#the angst potential is Overflowing

[bluejayybird]

SPOILER FOR THE BOOK OF BILL

Okay, so I'm not avidly into gravity falls, but like.

Seeing that Dipper and Mabel only survived the one time, I'm just thinking...

All of the other circumstances, them dying one way or another... Lee, Ford and the others potentially surviving as well, but...

Having to break the news that the youngest twins are gone, one or both... Or if they'd all just been wiped out one day, whether it was during an oddball adventure, or if Bill won during any of their encounters/weirdmageddon...

The guilt, if one of the twins was still left... Thinking they could've done more, that it could've been prevented... The way that guilt would ultimately lead to the other's demise....

Everyone else in shambles, wondering how they could've done more...

Just thinkin--

[darklight-owl]

Writing the first fanfiction I've written in like 6 years. Plvspw what have you done to me.

[menelausblues]

is there a place i can go?

꒰ you're so used to hiding when it's hard, and xavier loves you too much to let you go. ꒱

𖥔 ݁ 1.5k. semi-canon. established relationship. depressed/anxious/avoidant reader/mc who's having a hard time with her stress and grief x understanding n tender boyfriend xavier. hurt/comfort. angst. some fluff at the end. ❀ ݁ this is for all my fellow anxious-avoidants trying their best not to let the horrors stop them from being loved.

mdni.

two days ago.

xavier ⋮ 2:01 pm. my bunny is missing. have you seen her? 

yesterday.

xavier ⋮ 3:04 pm. pretty eyes. pretty smile. pretty laugh. light of my life. if seen, please give me a call. xavier ⋮ 3:38 pm. i’ve asked all the neighbors and they say they haven’t seen my bunny at all. can you help me find her? i think i’ll be sad if she doesn’t come home to me soon.

today.

xavier ⋮ 3:51 pm. it’s been days since i last saw or talked to you. xavier ⋮ 4:09 pm. i tried coming by your apartment but it seemed like you weren’t there. praying my bunny didn’t leave home for good. xavier ⋮ 4:11 pm. are you okay? i’m worried about you.

it feels like no one loves you, but you know it’s not true.

you don’t understand why you’re like this, why at the foundation of your heart is a hurt little girl shaking in fear and always in a hurry to hide from the world or disprove its intentions. nothing feels as safe as isolation but nothing feels as awful as loneliness. you’re safe from the potentiality of harm but there’s no one to turn to for joy. so you sit and sulk in the security of your separation. your world is filled with empty rooms and stretched sighs. the worst part is that it’s entirely your own fault.  it feels like no one loves you. and it’s because you won’t let them even if they do. it’s not xavier’s fault that you’re avoiding him, but it is.  this blooming fear and odd sensation of coming loss is all because lately he’s perceiving you all too closely. it’s getting to the point where he’s learning your habits so thoroughly, he’s able to anticipate your needs.

it terrifies you because unearned kindness from a lover or a friend has only ever been followed by some kind of violence. some kind of resounding loss that fills you with emptiness. the image of your grandma and caleb surrounds your mind from all sides; your heart fills itself with grief until it overflows. and now you don’t know if you can trust him. or rather, trust him to love you back and be allowed to stay. so you run. you slink into shadows to avoid the pain of being known ( and it is painful to feel elation you can’t control because one day it’ll reshape itself into a monster of sorrow that swallows you ). but the best and worst thing about xavier is that he doesn’t give up. he’s always been relentless in even his gentle and quiet pursuits. it starts with a soft knocking at your door. you haven’t left your apartment much in days aside to clear your trash and it’s the third time he’s come by.  you know it’s him because a creature of habit in his own right, xavier knocks in the same pattern each time he comes.  the only difference is the sense of urgency has disappeared. it’s become hesitant, fearful almost. you could probably choke on your guilt if you weren’t so pre-occupied with the tears lodged in your throat. because everything hurts even when it shouldn’t. “baby?” you hear him call from behind the door. you don’t answer but your heart screams inside itself.

i’m here i’m here i’m here! nothing feels good; nothing feels right! i think i need you! please please please!

you lie in bed covering your head with your pillows like a frightened child trying to drown out the sound of a raging storm, pathetic as can be in your desperate need to escape your own desires to be with him.  your thoughts are in calamity, trapped somewhere between 'it’s not safe for me like this’ and ‘he’s the only thing that feels safe for me when i’m like this.’ truthfully, all you want is to tell him plainly that you’re struggling with your perception of yourself and him, but you can’t face him right now. not when your heart is up in the air like this, not when your eyes are puffy and red from the nonstop bouts of tears. not when you feel like you don’t deserve it. not when you feel like you haven’t felt enough shame for surviving to experience elation. silence falls but only momentarily before your phone vibrates beside you and the soft knocking continues.

xavier ⋮ 4:49 pm. i know you’re home. either something is wrong and you’re pushing me away or you’re severely injured. xavier ⋮ 4:52 pm. i think it’s the first thing because i saw you sneaking out of the building to take your trash out and you seemed physically well. please. i’m here. xavier ⋮ 5:00 pm. i’ll give you until 5:05 to open up on your own, but if you don’t, i have to come in and check on you okay? i just need to know you’re truly okay. if you need space, i need you to come tell me that please.

it’s a shame you never looked at your messages. maybe it would have been enough to get through to you.  maybe his soft reassurance that he knows what’s happening and still wants the best for you would have been enough to drag you out of bed and send your feet padding across the floor in all fairness. but true to your avoidant nature, you keep yourself tucked away. “aha,” you hear his ever-velvet voice suddenly in the center of your room despite not feeling his presence at all. “i think i found my missing bunny.” your heart jolts in your chest, scrambling to clamber up your throat in the form of a relieved sob. your shoulders shake from the strength of it forcing its way out of you. with no hesitation, the addition of xavier’s weight causes your bed to dip as he crawls to be at your side. he doesn’t pull the quilts back or try to coax you out. he just holds you, pulls your blanketed form closer to his own. his arms tighten their hold. “if i had known it was this bad i would have come sooner. i’m sorry.” but you think maybe he shouldn’t be sorry. you should.  because you’re the one who sees the world as a threat despite dedicating yourself to saving it. the contradiction of it all leaves you rivaling with a cognitive dissonance that feels impossible to resolve. “it’s not…it’s not you.” your voice cracks even as you whisper. “it’s me. it’s just me. it just…i can’t…all of it…” “shh,” he soothes. “you don’t have to explain yourself. it’s okay. right now, let’s just rest. isn’t that what you need? don’t worry about anything else.” it is. you need rest. comfort. love. the capacity to let yourself experience those things as they’re offered. and xavier.  he’ll be there but you know he won’t force you to accept his love. it’ll be up to you to take what you need from him and have the strength to admit when you need even more. sniffling, you slowly poke your head out of your blankets, letting your pillows fall to the side and looking up to finally face him. that’s your act of courage today, to be met with his gentle, welcoming smile and not punish yourself for wanting to keep something close to you, for not wanting it stolen again. he kisses your forehead tenderly. “i knew my bunny would come home. i just had to be patient.” “i’m sorry.” “i’m not in need of apologies at the moment, but i’ll graciously accept approximately three days worth of missing kisses.” in the pale blue of his eyes, there’s not even a drop of malice, resentment, or contempt to be found. if anything, there’s relief and fondness there. the tears well up in your eyes all over again. tentatively, you lean forward and offer his supple lips a ginger kiss. “i really am sorry.” “don’t be. not today. let’s just rest. all the other things can come later. there’s no hurry. i’m here, okay?” and he is. sometimes his patience and grace is a mercy you can’t even offer to yourself. it’s hard to forgive yourself for causing so many problems for others. it’s hard to forgive yourself for even things you can’t control: losing everything you know, everything that was left from losing everything once already. warm tears fall and you don’t try to stop them or shield them from sight. “you are here. aren’t you?” it’s more of a soft reminder for you, for these thoughts that crowd your mind and make you feel like a ghost in your own life: invisible and haunting everything, the source of everyone’s mourning when you go missing inside yourself. xavier nods, leaning his forehead against your own. “and i plan to keep it that way. i want to; i have to. i love you. so…you don’t need to worry about being alone anymore.” it won’t be perfect, but you’ll try your hardest to remember.

[nemisuki]

𐔌 ✧.* ᴛʀᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇꜱ .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

���ʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ || A knight spending his whole life looking out for the princess, leaves him developing feelings that may be mutual?  

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, pure fluff, no smut or angst, oneshot, aged up, royal au, childhood friends to lovers, knight bkg, princess reader, words of affirmation, protective & jealous bkg, majority his pov, yearning, he just a lil guy, 1.1k word count

The sounds of chatter and violins drown out in the background, his gaze solely focused on the woman standing beside him – extravagant gown and tiara glistening from hanging chandeliers – her appearance almost too perfect.

Almost.

His brows furrow at the sight of the princess stuffing her face with pastries – eyes sparkling with joy as she tries multiple desserts that were brought from outside of the kingdom – humming with delight at each bite.

After years of staying by her side like a shadow – courtesy of knowing her since childhood – he would much rather take a wound to the chest then ever admit his growing care for her, something stronger than friendly bonds.

He would much rather not admit that the talk of suitors strongly irked him to the bone – made his fingers twitch on his sword – glaring at any noble who looked at her with anything other than respect.

The purity in her eyes was something unique in such an era of war and unnecessary foes.

And he'll be damned if anyone were to take advantage of such kindness.

"Katsuki, have you ever had such a delicacy?!"

His eyes roam over her features out of instinct – the puffy cheeks, bright eyes and cheesy smile – making his heart race, a feeling he wished to ignore.

But it urges him to reach out – which he did – gently wiping some bread crumbs from the corner of her mouth, relishing in the silky texture of her skin under his fingertips.

"Tsk, must you be so clumsy with your food?"

He rolls his eyes, giving her a stern look – hiding the way she can make him lose his composure in a matter of seconds – despite the training he endured to get to such a position.

She simply giggles at his words, seeming to not be affected by his rough exterior, he could tell by the way she looks at him – with amusement and open fondness – but most of all... hardened trust.

"I must ask my father to order some for the next banquet!"

"Yeah I'm sure your father will build ya' your own personal bakery, if you so much as compliment these goods."

Another pretty laugh.

"Maybe so! Father is quite bold."

He simply keeps watch as she nibbles away at her plate – that's basically overflowing – his glare hardening at some royals who looked her way.

The blonde instinctively takes a step closer as he sees a male approaching.

"Another damn extra..."

Practically hearing the bubbling anger coursing through his veins – she gently places a hand on his shoulder – immediately making him straighten up.

Though his glare doesn't lessen as the man bows before her, beginning to exchange words as they go over insignificant matters, the prince's gaze staying on her face a little too long for his liking.

It's always like this, lingering looks of desire and greed – from one's he'd cut down in a heartbeat if she'd just ask – none of these potential suitors are worthy to even be near her.

They didn't know her like he did.

Didn't know the way to make her laugh, didn't know how often she tended to the gardens, didn't know just how beautiful she is – with or without all the jewels and makeup – his favorite sight being early in the morning.

Her half lidded eyes and lazy smile as she opened the door for him to enter her chambers – no sense of boundaries at all with him – as she wore her nightgown and crazy bed head.

Maybe that's when he became such a morning person.

"Katsuki? Katsukiiiii? Kacchan!"

He jolts out of his thoughts, surprisingly being met with her confused face, leaning a little too close to his.

The blonde quickly takes a step back – heart nearly leaping out of his chest – his cheeks dusting in pink.

"Agh- what are you doing?! And don't call me that dumb nickname in public!"

"Well you we're just standing there when I was calling your name! You were glaring so hard that you scared the poor man away!"

"Hmph so what?! If he was that much of a wimp then he's just another weakling!"

"Gosh, always so mean tsk tsk tsk."

She tippy toes to soothingly pat his head, giggling at the sight of his embarrassed expression – hidden underneath his annoyance – she always seemed to laugh whenever he was around.

He grumbles and is about to swat her hand away but hesitates, instead grabbing her hand and tugging her along, out of the ballroom.

The jealousy within him fuelled his drive.

Her eyes widen as she picks up her pace to match his long strides.

"Katsuki?"

"I hate this royal crap."

Though he can't see it, her gaze softens as she listens to him – the hidden requests underneath each word registering in her mind – y/n already understands, humming along.

Her fingers eventually intertwine with his, a habit she's had since she was little, a habit that kills him every time she acts on it.

"Some sprouts finally started growing in my garden, would you like to see?"

He noticeably lessens his quick pace – recalling the dramatic heels the maids chose for her to wear on this event – he says nothing but changes the course to her chambers.

"Change into better clothes then, don't wanna ruin that gown remember? Probably worth more than anything I have on me."

Given her cheery demeanor, he expected a laugh or even a smile but he didn't expect silence as they reached her door.

He looks back at her with curiosity and uncertainty.

"Oi what's wrong-"

The blonde stands completely frozen as she suddenly tippy toes to peck his cheek, his grip on her hand tightening with shock, his eyes widening with disbelief.

Did she just...

Her eyes lock with his – and despite the flustered look on her face – she looks at him with a mix of sincerity and determination.

"You're value is worth more then any gown or gold coin-"

His mouth is completely dry and he's positive he sees stars. Shyness creeps up as her eye contact wavers but she stays strong to finish her declaration.

Declaration of something unknown to either of them.

"-at least to me it is."

It takes him a minute to register what the hell she just said, his body unable to react as she gives his hand one last squeeze – before realizing how cheesy that sounded – y/n running into her room all embarrassed as she goes to change.

Closing the door behind her to give them both time to realize the shift of the atmosphere – shift of their relationship – the duo both trying to regulate their racing hearts.

Hearts that yearns for one another.

It's safe to say they aren't just childhood friends anymore – or even princess and bodyguard – after that intimate exchange of underlying affection.

So when the servants around the castle saw the two, oddly silent and flustered, they could only smile at the sight.

Especially when they eventually went back to holding hands.

Guess no more banquets are needed if her suitor was beside her all along.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

ᴀ/ɴ ||| currently doing a side quest of organizing my spotify playlists, maybe i'll make one and post it here so u guys can see what i listen to when writing for our favorite blonde! ɴᴇxᴛ ꜰɪᴄ ||| heian era sukuna x f!reader (fluff) ᴛᴀɢꜱ ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 @qyuin ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

[bittertasteofhoney]

Good Day Sunshine | Ch. 5

A Long, Lonely Time

Summary: Ellie throws you and Joel together for a dinner date, and the two of you don’t know whether to run or stay to find out what may happen.

|| less angst, more FLUFF, jackson!joel, jackson!joel x f!reader, little slow burn crest, domestic!joelmiller, awkward first date vibes, more Ellie interference||

Notes: Not me giggling and kicking my feet while writing this chapter!!! Domestic Joel just might be my favorite, oh my god. Should I make the next chapter a little smutty?

Also, two chapters in one day? I’m so sorry I could not be stopped. Don’t know if this will happen again, but making y’all wait for this did not feel right, so enjoy!!

The characters, names and characterizations belong to HBO Max and The Last of Us franchise. This work is my creative property and aside from re-blogs and shares, I do not give permission to share or copy my work without permission or consent.

Previous Chapter.

After Dina and Ellie left and you finished your shift for the day, nerves propelled you to your cupboards to see what measly ingredients you had to bring a good faith gesture to the Miller house that evening. You spotted the typical ingredients used in a cake, and luckily, a bag of lemons from the greenhouse overflow pile you brought home that evening. A lemon cake it was.

An hour later, the mixture was rising in the oven, and you were sorting through your pile of scrounged clothing to find something relatively new-looking to wear to dinner. Every single article either had a mystery stain, a hole, a burn mark or all of the above. You settled for a sundress found on one of the Jackson supply runs to a neighboring city, gifted to you by Roberta for your last birthday. She traded a week’s worth of flour rations and a brass ring she found after moving into her home.

You thought it a steep price for a birthday gift, but relatively new clothing in the apocalypse was a hot commodity. Of course, you somehow managed to stain it at some point, but you told yourself stains were the new black as you attempted and failed to scrub it out. 

After slipping it on, you pulled your hair into a loose braid and pulled the cake out of the oven to cool. Within the hour, you took the long path to the Miller house to get your nerves under control. It was going to be fine. It would be awkward, sure. This could be the first step to potentially being friends. Or at least, something more than whatever you currently were.

Once you were standing in front of the black front door, it took you another minute to scrounge up the courage to knock. After a few polite taps, the door swung open with an over-excited Ellie standing in the doorway. 

“Why did you wait so long to knock?” Okay, Ellie, a little grace would be nice. 

“Oh, I was just wondering if this was the right house. I’ve never been here.” The young girl tilted her head to the side. 

“It says Miller on our mailbox.” A nervous laugh escaped your lips.

“Oh my gosh, Ellie, I-”

“Hey.” You looked up at the sound of the deep, gruff voice. Holy. Crap.

Joel stood before you, towering and domineering, but not just in his everyday look. His hair was still wet from a recent shower, combed back, and he was wearing a shirt that looked stiff from hanging on the line. You felt your cheeks turn rosy. He looked goddamn delectable.

“Hi.” He nodded at you, looking everywhere but at your face. You saw his eyes zero in on your dress, but you weren’t ready to think about how that made you feel. 

Ellie leaned in towards you conspiratorially and whispered, “He actually did laundry for this.”

“Ellie!” Joel looked at his adopted daughter as if the floor just fell out beneath him. You brought a hand to your mouth to cover a snicker that fell flat once his eyes met yours. You mouthed a “sorry,” which he answered with a blush and a throat clearing. 

The three of you stood there awkwardly before you lifted the cake in your hands as an offering. “I, uh, made a lemon cake. For tonight.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” You gave him a small smile.

“I did. I have a feeling Ellie just dropped this on you.” His sideways look at Ellie answered every suspicion you had about tonight’s dinner invite. He met your eyes, which caused your cheeks to turn redder and your gaze to fly to the floor.

Of course, Ellie stood between the two of you, smirking. “So, I completely forgot, but Dina asked if I would help with chopping wood for this week’s bonfire so I’m gonna go!” 

“Ellie, please don’t-”

“Ellie!” 

That little shit. She didn’t even pretend to listen to the two of you argue as she ran out the door, leaving you alone. With Joel.

You took a deep breath. “So, dinner?” Joel’s eyes were locked on the door.

“Yeah, dinner.” He wouldn’t look at you. You moved the dish to one hip and tentatively reached a hand out to gently nudge his arm.

“Joel, I can go. I didn’t mean to push in.” His eyes flew to yours.

“No! I mean,” A throat clearing. “No. You didn’t. Please stay.” You felt the breath leave your body at how soft his eyes looked. Good god, how was this man single?

You look at him, surprised, and he offered you a tilt of his lips. “I’m afraid I cooked, so it won’t be that good. Your pound cake will more than likely save the meal.”

You laughed and awkwardly followed him to the dining room as he led the way. You let your eyes land on various knick-knacks in the orderly living area. A few wooden sculptures. A sunken couch. A threadbare rug. Pun magazines? You were definitely going to ask about that at some point.

“Can I help with anything?” He began to shake his head, so you repeat his name in an exasperated tone. “C’mon, please? I need something to do with my hands. This feels like an awkward first date.” You tilted your head to the side. “I guess it is a first date of sorts. Ellie definitely set us up.”

The strangled sound that left that man’s body again had your hand flying up to your mouth to cover a giggle. “God, don’t sound so horrified!” 

“No, it’s not- I don’t mean to say it isn’t, I just-” You put another hand on his arm without thinking as a giggle finally escaped. 

“Oh my gosh, Joel, it’s fine! I’m sorry.” He let out a huff that might be the closest thing to a laugh you’d ever heard come out of his mouth. You looked at him for a minute as you two awkwardly shuffled on the spot.

“Do I smell chili?”

“Yes. It’s about the only thing I can cook well. Mostly cause it’s just tossin’ a bunch of things in a pot. I traded Tommy for some ground beef and I had tomatoes from this week’s pick up. So.” You smiled at how goddamn nervous this man was. It was cute.

“Sounds delicious. At least let me help you set the table.” He walked you to the kitchen, where you grabbed utensils and he grabbed plates from an upper cabinet you tried to and failed to reach. He gently moved you to the side after your failed attempt and directed you to the utensil drawer, chuckling to himself. 

After he filled two bowls with his concoction, you sat down and ate in tense silence, with the two of you swapping glances to see what the other was doing. Definitely a first date.

After you took your last bite, you looked up at him and waited for him to make eye contact. “I want to apologize.”

Another cough. You had to stop, or this man would choke before the night was over. “For what?”

“I guess for the drama from the past few weeks?” You licked the spoon clean before continuing, and Joel couldn’t help but let his eyes drift to your mouth, entranced. You kept talking without seeing Joel’s current fixation. “I know I didn’t exactly cause anything but I’m just sorry it happened. You and Ellie were still adjusting to life in Jackson so I can’t imagine it must’ve been easy handling petty drama and learning life in a new town.”

“It wasn’t petty. It was deserved.” You leaned on your arm, getting comfortable as you pushed your bowl to the center of the table. Joel felt warm in his chest watching you get settled at his dining table and smiled to himself. 

“What you said was wrong. It was hurtful but… I don’t know. I sort of get it. Not the hurting my feelings but I get the frustration and I guess, stress.” 

His eyes were filled with sincerity as he said, “No. I…forgive my language but I was an ass. I took my frustrations out on you, and I wasn’t fair. Not a word of what I said was true.”

You blushed and nodded. “Thank you.”

You sat in another minute of companionable silence, you smiling to yourself and him thumbing a groove in the table before you stood. “Cake?”

You began clearing the plates when Joel put out a hand to stop you. You playfully rolled your eyes. “Go cut the cake, Joel. I’ll just put these in the sink.”

Another pseudo-laugh-chuckle, and he stood. You noticed him flexing his hand and made a mental note to also ask about that later. “You want coffee?”

You spun to look at him over your shoulder with narrowed eyes. “What kind of question even is that?” That actually got a chuckle out of him. You smiled, relishing the win as he followed you into the kitchen. Your little domestic dance felt like what an alternate timeline with him could be like. Imagined domestic bliss with Joel? What was happening to you?

A few minutes later, he led you onto the front porch carrying two cups of coffee while you held the cake. You both sank into rocking chairs, swapping cake and cups of coffee. He leaned forward to take a bite of the cake, and a groan escaped his mouth.

You blushed at the downright erotic nature of the sound and coughed to cover it. 

“I can’t remember the last time I had a slice of cake this good. You made this?” You smiled and nodded. “You’re going to make some man very happy one day.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems odd to tie yourself down to someone in this world, but I guess it helps to have someone, given what we all go through.”

He shot a sympathetic look your way as you took a small sip of coffee. You gave him a sad smile. “We all have our little story.” You shrugged.

“Care to tell it? You don’t have to. But I’d like to hear.” You looked at your lap and pinched off a piece of the lemon loaf, taking a bite to bide your time.

“The condensed version? I grew up in Tennessee. Eight, when the outbreak happened. We were lucky for a while. I grew up on an apple orchard, so I didn’t experience the mania of those first days, but it didn’t take long for raiders to come knocking.” Your voice caught. 

“Those days were hard. I watched my dad get shot right in front of me, paralyzing him for the rest of his life.” You took a deep breath. “It actually took a few years for me to even see infected, and when I did, the fear that I felt… I truly knew the world was forever changed in that moment. We noticed them in a field across from our farm and stayed locked inside for days waiting for them to move on. Which they did.”

Your breaths grew clipped, and you brought a hand to your chest to still the increased pattering. Joel’s hand twitched at his side, wanting to reach out to you, surprising himself at how protective he still felt of you.

“But then a few years later, my mom got bit. She hid it from us because she was scared. And I know that now. But one night,” You met his eyes and he noticed yours were watery. “My dad and I were sitting on the porch and noticed her standing in the driveway watching the orchard. We noticed she was twitching so my dad called out to her. In a split second, she was on him, biting his neck.” You shook your head. “I was twelve at that point. I didn’t know what to do, so I ran.” 

Joel got out of his chair and knelt before you, reaching out to place a hand on your knee. You took a deep breath and forced a smile. “I’ll say the rest quickly. Okay.” You blinked a few tears away. “She chased me into the orchards, and I had to use one of the axes to hit her. And I killed her.” You met his eyes, and he rubbed your knee comfortingly. “I didn’t even go back for my father.” You hiccuped.

“I just kept running. I was frightened out of my mind. I came across another group within a week, who took me in, and a few years later, Tommy found me in Nebraska and brought me here.” Joel rubbed your knee for a few minutes while you slowed your breathing. He just sat there offering support while you learned to just be again. 

Nervously, you met his eyes and saw that the softness was back. “Tommy can be a pain in the ass but I’m not surprised he took you in and brought you home.”

You let out a watery laugh. “Yeah, he loves picking up strays.” 

He shook his head. “No kid should have to go through what you did.” 

You shrugged. “We all went through some dark stuff. It wasn’t an exclusive experience.” The only answer you got to that was a sharp nod. A subject change was in order. “Tell me something good.”

For the next few minutes, he stood crouched before you as he told you about his life in Boston and his trek with Ellie. He skirted around a few things, obviously avoiding mentioning how he and Ellie exactly met or where her family was, but you listened intently. 

“And pre-outbreak?” 

He froze and in a clipped voice said, “I was a contractor. Had a daughter.” You froze.

“What was her name?” His gaze froze on the ground as he stood there, seeming to struggle to breathe. He stood and brought a hand to his mouth. 

“Sarah. Her name was Sarah.” His face was back to its uniform of all hard lines. You stood slowly, placing your coffee and cake on the ground and bringing a hand to his arm.

“I’m ready to listen if you want to talk about her. But only in your time. We can also talk about something else. I promise I have an abundance of embarrassing stories about your brother I can relay.” He huffed again in muted laughter. 

He shook his head, smiling to himself. “I don’t talk about her enough.” 

The two of you stood there as he told you about Sarah, about her incredible smile and her obsession with Dawn of the Wolf. He painted the picture of her killer spin kick during soccer season, and how their favorite thing to do together was watch cheesy horror movies. He never shared how she died, and you did everything you could to skirt around it, keeping him exclusively talking about her interests and their everyday life as a single dad and daughter. 

After the two of you settled back into silence, you let your gaze wander around the yard and porch until you spotted a guitar leaning against the home exterior. You gasped and beelined for it, Joel watching you curiously. 

“You play?” One of his hands shot to the back of his head, where he scratched nervously. 

“No, I-” You chuckled.

“Oh, fine. The man with the guitar doesn’t play. Obviously. But do you mind if I do?” 

He nodded slowly, clearly intrigued. You settled back into your chair, perched on the edge, while you checked the guitar’s tuning. After a few testing strums, you began plucking the strings, letting the familiar notes of Unchained Melody pierce the quiet. 

You sang along softly, closing your eyes as your fingers danced through the verses and choruses. Mostly out of nerves because you couldn’t bring yourself to watch Joel’s reaction, but also because a reel of moments with your family pre-outbreak was playing across your mind. 

Your mom in the apple orchard. Your dad teaching you to play guitar. Cooking breakfast. Running through the rows of trees.  

When you plucked the final string, you opened your eyes to see Joel watching you intently. You gave him a soft smile. “My mom and dad used to slow dance to that song.” 

He swallowed and nodded. And after a pause, “You wanna dance?” Your face tilted to meet his eyes, and a smile quickly broke out. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. 

He smiled and returned inside. Unsure of whether to follow or stay put, you nervously fiddled with the guitar strings until you heard the opening notes of More than Words by Extreme spill out of the open front door. 

You smiled to yourself as Joel reemerged, reaching a hand out to you. “You know how to dance?”

You playfully rolled your eyes and chuckled again, placing your hand in his. “Yes, Joel. It’s the apocalypse, not the Stone Ages.” He mimicked your eye roll as you delicately settled into the appropriate stance. 

It took some awkward hand placement, but the two of you eventually began to sway. You first placed your hands on his shoulders and after a verse, linked them behind his neck. He took that as permission to lower his from your waist to your hips. 

As the song flowed over the porch and into the yard, you absentmindedly carded your fingers through his curls, humming along. He lifted a hand to grab one of yours. You froze, noticing you may have crossed a line, but he just held it in his hand as the song moved into the final chorus. 

You locked eyes and kept them there as the song finished. His gaze flitted to your lips, and for a charged moment, you let yourself nod, thinking maybe, just maybe, the two of you might move into strange but new territory together. Was all this tension simply attraction? He leaned in closer, and you felt your breath seize up. Was this really happening? 

As the song’s ending of guitar runs circled you, he brought your hand to his mouth and let his lips press to the work-worn skin. You inhaled sharply. 

As the song ended, so did your proximity and the two of you shot apart, fixing your clothes and clearing throats. 

“I should probably head back. It’s getting late.” He nodded to himself, listening but unable to meet your eye. 

“I’ll walk you.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s only a ten minute walk.”

“Please. I want to.” You stood there, staring at the man who looked ready to bolt but insisted on ensuring your safety. 

“Fine. But can I ask you something?” 

“‘Course.” 

“If I let you walk me home, will I get a kiss goodnight?”

The man turned as red as the garden tomatoes.

Next Chapter.

Tag List :) @silksepia @hello-nah817 @longlivetheloneliness @keseqna @millers-girl @treacherqus @lemonboi @spnfic85

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Inertia; One

Pairing(s); LADS Caleb x non-mc reader

Word count; 1,616

Themes; angst (like let me tell you what — ), there will be child abuse (this is Ever we're talking about, so you know, child experiments and all that), eventual smut (way later, they're babies right now)

Notes; Hey guys! Decided to soft drop a drabble series today too as well 👀 I thought I might as well post it, yk? Anyway, if you're not up to date on all the lore bits, the og mc was called Unicorn during her time at Gaia (a research institute under Ever) and Josephine's Team was called Unicorn as well. Caleb didn't have a team name from what I remember so I decided to use Hydra for his and Chimera for yours. I think it fits the mythical creature vibes.

Also, the original mc will be named, because I don't like calling her "mc" in stories, okay? Her name will be Lia-hua, which is Chinese for lotus flower (a flower symbolizing reborth), or Lia for short — sorry if your name is Lia.

Since this is a drabble series, these chapters will be pretty short and to the point!

prev || next

☆ masterlist ☆

Summary; “You can remember your time at the Gaia Research Center like it was yesterday. The anxiety and panic-inducing memories flood through your brain like a glass overflowing with water. You’re not sure you’ll ever get over the trauma inflicted on you by the place. Not even sure if you want to.” 

Or

The day your mother willingly gave you up for experimentation at the Gaia Research Center. The story of how you became Donor 001.

...You can still remember the day you met Caleb. It was rather difficult to forget, after all. Being trapped inside that dark and dreary hell that was the Gaia Research Center. You weren't the first child put in these twisted experiments and you definitely weren't the last.

 

The first would have to go to her…Unicorn. Even though you never met her until later, you would have to be blind as to not notice how much the Unicorns Team doted on her – well, doted is…it's not the correct word per say. You could still hear her screams. Those tortured, agonizing screams that echoed through the halls on her experimentation days. She was the first experiment, Subject 001.

The first of many children that were either kidnapped, adopted, or donated into this life. Into this hell on Earth. And you?

You were Donor 001. Her perfect match in a sense, both firsts of your name. Except you were donated and she was…well, you’re not sure how the researchers got their hands on her, but they did nonetheless. The fact that you were donated never set right with you and yet, your biggest problem wasn’t the fact that you were donated…No. It was the fact that your mother was the lead researcher of the Chimera Team and why is that important?

It’s because the Chimera Team was the one responsible for your experiments.

Your mother, your egg-donor, was the one leading these malicious experiments against you, all for the sake of research. 

The Gaia Center wasn't too kind to children like you, like Caleb, like Unicorn. No, you all were considered the ‘gifted ones’. The children with the most ‘potential’. The ones with the capabilities to be more, to do more, to grow stronger.

Unlike the other children, your Evol was considered to be on the lower end of the spectrum.

When you were first donated to the Gaia Center, your Evol was a Level B. Not the lowest, but could definitely be higher compared to Caleb’s A and Unicorn’s Undetermined, but the Chimera Team planned on changing that.

Your Evol is, what the researchers consider, a hybrid — a Chimera, if you will. It could be classified as Psychic or Elemental depending on how you looked at it. But currently, it was a Level B Evol called “Metal Manipulation”. You could only use it to crush small metallic objects, use telekinesis on them, stop bullets (which you succeeded in with a lot of trial and error), amongst other things and, yet, it wasn’t good enough for the researchers.

But before we get into that, let’s start from the beginning of your plight.

“Here she is. Now, promote me.”

You were only nine-years old currently, but you could tell something was off with your mother. This was the first time you had seen her since your father passed away a few years ago and the first thing she did after seeing you, was take you in to her place of work. Dragging you by your arm through the frigid, blindly white hallways and into a dark room with a plush black carpet. A large, rounded desk was in the center of the room with a big, rather comfortable looking chair. You couldn’t see the other person in the chair, but you could assume it was her boss. Especially if she was asking for a promotion.

With your arm clasped in your mother’s tight grip, her nails digging into the skin of your wrist, you look up at her to catch a glimpse of her face. You had been so desperate to see her over the years, but now you’re regretting your previous emotions. Why did she take you here? Why was she so angry and cold? Did you do something wrong?

“Promote you?” You flinch as a harsh voice splits through the silence in the room, then a cackle leaves the man. “Alright, sure. Will a head researcher position suffice?”

“Anything is better than sitting behind a desk.” She shrugs. It seems she has no fear talking back to her supervisors. “I’ll be looking forward to your strides in research, Chimera Team leader.” You hear the chair creak as the man spins around in it to face you and your mother, “Your subject will be Donor 001.” His gaze lands on you as he speaks, “Would you like to change your mind now?”   

It seems as if he was giving her a chance to back out but, in reality, he was seeing just how far she was willing to go for the Gaia Research Center — for Ever.

“Of course not. I’ll come back with good news soon. The Chimera Team will provide the best of results for Gaia.” Your mother nods her head, her nails digging deeper into your skin and you try to hold back a wince as you feel something dripping down your arm. Blood? Before you can put too much thought into it, you’re being dragged out from the room and back into the chilly hallway. You close your eyes to drown out the bright lights and by the time you reopen your eyes, you’re in a much darker setting.

You’re in a dim elevator with your mother next to you, tapping her foot as if she’s annoyed with you. You’re unsure why. You didn’t think you did anything wrong while living with your grandmother, so why was your mother so angry with you?

“Mom — “

You feel a hand slap over your mouth and your eyes dart up to meet her gaze, tears prick the corners of your eyes as she glares down at you. “I’m not your mother. Not here, not now. I’m Head Researcher L/n and you’re Donor 002 from now on. Forget your name, it’s no longer yours.” She spits out at you and your heart feels heavy in your chest.  You must’ve done something wrong if she’s treating you like this…She never treated you like this when your dad was alive.

As the metal elevator falls silent once more, the large doors in front of you open, leading to a large open room with curved archways leading down other hallways. The walls were a rusted shade of brown with cement floors, it almost looked as if you were fully underground. The ceilings were lined with industrial hanging lights and there was an enormous set of steel doors at the very back of the room with branching hallways on either side.

Other people in white lab coats rush around the room with clipboards held close to their chests and you could hear a loud, heart-wrenching scream coming from behind the steel doors.

“How’s Unicorn’s experiments coming along?” Your mother — no, Lead Researcher L/n asks as she stops by another woman. This woman appeared much kinder than your mother with light brown hair streaked with silver. Her blue-green eyes glance over you and you catch a glimpse of sympathy within their depths before she turns her gaze back to Researcher L/n. “Relatively well. She made it to Phase-2 last night, so the other researchers are pushing for more tests.” The woman jerks her head toward the steel doors, “They’re trying a few more now, but it seems she’s unable to reach Phase-3 as of yet.”

“Just you wait, Josephine. I’ll surpass you with Donor 001. She’ll be the poster child of the Gaia Center.” Researcher L/n seemed rather smug with herself. As if giving up her child was worth it to seem superior to this woman.

“Donor 001…” Josephine presses her lips together in a thin line, shaking her head with a small sigh. “I wish you the best of luck in your experiments, L/n.”

After this, you were placed on a schedule alongside the child known as Unicorn. She’d go through those large steel doors for experiments on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday while you were scheduled for Tuesday and Thursday. It’s unsure why Saturday and Sunday were left empty, but those two days were probably for either of you or another child you haven’t heard of. It was Sunday when you were brought to this place, so anxiety bubbled in your gut as you wondered just what awaited you on Tuesday.

Since you first arrived, you were confined to a room. A room with no windows, one singular door with a tiny window showing the hallway, a mattress on the floor with a thin strip of fabric that was supposed to be your blanket, and a short table in the center of the room. Your comfortable pyjamas were traded out for a more medical looking gown with a pair of white bloomers underneath. No shoes, not even a stuffed animal for comfort in sight. Just you and your thoughts. They could’ve, at least, given you a colouring book to bide your time, instead of leaving you to pace around with paranoia and panic battling in your mind.

What would they do to you? Would you end up screaming like that other little girl you heard on your first day?     

Tuesday came around much quicker than you expected. Though you weren’t sure what day it was, when you finally saw Researcher L/n, after what felt like forever, you knew it was your time... 

[maeedrg]

What are we ?

part 4 (final part)

fake dating Gojo X fem reader

ᯓ★

MASTERLIST of the series

part 3 part 4

Synopsis : You finally reunite with the man that you love, but among the chaos, being now a real couple is hard. The upcoming battle of Gojo against Sukuna means potential death, and the more the due date approaches, the more anxious you become. Yet, you try to make the most of it. And Satoru plans on making you a final surprise before he has to leave for his battle.

Words count : 6.4k.

Warnings : smut, p in v, fingering, face sitting, loving sex, emotional smut, spoilers of the manga, implied death, angst, and more warnings would be spoilers so I let it like that, xoxo.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ Autor’s note : wow, here the final chapter. I really hope you guys will enjoy it, thank you for reading to the end !

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Were you dreaming ? Was this in the end, all just a stupid dream ? Feeling the burning touch of the person you longed for since being fifteen, of the person you almost died for, many times, of the person you loved to the moon and back. His lips, needy and greedy, sucking on your nipples, treating them like lollipops as his large hand is busy inside your panties. Long fingers pumping in and out of your clenching walls, thumb teasing your clit with care and attention. His eyes, a deep blue, never leave your gaze, showing you all the love they holded and never wanting to tear them apart of your sweet pretty face moaning like a mess. God, you were like an angel, your legs holding Heaven, and he couldn’t wait to die inside of your thighs to ascend to paradise.

“I love you, so much,” he whispers, biting on your nipple, making you groan as you tilt your head back. He directly grabs the back of your head to force you to continue to look into his eyes. You couldn’t look away, he needed to keep your gaze on him, because he was afraid that if you didn’t, you would disappear and Satoru would realize that everything that was happening was just a dream.

He captures your lips when he feels you shaking, your wetness overflowing your hole, ready to reach your high. He moves his fingers faster, hitting your sweet spot. Some seconds later, you cum hard on his hand, his mouth drowning your pleas and your cries of pleasure. He rides your waves of bliss, before slowly withdrawing his hand and taking off your panties. He sucks on his fingers, and then starts pampering kisses on your neck.

“I always dreamed of this, dreamed of pleasing you, of being the one to touch you. Fuck, y/n, I’m going crazy for you,” he murmurs like a prayer against your throat and collarbones. 

He parts your thighs, and you suddenly become self aware that Satoru, your best friend for more than a decade, now lover, will see for the first time your private parts. It was ridiculous, really. His fingers already touched you and made you cum. But it was under your panties, away from his prying eyes. You look nervous, and Satoru, hyper aware of every one of your tiny reactions, senses it.

“What is it ?” he whispers through half lidded eyes, slowly pushing more apart your thighs as he gets in between them. His eyes are still on you, but yours are down. You notice the tightness in his pants, and you bite your lower lip.

“I’m nervous,” you finally admit.

“I’m nervous too,” he whispers, one hand cradling the side of your face lovingly.

“You are ? Why ?” you ask surprised as his other hand is still on your thigh, thumb caressing your skin softly, like a soothing balm.

“Because I want to make it perfect for you. You’re the woman I love, it’s my first time with you. I’ve been holding myself back for damn years, y/n. I can’t mess it up,” he explains, and you slowly look back up to meet his burning and sincere gaze, full of raw vulnerability. You peck his lips, like a reassurance.

“You won’t mess it up,” you answer softly, and gasp when his thumb slides back down on your wet folds, and his eyes are looking at your dripping cunt. Fuck, he is looking. His cheeks have a dust of pink, and you realize that he is breathing heavily, biting his lower lip to the point of almost tearing it apart, and the muscles of his arms are contracting like he was holding himself back.

“I will if I listen to my inner thoughts and indulge in my own pleasure,” he replies, bending down and you open wider your eyes as he kneels on the floor, face right in front of your core. His arms swing around your waist and bring you closer, his breath fawning on your stickiness and you shudder at the feeling. 

“Because… fuck- seeing you like that makes me want to take you right now. But I don’t want to hurt you. I want to make you feel loved,” Satoru adds, lending his lips on your throbbing clit, and you moan, lifting yourself on your elbows to look at him. Oh, he was beautiful like that, ready to eat you out, down on his knees just for you.

“You… already are making me feel loved,” you whisper, shivering and digging your nails in the sheets as he slowly gives a first lick, and his eyes roll back down his skull at the heavenly taste of your juices. You moan louder when his tongue reaches your bundle of nerves, and soon his whole mouth is on. Sucking, teeths slightly teasing, very gently, tongue lapping and lips making out with your cunt. 

You tangle your hand in his snowy white hair, thighs squeezing around him. He doesn’t mind, at all. If you wanted, you could suffocate him to death, ride his face until he chokes, anything. Fuck, he exactly wants that. He suddenly lifts himself up and flips you over, letting you straddle him. You open your mouth wide, not expecting this, as his face is right under your throbbing hole.

“Satoru what are you-” you start to question, but soon, your voice gets strangled by a cry of pleasure when his hands grip your hips and his mouth is back eating you out.

You shake, legs struggling to stay still, slowly sinking lower and lower on his mouth. You felt all your strength leaving you, trying to hold yourself to not fall completely apart. He was right under you, devouring you like you were his last meal. But you were scared to crush him with your weight.

“Sit down on my face, y/n,” he suddenly says, and you look down at him, unsure, waves of warmth possessing your body.

“I’ll crush you,” you mutter.

“I’m not The Strongest for nothing, baby. So… sit,” he says cockily, and you can’t even protest that his grip is bringing you down in one go on his face. Sinking on him with your full weight, and the fear of breaking his head is soon far away as ecstasy takes back control when you feel his mouth being busy making you feel good. You moan louder, arching your back and the coil in your stomach becoming bigger. 

It felt so good that your vision got blurry, and your mind became blank. All embarrassment and shame disappeared as your hips jerked and started to grind faster against his tongue and nose. Chasing down your own pleasure. At the same time, Satoru was creaming his pants, his aching boner just getting bigger and harder, only wanting to find solace inside your walls.

For the second time, you came hard, squirting all over his mouth, and the white haired male laps the remaining juices ‘till the last drop. He smiles like an idiot, making you fall back on the bed, straddling you and pecking your forehead. Your legs were a damn mess, sticky and bobbly. The face of Satoru was glistening, proud.

“You did so good for me,” he praises, letting you catch up your breath and try to take back control of your mind.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, helping him take off his t-shirt, revealing his torso. Soon, your lips find back his, like a magnet, and your legs roll around his hips to bring him against your still dripping cunt. His hard clothed cock presses against you, twitching of need. You hear him moan against your mouth, and he shifts slightly to get more comfortable. He unbuckles his belt, and then unbuttons his pants, zipping it down to reveal his boxer ruined by his precum. He pants heavily, wishing he could just fuck you at this instant. No- he had to be patient. But it was hard to be patient, actually.

“You said I’m making you feel loved, but it’s not enough. I want to catch up all these years before… it’s too late,” he whispers, looking into your eyes with a hint of sadness, and you directly understand what he means by ‘before it’s too late’. You swallow the lump in your throat, not wanting to imagine a world where Gojo would lose against Sukuna and never come back to you. 

“Don’t talk about that,” you plead, shaking your head. He takes your face in his large hands, thumbs caressing your cheeks and cradling them with care.

“Shit, sorry. I won’t. It’s only you and me right now,” he apologizes, kissing your forehead. You look back into his eyes for some seconds, the two of you not moving, before you decide to let your hand trailing down his torso. He shivers, your touch igniting a fire inside his soul, and his muscles flex under the tip of your fingers. He gasps when your nails graze his dick through his boxer, and then your warm fingers slip inside it. The moment your hand wraps for the first time around his length, he had to pray God to forgive himself for the things he was about to do to you, because they were too sinful.

“Y/n, you- ahh… fuck,” he hisses, as you free his cock and slide it against your heat. He shudders, biting his lower lip and bucking his hips against yours, grinding his angry tip on your slit and your hole.

“I love you so damn bad, that it hurts. Ahh.. please, please. Can I put it in ? I’ll be gentle, I promise, fuck- please, y/n,” he begs, Gojo Satoru begs to you. Lips and warm breath covering your mouth and you bring his hips closer with your legs.

“Just take me, Satoru. I’ve been waiting for this for too long. I can’t wait anymore,” you silently answer in a cracked voice full of need.

He looks at you in the eyes, and then finally, while holding your gaze, he enters you. Inch by inch, filling you completely with his length. You breathe in to adjust, nails digging into his back, and his eyes are on yours the whole time, forehead against forehead.

“Yeah, take it all in- ah, you’re so tight y/n. Are you trying to squeeze me dry ?” he chuckles nervously, breathing heavily and then finally reaching as deep as he could. Oh, Lord, the sensation was so perfect he had to take a second to think or else he would have been cumming all over your walls.

“Shut up,” you start to answer, but then when his hips start to move, you arch your back and get cut in your own breathing pattern. You moan of pleasure, toes curling as he bends slightly to have his tip hitting your sweet spot every time he thrusts inside of you.

“You feel so good y/n, better than I have ever imagined. You’re so perfect,” he pants, his head falling inside the crook of your shoulder and biting it while moving slightly faster. His arms bring you closer, your breast pressing against his chest and supporting you in his embrace. He cradles you in love and affection, fucking you with care and gentleness, even if sometimes he liked to slam hard inside to surprise you and make you jolt and clench deliciously around his dick.

Your breathings were in sync, and the feeling of pleasure was so intense that the both of you soon got overwhelmed by it. You couldn’t believe you were having sex with Satoru. It was almost too good to be true. A living dream. Satoru was so happy to finally have you to himself among this chaos, to finally becoming one with the love of his life, to finally share all the intimacy he wanted to have with you, to be raw and vulnerable, that in the midst of pleasure, his eyes started to grow wet.

His pearly white lashes flutter, clenching you harder against him, hips meeting yours faster but in a slopier way. Salty water rolls down his eyes, and he swallows a breath as his tears wet your soft skin.

“I’ll never let you go- ah, I promise. Even If I die, I’ll always come back to you. Hell, if love is a curse, then I’ll, hmm, gladly let you… - curse me,” he says in between broken groans and moans of pleasure, his tears never stopping to roll down, like a river on his snowy skin.

“I love you, Satoru,” you whisper, emotions taking over, your heart hammering in your chest and grabbing his face to kiss the drops of salty water on his cheeks.

He closes his eyes, kissing your lips tenderly as he murmurs another ‘I love you’. You didn’t count how many times he said that tonight, but you weren’t complaining. Soon, his sloppy thrusts become steady again, chasing release and wanting to bring you to the end of ecstasy.

You dig harder your nails in his back when a wave of pleasure washes over you, and then, both at the same time, you cum. Hard. Your juices mix together, cum dripping off your walls as he shivers and moans your name in your ear like a dying prayer before opening the doors of Heaven.

You pant heavily, a whole minute passing by to let you both catch back your breath and realize what just happened. He wipes his tears and kisses your cheek tenderly. You swear, you hoped you could take a picture of his face right now, because of how angelic he looked after crying for you. It felt like an illusion.

“Now that I tasted what it feels like to have you, I fear I’m addicted,” he admits, kissing down your neck, licking the skin where his tears stained it.

“More than sweets ?” you joke softly, caressing his hair and putting his white locks away from his forehead.

“My sweet tooth is nothing compared to my addiction to you, y/n,” he mutters, teeth grazing your ear and then lips caressing your jaw.

“I should get worried,” you chuckled, shifting a bit as he was still inside of you. Clearly, he didn’t want to move away.

“Maybe. Surely, actually,” he hums, winking at you.

“I don’t mind if you consume me whole,” you admit, and that wakes something back inside of him. He raises his head to look at you, suddenly slamming his mouth to yours.

“Then don’t be surprised if I do,” he exclaims, and his cock twitches, fully getting hard again and filling you back completely. You moan of surprise.

“Hey- you just came ! How come you suddenly are getting back hard ?!”

“You said I could consume you. I will. I’m not done with you, y/n,” he answers, before flipping you over, ass up and face down in the pillows. He adjusts himself in front of the delicious view he had of your arched back.

The night was still young, and Satoru promised to make himself forgiven for all the time he spent away from you.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ 

Days were flying by. Honestly, it was scary. Satoru was busy either training for the incoming fight against Sukuna, or spending his remaining time with you. You both tried to act like a normal couple, a real one this time, but it was hard. It was hard when chaos was surrounding you, and that death was surely awaiting your now boyfriend. Stress, nervosity, fear was eating you alive. Satoru saw it all, and aside from kissing you softly to ease your worries, hugging you close to his beating heart to show he was still here, or trying to crack his usual jokes to lighten the mood, he couldn’t do much to bring you peace.

You never expected, months ago, that after the tragedy of him leaving you, getting sealed and half of Japan getting destroyed, you will become the real girlfriend of Gojo Satoru, not his fake one. But now, for the sake of another incoming tragedy, your happiness will be short = his possible death.

You felt like throwing up when they proposed to Gojo that if he died, they would use his body like a weapon. Just in case, so that when Gojo loses, he still would be useful, his body getting used by his own student. They did a test when Yuta and your boyfriend possessed the body of one another. 

“Satoru, don’t tell me you are accepting that- please. I can’t let you get treated like a weapon even in your death ! Hell, I can’t even let you die !” you cry, grabbing his hand in between yours, face getting paler at this horrible idea. You try to breathe, but it’s hard. He looks down at you, as if he was unfazed by this, but you see in his eyes the raw sadness they holded.

“I always have been a weapon, y/n. Since I was born,” he simply answered with a tired smile.

“Not to me ! Satoru, after everything we went through, never doubt what I think about you. You are a human, a human that I love, a human that I care for, a human that I cherish…” you start to say as his hand twitches in yours. He doesn’t move, looking down at you, biting his lower lip.

“I have love and dreams too. I told Yuji that one day everyone will grow up and leave me behind, right ? He said he wouldn’t forget me, but I still think he will,” he starts vaguely answering, looking away at the sun setting on the snowy park. It was oddly peaceful. 

“And me, do you think I could ever forget you ?” you ask in a broken voice. His free arm suddenly wraps around you, bringing you closer so you couldn’t see his facial expression. He buries his head in your hair, clinging to you like a lifeline.

“No. I want to say I wish you did, but that would be lying. I don’t want you to forget about me,” he admits, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he squeezes you tighter.

“I will never forget about you for two reasons. First, you are unforgettable. You are part of my soul. Forgetting about you would mean tearing apart a piece of myself. Second, I will not let you die. Meaning you will stay by my side. No matter what,” you explain, sure of yourself, gripping him harder to emphasize the truth of your sentences.

He chuckles slightly at your words, kissing the top of your head with love and genuine happiness to hear you say this.

“Y/n, I’m the happiest man on earth to have you as my girlfriend. I truly wish I had the nerves and threw away my fear years ago, to ask you out,” he ends up admitting, thumb caressing your lower back. As you breathe, mist is created because of the cold.

“I wish too, but, I still had a lot of fun just being your best friend for all these years,” you reply, letting out a small laugh as you lift your head to look into his eyes. He stares at them, silently, lost in thoughts, before smirking.

“You know, when I asked you to pretend to be my girlfriend months ago, for the gathering… Actually, I could have not gone to this event, like I did every other time. I just wanted an excuse to have you by my side as my lover, even if it was for one night. So I took the opportunity that the higher ups were pressuring me with marriage and all, to ask you this favor. I was happy even if it was fake,” he says, revealing to you what was actually happening inside the head of the white haired sorcerer. You open your eyes, wide, surprised that he kind of planned all this. You nudge him, scoffing.

“Oh you sneaky- so you knew that we would have to continue to pretend after the event because of all the gossip ?”

“Of course. It’s for that I made out with you in front of everyone. I wanted this little fake dating thing to continue as long as possible. Even if… it brought you pain in the end. I’m sorry,” he says more softly, sighing as he gazes at you with hurt and regret. You frown.

“Satoru, stop with that. It was the elders fault, not yours-”

“Yeah yeah. I killed them anyways,” he interrupts you, shrugging it off. You sigh, and make him step with you towards the exit of the park.

“Come on, let’s go back inside. You trained a lot today, you need to rest before tomorrow. And, I have a surprise for you,” you try to lighten the mood, wanting to only focus on the happiness of today, and nothing else. Because if you didn’t, it would be too painful.

“A surprise ? Ohhhh, is that you wrapped in sexy lingerie under the christmas tree just for me ?” he drawls, waving his eyebrows playfully, flashing you a charming smile.

“No, you pervert. But you spoiled the surprise, it is indeed a gift under the christmas tree. I know we are the twenty-three of December, and Christmas is tomorrow. But since you will have to go… you know. I wanted to make sure you had your present before leaving,” you end up answering more calmly, squeezing his warm hand in yours.

“We really read each other’s minds. I planned to do the same thing ! I have a surprise for you too, eheh,” he muses happily, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to bring you closer.

“Really ? Now I’m even more excited, let’s go !” you exclaim with excitement, stars in your eyes. Satoru can’t help but feel nervous, yet happy, smiling at your unaware face of what the surprise will be.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ 

In the intimacy of the moment, Satoru discovered his christmas gift. It was actually hard to find one, as… obviously, every store around was closed, people had to evacuate some weeks ago. But, you managed to go back to your place, and take what you needed. You already offered him something you bought some time ago, for his birthday, the seven of december. For Christmas, his gift was a warm scarf with a cd. The cd actually holded a compilation of videos you had taken for almost fifteen years, since you met Satoru. It retraced all your friendship through time, rediscovering memories that were long lost.

You already cried of nostalgia when secretly preparing it, but seeing it again, with an overjoyed Satoru at your side, it was hard to not have tears again. Even more when seeing all these shared moments, that will maybe come to an end tomorrow. Satoru thought the exact same. But he didn’t want to make you sadder, instead just wanting to show you his gratitude and his happiness for this amazing sentimental gift.

“My turn now,” he whispers in the crook of your neck as you were both sitting next to the christmas tree in front of the fireplace. Actually, it was the fireplace of the entry of the hotel you both stayed at. The tree was gigantic as well, and you had the place for only the two of you. It was, to say the least, magic, majestic, beautiful and dreamy.

“Ok, I’m excited,” you beam.

“And I’m nervoussss,” he mutters, taking something from his pocket, his eyebrows frowning.

“What ?”

“I said close your eyes,” he gives you a peck on the lips.

“You didn’t say that, but ok,” you chuckle, doing so. Some seconds pass, and then something shifts in the air, before you feel Satoru moving slightly.

“You can open them,” he whispers in such a soft voice that you can’t help but be surprised. As you slowly open them, your heart stops beating for a second when you see him having one knee on the ground, looking at you with so much love in his eyes, holding a tiny box with a diamond ring sitting elegantly inside of it.

“What-” you choke, not believing your eyes. 

“Y/n, I know it’s very early in our relationship. I know it’s only been barely a month, since I got unsealed, that we are officially dating. But, God. I love you, so damn much. I have loved you since I’m fifteen, and I turned twenty-nine a few days ago. It’s been more than a decade since I know how infatuated and crazy I am for you. I’m convinced that the only person I want in my life is you, and nobody else. Hell, I was terrified about all these arranged marriages they tried to put me into since I’m of age. Yet, when I think about a future with you, I’m sure : being your husband is actually something I would be happy to be. So yes, it is rushed. But if I came to die tomorrow, I at least want to die being your fiance, knowing I had the courage to ask you this question : will you marry me ?”

“Oh my-,” you shake, hand covering your mouth as tears swell in your eyes. You didn’t expect it, at all. And knowing why it was so rushed, that it maybe will be the only occasion in his life to ask you this, before his death, before tomorrow, it breaks your heart. Years spent by his side, from teenager years to adulthood, flash before your eyes. The man that you always loved was asking for your hand, and that felt like a dream. Satoru smiles awkwardly, seriously stressed at your lack of answer as he swallows his saliva.

“Can I take that as a yes ?” he tries to make you answer, some hope glinting in his irises while he gets closer. You snap back of your thoughts, and nod firmly.

“Yes Satoru, yes,” and he gently takes your hand, sliding the ring on it. It fits perfectly, and you stare at it with awe before he takes your face and kisses you with so much care that you falter. You bring him closer, the ring shining under the lights of the christmas tree, like a promise made to the stars.

“Here I thought you would break my heart,” he whispers teasingly against your mouth, even if he wasn’t entirely joking when saying this.

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter, fingers caressing his tender face, cradling it with care and affection. 

“I love you,” Satoru murmurs for your ears only, even if nobody else was around, aside from the two of you. He wishes it could stay like this.

“I love you too,” you answer back, taking him in your arms. He smiles, wrapping his around your body and bringing you closer to his chest, molding against yours.

“How did you manage to have an engagement ring when everything around is closed ?” you ask after some minutes of silence, his hand softly caressing your back in a soothing way.

“Don’t worry about that, I got my ways,” he replies mysteriously, and you roll your eyes, while he only chuckles as a response.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you say in the crook of his neck, hugging him tighter, closer to your heart.

“Here, if you want to make it real, I have the other ring. You can put it on me,” he kisses the top of your head and grabs you by the shoulders. Intrigued, you look up at him, and he offers you the matching ring that would belong on his finger. You smile, amused, and excited as well. You take it gently, and then softly and slowly slide it around his digit.

“Yes, I want to marry you, y/n. Oh my god ! Such an amazing ring ! Kyaaaa,” he exclaims, acting all giddy and exaggerating, which makes you laugh heartily, pleased to share this moment of warmth and happiness with him.

“You’re such a dork,” you tease him, kissing his cheek, and the corner of his lips curls as his face becomes a soft pink.

“I know you love it,” he muses, making you rest again on his chest, nuzzling your shoulder to annoy you, but really, you enjoy it more than anything to have him so close. As if he wanted to crawl under your skin and nest inside. That wouldn’t be such a bad idea, he thought.

“Of course,” you answer, nudging him.

Again, minutes pass, staring at the fireplace, the dancing flames moving in singular harmonies, making you lost in thoughts.

“Satoru ?”

“Yes, sweetheart ?”

“Tomorrow, please, come back to me,” you whisper in a plea, clenching yourself harder against him. He takes a deep breath, bracing himself for what will have to come.

“I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will.”

He looks into your eyes.

“One day, I hope to call you my wife.”

“And you, my husband.”

May this become true.

જ⁀➴ ⠀ׂ  

January, 2025.

“And, this is how I met him. But hey, stop slacking off, there is still some training to do, hurry up !” you exclaim as you stop your train of thoughts and look at the three first years facing you, as they just started some weeks ago to study here at Jujutsu high. It was refreshing to see new generations enjoying their youth, as they should be.

“But professor, your ring is so pretty, we want to know more about him !” insists the smaller one, doing puppy eyes as she stares at the stone ornamenting your finger. You smile softly looking at it, nostalgia hitting you raw.

“Who are we talking about ?” asks a second year, coming closer, intrigued by the conversation happening in the warmth of the sun up your head in the training grounds. 

“The love of my life,” you whisper softly, very very gently, as if only you could hear your own words.

“Oh- you mean the one that-” starts to say the second year, face distorting in pain.

“Shhhhh, don’t say it,” quickly cuts him off one of the three first years that was listening to you earlier.

“It’s alright, it’s not a bad word,” you shrug, chuckling softly as you give them a reassuring smile.

“But…” starts the teenager, yet you shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest.

“No more slacking, come on ! Your cursed energy will not get trained alone !” you say with authority, sighing as they grumble and go back to their training in the middle of the field as you keep a watchful eye over them.

“Miss Gojo,” suddenly interrupts a voice, and when you turn your head, you are met with black hair. 

“Yuta, I told you to stop calling me that,” you huff, scolding him, and even shaking your head. But really, it actually didn’t bother you at all.

“I know, but he threatened me to do it every time I would see you,” answers the poor boy, now a man, embarrassed and feeling slightly guilty.

“Ah, what a bully…” you start to say, laughing to yourself at this core memory, one that was deep inside your heart. You take a deep breath and look back at him, “ did you need something ?”

“I got charged to tell you to go in an emergency at the red gates,” he admits, and you raise your eyebrows, surprised. You give a look to your students, making sure they would be ok by themselves. Well, they would surely slack off once you will be away, but it wasn’t the most important matter right now.

“What ? Alright, I’m going. Thanks !” you nod, and quickly run off towards the location. You slowly slow down when you arrive there, and your eyebrows raise when you see what is standing in front of the gates. You jog, before walking more calmly, surprised and your heart beating faster.

“Satoru ?”

“Come give a big hug to your amazing husband !” exclaims the white haired male, opening wide his arms. You grin,more like a big fat smile, wrinkles at the corners of your eyes as you laugh and jump in the embrace of your husband. His strong limbs wrap around you, catching you perfectly in time as he was long used to doing that. You inhale his familiar scent, pleased to see him after this long exhausting day.

“What are you doing here ?” you ask, raising your head as he pecks your lips tenderly.

“You took too long to come back home, I got bored,” he explains, shrugging. His large palm decorated by his wedding ring caresses the side of your face lovingly.

“Easy for you to say when you don’t work anymore, while I still have students to teach,” you answer, giving him a look, even if you were mostly joking around and not really accusing him of anything.

“Hey, I’m retired, it’s different. And I keep telling you that you can stop working as well, as I can provide the two of us for a lifetime,” he retorts, pouting like a manchild, squeezing you harder, almost knocking the air out of your lungs. You chuckle.

“I know, but a certain someone can’t seem to want to let go of his past as a teacher, and insisted that I would take care of the future generations. So, I’m doing my job,” you correct, tapping the tip of his nose, and he scrunches it like a bunny in reply, which makes you laugh.

“I know what I said, but I’m greedy. I didn’t think you would take it so seriously- I miss you at home,” he insists, whining harder, deeping his head in the crook of your head and breathing loudly to emphasize his distress. 

“Poor house husband... And of course I took it seriously ! You asked me this when you lost your Six eyes and Infinity, it was an important promise I made !” you exclaim in a scoff, not believing your ears, hitting his shoulder, yet he doesn’t budge. 

“I'll take it back, stay at home with me, pretty please,” he answers, doing his usual puppy eyes that make you weak on your knees.

“For you to pester me all day ? No,” you shake your head, rolling your eyes.

“And a lot of good sex,” he adds, smirking and tilting his head to the side to look at you with his charming gaze.

“That’s tempting… but no. Come on, let’s go grab something to eat, I’m starving,” you giggle, taking his hand in yours as he intertwines his fingers together, sharing his warmth. You’ll call Yuta to inform him to tell your students that class is dismissed. Not like they would be sad, as they clearly were grumpy at the idea of training more. Kids these days…

“And let’s go to the arcade after,” he proposes, walking next to you at the same pace, winking at you.

“Are we really a married couple or some teenagers ?” you laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“I still feel like a teenager in love when I’m with you, honey,” he muses, nudging you, which makes you grin.

“Yet, we’re 34 and 35,” you insist. Saying it makes you realize how much older you are than what you think in your head.

“I can’t believe our marriage was already five years ago !” he exclaims, eyes wide open and mouth agape, shocked by his own words.

“And seven years ago we started “fake dating”, time does really fly,” you don’t forget to say, teasing him.

“As long as I’m by your side, I don’t mind,” he answers more calmly, kissing the finger holding your ring. You fluster at his gesture. Looking at your husband makes you realize how lucky you are to still have him by your side after everything that happened.

Years ago, he almost died against Sukuna. To the point that you couldn’t help but jump into the fight when Magohara almost sliced him in two, saving him at the last second. It almost cost your own life, but you would do it all over again, just for him. The sake of his winning ended in what jujutsu society and the rest of the world would call a tragedy, but to you and him, it brought peace to his life. Indeed, the cost was a binding vow, making him lose his Six eyes and Infinity abilities. It meant the end of The Strongest, of the great Gojo Satoru. For many, it was worse than death itself.

But he couldn’t be more than happy, leaving the future of jujutsu society to new fresh generations, and finally ending his years of labor and exhaustion. He was now a free man, being able to live a normal life, and actually having the joy to learn what a normal life is. Because he hardly had the chance to explore normality, never in its fullest. 

“We really should get a baby,” he suddenly says, humming as the two of you walk in a quiet street. 

“You keep talking about it,” you answer, giving him a smile, wondering how serious he was right now.

“Because I want a family with you,” he replies, looking at you in the eyes with sincerity. You stop walking one second, before starting again more calmly. You squeeze his hand lovingly.

“I want one too, my love,” you whisper, leaning towards him affectionately. At your words, he suddenly turns towards you and grabs you by the shoulders to make you stop and instead walk the opposite way. Startled, you look at him confused, but still follow him nonetheless.

“Ok, let’s go home now,” he announces, more like orders.

“And what about eating something and going to the arcade-” you start to say, but he quickly cuts you off.

“Forget about it, I’m going to make you pregnant tonight !” he exclaims determined, walking even faster, to the point the two of you are now running towards your shared house. You keep laughing with him all the way to your home, Satoru joining you in your never ending laughter, full of joy and hope.

After having the chance to marry you, he just couldn’t wait to fully start a family with the love of his life.

If years ago, when the two of you started fake dating, someone would tell him that you and him would be married trying for a kid, he would have thought that it was because of a scheme of the higher ups. Not because he had the chance to make it by choice and out of his love for you. 

Gojo Satoru truly was the happiest man on earth. That’s what he thought every morning when waking up next to you.

And curses be damned, love is the greatest blessing of all. 

THE END

————————

I'm so happy that we finally reached the end ! This was so fun to write, and exploring both the angst and the comedic fluff was very interesting. I hope I managed to get you on your toes untill the end, wondering if Gojo had an ending like in the manga, or something canonically divergent. Thank you all for reading, reactions would be appreciated. See you soon for other fics, xoxo ! Love y'all.

Tag list : @bnbaochauuu @bunniotomia

[moncherriecoups]

Muted Hearts

Some love stories are whispered, not spoken. Some promises are signed, not said.

This is ours.

Petals unfurl, soft scents linger,

velvet red against her skin.

A question blooms with every stem—

does she dare to let him in?

His world is hushed, a vow in ink,

secrets locked behind his name.

She should resist, she should beware,

yet still—she stays, she plays the game.

──────────────────────────────

Seungcheol x f!oc

Potential another love interest

Tags: tense relationship, idolxoc, slowburn relationship, angst

Word count: 2.4k

──────────────────────────────

Chapter Three

The flowers arrive on a Wednesday.

Sua almost doesn’t notice at first—too caught up in the usual chaos of the gallery. Ari, her co-worker, is complaining about a delayed shipment, their inbox is overflowing, and a patron won’t stop asking if they can lower the price of a painting that’s already sold. The morning passes in a blur of emails and half-drunk coffee, and then there’s a knock at the entrance.

A courier stands at the door, dressed in all black, holding out a bouquet wrapped in soft cream-colored paper.

“Delivery for Jang Sua.”

She blinks, caught off guard, before hesitantly reaching for it. The petals are delicate, pale pink, and full—peonies. Her fingers brush against a small card tucked between them. The ink is precise, deliberate.

They mean bashful love.

There’s no name. But she doesn’t need one.

She knows.

Ari whistles low when she sees it, setting down her tablet with a smirk. “Wow. That’s the third one this week.”

Sua hums in response, already turning back to her screen. Maybe if she doesn’t engage, Ari will drop it.

She does not.

“Alright, so who’s sending you flowers every morning? Some art collector? A rich old man trying to impress you?”

Sua rolls her eyes, reaching for her coffee. “A client.”

Ari narrows her eyes, unconvinced. Ari isn’t buying it. “A client who sends you flowers every single day? What, did you sell him a Monet?”

Sua exhales slowly, fighting the warmth creeping up her neck. She should have thrown them in the break room vase like she did yesterday’s bouquet, but instead, they’re still in her hands, the petals soft beneath her fingertips. She doesn’t know what to call this yet. It’s not a relationship. Not really. But it’s something.

Something that lingers in her inbox at night.

How was your day?

Did you eat?

That painting you liked—it got sold, right?

Did you manage to say goodbye to it?

He notices things. He listens.

And that’s the problem.

—

Seungcheol sits in the dressing room, scrolling through his phone.

The others are loud around him, half-dressed for rehearsal, voices overlapping in every direction. He barely hears any of it, too focused on the read receipt that appears at the bottom of his screen. She saw his text. She hasn’t answered yet.

He doesn’t realize he’s been smiling until—

“Who the hell is ‘Sua’?”

His head jerks up.

Mingyu is standing in front of him, squinting at his phone. Seungcheol locks the screen immediately, but it’s too late. DK is already lunging across the couch.

“HYUNG, WHO IS SUA??” DK shrieks, eyes wide with betrayal. “Secret girlfriend? Hidden manager? Are you being blackmailed? BLINK TWICE IF—”

“Mind your business,” Seungcheol mutters, shoving him off.

Mingyu doesn’t let up, grinning as he nudges his shoulder. “No, but really. Who is she?”

“Someone important,” Seungcheol says simply, standing before anyone else can pry.

Across the room, Minghao doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t need to. He’s seen the way Seungcheol's shoulders relax when he checks his phone, the way his fingers hover before sending a text, as if every word has weight.

He already knows.

Minghao had noticed long before anyone else.

Not because Seungcheol was obvious—he wasn’t. He had always been careful, measured, keeping his private life locked behind knowing smiles and well-timed subject changes. But Minghao had been paying attention. He always did.

It started small.

The way Seungcheol checked his phone more often, how his gaze softened—just barely—before locking the screen again. The way he lingered in quiet moments, fingers hovering over a reply. And then there were the flowers.

The first time Minghao caught a glimpse of a delivery note sitting on Seungcheol’s desk, he didn’t think much of it. But then, he noticed another. And another. Different dates, the same sender. Seungcheol, who rarely entertained distractions, who always put logic before impulse, was sending flowers to someone almost daily.

Someone important.

Someone named Sua.

He had to hear it from Mingyu and DK first, of course—both of them far too loud, far too eager to dig into Seungcheol’s secrets. But Minghao didn’t need them to spell it out. He already knew.

And that was the problem.

Because Jang Sua wasn’t just a name to him.

She was someone he had worked with for months, someone he had admired—not in the way Mingyu or DK would tease him about, but in the way an artist recognized another. She had an eye for detail, an understanding of space, a quiet way of commanding a room without trying. He had mentioned her before—too many times, probably.

But Seungcheol had never reacted. Not once. Not even when Minghao brought her up in passing, when he spoke about her insight, her work.

Now, suddenly, she was his.

Minghao wasn’t angry. Not really.

But something about it sat wrong in his chest, like a half-finished brushstroke, like a piece of art that didn’t quite fit in its frame.

And maybe Seungcheol could sense it, because when they crossed paths backstage—just the two of them, away from the others—he hesitated. Just for a second.

“You’re seeing her.” Minghao’s voice was even, steady. He wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement.

Seungcheol didn’t deny it. Didn’t brush it off. He just met Minghao’s gaze, unreadable. “Yes.”

Minghao exhaled slowly, tilting his head. “You never told me.”

A pause. Then—“Did I need to?”

No. He didn’t.

But Minghao still felt the weight of something unsaid pressing between them, something that had nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with the way Seungcheol had kept this hidden—not from the world, but from him.

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Just be careful, hyung.”

Seungcheol didn’t ask what he meant.

And that, Minghao thought, was answer enough.

—

The cursor blinked at her, waiting.

Sua’s thumb hovered over the keyboard, the weight of her own hesitation pressing against her ribs. It shouldn’t be this hard. It was just a text. Just a few words. But the moment she sent it, there would be no taking it back.

She glanced at the bouquet sitting on her desk—the one he sent that morning. Something softer this time, pastel tulips arranged in a way that felt almost careful. Deliberate. It was ridiculous how easily he had woven himself into her routine, how his presence lingered in something as simple as the scent of fresh flowers filling the small space of her office.

With a deep breath, she tapped out the message before she could second-guess herself again.

Are you free for dinner?

Three dots appeared almost immediately. Then—

Tell me when and where.

No teasing. No hesitation. Just quiet certainty.

She stared at his reply for a second longer than necessary, then typed—

Tomorrow night. The same place.

A pause. Then three dots reappeared—

I’ll be there.

Her phone felt heavy in her palm as she set it down, exhaling slowly. The decision had been made. Now, there was nothing left to do but face it.

—

The restaurant was quieter this time. No flashing signs, no murmurs of recognition from nearby tables. Just warm lighting, the hum of soft music, and the gentle clinking of silverware against porcelain. It was intimate—too intimate, maybe, for what this was.

Sua sat across from Seungcheol, fingers loosely wrapped around the stem of her wine glass. The envelope rested between them, untouched, yet unbearably heavy. She could feel his gaze on her, waiting, patient in a way that made her chest tighten.

"You’re not eating," he said finally, voice quieter than usual.

She blinked, startled out of her thoughts, and glanced down at her barely touched plate. “Neither are you.”

His lips curved, but the amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I guess I’m a little… preoccupied.”

So was she. The weight of her decision pressed against her ribs, an unspoken question lingering between them.

Seungcheol reached to the envelope between them, pushing it closer to her. The sight of it made her pulse skip—a simple, unassuming thing, yet heavy with everything it meant.

“This is it,” he said, voice low. “No pressure. If you need more time—”

“I don’t.” Sua reached for the envelope, fingers brushing against the fine paper, then hesitated. For a moment, she simply ran her fingertips along the edge, tracing the weight of the choice before her. Then, finally, she slid it toward her side of the table.

“I’ll sign it,” she said, her voice steady despite the whirlwind inside her.

Something flickered in his expression—relief, gratitude, something else she couldn’t quite name. He exhaled, watching her, and when his fingertips grazed hers as he gently pushed the pen toward her, a quiet shiver curled down her spine.

"Thank you," he murmured.

She swallowed, unsure what she was thanking him for. For asking? For waiting? For making this so much harder than it should be?

Seungcheol didn’t pull his hand away right away. His gaze lingered, softer now, something dangerously close to tenderness settling between them. “Are you sure?”

"No," she admitted. "But I want to be."

A slow breath left him, and then—so effortlessly it made her heart stutter—he reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers. Not demanding. Not pushing. Just there, warm and steady.

Sua let him. Let the moment linger. Let herself believe, just for tonight, that maybe this wasn’t as complicated as it felt.

"Then that’s enough," Seungcheol said. And the way he looked at her—like she was something worth waiting for—made her think, just for a second, that maybe he was right.

—

As they stepped out into the night, the quiet hum of the city surrounding them, Seungcheol reached for her hand—slow, unassuming. Sua could have pulled away, could have let the moment slip between them like all the unspoken things that still lingered in the air. But she didn’t. Instead, she let her fingers slip between his, warmth meeting warmth, and when she finally looked up at him, he was already smiling.

──────────────────────────────

GAHHHHHHHHH here comes chapter 3!! If you haven't read the 1st and 2nd, go check my pinned!

And also, how do we feel about the HxW teaser???!!!!!

New chapter coming soon!!!

With love,

-S

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

The Drafts

Summary: Spencer confronts Reader about a breakup text he found in her Notes app

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Angst, Comfort?

Content warnings: Manipulation, lying, yelling, anger, ambiguous ending

Word count: 1.5k

You check yourself out in the bathroom mirror. It’s date night, and it’s been long overdue since Spencer’s been called away to four states in the past two weeks. Despite the stress that already comes with that (and the current state of your relationship), the dress he got you makes up for it, and helps you think about how lucky you are in more ways than one. It fits you just right without trapping you in the fabric. Even the fluorescent lights in his bathroom can’t make you look bad. “Spencer!” You call out, zhuzhing your hair again before leaving. No response, but you flick the switch off before saying, “I’m ready whenever you are!”

Still nothing. Not surprising. It’s rare when Spencer isn’t lost in his own mind. You’ve learned not to ask every time this happens because it often leads to theoretical explanations that go over your head within seconds. On rare occasions, he’s discovered a plot hole in one of the older Dr. Who episodes (which also go over your head).

This is a different time though. Because when you turn the corner to the bedroom, Spencer isn't hunched over his desk or scribbling incoherence on his whiteboard (yes, he has a whiteboard in his bedroom and has refused to move it for reasons unexplained). Instead, he’s pacing the small area between the wall and the foot of his bed. He’s hunched over the phone. Your phone.

You try to bite back the instant frustration as his bare feet smack the floor. ���Spencer,” you monitor your tone. “Are you ready?”

“You’re breaking up with me?” That is all he asks when he finally stops to look up at you. He’s not exactly emotional, but he’s definitely holding back.

Red hotly spreads across your cheeks. “What?”

He points and his eyebrows rise like he’s found evidence at a crime scene. “Flushed face.”

“Spencer, we’ve talked about —”

“Likely a sign of embarrassment from being exposed.” He turns the phone screen to face you; paragraphs of text and broken sentences from previous editing attempts. Arguably, not your finest work.

Your mouth is agape, and it is hard to fight the instinct to close it upon suspicion of further guilt. You bet he’ll assume surprise. “I thought we talked about you not looking through my phone.”

“Because you didn’t want me to see this?” He gestures back at it as if it’s not obvious. Sadness is already breaking some barriers, starting with his voice, but he’s trying to maintain a smug demeanor. Even in potential agony, Spencer can still get a high from being right.

You grunted. It was involuntary but honest. It came out of your throat like steam, as the anger in your core is already overflowing into the rest of your body. It bursts again when you snatch the phone out of his hands. He doesn’t flinch, damn him. You scroll up and down on the app incoherently, reminding yourself of the words he’s read and memorized. You think of how they’ll haunt you, how he’ll haunt you with them. “I can’t believe you went through my phone again.”

“I can’t believe you’re not even trying to fix this," he says. “I-I understand that things aren’t the most ideal right now, but we could’ve made time to talk about it.”

“What? Like not going through my phone? Look at how that worked out.”

“I know you’ve been acting differently. No kisses goodbye every day, spacing out at dinners with my coworkers, and a slew of other things.”

“Oh, are they written down on yours? I'd love to read them.”

Spencer shakes his head, letting his eidetic memory speak for itself there. “I’m a profiler, Y/N. And I can’t deny facts.”

The grunt before was delicate compared to the noise you make now. What the noise was is unknown, but terrifying. It wipes Spencer's smirk clean off. “Yes! You’re a profiler! I’m reminded of that every single goddamn day because every move I make near you is analyzed under a microscope!” You resist throwing your phone on the bed; partly out of fear of where it will bounce to, and partly Spencer snatching it up again. Instead, you tap the screen, exiting the Notes app and navigating to your texts. You press the latest contact, Garcia. Then you stay there, knowing Spencer will see the screen brightness show slightly on your face. “You didn’t read my texts, did you?”

Spencer doesn’t say anything. Your eyes dart towards him, and you can tell he wonders what cruel piece of evidence he missed.

“Yeah. Cause if you did, you would’ve known I was writing a breakup text for someone else. But you didn’t. So once again, you’ve snooped and gone out of your way to hurt your own feelings for no reason.”

The look on Spencer’s face. No matter how angry you get, how wrong he is, the sullen puppy dog look this man can pull off with his eyes alone is a weapon. It always makes him look pitiful.

And it makes lying to him even more painful.

“Spencer.” You say with a sigh.

“Who’s it for?”

You throw your head back. “Why is that your business?”

Spencer’s interrogation tactics often get in the way of the fact that he’s not facing a criminal, but his girlfriend. His girlfriend whose privacy he violated with no warrant presented to you. But when Spencer is on a case, he fails to differentiate between the two. You’ve practically heard him making mental notes when your behavior is even slightly off. Even when they have nothing to do with him. But he’s always quick to assume they are as he’s either leaving for work or being called away before discussions can occur. Spencer is a profiler, yes, but all profilers can let their emotions get the better of them.

You show Spencer your wrists. Gold bracelets clang together instead of silver cuffs. “What’s the goal here, Dr. Reid?”

He paces the floor again, briefly, before settling on the bed corner. He’s still looking at the floor, thinking, but you can tell his thought process has slowed down thanks to your (alleged) evidence. "Something must be wrong." He whispers. It’s pathetic. “You used to tell me everything.”

“And you used to not look through my things.” You’d hate to admit that you’re shaking too, but not from sadness. You stay standing, and put your phone on the dresser next to you. Face down. You cross your arms. “Things can change. Actions have consequences.”

He exhales briefly through his nose. He looks up, his eyes already shifting to a pinkish hue. “So it’s your turn to lecture me because —”

“Because my boyfriend is profiling off the clock again? Yes. Because he’s interrogating me and questioning my intentions when he’s supposed to be getting ready for date night? A date night he insisted upon because he’s been working overtime and profiling on a jet for the entire month? Yes.”

The anger. The intensity of it all pierced your blood long before. It coiled around your vocal cords while making your point. You had plenty more to say. A slideshow would’ve been worthy of listing Spencer’s actions over the last three months alone. Except the strain is hard, and clearing your throat doesn’t help. So you stand there, looking down at the miserable man you loved once. You pretend the silence is intentional, you let it speak for itself. 

And by some miracle (or perhaps the predicted luck of your dress), it worked. After wiping the budding tears from his eyes, Spencer studies you from curled hair to strappy heels. You know a stray movement will ignite a thousand rebuttals. You preferred dinner, so you maintain your statue-like stillness by raising only your eyebrows.

Spencer swallows. “I’m sorry.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I should’ve…” He nods while clamping his lips closed. “Yeah, I should have talked to you first. I’m so sorry.”

You exhale. It could be the relief of moving again. Or the fact that you can’t help but comfort the sad man who is still technically your boyfriend. You take his hand and pull him off the bed and allow him to rest his head on your shoulder while holding your waist. His palms are flat on your back as his chest heaves and caves. Your arms are around his neck, and you comfort him with soft hushes. Meanwhile, adrenaline depletion is already beckoning your eyes to close. But you stare at the wall.

You’re so tired. You’ve been tired. Decaying is perhaps the best word for all of this. Nevertheless, you hold Spencer tightly to let him know you’re there. It's all the strength you have. The strength to end things though is of a different caliber than you thought you could fathom. You can collect enough to rip off the world's most difficult bandaid, eventually. But Spencer Reid with a theoretical broken heart is already painful enough to witness. He needs you right now. And right now, you'll be there for him.

Thank you to @imagining-in-the-margins and her discord for helping me with fleshing out this story 🩵

[yourlocalgrass]

I’m bored and thought of another scenario to put in tension and angst for obey me characters to go through. I like this one by the way.

_______________________________

Sorcerers’ society find out the causes of earthquakes happening faster than usual was MC due to their magic potential (MC being the cause of all the natural ‘phenomenon’ in S2) and now want to investigate MC and call them in.

Drama has already started baby.

Solomon who’s against this but goes with MC to make sure they’re ok because it’s not a good idea to ignore a seemingly threat invitation I mean.

It’s explained the Ring of light was used to console MC’s magic and everything is fine now but they’re doubting it and want to investigate the Ring of light for themselves, if it’s actually successfuly tamed their magic or just a temporary device to tone it down- simply meaning if MC’s overflow of magic would still be leaking and not fully restrained.

[Also add overprotective Solomon drama who’s against this because that’s hot and more dramatic]

It’s found out the ring of light isn’t powerful enough to completely prevent MC’s magic from overflowing and now…

The sorcerers’ society have deemed MC a threat. A large threat to the human world.

Who would be better off dead. No. SHOULD be dead.

_______________________________

「If only the story actually did have good drama like this~

Anyways I’m just describing the scenario since I can’t write at all lol if I had enough confidence I probs would haha」

[jungwoos-luvr]

Choi Seungcheol

svt masterlist | masterlist

key: ✰ = smut ✿ = fluff ❥ = angst ◘ = smau

bold = personal fav

series

push it down (sooner or later it all comes out) ✰ ❥ | finished by @/dontflailmenow

game day ✿ ◘ | finished by @/escapewriter (this was the first svt smau ive ever read and i was not disappointed game day was a cultural reset)

manspread, mansplain, manipulate ✰ | finished by @/bluejeanstrash (OMG THIS WAS SO GOOD AFTER I READ IT I THOUGHT AB IT ALL WEEK its like all filth but ykw thats okay with me 😚)

ch-ch-cherry bomb ✰ | finished by @/meltwonu (scroll down for it) (also idk if it was bc it was like 2am when reading this but it was so good it gave a headache and i couldnt sleep idk some rush came over me)

terrifyingly innocent ✿ ❥ ◘ | finished by @/twogyuu

the way back ✿ ❥ ◘ | finished by @/suhnshinehaos

i like you ✿ ❥ ◘ | finished by @/taeyegu

first to fall ✿ ◘ | finished by @/thepixelelf

the secrets of us ◘ | finished by @/jeonjaemark

the kids are going to be alright ◘ | finished by @/wondernus

tales from the pack: stubborn ✰ ✿ | finished by @/gamerwoo

moonlust series: chains ✿ ❥ | finished by @/sunlightwoo

the recordings of you ✿ ❥ ◘ | ongoing by @/juhaknyeonies

yours, but not yours ✰ | ongoing by @/gyukult

oneshots

gryffindor captain ✿ ❥ | wc: 17.1k by @/http-mianhae (i actually love seungcheol so much hes so sweet and screw those girls in that fic!! i was skeptical at first reading it cuz hp au but this is so good)

banana pancakes ✰ ✿ | wc: 12k by @/yoongiseesawmp3 (this is so cute i love this writer mwah mwah ur work is perfection🫶🫶)

in another life ✰ ✿ ❥ | wc: 9.3k by @/httpshannie (i cried at 2am reading this WHY DID HE DO THATAKSJSJEB i cried sent several texts to my friends ab it also i love this writer)

crossing boundaries ✰ ✿ | wc: 8.6k by @/wonusite

potential parent test ✿ | part 1 | part 2 | by @/soundofseventeen

the cake in the back ✰ | wc: 3.8k by @/toruro

suffocating. ✿ ❥ | wc: 3.3k by @/cheolbooluvr (i cried this was so sweet omg sjsjejwhahe i love communication ☹️)

the great war ✰ ✿ | wc: 41k by @/amourcheol

ice cold, cabin fever (ft mingyu) ✰ | part 1 | part 2 | wc: 25.9k by @/smileysuh

get you ✰ ✿ | part 1 | part 2 | wc: 8.9k, 12.2k by @/yoongiseesawmp3

sapiosexual ✰ | wc: 18.6k by @/smileysuh

cupid ✰ | wc: 9.3k by @/yoongiseesawmp3

control ✰ | wc: 8k by @/leejihoonownsmyheart

bite that lip ✰ ✿ | wc: 6.3k by @/beahae

couch comfort ✿ | wc: 6.3k by @/cheolism

in the eye of the beholder ✰ | wc: 6.2k by @/cheolism

down bad (so so bad) ✰ ✿ | wc: 5.7k by @/lovelyhan

lunch visit ✰ | wc: 5.3k by @/mimikookie

cherrycheolie ✰ | wc: 5.2k by @/smileysuh

blood moon ✰ | wc: 5k by @/smileysuh

just friends ✰ | wc: 5k by @/lvscoups

his hoodie ✰ | wc: 4.8k by @/drunk-on-dk

virtue of humility ✿ | wc: 4.8k by @/hannie-dul-set

hits different ❥ | wc: 4.7k by @/gleamingyu

angel (or devil) ✰ | wc: 4.2k by @/amourcheol

contusion confusion ✰ | wc: 4k by @/seungkwansphd

kick in the right direction ✿ | part 1 | part 2 | wc: 3.7k by @/httphannie

reliable ✰ | wc: 3.6k by @/ncteez

exam szn ✰ | wc: 3.3k by @/azamf

remind me ✿ | wc: 2.7k by @/milfgyuu

lusty gallant ✰ | wc: 2.6k by @/onlyseokmins

wedding night ✰ ✿ | wc: 2.3k by @/onlyhuis

big cock: for dummies ✰ | wc: 2.3k by @/ncteez

teach me ✰ | wc: 2.2k by @/raibebe

overflowed ✰ | wc: 2.2k by @/duhnova

keep it quiet ✰ | wc: 2.1k by @/jaemified

brighter days ahead ✿ | wc: 1.7k by @/renaiswriting

frozen cold proposal ✿ | wc: 1.5k by @/cheolism

when he finds out your sick through the internet ✿ | wc: 1.5k by @/wonwoonlight

drabbles

take care ✰ | wc: 0.6k by @/toruro

04:15 AM ✿ | wc: 0.3k by @/fairyhaos

when you miss seungcheol but you’re going on a trip to jeju without him ✿ | by @/wonwoonlight

baby making ✰ | by @/sluttywoozi

you’ve always had cold hands ✿ | by @/savventeen

birthday sex ✰ | by @/idyllic-ghost

pregnancy cravings ✿ | by @/yikesmary

“sorry” ❥ | by @/som1ig

note: i havent fully read all the smaus so idk how angsty or fluffy they are

note: i think u can tell how much i love him here

[conanssummerchild]

some of the most common prickcest fics i feel like are precanon fics of like young rick from when he was still with diane (theres a lot of young ricks, what are we calling him? wife guy?) and he's cheating on her with prime before he even offers him a portal gun, and i believe ive also seen a few people analysing this scenario, like what if rick actually did know prime before that meeting we see in the show, so i want to add to that by saying that what if that actually happened and yknow how rick reveals to beth in bethic twinstinct that he's also been with other versions of himself, what if beth and space beth reminded him of him and prime and how he was cheating on diane and then he lost her forever at the hands of the man he was having an affair with (at his own hands) :3 and also lost his beth

which is why rick said "remember, its not just your ice cream you're forgetting, it's your family's" or smth. because he forgot his familys ice cream too much, and then he lost them (not that im saying he thinks space beth would do that but also, we dont know.)

space beth and prime are shown as kind of the edgier versions of beth and rick, prime and space beth even have similar sci-fi-ish outfits maroon-ish undershirt, diagonal hanging belt thing, streak in hair, dark leggings/trousers with some kind of leg cuff or something?

ok yeah, thats it really, im only saying this bcs i feel like it could have great angst potential for like rick remembering how he did the same and it went so much worse. maybe even showing another step that pushed him back into his rick prime relapse

(the first being of course solaricks, where he revisits his original dimension, stuck in the day he lost diane and beth, and then comes close to getting prime in that base thing place, then in bethic twinstinct he maybe sees everything i've just said in this post and he feels it pushing him deeper into going back to it, all the bad memories of when he and prime did the same as beth², wanting to avenge diane yk, that stuff, and then in analyse piss we already knew he sympathised with pissmaster because he related to him, he saw himself in him and stuff, well what if that also pushed him into isolation, bcs the worse he felt the more he was willing to destroy himself again, and then ofc in a rick in king morturs mort, when he thinks morty doesnt care abt him its like the final drop that overflows the cup (is that an expression in english? who cares, you get what i mean) like what if its a gradual build up)

anyway this post is getting away from me, but yeah um idk, rick has a lot of trauma is the point. he blames himself for dianes death we already know that but what if in part its bcs he was screwing prime. make that old man suffer :3

[goodfish-bowl]

Ghost in a Bottle

Danny Phantom x Voltron: Legendary Defender

Masterpost

DP Crossover Angst Week Day 4 - Trapped in a Thermos for Days or Months.

Summary: Pidge had gotten the thermos as part of a deal, along with the coveted gaming system and Kaltenecker. Of all things to be inside a 300-year-old Earth novelty item, Pidge had not been expecting a person. Danny just wants to find Jazz.

Notes: I've never written anything for Voltron before, and it's been a hot minute since I watched that show. This takes place circa Season 4, ep 4.

Word Count: 3,676

AO3 Link

Pidge had honestly forgotten she even had that thermos until it sent her flying across the room. The metal thermos was sent flying in the opposite direction as Pidge collided with a readily prepared pile of clothes. She groaned from having the wind knocked out of her before glaring at the container. She had picked it up from that one Earth-themed shop in the space mall since the keeper had thrown it in as part of a deal for the gaming counsel, along with Kaltenecker. It had gotten lost in the mess of her room until it apparently desired vengeance for being forgotten on the floor in the form of a tripping hazard. 

It was an odd, collectible-looking thing, made to look “futuristic” if Pidge had to guess, at least for three centuries ago. All shiny metal with the most saturated green she had ever had the displeasure of witnessing. It had a small button and meter on the side, which glowed a faint green, which was why Pidge had assumed it was collectible. 

“For tossing me to the floor, I’m going to fill you with the most bland, warm Altean food goo there is,” Pidge threatened the thermos. 

Well, before filling it with food goo, Pidge realized she should probably wash it… thoroughly disinfect and sanitize it first. Who knows where the thing had been, especially to make it this far out into space. 

Pidge crept out of her room and made her way to the kitchens. It wasn’t that late, probably the equivalent to 11 pm Earth time, but Pidge was still surprised to find Hunk in the kitchen, cleaning up from whatever he had been trying to make. Trying, being the key word, since there was a pile of burned goop being scraped into a container to be disposed of. 

“Hey, Hunk, what were these supposed to be?” Pidge asked.

Hunk jumped, before spotting Pidge in the kitchen. “Oh, it’s just you, Pidge. I was trying to make a curry, but, well…”

Pidge nodded in understanding. 

“Well, what are you doing? It’s a bit late for a snack, even for you,” Hunk pointed out. 

Pidge held up the thermos. “Gotta wash this.”

“Huh,” Hunk said, looking at the thermos. “Okay.”

Pidge went over to the Altean equivalent of a sink and unscrewed the cap. The hiss of pressure release was expected, but the amount of gas that started pouring out, less so. Pidge only held the thermos for a moment longer before dropping it into the sink and backing away. She ducked behind the island table in the middle of the room, dragging Hunk behind the table with her. 

Gas, thick and opaque, kept pouring out from the thermos, first pooling in the sink, then overflowing from the sink to the ground, forming a cloud at the base of the cabinets. Pidge and Hunk watched it continue to flow onto the floor, forming a cloud just big enough that Pidge could probably lay in it and be completely covered. 

“Pidge, is it just me or is it taking the form of a person?” Hunk pointed out. 

Pidge checked, and sure enough, the fog was beginning to compress, all on its own, into a vaguely humanoid form. She cursed under her breath. Of all the weird things to get her hands on, this one had something inside.  

“Hunk, sound the alarm,” Pidge said, refusing to take her eyes off their potential intruder. 

Hunk pressed the alarm button, and the silent alarms went off, flashing the lights, and notifying anyone else on board of the location and potential danger. 

The smoke condensed even further under the careful watch of both Pidge and Hunk from behind the counter, and slowly began gaining color while the smoke itself became thin and dissipated. A black suit, with long silver-white gloves, and tall boots. The being’s hair was white, while a tan-green color filled out the location of their face. Details became more apparent just as the other Paladins and Coran managed to make it to the room. On the floor, seemed to be a young male teen, likely just a few inches taller than Pidge herself, with bright white hair and pointed ears. 

“What’s going on? Are you both okay?” Shiro demanded as he rounded the corner. 

“We’re fine,” Hunk confirmed. “But… uh. I think we have an intruder.” 

Shiro rounded the corner, prepared for a fight, only to pause. 

“Okay, where did this guy even come from?” Lance asked, round the corner just behind Shiro. 

“He was in the thermos, that’s in the sink,” Pidge announced. 

Lance glanced at the thermos in the sink, pointing at it. 

“He was in that?”

Both Pidge and Hunk nodded. 

Lance frowned, going to nudge the boy with his foot. His foot passed through the boy, dissipating the smoke before quickly reforming. Lance yelped, jumping back. 

Allura rounded the corner herself and considered the unconscious teen, Coran behind her. 

“Do you know what he could be? I don’t think we’ve encountered smoke people before,” Hunk asked. 

“You said he came out from that vessel, correct?” Coran asked. 

“Yeah, I just thought it was some old novelty Earth thing. I wasn’t expecting there to be someone inside,” Pidge explained. 

Coran hummed, carefully picking up the thermos and examining it, while Allura looked at the boy more closely. 

“Careful, Allura. He’s an unknown,” Shiro warned. 

“A very unconscious, made of smoke, unknown,” Lance helpfully added. 

“I’ve…” Allura trailed off. “I’ve never encountered a people like this before. But whatever he is, he is overflowing with energy in a way… we’ve rarely encountered.”

“I’ve also never seen technology like this either,” Coran added. “Where did you say you found this, Pidge?” 

“From the Earth shop in the Space Mall,” Pidge repeated. “I don’t think we had technology like that on Earth 300 years ago either. It aesthetically matches the time period, so it could’ve been in the shop by mistake.”

“We’ll have to check. It’s an interesting piece, I would like to study it if that’s alright with you.”

Pidge shrugged. “I don’t care. I was just gonna fill it with food goo. New tech is always cool to fidget with, so let me know when you decide to take it apart. But, right now, I’m more interested in what we’re going to do with him?”

“We should move him into a sleep tank. I’d at least like to speak with him and learn more about his people,” Allura stated. 

Shiro frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if he’s hostile?” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had a hostile person on the ship.”

“Not that I’m against moving him to the sleep tanks,” Hunk spoke up. “But how are we supposed to do that? He’s made of smoke.”

“Not anymore,” Lance announced, crouched at the feet of the unconscious unknown. “He finally solidified about a minute ago.” Lance poked the boy’s boot to prove it.  

Shiro sighed. “Let's get him to the sleep tanks. Who knows how long he was locked in that soup thermos.”

Danny woke up slowly, all sensation out of reach. But he could tell he was submerged and suspended in something. The only thing he could feel was the gas mask over his face, forcing air into his lungs. Had Jazz managed to get him to the Far Frozen? Danny’s eyes refused to open, he couldn’t so much as twitch a finger, feeling heavy and foreign in his own skin. He doubted he would even be able to breathe if not for the mask. Danny was in the Far Frozen, he would be fine. And if he was here, so was Jazz. She was safe amongst the yetis. Jazz was safe. 

Danny slipped back asleep.

Danny woke up again, this time more quickly. He twitched his fingers, and slowly, opened his eyes. There was a hydraulic hiss, and the fluid Danny had been suspended in drained away, slowly allowing him to stand on his own. He couldn’t, and ended up heavily leaning against the side of the tube. It took longer than Danny would like for his vision to clear up. 

Danny was not in the Far Frozen, that was for sure. And worse, he was completely alone, with no idea of where he was and how he had gotten here. He seemed to be in a large room, containing a few other containment things. His clothes, at least, had not been changed from his threadbare shirt and tattered jeans. No shoes though. He physically seemed to be fine, just a little weak and tired, but he couldn’t tell where he was, and there was no one there to ask. 

Slowly, Danny put more weight on his legs, and the containment tube he was in opened, allowing him to step out. From here, he could spot a hallway leading further into wherever he was. He could also spot the heavy cables and pipes connected to each of the containment tubes, but his looked to be the only one in recent use. 

Slowly but surely, Danny made his way out of the room with the tubes and made it down the hallway. It was very futuristic in his opinion. There was a humming in the air, not quite electricity, but it didn’t remind him of the Ghost Zone either. He wasn’t in his ghost form right now either, so definitely not in the Ghost Zone. But that energy was there, humming in the walls like in his parents’ lab. Danny wondered if Jazz had actually managed to take him to another world or something, rather than stay in the Ghost Zone. It was kind of making him hungry. Danny wondered if he could find the kitchens. 

Danny heard heavy boots against the metallic ground before he saw someone. They were moving fast, and their rapid and loud approach was the only thing that kept Danny from being practically tackled to the ground in surprise. 

It was a tall man with black hair with a mess of white in the front, dressed in some kind of black and white armor. He immediately stood on guard and Danny raised his arms in surrender. He didn’t want to fight. He doubted he could even run as he was right now. 

“Uhh, hi. I’m lost.”

The man looked startled and confused for a moment before shifting to exasperation. “Did you just come from the sleep tanks?”

Sleep tanks… oh. “Yeah, I did.”

The man crossed his arms. “We have some questions we’d like to ask you.”

Danny frowned. “Okay… can I get something to eat, at least? It feels like it’s been years since I’ve had a snack.”

“We can provide something,” the man confirmed, “But for now, follow me.”

The man started walking away, and Danny struggled to keep up, which eventually got noticed. He slowed his pace to match a bit more closely with Danny’s while also talking into a mic on his armor. Danny listened, only able to make out half the conversation. His head still felt like it was full of whatever he’d been floating in. 

“Yes, I’ve found him… There's been some... unexpected developments. I’ve sent an image through the comm. Also, he wants snacks… no I don’t know what he likes, Hunk…”

“I like chips,” Danny helpfully interjected. 

The man frowned at him before returning to his comm unit. “He likes chips… sure Hunk, go nuts… No, it would be better to ask those questions once I’ve brought him to the main room… I’m not asking him that.”

Something was bothering Danny. It felt like he was on his way to an interrogation. No, he was definitely on his way to an interrogation. But there shouldn’t be a need for that. If he was here, Jazz should also be here. They should already know who he is, and any other questions that Jazz could answer. But they didn’t know. It left a sour feeling in him and a twist in his gut. 

“Hey,” Danny called out, gaining the man’s attention. “Where is Jazz?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

The feeling got worse. Maybe it was just a big place? With how far they had walked, there had to be a decently large group of people running it. Which reminded Danny that he still didn’t know where he was. 

“Hey-” Danny started again but cut himself off by the man raising a hand. 

“I’m sure you’re confused about everything, but we have plenty of questions ourselves. We can do our best to answer once we get to the bridge. Please hold onto them until then.”

Danny felt like he had just been scolded, and gave a silent nod. 

They were going to the bridge. That was a part of a ship. Were they on some sort of massive ship of some kind, like a naval base or something? Danny didn’t like the thought of being in government custody, even if these people had far too much color in their uniforms (which Danny was assuming the armor was) to be with the GIW. Besides, why would the GIW be at sea? Last he checked they didn’t hunt sea monsters, just ghosts. Something still didn’t feel right. 

Then they entered the bridge, and Danny swore his heart, brain, and core short-circuited at once. There, just outside the window-

“We’re in space!” Danny exclaimed, gaining the attention of everyone else in the room. 

Danny bolted to the window, instantly glued to it, eyes darting as he tried to spot familiar constellations. There was a conversation going on behind him, but Danny couldn’t care for it at the moment as elation filled him. They were in space! He was on a spaceship! This elation was dampened slightly by the fact that Danny couldn’t even recognize a singular constellation. 

“Where even are we…?” Danny trailed off, talking more to himself than asking questions aloud. 

“I believe we are currently just outside the Malark galaxy, passing by the Shuldek system,” a voice answered. 

Danny’s head snapped over, to see a ginger man with a large mustache and pointed ears, along with small blue markings just under his eyes. Danny didn’t understand what, or where, exactly that meant, but it awed him anyway. But just past the ginger man, the entire group of people was staring at him with a mix of expressions. There were only six of them, counting the ginger man, but no Jazz still. 

“While I’m sure you have plenty of questions for us, we would like to ask you a few first, if that’s alright?” The woman with white hair, pointed ears, and similar markings under her eyes asked. 

Danny blinked, still not too sure what was going on. “Uh, sure I guess.”

“Wonderful! First, are you aware of who we are?” She asked. 

Danny shook his head. “Nope, not a clue.”

“Then I suppose introductions are in order. I am princess Allura of Altea, the Blue Paladin of Voltron. Here with me are the other paladins of Voltron, Shiro, Lance, Pidge, and Hunk. And Coran here is the Captain of our ship, the Castle of Lions.” It was a very… professional introduction. Danny wondered how often she had to recite it. 

Danny glanced over the other ‘paladins’ the princess had named. Only Shiro was in armor, while the others wore something that resembled the more casual clothes Danny was used to. They also seemed to be human. 

Danny cleared his throat, realizing they were waiting for a response. “Oh, um. I’m Danny Fenton.”

There was a small reaction to his name, but not any recognition. That was… really problematic. Princess Allura went to ask another question but Danny spoke first, interrupting her. 

“I… I know you wanted me to wait a bit before asking my questions, but I would really like to know where Jazz is?”

They just looked confused, so Danny continued, trying to push back the small bubble of panic that had been slowly building since he had woken up. 

“Jazz, ya know? About yay tall, bright ginger hair, always wears a headband, talks like she can figure out every thought in your head. She’s my sister, she should’ve been with me.”

 Still no recognition on any of their faces. 

“I’m sorry, but we didn’t discover you with anyone. Pidge discovered your… thermos at a store and purchased it, releasing you upon opening it,” Allura explained. 

Pidge helpfully held up a beat-up-looking Fenton Thermos that Danny could’ve recognized anywhere. 

“You gave us quite the scare and we’re glad you’re alright. I’m sure we can try to find your sister as soon as we can,” Allura assured him. 

Danny felt like he was going to fall over. Had they been separated? Yeah… he could just find Jazz. Or she would find him. She might’ve lost the thermos or something and was probably going nuts looking for him. These people sounded important. If he was seen with them, or they made some sort of announcement, Jazz was sure to know exactly where he was at. He was fine, and Danny was sure Jazz was too. On another note, they had been the ones to open the thermos, and he had most likely not popped out in ghost form. His secret was blown before he even got their names. 

Danny deflated, taking a wobbly step forward. “Okay… can I sit down for a bit? I… I can answer your questions.”

Danny carefully walked over to a section of the bridge with a few more seats and practically collapsed into one. There was a plate of something that resembled homemade potato chips but slightly purple. He wasn’t really hungry anymore, now much more worried about Jazz than he had been minutes ago. 

“Okay… what do you want to know?” Danny opened the room. 

“First off,” Shiro began, “Are the terms ‘Voltron’, Altea, and the Galra all completely foreign to you?”

“Yeah. Sounds important, but I’ve got no idea what you're talking about,” Danny confirmed. 

“What are you and where are you from?” Shiro asked next. 

“I’m… half human. I’m from Amity Park, Illinois, Earth.”

“Do you know what your other half is? Your appearance changed quite dramatically from your initial appearance. And from what we’ve seen, humans are not particularly capable of shifting to a gaseous state,” Princess Allura asked. 

Danny didn’t exactly know how to answer that question, so he lied. “No, I don’t. It’s just how I am.”

“Do you know how your thermos got all the way into Galra-controlled territory?”

“No. That might be a question for the person you bought it… me from.”

“Oh! I got one!” Lance announced, “Danny, do you know what year it is?”

“Lance, of all things to ask, there are more interesting things you could’ve asked. Just because he looks out of-” The one known as Hunk began scolding Lance before Danny answered, interrupting yet again. 

“Last I checked, it was 2006.”

That shut everyone up fast. Wow. Danny had already assumed he was in another world, and he was very much in space, but he had no idea how far along this world was chronologically, not that it really mattered to him. 

“ 310 years? ” Pidge sputtered, seemingly in more shock than the others. “You were in that thermos for 310 years?!”

Danny shrugged. “Maybe.” 

He really didn’t want to have to explain alternate realities and time travel to a group of space strangers. Danny being a bit temporarily displaced did seem to strike a chord with both Allura and Coran somehow. Now that he considered it, they weren’t humans were they? Wow! Danny was used to nonhumans in the zone, but it was completely different when they were alive! Danny wanted to ask them all about their home planet, and also the ship. He also really wanted to know about the ship. He also really wanted a nap.  

“You don’t seem particularly… troubled by your situation,” Allura pointed out. 

“I mean, what can I do about it? And until I find Jazz, I’m not going anywhere,” Danny said. “Am I allowed to stay here?”

“Of course! In fact, I’m sure you have many questions about our times. Coran here is very knowledgeable about everything concerning our ship and space. Please feel free to ask him any questions you might have,” Princess Allura stated. 

Allura sent a look at the other paladins that Danny chose to ignore, instead setting his sights on Coran who looked somewhere between acting like he’d been left to the wolves and preening at the acknowledgment of his knowledge. 

“Of course! I shall answer any and all questions you have. It was my grandfather who built the Castle of Lions and-”

Danny listened intently about everything from the construction and operation of the ship to the neighboring star systems, absolutely transfixed. He would find Jazz soon, but until then, he was going to learn everything he could about space from Coran. 

The paladins were huddled together, varying expressions on their faces.

“Wow, all the way from 2006. That’s before the third world war, isn’t it? Can’t imagine what it was like back then. And Illinois, of all places,” Lance hummed. 

“I’m more interested in finding out how he got all the way out here, locked in a thermos of all things. The timeline lines up, but the thermos and Danny himself are the big questions,” Pidge said. 

“Yeah, that’s a long time to be locked in a thermos. I wonder if it was cramped or anything. I mean, he was smoke in there, so maybe not, but,” Hunk swallowed thickly. “Danny seems… really intent on finding his sister,” Hunk stated. 

“That’s a potential issue… Pidge, did you check in with that Earth store yet about the thermos,” Shiro asked. 

Pidge averted her eyes. “I… I did. The owner said it’s been a part of their collection for as long as he can remember, which would be well over a century. Wherever his sister is… I honestly doubt we’ll find her.”

[curiositydooropened]

Ranged • 01: Firetower

You and Steve have been sent on a missing person's case, a park ranger in the Cascades went missing from his post after reporting a large area of downed trees. Could be something up your alley.

Pairing: special agent!Steve Harrington x special agent!Reader

Wordcount: 5742

Warnings: very slowburn, this fic is episodic, coworkers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore, weapons, fighting, murder, viruses, decay, monsters *This chapter contains mentions of animal harm, blood, vomit/nausea, potential character death, and whump/bad injuries - also hey, I'm not a doctor and this fic is free, so my inaccuracies might bug you. xo

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

Navigation • Fic Masterlist

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Moodboard • 00: Prologue • 02: Home [Coming Soon]

Fire Lookout Tower 647 - Cascades

Fog blanketed the forest floor and just beyond, it coated the tops of trees, covering pine needles in vast, rolling smoke. Everything lacked saturation up here, everything but verdant moss and fern and branch, a sea of grey and green, damp and deep. The sunlight filtered in way far off, to the West, but everything out of its reach had begun to groan under the steady pelt of plummeting rain.

Rain pittered and pat against the tin roof and into the quickly filling bucket in the corner. Its splash zone had been haphazardly mopped with a shaggy old towel. 

You watched the landscape shift beyond the clouds, wrapped in wool socks and a flannel blanket while your partner took his turn retrieving fire wood from its drying spot beneath the tower.

His presence was announced by the groaning of stairs and the creaking of a rusted spring on the door. 

Steve had only smiled a handful of times since you met him, a painful stretch of soft features, the wrinkle never leaving his brow. To be fair, your job rarely warranted more than a polite grimace to townsfolk whose crops you’d left ablaze, whose family members you’d left on a slab.

Today was no different.

“This place is a shit hole,” he grumbled, rolling cut wood from his arms onto the ground in front of the stove. 

You hummed, knowing better than to argue something so trivial before he had his dinner.

He hunched to stoke the fire, now mere ashes and embers that glowed red in the little iron stove. He was soaked to the bone, dark hair clinging to his forehead and around his ears. He’d have to cut it again before your next return to Base. 

His hands were bright red, nipped cold and hard-worked, and you rolled your eyes at the pair of gloves he’d left on the rickety card table near the door. 

“Fucking rain,” he muttered, shoving kindling in hopes for it to catch.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself upright and reached for your own rain slicker on its hook. A puddle had formed and seeped through the floorboards, creating a patch of darkened wood that ringed with all puddles that had come before. “I’m going to get water to boil.” 

“Be careful.” 

The spring creaked. Rain gushed from dips in the roof and splashed loudly against rocks on the hillside. 

You glanced back at Steve. He was hunched in front of a started fire, worry etched between his brows. 

He shrugged. “I slipped at the bottom of the stairs.” He gestured to the mud that streaked his left pant-leg. “Be careful.”

You nodded and stepped out into the deluge.

The window coverings provided a good roof for the porch, save a few leaks here and there, and you clung to the side of the building as your guard rail to round it. You’d put empty buckets on the south end. All five of them had all overflowed. 

You picked the lightest one. You’d managed to haul it back across slippery planks, dozens of feet in the air, to the door before your right foot slipped out from under you. With a yelp, and the sting of bitter cold against your ass cheeks, you fell. The building teetered under your shifted weight, and you clung to the railing with pinched breath.

The spring creaked. Steve stood at the door with lumbered shoulders and that same frown, looking down a freckled nose at you. He picked up the bucket with one hand and held his other for you to take. “I said, ‘be careful’.” 

While the water boiled and Steve grumbled about canned meatballs, you stripped out of wet jeans and remained in damp Long Johns, removing your socks and hat and gloves to hang near the fire. 

The sun had already dipped far to the west, catching on split clouds in purples and oranges before it was swallowed up again by the grey. 

“You get the radio working?” Steve sighed, adverse to the quiet. 

You shook your head and stirred tomato paste around in the pot. After many meals with Steve, you were sure he grew up in the kind of household that only ate their meals on trays in front of the television. He could never really sit and appreciate the stillness. “Go ahead and tinker with it. Is there a game tonight?” 

“There was,” he deployed a long antenna and fidgeted with a few dials. Static buzzed from the plastic between his hands. “Might be too late. What time zone are we in?” 

“Pacific,” you explained. “Two hours behind.” 

You felt lighter after food. Warmth settled over your chest and shoulders, and you huddled further into your blanket. 

Steve’s hair dried a little, and you managed to coax him into taking one of your spare hats. The stitches stretched over the circumference. With a sigh, you slowly ripped out the project you’d been knitting and cast more stitches onto your needle. 

The radio hadn’t worked, too far out of reach to hear the score, and it had been discarded. Instead, Steve hummed, and the fire crackled, and your needles clacked against one another. The rain had died down, too.

“Think we’ll find him?” He asked, picking at the frayed stitching on the baseball he’d been tossing around.

Your target was the missing tower keeper, a man named Les Joplin who hadn’t reported in a few days after he’d gone in search of what he had described to dispatch as a rotten cropping of trees in the east acreage. 

You glanced back up at Steve, never knowing if he wanted you to answer honestly or not. Your fingers kept pace. Knit, purl, knit, purl. “Hope so.”

“My grandmother used to knit.” He nodded to the project slowly making way in your hands. 

You hummed. You’d heard this story before. A few months back, you began to notice a pattern to the information Steve had given you about his former life, only snapshots, hand-picked. You wondered if he had been trained this way, or if he still didn’t trust you.

The repeated stories didn’t stop you from prying for more.

“What’d you call you grandmother?” You asked.

“What do you mean?” He frowned back at you.

“You know, ‘grandma’, ‘granny’, ‘nana’?”

He snorted, rolled his eyes, tossed the ball a few times. “Grandmother.” 

You cocked a brow. “Grandmother? What, like the Queen?” 

There it was, the softest uptick of the corner of his lips, a flash of amusement in his eyes as he rolled them. “Exactly like the Queen. I was lucky if I got to address her as anything other than ‘ma’am’.” 

Another peak behind the curtain. You snickered and pressed on. “Mom or Dad’s mom?” 

“Uh…” He frowned again, mulling something over. “Mom’s. My dad’s parents were old as shit, died before I was born.” Another insight. 

“How’d they meet, your parents?” 

“Huh?” He blinked back at you, brow in a proper frown now. “I don’t know.” 

You’d lost him. You’d pressed too hard. With a sigh, you turned back to your knitting. Knit, purl. Knit, purl. 

He shook his head, and his sleeping bag shuffled as he stood and stretched. He set the baseball back on the little table, and it rolled until it met the pot of leftover spaghetti sauce. “Listen, I’m gonna take a leak, and we should probably think about getting some sleep. Early morning tomorrow.” 

You nodded, tucked your knitting back into your bag. “I’ll wash the dishes.” 

“Thank you.” He said, and he exited the little hut. The stairs creaked his whole way down. 

“Robin? No. No, Robin, no.” 

You awoke to Steve’s muffled cries. His sleeping bag shifted around a twitching body.

This wasn’t the first nightmare, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. You didn’t know who Robin was, and the fear in his voice dimmed your hope that she’d lived.

You swallowed to clear the sleep from your vocal cords before speaking his name into the darkness. It took several tries, a full shout, to snap him out of whatever version of Hell his subconscious had pulled him in, and when he did rouse, it was with force.

He shot from his pillow, gripping the hilt of a knife stashed under it, and glanced around the room. “What is it? What’s wrong?” 

You sighed, tucked your face into your pillow, and murmured. “I’m cold.” 

“What?” He peered at you. 

It wasn’t a lie. The fire had gone out, and your toes had numbed slightly, and you’d argued with him when he agreed to the floor, so you were sure he was cold too. Maybe that had caused the nightmare. “I’m cold. Will you just get over here, please?”

You heard his groan, and a shuffle of sleeping bag as he pulled himself upright. His back and shoulders were silhouetted, broad and hunched. He wound his sleeping bag up between his fists, joints cracking as he made his way over to your cot. 

“Is there room?”

You shifted impossibly closer to the wall and hugged your sleeping bag to you to expose just how much room was left on the little cot. Not much, if you were being honest, but you were cold, and you had hoped your presence beside him might calm the terrors that plagued him.

He spread his blanket out beside you before asking if you needed a sip of water. 

You shook your head, but watched as he ambled across the room to the rickety card table for a swig from the canteen. 

The rain had stopped, but fog blanketed the windows on all sides. The sloshing of the water in his bottle sent a shiver through you.

“Alright, I’m coming,” he grumbled, and returned to slide himself into bed beside you. 

His arm came up first, once he’d settled, and you stiffened under his hold.

“What’re you doing?” You rubbed at tired eyes, trying to catch any glimpse of the curve of his nose.

“Warming you up, don’t make it weird.” He looped you in, scooping your sleeping bag up between the two of you. His other arm reached around your middle and pulled you close.

You weren’t surprised at his strength. He’d offered you a helping hand with more than one injury in the field. You’d seen him pull women and children from burning buildings. That one time he hauled a sheepdog from the river, both man and beast soaking wet and panting, dog tossed around his broad shoulders. 

“Better?” His gruff voice fanned your forehead, deliciously warm. 

You hummed, reaching aching cold hands out to warm against his chest. 

He hissed under your touch and wrapped your fingers up in his own. “Didn’t I tell you to sleep next to the fire?” He scolded.

“No,” you hummed, letting your eyes grow heavy again. “You told me to take the cot.” 

He grumbled something incoherent and adjusted on the tiny pad beside you. You knew he’d complain about a crick in his neck in the morning. 

“Night, Steve,” you mumbled. 

His nose tipped itself against your temple, and he sighed. “Get some sleep.” 

He slept after that. 

—

The rain made rivulets of mud and Earth. Where trails once climbed the mountainside, rocks and boulders now fell, surging into teeming river beds. 

Your boots squelched beneath you, each step a slip away from disaster. 

Steve stood a few yards ahead, more surefooted. He whipped at overgrowth with the business end of a machete. “Joplin!” He cried out, startling a few birds from their perches.

You glanced around, hand around the gun strapped to your thigh, just in case. If Joplin was eaten by a bear out here, or worse, you had to have confidence in protecting yourselves. “Les!”

Steve called your name. He stood with his machete extended, scrubbing at his tired eyes with the palm of his other hand. 

Just beyond him, the forest had been blighted. Root to crown, these massive conifers were decimated. A widow maker forest, limbs fell at odd angles, having melted from the trunk. Green grass and fern and vine turned to black ash. 

You cursed under your breath and took careful steps to meet your partner to ensure the ground didn’t swallow you whole. When you reached him, the rancid stench stung in your nostrils, watered your eyes. “Well, guess he wasn’t kidding.” 

You glanced back up to the fire tower, now a mere speck on the horizon. 

Steve’s jaw clenched. He nodded. “I’m gonna look for holes. Call it in, will you?” 

With a sigh, you stripped the heavy pack from your back. Your shoulders ached in relief. “Be careful.” You warned, and watched as he took off at a slower pace into the patch of rot. 

You kept an eye on him as you dialed, service spotty, but you were quickly patched through to dispatch. “Yeah, hi.” You offered up your badge number, called in reinforcements for a controlled burn. 

“How big is the affected area?” The woman on the other lined cracked her gum between her molars. 

You glanced around at the rot. This was small, relatively fresh. A chill rolled down your spine. You looked from Steve to the blanket of mist rolling downhill from the clouds. “About ten acres.”

“Alright, hon, we’ll get someone out there in the next day or so. Are you in need of emergency evac?” 

“No, we’re good to hang out until the crew gets here. Thank you.” She hung up first, and you pushed the antenna back into the device. Before you could shove it back into your bag, however, you heard a cry, a moan, really, in the distance, carried on the wind, prickling the hairs at the base of your neck.

“Steve?” You called out, standing up straight to survey the area. 

You heard it again, to your left.

You swung around. Steve was gone. You were alone.

You took off on a run to where you’d last seen him, careful not to trip over any loose roots, trying not to bump any more precariously hung branches from their roosts hundreds of feet in the air. You called for your partner, still clutching the piece at your side in one hand, the satellite phone in the other. 

The noise was louder now, a grunt and a groan, two noises, two distinct voices. 

You stopped, surveyed your surroundings, posted up on the good side of a half-rotted stump. 

“Can you walk?” Steve’s voice hissed from nearby. 

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest. You swung around, gun out, pointed toward the sound. 

“I broke it,” another voice, unfamiliar, croaked. They were beneath you. 

Rounding the stump, you found a hollowed out bit of ground wherein your partner was hacking away at the vines curled around the leg of an emaciated older man. This man was coated in mud and slime, curled hair sticking to his head. You sighed in relief and holstered your weapon. 

“Les Joplin?” You asked, taking a few steps to the edge of the hole. 

Both men jumped. Steve frowned back up at you before hacking away at another root. 

Les gulped, nodded. Shit, you’d left your pack at the edge of the rot. 

“Think you can limp it back to more solid ground? I’m going to call for an airlift.” You uncurled your knuckles from around the phone to dispatch the antenna and dial the number again. 

Les winced, teeth grit, sweat streaking the mud on his forehead.

You pulled your partner’s gaze. His jaw ticked. He pushed hair from his eyes with the back of his hand. He nodded, threw the man’s arm over broad shoulders. “Alright, count of three?” 

—

The rain came back as the air lift set down. Propellers pummeled large drops at you, sideways rain that stuck your clothes to your skin and cut off your breath.

You squeezed Les’s wrist as they strapped him to the gurney. His teeth chattered, face gray beneath a shiny mylar blanket. The ventilator obscured everything but his eyes, tired, frantic. 

Steve spoke to the team. He was shouting, but you couldn’t hear his voice over the wind and the slap of rain. 

Your hair stuck to the corners of your mouth.

Steve backed up to your front, shielding you behind his slim frame. He lifted a hand to wave as the helicopter ascended, clouds bending and melting beneath it. 

When it was a high enough altitude, Steve linked a large hand around your wrist and tugged you upwards, through wind-whipped grass and mud, toward the lonesome fire tower. 

The stairs were just as slick as the grass, and Steve kept a firm grip at your waist. To hold you upright or himself, you weren’t sure, but you felt anchored nonetheless.

When you finally summited, the world around you coated in a thick, grey cloud, you began to strip the soaked clothes from your body. Steve began to lodge firewood from the corner of the room into the little stove. 

“We have to go back out there,” he grunted, lighting a match to kindling before tossing it in. 

You groaned, unsticking your long-sleeve shirt from your back to wheel it over your head. “After lunch.” You pled.

You tried to stand your ground and not cower as Steve’s gaze swept your frame. He licked at pink lips, hair stuck to his face, his own clothes three shades darker than they were when you’d left the tower that morning. 

“After lunch.” He conceded, unbuttoning his shirt. You watched his back muscles shift beneath the outline of a white tank top, the moles placed hither and thither. 

You slipped a dry t-shirt over your head and began boiling water in a pot.

Steve’s knees were pulled to his chest, toes wiggling in dry socks. 

You finished first, famished from your earlier excursion, and continued your knitting. The rhythmic clack of needles a metronome to the rain against the tin roof and pouring from spouts, the crackle of the fire, the steady in-take-out-take of your breath. 

Steve eyed you warily, cheeks puffed around a meatball. He chewed, swallowed, and gestured with a fork toward the project in your lap. “What’re you making?” 

“A hat,” you pinched your smile.

He reached between you to wrap thick fingers around the ball of yarn like a baseball. He pressed the fiber for a moment before nodding, licking something from between his molars. “I really like that color.” 

You agreed. The burgundy would bring out the warmth of his eyes, the flush of his cheeks when he bickered with you.

“It felt good right? Helping Joplin.” 

His words startled you, stitch slipping off the needle before you could catch it. 

You blinked back at him, watched the worry etched between his brows, wondered what he could possibly be thinking, and you forced a bright smile. “Yeah, Steve, it felt great. That’s what this is all about, right? Saving people.” 

He nodded, shrugged, tongued at his molars. 

You can’t save everyone.

You picked your stitch back up and carried on. A few phrases turned in your mind, questions you’d posed to yourself before you dared ask him. ‘Doesn’t every save feel good?’ ‘Do you think Les’s leg’ll be okay?’ ‘Who couldn’t you save?’

You glanced to the spot on the floor where he had been tossing and turning the night before. ‘Who’s Robin?’ You couldn’t. You knew he’d throw himself into one of those broody nightmares, and you had a job to do. 

“So,” you bundled your knitting and stuffed it back into the bag you brought it in, “what’re we thinking? Demodog? Demogorgon? Grizzly?”

“Yeah, you wish it’s a Grizzly.” Steve snorted, making to wash the dishes. 

You did wish it was a Grizzly. At least you could shoot a Grizzly, watch it fall with a groan and lie peaceful against hard ground. Demodogs meant tunnel dwellers, a pack. Demogorgon meant portals. 

“Hey, before we head out there, can I ask you something?” He stood with his hands full of items to be washed, hair finally drying into wisps of curls near his ears. 

“Shoot,” you pulled yourself to a stand, rolled your stiff shoulders, got a little closer to the stove to warm your hands.

“Do I talk in my sleep?” 

You had half a second to make your decision, and “No” came out faster than that. You weren’t sure why you lied, maybe it was the same reason you hadn’t asked him about the name he’d been crying out for. You had a job to do, and you couldn’t afford a sulking partner ten steps ahead. 

His scowl proved he was weighing you up, trying to call your bluff. Apparently he convinced, he shrugged, and said, “Oh, well, you do.” Then he opened the creaky door and let himself outside to do the washing up.

—

The rain continued as you hunted. You slipped twice, twisting an ankle on a bunch of rocks hidden behind tall grass, but you’d had worse, so you persisted until the internal ache wore off and the external ache from the cold had you gritting your teeth. 

“I fucking hate this place.” Steve dropped another meatball into the grass beside you. “It reminds me of that…” He glanced around, in the air, searching for phantom airborne monsters.

You hadn’t gone into the other dimension, not for long enough to really get a feel for it, not like Steve. You knew it was cold and damp and miserable though, and these mountains were starting to feel just as desolate, just as grey. 

You came to the rot again, stench heavier under the blanket of ozone. 

Steve pressed his lips into a whistle, low and slow, coaxing whatever may be lurking. 

Your finger found the trigger at your hip. Bullets didn’t kill an inter dimensional creature, but it’d sure as Hell slow it down.  

Without a response to his call, you carried on, following him and his endless trail of meatballs past the stump in which you’d found Les Joplin. Steve poked his head inside, but vines had already begun to seam it up, devouring the flesh of the tree that rot there. 

“Do you remember what direction he said he saw it?” You asked, back to Steve as you surveyed the area. It could be anywhere, whatever it is. It was probably watching you now, smelling you, sensing you. 

“Let’s head East,” Steve signaled.

You doubled back and headed toward a particularly treacherous outcropping along the hillside. Boulders carved rivulets in the landscape, water gushing over rock and stone in glorious splendor.

Your big toes were beginning to ache from the cold, and the sound of rain and wind and now waterfalls was hurting your ears. With a huff, you seated yourself on a soaked rock and pulled your pack from your back to salvage a chocolate bar. 

“What’re you doing?” Steve snapped. He’d already trudged a good distance from you, and must have stopped when he didn’t hear the patter of your feet behind him. 

“Maybe it was a deer,” you offered, ripping back the mylar packaging and indulging in one semi-sweet bite. It didn’t melt instantly, your teeth and jaw too cold to warm it.

“It wasn’t a deer.” That permanent crease in Steve’s forehead stuck out under a curl of wet hair. 

“Come have a bite.” Your teeth chattered, hand extended. The chocolate was instantly pelted with rain.

Steve sighed and took a step toward you, and then promptly disappeared.

—

The cavern was deep, about ten feet high and thirty feet wide, a whole expanse of the forest that had just sunk in on itself. It looked like the vines hadn’t quite worked their way here, but the blight and the rain had washed away bits of the mountainside. The outcropping fell into the land and Steve had fallen into the rocks.

“Don’t come any closer!” He shouted, teeth grit in pain. He adjusted his leg, and you saw the blood spill from his knee cap to discolor his pant legs. 

“I’m going to radio for help. How bad is it? Do you need to tourniquet it?”

“No , it’s just a scrape.” He lied through his teeth. “I can’t see how far this goes, so go slow, and be careful.” 

With a nod, you made for your pack, muttering under your breath about your bossy partner, always getting himself into trouble. Then the breath was swept out of you as you free-fell into the cavern, too. 

Your ankles rolled, the one from earlier crying out from added injury, and you jaw slammed closed on a portion of your tongue when you hit the cavern floor. It was softer than you expected, wet mud and dirt breaking most of your fall. 

Your name echoed with the pounding of your heart as you regulated and pull yourself to a stand, brushing mud from your hands to your thighs. Water rushed into the cavern from above. Not enough to cause concern, but you stared up at the hole in the sky with a grimace. 

Steve called your name again, and you turned to face him. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, eyes wide with worry. 

You shrugged, nodded. “My ankle hurts.” 

“Is it broken?” 

You assessed the injury, tried to roll it back into place. A sharp, shooting pain spilled up your spinal column. You nodded. “Probably.” 

“I told you to be careful.” Steve scoffed from his lean against the far wall. He’d made no effort to rescue you.

“Is your leg broken?” You mapped your way to him, a slow and steady course through rocky terrain. Each step limped, you gripped the roots tied into the walls beside you. 

“No,” Steve shook his head. “Just a bad cut.” His large hand shook, pressed to a gash that was dying the rainwater red. 

“Well,” you sighed, “if the meatballs weren’t good enough…”

“Shut up,” he shifted in place, hand outstretched to help you over the last huge boulder. “Careful, sharp bit there.” He nodded to a likely culprit, a jagged bit of rock that stuck up at an odd angle. An odd substance pooled near the bottom, and you tried not to wretch when you realized it was likely the fat from Steve’s thigh. 

“We need to get you off your feet.” You instructed, carrying his weight to help him find a good bit of stone that was flat enough, but not too slippery for him to rest. It proved to be quite the undertaking. 

“It stopped raining,” he mused when he’d settled, the two of you wedged into a pit of mud that looked out of the gaping mouth onto grey skies. 

He was right. You hadn’t noticed it beneath the swell of water surging downhill, and the patter that continued on the other edge of the cave, but the rain had stopped, or at least slowed.

“Did you play baseball in high school?” You asked, picking through the rubble for a hefty enough sized rock. 

“Why?” Steve asked, perturbed by your questioning, but you noticed, for once, he didn’t have the energy to argue. 

You could imagine him playing baseball, chewing sunflower seeds in the dug out, hiking around the bases in those tight little white pants. You smiled and tossed him the rock. 

He caught it one-handed, clearly annoyed you’d thrown it in the first place. 

You pointed to the spot you fell. “Throw it really hard. My pack’s up there. Might knock it into the hole.” 

“Your pack-!?” Steve closed his eyes, took a few calming breaths. Then he shot you a look before hocking the rock as far as he could throw. It was very impressive. 

You both waited with bated breath, but the impact created no further damaged, and you slumped into one another, asses wet and legs throbbing. “I have my flare,” you explained, patting the inside pocket of your jacket. You always kept one, and a lighter, filled, just in case.

Steve sighed. “Me too.” He was just loopy enough to flash you a tired smile. 

“Alright, big boy,” you shook at his bicep to keep him alert and shrugged out of your jacket to remove your sweater. The air was warmer down her, and damp. Your breath fogged. “You’re going to have to stay awake until morning. So it’s time to tell me a story.”

Steve winced with each adjustment as you wrapped your sweater around his leg to aid with pressure. His hands still trembled, flesh of his palms bloodied, and you elevated his leg a little higher, pushing him into the mud at his back. 

“What kind of story?” He asked, teeth chattering. 

You hunched beside him and took both of his bloody hands into your own. The whole place smelled of Earth and iron. “Tell me about Indiana.”

He groaned and rolled his eyes.

“Come on. What position were you on the baseball team?” 

He grit his teeth and shook his head. “I didn’t play baseball. Track and field.”

You smiled and unzipped his coat to let yourself in, arms wrapped around his trembling frame. You pressed your face to his throat, nestled under the crook of his jaw where stubble had begun to poke and scratch. “Alright, tell me about that then. Did your high school sweetheart cheer you on from the stands? Steve, Steve, he’s our man, if he can’t do it, no one can!” You actually managed to rah a chuckle out of him.

He winced again, his chin bouncing into your head. “She wasn’t a cheerleader. She was on the school paper.” 

You changed your tone, put on a Trans-Atlantic accent. “Aaaaand they’re off. Steve Harrington takes the lead. Have you ever seen anything quicker on its feet? A horse, maybe.”

He snorted, swung his arm around you. “Has anyone ever told you how obnoxious you are?”

“You have,” you nodded. “A number of times. Kind of rude, actually. I’m always saving your ass.” 

He chuckled and mumbled an apology into your hair. 

“What else can you tell me about Indiana?” Your own exhaustion had begun to creep around the corners of your mind, hearing the dull thud of Steve’s heartbeat match the ache in your ankle and shin and thigh. 

When he didn’t respond, you prodded at his chest. “Steve.”

He shushed you, gripping your arm a little tighter. 

You were suddenly very alert. You could hear birdsong just over the ripple and rush of water over the rocks. You heard it too, the distinct clicking growl of a flower-faced beast. 

“Can you move?” Steve muttered into your hair, barely a whisper.

You nodded, swallowed, reached for the flare at your side.

“My knife,” he said. “Can you see it?” He nodded to where you’d found him.

You shifted in his arms, hoping the beast couldn’t hear the grunt he emitted between clenched molars. There, where rubble met a river of mud, you saw the glint of his knife. 

With a deep breath and a strain of every muscle in your body, you hoisted yourself onto your good leg and began your precarious hobble to your weapon. The rocks twisted under your feet, and the pain churned your stomach. 

“Easy,” Steve guided, his breath shallow. “You’ve got this.” 

You managed to dip yourself low enough, balanced on one leg, to wrap your fingers around the hilt and lift it from the rubble. You caught yourself on the wall and released a breath you’d been holding. 

The knife was a bit muddy, but mostly fine. It glinted in the diminishing sunlight, flashing the walls a pale pink red before your heard the call again. A rattled click preceded the visage that peered over the cavern mouth. 

The dog’s face opened, all teeth and fleshy flower petals, and before Steve had a chance to instruct you, the thing was on you, and you were elbow-deep in Demodog. It’s teeth scraped and tore at the nylon of your parka and one final dying breath rattled from its small frame before it squelched off of your blade and to the ground.

“It’s not alone.” Steve warned from his spot on the floor.

You nodded, grit your teeth, and readied your stance for another. 

—

Three demodogs died at your hands and burned. The acrid sting of burning flesh kept you awake, your body rejoicing at the warmth.

You managed to keep Steve awake, although his skin had paled and his eyelids drooped. 

The smoke alerted the helicopter before your flare did. 

Oxygen mask over your face, you linked your fingertips into Steve’s and offered him a smile. He was already asleep by the time you rose, higher and higher above cloud coverage and rain. You slipped up and away from the fire tower. Up and away from verdant hills and from rot and decay. 

Steve’s grasp was loose in your hand, and you wondered what he dreamt about now. You hoped it was peaceful. 

You finished his hat beside his hospital bed while you watched the latest game. Someone ran a home run. Steve cheered. You looped the last few stitches together and weaved in your ends. 

“This is for you,” you tossed it onto his lap. The burgundy was stark against white sheets. 

Steve frowned back at you, fingers toying with the fabric. “For me?” 

You nodded. “You needed a wool hat. Just put it on and be grateful.” 

He did as instructed, smile refusing to play on handsome features. He cocked an eyebrow to get your input. It was exactly as you’d hoped, a sweet contrast that a brought out the honeyed brown of his eyes, the flush of his cheeks. 

You bit back a smile, rolled your eyes. “Maybe you’re right. Your ego doesn’t need this boost. Give it back.” 

He smiled at that, a ruefully shy thing that had your heart pitter-pattering like rain on a tin roof. “No. It’s mine.” 

“Steve,” you let your question linger on your tongue for a moment, wondering if you ought to ask it, if you ought to push. 

He hummed, attention drawn back to the television. 

You swallowed, let the question die. Maybe another day, you’d find out who Robin was, what happened to them. 

“Yeah?” He glanced back at you, brown eyes wide with concern. 

You smiled. “What did I say in my sleep?” 

Once again, the corners of pink lips turned up, and he shook his head. “I’ll never tell.” 

---

Moodboard • 00: Prologue • 02: Home [Coming Soon]

[wasteful-sam]

Worthy [Part 3, Chapter 15]

Tags:

Slow burn, romantic, eventual smut, mutual pining, angst and feels, ongoing, F/M, Rolan/female drow.

Summary:

After sharing a final, heartfelt moment with his fellow tieflings, Rolan steps into the unknown to meet Lorroakan for the first time. Caught by the pressure of time, he is forced to make a life-altering decision.

Notes:

First and foremost, very sorry for taking so long, I appreciate you waiting! I feel like I've been writing this chapter for months, the day job has been taking over lately. :(

Still, with this one, I wanted to give you some heartwarming interactions with tiefling kids before we dive into the filth that is Lorroakan. (　-_･) ︻デ═一' * (/❛o❛)/

[AO3 Link]

+++

Worthy

Part 3 | Chapter 15

Caught by the pressure of time

The sense of peace Rivington exuded from a distance was nothing more than an illusion. The streets were overflowing with people - some pacing anxiously, others slumped beside their meager belongings, contemplating what's next.

The air was thick with tension and the stench of death. It didn't take long for the tieflings to piece together what had happened from the murmurs of other refugees. The army of cultists they saw on the road managed to reach the outskirts of Rivington from the east. A mere two days before the Elturel's tieflings came from the southwest. The battle raged into the night until the city's Steel Watch regained the initiative, dealing with the Absolute's army once and for all. The bodies of guards and cultists were still scattered beyond the gates as Flaming Fist soldiers worked day and night to clear the aftermath.

Still, even with the battle won, there was little excitement around Rivington. Shaken by the recent events, many anticipated further attacks. The place was steps away from erupting into another feat of panic.

All was flared up by mistrust and prejudice, which had already been haunting the Elturelian tieflings all their lives. Even now, suspicious stares followed them wherever they went, more so than other refugees. Sitting in the shadows of the trees near the main road, the tieflings could already hear whispers - the same venomous mutterings as always. Some claimed their hellish blood would only bring more trouble, that their very presence would invite new horrors. Less than an hour passed after their arrival at Rivington, yet the curse of Elturel clung to them like a shadow. It seemed it would follow them until each drew their last breath.

"This is bad," Cal declared as soon as he returned to the group. He and Alfira had volunteered to scout out Wyrm's Crossing, hoping to secure passage into Baldur's Gate.

"They don't allow refugees to enter Baldur's Gate anymore," the man sighed, "All the guards are on high alert, sniffing out potential Absolutists."

Alfira coughed, chiming in, "Well, this is not entirely true. I talked to one of the guards," the bard shifted uncomfortably from one leg to the other, "We can bribe them."

Picking up on the unsettling notes of her tone, Lakrissa put her hand on Alfira's shoulder, "Bribe them how?".

"You know," the bard's eyes quickly shifted to the side and back as she tried being subtle - the children were sitting and chatting nearby.

"Bastards," Dannis spat, his voice low with disgust. He clung a little closer to Bex.

Lakrissa simply rolled her shoulders, a bitter smirk tugging at her lips, "Gotta love their unwavering morality. We are only devils to them until they want us to warm up their beds."

Alfira pinched the scout's cheek to calm her down a little, "We can also pay them," she continued, "Two hundred gold coins... each."

A heavy silence fell over the group. They exchanged glances, grimly aware that they barely had a little over two hundred gold total between them.

"Maybe we can sell some of the gear Wyll gave us?" Bex suggested.

Cerys shook her head, "We must keep the weapons, one per each at least. Who knows when another attack might come."

"And even if we sell some," Lia continued, we still need money for food," she gestured towards the crowds of refugees coming into Rivington, "I doubt they have enough provisions here for all of us."

Rolan, silent until now, stood up, scanning the area, "Did you see a courier service on your way to Wyrm's Crossing?" he asked Cal.

"Saw some pigeons carrying letters. Why?"

"I need to contact Lorroakan," Rolan said, his words slow and laced with uncertainty, "If he's still waiting for me, that is."

The words tasted strange in his mouth. For so long, his apprenticeship had been everything - his future, his purpose. But now, in the wake of all they had endured, it felt... insignificant. Still, it was now more than ever vital for him to become a powerful wizard.

But why did going to Lorroakan and abandoning all the other tieflings feel like a betrayal?

Brushing aside such uncharacteristic thoughts, Rolan continued, "I'll go look for that courier service. For now, let's agree this will be our meeting spot," He cringed slightly at his own words. When did he become the one who decided such things for the group?

Cal and Lia exchanged knowing glances but said nothing.

"Can we go with you?" Mirkon piped up, stepping forward just as Rolan was about to leave. Ide and Umi stood at his side, their expressions filled with quiet determination. The three of them had grown particularly attached to the wizard, drawn to him as if instinctively filling the void left by Mol's absence.

Rolan exhaled, already knowing how this would end. Their habit of trailing after him had become an inevitability at this point. Still, he made one last attempt at reason, "I have… adult matters to take care of. I doubt you'll find it interesting."

His words carried little conviction - he was already bracing himself for the inevitable.

+++

And so, the four of them went down the streets of Rivington. The regrets of giving in to children's pleas were written all over the wizard's face. Lia made her brother hold the children's hands - losing them in such a crowded place would be devastating. Mirkon, ever the exception from the rules, clanged to the older tiefling's tail, strolling joyfully behind him.

Rolan gave the younglings clear instructions: look around for the place that resembles the courier service building. Yet, the kids seemed to be distracted by every passing figure, every store, and every cozy house, gasping and tagging at the mage's clothes to take a closer look. They were clearly starved for normalcy, for a scenery devoid of misery.

Rolan has never considered becoming a parent, his thoughts were commonly occupied by wizardry. And now, finding himself in such a peculiar situation, the tiefling could honestly say it was terrifying yet somewhat amusing.

"Oh, what a pretty ring," Ide said suddenly, noticing the small silver band on Rolan's pinkie. The wizard hadn't parted with it since they left the Last Light Inn - either wearing it or keeping it in his palms, rolling it between his fingers.

Umi and Mirkon, wondering what their friend had spotted, turned their attention to Rolan's hand.

"Ew, looks girly," Umi grimaced.

Rolan scoffed, stopping in his tracks, "This ring is infused with magic and carries a tremendous power," he declared seriously.

Umi shrugged, "Still looks girly."

"So what?!" Ide interrupted, "Rolan said it was powerful. It doesn't matter how it looks," the girl then softened her expression, giving the adult tiefling a polite look, "Can I try it on, please?"

The wizard sighed and took off the ring reluctantly. Out of all three pests, he trusted Ide the most, "Please don't drop it, it's a gift," he warned, handing it over.

The child carefully took the ring and put it on her index finger. It was far too big, but she gazed at it, captivated, "It is beautiful," Ide murmured slowly, "Who gave it to you?"

Rolan couldn't help but smile a little, "Nimriel did."

Hearing the name, Mirkon swiftly got excited, "Lady Nimriel?!"

Rolan chuckled at hearing those two words in the same sentence, "Yes, Lady Nimriel."

Mirkon's eyes widened at the mention of the beloved hero, "Yay! That means you're getting married!"

Rolan choked on air, "H-what?! What are you talking about?" he sputtered, struggling to catch his breath.

"Grown-ups give each other rings and then get married," Mirkon declared as if stating the most obvious fact in the world.

Heat rushed to Rolan's face, "You children are so painfully uneducated, it's tragic!" he shot back. "It is A. GIFT. Do you understand the concept of a gift, Mirkon? If you gave Ide a cake, would you expect her to marry you?"

The boy chuckled, shifting on his feet. "That would be nice."

Ide wrinkled her nose and raised a clenched fist, "Try it and see what happens."

Umi smirked, enjoying the fact that their trio could make an adult so flustered, "Well, do you like her or not?"

"Dammon said so," Mirkon chimed in, answering Umi's question.

Rolan froze, mouth agape, "...Excuse me?"

Mirkon crossed his arms, looking way too pleased with himself, "Remember when we dropped a ball on you two at the inn? You got all weird and sad and said I wouldn't understand why. So I went and asked Dammon and told him everything. And you know what he said?" The boy grinned. "He said you like her."

The wizard took a deep, irritated breath, thinking of how he would eviscerate the blacksmith later, "First of all, if any of you ever go around discussing my personal life, I will turn you into sheep. Permanently. Second - this should not concern you in the slightest!"

Ide took off the ring and gave it back to Rolan. As she did, a sly grin appeared on the child's face, "You should tell Nimriel when she brings Mol back to us."

Rolan rolled his eyes skyward as if pleading to the gods for patience. "That's it. From this point on, we walk in silence."

Without another word, he grabbed the children's hands and marched them down the street, resolutely ignoring the sly looks they kept exchanging.

+++

Lorroakan's response came that very afternoon. Rolan didn't expect to get the letter so quickly. In fact, he didn't think the mage would write back at all. The tiefling should've started his apprenticeship days ago, only to be delayed by the life-threatening circumstances.

His letter was brief, "I need you at Sorcerous Sundries immediately." Enclosed were three city passes, granting him and his siblings entry into Baldur's Gate's Lower City.

The time to say goodbye to the rest of the tieflings came shortly after. Rolan lingered on the outskirts of the group, unsure how to act, leaving Cal and Lia to do most of the talking.

"Sorry we are leaving so abruptly," his brother said apologetically, "I am sure soon the crisis will be over, and you will be let in as well!"

Lakrissa smirked and clapped a hand on his shoulder, "Don't worry about us tiefling queens and kings. We will find our own way to the city."

"Just be careful while you're at it, alright?" Lia added, pulling Lakrissa into a tight hug, "And don't forget to write, as promised."

As the group was exchanging farewells, a small voice spoke up beside Rolan, "I have something for you."

He glanced down. Ide stood there, holding a book above her head, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, "I thought it could be useful for you to learn some spells."

Rolan took the book from her hands and glanced at the cover. The Way of the Wanderer. Not a spell book. Not even remotely related to magic. He had never heard of it before.

The wizard hesitated, "It's a...," Rolan couldn't dare to admit the book was useless for magic, not when Ide looked at him like that, "...it will help me a lot. Thank you," he concluded, patting the child awkwardly on the head.

Before he could react, Ide threw her arms around him. Then Mirkon and Umi followed, wrapping him in a sudden, chaotic group hug.

Rolan froze, his hands dangling helplessly in the air. Before he could even think of an escape, the rest of the Elturelian tieflings took notice, watching with knowing smiles.

The wizard frowned, his entire demeanor silently begging them not to make this any harder than it already was.

"Don't you forget us when you make it big, Rolan," Danis joked.

Rolan exhaled sharply - then, with great reluctance, finally returned the hug. He held the kids just long enough before gently prying them off, "Listen to adults, and stay out of trouble," Rolan murmured to the trio.

Stepping closer to the gathered tieflings, he let out a short, dry chuckle, "Forget you? It will take years of drinking cheap wine to erase this little atrocious adventure from my memory."

Laughter rippled through the group, and as Rolan glanced around at their smiling faces, he felt something warm settle in his chest - strange but not entirely unwelcome. To escape more hugs, the tiefling bowed his head, addressing all of them, "I expect to see you all again in the future. Our time will come."

+++

The lower city was quite impressive - a dense maze of towering buildings, narrow alleys, and creatures of all sorts. Its colors were as vibrant as they were mismatched, adding to the chaotic feeling even more.

The waves of the Chionthar carried a pleasant summer breeze through Baldur’s Gate, undisturbed by the clamor of merchants, sailors, and travelers filling the streets. There was an unspoken promise in the air, one that whispered of fortune to those bold enough to seize it.

But to Rolan, nothing compared to the magnificence of the Sorcerous Sundries. Standing by its entrance, the wizard could already feel the incredible surge of arcane magic radiating from it. The knowledge this building possesses, the stories it can tell.

For a moment, Rolan felt as if his heart stopped beating: mouth went dry, lungs filled with trembling a feeling of dread and anticipation.

"Are you going in or what?" Lia unceremoniously interrupted her brother's trance.

The wizard nodded, turning back to them, "I am. I'm unsure how long I will spend there, but I will wait for you near that fountain once finished."

"Don't sweat it," Cal murmured, "If he rejects you, you can always find the job nearby," he gestured towards the three magicians casting spells for the crowd's entertainment at the square's center.

"How very supportive of you," Rolan frowned, "Go already."

Lia and Cal knew better than to test their brother's patience at a moment like this. With a final glance, they left in search of an affordable place to stay while Rolan remained rooted to the spot, still glaring at the building.

+++

Years later, when Rolan thought back to this day, he could never quite remember how he reached the top floor of Ramazith's Tower. The moments between standing before the Sorcerous Sundries and finding himself in Lorroakan's presence blurred together, lost to the haze of his own anxiety.

One thing the tiefling knew for sure - Tolna took him there. At the time, she was still a rare book curator at Sundries, an invaluable part of it.

Lorroakan himself made no effort to acknowledge their arrival. Seated atop a throne of precious tomes and enchanted volumes, he was reading through a long scroll.

The mage looked so radiant in his masterfully crafted, arcane-filled robe, his hair red like a freshly lit fire. Radiant, yet somehow cold.

Without taking his glance off the parchment, the master of the Ramazith's Tower spoke, "Tolna, rewrite my biography once again. Mention my rich ancestry some more. Include that I am a grandnephew of Ramazith himself," he paused, scratching his neck while contemplating, "And throw in some other notable names for good measure."

"Yes, master Lorroakan," Tolna replied meekly. Yet, for a mere second, Rolan noticed how the corners of her mouth twitched in annoyance.

"You have a week," the wizard mused coldly, "Now leave us."

Sensing his cue, Rolan lowered his head in a respectful bow, "I am deeply grateful you invited me, Master Lorroakan."

The wizard still wouldn't grace him with a look, although now he only pretended to be reading, "You're finally here. One would think a person in your position would be more diligent."

A string of embarrassment pierced through Rolan. He knew this would come up, but no amount of preparation could help him steady himself, "I am truly sorry I am this late. I would've come sooner, but the circumstances prevented me."

"Oh? Do tell me what was more important to you than becoming an apprentice of the Master of Ramazith's Tower."

"I'm sure that you're aware that the Cult of the Absolute roams the lands unchecked. I had to encounter the likes of them several times on my way to you," Rolan sighed quietly, remembering everything his kin had to go through, "I had to be careful, not reckless," the tiefling added, a slight sound of plea in his tone.

His words seemed to stir something in a wizard as he finally looked up at Rolan, "Interesting," he mumbled slowly, "By any chance, did you travel through the Shadow-Cursed Lands?"

The tiefling nodded, hoping that his counterpart would grow more understanding, "Yes, I did. This is where I got stranded for a while, waiting for the right moment to leave."

Lorroakan leaned in from his book throne, "Did you see anything...," he stopped, searching for the right word, "...fascinating?"

Fascinating? What a bizarre choice of words.

"Depends on your definition of fascinating," even in situations like these, Rolan couldn't hold back his snark, which he immediately regretted, "All sorts of curse-corrupted monstrosities, cultists, bloodshed," the tiefling turned his head to the side, the horrible scenes still fresh in his memory, "All the atrocities the realm could calve were gathered there, it seems."

The master of Ramazith's Tower sighed, already dismissing him. Clearly, Rolan had neither seen nor heard what he had hoped for, "It is of little importance," he threw carelessly, "Now that the pathetic Thorm is no more."

Rolan's ears twitched, "Ketheric Thorm was defeated?" he couldn't help but ask, clinging to a hope to learn more.

Lorroakan smirked, "So you didn't know, boy? Unsurprising, the whole city still shakes, waiting for him to march into Baldur's Gate any day now. Such lummoxes," the wizard stood up, slowly getting closer to the tiefling.

Turning a deaf ear to the irksome moniker, Rolan tried to press on, "But what has become of him?"

The wizard hummed, entertained by his future apprentice's bothered demeanor, "Same that happens to every man of great ambition who lacks the intelligence to wield it. The details are of no interest to me. However," he stopped in front of Rolan, studying his face with quiet amusement, "he had something I was destined to claim. The Nightsong."

"The Nightsong?"

"Yes," Lorroakan watched him carefully, confirming what he already suspected - Rolan had no idea what it was, "A weapon of extraordinary power. I have searched for it for quite some time. And now that Thorm is dead, the looters will undoubtedly find it."

The master of Ramazith's Tower moved behind Rolan, his hands settling onto the tiefling's shoulders with a calculated weight. Discomfort coiled in Rolan's gut almost instantly, but he willed himself still. Not now. Not when his future was at stake.

"You couldn't have come here at a better time, boy," Lorroakan tried softening his tone, but his attempt at warmth was as unconvincing as a defanged snake's smile, "I require your dedication - your ears and eyes. I need you to be on the lookout for any talks of the Nightsong. A whisper, a rumor, a joke - if you hear anything - you go straight to me, his grip tightened ever so slightly, "In return, I will make sure to grant you all the knowledge you so desperately desire."

Rolan felt his fingers prickling with cold, the scars left from poisoned daggers burning on his palms. But why? Isn't it what he wanted? Why, at a moment like this, the tiefling felt as if he was caught in a snare? Was it Lorroakan's uncomfortable closeness? His condescension? His cold, self-assured authority? No. Stop it. It should not matter.

"I am dedicated to serving you as your apprentice," his words sounded hollow as if spoken by someone else.

"Good. You must move into the tower at once," Lorroakan replied, back to his self-indulging tone, "I need you here at all times."

Rolan hesitated, "My family..."

Lorroakan barely spared him a glance as he reclaimed his throne, already feigning interest in another scroll, "What about them?"

Rolan clenched his jaw. He decided not to test the wizard's generosity, at least for now, "They are waiting for me outside, I'd like to say goodbye."

"Don't take too long," Lorroakan exhaled a long, theatrical yawn, "We have a lot of work ahead of us."

+++

It didn't take long for Cal and Lia to reach their meeting point after Rolan left Sorcerous Sundries. The tiefling stood waiting, a freshly written note clenched in his hand. As soon as he spotted them, impatience got the better of him.

"Did you find a place?" he called out, not waiting for them to get closer.

Cal shrugged as he approached, "A room in a boarding house on Wyrm's Crossing. Cheap enough that we can pay half a month in advance."

Rolan frowned, imagining the kind of filth that came with such a bargain, "I will make sure you won't have to stay there long."

"I take it as he took you in as his apprentice!?" Lia couldn't help but sound excited. For all their constant bickering, she always believed Rolan would become a mighty wizard.

A small, tired smile flickered across Rolan's face, "He did."

For a brief moment, relief settled between them. Then reality came crashing back.

"Listen, I don't have much time, I need to return to Master Lorroakan soon," Rolan paused. A bitter thought of telling them that they would have to live separately lingered in his mind. But the good news must come first, "Ketheric Thorm is dead."

Cal and Lia exchanged wide-eyed glances, the weight of those words sinking in. They were rapidly realizing what that could mean: a hope that the party - their friends and saviors - had survived.

"Are you sure?" Lia asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"Yes," Rolan was confident, "Found out from Lorroakan. His connections must run so deep that he learns of such news days before everyone else," he stretched his arm, passing a note to Cal, "Send it to Dammon today. They all should know, too."

Too excited to mind his manners, the younger tiefling opened the note and scanned the words:

I know from a reliable source that Thorm was defeated. No details yet, but I will write back to you if I hear of anything else. Keep quiet about this until the press knows. I was right.                                                                                   - R.

[joelswritingmistress]

Last Halloween: Chapter 3

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case. You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Warning: Angst, mild language

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

"He's coming?" Your friend Jessie asked, practically letting her jaw drop to the floor as she adjusted her cowboy hat in the mirror.

"Shh." You put a finger to your lips and pulled on a pair of black spandex for your cat costume. "I don't want to tell Winnie or Chris." You knew they would give you a hard time, but Jessie was a little more open minded.

"Okay, okay." She pretended to zip her lip. "I won't say anything."

"Thank you." You tossed on a black shirt with lacy sleeves before grabbing the cat mask. After Jessie checked herself out once more in the bathroom mirror, you reached for your keys. "Let's boogie," you whispered.

The ride over was focused on Joel talk, and you didn't particularly mind. You were kind of itching to talk about him.

"Are you into him?" Jessie asked.

You weren't a good liar so you were honest, despite the potential backlash. After that motorcycle ride it was like a switch had been flipped inside of you.

"Yeah. I mean, I think so."

"Wow." She giggled, "It's so.. random. Not judging. I just.. wow. Why?"

"Why?" You shrugged as you drove. "He gave me a ride on his motorcycle earlier and-"

"Wait, what?" She grabbed your forearm without even realizing it.

You laughed. "We rode around town and then he drove me back to pick up my car at the junkyard. That's why I was so late getting home."

"How old is he?"

"I'm not sure."

"He's a least ten years older than us. Probably more."

You shrugged again. "I'm just feeling things out. I really just want him to have a friend." You turned to look at Jessie for a quick second. "Ya know?"

"Oh, I know." She chuckled. "A friend with benefits."

You laughed and swatted at her. "Cut it out."

"Just let me know what color bridesmaid dress I should wear."

You rolled your eyes with a grin and the two of you had another laugh.

The sign for the tavern came into view by the road side and you pulled into the parking lot, allowing your car to merge in with all the others. You both reached for your purses in the back seat and then headed toward the door that led inside.

On your walk up you heard someone call out your name and turned to see the man in the plastic scarecrow mask. Joel. Seeing him there alleviated any anxiety that lingered on the chance of him not showing up. He *had* showed up, and you knew how big of a step that was for him.

"Hey!" You greeted him with a hug and he partially lifted the mask as your roommate began to introduce herself. A moment later, the three of you were walking inside, welcomed by the beat of the old time seasonal song, Midnight Monsters Hop.

"I'm gunna go get a drink," Chrissy shouted, using her thumb to motion toward the bar that was overflowing with ghouls, ghosts and everything in between.

"Okay." You gave a thumbs up and looked to Joel. "Want a drink?"

He nodded, "Yeah, sure."

You reached back behind you for his hand and felt that similar electricity from before when he took it.

Up at the bar you flagged down the bartender.

"I'll do a vodka soda and.."

"A Bud Lite," Joel added, reaching into his wallet. Like his habit at the coffee shop, he paid with cash despite your attempts to try to pay for the round.

You looked at one another and without saying a word, you tapped your glasses together and then took a sip from your drinks. Joel hesitantly lifted his mask partway. You felt so bad for his inability to be free.

When another old Halloween song came on by The Dead Kennedys, you pulled Joel with you into a crowd of people who had begun to dance along to the rock music.

The beat was fast and upbeat. Without thinking you shoved Joel playfully with a grin with one hand to his chest and then closed the gap again and began to dance right next to him.

A moment later he was following your lead. He was having fun. You were having fun. The dim lighting in the bar was intersected by strobes of oranges, greens and purples, highlighting your every move.

When Joel really began to relax you could see it in his body language. He was dancing around, grabbing your hand to twirl you and being less cautious about lifting his mask to take a sip from his beer.

The rock music never seemed to let up. You needed a break from dancing as sweat began to make your face glisten. You eyed an old photobooth in the back corner of the bar and reached for Joel's free hand again, towing him with you.

When you pushed your way through a pale, white curtain you pulled him down into a seated position beside you and inserted a five dollar bill into the money slot beneath the camera screen.

With the first 3-2-1 countdown on the screen, you both kept your masks on and you stuck out your tongue. For the second photo, Joel lifted his mask so it sat on the top of his head and he managed a half smile. For picture number three, Jessie came out of nowhere, leaping into the booth for a photobomb and then exiting just as quickly.

You were laughing. Joel was laughing. You were both genuinely enjoying the night. Seconds later, the pictures developed and you took a copy while handing one over to Joel.

He kept his mask up as you pulled him back out into the bar where you resumed dancing. The energy was fiery. You loved every minute of it. More so, you loved seeing Joel at ease and having fun. Prior to recently you had never even seen him smile.

That night, in the freaky, flashing strobe lights, things felt perfect - as perfect as they had felt on the back of Joel's bike a few hours earlier. You knew this was manifesting into one of those nights - the type of night you looked back on that was on the border of magical, at least the type of magical that existed in real life.

It was everything. The music, the lighting, the look on Joel's face as his eyes found yours and never left. You were two giddy children that night and it felt so damn good. Never in a million years did you think you'd be able to get him out of his shell.

A break in the song left the two of you breathing heavy with smiles.

"Want another drink?" He shouted.

"Sure." You smiled, and a ringing stuck in your ears with the brief absence of loud music. The next song quickly picked up and Joel smiled, squeezed your hand and then made his way through the crowd.

"Another round, please," you heard him order.

Your eyes were on him as he stood there by the bar. You still smiled. He was contagious; perhaps the definition of a diamond in the rough. Joel Miller was.. dreamy.

"Hey killer." A voice interrupted your temporary euphoria. It wasn't directed at you. It was directed at Joel. Your daydream was suddenly interrupted when you saw a man approach him as he waited for your drinks. "You're in here dancing and having a good time. Where's Johnny? Hmm?" The guy shoved him now and you ran to Joel's defense.

"Enough!" The bartender scolded but the guy went on.

"You kill a local legend and you think you can just move on?" The guy shouted.

"Stop!" You intervened, standing with Joel as others began to turn in your direction.

"Oh, you even got a girl, that's great," mocked the stranger. "You know what Johnny's girl does on and off every week? She cries. Because you killed him!"

Joel tossed a twenty on the bar, left the drinks and stormed out of the establishment. You chased after him, bursting outside and shouted his name when a car whizzed by and almost hit him on the Main Street road.

"Joel!" You shouted and hurried the rest of the way to him. "Joel, stop!"

"I can't do this!" He shouted, "You just don't get it!"

"I know." You shook your head. "Joel, I'm sorry."

"I'm not your little fucking project," Joel went on.

"I know that, Joel." You shook your head, feeling the first sting of tears in your eyes. "I just.. I like you. I was having fun with you."

"I don't belong here. Not in this town. Not anymore! Nothing is going to change that."

"It's not fair," you went on, "I know-"

"You don't know anything!" He waved his hands wildly to the sides. "You don't know how I feel every single day."

"I know I don't," you agreed, "But I want to be here for you. I want to help you. Be your friend."

"What and relive this shit show of a night almost daily with me?" He made a face and shook his head.

"This night hasn't been a shit show," you argued. "Up until two seconds ago this was one of the enjoyable nights I can remember. It started back at the junk yard and on the bike-"

"Well, I'm glad I could give you a thrill ride," Joel said in a snarky fashion that cut you a little deep.

"Joel.." you shook your head. "I enjoy your company." You extended both of your arms in his direction with your palms up.

He looked at them but distanced himself further back a few steps. "Just.. go back to your normal life and stay away from me."

He scoffed turned away from you, storming off into the darkness as you still held your arms out in front of you. Despite having just formally met him, a single tear left each of your eyes.

"Joel!" You called. "Joel, please.."

He didn't turn back around. It broke off a piece of your heart when he disappeared around the corner of the building without so much as looking back.

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER 4

@untamedheart81 @amy172