn’t convinced. 

“I was too rough, wasn’t I?”

I sighed, knowing he wouldn’t let it go. 

“If I say no, you won’t believe me, so… yes, you were rough. But what if I like rough?” 

He held his breath, studying my face, clearly struggling wether to accept his own beliefs or my words. After a moment, he exhaled, letting out a huff of frustration 

“I should have—”

I pressed my finger to his lips, his hand falling to the curve of my left shoulder, where he adored the skin there with his fingertips. 

“You should stop thinking I’m made of glass.” 

“That’s not—” He paused, taking a deep breath, as if searching for the right words. “Look, I’m a man. I’ve been trained for battle. My hands are rough. I’m used to being…”

I cut him off before he could finish. 

“Whether you’re a soldier or not, you’ve always taken care of me, Noah. Just like you did moments ago.” I pressed myself closer to him, my lips brushing against his jaw, where a faint stubble had grown. “I felt safe and cherised. And I enjoyed every second of it.” I smiled up at him. “I want to do it again.”

He let out a deep sigh, his arm sliding around my waist to pull me even closer. He kissed my forehead, a promise in the gesture. 

“We will,” he said softly. “I promise.” 

“So… can we do it?” I asked, glancing up at him, hopeful.

He frowned, looking down at me in confusion. “Now?”

I nodded, grinning. “Now.”

He hesitated, concern flickering in his eyes. 

“I don’t think we should. You might be sore, and I wouldn’t want to make it worse for tomorrow.”

“I’m okay, Noah,” I reassured him, almost whining, but he shook his head.

“No.”

I pouted, pressing him with a soft, pleading tone. “Please?”

He was firm. “No.”

“It’s my birthday,” I repeated, my voice taking on a firmer edge as I moved just a little away from him, letting the sheet slip from my chest. His eyes dropped immediately, taking in the sight of me, and I saw the faint blush creep up his cheeks as he quickly glanced back up, embarrassed but undeniably affected. Beneath the sheets, I could feel the tension in his body, see the evidence of his desire stirring right between his legs. “You said you would get me anything I wanted,” I reminded him. “I want you. Again.”

Noah’s voice dropped into a warning tone, slow and deliberate as he said my name. 

“…You’re pushing it.”

But I knew him too well. Noah had a temper, sharp like the blade of a Samurai, and his resolve was formidable. But no matter how stern his exterior, I was his weak spot, and deep down, I knew he would give in to anything I asked for, especially tonight.

“Pretty please?” I added, my voice soft and coaxing as I reached for the bedsheet covering his body. I began pulling it away with slow, deliberate tugs, my eyes wide and innocent, a contrast to my intentions. He fought to keep the sheet in place, trying in vain to hide his obvious erection, though it was impossible to miss the way his body responded beneath the thin fabric.

I bit my lip, amused. If this was how he wanted to play it, I was okay with it.

With a burst of determination, I pushed at his chest, catching him off guard and sending him tumbling back onto the mattress. He looked up at me, his eyes wide with surprise, but there was no mistaking the desire that flashed through them. I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, the sheet completely forgotten.

“Now,” I whispered, leaning down so our faces were inches apart, my breath mingling with his. “Let me have what I want.”

“You’re provoking me,” he said, his voice adopting that familiar Samurai tone—commanding, serious. But the flush in his cheeks was a nice contrast to it. 

“I’m not. It’s just my birthday. I can do whatever I want.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, his fingers dug into the skin on my hips, his breathing growing heavier as I ran my thumb over the tip of his hardness. I could see how much effort it took him to stay composed, but he wasn’t fooling me. 

“You’re going to…” he started, but his voice faltered when I gave him a slow, deliberate stroke.

“I’m going to what?” I teased, tilting my head playfully. I could tell by the way his muscles tensed beneath me that he was fighting to keep his composure.

I loved the surge of confidence that came over me. Noah made me feel that way—secure in the knowledge that I could be fully myself without ever worrying that his feelings for me might change.

They wouldn’t. I had learnt by now that he would love me completely no matter what, with all my flaws and virtues.  

His gaze hardened, and his grip on my side tightened, enough to send a flicker of pain through me—just the way he intended. “You know what,” he replied, his tone sharper, more serious. “Keep behaving like that, and you’re going to make me go all Samurai on you.”

I raised an eyebrow at his challenge, daring him to follow through.

“Do. Not,” he warned, squeezing my side.

But instead of obeying, I shifted my hips and lowered myself onto him, gasping at the sensation of him filling me completely.

Noah’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

“I need to be gentle with you,” he said, his voice strained as he watched himself disappear inside me. His words were laced with concern, but I wasn’t interested in gentle. I wanted him—all of him. 

“Life isn’t gentle,” I said as I adjusted to the now familiar fit of myself around him. 

Suddenly, Noah sat up, his arm snaking around my waist as his other hand gripped the nape of my neck, pulling me close until our noses brushed. His sudden movement took me by surprise, my pulse quickening as his gaze locked onto mine. His expression was intense, unreadable, and it made me feel exposed and vulnerable.

“I’ll be gentle with you,” he murmured, his voice low but unwavering, every word carrying the weight of a promise. “At least until our bodies learn each other, until you’re used to me and I’m used to you.” His eyes searched mine, and I could feel the power behind his words, the way they lingered between us. “I promise,” he continued, his forehead pressing against mine. “One day, I’ll give you a gentle life. I’ll never hurt you. That’s why you need to trust me. Let me do this my way. Let me take care of you.”

His words wrapped around me, pulling me into the depth of his devotion. There was something about the way he spoke, the quiet conviction in his voice, that made it impossible not to melt in his arms. Despite my teasing and my attempts to provoke him, this—his way of caring, of promising me a future where I would always be safe in his arms—was what I had always wanted.

I clung to him, my fingers digging into the firm muscle of his shoulders as our bodies pressed together—skin against skin—his hardness filling me, my thighs tight around his hips. The closeness made it hard to breathe, the intensity of it all overwhelming. 

“I am letting you,” I whispered, my voice trembling, not just from the heat between us, but from the certainty I felt in every word. “You can take care of me.”

His eyes searched mine, still cautious. He moved some hair from my shoulder to my back, as if he needed to focus on something, anything that wasn’t how good it felt to have me wrapped around him. 

“Then you have to let me set the pace. This is new for me too… and I won’t risk losing control, doing something I’ll regret.”

I tilted my head. I understood his worry, but it was needless. 

“What could you do that would be so bad when it’s just you and me, like this?” I whispered, shifting my hips ever so slightly against him—not to tease, but to remind him how perfect this felt, how right. His breath caught, and his eyelids fluttered shut as he bit down on his lower lip, the sight making my pulse quicken.

Reaching up, I ran my fingers through his hair, tucking a strand behind his ear as I watched the tension in his face. His chest rose and fell in a deep, uneven sigh, before he let his head drop to my chest. The weight of his vulnerability, pressed against me, was both intimate and tender.

“I don’t know,” he finally murmured, his voice filled with a vulnerability he rarely showed. “You’re just... so precious. I’ve heard things from other soldiers... things I don’t ever want to hear again… things I definitely don’t want you to go through. I want to make sure you’re enjoying it, from beginning to end.” His grip on me tightened, as if to anchor himself in that moment, to prove to himself that this was different. 

“Noah…” Brushing my fingertips along the strong line of his jaw, feeling the tension there, I leaned in to kiss the tip of his sharp nose. “You’re the most disciplined soldier I’ve ever known. I’ve heard my father say it, too. I have no doubt that you’ll never hurt me. You might be a samurai, but your nature is gentle. No matter how fierce you are with a sword or how vulnerable we I am here, your true self always shows when you’re with me.”

His eyes flickered with doubt, still wrestling with his own worries.

“Why do you have so much faith in me?”

“Because I’ve seen your heart,” I said, laying my hand over his chest where I could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm. “I know who you are beyond the armor, beyond the weapons. You’ve always been kind, patient, and careful with me. You made us wait until I turned eighteen because you wanted to do things the right way. You don’t need to prove anything to me, because I already trust you completely. It’s not about what you do; it’s about who you are. And when I’m with you,” I said, leaning in so he could hear every word clearly, “I am not afraid.”

For a moment, the silence stretched between us, thick with emotion, and I could see the weight of my words settling into him. His hand moved to cover mine, pressing it against his chest as if to show me that he felt it too.

Soon, I found a rhythm that made him moan beneath me. I watched him, watched the way his eyes glazed over with pleasure, how his hands gripped my hips with a force that made me hope for bruises, something physical to carry with me as a reminder of tonight until our next rendezvous. 

Above him, my hair spilling over my shoulder and again cascading past my breasts, I could see how the sigh of me—of us— seemed to overwhelm him. His eyes widened, his breath uneven, but even then, beneath the haze of desire, there was resolve. Noah was determined to pace himself, to be in control not just of his pleasure, but of ours. It was his silent promise, one I could see written in the lines of his expression and feel in the steadiness of his touch. This wasn’t just an impulsive surrender to passion; this was us learning each other—learning what felt right, what drew us closer with every passing second.  

That night became the start of an intimate journey we would embark on side by side. In the coming months and through the next years, we would learn the map our bodies were, we would learn to satisfy every desire and sate all the hunger in our bones and souls. We would come to understand what we needed from each other. What we wanted to give and receive. We would learn this wasn’t just about passion but about trust, vulnerability, and the delicate balance between control and surrender. 

But even in the closeness of that moment, the reality of who we were remained present, like the distant rumble of a storm. I was the Shogun’s daughter, a princess entangled in a web of duty and expectation. He was a samurai, bound by loyalty and honor, sworn to serve a cause much larger than either of us. Our love wasn’t just a secret—it was dangerous. 

For a few minutes, while we moaned into each other’s skin and my nails dug into Noah’s shoulders, it didn’t matter. Nothing did, except the way we fit together, both in body and in soul.

In his arms, I wasn’t just a princess bound by tradition, and he wasn’t merely a warrior sworn to obedience. We were two souls defying everything that tried to keep us apart, daring to carve out our own path in a world that had already decided our fates.

The implications of our love loomed over us, but with every touch, every kiss, and every whispered word, we reaffirmed what we couldn’t yet say aloud: that this was only the beginning.

EPILOGUE PART ONE – SNIPPET

(Takes place about 2-3 years after the events from the main storyline)

I knew I was ready when I saw Noah coming down the steps to the training grounds, carrying a little girl in his arms. She couldn’t have been more than three or four years old. While it wasn’t unusual for parents at the sanctuary to introduce their children to defense and archery at a young age, this little girl seemed far too small. I didn’t recognize her, but she looked completely at ease in Noah’s arms as he made funny faces at her.

A light breeze blew through that spring day, and the sun graced us with a gentle warmth. The girl had her hair pulled up in a high ponytail, but Noah, whose hair had grown to his shoulders since his last haircut the previous summer, hadn’t bothered to tie his own back. When a gust of wind rustled the trees, it caught his hair too. His strands swept across the little girl’s face, and she scrunched up her nose, leaning back in his arms and closing her eyes, her hands flying up to shield her face.

“Sorry,” Noah said, stiffling a laugh.

“It tickles!” she giggled.

“I lost my hair tie,” Noah explained.

Moving her hands away from her face, she sweetly offered, “I can lend you one.” 

“That would be very kind of you,” he said, tapping her nose playfully.

Her response was a bright smile, followed by her resting her head on his shoulder, settling in comfortably.

Noah noticed me, then. 

“Oh, hello, love.”

I was still in my training suit and gloves, having just finished an archery session. I had stayed a few minutes longer to chat with Rika before heading home.

“Hi,” I replied automatically, my mind elsewhere.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern as he quickly scanned me to make sure I wasn’t hurt.

Did he not realize he was holding a little girl in his arms?

The girl glanced at me shyly, clearly unsure who I was.

Noah called my name, snapping me back to reality.

“Hm?”

“Is something wrong? Your cheeks are flushed.”

“Oh,” I stammered, “yeah, must be from training. I’m fine.” I smiled, but Noah didn’t seem convinced, studying me with a raised eyebrow—until a soft voice interrupted.

“She’s pretty.”

Noah and I both looked down at the little girl in his arms, who was now comfortably settled against him, with one of his arms holding her easily—though that was no surprise, given how small she was and that he stood at 6'3".

“She is,” Noah agreed, smiling down at her and then at me. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

[justleaveacommentfest]

i know the comment fest is over but i have some questions about leaving comments in general: how do you determine if you should post a comment you've drafted? like say you're concerned it's overbearing and maybe TOO personal? like focuses too much on the self e.g. 'the story made me feel x' or 'i feel x' instead of pointing out parts of the story you liked?

do authors generally enjoy recieving comments that focus that?

for example, like "I love this fic so so much! I think about it a lot and I love rereading it. It makes me feel very [emotional]" and then i explain how it makes me feel for a paragraph or two

like, is that too much? at what point do you dial it in? could you also say something like "this fic changed my life" or "this story/part of story helped me thorugh a rough time" is that also too intense? would an author care? is it better to err on the safe side and just try to focus on the positive quality of the story (eg this writing is amazing, loved dialogue, loved descriptions, etc) instead of your interaction with it?

i know its good to thank an author for their effort in writing/sharing the story, but should you also thank them for replying to ur comment if they did? would they mind if you made a second comment if you reread a story or should you reply to their reply first? if you are supposed to reply to their reply, what do you reply with (ah so many replies)?

or am i overthinking everything and it doesn't matter? i want to be a better commenter but i know certain types of comments are not appreciated and i don't have anyone to ask these things to. even if an author doesn't say they don't want personal comments, is it better to just assume they don't?

should i even be asking you (srry if no), or is there somewhere to find out? can you ask authors what comments they are okay receiving before you comment (like asking through their tumblrs/in the ao3 comment sections) or is that like, invasive or rude? i want to have good manners here but even after commenting for a long time i still don't know how to do all this

BRO YOU ARE SO OVERTHINKIG THIS! YOU'RE LETTING YOURSELF GET IN THE WAY OF LEAVING COMMENTS! AUTHORS LOVE HEARING THAT THEIR FIC CHANGED YOUR LIFE! JUST LEAVE THE COMMENT! STOP PUTTING UP ALL THESE BARRIERS!! THE AUTHORS ARE STARVING FOR COMMENTS!

BE BRAVE AND JUST LEAVE A COMMENT!

[vampire-exgirlfriend]

You guys, what the fuck is up with the increase in stealing and plagiarising in this fandom lately? When did that become a thing that was okay to do?

The first time I was flat out plagiarized was almost four years ago in a different fandom. A well known author in that fandom took the first paragraph of a short one shot, one of the first things I’d ever posted and that I was incredibly proud of, switched a few words, and then used it as the summary for their slightly longer fic. They then went on to steal the premise of my ficlet and just…make it longer. This was brought up in a discord server a friend of mine was in that I wasn’t and the general consensus was “who would believe you? You’re nobody.” So I kept my mouth shut and I deleted my fic because seeing it made me feel like shit. Something similar then happened to a friend of mine with the titles of her fics being stolen, flat out and word for word, for the same characters. And again it was “no one will believe you.”

We shut up. We stuck it out. And then when it kept happening, to us and to others, we left that fandom.

I was so, so excited when HotD aired. I was back in my ASOIAF phase that had never actually ended. It was a new opportunity to make friends with common interests and my writing improved so much because of how passionate about the canon material I was. I have made some of the most incredible friends, like life-long, stay up all night talking, come to my house or let’s hang out when you’re in my state/country kind of friends. It’s pretty amazing. But this fandom is a whole different beast than any other I’ve been involved with. I have no idea if it’s the general age of the fandom, or the lack of prior fandom experience, or what us old people call the “tiktokifcation of fandom.” But it’s different. And while that’s usually a good thing, there are so many times when this has been awful. There is a huge lack of accountability here. People are stealing things. And the weirdest part is, they don’t care! It is plagiarism to have someone else's story opened while you write yours so that you can tone match the other writer. It is plagiarism to take people’s well thought out ideas and then use them beat for beat. I get it, it’s fic, nothing is wholly original, we are going to see idea recycling! That’s just fandom. But to model your entire story off of someone else’s is heinous. And it’s wrong. And this literally just happened to a very good friend of mine. When she mentioned she was uncomfortable with it and had blocked the person who did this, someone she considered a level headed mutual (who has recently admitted to plagiarising someone else themselves, mind you) told her that she was just drama baiting and didn’t have the right to be upset. The same thing happened to me with a now deleted creator who told me that she dragged me in her discord server and that her friends (all big name creators would essentially “black list me” for saying anything).

It’s not dramatic to not be okay with your work being stolen! This is a normal fucking reaction. In trad publishing or academia, this shit gets you banned, expelled, etc. It can ruin your life.

I received a slew of anons recently asking for help with graphic making and editing. And I was so excited about them. That shit is fun for me. We chatted for a while, with them on anon, and that was that. Until I got an anon letting me know that the person I was talking with was someone who had stolen ideas and storylines from me and other creators. So I looked, I asked friends to look, and the consensus was “yeah, this is fucking plagiarism, and it’s weird.” All of the edit stuff she’d asked about was used on an edit that was a direct rip off of my own. But I elected to not make a thing of it, to ignore it, to wash my hands of it because of the weird fucking trend of calling out theivery being labeled as drama baiting. And I didn’t want that, not after I had genuinely made the mistake of thinking that someone had stolen an idea from me when they hadn’t (calm down, we’re really close friends now). This person deleted their old blog and so I thought it was over. And then yesterday I got a dm from this new blog I didn’t even know existed accusing me of sending them harassing anons.

A blog, who had stolen from me and at least four other people, who had reached out to me on anon for help and ideas, that at this point I didn’t even know existed anymore, said they knew I was sending hateful anons accusing them of theft. I wasn’t, of course, because I had no idea they even existed, and it made no sense that I would even know they’d created another blog. I only found out about their new blog when they dm’d me from it. But they had obviously done this to enough people that they were now getting called out on it.

You guys, we have to fucking stop acting like this. This fandom needs to stop stealing from each other and eating our own. And if someone brings up that they’ve had an idea stolen, we need to take them seriously instead of insinuating they’re only attempting to cause drama. Stop sending people unhinged anons because you feel like you’re guilty of lifting from another creator and just work on creating something original. Writing is hard. Giffing and making edits is fucking hard. And no, nothing will ever be 100% original, that’s just impossible at this point, but stop fucking taking things that aren’t yours and claming them as your own. Do better. Grow up.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

I read your post about not letting kudos and hits upset us. I try to think this way but I'm curious about something else. I've written many fanfics for my fandom and they're all "flop". I don't mind that honestly. But then some writers have written only one fic about the ship I do and and it gets hundreds of kudos. How do some writers achieve that when I'm doing the same and it doesn't get the same response. What else can I do?

I’m afraid I can’t give you a definite answer about what you should do or why this person’s work is more popular, but what I can give you are some advice and, from my experience, some reasons that might explain why other’s works receive more hits and kudos.

start with why other writers’ works are more popular when it’s the same characters, same ship, same fandom. there are various factors at play that might be it;

maybe the person already has large audience base prior to their posting about the fandom you’re in, I know a few authors who already have these sorts of loyal readers that would read any work the authors posted even if they (the readers) were not in that fandom.

maybe someone, anyone, decided share the link to this person’s work on Tumblr or Twitter (X) or any social media platform, and it kind of became viral, thus it drew in lots and lots of readers. it could take just one person, didn’t necessarily have to be the author themself, to share the link among the fandom as a recommendation, or maybe a screenshot of one sentence from the fic that they liked, what happened next is that the replies were filled with people asking for the link.

tags and summary are important factors when people are looking for a fic to read. so maybe this person’s work is tagged with the content people were looking for? maybe their summary grabbed people’s attention or curiosity?

these are just what I can think of over the top of my head.

as for what you can do to gain more readers, I’ve never seen your work so the advice I can give will be a general one; I believe the trick lies in summary, tags as well as the format of one’s work.

when it comes to AO3 (I assume it’s your platform?), tags and summary are the main things people use to determine whether or not they want to click on the fic.

tag your content properly, what characters or pairings it’s about, as well as what the readers will find upon reading your work (you don’t have to spoil it, only the general tags that will give your readers an idea of what they’re in for).

summaries are just as important. there are no “rules” obviously, and I’m not telling you or any writers what to do. though a little advice that I personally take is that you use this little summary section AO3 gives you to do anything to make sure it stands out and that people will see it and want to click on it. that means leave “author’s note” out of the summary section. folks, AO3 summary is the first glimpse into the fic itself that people will see prior to clicking on it, most of the time, people look at the summary to see the author’s writing style and if what’s written, plotwise, grabs their interest. personally, when I see an author use “summary” as a place to write “author’s note”, chances are, I will scroll past that fic as I am interested in what the fic is about, not what the author has to say about their opinion on said fic or their personal life or anything (there’s an author’s note section for that) and if I can’t get a glimpse of what the plot is about or what the author’s writing style is from the summary section, then I won’t click on it, and will look for other fic that can get me interested instead.

moving on to fic format, again, I am not telling anyone what to do here. this is only a suggestion, an advice I’ve learned and want to share: when you write your fic, make sure to use line and paragraph spacing. if your 10k word long fic is one long block of text with no paragraph break, chances are, people will back away from it entirely. also, if it’s two different characters talking with dialogues, don’t put all of their dialogues in one paragraph. for instance, a paragraph for character A’s dialogue, then another separate paragraph for character B’s dialogue and so on.

and I think that’s it for my advice? however, I’ll say this again that the secret to truly enjoying your role as a fanfic writer is that you only focus on yourself. write whatever you want for yourself. it doesn’t matter if this person’s work is more popular, because fanfics and fandoms aren’t a competition. you are your main audience. just have fun creating the stories you want to create for you.

[helenvader]

Get to know your fic writer!

I have emerged from my writing hiatus, but I'm horribly stuck, so this game might be refreshing. :) I am not the author, I stumbled across it and told myself why not.

Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

Do you plan each chapter ahead or write as you go?

Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic

Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

Do you like constructive criticism?

Do you have your work beta'd? How important is this to your process?

How do you choose which POV to write from?

Do you prefer the beginning, middle, or end of a story?

Do you comment on stories you read?

Cltr+f "blinks" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence/paragraph that comes up

Link your three favorite fics right now

how does receiving or not receiving feedback/support impact you?

what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

How do you write smut scenes? Do you get very visual or detailed? How important is it to be realistic?

How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with titles?

What is the most-used tag on your ao3?

Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Would you ever collaborate with another writer for a story?

Are there certain types of writing you won’t do? (style, pov, genre, tropes, etc)

Best writing advice for other writers?

Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you?

What fic do you wish you got more of a response on?

Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

On average, how much writing do you get done in a day?

What’s your revision or editing process like?

Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished?

Do you start with the characters or the plot when writing?

Name three of your favorite fanfic writers.

Do you want to be published some day?

Five years from now, where do you see yourself as a writer?

What is one essential thing to remember when writing a villain? 

How do you write kissing scenes?

How do you choose where to end a chapter?

Would you ever write commissions?

Share a snippet from a WIP

If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person?

What’s the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?

Do you take a sadistic joy in whumping your characters, or are you more the "If you hurt them I would kill everyone and then myself" kind of person?

What mistakes do you keep making no matter how many times your beta corrects you?

Do you want to break your readers‘ heart or make them laugh?

How would you describe your style? (Character/emotion/action-driven, etc)

How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

What do you look for in a beta?

Do you ever get rude reviews and how do you deal with them?

How long is your longest fic?

What’s your total AO3 word count?

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

How do you spend your time when it comes to fanfiction? Are you primarily a fic reader, writer, or a perfect 50/50 split of both?

What’s your favorite part about the fanfiction writing process?

Of the characters you write for, which is your favorite? Has that choice been swayed at all by your followers/readers’ reactions to certain ones?

What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

Do you prefer editing as you write, or waiting until it’s finished? 

What part of the writing process do you enjoy the most? (Brainstorming, outlining, writing, editing, etc) 

Does anyone in your personal life know you write fic? if not, would you tell anyone?

Have you had a writer you admire comment on your fic? What was that like?

Why do you continue writing fics?

Thoughts on cliffhangers?

Something you hate to see in smut.

Something you love to see in smut.

Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

How do you deal with writing pressure (ie. pressure to update, negative comments, deadlines, etc.)?

Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas?

What, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

What work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

When asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

When it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

What order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

What scene in [Fanfic Name] took the longest to write? What was difficult about it? 

Did you have any ideas that didn’t make the final cut of [Fanfic Name]? 

Do you have a favorite scene you’ve written from [Fanfic Name] story/chapter? 

[1d-flower-fest]

1D Flower Fest 2024 Masterpost

Below you can find all the amazing creations that our creators made. Thank you so much to those who participated!

🌸 Language Of A Petal by @bittersweetsin | bittersweetsin Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Zayn Malik | Explicit | 15.1k | fic post

"Wait, you're reading Divin-" "-Divined Souls? Yup," Harry finished for him. Starving off a grin, Louis says, "Have you actually been stalking me all this time and just lied about not knowing me?" "Guess we'll never know." or Louis is a librarian, and Harry comes in all the time to return books he's finished reading. Every time Louis opens the book to check for any damages, there's always a flower hidden in between one of the pages, specifically on a paragraph that has a deep meaning.

🌸 I was on my way to Buy some Flowers for You by @srldesigns6277 | srldesigns6277 Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson | Teen and Up Audiences | 17.6k | fic post

After eight years of friendship, Harry and Louis are content with their lives together. Co-existing as best friends and roommates while teaching at their local high school. One weekend, Harry is taken away from his routine with Louis to help out his sister and niece. Neither knew that this would seem to be the straw that breaks the camel's back, and Harry ends up in the hospital unresponsive. Louis and Gemma have to figure out what's wrong with Harry and how to help before his condition worsens. However, Louis might be a lot more integral to Harry's recovery than any of them could have known. - Better known as a Accidental Courting and Mating fic between Alpha Harry and Alpha Louis

Fan Art by @louieshalo

🌸 someday we gonna fall in love by @gricha91 | gricha Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan/Zayn Malik | Mature | 24.8k | fic post

Niall drags Harry to a music concert; he gets bonus points and Harry gets a new crush, who soon becomes the most important person and star of his dreams. Or a uni au where Harry falls in love with Louis, a music student, and he falls in love back. Story based on prompt 4: Louis' first time receiving flowers

Listen to music by @wendersfive | Fond of flowers by @wendersfive

🌸 Can't Imagine You Without The Same Smile In Your Eyes by @galacticlarry | galactic_larry Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson | Teen and Up Audiences | 4.1k | fic post

It's been over a week since Harry's first semester at university began, and he has had zero new exciting friendships or noteworthy experiences, just a bizarre dream that keeps waking him up in the middle of the night. What happens when the boy with the pretty blue eyes from his psychology class catches his eye and starts occupying his mind?

🌸 Drowning on a dry land by @lunaticcat009 | lunaticcat009 Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson | Explicit | 13.1k | fic post

"The flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst..." Harry and Louis hit the rock bottom in their relationship. Turns out, there's no rock bottom if you have a shovel; you can always dig deeper and crawl further into the endless space until there's a crater in your heart where all the love was treasured. -OR- Louis visits a flower shop in his last-ditch attempt to hold on to at least something they had.

Comic by @liminalkitty369

[therealvinelle]

(A question for both you and muffin)

What speed do you guys write?

I feel like you guys must write at such an incredible rate based on the work you produce in such a short amount of time. Any tips if you have any to increase output would be appreciated!

You were lost in the drafts! I'm so sorry.

To answer your question: it depends a bit on the fic, but typically we write as fast as we're typing, then get distracted, then write, then distracted. Sometimes we take turns being distracted.

It used to be we'd outline the entire chapter in great detail, but as we've gotten this down to a routine it's bullet points.

It's very relaxing and meditative.

As for how we're able to write that fast, I think it's threefold:

We're both picturing how a given scene should unfold, and then writing down what happens. I don't come up with a character's dialogue, I'm just writing what he said and describing how he says it or what he's thinking. Slowness or hesitation mostly occurs when we don't know what happens next or disagree.

No second guessing ourselves over one word or sentence for more than two minutes, no obsessing over getting that perfect sentence down. It was hard at first to get used to, but watching @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin get ahead and write the good bits while I was contemplating how to phrase the last sentence of a random paragraph taught me to just make a decision.

Validation - whenever I'm unsure about something, or catch Muffin writing some thing I don't love or she catches me, we can discuss right away. While it does happen that we write something, then afterwards one or both say "Hang on. That was really bad!" for the most part writing jointly means there's two people have looked at the text and found it satisfying.

My best advice is to just write, get used to just writing without worrying too much about it, and get yourself an honest person whose opinion you trust (there is a LOT of atrocious advice out there!).

(I also have an anecdote for this: there is an author I follow on a social media, who has written a fairly popular story. They also, like most of us, have reoccurring weaknesses as a writer. They mentioned having gone to a writing group or class (I don't remember which), and receiving feedback on these specific weaknesses. Rather than accept this feedback (which they had sought out by joining the group to begin with!) they came to their followers for validation, making fun of the advice and talking about how stupid the advice-giver was.

The lesson to be learned: constructive criticism can really suck because even though you sought it out, and the criticism you get is constructive and useful, you didn't want to hear it. Therefore, decide before you go if you actually want to risk being told something you didn't want to hear, and choose the criticism-giver carefully because they could be wrong.

The reason I bring this up in a post about writing speed is that you write very slowly when you're unsure of yourself, and insecurity forms a terrifying wall between yourself and that "publish" button. At least, my speed has improved vastly since @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin became my beta and later cowriter.)

You also want to be careful with planning the story. Planning isn't writing and it often isn't really planning either, it all too often slides right into coming up with headcanons and aesthetics for a complex daydream. If that's what you want to do, go forth, and god knows there's an audience for moodboards and headcanon posts, but if you're serious about wanting to get the story down in writing then you've got to ask yourself whether your plans for the story are in fact plans or not.

I will also advice, insofar it is possible, to not pour too much of yourself into your writing. If it's your darling who owns your whole heart, you're fiercely proud of it, then having somebody say "Hey, this could be a lot better" is all the more discouraging. Abandoning it if it loses traction or you're not sure where to go with it is also devastating. You should love what you do, by all means, but don't tie your self-worth as a writer in the individual things you produce. Even the greats have flops alongside their masterpieces, or just less good works. Focus on having fun and enjoying what you do, drop a project without guilt if you lose passion for it, put it on pause if you want to pursue a different project, and be clear on what feedback you want from beta readers. Fanfiction writing is a hobby, and unlike most hobbies it's completely free. Treat it as such.

Best of luck!

[walkawaytall]

I am very stressed about a thing that I can’t discuss right now that I have literally no control over, so here’s some

fanfic writer asks

that I came up with all on my own. Ask ‘em, share ‘em, do whatever.

Have you pulled inspiration from media sources other than the property your fic is related to (a plot point from a TV show that has nothing to do with the characters/setting of the fic, a line from a book, etc.)? If so, for which story? Why did you find that media source compelling?

What is your favorite paragraph from (insert story title you want to know about here, or leave it blank for writer’s choice)? Is there a reason it’s your favorite?

What is the most amount of research you’ve done for the smallest detail? What was the detail and how much time/effort went into researching it?

Share a headcanon about (character name) in (story title)!

Is there a tiny detail in one of your fics that you feel goes tragically unnoticed?

What is your favorite type of feedback to receive (favorites/kudos, comments, DMs, complete and utter silence in the pursuit of remaining unperceived?)? If comments or DMs or anything else involving a reader writing, do you have a particular type of feedback that excites you more than other types?

Share a line or paragraph you’ve written that you don’t think will ever actually be posted in anything! (Or, if you don’t hoard cut sentences and passages like I do, share anything you want that has yet to see the light of day!)

Is there a story idea you have that you would love if it could appear fully realized but that you do not think you’ll ever write yourself?

Do you prefer to read angst or fluff? Which do you prefer to write?

If you could banish a single trope to live at the bottom of the ocean, never to be seen again by any human eyes (or at least your own), which trope would that be?

Conversely, if you had to pick a single trope to read for the next seven-and-half years, which trope would that be?

What are your thoughts on slow burn romances?

Are you secretly Tara Gilesbie aka XXXbloodyrists666XXX aka author of infamous Harry Potter fanfiction serial My Immortal? (you can trust me; I won’t tell anyone, pinky promise)

Has anyone ever created anything (art, a podfic, another fic, etc.) inspired by your work? Which work? How did you feel about that?

Is there any genre, trope, or style that you find particularly challenging to write? Do you enjoy the challenge or prefer to avoid it?

Is there a commonly held misconception about one of your stories that you’d like to correct for the masses?

What does your editing process look like?

Share a headcanon relating to (insert desired theme here)!

What was the very first fanwork you ever created? (I’m talking like maybe you made a little book out of construction paper and staples with your favorite Disney characters drawn in it when you were five years old or you drew a comic about a movie you saw when you were a preteen. That sort of thing.)

Is there anything about any one of your fics that you have been dying to discuss but haven’t had the chance to?

[hoonven]

POV ⸺ YANG JUNGWON

genres! fluff, song fic, established relationship

word count! 489

playlist! pov by ariana grande

mimi’s note! the first paragraph is inspired by a post i read on here a while back but i don’t remember the user

Yang Jungwon isn’t the kind of person to love halfheartedly, he’ll give you everything he has: his heart, his body, his mind, his soul. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do, wouldn’t lose, wouldn’t trade or give for you and it’s this unspoken rule, this ubiquitous notion that his love for you was wholehearted and unconditional.

With Jungwon you were receiving the kind of love you dreamt of as a little girl, gifting you small trinkets that reminded him of you, always making time for you despite his busy schedule, taking on the task of doing a chore he knows you hate, handwritten love letters, giving you genuine compliments—not out of obligation but because he truly admires you, holding you in his arms as he rubs your back in hopes to melt away your stress, slow dancing in ungodly hours of the night, coming home with your favorite drink and snacks if he was out too long as a show of appreciation for being so patient and understanding with him, invariably putting you first no matter the consequences he would face afterwards because your safety and comfort is his main priority.

He was the kind of lover to unknowingly fulfill those romantic scenarios in your head you never thought would come true, his every word and every action never failing to envelop you in his deepest affections.

Loving came easy with him, never needing arguments or stimuli to keep the passion alive. A “We’ll figure this out together” kind of love, an “Are you okay? Wanna talk about it?” love, an “Let me take care of that for you” love.

He knew you better than you knew yourself at times, the way his gentle yet perceptive eyes always see right through you as though you’re made of glass, never being able to keep anything from him, he was your peace, the way his presence alone could offer you a sense of tranquility, he was your confidant, the way your lips could only admit the thoughts you didn’t want to acknowledge to his unjudgemental ears.

You weren’t quite used to all this yet, having rotten luck in past relationships had wholly convinced you love like this was simply not written in the stars for you, or worse, maybe you were not deserving of this love, but somewhere along the way Jungwon must have realigned those luminous points in the night sky because you were learning differently now, because of Jungwon you’ve learned to love yourself, be grateful for yourself, to trust yourself, be gentle and kind towards yourself like he is. You were learning to see yourself from his point of view.

Relationships can be scary and being with the right person didn’t mean it would be any less frightening but rather it would make you braver to face the daunting parts because you know you have each other, so even though you were scared you were gonna love him anyway.

© 2023 hoonven, all rights reserved. i do not give permission to alter, repost, translate, or plagiarize my works on any platform.

[stopthatnel]

tears of honey

a quick lil ting about my babyboy connie ᴥ this man lives in my head rent free and agghhhh i want him so bad please (not proofread don’t come for me pls)

edit: i’ve been having so much trouble trying to fully upload my fics bcus somehow someway my paragraphs keep getting deleted ಠ_ಠ anyways take two lmk if things seem off lol

cw: dacryphilia, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), choking, degradation, pet names, mating press, & straight up nastiness. wc: 1.01k

where’s the rest of your work?

18+ content below the cut, MDNI!

you were barely moaning at this point, simply a whimpering, whiny mess. connie laid on his stomach, head between your legs, and his tongue dipping in and out of you. he’d been down there for what felt like hours, and you’ve been fucking for what felt like days. you’re not so sure what happened to connie, coming home and slamming the door shut. you weren’t complaining when he grabbed your ankles and dragged you to the side of the bed, dropping to his knees and pressing his face against your cloth clad cunt.

“c-connie!” you’d yelp, instinctively reaching to push his head away from you. “what’s going on?” it was barely a question, more of an exclamation. he paid you no mind, kissing on your mound and thighs breathing in deeply. your face grew red in embarrassment, propping yourself onto your elbows to watch the man bury himself between your thighs. adjusting, you reach a hand out to run your fingers through his hair. a lopsided smile found it’s way onto your face.

“you missed me baby?” you ask, earning a grunt from your lover. his teeth nipped at the edges of your underwear, he loved the way you wore nothing but that and his shirt. you smelled like him, a beautiful mixture of your vanilla and his musk seeping off your skin. “let me eat you out, sweetheart.” that too, wasn’t a question.

fast forward to now, your thighs twitched around his head every time he flicked his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves. the sounds coming from between your legs were obscene, the slurping, the sucking, the spitting. you could barely form the words to ask for a quick second, but even after three orgasms you weren’t so sure you were ready to say so. the few times he came up from between your legs was to shove his cock into you, teasing you with soft and slow strokes, gently cradling your jaw in his palm and gazing into your eyes.

after the second orgasm, you found it hard to keep your eyes open. your head would roll back into the pillows, eyes scrunched tightly. connie didn’t like this, no, no. he asked you nicely the first time, “look at me baby, let me see what this dick do to you.” and you tried, but not enough. the second time he wasn’t asking, ramming his cock into you and wrapping his slender fingers around your neck to pull your face up from the sunken pillows.

“you’re fucked dumb already?” he sneered at you with a grin. “c-con, ‘s too much!” you’d whine, furrowing your brows. his pace was relentless, he was digging into you, harsh upwards strokes that he knew he had at the right angle.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!” you whine, feeling him pull out. the sensation of the cold was short lived, and his lips were wrapped around your bud again.

“c- connie!”

your hips involuntarily bucked into his mouth as he hollowed his cheeks around your clit, rolling your eyes into the back of your head. it didn’t matter how much you twitched, connie simply followed your pussy wherever it went until you ended up with your head hanging off the edge of the mattress.

“whatchu’ running from baby?” he’d mumble against your lips, hearing not a single cohesive response. “just a dumb fucking slut, who just loves to act like the smartest person in the room.” he knows he’s talking to himself at this point, but the way you clenched around his fingers let him know you were listening. he curls his fingers up into you, another cry escaping your lips.

you could feel the tears brimming at your eyes, overwhelmed with sensations of pleasure. there was not a single thought inside your pretty little brain. sweat was beading up on your forehead, skin flushed and hot to touch. you had to remind yourself to breathe constantly, choking on your own staggered breath and saliva. you thought you were spent, but the knot in your stomach told you otherwise.

“you can give daddy one more, right baby?” your brain could barely wrap around uttering words, finding strength to lift your head up to catch a glimpse of connie looking up at your tear streaked face. that look was enough for connie to understand, lowering his face to suckle on your lips one last time before thrusting himself back into you. he’s hooking his arms underneath your knees and pushing them back, your petite body giving him more than enough room to lock his fingers behind your neck, holding you up.

his thrusts were slow this time around, digging into the deepest parts of you, cock kissing your cervix with each snap of his hips. your tears wouldn’t stop flowing down your cheeks, was it crazy for connie to find it hot? to have you fucked dumb on his dick, crying because it feels so good?

a grin splits his lips as he feels your hips twitch and roll underneath his hold, unable to tear his eyes off the tears gliding down your blissed out face. “this pussy is mine, right?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“i- oh! it’s yours daddy, it’s all yours!”

“yeah baby, i know, i know.” he soothes, peppering kisses onto the side of your mouth. “you take this dick so fucking good, say you fucking love it.”

“i,” you choke, forcing yourself to open your eyes. “i love it so much! i love you! shit-” your vision was blurred from tears that filled your eyes, blinking them away. you found that knot in your stomach exploding, and for a second your vision blacked out. blinking away the darkness, you fell limp into your boyfriends arms, leaving him to hold you up.

connie leaned in to kiss you softly, on your lips, your forehead, your chin. he drags his tongue against your cheeks, mumbling sweet nothings as he passes your ears. he licked a long stripe from the corner of your lips up to your eyes, tasting the salty water that streaked down them.

“y’know i never wanna see you like this babygirl…” he mutters, thrusts becoming sloppy. “but you look so pretty cryin’ around my cock like this.”