#the best part is that she has no idea that this is her pattern

[e1e4n0r5]

I am captivated by your story “Their Little Plaything” because of the angst potential it has along with how I can honestly see myself as the Reader in the story given her background (as in being a loner and keeping to herself). I like how this is completely in Reader’s point of view, as in we only know what she knows (with the exception about the hidden cameras).

So, Caitvi’s relationship with Reader is definitely toxic. Like, bullied her for the first year then start showing interest the next? While not non-con (except for the hidden cameras), their relationship is dub-con (at best) because of the power imbalance and Reader allows this to continue because why would she want to stop when she get praises for being good (as someone who would be lonely at times, being praised is something I would crave for). It’s a form of validation, even if it’s an unhealthy way of receiving it.

Honestly, it’s unclear if Caitlyn and Vi actually love Reader or sees her as only a plaything for them. So, it’s a mix signals and miscommunication(?) because Caitvi are manipulating/corrupting Reader into doing things with them.

And it’s sad because the two are unaware of Reader’s traumatizing prank from her past, so having nonconsensual recordings hurt Reader upon finding out as now it’s a question of what is she to Vi and Caitlyn.

[Spoilers to those who haven’t read part 3]

While the two haven’t visited Reader when she pretended to be sick with a stomach bug, Caitlyn sent a care package for her (which shows that they do care?). It’s just… I feel this is a “It gets worse before better” if the three do end up together because of how toxic the situation is.

Oh my god, thank you for this Ask, it's so beautiful! 🥹

The relationship is definitely toxic and very unbalanced. Not just because of the power imbalance between Caitvi and Reader due to their different social standings and their established relationship, but also a bit of a financial imbalance: whilst Reader's family isn't poor, she's still a college student. Cait's family, as we've established, is RICH.

Reader was also based loosely on myself: I was also bullied pretty much my whole life which has led to some lingering social anxieties, and maybe a praise kink 👀 But I think a lot of people will be able to relate to her.

We will have a scene just between Vi and Cait (no spoilers) to round things out from their perspective, but other than that, the whole point is that, like in life, we never really know for certain what someone else is thinking. Which is why it's all so confusing for poor Reader.

She sees some red flags; she doesn't always like how they treat her or speak to her; but she also gets the attention and - like you said - validation that she didn't realise she desperately wants. Plus this is her first taste of a relationship, and it's a threesome with two very experienced and very manipulative women who have an established dynamic and pattern of behaviour between themselves. It's a mess, and yes, very toxic.

But there are also the green flags. Like how Cait added Reader to her Uber account so she could come over whenever she wants without having to pay for it herself. And the care package!

Plus, the only reason why they didn't go over to see her in person when she was 'ill' (I couldn't include this in Chapter 3 but might mention it in the future) is literally just because Vi is a massive emetophobe (fear of vomit) and didn't want to risk getting sick! Just a random hc I have for Vi 🤣 But it was her idea to put together the care package in the first place. Cait even had to tone it down and take over when Vi wanted to send practically the whole drug store 🙃

[madwomanwithawarehouse]

the thing about felicity smoak is that she will uproot her life to do something "sensible" when she's in an emotionally vulnerable state and then realize she's deeply bored with sensibility and jump at the chance to do anything interesting, regardless of its legality, safety, or how it affects her interpersonal relationships - until something bad happens then she starts the loop again

and i love that for her

[trevanent]

I think one thing I will say about the finale was that the most problematic aspect of the concept of the show was how it feels like they had to use the Fionna and Cake plot to Trojan horse a resolution to a swathe of loose ends Simon and Betty's arcs had. They pulled it off even better than I ever wanted to let myself hope for for the most part but I would say my main issue if anything was how cramped the finale felt when I think they could have left a lot more up to season 2 speculations (especially with the resolutions for the alt universes, they didn't really feel necessary when they basically just had to egg Scarab).

I feel I liked the understated melancholies of seeing Simon recontextualized and kinda infantilized in that temporary form hosting his mind, and some people have said the Casper and Nova thing felt hamfisted but I thought the vibes were too cute to care that it wasn't particularly "efficient" as far as metaphors go, but that does slow down the pace which probably crunched the ending a little harder :'). But it also worked in further showing the sad side-effect of the crown on Simon's relationships, including that of stunting his ability to have ever matured in his understandings of love and his relationship with Betty. I also think their last scene in the memory worked because it was Simon reconsidering how he viewed their relationship for the first time, even if his attempt to do for Betty what she did for him would have just been an inversion of their original flaw, the scene rests on them understanding it's unchangeable anyway, so that decision doesn't matter so much and it's not something for Simon to dwell on.

I also feel I liked the scene a lot in spite of how scarce it felt in the finale was because of what was most conspicuously unaddressed, which was just the sheer logistical impossibility of any different choices they made having possibly been any "better." It sticks out because Betty says they could have made better choices, which kinda seems to situate their relationship in a vacuum as if there wasn't a very high likelihood had they done anything different at that crossroads, they would have just been literally nuked into orbit regardless. Sure, it seems like enough time had passed for them to have worked out their relationship better at least and then died, but that kinda seems better by an arbitrarily less tragic amount, and really it seems the least tragic possibilities ever were either that they conceive their relationship more healthily, Simon finds the crown and protects Betty from exploding somehow and also doesn't warp her to the future, and they live some terrible survival life but at least they get a chance to live something kinda fulfilling and Betty probably would have taken care of Ice King decently for the remainder of her life once Simon was gone while also having a better understanding of what had happened to him. The only other hand would be that she also was still warped to the future he finds the crown but Simon had not enabled her self-sacrificial tendencies and so she becomes less undividedly obsessed with saving him and instead integrates into Ooo more properly and also accepts what had become of him (I find it hard to think she would have just let him die either way though lmao).

That all said, they had been around a long time to have reflected over everything. I think it is a bit of an issue that they don't really allude to that, but I find it easy to believe that they did recognize how thwarted a happy ending would ever be for them by all angles of their reality, yet they still had that tender ache of that simple and small tragedy just between them two that still exists within the torrent of catastrophe that engulfed them and the breadth of their fate. So much horror in their lives but they reconnect and find themselves primarily concerned with that last regret of not having been able to make the ideal relationship they quite thought they had.

[tyrantisterror]

When I was 3 years old I went to a preschool that had this little green crocheted crocodile finger puppet that was my absolute favorite toy to play with of all time. I named her Chelsea, because Chelsea starts with C and crocodile starts with C and more often than not wild animals in fiction aimed at kids have names that start with the same first letter as their species. I played with Chelsea every day, because she was my favorite toy, and because the other kids weren't really interested in her, and also because I eventually started to hide her in a special secret spot in the room so no one else would find her before I did. She was so beloved by me that when I graduated from preschool, my teachers gave Chelsea to me permanently, because it was clear no one else would ever love that little crochet crocodile as much as me anyway (in part because I hid her). They waited a few weeks after I graduated before doing it, too, and sent Chelsea with some post cards as if the crocodile had been on a whirlwind "travel the world" vacation before deciding to come live with me.

And Chelsea remained my favorite toy all through my childhood. There were others I loved nearly as much, like my Imperial Godzilla and the big red T.rex from the first Jurassic Park toy line and my tiny knockoff plush Charmander, but Chelsea always held the place of honor in my heart. She was my absolute favorite toy.

I kept a lot of my favorite toys through adolescence, even if social pressure eventually got me to give away a lot of them (and some, y'know, broke). That's obviously not surprising to you if you've followed my blog, since I still collect toys into my adulthood. But it's important to note because while I know I made a conscious effort to never throw out Chelsea every time I pared down my collection... at some point, she went missing.

I became aware of it when I graduated from high school. I was feeling really emotional about leaving that stage of my life and, y'know, becoming an adult and shit, and in that state I decided to find Chelsea to reassure myself that I hadn't entirely left childhood behind. But Chelsea wasn't there. No matter how hard I looked, I could not find Chelsea anywhere.

And that was, like, devastating, because the only explanation was that somehow, at some point, I had accidentally tossed her out with some other "childhood junk" while trying to grow up and be responsible in my teen years. I had literally thrown away my childhood in a careless attempt to be more grown up.

Of course I knew she was just a toy - nothing more than some yarn twisted together in the loose shape of a crocodile, lifeless and soul-less and more or less worthless in the objective light of day. But she was also Chelsea, my best friend since i was three, my stalwart little pal, a source of comfort for most of my life at that point, and I had just... tossed her out! Like garbage! What kind of person was I becoming if I could do that to my best friend?

I was very visibly distraught, and my mom noticed. Being very crafty, she tried to find the pattern for Chelsea so she could crochet me a new one. The problem is, she had no idea where to find said pattern. She checked all her books of crochet patterns, and when that failed she tried the internet, but no matter how hard she looked, she found nothing.

So my mom found the next best thing.

The original Chelsea was a tiny finger puppet, and I had "met" her when I was three. Well, I was eighteen now - shouldn't Chelsea have grown too? And as has been established, this crocodile was fond of whirlwind vacations. My mom found a pattern that looked as much like Chelsea as possible while also being a much bigger crocodile, and gifted her to me before I left for college - to show that while we can't stop the flow of time or how it changes us, that doesn't mean we have to leave it behind.

And yeah, I decided to believe it. That's Chelsea now. Yeah, I know that in reality it's a completely different set of yarn made by my mom rather than... whoever it was that crocheted the original Chelsea, but then, Chelsea was never really the yarn. She was the feelings I put into the yarn, you know? So that's Chelsea, all grown up, and still my most prized toy.

...

Flash forward... Jesus, eighteen years, holy shit. A few weeks ago I saw a post trying to identify a different crochet crocodile pattern, and thinking it was cute, I decided to try and look for it on ebay and etsy, just to see if maybe I could find it. I didn't, but do you know what I found instead?

A very familiar crochet crocodile finger puppet. An intensely familiar one, you might say. Of course I bought it. And of course I asked the seller if, perhaps, they might have the pattern for it or know where it came from (they did not, alas). And after a few days, she showed up at my house.

She's not Chelsea, obviously. For one thing, she's far too clean and fresh looking - Chelsea was very well loved, and looked the part, while this crocodile finger puppet has definitely not endured years upon years of a child's affection. And, more importantly, she's not Chelsea because we've already established that Chelsea grew up into a bigger crochet crocodile. This has to be Chelsea's younger sister, Cici.

And if I could find another of Chelsea's kind after all these years, then maybe, with a bit of luck, I might find the pattern for her, and be able to make more of them. Fill the world with Chelseas.

[astronomalyy]

Thinking about the lifespans of Dungeon Meshi elves... The fact that they're completely unnatural alters my brain chemistry, because you can tell just how haphazardly the demon implemented their wish. They live five times the length of tall-men, so they age at a fifth of their rate. It's simple maths and the implications are terrifying. No wonder their birth rate and population are declining - their early development is so slow that at the age of two, they're still unable to stand.

They don't reach adulthood until their eighties. What does the infant mortality look like? How many elves succumb to illness or injury before they're fully mature? It only takes one accident to lose the child you've been raising for decades - and could you bring yourself to care for another? Add to that the implication elf culture has no idea how to process grief... just look at the way the Canaries treat Rin after the death of her parents. They're callous and insensitive and detached - part of that's racism, but there's also an element of pure cold ignorance. They don't even recognise the emotion on her face.

And that's just scratching the surface... does elven memory accommodate their extended lifespan? Once you reach two hundred or so, do the years start blurring together? Kabru mentions that their temporal awareness is remarkably poor.

Two years feel like a few months. Their lives are longer but not fuller. They're older but not wiser than the short-lived races, and most refuse to understand this. Those that do grasp it are interesting - namely Otta, who's ostracised for pursuing half-foot women.

A 30-year old elf is a young child; a 30-year old half-foot has entered middle age. Otta is in the equivalent of her late twenties. She knows that her elven lifespan makes her no more mature than a half-foot - but she also acknowledges that it creates a rift between herself and her partners, and not just in the eyes of society. 'She dumps them as soon as they pass 30', but probably not for the reasons Lycion assumes. For this to be a pattern, decades must have passed - it's possible Otta doesn't want to watch them die as she herself barely ages. No doubt some of her previous lovers have already passed away. In the end, all living 400 years accomplishes is leaving them out of sync with the rest of humanity.

Marcille's perhaps the best example. As a half-elf, she's got 95% of her life ahead and the thought terrifies her. She's going to lose everyone she loves, over and over and over again, and this cycle has barely even started. She runs at a different pace. This context adds so much to her dynamic with Falin in earlier chapters.

Marcille loves her! She's scared for her! Maybe even of her! She's grown attached to a short-lived girl who she met as a kid when Marcille was a teaching assistant! Biologically and developmentally, they're the same age, but chronologically she's twice as old as Falin! Considering what happened to her mother, is history repeating itself? Her feelings towards Falin are tangled and messy and fascinating. They're also more than a little homoerotic, which makes Marcille's infantilization of her friend all the more interesting. It feels like her way of resolving their power imbalance, of remaining a responsible (former!) authority figure... but it's also a coping mechanism. She's frightened by the ways Falin is maturing and changing - aging - and keeping her mental image of her friend as young as possible is her way of denying the march of time that's destined to sever their bond.

Marcille's dream of lifespan extension would remove the need for this obfuscation, render them equal... only, they already are! This desire is imposed onto Falin, but it's primarily for Marcille's benefit. Watching her fight for a world nobody wants, for reasons both selfish and altruistic... it's as tragic as it is understandable. I love this manga.

[beefjumper]

Life Series but beefburgered

Hello my tumblr 👋 I'm not dead, I've just been fandom jumping then felt the urge to make somewhat of a reference sheet for the lifers for future use. Yap session about the designs below:

Grian: Very standard Grian. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one. I imagine the turtleneck being wide enough to hide his mouth behind as he stares menacingly into the distance. His eyebrows are practically fused with his eyes but it's probably best not to think about it too much. I have considered placing a literal waffle on the back of his head but it might be tedious to draw continuously.

Scar: Everytime I draw Scar he looks weird. It might be because I'm not too good with longer faces, but that's how I'd imagine the character looks like. I think I'll switch up this design a lot as his eyes and hair bug me sometimes. Maybe experiment with the scars too. Artists make him look really cool as an explosion victim.

Mumbo: The slicked back hair looks right. Extra strand sticking out to make him look a bit disheveled. I wonder if I should commit to making him look more goth/vampire-like. He gets a tiny mullet because it fits.

Jimmy: Wanted to make him look a bit bird-like so I tried to express that with the back of his head. I hope he looks pathetic enough.

Joel: Fairly shrek-like. I wanted to make him look grumpy so he has a shorter and broader build. Also decided that one green hair streak wasn't enough for my satisfaction. His brown coat has a honeycomb pattern, but that's not too obvious. Also, he is shorter than Lizzie.

Scott: Pretty sparkly guy. I wanted him to look quite friendly. He actually has thick eyelashes here instead of eyeshadow but I'm not against that idea either. Kind of miss his Last Life skin.

Impulse: I don't watch Impulse too much so this design was based on some common interpretations of him. The horns are a cute idea.

Skizz: Very standard Skizzleman design. The ripped sleeves and the arms are probably my favorite thing. Maybe I should add more hair on the arms.

Tango: People tend to draw him really different, so I took aspects from designs I liked and put it here. Both his sclera and shades ended up being red, but I thought the sclera was iconic and the design looks more interesting with shades on. I'm not sure if I'd prefer for Tango's hair to literally be made out of fire. I tried making it resemble fire instead.

Etho: Attempted to make him a contender for Top 10 Hottest Anime Men. I'm always interested to see how people work around his definitely unrecognizable Minecraft skin (sarcastic). Like other designs, I think I'll add a maple leaf on his clothes or something.

Bdubs: He looks more terrifying than I intended but that might be the point. Might change his hairstyle here. I'd like to draw his white-haired skin at some point.

Cleo: Very standard ZombieCleo design. The hair was based on their VTuber but I decided to use the clothes from their Minecraft skin. The stitches are the fun part. I might make her hair curlier.

Martyn: Very standard InTheLittleWood design. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one ×2. The little beard is a wonderful addition I think.

Ren: Picking between black or cyan shades was tough. He also gets an obligatory ponytail because uhm. Tail. Dog. Get it? I also took a good while figuring out how I should go about his ears. I wasn't satisfied with human ears but I needed the shades to fit somehow. You can smell the Cherrifire influence in this one ×3

Lizzie: Yes, I have watched Empires S1 and S2 and it shows. Whoever first decided to give Lizzie cat-like buns should be given an award. I like the idea of heart-shaped buns too so maybe I'll alternate on that.

BigB: Very standard Bigbst4tz2 design. Don't let his friendly interaction with Lizzie fool you but he tends to stare into your soul for uncomfortably long periods of time. The highlights in his eyes come and go.

Gem: Very standard GeminiTay design. She probably has my favorite skin among this batch. I heard there was a shortage of elf Gem (there isn't) and I have decided to contribute to that (because there's no such thing as too many elf Gems).

Pearl: Inside Pearl are two wolves and I decided to draw the one that's sopping wet. Her hair has a few crescent-shaped curls. I'm definitely looking forward to drawing her more intimidating side sometime.

Overall I was hoping to make the designs simple and mostly accurate to skins/pfps. Nothing too special, other than a few pointy ears I sprinkled around here and there. I might add more to the designs the more I draw them.

[wileys-russo]

blurb idea! maybe mila gets into readers makeup and heels and clothes ? i'm thinking she's gotten herself a red lipstick and had fun 😂

a little red lipstick II l.williamson

part of the milaverse a little red lipstick II l.williamson

"-and it is my turn to pay next time less!" you warned your best friend who grinned as she shut off her engine in your driveway. "snooze you lose." the blonde teased, the two of you returning from a much needed spa day which the footballer had paid for before you could even blink.

"consider it your gift for giving me the most adorable god daughter in the world." the striker winked, locking her car as you made your way up to the front door, not even grabbing your house keys out before it swung open.

"mama you're back! and you brought aunty lessi!" mila cheered happily, charging forward as you were rendered a little speechless by her appearance, alessia scooping her up as the two of you

"i see someone has gotten into her mama's makeup!" alessia didn't even try to hide her amusement at the sight of the very colourful four year old in her arms. "and heels! but can't run in em." mila huffed with a scowl.

"bubba where did you-why did you-" you grabbed her face in your hands, eyes scanning the somewhat clown like makeup slapped across her eyes, cheeks and lips.

"wanna be like you mama! a very pretty girl." mila beamed poking at your own cheeks. "someones been listening to leah." alessia smirked, quickly putting your daughter down after the unimpressed glare shot her way.

"come look at my art! did you and mummy a special picture." the two of you lurched forward unexpectantly as mila grabbed a hand each and tugged you both down the hallway.

though the moment you stepped inside your bedroom, the somewhat adorable innocence of your daughter playing dress up fell dead in the water.

"oo and that is aunty lessi's cue to leave! mil i will come and pick you up for our special aquarium date tomorrow...if you live to see it." alessia mumbled the last part, ducking down to kiss your daughters cheek and not even wasting her breath addressing you as your entire focus was trained to your once cream white wall.

"bye aunty lessi! love you!" mila called after the striker who was down the hall and out the door in a millisecond, clueless to your emotions as you stared in disbelief at the wall.

"mila. wheres mummy?" you asked calmly, jaw clenched and exhaling slowly through your nostrils, eyes still locked on the patterns scribbled in bright red lipsticks all over the once clean wall.

"playing her games and yelling at aunty gee! oh mummy said a bad word, a lot of bad words." mila relayed as you inhaled deeply, very slowly lowering yourself down to be at her level.

"mila. bubba what you did to the wall? was very naughty. when you want to draw you have your coloring books and your pens, you only use those, and never ever on a wall and especially not with mamas makeup. do you understand?" you spoke calmly but firmly, your stomach flipping at the immediate way the four year olds face fell and her bottom lip began to quiver.

"i'm sorry!" you almost fell backwards as tiny limbs locked around your neck in a steel tight hug. "i know. but what happens when we're naughty mil?" you gently wrenched her arms off you as much as it killed you to do so, using your thumb to wipe away the tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.

"timeout?" "timeout." you confirmed with a nod, standing back up and offering the tiny blonde your hand, preparing yourself for a tantrum but to both your surprise and relief it never came, mila taking your hand and allowing you to lead her away to the timeout corner.

"you're four years old, so four minutes. you stay sitting here with your bum on the floor and your back on the wall and you do not move until mama comes back and gets you, okay?" you reminded, mila nodding with a little half sob and sniffle, and again it took all of your willpower not to just crumble and scoop her back up.

but you knew you couldn't or else she'd never learn right from wrong, so with a countdown set on your phone you left her be, stomping away instead to go and strangle your wife who sure enough was exactly where you thought she'd be.

"leah catherine!" you yelled, almost kicking in the half open door to her office as the blonde didn't even flinch, back to you and clunky dyson headphones covering her ears, fifa loaded on the monitor in front of her as she sat with her feet up on her desk.

but that ignorance didn't last more than a few seconds once you'd burst in, headphones yanked right off her as the girl let out a yell of surprise, chair toppling over as your wife went thumping to the ground.

"babe what the fuck!" leah groaned clutching her side where the arm of the chair had dug in, scrambling for the controller which you swiftly kicked out of the way.

"i'm in the middle of a game!" leah whined, mouth forming an o at the way you stepped forward and yanked the chord out from the console sending everything black.

"where is our daughter leah?" "she's playing dress up! now why the hell did you-" "where is she playing leah?"

but finally glancing up and seeing the all too familiar look in your eyes your wife fell silent. "i'm beginning to think i'm in trouble." the blonde smiled nervously as she sat up and you laughed bitterly.

"oh that is not even the half of it leah!" but before you could really launch head first into the colossal lecture lingering on the tip of your tongue the timer for mila's timeout went.

"up. on your feet. come with me right now!"

scrambling and falling over herself in her haste your wife scurried after you as you stomped out of the office and back down the hall, coming to a stop back in front of your very somber looking four year old.

"aw bubba why are you crying what hap-" "leah!"

at the hiss of her voice your wife froze, looking back and meeting your sharp warning glare she retreated from where she'd been surging forward to wrap mila in a hug and stood awkwardly behind you instead.

"now, why did you have to go to timeout mila?" you asked softly, crouching down in front of your daughter who sniffled. "cause i did a naughty thing." mila wiped her nose on the collar of her shirt leaving a bright orange foundation stain that had you wincing at the thought of the work it would take to be rid of it.

"what was that?" "drew on the walls with mamas makeup."

"sorry you what-" with another harsh glare from you leah fell silent again, rocking back and forth on her feet with a guilty expression in her features, the pieces of the puzzle now slowly slotting together in her head.

"mama i'm really really really sorry." "i know you are baby, come here." with that you opened your arms and engulfed your daughter in a hug, her legs wrapping around you as you stood and picked her up with you.

"now. you and mama are gonna go clean up that pretty little face of yours bubba, and then we're gonna go get pizza for dinner-" the downtrodden look was wiped right off her face at those words, your wives too though that wouldn't last long.

"-and mummy is going to stay here by herself, have plain toast for dinner and clean the bedroom wall so she doesn't have to sleep on the sofa tonight!"

[reidsmanuscript]

Seven Seconds

Summary: when Katie Jacob's gets abducted in a Mall, setting the clock for the BAU, who needs a legal favor, and it's been a year since the A.D.A. has know anything about Spencer Reid. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: pinning, SLOW BURN, maybe right moment?, angst bc i love angst wc: 4.6k! (i know so small comparing to part 1 bear with me) TW: cm canon typical violence, set in 05x3 "Seven seconds" (obviously lol), sexual violence, implied reader's dark past, glimpses of female rage. A/N: my idea for the serie is be taylor jenkins reid and have you question if lawyer reader exists or not (delusional bitch), english is not my first language and let's pretend it's proofread part I - part II - part III - part IV - masterlist

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Spencer sat on the park bench reading a book while playing chess with Ethan, brilliant kid for his age and good opponent, not good enough though because when he cheered “I see checkmate in 5, What do you see?” It took Spencer one glance to calculate all the movements necessary.

“I see it in 3” he answered looking at his book again, the kid turned around the board and moved the pieces

“We've missed you out here” he said, staring at the board amazed.

“Thanks. I, uh, I had to take a little break”

“How come?” His hands froze on the book for a second before closing it.

Spencer had been clean for over a year now, it was 14 months and 2 weeks ago that he had freaked out after noticing his stash of Dialud was gone along with his needle. Where could he find more? Who knew about his addiction? Where was his stash? Who the fuck is Dr. Fitzgerald? Did you report him?

His first instinct was confronting you, given that you were the only person who found out his drugs that he knew, the first days he was a complete paranoid, he jumped every time Hotch called his name, or that Gideon looked at him a little too long.

At the end of the week he was thinking where he could find more, and when that thought scared him, he called the number of the card you had left in the same pocket his drugs used to be.

“Hello this is Dr. Fitzgerald” said a calm voice, it was 10 p.m. so there was a higher chance of going to voicemail, but he got an answer and the tremor of his hands got a little worse. Was it the anxiety or the withdrawal?

“Umm hello.. this is.. Dr.. this is Spencer Reid and someon-""I've been waiting for your call Dr Reid” the other line interrupted, he froze for a second.

“I used to play with a co-worker friend of mine. He's probably the best mind I ever went up against. One day, he just decided that he didn't want to play anymore.”

Fast forward, she helped him get clean and stay clean after Gideon left, getting tested regularly, and gave him the contact of the help group of FBI addicts. He was better, he was alive.

“So you gave up, too?”

“Just the opposite. I attempted to play Through every permutation of moves on a chessboard.”

“That's an infinite number of games.”

“It's not infinite. It's just- it's exponentially large.”

“You couldn't have played through them all.”

“There's an average of 40 moves per chess game, And I'll tell you something– the more I played, The more I realized that every single match every single chess game, Is really just a simple variation on the exact same theme. You know? It's aggressive opening, Patient mid-game, inevitable checkmate, And I realized why my friend quit. He was tired of repeating the same patterns And expecting a different outcome.”

“That's because you haven't come up on Fridays or Mondays in a while” the way his eyebrows went up along his voice tone made him feel like he knew something that he didn't.

His eyebrows furrowed “What do you mean?”

“There's this great player who comes around those days, she even brings the best pastries, and her games is similar to yours, always two or three moves ahead, she always beats everyone here… i think her boyfriend called her Buzz or something like that, like the Toy Story character”

“Buzz?… i don't really remember anyone with that nickname”

“It’s probably not that one but you don't know her because she started coming like 8 months ago.. I'm sure you have a lifetime of chess strategy in your head that you're just sitting on, but when you meet her?” He made a dramatic pause “You'll have to play it.”

He glances at his watch to realize his 15 minute break is coming to an end. “I still use it. I just, uh... I apply it differently. I have to go. It's good seeing you.”

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That evening, the BAU was called in for a local case—a little girl, Katie, had been kidnapped from a busy mall. A week earlier, another girl had been taken from the same location and found dead hours later. Now, they were all racing against the clock.

Katie’s parents were desperate. As any parents would be in this situation, right? But when Hotch asked the father if either of them was having an affair—a routine question in abductions—the man took offense. Deep offense. So much so that he refused to let the FBI search their house.

Now, what kind of parent refuses to help the police find their missing child?

In a small surveillance room, Morgan and Reid sat with Garcia, who was visibly frustrated by the mall’s ancient security system. They were surrounded by screens displaying grainy footage from different angles—well, almost every angle. They had a single glimpse of Katie in one video, and then, seven seconds later, she was gone.

JJ and Prentiss were with the mother, aunt, and uncle, trying to get a read on the family dynamic. Meanwhile, Morgan and Reid had conducted a cognitive interview with Katie’s cousin. It had led nowhere.

“The family has refused permission to search the house,” Hotch announced as he stepped into the room.

“What do you mean they denied?” Morgan’s frustration was evident. “Your only child goes missing, and you refuse to collaborate?”

No one disagreed. They were all thinking the same thing.

“The cousin didn’t say much,” Reid added. “He was too distracted in the game room to notice anything.”

Hotch exhaled sharply. “I’ll speak to the detectives, see if we can get a warrant.” His tone was firm, but they all knew time wasn’t on their side.

Garcia adjusted her glasses. “Sir, I mean this in the best way possible, but it’s almost 8 p.m. I don’t think-”

“I’ll handle it,” Morgan interrupted.

All Reid and Garcia turned to him with identical looks. What do you mean you will handle it?

Hotch’s eyebrows furrowed, but after a moment, he gave a small nod and walked away. Morgan was already pulling out his phone.

“I have a contact,” he explained, dialing.

He put the phone on speaker. It rang once. Twice. On the third ring, a voice answered—sharp, direct, and all business.

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

Reid went rigid.

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It was late in the office; most people had already gone home, including your assistant Molly. All but Austin, who was still there because he had a lead on one of your cases. You knew he was still hanging around because, over a year ago, when someone had snuck into your office to harm you, you’d become a little paranoid. You’d gotten better, but Austin insisted on keeping you company, especially since your car was in the mechanic’s.

You were reviewing a legal brief, pen in hand, skimming the margins to jot down notes when the desk phone rang. Without looking up, you hit the speaker button with the tip of the pen.

“A.D.A. Woodvale.”

There was a beat of silence before a familiar voice cut in—smooth, direct, urgent.

Morgan called your name “Hey. We need a warrant. Fast.” You blinked, setting the pen down.

Reid and Garcia exchanged glances as Morgan jumped in without hesitation.

“Katie Jacobs. Eight years old. Abducted from a mall earlier tonight,” Morgan started, all business. “Another girl was taken from the same place a week ago—she was found dead hours later. We’re working against the clock.”

You frowned, swirling the pen, going through the multiple scenarios. You had heard about last week’s case, and how slow the police had moved back then.

“We’ve got mall surveillance footage,” Morgan pressed. “At first, we thought she just vanished, but Garcia finally pulled something from one of the side corridors. Katie wasn’t taken by force—she was walking calmly with someone.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around her pen. “Someone she knows.”

“Exactly,” Morgan confirmed. “That narrows it down to family or close acquaintances.” They all shared a silent thought. Family.

We know they’re hiding something,” Morgan corrected. “We just don’t have the probable cause to kick the door down.”

Garcia watched as Morgan paced slightly, his tone firm but urgent.

“That’s thin, Morgan,” Your voice came through the speaker, steady and unyielding.

“We don’t have time for airtight,” Morgan countered.

Your jaw tightened. “You don’t have time for me to get laughed out of a judge’s office, either. Refusing a search isn’t a crime, and suspicion alone doesn’t cut it. I need more.” You understood where the suspicious came from, how are you supposed to help them if they had nothing?

There was a pause. A beat of silence. Then, another voice—one you hadn’t heard in over a year.

“99% of abducted children who are killed due within the first 24 hours” He cleared his throat, willing his voice to stay even. Spencer Reid. “75% within the first 3 hours, and what only law enforcement knows is Jessica Davis joined the 44% of children who are abducted and killed within the first hour. We’re already past the three-hour mark. If we don’t act now, statistically speaking—”

“The likelihood of recovery drops exponentially,” You sighed, already standing up, ignoring how his voice sounded. So different. So… clean.

Your gaze flicked to the clock. 8:06 p.m. Damn it.

You grabbed a blank warrant form from her drawer and reached for a pen. “Send me the address and everything else you have. Give me 20 minutes.”

Click. You didn’t have time for goodbyes.

Austin raised an eyebrow from his seat. “Guess you’re not going home anytime soon.”

You didn’t look up as you started writing. “I never was.”

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The courthouse was mostly deserted at this hour. The fluorescent lights hummed quietly, and the stillness of the evening was only interrupted by the sharp click of your heels on the polished floors followed by Austin’s boots toward the judge’s chambers.

“You sure you don’t want me to take this one? Sweet-talk her maybe?” he teased.

You shot him a look. “You think Judge Holloway is the type to be charmed? Plus, you’re a private investigator, not a lawyer.”  

“She’s not gonna like you showing up this late.”  

You didn’t miss a beat. “If she’s still up, she’ll make time for this.”  

Taking a steadying breath as you stopped in front of the door, you quickly ran through your notes, making sure you had every detail in order. Then, without hesitation, you pushed through the heavy wooden doors of Judge Evelyn Holloway’s chambers.  

Inside, the judge barely glanced up from her paperwork. “You have two minutes, Woodvale.”

Stepping forward, you set the warrant request on the desk. “Your Honor, I apologize for the late hour, but we have a child abduction case we’re working against the clock. A young girl, Katie Jacobs, was taken from a mall over three hours ago. We’ve obtained surveillance footage showing her walking with an individual—someone she likely knows. We believe the family is withholding information, and they’ve refused to allow us to search the residence.”

The judge narrowed his eyes, folding her hands on the desk. “And what do you propose I do about it? What evidence do you have to warrant a search?”

You kept your voice steady. “We have footage of the girl with someone who wasn’t a stranger, Your Honor. The parents are refusing cooperation, and the father was evasive when asked about possible affairs, which raises red flags about his involvement.”

Holloway sighed, leaning back in her chair. “That’s thin.” You were ready for that.

“I have the full footage from the mall security, including a timestamp showing the precise time the girl went missing. She is last seen walking calmly with someone she knows, most likely family.”

There was a brief pause, and for a second, you thought you were about to lose her. So you pulled Reid’s words from memory, adjusting them just enough to make them your own.

“Time is working against us. Statistics show that 99% of abducted children who are murdered lose their lives within the first 24 hours 75% within just the first three. And only law enforcement-”

She cut you off with a raised hand, signaling you to stop.

The judge exhaled through her nose, it was late and you were rambling about statistics and you knew she wanted you out as soon as possible when you started citing numbers. So pushing himself out of her chair with a slight groan. “Fine. Get me the paperwork. I’ll sign it—but you better have your ducks in a row.”

You nodded, her demeanor unflinching. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

As you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the hours ahead of you. But you were used to this—fighting against the clock.

“Let’s move,” motioning to Austin. He gave you a small nod. “You got it.”

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Exactly 15 minutes after the call, 5 minutes earlier than promised, Morgan’s phone rang. He answered it without even looking. 

"You got your warrant. I'll meet you there," Alex’s voice came through, crisp and businesslike, just as expected.

Morgan exhaled, his relief barely hidden. "Thank you, Woody."

He paused for a moment before adding, "I owe you one," then hung up, turning to Reid.

“Tell Hotch we’re heading to the Jacobs’ house,” he instructed, already moving toward the door.

Spencer had been timing her. It wasn’t the first time he'd gotten caught up in the tense waiting game of law and order, but the pressure of it had a different weight today. The memory of your voice, clear and resolute, echoed in his mind, sharper than before.

For Reid, part of getting clean wasn't just the physical withdrawal—it was the emotional weight of confronting his mistakes. The memory of how he'd lashed out at you a year ago still haunted him. How could he have been so cruel? The hurt in your eyes, the way he dismissed you, the way it all spiraled… it wasn’t just the drugs that had made him say those things. And the fury he saw when you looked at him, Dialuid in hand, how you looked like a timing bomb when he was trying to see if he could talk to you, the tension in your shoulders, the lock in your jaw, the grip on the file. He’d been battling so much more since then, in his mind, you saved his life by doing what he couldn't do.

He’d rather die than relive that moment again, than say those things. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of another chaotic case, still carrying that guilt with him. He stayed behind Morgan for just a beat before pushing down his feelings and moving quickly. 

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The engine of Austin's bike rumbled to a stop as they pulled up in front of the house, where Morgan and Reid were standing in front of the black SUV. You slid off the back with practiced ease, taking off the helmet and letting your hair fall loose.

Austin followed your lead, taking his helmet off with a groan. “So, what exactly are we looking for?”

You shot him a quick, sidelong glance, handing him the helmet, keeping your expression flat knowing he’s about to be a drama queen. “You’re not coming inside. The warrant’s for FBI and police only. Not P.I.s included”

Austin paused, a mock pout crossing his face. “Excuse me? I just got you here, through all that traffic, risking myself to get a speeding ticket and now I don’t get to search? This is the second time in the night that you P.I. shaming me. Do you hate me?”

“If I hated you I wouldn’t have bailed your ass out of jail… twice” you remark the last part. He had a talent for sticking his foot where he shouldn’t be, maybe that’s what makes him good at his job.

“You act like you wouldn’t do it a third time” he was mocking, but he was right, something you would never admit to him. 

You start walking to the house “Mhm.” you hum rolling your eyes, heading towards where Morgan and Reid were. 

You didn't expect him to be there, or maybe you did, maybe you wanted to see him and know what had happened to him since the last time you saw him. They were looking at you, Morgan with a curious already-profiling-you stare, while Reid expression was more… cautious. He looked so different, his cheekbones were prominent in an attractive way and not sickly, he had put on some healthy weight and was not fidgety. You were not mad anymore, because of course at the moment the hurt had turned into rage like it always does for you, but it was more because of phantoms than anything else. 

“Got your golden ticket” you said, avoiding Reid’s gaze as you pulled the warrant from the inner pocket of your gray coat and swung it toward them.

Morgan nodded “You staying?” He gestured with his head to Austin who was leaving.

“I have to make sure you find something, otherwise the judge will have my head for this,” you said dryly, shrugging as though the threat didn’t bother you, but there was a flicker of seriousness behind your words. You were only talking to him, which felt rude because Reid’s stare was locked in your profile. 

Reid was thinking how pretty you looked, how the black vest suited you, and he couldn’t ignore the fact you had changed your brown bag to a black one that looked nothing like his. Your white shirt and gray coat gave you an older, wiser look, but as Reid analyzed your features, he realized he didn’t even know how old you were. You couldn’t be older than him. Serious, sharp, and young... How was it possible for someone that young to be the A.D.A.?

Reid’s mind couldn’t let go of the numbers. The average age of an Assistant District Attorney in the U.S. is 36. You couldn’t be older than 25, and yet you were already in that position.

You glanced at him for a moment before stepping inside the house, feeling the weight of his stare. The look made him snap out of his trance-like state, and of course, his eidetic memory hated him, because for that brief second, he remembered how you had looked at him a year ago.

Morgan nodded and thanked you again before he and Reid walked into the house. You left the warrant on the hall table with a deliberate touch, your fingers lingering for just a moment—as if to remind yourself that you weren’t entirely done with this.

“Somebody lit a fire last night,” you heard Reid say.

“Well, there are dirty dishes for three in the kitchen, so they eat together as a family.” Morgan’s voice carried from the other room as they moved through the house, taking in the details.

If Katie was in danger, the signs wouldn’t be in plain sight. You had to look where they hid—where children kept their secrets. Their bedrooms.

“Hey, my favorite movie from when I was a kid.” Reid held up a DVD, turning it in his hands before pulling it from the player just as you passed by him, tugging on latex gloves before heading upstairs, you did feel a little guilty for not even looking or talking to him, but it was something you did unconsciously. 

“So they watch movies together, too,” Morgan mused. They were starting to build a picture of the family’s dynamic.

“By a fireplace in a house that’s straight out of a catalog,” Reid added. “Norman Rockwell couldn’t have painted this any cozier.”

“That’s what worries me.” There was weight in Morgan’s voice. A tension that sat between them.

Upstairs, you searched through the rooms with careful precision.

When you first became a lawyer, you made a promise—never ignore a sign. Since then, you have gone further. You didn’t just refuse to ignore them; you searched for them. Hollow eyes. Unexplained bruises. Small bloodstains. You looked for them in teenagers, in young adults, in the elderly. But nothing—nothing—was more painful than a child who couldn’t speak up.

Because they were small. Because someone older, someone stronger, was hurting them. There's nothing more hurtful than not being able to speak out, to say something and stand up for yourself. Except when someone did—someone saw the bruises, the fear, the signs—and they looked away deliberately. Because a child’s pain was inconvenient. Because it came with a mountain of paperwork no one wanted to touch.

You had spent your whole life making sure you never looked away.

That’s why you were hunched over the small desk in Katie’s bedroom, flipping through her drawings when Morgan and Reid entered the room. They started searching, their movements efficient and methodical.

“Katie’s been wetting her bed,” Reid said as he lifted the duvet, inspecting the mattress beneath it.

“A lot of six-year-olds do. Could be bad dreams,” Morgan replied, crouching beside you as he sifted through a pile of toys.

You considered that possibility—it was perfectly logical. In a perfect world.

“Some kids won’t get up at night because they’re afraid of the dark,” Reid added, his tone careful. Almost knowing.

“Or it could be a lot more complex than that.”

Morgan had found a doll. Not a Barbie missing a shoe or one that had simply been played with too much. No—this doll was different.

Its hair had been hacked off, jagged strands sticking out unevenly. Red marker smeared across its face like smeared blood. Its clothes were yanked askew, twisted, and wrong.

“Most girls covet their dolls like an extension of themselves.” He took the doll in his hands like it was made of fine glass. 

“Reid, I know these signs-— acting out on her toys, wetting the bed. She's obviously covering up something about that necklace.”

“And her cousin might be holding something back.”

“Well, this looks more like a man than a boy to me,” you said, holding up a drawing of a tall, shadowy figure towering over a small, crying child.

Morgan took it from your hands, his expression hardening as he analyzed the image.

“Psychology says drawing is a child’s way of channeling their inner world. Look at the strokes—how harsh they are,” you pointed to the dark, jagged lines forming the tall figure, then traced your finger over the smaller one. “And this looks like Katie to me. She forgot to draw the hands, which means she feels powerless… helpless.” 

Morgan took his phone out, dialing up “Hotch, we think Katie’s being molested,” Morgan said, his voice clipped. “And we both know the odds.”

A brief silence. Then Hotch’s response, firm and certain. “Most likely by someone under the same roof.”

He hung up, and both men started toward the door, their movements brisk with purpose. But you stayed behind for a moment, rooted in place, taking in the scene. Trying to quiet the distant sirens that echoed in your mind, the same ones always shouting when you were face to face with these situations. A loud pause—maybe out of respect for Katie and her pain, for everything she had been forced to endure.

From the doorway, Spencer glanced back. The dim light from the hallway cast your figure in stark contrast, outlining you in shadow—your form dark against the soft glow of the room. He couldn’t see your expression, couldn’t read your face. He focused on the way your hands curled into fists at your sides, the tight set of your shoulders.

And he wished—just for a second—that he could see more.

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You stood outside, leaning against the wall, arms crossed tightly over your chest. By your side were Morgan, Jeremy, Katie’s cousin, and Reid.

Turns out, Katie’s uncle, Richard, was her abuser. A disgusting son of a bitch who deserved to rot in hell. And you were going to make sure he did. He had destroyed Katie’s childhood, probably more than just hers, shattering an entire family in the process. His own son, standing right next to you, was collateral damage he clearly hadn’t spared a thought for. And then there was his wife. The woman who had chosen to look away. Who had taken Katie and nearly gotten her killed, all for the pathetic, desperate hope that it would somehow stop her husband from creeping into little bedrooms at night. She deserved the same hell he did.

A stretcher rolled past, Katie’s small frame barely visible beneath the blankets as the paramedics guided her into the ambulance. Her mother clutched her tiny hand, whispering something—words meant to soothe, to promise safety.

A young voice cut through the air. “I heard her call my mom’s name. That’s what I remembered before.”

You closed your eyes, your mind already racing ahead. Your attorney brain was piecing it together, sketching out the battle that was coming. If the kid had heard it, that made him a witness to the abduction. His own mother had committed the crime against her niece. And God only knew what else he had seen—what else had been happening in that house—without fully understanding it.

“We get it, kid. That’s your mom,” Morgan said, his voice steady. But you knew the truth: if Jeremy could barely say those words to them, getting him to the stand in front of a jury would be another fight entirely.

The boy shifted on his feet, staring at the ambulance. “What’s gonna happen to me now?”

If God existed, He had already been too cruel. He had let all of this happen. And you knew how these things worked—knew there was a very real chance that Katie’s parents, burdened with their own grief, would resent Jeremy by association. That they wouldn’t take him in. That he would be swallowed by the foster system.

You wouldn’t let that happen.

The sirens blared outside the mall, cutting through the air with urgency, but it was the ones inside your mind that were louder—screaming in the same rhythm, as if they were one and the same. Distant and deafening, they filled every corner of your head, drowning out everything but the grim reality unfolding before you.

“I don’t know, Jeremy,” Reid answered, his voice gentle. “But we’re gonna make sure you’re alright, okay?”

Jeremy didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed fixed on the ambulance. “Is Katie gonna be all right?”

You wished—desperately, violently—that you could tell him yes. That you could say it with certainty and make it true. But how could you give him something you didn’t have?

“She will, eventually,” Morgan said, his voice firm.

You exhaled sharply. The words made your skin crawl.

“Is she?” The question slipped from your lips before you could stop it—low, bitter, nearly spat out under your breath. Just quiet enough that the kid wouldn’t hear. Just loud enough that Morgan did.

Before he could respond, you were already moving.

Your feet carried you toward the police car, toward the sick, selfish bastard they were shoving into the backseat. Your hand shot out, slamming the door closed—harder than necessary, just enough that it cracked against Richard’s face.

Morgan watched. So did Spencer.

And for the first time, he realized just how much of a puzzle you really were.

Partially because, throughout all of this, you hadn’t looked at him once. Not when he entered the room, not when he spoke, not even now, standing just a few feet away.

Partially because your eyes, when he finally caught a glimpse of them, were full of something he rarely saw outside of a case like this. Pure, undiluted rage.

Not just anger. Not just frustration. Something deeper. Something personal.

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part III　 Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3

[natalicss]

Guilty Conscience

choi seunghyun x american pop star!reader

summary: you’ve been out of the public eye for five years. at the 2025 grammys, you’re making your comeback. unbeknownst to you, your ex boyfriend has been making his own comeback to the industry.

warnings: angst, american!reader, lots of mental health talk, depression, anxiety, toxic music industry, toxic industry IN GENERAL, breakup, i kinda rushed this so it sucks lowkey

word count: 5.5k

nat’s notes: hey y’all!! i wanted to get this out as soon as possible so HERE I AM!! this is my first t.o.p fic so i hope yall enjoyyyy. i kept it angsty because ive been writing too much happy shit. you’re welcome. hope you guys enjoy, if you don’t…idk don’t tell me. i’m not promising a part two to this, but…never say never - xoxo former belieber

You sat at the vanity in your greenroom. You watched as your hair dresser and makeup stylist worked their magic, elevating your features in the most beautiful ways. Meanwhile, your stylist rambled on about your outfit, talking about how it fit your body in all the right ways, and how difficult it was to tailor it the way you wanted. A joke thrown out about how high maintenance you are. You don’t really respond, smiling faintly as you look back at your reflection. 

Part of you couldn’t believe it. You were sitting in a greenroom, wearing custom designer wardrobe, getting your makeup and hair done by familiar faces, and within the hour you would be standing on a stage in front of thousands of people, all of whom had no idea you were there. Part of it felt normal. A familiar pattern easy to slip back into as if no time had passed. But that’s the thing, time had passed. Five years. Five years since your last tour. Five and a half since your last album. Five years since you disappeared from the media. Five years since your mental health had taken a detrimental turn and you needed to take care of yourself. Five years since you and your ex boyfriend broke up and never saw each other again. 

Your own decision to go off the radar for so long had nothing to do with your breakup, not really. The media had been cruel, talking about you in ways it hadn’t before. Talking about your greatest insecurities, nit-picking at every move you made on and off stage, spreading rumors about your romantic life (all of which were false, but fans didn’t care), people you thought were your friends had turned out to be frauds. The world of fame of glamour that was usually just that suddenly felt ugly and dark. You had to escape. Your breakup had only been collateral damage, both you and your ex wanting the same things, but somehow you both paid the price. 

The day you met him was a silly one. You were on a world tour, years ago. You had just made your big break, winning awards left and right, promoting a new album, traveling to places you’d never been. When you had a show in Seoul, you were ecstatic. The show itself was absolutely epic, and would go down in your music career as one of your best shows. Everything about it was perfect. From your vocals, to your dancers, to the lights, to the band, and to the crowd, it was legendary. 

It was after the show, you were drinking water as your manager excitedly told you someone wanted to meet you. She said it was a big name, and you urgently moved to follow her to find who exactly had come to your show. And there he was. Choi Seunghyun, but in that moment you knew him at T.O.P. You tried to maintain your excitement, but you were pretty sure he saw right through you. 

There was no intention behind his introduction. He had wanted to meet you after Kwon Ji-yong had played your song for him. She’s the next big thing, for sure, he’d said as he gestured to your album on his phone. Ji-yong had continued to rave about you, which only led to Seunghyun looking you up himself. He’d quickly become enamored. With your charm, your wittiness, your creative process, all of which was shown in your interviews and your videos. You were a force to be reckoned with, just like Ji-yong said, and Seunghyun had to know you. He had to see how your mind worked. All of his curiosity was purely about music, about the industry.

So, the two of you became friends, following each other on socials. And you’d be the one to text him first, thanking him for coming to your show. You liked to think that text was what sealed your fate. Your fate that you’d eventually fall in love with Seunghyun. A whirlwind romance. Unexpected, but it made more sense than anything else ever had. The media had not known about the two of you (a choice you both made, and later were grateful for). The softness he held for you and nobody else. The warmth of his voice when he called you daily. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes when he’d surprise you by showing up at your shows. Your hands in his hair as you helped him dye it different colors. Your voice when you sang him your newest love songs inspired by him. Your laugh when he’d wrap his arms around your waist and lift you in the air.

A whirlwind romance that ended in fire and ashes. 

You don’t know where exactly it had all gone to shit, for lack of better words. Was it the distance? Was it the scandals the two of you had faced at the same time? Was it the pressure of society weighing you both down? You weren’t quite sure. You’d been there for Seunghyun during his darkest days. You’d stop your life to live with him as long as he needed. You faced his guilt, his anger, his grief, his anxiety, all with him even when he pushed you away. It never deterred you. Seunghyun, at the time, could never understand. Why would you want to be burdened by him and his actions? Why wouldn’t you leave him? He had tried, begged you, pleaded you to leave him be. He knew you deserved better than him, but he was too selfish at the time to end it himself. He didn’t want you to leave him. 

And when your own world started to crumble, Seunghyun tried to be there with you.The media had pulled you apart at the seams. The fans that once adored you now treated you like you were a wicked witch. The fellow musicians who were your friends now stood back and watched as you struggled for air. They let you drown in the cruelty of the media. And what had you done? The truth was, well, nothing. You’d done nothing wrong, and somehow that was the worst thing you could have done. You were good, too good, so surely something must be wrong with you. 

And as Seunghyun watched the light drain from your eyes, a guilt riddled in his chest. He’d tried to be there for you, but his efforts fell short. You were both drowning. Your own worlds were suffocating you both. He could not save you, for he could not save himself. But you could not save you, either, for you were too busy saving him. When he realized this, the selfish feelings he had were suddenly burning him alive. He could not keep you. Not when you paid the price. 

That was five years ago. Five years ago, Choi Seunghyun had broken up with you in his home in Seoul. Five years ago, you begged him with tears to stay. You were too selfish to let him go. He had to be the selfless one, because if he wasn’t, he knew the world would lose you permanently. He’d rather you’d hate him and live than love him and rot. 

His efforts pulled off. You spent the next five years healing. Therapy, medication, meditation, yoga, music, spending time with family or friends, and just about every other coping mechanism you could try. You did it all. Two years ago you started writing music again. A year and a half ago, you’d started producing. A year ago, you started working with your team to start talking about a comeback. And now, here you were, at the Grammy’s, about to announce exactly that. You were back, ready to face the spotlight after so long of praying it’d never find you again. 

The setlist was simple. It’d start playing an old song of yours, your first hit that started your career, before glitching out. Then, the set would open up to reveal you under the flickering lights before your biggest song started. You were shaking, unable to focus on anything other than directly ahead of you. You didn’t even want to think of the song you were about to play, because of course your biggest hit would be a song about Seunghyun. It was the first song you wrote about him. It was upbeat, fun, energetic, sensual, and hit every mark that reminded you of Seunghyun. The song had skyrocketed your career even farther than anything you’d seen. You were already building a name for yourself, but this song had became the song that people associated with you when you were mentioned. If only they knew who you thought of.

Still, you held your head high as you heard the cue. You could hear one song start, causing the crowd to go quiet. It only took a moment before they began to scream in realization. You sucked in a heavy breath, watching as the lights began to flicker, the set began to move, the audio began to malfunction, and the crowd got louder. It all came to a head as everything went quiet. A spotlight shined on you as you smirked at the camera. The crowd goes ballistic. Screaming, cheering, gasps of surprise coming from the guests of the night. You soaked in the cheers, the exact shot of energy you needed. You looked around, your confidence growing as you finally felt something you hadn’t in a long time. You felt like you belonged.

“Did you miss me?”

Choi Seunghyun was going about his own day. He’d been busy, of late. Interviews, working on his own music for the future, photoshoots. He’d been out of the public eye for so long, and he still was unsure of it all. Still, he was finding his footing in a world he once loved so much. His first step was acting. The perception had been mixed, at first, but now he was seeing the positives again. Something he hadn’t seen in years. 

He was in between meetings, taking a quick break. He was sitting in an office, alone, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly. Part of him loved seeing all the positive feedback, the love he’d gotten for his new role, the support for the future of his career. But part of it still settled uneasy on his chest. Seeing comments about his past reminded him of the guilt he’d tried so hard to move on from. Ignoring it was difficult, but he managed to do well most days.

Then, on his instagram explore page, he saw a familiar face. Yours.

He clicked on it.

There you were, standing on a stage. For a moment, he thought this was an old clip, but he knew it wasn’t because your hair was not that length the last time he saw you. He looked at the caption. Y/N MAKES COMEBACK AT THE GRAMMYS. PERFORMS HER BIGGEST HITS ALONG WITH NEW SINGLE.

He’d never admit how quickly he opened YouTube. 

Seunghyun felt all of the air in his longs dissipate as he stared at his phone screen. As the music of the song you wrote for him began to play. You looked different. Your eyes filled with a familiar light, something that hadn’t been there when you packed your things from his home. You looked healthier. Lighter. The weight of the media no longer crushing your bones like before. As the song started and your dancers moved with you, Seunghyun was mesmerized. The same way he was when he’d visit your shows. The way you move so effortlessly. The flirtation in your lyrics, when you’d lean against another dancer and let them sway your hips. The way you still sang it was better than the recording, in his opinion. He still new every word. He found himself mouthing them as he watched you command the stage like you never left.

For a moment, he felt jealous of you. The way it seemed like time hadn’t affected you like it did him. The way you seemed so…okay. He wasn’t okay. He had changed so much over the years, even more so when he finally bit the bullet and said goodbye. He wasn’t the same man he was. But you still looked the same. You had the same smile. The same choreography. The same dancers. You just looked…better.

“Did you miss me?” 

Your voice rang in his ears, the words feeling like a mockery of how he felt. Teasing the way he sat there staring at the screen with conflicted emotions swirling in his chest. He couldn’t help but wonder if you had seen him. His return to the industry. He’d wondered if you saw the articles months ago, or if you’d seen him in Squid Game first. He’d wondered if you saw the interviews he’d just done, or if you’d somehow manage to dodge anything relating to your ex lover. Maybe you were the luckier one out of the two of them. 

A familiar ache in his chest continued to build as he watched your performance. As you danced on stage with dancers he’d recognized from as far back as when he met you. As you sang to a crowd of your musical peers who’d either had your back or stabbed it. As you commanded the stage with a new level of confidence he’d hadn’t seen you wear in years. He felt that ache. He felt the way his heart pounded against his ribcage. How his lungs suddenly felt like they couldn’t hold enough air. How his eyes burned because he couldn’t blink. He could only stare.

As the song ended, the cameras cut to the various artists there, cheering and screaming loudly for you. A sense of pride washed over Seunghyun. This was the praise you’d deserved. To be recognized by some of the biggest stars in the industry. To be admired by the people again. It was all right there for you, waiting for you. Something he was sure you didn’t expect, but he did. 

As your dancers started to move away, you started walking to the second stage in the midst of the tables of guests. One dancer hands you a jacket to cover up, and you come to a microphone. A slow song starts playing. Seunghyun closes his eyes tightly as he realizes this was one of the last songs you’d released. It was a breakup song. A song filled with his promises he broke and your shattered heart left in between the lyrics. He had hardly listened to it since it was released, the memories of your breakup coming in every time.

You had stared at him with doe-eyes, but he refused to look at you. He couldn’t. Not when he finally had just enough strength to let you go. He knew one look at your heart broken face would have him retracting, falling to the floor and hugging your body as he begs you to forgive him and forget what he’d said. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t keep you, no matter how much he wanted to.

You’d been living with him in Seoul for a while. Mostly to help him with his struggles, a choice you made without him asking. Your undying loyalty for him trumping any other option. The media’s cruelty towards you had started sometime after. You put on a brave face, at first, but as time passed by and their criticisms were more so filled with hate, your facade cracked. Seunghyun watched helplessly. He couldn’t save you. Not like this. He’d tried, but no words and no comfort were there. He was so broken, so lost within himself in the worst ways that he couldn’t even reach for your hand as you sobbed next to him at night. 

But you, you always did. You wiped his tears when he cried to you. You whispered sweet nothings to him to reassure him that he was deserving of good things. You made his favorite meals, or ordered them if you didn’t know how. You surprised him with small gifts. You loved him so seamlessly, so effortlessly, so loudly…Seunghyun didn’t understand why he couldn’t be as good to you as you were to him. 

And then, as he stood a few feet away from you, looking out a window, the guilt seemed to chew at his organs. The deafening silence felt cold. We can’t do this anymore, he had whispered to you. Your breath hitched, your soft eyes suddenly swimming with something else.

“Why?” Your voice came out in soft concern. “Seunghyun, what happened?” You were more worried about him. Because of course you were. Your love for him, your loyalty, it all seemed to matter more to you than anything.

Seunghyun closed his eyes tight as he tried to erase the way your voice sounded. “We aren’t good for eachother.” Was all he could say. His own voice would betray him if he said more.

You shook your head. You got up from the couch you’d previously been sitting on, walking closer to your boyfriend. He refuse to look at you. He was staring out at the city. A city he almost despised now. A world he had grown a resentment towards after it tore you apart. Him? Fine. He’d take his guilt and he’d drown in it again and again until it melted off his skin and left him nothing but bones. But you? You were different. You were better. You deserved better.

“I can’t help you,” He says softly, a quiet confession. “I can’t be the partner you need.”

It was almost naive of you, the way you only batted your eyes at him and shook your head. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. This was some sick joke. Or maybe Seunghyun saw something in the media about him that made him feel insecure. You weren’t sure, but you knew that this couldn’t be it. Not like this. You reached for his arm, your fingers delicately touching his skin. “Seunghyun-” You flinched as he pulled away from your grasp. He’d never done that before, not even when the two of you got into your fights.

“This isn’t a discussion.” He said. His tone turned harsh, a way for him to get through this without shattering at your feet. It was another thing he didn’t do often with you. Sure, when you fought sometimes things got loud, shouting at each other to try and get your thoughts heard and understood. But the sting felt harsher here. You felt your eyes starting to burn as tears built up. You were so confused. This morning, the two of you were wrapped in each others arms, nothing more than tangled limbs and kisses with swollen lips. You two were smiling, your hands tracing each others bare skin. You two were happy, you thought. How could so much have changed in this short amount of time?

Seunghyun felt like he was going to throw up. Every part of his body screamed at him to shut the fuck up, change his mind, wrap you in his arms and throw the both of you back in the bed and stay there until your lips were bruised and your hands were molded to each other. Despite every urge, every instinct, every thought telling him to stop, he didn’t. He looked at you now, clenching his jaw hard as he watched the fat tears roll down your face.

“This isn’t working out. We aren’t working out.” He gestured to the air between you. Air that was usually warm and comforting had now became cold and suffocating. “I can’t do this anymore.”

You watched as he turned away from you, walking in the direction of your shared bedroom. Another emotion ate at you now. Rage boiled under your skin as you started storming after him. “What the hell is happening!?” You threw your hands in the air as you walked into the room. Confusion, frustration, it all swam in your expression as you looked at him. “You can’t do what anymore? I haven’t asked anything from you!”

That was true, and part of that was the problem. You never asked anything from him, because you knew how much he had on his own plate. Instead, you took what you could from him, accepting the little-to-no affection he’d give you most days. You accepted the uglier versions of him. The darker versions people in the industry hadn’t seen before. You accepted the days you’d go without seeing Seunghyun, knowing he was out somewhere coping in awful ways while you sat in your home and waited. You accepted the tears that he’d shed over his mistakes. You accepted the anger that came out at sudden moments, all swirled in with guilt. You took it all without a single complaint, and you loved him so deeply and so openly it hurt him more. Because he couldn’t do that for you. He couldn’t show his love for you in the ways you needed it. You were just to blind to see it.

Seunghyun ran his hand through his hair. “I know. I know, it’s not like that, okay? I just can’t-”

“Can’t what?” You walked closer, your eyes wide with desperation as you looked at him. You studied his face for anything at all. Something to explain this. Something that’d give away his thoughts. You wanted to understand. “What did I do? What can I do? Please, just talk to me. Please.” You begged. Your voice croaked as you tried to fight back your own sobs. “I’ll do anything. Just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it.”

This time, Seunghyun is the one that’s fighting back his sobs. He swallows painfully has he shakes his head at you. His heart was tearing apart. “Y/N,” He whispered. You stared at him, watching as he slowly shook his head. Somehow that spoke more words than anything either of you could say. It wasn’t up to you. He’d made his choice.

That felt like a lifetime ago, and yet he still remembered it like it was yesterday.

The breakup song wasn’t a ballad. In fact it had an almost upbeat tune behind it as you sang. Different emotions swirling in every lyric. Anger, desperation, bargaining, all of the same emotions you’d felt the very night your relationship fell apart. You sang alone on the little stage, moving around to sing at the crowd, but oftentimes your eyes remained on the camera in front of you. It felt as if you sang to him directly, all these years later. Reminding him. Reminding him how you would have stayed if he had asked. How you were always his even if he was not always yours. 

He clenched his jaw as he watched. Every time the camera switched to focus on the crowd or your band was a blessing. A second of freedom from the raw emotions you’d seemed to dig up when singing this song. It was like you were reliving it too. Just like he was. Both of you still stuck in that bedroom. Your voice still pleading for understanding. His body still yearning. His eyes avoiding you. His words shattering reality.

And when the song finally ended, Seunghyun couldn’t breathe. He wanted it to be over. He could click away, he knows that. But he doesn’t. He watches as the crowd cheers your name, and the cameras focus on the darkness of the room. A mystery lurking behind the scenes as people wondered what song you’d perform next.

The unfamiliar intro of another song began. Almost all vocals, the dancers crowded around your body, and you’re staring directly at the camera. The crowd goes wild as your dancers crowd around you, their hands dragging all over your body as you pose. A  beat hits, the lights go out. Seunghyun watches. Another beat, the lights flash on, and you start singing again. A new song, your first song in five years. You start a new complicated dance routine, your body moving naturally with every line.

Seunghyun listened closely to the words. His mouth went dry as he began to register the words. Your comeback song was filled with confidence, but it had a meaning behind it. Seunghyun started to blink, tapping his phone to rewind ten seconds to listen again. Seunghyun felt like throwing up. He very well might. You singing a song about loving someone, despite the way the both of you are, well, not very good for each other. Felt oddly on the nose. The sound of the song was much more your style. Pop with electronic flares, music with fun beats and catchy chorus’s that fueled your dancers. Sensuality flowing through you.

It dawned on him, then. Realization. You were back. You weren’t hiding from the industry, and in a way, you weren’t hiding from him. Whatever had changed between five years ago and now…he knew it was clear. You’d found yourself, just like he’d hoped. You were ethereal as you moved around the stage. You were confident, strong, sexy, absolutely perfect. He couldn’t help but smirk, his chest swelling with pride. 

He’d always been proud of you. You’d always been freakishly talented. Your creative abilities amazed him. It’s what drew him to you in the first place. Even after all this time, you hadn’t lost that flare. That spark. He saw it, even now, as you struck a pose in the center of the stage, finishing the song. Everybody cheered. Everybody was on their feet, clapping and loudly yelling in appreciation. It had been a surprise for all of them, and seemingly everybody loved it. You were breathing heavily, and he could see it. Underneath the emotional layers you wore on stage, he could see the nerves that had seemed to finally relax. He could see your eyes studying every face. Your lips curling up in a wide smile.

You’d made it. Just like he knew you would. 

As the video ended, Seunghyun reopened instagram. It was still sitting on the same post. A news source that had already started making articles to explain how big of a deal this was. He could see comments piling up in excitement. You were breaking the internet, though that didn’t surprise him at all. A gentle, sad, soft smile on his face, Seunghyun double tapped the screen. A heart was on the middle of his screen, covering you for only a second, before he clicked his phone off. He looked up as someone walked in, telling him it was time for the next meeting. He stood up, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt, nodding politely.

You were basking in after parties. 

Your music friends invited you out immediately, knowing you hadn’t been to one of these events in so long. You accepted, feeling deserving after making a comeback in a very loud way. Everyone was congratulating you, telling you how proud they were, how they couldn’t wait to hear what was next, and just about every other compliment imaginable. You let yourself accept them. It was praise you were no longer used to, but you’d be damned if you didn’t let yourself have it all for one night.

So, here you were, at some expensive hotel rented out by some super star for the party, dancing your heart out in a short sparkly dress, holding your third or fourth glass of champagne. You were having the time of your life. In your hiatus, you’d taken a lot of time for yourself. To learn to love yourself, to have more confidence in you and your choices. You took time to learn that the media was always going to be cruel; you just had to choose if you’d let it eat you alive or if you’d rise above it. It seems you’d finally learned how to do the latter. 

You’d also made the choice to stay off social media. You’d had side profiles to watch things, but you’d made the choice to focus on real life. It was an effort to keep the critiques and harsh words to a minimum for the last few years. Your team posted photos of your choice, let you pick the captions, they posted stories and such for you, but overall you remained off line. Until tonight, I guess. You had ended up sitting on a couch after dancing to way too many songs with your friends. You hiccuped, opening social media apps to see the reviews thus far.

Twitter, X, whatever, had been an expected mix. People mostly excited seeing you around again, looking happy and alive. Enthusiasm over the new music coming later in the year. There were the random haters, but you knew now to scroll past if it wasn’t meaningful or progressive in any way. 

Tiktok was already swimming with edits. You giggled at the comments, knowing how absolutely wild fans could get on there. You didn’t stay there long, worried you’d start overthinking the way you looked in certain frames. Silly things you can’t control. You were confident in your appearance and your stage presence now. Something you lacked before. But the nerves still ate at you, even if only slightly. It was progress, something that’d take time and more performances to work through. You closed the app to move on to another one.

Instagram comments flooded your page. You hadn’t posted anything yet, but people were already raving about you. Part of you was surprised. Sure, you knew some people would be happy, but the overwhelming amounts of love you were receiving was still unexpected. Even with years of therapy and self-help, you weren’t sure many people would care about you anymore. It felt nice to be proven otherwise. To prove the dark parts of you that still lingered wrong. 

You were looking at posts about you. From fanpages to news articles. Some included clips of your performance, some just random stills. You were smiling softly. People wanted more from you. They were ready for the single, the album, even a tour if thats what you chose. It all sparked a familiar joy in you. A familiar excitement that had been buried under years of torment from the media. But you weren’t letting it control you. Not anymore. 

Then, by chance, as you scrolled through the recommended posts on your explore page, you saw something.

Liked by ttt and others

You blinked, thinking it was the champagne making you read it wrong. You read it again. And again. And again. ttt. T.O.P. Choi Seunghyun. Suddenly you felt remarkably sober.

Admittedly, you stopped keeping up with him after Still Life came out. Your friends and people around you told you it wasn’t good for you, and they were right. You’d spent years waiting for him to come back to you. Waiting for him to check in. Send a postcard. Anything. You couldn’t fully heal while holding out for him. So you had to stop. You had to pull away even when every part of you hated the idea. 

And now you were staring at his instagram username like it’d just kicked you in the stomach. It felt that way too. 

You clicked his name. The air kicked out of your lungs as you looked at a photo of him with purple hair, painted nails, wearing a teal sweatshirt with the number 230. You’d heard he’d been in Squid Game, but you’d chosen to avoid it and Netflix entirely for the foreseeable future. 

This leads you to a spiral, in the middle of an afterparty, googling your ex boyfriend and seeing all the things he’d been up to while you were gone. From his wine company to dearMoon to Squid Game. His interviews were filled with remorse and nerves. You hated how you still felt empathy for him. You hated how deeply you related to every sentence. You hated how even after all this time it felt like the two of you spoke the same language. 

But you also had felt a smile form as you read his hopes for the future. As you saw photos of him. Clips of him doing press for the show. He was slowly coming out of the shell he’d been forced into. And he was still beautiful. Still soft and warm in the ways you remembered. You’d wanted this for him for so long, so of course you found yourself looking at photos of him with a level of fondness that felt unfamiliar now.

And as you stared at the video and series of photos of Seunghyun on Squid Games’s instagram account, you pondered your next move. What were the chances he’d see it? Slim, considering the post was a few days old. What were the chances fans would see it? Less slim, considering they’d be watching your moves now. So, you did the logical thing. You liked the image, a heart forming over Seunghyun’s face for a moment. Then, to cover your tracks, you liked a few more Squid Game posts. You’re just a fan of the show, you could say if people talked too much. You even were sure to follow Lee Jung Jae to make it more passable. Sure, your team and your friends would know the real reasonings, but it wasn’t obvious to anyone else.

Other than Seunghyun, of course, who saw it a few days later.

[digitaldaydreamm]

baby

babydaddy!rafe x reader

| summary | you try packing your things but rafe has other plans...

warnings: manipulation, cursing

a/n: part 2 is here!! don't worry, rafe and reader won't always be fighting, i don't plan on making another part to this lol, i promise to show the good sides of their relationship in the future (maybe some spicy content too *wink wink)so stay tuned... also my requests are open, send me your ideas for this pairing!! anything goes :)

masterlist

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Sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains, casting soft patterns across the unmade bed and the open suitcase on the floor. You sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, clutching a shirt you’d been folding and unfolding for the past twenty minutes. Your thoughts were louder than the quiet hum of the fan overhead.

Rafe’s words from the night before echoed in your mind, harsh and unrelenting.

“You’re not taking Ellie.”

“You think you’re just gonna pack your shit and leave, like that’s a fucking option?”

“I’m not asking. You’re staying.”

Your fingers trembled as you tried to focus on folding another shirt, but you couldn’t drown out his voice. His anger. His control. Even now, hours later, the weight of it all sat heavy on your chest.

You didn’t know why you’d even started packing. You weren’t sure if it was defiance or desperation, but every time you tried to imagine walking out that door, you froze. You weren’t just leaving him; you were leaving behind the life you knew, the life you’d built around him.

Ellie stirred softly in her crib, and your eyes darted to her, heart aching. She didn’t understand any of this. She didn’t know why her mom was hesitating, why her dad’s voice had been sharp and unyielding the night before.

The sound of the front door opening made your stomach drop.

Your body went still, every muscle tensing as Rafe’s heavy boots thudded against the floor.

When the bedroom door opened, you didn’t look up, even as his presence filled the space.

“What the fuck are you doing?” His voice was sharp, each word cutting through the air like a knife.

You swallowed hard, keeping your gaze fixed on the pile of clothes in front of you. “I’m—”

“Packing?” he finished for you, his tone mocking. “Yeah, I can fucking see that. You think this is some kind of joke?”

Your lips parted, but no words came.

He strode further into the room, his hand brushing over the open suitcase before grabbing it and tossing it onto the floor. The sound made you flinch.

“You don’t get to leave, kid,” he said, his voice low and biting. “You don’t fucking pack up and walk out like it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” you said softly, daring to meet his gaze.

“Oh, so you’ve thought this through? That it?” He folded his arms, his broad frame blocking out the light from the hallway. “You thought about what happens when you’re out there on your own? You thought about what you’re gonna do when shit gets hard and I’m not there to clean up your mess?”

“Rafe—”

“No,” he interrupted, his jaw tightening. “Don’t fucking ‘Rafe’ me right now. You think you can take Ellie and just… what? Run? Start over?”

“I wasn’t trying to sneak away,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Then what the fuck is this?” He gestured toward the clothes you’d been folding. “You just packing for fun?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them back. “I’m trying to do what’s best for Ellie,” you said quietly.

“Bullshit.” His voice was sharp, his eyes narrowing. “You’re doing what’s easiest for you. Don’t pretend this is about her. Don’t fucking stand there and act like you’ve got some moral high ground, because you don’t.”

You stayed silent, your fingers clutching the fabric in your lap like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“I’ve done everything for you,” he said, his tone rough but steady. “Everything. And this is how you pay me back? By trying to fucking leave?”

“I told you, you don’t own me, Rafe,” you said softly, though your voice shook.

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “No, you’re right. I don’t. But you’re mine. And you’ve always known that. So don’t pull this shit and act like you’re some fucking martyr.”

Your breath hitched as he crouched in front of you, his piercing blue eyes locking onto yours.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said firmly, his voice low but unyielding. “You’re staying. You and Ellie. End of story.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look on his face stopped you.

He reached out, his hand gripping your chin gently but firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You’re not walking out on me,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “I don’t care what kind of shit you’ve convinced yourself of. You’re not leaving. You think anyone else is gonna take care of you like I do? You think anyone else is gonna love you the way I do?”

Your chest felt tight, his words wrapping around you like a noose. You hated how easily he could make you doubt yourself, make you question everything you thought you knew.

“Say it,” he demanded.

You blinked, confused. “Say what?”

“That you’re staying.” His grip on your chin tightened just slightly, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “Say you’re not leaving.”

The tears spilled over now, and you felt yourself nodding despite the voice in your head screaming at you to stop. “I’m not leaving,” you whispered.

His expression softened just a fraction, and he released your chin, brushing your tears away with his thumb. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Now put this shit away. You’re not going anywhere.”

You nodded again, your movements mechanical as you reached for the clothes scattered across the bed.

Rafe stood, watching you for a moment before stepping closer and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “We’re done talking about this,” he said firmly. “Understand?”

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Good,” he said again, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment before he walked out, leaving you alone with the mess you’d made and the pieces of yourself you didn’t know how to put back together.

[joelmillers-wife]

take my hand (joel miller x f!reader) chapter nine

18+, MDNI series masterlist: here | please check this for complete series warnings and tags | 🎵series playlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader chapter summary: fully recovered from your injury, you and joel go on a typical routine patrol that takes a sharp turn wc: 11.5k. buckle up rating: this story is 18+ (minors, do not interact), there will be eventual smut in later chapters  chapter warnings and tags: cursing and tlou lore accurate outbreak content below, angst, graphic violence, gore, blood, TW: topics surrounding SA (nothing happens, it’s mainly just alluded to the subject but please be careful while reading and feel free to message me beforehand for specific details), hurt/comfort, trauma, small bits of fluff, reader has no description besides she has hair, jackson!joel, age difference: reader is in her 30s and joel is in his 50s, sloooow burn a/n: double update this weekend because i will be gone next weekend and won't be able to post until the last week of may. enjoy this long one (also as an apology for the last chapter being so short). be kind to yourselves. ao3 | follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for chapters! dividers made by: @saradika-graphics , check them out!

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IX. X&Y

I dive in at the deep end You become my best friend I want to love you but I don't know if I can I know something is broken And I'm trying to fix it Trying to repair it Any way I can

As you had assumed, your shoulder had healed well, courtesy of Joel’s fine stitching, and you soon were more than capable of returning to your usual routine. With the weeks that had gone by, the spring steadily unfolding into the welcoming heat of summer allowed you to become more appreciative of this season, considering the colder temperatures this city was capable of having. 

Your continuing friendship and abundant amount of time spent with Joel had settled any previous anxieties you had—the two of you falling into a pattern of familiarity that made his presence comforting and one that you purposefully sought out.

One thing that had changed was Ellie, specifically in regards to Joel. 

You hadn’t pushed, or even asked about it in the first place, but all you know is that things had been more… tense between them. A part of you chalked it up to her being so close to becoming an adult, and wanting more freedom. She was beginning patrol training soon, and the idea made Joel nervous with her being out there outside of his watch. Joel had asked Tommy to get her supervised shifts set up with the two brothers, you, or Jesse—the young man you had gone on patrol with the day your shoulder was injured, who had proven himself to be a good fit as an up-and-coming leader in Jackson.

The extent of what you had learned was that a certain patrol shift ended up with Joel and Ellie fighting off a decent sized group of infected when checking out a music store. Since that day, Ellie had been standoffish to Joel, and you could see the impact it left on him. He seemed more on edge and uncertain around her—a stark contrast to the easy understanding that usually flows between the two of them. It was a simmering tension that didn’t raise an eyebrow to all of Jackson, but you saw it.

The advice you had tried to give him was that she was a teenager who was growing and wanting her independence, but his reactions always gave off the impression something else had been going on—subconscious nods that told you your perspective on it wasn’t the full story. You had never, and would never, push the topic though. The most you’d been doing was hoping that Joel knew he could confide in you if needed. 

To you, Ellie was changing—not just physically, but also with the people she surrounded herself with. You stopped hearing much about Cat, her close friend you have briefly spoken to occasionally, and seen Ellie around a newer friend of hers that she has been spending an increasing amount of time with. Dina. She was a sweet girl. Very vivacious and teasing—her energy making it difficult for her to not capture everyone’s heart. You understood why Ellie had gotten close to her, and the idea warmed your heart. Ellie seemed more comfortable around Dina—the girl bringing Ellie out of her shell just a bit. It was a reassuring feeling to know that, whatever was going on in Ellie’s life, she seemed to have others she was close to that she could rely on.

“You all set?”

You’re brought out of your thoughts when hearing a voice as you were locking your front door behind you, turning to see Joel standing at the end of your walkway as you lock your front door—the warm air hitting your skin telling you that patrol would be good today.

“Yup. All good,” you respond with a smile.

Joel gives you a warm look in response as you make your way over to him, the two of you falling into pace with each other seamlessly as you make your way through town and over to the stables. Reaching the area, you find that Jesse is posted out front, and feel pleased as he greets you with a kind smile the moment he sees you.

“Hey Jesse, how’s your mom been?” You ask. 

You hadn’t spent so much time with the man at first, but ever since your injury, you had spent enough moments with him after that that you felt comfortable being friendly with him. He was polite enough to check on you after that day—occasionally stopping when he saw you around town to catch up and see how things were. Being one of the newer recruits, he was younger, probably early to mid twenties, but just as prepared as any of the others who went past the gates for patrol.

“She’s been alright. She told me Dina brought over some lemon cakes that were a recipe of yours she and Ellie made—it was amazing. Think she’d smack me if I didn’t pass along the compliment to you.”

A laugh bubbles out of your chest at his words, but your attention is cut off when you hear someone clear your throat behind you. 

You look back to see Joel standing closer over your shoulder, glaring down at Jesse. You didn’t notice how, or when Joel had gotten so close to you, but his frame hovers over you and nearly engulfs you in his presence. 

“Think we should head out now,” Joel says, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

Turning back to say goodbye to Jesse before heading out, you feel bad when you see the young man look down to the ground sheepishly. You assume that Jesse being with you when you were shot had made Joel act odd around him, at least when the topic revolved you. Joel was always fine with Jesse being around Ellie, even agreeing that Jesse has proved himself of his capabilities, but perhaps Joel didn’t like him when it came to your own safety.

Watching Jesse walk away, you and Joel mount your horses—a playful comment leaves your lips as you turn to him, prepared to make your way over to the gates. “Ready, partner?” 

Your words seem to make Joel’s body relax from his previous tense state around Jesse, a half-smirk gracing his lips before shaking his head lightheartedly—his chest moving a bit as you see him try to suppress a laugh. “Sure am, darlin’,” he says, before tugging the reins of Callus to alert him to begin moving with you following them close behind.

The trek to your destination went quick and without any difficulty. Finished checking your designated area, Joel suggested the two of you venture a bit further into a neighboring city. 

“Tommy told me ‘bout it. He said we could find some extra supplies in the area. Apparently he and Eugene had found it and said the area seemed mostly clear of infected. It’s a bit of a trip, but, I have the time if you feel up for it?”

You nod in agreement as the two of you ride your horses over to the city. As he said, it did take some time, but the two of you dismounted and tied up your horses before walking through the city, checking in and out of different stores for some items.

One store that you pass happens to be a coffee shop. The moment he notices the sign in the shop window with a faded coffee cup design, Joel lets out a half-sigh, half-groan—a vocal cue of nostalgia that makes you smirk.

“You know, you do have coffee at home. Like, so much.”

Joel makes a soft tsk sound. “Not the same, darlin’. S’good enough to make me pretend like it’s the real thing, but not the same.”

His words that end in a sigh have you breaking into a small laugh. “Ah, yes. Possibly the only thing worse than living with infected is not having Starbucks, huh?”

Joel catches the sarcasm in your town, side-eyeing you as you two continue to make your way in and out of the various shops along the street. 

“Okay, little miss trouble, you tellin’ me you ain’t got nothin’ you’d kill to have again?”

The nickname he’s used for you more often causes your face to flush, making you look down at your feet to try and shove the feeling away as you think about his answer. You let out an exaggerated hum, tilting your head to the sky and squinting as you try to figure out your answer. 

“Something for pleasure? Chocolate covered strawberries. Something practical? A silk pillowcase.

You turn to face Joel and see him give you an amused look. “Chocolate covered strawberries, huh?”

“Mhm. Chocolate covered strawberries were my favorite dessert.”

“Think you could make it?” Joel asks.

You ponder on the idea. “I think chocolate would be technically possible. Probably just wouldn’t taste as sweet as all those artificial things they threw in food. I know I seem to make good carrot cake and lemon cakes, but I’m not sure I even know what I would need to make chocolate.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Joel open his mouth to speak before he seems to quickly shake away the thought. Instead, he twists his face in confusion. “And a pillowcase? You have those?”

His tone makes you slightly laugh. “A silk one, Joel.” Your clarification only makes him roll his eyes playfully, none the wiser of the difference. “It’s gentler on your hair. Guess I just miss tiny things for self-care. I always slept with a silk pillowcase before. Made my hair softer or whatever.”

For some reason, the memory stings more than you had thought as you miss the simple luxuries of the world before. You swallow down the thought and sigh. “Now… that is something I have no idea how to get.” With a teasing, yet wishful sigh, you say, “I’ll live, though.”

Joel breathes out what sounds like a laugh. “Still, I’m sure it’d be nice to have.”

You look over at him to see him giving you a thoughtful look, the intensity of his gaze causing you to break eye contact and look forward. 

The two of you continue roaming through the stores, only finding a few bits of supplies that could be taken back to Jackson.

“So,” Joel says, breaking the comfortable silence. “Jesse’s cute.”

You look over to him, a surprised look on your face at the sudden topic, when you see him with a firm look on his face.

“Didn’t know you swung that way, Miller.”

He laughs loudly, not expecting your response before clarifying. “I meant, like, for you or… somethin’.”

You scrunch up your face at that. “He’s kinda young isn’t he?”

“He’s around 23, I think… Not that far off from you.”

“I’m in my early thirties Joel,” you say while laughing awkwardly. “Not exactly the age range I’m looking for.”

“Closer to his age than mine. ‘Bout ten years is not much of a difference compared to the twenty-somethin’ year difference to mine.”

His persistence on the topic has you looking at him quizzically, only to find him looking straight ahead, avoiding eye contact with you as you see a muscle tick in his jaw. 

Trying to ease the odd tension that’s built, you laugh and ask, “You implying my only options are between Jesse and you?”

Joel tenses up at the question briefly, a sight that doesn’t go unnoticed by you. The rigidness goes away as quickly as it came as he shrugs with no other response, his lips settling into a tight line and a frown appearing on his face.

The awkwardness that’s been created from your words has you biting the inside of your cheek while trying to come up with a response to redirect the topic. “I mean, I guess? He’s cute and all but… no. He’s not someone I see like that.”

Joel gives a thoughtful nod as you two cross onto the other side of the street. “Thought it might be an option for you, is all. Assuming you aren’t with anyone–”

You give him a deadpan look at the suggestion before he can finish. “Trust me, you’d be the first to know if that was the case. Plus, I don’t know… I’ve had people ‘flirt’ with me without knowing because I just didn’t even think to see them that way. Maria and Ellie always have to call it out when it happens because I’m apparently ‘too blind’.”

The memory makes you laugh before another thought comes to your mind. “How about you? Anyone around?”

The mere thought has Joel scoffing as he shakes his head. “Think I’ve solidified myself as someone who is unapproachable.”

You laugh at that. “Hey, you didn’t scare me off that easily,” you say pointedly. The two of you continue walking side by side as you push a bit further. “What about Esther?”

Joel suddenly whips his head to look at you as if you spoke another language. “Esther? What about her?”

“Oh come on Joel,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes. “She’s always staring at you, trying so desperately to get you to talk to her. She seems cute—nice enough.” 

You’ve seen her around before and spoken to her. She was… fine. Pretty, though. An older woman, closer to Joel’s age, whose voice was a bit too high-pitched with a smile that was a bit too fake. You first picked up on her advances to Joel at the bars when she’d come sit beside him at the counter, leaning her body a bit too close to his to get him to look at her. He never did.

Your mention of Esther comes with a tinge of distaste in your tone, one that Joel doesn’t seem to miss as one corner of his lips quirk up just a bit before he shakes his head. “No chance in hell darlin’. She reminds me too much of the PTA moms I’d have to deal with at Sarah’s schools. Gonna be a big pass from me on that front.”

As you take in the information while nodding, an odd sense of relief falls off your shoulders. Something in you has you not wanting to drop the topic just yet. “So… there’s no one you got your eye on?”

You ask the question while looking at him, still walking side by side down the sidewalk, and see him turn his head to meet your gaze. His mouth parts open slightly as he looks down at your lips, his expression indicating he has a response.

“Hey there!”

At the sound, a chill runs down your spine as the two of you quickly spin your bodies around to see six men across the street a couple stores down, slowly walking closer to you. The one in the front and center appears to be older, with a handgun stationed at his hip, and a wide smile spread on his face. Two of the men stand on one side of him while the other three stay on his other side. Some are younger than the others, but each is seen holding shotguns and assault rifles in their hands positioned in front of them. 

Joel angles his body slightly in front of you, shielding their view of you as much as possible as he hisses, “Stay behind me.”

Complying, your hand slowly goes to rest on your own gun stationed at your hip as you take one step back to stand half-behind Joel.  You watch him as he grips his assault rifle slung around his neck a bit tighter.

The group settles about twenty feet away from you before the man in the middle speaks up with the same disturbing smile, making you realize it was him who spoke up in the first place. 

“You guys from around here?”

Resting your left hand on Joel’s back for comfort, you feel his body tense up further and see a slight tick in his jaw as he clenches it repeatedly, gritting out in a monotone voice, “Just passin’ through.”

The man waits for a few seconds to see if Joel will continue speaking before saying, “We don’t usually get many people come by here, so… it’s nice to see some friendly faces after looking at so many dead ones.” The words slip past his lips in an unsettling saccharine tone. “You two have a community of your own?”

Joel doesn’t respond verbally, and instead gives a single shake of his head, lying to the group so as to not let them know anything about Jackson. 

His smile falters for a moment before widening again. “You know, we got a settlement about a couple hours to the west… you two are more than welcome to come with!” His eyes trail away from Joel to settle on you before he adds, “We got plenty of women so your missus won’t feel too scared.”

The moment he looks at you to speak to you directly, you feel Joel shift in his feet for a moment before a low growl leaves his throat that’s only loud enough for you to hear. Voice thick and gruff, he responds, “We’re alright. Again, just makin’ our way through.” It’s clean. Final. Leaving no room for argument, but it doesn’t seem to satisfy them.

A younger one from the group speaks up, eyes on you over Joel’s shoulder. “Now, my mama raised me right, so I can’t in good conscience let a beautiful young lady go on her own when I could help her.” His eyes trail over Joel’s form before smirking. “Can’t imagine an old man like you is able to take… proper care of a woman like that in a world like this.”

The words insinuate something darker that has bile rising in your throat. Your palm on Joel’s back has you able to feel his reaction—his body tensing before practically vibrating in anger. Looking up to eye his profile, you see his jaw clenching and moving as he grinds his teeth together. From your view, Joel’s eyes can be seen shifting between the group frantically as his mind races with what the best move is.

Somehow, the group seems to realize his intentions before you do as you see them all grip their weapons tighter. At the same moment, Joel quietly spits out a sharp go to you. You waste no time at all as you immediately move to duck behind the abandoned car for cover that is parked to your right while you hear shouting before the men begin to shoot in your direction. You feel Joel’s hand on your back as he throws you both to the ground—the two of you pressing yourselves low against the side of the car.

The sounds of gunshots stop for a moment as you hear them walking closer to your position. You look at Joel with a panicked expression to see a focused look on him, but not before you see a flash of fear in his eyes when he looks at you.

Frantically, he looks around before he settles on one of the stores a few feet to the right of the car. You follow his gaze to notice that, in their attempt to shoot you two, the men had shot up the coffee shop you had gone into earlier—the glass windows shattered as shards of glass line the sidewalk below. Joel looks back at you for confirmation and you give him a single nod, knowing his plan without any words spoken between the two of you. He jerks his head in the direction of the café, instructing you to make a run for the shop as he peeks over to the car to cover you from the men. 

The place was further down from where the men were approaching from, allowing more distance to be created between them. Joel and you use the mailboxes and old bus stop benches for cover as you each take turns shooting at the men as you move. Making your way into the opening created from the broken windows, Joel makes sure to stay close behind you as you run in, the protection allowing you to duck behind the counter and bakery case before he jumps over to sit behind as well.

The continuous shooting as you two ran now stops. A voice you recognize as the first man who had spoken, the one who you assume is their leader, calls out to you both. “Oh come on, now. We don’t want to hurt you guys! Just want to make sure you both find your way out safely.” His voice drips with malice at the end, causing another bone chilling fear to course through you. 

Fear begins to wrap a hand around your throat and causes you to lose focus. You look at the wall in front of you while breathing erratically, trying to swallow down the panic and think of something. Joel nudges your shoulder to grab your attention, the contact briefly snapping you out of your thoughts. He gestures to your weapons that you both hold and nods in the direction to the group outside. You give your own nod of understanding, and he takes a deep breath while looking at you before you both take turns to poke your bodies out and shoot off a few shots to the group.

In the time you spend out of cover, you notice they are spread out around the front of the shop, surrounding you while using their own forms of cover.

The ordeal goes on for what feels like an eternity–the two of you only getting one man down in the process. Joel drops down next to you for cover again before cursing quietly. He looks around the shop and leans his body to look past you. Getting your attention, Joel leans in close to you to quietly rush out a command. “M’gonna go sneak around the side to try and catch ‘em off guard. You keep shootin’ them from the front to distract ‘em, alright?”

No time to debate, you simply nod in agreement and Joel wastes no time to crouch down and crawl his way behind the counter and back his way around. You lift your body to peek over the tops of the counter and fire off a few more shots at them before dropping back down. In that time, Joel’s plan succeeds by surprising them with the angle and getting down one of them in the process. More shouting is heard from the men, alerting you that Joel killed the one he snuck up on.

Two down, you tell yourself. You can do this.

The back-and-forth continues. You fire off a couple shots at them, take cover when they shoot at you. Inevitably, you knew someone would have to make a move that caught more off guard.

Thankfully, you’re able to take one more down and soon after, Joel takes his own down from behind one of the cars. You do a mental scan of the group, remembering who was a part of it and which ones would be left. Thinking over it, you realize that only two would remain—the younger one who couldn’t have been much older than a teenager, and the leader of the group who you haven’t heard from or seen him show himself as much as the others.

Angling your head a bit, you look to find Joel coming up on the younger one. The one who had made a comment about you.

Joel shoots him in the kneecap before swiftly kicking the gun out of the kid’s hand. A sharp cry of pain is heard from the boy as he begs for mercy. Looking through the foggy bakery case, you try to squint to see a better view of what was happening. What you find is the sight of Joel kicking the boy’s head back with the butt of his gun, repeatedly smashing it into his skull. The twisted sounds of bones breaking fill your senses, mixed in with garbled cries of pain and pleading words spoken from the boy.

You peek over the counter once again to fire out a shot in hopes that the sound makes the leader’s presence known, but you’re met with the soft click of the gun signaling you are out of bullets.

Dropping back down, you curse and force yourself to not panic but fail as you reach into your jacket pocket with shaky hands trying to find your spare ammo. In the process, you don’t hear the crunching sound of glass close to you until you feel a tight grip on your arm as you’re forced to a standing position. A sharp yelp leaves you from the movement and your eyes widen when they settle on the figure that grabbed you.

“Looks like you’re caught now, princess,” he sneers.

The leader of the group gives you a sick smirk and snarls as he yanks you out from behind the counter after taking your gun and throwing it off to the side. You desperately try to fight against him, wriggling your body to free yourself from his grasp and run away, but he just presses your back deeper into the front of his body. Locking his left arm in front of your chest with a bone-breaking grip, he drags you out onto the street a few feet away from Joel.

He’s still straddling the boy as he beats him far past death, seemingly distracted as he gives no indication he heard or noticed what happened. The realization that his right ear had been facing the coffee shop hits you, understanding why he wouldn’t hear above the sounds of his fist driving into the boy’s face.

The leader calls out to Joel with a wave of his knife before pressing it against your throat and applying enough pressure for you to feel the sharp edge dig into your skin, alerting you if you move too suddenly, it would slice you. In a desperate attempt to keep the knife away from you, you keep your left hand gripped on his arm across your chest and your right hand holding his wrist that holds the knife to your throat—hoping you could use the force to escape if his grip loosened in the slightest.

At the call, you see Joel straighten up. His head whips around as he looks wild and confused, before his eyes settle on yours and you watch his entire body freeze in an instant.

You don’t take your eyes off him as you try not to let panic consume you, trying to use Joel’s presence as a source of comfort, but you aren’t stupid. You are aware that there is little that can be done from Joel right now without triggering this man to hurt you in some way. What causes your composure to falter, is you can tell that Joel realizes it too.

Joel raises his hands slowly in front of him, his rifle still slung around his neck but the handle of it loosely held in his hand as he holds it out and away from his body.

“Let her go.”

The tone in Joel’s voice is one you haven’t heard before, one that makes you shudder. It’s a mix of pure blind rage, combined with complete fear, all while his eyes never stray from yours. Not once.

The man laughs disturbingly. “You think this is a fucking discussion? We just wanted to talk, and you killed my fucking men.”

You feel the grip from his arm wrapped around your chest tighten, simultaneously applying more pressure with the knife held in his other hand. You feel nauseous—bile rising in your throat for what seemed like the hundredth time today as you feel his body behind you press further into yours. 

Joel seems to notice the action as he looks down quickly to the lower half of your body before flicking his eyes up to the man, a sickening snarl on his face. You see his body twitching from anger despite the distance between the two of you, noticing the way his hand’s grip on his gun tightens.

The man brings his face against the side of yours, his nose pressed against your temple as you feel his breath fanning your neck. Side-eyeing Joel, he says, “Can’t say I blame you, though. I mean if I found something this pretty in a world so ugly, well… I wouldn’t want to let it go either.”

He looks between you and Joel, a smirk in his voice as he snickers. “It’s a good thing I’m willing to share.”

You try to slow your breathing back to a steady pace, desperately trying to come up with a way out of this situation. You know that it would be hard for Joel to make a sudden move without something happening to you in the process, and you can tell from his body language and from how well you know him that he realizes it too. But you can also see, feel, the anger in him and his growing impatience. 

Your eyes flick around the scene before you to figure something out. Out of the corner of your eye, you focus on the way the man holds the knife to your throat. His right arm is held up and out, and the knife is long enough to cover your whole throat. His grip on the handle makes it so his hand is not parallel to your body, but rather it is held just above your shoulder. Noticing the detail, you think of a plan.

God, you hope this will work.

As if he could hear your thoughts, Joel breaks eye contact with the man and settles his gaze back onto yours, his eyes softening in the slightest when they meet your own. You flick your eyes down to your grip on the man before very slowly taking your index finger you have on the man’s right wrist, and make two light taps on the back of his hand—the action so delicate that the man doesn’t notice. But Joel does.

The movement catches Joel’s eye instantly as he’s hyper aware of every single part of your body at the moment, making him look at the hand holding the knife. The furrow between his brows twitches in understanding, a movement only you would catch, before he locks eyes with you again. 

Silent words pass between you in mere seconds, and you know Joel understands what you need him to do. His jaw clenches briefly, a sign that tells you he isn’t happy with the plan, and he quickly looks back to the man’s hand before his eyes flick between both of yours, a sudden nervous look in them. 

The two of you understand the risk, but both know there isn’t another option.

Gritting his teeth, Joel moves with a swiftness as he tightens his grip on his rifle and positions the weapon to aim. The movement is so sudden that the man has no chance to process what is happening before Joel shoots once at the back of the man’s hand that holds the knife. 

You only feel a small sharp sting followed by relief as the bullet grazes the top of your shoulder instead of completely penetrating your skin as it goes through the man’s hand.

He yells in distress as he pulls his right hand off your throat and drops the knife in shock. The moment makes his grip on your chest loosen, allowing you to rip his left arm off you and elbow him in the stomach before throwing yourself forward. In the same moment, Joel reaches for you and catches you by your forearms to try and break your fall as you land on the ground from exhaustion.

Seemingly satisfied with your immediate safety, Joel begins walking over to the man that sits on the ground screaming in pain and repeatedly cursing, “You fucking bitch!”

His face shifts into one of fear when his eyes lift up to the sight of Joel marching towards him, whatever expression on Joel’s face makes him scramble to try and get up to run. Before he gets the chance, Joel reaches his cowering body and uses the toe of his boot to kick the man in the chin, sending him laying back down on the ground with another curse and blood rushing from his nose and mouth.

You stay on the ground, hands digging into the pavement behind you as you watch Joel tower over the man before climbing on top of him. Joel reaches forward to wrap his left hand around the collar of the man’s shirt and raises his right hand, balled into a fist, and brings it down onto the side of his face repeatedly.

Your senses are consumed by the violence before you. All you can focus your eyes on is the violence before you. All you hear is the disturbings sounds of the man wailing in pain, bones crunching, and Joel. His snarls and grunts fill your ears as he proceeds to slam his fist into the man’s face for what feels like forever.

Eventually, you stop hearing the sounds of pain coming from the man who had almost killed you. You realize he’s dead, but Joel doesn’t stop. 

Eyes unable to be taken off the right side of Joel’s body over his body, you watch as Joel begins to alternate between fists as he continues beating him—only using his dead body as a vessel to let out pure anger and adrenaline at this point. The sounds of impact become more wet as blood completely covers the dead man’s face, Joel pounding into him relentlessly with the occasional sounds of bones crunching still occurring. You didn’t even know there were so many bones in the face to break.

Time passes, you aren’t sure how long, before Joel’s movements slow down to a stop. You think he only stops because his body is exhausted as you hear his harsh breathing and watch the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His fists twitch as if holding himself back from continuing, and you look to see the knuckles on both of his hands are covered in deep bruises along with blood. So much blood, covering his hands, arms, and splatters of it on his face.

This is what Maria had meant that first day you were here. What Joel was capable of.

As if he entered his body again, Joel seems to freeze. Perhaps he was lost in the violence and forgot you were there. Maybe, with the right side of his body facing you, he didn’t hear your labored breathing. You watch him slowly stand up off the now dead body, hovering over it as he looks down with disinterest. He turns and begins to walk over to you silently, his head angled downwards as he extends a bloody hand to help you up. 

You take it, your fingers wrapping around his usually warm and calloused palm that now is wet and sticky with blood. Allowing him to pull you up, you try to duck your head to look at him, but he has his eyes trained on the ground since he stopped punching.

“Are you okay?”

The words come out broken through his hoarse voice, the question being the first thing he’s said in however long he was killing that man. His eyes don’t raise past your waist, still not making eye contact with you directly as his face is etched in a deep frown.

You just want him to look at you.

You nod your head for a second before speaking up, your own voice sounding so small—the effort of speaking being almost painful. “Yes.”

Joel doesn’t seem satisfied with your answer as he opens and closes his mouth for a second, his frown deepening even more before he harshly shuts his eyes for a moment.

“Did they–” The words sound as if they are being forced out of his throat, his voice catching and a choked sound coming out as he spoke. “Did he… did he touch you?”

“No,” you respond softly.

Joel nods slowly before looking around at the aftermath of the fight.

Why won’t he look at you?

After a few moments, Joel clears his throat and his voice breaks slightly as he says, “Sound could’ve attracted clickers. We better head back to Jackson. S’gonna get dark soon.” The words are factual, said with no real rush in them, as if he’s forcing himself to move on. He gestures towards the horses down the road behind you, walking past you for a few steps. You stand there, staring at the barely recognizable dead body ahead of you before you turn around and call out.

“Joel?”

Your voice cracks at the name and you watch as his movements halt, turning his body half towards you with his eyes still firmly fixed on the ground. All he gives you is a hum of acknowledgement before you take one hesitant step towards him, seeing him tense up and take an unconscious step back. The action makes a crack split in your chest.

“Joel,” you repeat, voice barely above a whisper. “Can you please look at me?”

Hearing the tremble in your voice, Joel slowly, yet carefully, lifts his eyes to yours. Seeing his brown eyes finally making contact with yours makes you take a shaky breath in. The same eyes that always look at you with so much warmth in them that it envelopes you in him. You feel so small at the moment, not knowing how to tell him what you want.

He studies you for a moment, his own breathing stuttering when he makes eye contact with you. His frown deepens at first until he sees something in your eyes that makes his hardened face soften into relief, as if he read your mind and could hear the thoughts you desperately wanted to convey.

You aren’t scared of him, as he feared. As he has feared, for almost two years. Fear that if you saw every side of him, you would recoil with disgust. Completely pulling yourself away from him and looking at him like a monster.

In that moment, he realizes you don’t fear him. You need him.

He lets out what must have been a breath he was holding in since the two of you heard the stranger’s voice for the first time, his entire body sagging before launching himself forward in your direction. The moment Joel moves toward you, you impatiently step forward too and throw yourself into his arms.

You wrap both of your arms as tight as possible around his waist, eyes screwed shut and burrowing your face into his chest. Smelling sweat, and blood, and him. His own arms wrap around your back, somehow holding you tighter than you were holding him, as if he wanted to feel every inch of your skin against his own. He brings his right hand to hold the back of your head, pushing you even further into him before resting his face against the top of your head and letting his eyes fall closed at the feeling of you safe in his arms.

The comfort somehow makes you want to crumble further, the freedom to be more vulnerable causing a sob to escape your throat. You try to stifle the sound but Joel already heard it, rubbing the back of your head with his thumb as he moves to dip his head into the crook of your neck and breathes you in deeply.

“I got you, darlin’. Always,” he whispers against your neck.

With those words, you let everything out.

The name he’s called you for months now somehow hits you harder than it ever has, making your knees buckle as the exhaustion and loss of adrenaline seems to catch up to you. You feel Joel adjust his grip to hold you tighter and keep you up, mumbling against your skin, “M’not gonna let you fall.”

His touch and his words provide you more sturdiness and protection than you have ever felt—more than you thought was humanly possible.

Your sobs and panicked breathing eventually even out into sniffles as you focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat that you faintly hear with your ears pressed against his chest. You stand there holding each other for what feels like too long, yet also not long enough. When you feel more calm, you begin to loosen your hold and pull away, but not before Joel’s grip on you tightens just a bit more before letting you pull yourself away first.

You lean only inches back from him, eyes trained on the base of his neck as you feel his breath on your mouth. He brings the hand that was on the back of your head over to gently cup your cheek, rubbing his thumb underneath your eye to wipe away tears and the tenderness of his touch has your eyes falling shut. You feel him lean his forehead against yours for a few seconds before he pulls back enough to place a gentle and lingering kiss to your forehead.

Taking a step back from you, he moves his grip to place one on your waist and another on your upper arm. His eyes move across your face, taking in every detail before he breathes out to say, “We gotta go home, darlin’.”

His words cause you to snap back into reality as he was right. The sun had begun setting and it would be a long trip back to Jackson—you two had to leave now. It didn’t stop the small part of you that wished you could stay in his arms for the rest of your life.

You turn your body to head down the street when you feel him slip his hand into yours, squeezing tightly, before leading you over to your horses.

Déjà vu is a funny feeling. It’s something that people tend to forget just how odd of a sensation it is.

The blinding white lights that make your head pound intensely. The sterile smell of the hospital room. The hushed voices between the medical staff as they poke and prod you. Your own dissociative state as you sit silently, eyes unfocused on the wall in front of you. It’s all eerily similar to what you remember as your first day in Jackson.

All you want to do is go home and go to sleep for as long as humanly possible.

Joel and you had made your way back to Jackson, arriving close to midnight, you think. Due to how far you two had gone, it got dark fast. You had spent the ride back feeling Joel’s eyes on you at any chance he could get, but you had just stared straight ahead, too exhausted from the events that just occurred. About an hour in you remember Joel had called out to you, offering for you to ride on his horse sitting behind him so you could rest and use his back as support. His offer was due to his notice that your eyes had started fluttering shut more and more often, worrying him further on your current state. You declined, knowing that him having to steer his own horse while holding onto the reins of yours as she rode beside would only make the journey go slower.

You just wanted to be home as fast as you could.

Once arriving back to town, you found Maria, Tommy, and a few other leaders in the town waiting at the gates restlessly. Your absences had made the others worry something was wrong, and they seemed prepared to head out in search of you two.

You vaguely remember shouting. Tommy’s face growing alarmingly concerned at the sight of the state you two were in. Maria’s own body sagging with relief at the fact you two were alive before matching her husband in his concern once her eyes scanned over your form. You had felt hands grabbing you, bringing Joel and you to the doctor quickly to get you both checked for injuries. 

Since riding into Jackson, Joel hadn’t seemed to have taken his eyes off you now that he didn’t have to focus on the road ahead. You faintly recall his sounds of protest when the doctor had separated you two into your own rooms—Joel only succumbing to their efforts when Maria laid a firm hand on his chest to hold them back. “We’re giving her a female doctor to check her over, and I’ll sit with her the whole time. I promise.” Her words brought Joel a tiny bit of peace before becoming nauseous at the need for their decisions regarding you.

A hand touching your shoulder brings you back to reality for a moment, causing you to flinch at the sudden touch. Looking up, you realize the doctor was speaking to you with Maria behind her and looking over her shoulder to watch your reactions.

“What?”

The memory of your first day arriving here comes back to you once again when you speak, remembering the overwhelming feeling you had so long ago. The feeling of being underwater while drowned-out voices echo around you and try to grab your attention.

The doctor sighs before looking at Maria, not impatiently, but knowingly. “I’ve checked her thoroughly. Besides the small wound on the top of her shoulder from the bullet, she doesn’t seem to have any other injuries. Some bruising, sure, but I mainly think she’s just overwhelmed.” Her voice drops to a whisper as she leans closer to Maria, intending for you to not hear what she says. But you do. “The mental signs of infection are most likely due to the trauma.”

She talks about you like you aren’t there. Like you aren’t human. 

The question that races through your mind, the only question you care for the answer to, comes out of you. “Where’s Joel?”

Maria turns her attention to you when she hears your voice croak out the words. She gives a sad smile before replying, “Don’t worry honey, he’s just outside talking with Tommy right now. He’s alright, too…we figured you’d want your space–”

“I want Joel,” you say, leaving no room for argument in your tone.

Her eyes soften in understanding and she gives a small nod before the doctor opens the room to head out, Maria following her out. She leaves the door open a bit, allowing you to hear the hushed, broken sentences from Tommy and Joel—the door angled so you could see Joel leaning close to Tommy to whisper, their words fading in and out.

“...Where do you think they…”, you hear from Tommy first.

“Don’t know. Can't be too close. We were so far out and…”

“... Could be on their way if they see… Just like David was…”

David? Who was David?

“No, no… made sure they couldn’t follow…”

You wish they would speak up louder so you could hear more of what they were saying.

Then, in a weaker voice, you hear Joel say, “It happened again, Tommy… I couldn’t protect her, I couldn’t–”

Their conversation is interrupted as Maria walks up. You see Joel’s body language straighten out and tense up as he looks to her with stoicism. It isn’t until you hear your name being said in the mix of words that you see Joel’s head snap in your direction before he takes quick strides to get to your door.

The moment it opens, his eyes are alert—worried. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

You shake your head. “Nothing, just… wanted to see you. Make sure you’re okay too.”

His features soften, his round eyes so heartbreakingly beautiful that you forget about what happened for a single moment and only focus on him.

“Yeah, I’m alright, darlin’. Doc said you’re cleared. They patched up your shoulder and everythin’.”

You nod, not caring much for the state of your injuries as you can only focus on one goal. “Can we go home now?”

Joel nods without hesitation. “‘Course we can,” he says, walking towards your chair. His hand seems to hover over your back, wanting to guide you but knowing you had been jumpy to anyone touching you the whole time you were here. You take the initiative to lean your body into his when you stand up, giving him a silent cue that his touch was welcome—craved, even. You hear a small sigh of relief leave his mouth as he wraps his arm around your back, holding you close to him as he guides you both outside the building. 

You catch Tommy and Maria speaking in hushed tones outside the front door of the hospital before stopping when they see you two. They both look down to Joel’s arm around you—Maria with a firm look on her face, lips tight and brows twitching together, while Tommy offers a more softer and sympathetic look. “You guys let me know if you need anythin’, alright?”

Joel gives a nod of acknowledgement to his brother before Tommy comes over to pat his shoulder, leaning in as you hear Tommy whisper to him. “Take care of your girl, alright, big brother?”

The words don’t impact you as much as they might have before today, letting you know that you aren’t completely there, but they seem to affect Joel as you hear him take a sharp inhale of breath before giving a single nod in response.

It’s a short and silent walk to your house until you turn onto your walkway. Joel leads you over to your door as you reach into the inside of your jacket to take out your house key in the pocket there. Your hands uncontrollably shake as you try to get them, but your struggle is stopped not long after by the feeling of Joel’s hand gently laying on top of yours.

You look up to meet his eyes, seeing his eyebrows pushed together and up a bit as he gives you the same tender look he’s given you, and only you, all night whenever he looks at you. “Let me,” he softly commands, taking over to reach into your pocket. As he grabs the key and opens your front door, he still supports your body with his other arm as you lean into his side.

He gently helps you into your home before closing and locking the door behind him while you just stand there, numb, and looking around the entryway. When he finally turns around to look at you, he’s met with the sight of your back, unmoving, and his worry only grows. 

Slowly walking around to stand in front of you, he lifts his hand to carefully brush away stray pieces of hair that have fallen in front of your face, as if he’s done the action a million times. You look at his chest, yet stare at nothing in front of you as your eyes continue to stay unfocused. Noticing this, Joel begins to frown as he feels a lump in his throat—a pain stabbing him in his chest.

He brings his hand that brushes your hair away to cup your chin, delicately guiding your head upwards to try and get you to focus on him. It seems to do the trick as your eyes meet his, blinking repeatedly to adjust your eyes to your surroundings.

The sight of you more focused eases Joel’s worry a bit. You lift your eyes to his and watch as he smiles sadly. “There she is. Missed ya.”

You become aware of how you’ve been acting. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to–”

Joel cuts you off with a shake of his head before speaking to you with sincerity in his voice. “Absolutely nothin’ you need to apologize for, darlin’. Just want you alright is all.”

You numbly nod your head, watching as Joel straightens up to look over to your staircase leading upstairs. “How about you go up there, take a shower, and get ready for bed. I’ll give you some space if you want and head home to do the same before I–”

The thought of being alone makes you frantically shake your head, eyes wide as you begin rambling. “No, please don’t leave. I don’t want to be alone, please just–”

Surprised worry appears on Joel’s face as he places his hands on your arms to steady you and bring your attention back on to him, ducking his head down to level his eyes with yours once again. “Hey, hey,” he hushes soothingly. “I’m gonna come right back, make you some food to eat ‘til you fall asleep, okay?”

It’s not enough. You shake your head again. “Please don’t go yet… you can use my shower before I do and then we can eat. I have plenty of spare towels if you’re okay with that?”

Joel pauses for half a second before giving you a smile in response. “‘Course I can, darlin’. Let me go home to grab some clothes, then I can get washed up here and we can eat before you sleep. That sound alright with you?”

His suggestion is the most logical, so you nod in agreement. It doesn’t stop you from standing at your window and watching him as he walks across the street to his house, only to stare at his door waiting until he comes back out. The lights go on and off as he seems to move about the house before he comes back out shortly. Seeing him again has you letting out a breath of relief, taking no hesitation to swing open your door before he is even fully on your side of the street. 

The sound of you opening the door has his steps faltering for a brief moment, his movements pause until continuing to make his way inside—a small bag over his shoulder that you assume is filled with a change of clothes.

You hover close to him as you watch him cross the threshold and remove his shoes at the front of your door. He gestures upstairs with a nod of his head. “You take the first shower, okay?”

You try and argue, suddenly feeling bad about making him stay here with you, but he just shakes his head at you. “Nope, I’ll be alright ‘til you’re ready. I can start preparin’ some hot food for you so it’s nice and fresh for when you’re done. Take your time, okay?”

Nodding to him, you slowly make your way upstairs, turning at the top to see him watching you until you reach your bedroom. You then hear the sounds of him walking into your kitchen—the clanging sounds of pots assuring you he was still here.

Your body moves like a zombie. Your motions are on autopilot as you walk into your bathroom, turning on the shower to let it warm up before beginning to undress. Once completely stripped, you look at the pile of clothes that now lays on the bathroom tile—what looks like every inch of it covered in blood and fully ruined. You stand there for a few seconds too long, simply looking down and glaring at it as if its presence disgusts you, before deciding you would throw it out in the morning. Or maybe even burn it.

As you turn to step into the shower, you make an effort to avoid your mirror at any cost, forcing your legs to lift and settle into your position under the stream. The hot water burns your skin, a feeling you relish in that moment as you wish it would rip your skin off and allow your body to start over. You grab your various soaps and begin washing your hair, your body, your face—ending up scrubbing relentlessly in every spot you can possibly think of until the skin burns raw, the dried blood that was left on you far gone.

You aren’t sure how long passes after you finish removing the filth of the day from your body, but you stay standing under the water and let it cascade over your body—your arms folded across your midsection as you tilt your head down to stare at the drain as it turns from red to clear.

A knock on your bathroom door pulls your attention, followed by a call of your name. “You okay in there?”

It takes you a second to find the strength to speak before you’re able to call out a response. “Yes,” you reply, the broken sound of your own voice shocking you.

There’s a short pause before you hear Joel respond. “Alright… just wanted to let you know that the food’s ready, so you can come down whenever you’re done.”

Surprise hits you for a moment. “How long have I been in here?”

With a layer of worry in his tone, Joel calls out, “Uh, just lil’ over an hour… Why? Is somethin’ wrong?”

You shake your head before you realize that he can’t see you. “No… I’ll be out in a moment.”

You hear him say to take your time, but you already turned off the water and step out, beginning to dry off and put your pajamas on.

Once finished, you open your bathroom door expecting to see Joel standing in your bedroom. In his absence, panic begins to build inside you and has you calling out his name hurriedly before you see him poke his head into your bedroom door out of the corner of your eye. You turn to face him fully and sigh with relief, realizing that he was just standing outside in your hallway. 

“Sorry,” he sheepishly responds. “Just wanted to give you some privacy.”

You shake away his apology, feeling ridiculous for your reaction in the first place, and move to grab the clean spare towels you have in your cupboard and hand them to him. “Here.”

He gives you a polite smile before taking the pile of folded cloth into his hands, adjusting his grip to pick up the bag he brought here that was leaning against the wall outside your room.

“You go head downstairs and start eatin’. I’ll join you when I’m done. Should be only ten minutes, I promise.”

You nod and let him walk past you into your bathroom, closing that door behind him. 

For a moment, you stand in your bedroom doorway and look in the direction of your staircase. Hovering for a moment while fidgeting, you feel unsure of what to do with yourself until you decide to sit on your bed and wait there for him. The sounds of him turning the water on and moving around brought you a bit of peace, and you end up staring at the clock to watch the hands tick by while you wait for him.

He was right about the time as you hear the water turn off only twelve minutes… and thirty-seven seconds later—your eyes never straying from the moving lines on your clock until you hear shuffling, assuming he’s getting dressed before the bathroom door opens. 

Joel comes out with his head bowed down as he runs a towel quickly through his hair, wearing black sweatpants and a soft looking navy blue T-shirt. He takes two steps out of the bathroom before his head raises back up to see you sitting on the bed waiting for him with your legs folded beneath you.

He jumps slightly, not expecting you to be there, and looks out your bedroom before turning back to you with a confused expression. “Thought I told you dinner was ready?” He calmly says, no judgment or accusation in his tone.

You look down at your hands you’d been fidgeting with in your lap, picking at your fingernails. “I… I wanted to wait up here for you.”

He blinks once. The confusion stays with him for a second as he processes your response,  until his face shifts into warm understanding. “Okay. Let’s go down to eat.”

The moment he steps away from the bathroom door, the bright bathroom light he had shielded you from with his body no longer lays on you. When you stand, Joel takes a step towards you to help you up but freezes once he sees you under the light, his face hardening.

Confusion and worry consume you for a moment, but clarity strikes you when you see his gaze trained below your face. Due to the dim lighting of your house, and the fact your clothing up until now was covering most of your body, Joel had not yet seen the extent of your injuries that you avoided staring at in the bathroom.

His eyes stay glued to the brushing on your arms for a few seconds before they lift up to the bandage on your shoulder. His focus travels to your throat where you assume a long thing cut laid there from the knife that was pressed against you.

Still looking at your throat, you watch Joel’s top lip twitch before he swallows his emotions harshly. “C’mon,” he mutters softly, placing his hand on your shoulder and guiding you gently downstairs.

Reaching the kitchen, you see a pot of stew sitting on the now-off stove with two bowls next to the stovetop and a large ladle placed against the side of the pot. Joel pulls out a chair for you at your kitchen table, letting you sit before he goes over to fill up the two bowls with the food, coming back over to place them down in front of your respective spots before going to grab some water from the fridge.

You both settle into your seats and begin to eat silently, the only words spoken being a quiet thank you from you for him making you something to eat. He brushes off your appreciation lightheartedly, as if his sentiment was as natural as breathing and nothing worth being thanked for. The sounds of silverware clanking against the ceramic bowls mixed with the domestic nature of the two of you eating together in silence is enough for you a sense of safety and comfortability to wash over you, no words needing to be shared to fill the quiet.

When you finish your bowl, Joel moves to take it to the sink as he was done with his own a few minutes before, and starts to wash and put away everything. You watch his back silently as he moves, thinking you hear a very faint sound of humming coming from him, but it’s too quiet for you to be sure.

As he dries the last bowl left, you quickly rush out a question you've had on your mind since coming home.

Joel turns to face you, looking confused and making you realize you had spoken too quietly. You wait a few moments as he turns the water over, drying his hands on your dish towel and turning his body to face you directly as he leans back against the sink counter.

You clear your throat and look at the ground as you repeat your question. “Can you sleep here tonight?”

His lack of response for a few seconds fills you with shame, feeling stupid for even asking. Trying to rectify the embarrassment, you begin to ramble out more words with your head angled towards the floor. “I just… I don’t really want to be alone tonight. I know the couch is not the most comfortable thing to sleep on, so if you don’t want to I completely understand, I just–”

“Yes.”

The sound of his voice responding to you makes you shoot your head up to look at him, eyes wide as you hadn’t expected him to agree. Making eye contact with you, you see a sure look in his eyes mixed with… relief?

Did he want to sleep here tonight, too?

Mouth parted in a small “o” shape, you slowly nod. “Okay… um, I have some spare pillows and blankets in my bedroom closet. Let me go get them for you and I’ll set you up on the couch.”

Joel wordlessly nods, walking into the living room as you quickly make your eyes upstairs to grab the items. In your room, your eyes glance at the clock hung on your wall to see it was 2 am. Your body seems to snap back into its previously exhausted state as you realize how long the day has been—Joel’s presence since you arrived home seems to have distracted you from the reality of the toll your mind and body took on today.

You make your way downstairs to find Joel watching you carefully as you walk up to him and hand him the pillows and blankets. He takes them with a hum of appreciation before he begins to set up his space for the night.

The sight of him fluffing the pillow onto one end of the couch and stretching the fabric of your quilt across the narrow cushions has you wince. The guilt of making him, as big and broad as he is, spend the night on your cramped couch grows in you.

As he finishes his movements with a final flick of his wrist to throw one end of the quilt at the end of the couch, you open your mouth to tell him he can go home. Somehow, despite his back being towards yours, he turns to look at you before you can even speak, only to immediately say, “I want to be here.”

Your mouth flutters open and closed after he speaks with such confidence, momentarily stunned at the timing of your thoughts. Or perhaps he knew what you were going to say without even seeing that you had wanted to speak. 

You give him an attempt at a smile, your lips barely curling up in one corner, something that takes a bit of effort as you think you haven’t done it since before your run in earlier. You seem to be proven right when you see Joel’s shoulders sag with relief at the sight, grateful to have some emotion be shown out of you.

You look around the room, unsure how to say goodnight, while also not wanting to be away from him. He seems to notice your hesitancy, because he nods his head in the direction of your staircase. “Let me get you to bed, darlin’.”

Assuring him you can do so on your own, you shake your head and begin to protest. He carefully reaches his hand out to hold one of your hands as his eyes focus on you and speaks with the same confidence from before. “I want to.”

With that, you allow him to walk up with you to your bedroom—Joel opening the door for you and guiding you inside. You make your way over to your bed and watch with slight awe as Joel reaches over to pull the covers back, allowing you to slip in. The action makes your cheeks flush, and you become grateful for the darkness in the room as you crawl into bed and settle beneath the covers. You look at the lamp that sits on your dresser in the corner of the room before eyeing Joel nervously. His gaze follows yours to look at the lack of light with furrowed brows. 

“Could you… um…” you trail off, gesturing towards the lamp with your chin. He understands your request and walks over to turn it on so that a dim warm light fills your room. 

Embarrassment fills you for a moment, feeling like a fucking child who just woke up from a nightmare and needs their light on to sleep through the night. Maybe that’s what today was, you think. One big nightmare, and you’ll wake up tomorrow feeling normal again.

Logically, you knew you would recover. Having had these encounters in the past before, you always compartmentalized the experiences and moved on—forcing yourself to bury the complexities of your emotions in order for you to be able to keep going both physically and mentally. Today, though, you found yourself feeling safe in terms of your reactions. Joel’s patient and gentle nature with you makes you feel free enough to not need to keep it all in. For once, you could let yourself rely on someone else to be there for you.

As Joel makes his way back around to you, he sits on the edge of your bed beside you to begin adjusting the blankets until they cover you more properly. Satisfied with his effort, he rests one of his hands on top of yours that lay on your stomach overlapping each other. His eyes lift to yours with such warm intensity that it makes your heart skip a beat. You can’t recall a moment where anyone has ever looked at you with so much emotion and care in their eyes.

The two of you simply gaze into each other’s eyes for a minute before Joel breaks the contact by leaning forward slowly, slow enough for you to stop him if you wanted, but you don’t want to. His lips press a lingering kiss to your forehead, a deep inhale leaves his nose before he pulls back.

“Goodnight, darlin’,” he says as he stands and begins to walk backwards out of your room, eyes never leaving your face. 

“Goodnight, Joel.”

You watch him leave your room and notice how he keeps your door partly open so that you can see him walk down the staircase, deliberately leaving your dim staircase light on to give you more comfort.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! i hope you all enjoy <3 follow @writtenbynic and turn on notifications for updates!

a/n: sorry for the emotional rollercoaster, and posting it after episode 6. feeling masochistic. 🏷️: @dendulinka6 @suzysface @koshkaj-blog @orcasoul @emmasveinyahhdih @thatoneperson38747 @silksepia @orodaeh @ithinkimokeei @emnull0 @warriorkarol @luvwanda @pascal-mynightlyobsession @grayandthyme @crlsummer @ashleyfilm @darling-imobsessed @tjohn63

[jennxxe]

Sequence interrupted.

pairing — death x fem! reader (final destination)

summary — you get a premonition and manage to save your friends from a fatal bus crash. all of them die one by one and when you think its your turn, nothing happens. to you, at least. long story short, you come to realise death has another purpose for you to fulfil.

warnings — THIS IS AN IMMENSELY FUCKED UP FANFICTION. non con going into dub con, gore, blood, passing of loved ones, obsessiveness, possession, sexual themes, masturbation, paranormal activity, cursing, psychological mind fuck in general, death isn’t a physical manifestation, mentions of attempted suicide, mentions of self harm, bus crash, use of sex toys, death has he/him pronouns, spiritual sex¿, depression

a/n — first time writing anything sexual. i fr have no idea why i was watching final destination and my brain went ‘mm, death’. This fanfiction is mostly a psychological one. Death doesn’t speak, nor does he have a physical form.

Part I: The Premonition

The vision was an incision—precise, sterile, and irreversible. It wasn’t a nightmare, you were there. Nightmares are messy and unclear, hot things that come with teeth and sound. This was cold and you felt every moment, every emotion. A vision soaked in static and gravity. No monsters. No voice whispering warnings. Just inevitability. Something mathematical.

You knew before the bus flipped. You knew before you watched the driver’s head tilt ninety degrees too far to the left. You knew the sound the metal would make when it peeled back, the way your friend’s jaw would detach, the way fire would flicker under the hood of the oncoming truck before swallowing all of it.

You saw it before it happened. So you screamed.

They listened, eventually. Twenty-three people standing on the shoulder of a two-lane highway, half of them still holding Red Bulls and cheap headphones, staring at you like you’d grown teeth where your eyes should be. Seven minutes later, the bus became an inferno. The explosion took three street cameras to analyze. It made the news. You were a survivor. A hero.

Part II: The Pattern

The deaths didn’t begin loudly. That would have been easier to forgive. Your best friend, Jess was first. She had the sort of face that always looked surprised to be alive. That stopped being true the day her body was found. No water on the bathroom tiles. No impact bruises on the skull. Just a snap. The kind that doesn’t come from slipping, but from turning. Turning to look at something behind her. It was unnatural. Nothing in that bathroom could have caused her neck to snap so cleanly.

You visited the house. No one had touched anything yet. The room was clean. Sterile, almost. But there was a smell. Not rot. Not bleach. Roses.

The second was Max. Electrocuted. Burned from the inside out. His mother said he’d been playing music too loud again. You couldn’t hear her. You were staring at the song title. “You Are Mine.” It had repeated 147 times. It had looped itself even after the battery should’ve died. There were no roses in the room. But the screen of his phone had fractured. Not shattered—fractured. Hairline cracks, perfect and straight. Shaped like something you couldn’t recognise in your grief.

It kept going.

Part III: Stillness

It has been three weeks since the last death. Everyone else is gone. You’ve stopped opening the blinds. You can’t remember if the sun still moves across the floor. The plants in your kitchen are alive because they have learned to survive without you.

Your name was the last on the list. You checked it twenty-seven times. You scratched it into your wrist with the tip of a safety pin to make sure it stayed. But nothing happens. You wake up. You sleep, barely. You eat cereal without tasting it. No flickering lights. No pattern of footsteps in the hallway. No sound of breath when you hold yours just to check.

At first you tried to search in between the cracks of the vision. Hoped you could remember a part where you didn’t die or a part you remembered wrong or forgot. Then you accepted it and waited. Waited for the inevitable to happen, to take you out of your misery.

Then nothing happened and that was worse than dying.

You tried to kill yourself once. The gun didn’t fire. It clicked twice and the third time, the safety was on, though you remember checking it. You laughed for seventeen minutes. Then you stopped laughing. You haven’t tried again.

Like you are not allowed to die yet.

Part IV: The Romantic

The faucet drips in pairs. Two drops, pause, two more. Like breathing. Inhale, exhale, pause, inhale, exhale, pause. It stops each time you enter the room. Your furniture shifts itself a half-inch overnight. Your door never creaks, but your mirror fogs even when you don’t shower. You checked the pipes. You checked the seals. You unscrewed the bulbs and left them out. They still glow when you blink too long. Nothing moves in front of you. But everything rearranges.

You managed to gather enough will to go take a bath. The tub filled but the water wouldn’t go down the drain. You ripped the seal off with your bare fingers, your blood mixing with the water. Clogged. With rose petals. Not red ones, black ones. Ones that you never even owned. And when you took a single one into your hand, the black liquid started dripping down your hand, down your wrist. Diesel oil, like from the bus that was a curse in disguise of a blessing.

You don’t scream. That reaction burned itself out six deaths ago. What you feel now is quieter. Less human. Not fear. Not even grief. Just… a sharpening. Like the world has become too defined. Every edge now slices if you look too closely.

Part V: The Suitors

Why was it keeping you alive when you so desperately wanted to not be? There was a reason in your head, a passing thought. It was an experiment. You noticed every man that looked at you too long die, even if they’re not on ‘the list’.

His name was Julian. He was not important. He was an answer to a question you were afraid to ask directly: Will just everyone around me die instead of me?

He flirted over the counter at the pharmacy. Asked about your jacket. Said it reminded him of something French. You told him he didn’t look like he could spell "France." He laughed like it was a compliment.

You agreed to meet him. Not because you wanted to. But because you didn’t. That was the variable.

You chose a public place. A café with glass walls. You sat with your back to the room. You didn’t touch his hand. You didn’t even let your knee brush his under the table. You didn’t look at him for more than four seconds at a time. You kept your heart out of it.

It didn’t matter.

You excused yourself to the bathroom. Seven minutes later, when you returned, Julian’s face had been pressed clean through the sugar-glass tabletop. There were no screams. No witnesses saw it happen. His body was mangled from the glass, it was almost beyond recognition. But somehow his heart managed to stay in perfect condition, falling right into the bouquet of roses he gave you.

VI: The Courtship

You are being courted. Not with words. With consequence.

You find a poem carved into your bathroom mirror. It isn’t written in blood. It isn’t even legible at first. It only appears when the mirror fogs. The first stanza reads:

I have followed you through time not to take,
but to become the air between your thoughts.
You mistake silence for mercy. It is not.
It is longing.

You haven’t told anyone because there is no one left to tell. You’ve tried documenting it. Phone, camera, voice memo. Nothing records. The screen shows static. The files erase. Sometimes you play them back and hear your own voice repeating lines you don’t remember saying. One of them is, Please… don’t leave me empty tonight.

You don’t remember saying that.

VII: Repetition

Every man you meet dies.

One had a heart attack mid-sentence. You were at a museum. He said, You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever— and dropped. The statue beside him of the ancient Greek god Eros, god of love, fell on him. Buried him. Flattened his body completely.

Another was crushed by a piano falling through a skylight. You hadn’t touched him. You had only smiled. But you saw the look in his eyes before it happened. That shine. That beginning.

It’s the beginning Death punishes.

He knows the moment it starts. Not the touch. Not the kiss. The shift. The inward lean of your gaze. The way your breath slows when someone holds your attention too long.

You don’t think Death is jealous. Jealousy is petty.

This is ownership.

VIII: Consummation

Then it starts in sleep. Not a dream. You don’t dream anymore. This is something else. You are not lying in your bed; you are not even sure you have a body anymore. There is no weight, no edge to your shape. But there is pressure.

It begins at the back of your throat. A stillness that spreads inward, not outward. You are not breathing, but you are being filled.

Something is inside you. Not physically. There is no intrusion. No penetration. But there is a knowing. A widening. Like every part of your consciousness is being read, and rewritten.

You feel hands that aren’t hands, heat that doesn’t burn, but saturates. Your spine arches without your permission. Your jaw slackens. Your legs go taut. There is no touch, and yet every nerve is singing.

You try to speak. Your mouth moves, but no sound comes. There is no need. He already knows. He has always known.

Your thighs are wet.
You didn’t move.
You never moved.

But you are shaking now.

You feel a weight between your legs that doesn’t belong to gravity. A rhythm that doesn’t come from movement but from inevitability. There’s no thrust. There’s no friction. There’s just presence filling every silence in your body until your skin hums from the inside.

You come like a prayer. Silent. Shaking. No witness but the one who made you this way. When you wake, there are bruises. Not fingerprints. Not shaped by hands. They look more like your skin in those areas went grey, making your veins appear almost black.

Perfect, deep, cold. He didn’t touch you. He didn’t need to. He was inside you already. You check the sheets. The blood between your thighs is fresh. But you feel no pain.


IX: The Second Time

It happens again two weeks later. Not in sleep. Not in the safety of dreams where reality can be dismissed like fog. You are awake.

It’s 3:38 a.m. You are staring at the ceiling. Counting the cracks in the plaster again because it’s better than counting how many people you’ve buried. The air is still. Heavy. A pressure behind your eyes, like something is watching from inside your skull.

The sheets are stiff with cold. But something changes. You hear a small sound in the corner of the room, like something fell. As you almost jump out of your skin, you look at your AC that’s suddenly blowing chilling air into the room. The temperature drops a few degrees too fast. The air thickens—so dense your breath catches in your throat. And that’s when you feel it.

Not a touch. Not yet.

More like… gravity. Centered at your pelvis.

You don’t move.
You can’t move.

Your fingers twitch once, like they’re trying to say something. But your arms feel pinned, not by weight, but by expectation. Like the moment right before a plane crashes. That dead hush. Everyone waiting for something they can’t see.

Then: heat.

Spreading between your legs like ink in water. Not from outside. From within. Slow at first. Intrusive. Humiliating. You try to close your thighs. They don’t listen. You try to scream. Your lips part, but the air won’t come.

There’s nothing on top of you. But you’re being taken. Not violently. That would be easier. No, this is… intimate. Obsessive. Each wave is patient. Calculated. Like he’s learning you in real-time, mapping your nerves like constellations. Touching places inside you that don’t physically exist. Places your own fingers could never reach.

Your legs begin to shake.
You try to pull away from the feeling.
But it’s already inside you.

And then it escalates.

Your head falls back. Not from pleasure. From shock. You feel a tongue—no, not a tongue, not anything living—drag across the softest part of your throat. Just once. Slowly. But there’s no one there. Your heart stutters, skips a beat, and never picks it back up.

You can feel your own body clenching against something you can’t name. You are crying. But you’re also moaning. You’re unsure where one ends and the other begins. The pleasure grows unbearable. Not because it hurts. But because it doesn’t. It feels perfect. It feels designed. Your hips arch into the nothing above you.

You didn’t even notice it was your own hand in-between your thighs. But when you did, you realise he’s making you do this to yourself. He’s puppeting your desire like a marionette. You’re not being fucked. You’re being performed.

The orgasm tears through you like a collapse, ecstatic and horrifying. You bite your tongue. There’s blood. But you keep going. You can’t stop. Not until he lets you.

And then it ends.

Not gradually. Not with a soft come-down. But with a snap, like a switch flipped in reverse. Suddenly you’re alone. Cold. Wet. Wrung out and empty in a way you’ve never been before. You vomit over the side of the bed. Nothing but bile. You look down. Between your thighs: blood again. This time both on your thighs and your fingers.

X: The Sequence

You moved after that. A new apartment. Less mirrors this time. You thought if you denied him symbols, no roses, no mirrors, no candles, he would lose interest. You should’ve known better. Death doesn’t like it when you mess with his plans.

It starts when your tea spills. You left it at a weird angle without noticing. A single drop beading over the edge like it chooses to fall. It hits the corner of the newspaper, the one that arrived this morning with no name and no headline. Just an address. Your address.

The tea seeps across the table. Capillary action, stretching toward the edge. Where it drips once onto the extension cord below. The outlet sparks. The lights flicker. Your phone vibrates across the counter. It hits the floor with a crack, sliding until it bumps your speaker. The speaker turns on. You didn’t charge it.

It must have damaged it in some way because it starts to rapidly skip songs from their chorus until it stops on one song. “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” by Jeff Buckley. But it’s slow and distorted, echoing through the apartment.

Your laptop turns on next. You didn’t touch it. It opens a browser window. Auto-played video. No image. Just audio. Breathing.

Yours.

Overlaid with another. Deeper. Slower. Syncing to yours until it overtakes it. Your heater clicks. A vent opens. Warm air hits your ankle. Rises slowly. Like fingers. Like breath. You stumble back. But your body’s already responding. Skin flushed. The warmth sharpens. Concentrates. Your pajama shorts stick to your thighs. Not from fear. From sweat.

You hear a drawer open behind you. You didn’t move. Inside, a vibrator. One you didn’t use ever since before that premonition that took over your life. Sleek. Black. The rose emblem etched into the base. A single button. Already blinking.

You step back. Your foot gets tangled in some cables you left out earlier, causing you to fall onto your knees in-front of the couch. You hiss as you hit the ground, trying to untangle your foot and turn off your laptop simultaneously.

The heat from the vent crawls between your thighs. Air becomes pressure. The kind you only feel when someone’s looking at you from across a crowded room and wants you undone. The audio on the laptop moans. It’s your voice. You haven’t made a sound. As the audio keeps going you recognise it to be the one you took with your ex boyfriend, but you don’t hear his moans in it, just yours.

You have tears in your eyes at this point, your skin feels like it’s on fire. Then, you reach for the vibrator. Not to stop it. To beg.

You sit back against the floor, legs open. The hum matches the sound in the room. It isn’t random, it’s calibrated. Designed for you. Frequencies that resonate deep. It touches you—no, you touch yourself, but it feels like him. He is the pattern. He is the sound.

Your back arches. Your lips part. You cry out, finally, but the sound gets eaten by the song that is still playing on the speaker. The video on your laptop skips. You’re watching yourself now. From an angle that doesn’t exist. From inside the room.

You should be terrified. But all you feel is climax pulling you apart with surgical grace.

There’s no voice. No face. But his presence is wrapped around every nerve. No stranger could know your body like this. No living thing could.

You come so hard you forget your name.
The video ends.
The speaker dies.

You lie there, chest heaving, the vibrator still humming against you like it’s trying to coax your soul out through your cunt. You don’t move. Can’t. Your muscles feel like wet thread.

Then—click.

Not from the oven. Not from the walls. From the laptop. The screen flickers. White noise. Then video. Not porn. Not surveillance. Something worse.

Your best friend, Jess’ face appears. The one you took before that trip almost a year ago. She’s laughing, so are you in the video. It was a stupid video, taken in the moment. The camera pans to a white purse stained with red lipstick. “Now which one of us is the culprit?” you say through giggles. Jess laughs, “Im telling it was yours!”

Then it cuts.

You and your ex are on the next video. The one who went through the windshield. You’re singing in the car. He’s tapping the steering wheel. “My whole existence is flawed, you get me closer to God—“

Then cut again.

Your cousin. The one who drowned. She’s brushing her hair in the mirror. Humming. The same melody you heard echoing in your head for weeks after her death. You accidentally drop something in the video and she jumps, “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Cut again.

You sit up, too fast. The room tilts.

The laptop cycles through them. One by one. Not their deaths, just before. Clips of them alive. Intimate, private.

Next video is Max, mad about Jess dropping his guitar. “Jess, you ruined it!”— cut. Then it’s you filming a video of yourself walking through your family home and seeing a snack you really like. You take it in the video while saying, “Oo, mine, thank you very much—“ then the videos start circling. Again and again, shorter and shorter until each clip is overlaid with a single word. No context. Just fragments:

“Yours.”
“Closer.”
“Nearly.”
“Ruined.”
“Mine.”

The final clip loads. It’s you. Sleeping. Mouth parted. One hand between your thighs. But the angle—it’s from the ceiling. You don’t have a camera there. You don’t remember touching yourself that night. But you’re watching it happen. The way your hips twitch. The way you whimper.

It keeps playing.

“What the fuck?” you nearly whimper out. You shouldn’t be surprised after the paranormal shit you have been living through for months, but it feels weird to see it.

Your voice comes through the speaker—soft, like it’s buried under a pillow. “Please… not again.” The video keeps playing. You press pause. It doesn’t stop. You hit the keyboard. The screen flickers—just once—and your own eyes on the video open.

Not like sleepwalking. Not like waking. Like looking right at you. And your voice—through the speaker now, soft, stretched too long, like it’s been slowed down on tape:

“Please… don’t leave me empty tonight.”

You step back, hand over your mouth. That’s not what you said. You remember what you said. Didn’t you? The clip cuts abruptly. Sequence Interrupted. Rerouting.

You freeze. The air behind you doesn’t move, but you feel it, an intelligence that isn’t breathing down your neck, but inside your lungs. Your mind connects the words. Sequence interrupted. The death sequence, the same one you interrupted—the final video;

A spreadsheet.

Names.

Times.

Methods.

Your friends. Their deaths.

Your name at the top.

But instead of a timestamp, it says:

Outcome: Claimed.

Not “survived.” Not “deceased.” Claimed.

And then you understand.

You didn’t cheat Death. You were taken out of the system. You didn’t die but you’re not living either. Your life wasn’t taken physically, it was taken in every other sense.

Not spared. Stolen.

You laugh through your tears, you feel dizzy. Your hand goes to tug on your own hair, but then—

Click. The vibrator turns on again. And you give in, because you know your life isn’t your own anymore.

It’s his.

[sthilarions]

Crystal looks sideways at Niko, who nods at her, and turns back to Edwin. “Edwin, we - Niko and I - we were thinking. You said your case was covered up, and so we were wondering if you’d even got a burial. So we looked it up, and…” She looks at Niko again, feeling a little more heavy under the weight of Edwin’s eyebrow than she normally does.

“And we figured out you hadn’t,” Niko obligingly finishes for her. “Not even a funeral, because they didn’t find a body and also probably because they weren’t very good people. And we thought that was kind of sad. So we were wondering if maybe you wanted a funeral. We could do one for you.”

Edwin’s second eyebrow has risen to meet the first, and Crystal forgets what she’d planned to say, and instead blurts out “Do you have a body, Edwin?”

Edwin’s brows drop as he rolls his eyes. “Of course I do. It’s in Charles’s bag.”

Crystal’s mouth falls open and Niko’s eyes bug out a bit.

Edwin’s smirking a bit, always pleased to put Crystal off her groove even when she’s trying to do something nice, when he says “My bones are quite a powerful ingredient in spells, so I powdered them and Charles keeps them in a rather large jar. Only for emergencies, of course, I only have one set of bones to last an eternity.”

Crystal’s mouth drops a little further. She wishes it wouldn’t.

Edwin twitches a little in the way that Crystal’s learned means he’s about to admit to a Weakness, which is possibly the only redeeming part of this conversation, and says “Also, I couldn’t move very far from them, at first. Some ghosts can’t, and there doesn’t seem to be much of a pattern. They were in a chest in the attic where I met Charles, or I wouldn’t have been there myself, so it was for the best in the end. It rather quickly became an inconvenience, however, when we realized we were either tethered to the area near the attic, or had to bring my bones with us.”

Charles has come back into the room, at some point, and Edwin glances towards him before resuming. “A dry human skeleton only weighs, oh, about five to ten pounds, but it’s rather unwieldy to be carrying one about everywhere.”

Niko seems to be starting to recover, and nods. “That does seem like it would be awkward.”

“Quite, yes, Niko. And we hadn’t thought of powdering and jarring it yet at the time. The original intent of the bag was to store my skeleton so we could more easily carry it; its wider use we only worked out a bit later.”

Charles steps up towards Edwin and puts a hand on his shoulder, and Crystal wonders why on Earth she and Niko came up with this idea without talking to Charles in the first place and avoiding… this. “He’s way better at separating from the bones, now. He can take a few minutes away from them entirely, otherwise we wouldn’t’ve been able to mirror travel cross-continent without holding hands. And generally so long as we’re in the same county he’s totally fine. ‘S part of why I was so worried when the Cat King ran off with him, though. I was worried they’d gone too far.”

Crystal finally regains her composure. “So all this time while you two have been claiming you aren’t actually attached at the hip, he literally can’t get too far away from you without, like, spontaneously combusting?”

Charles grins at Edwin, then at her. “Well, I mean, it’s more that he can’t get too far from my bag, and it’s not a combusting situation, exactly, but I guess, yeah.”

Crystal rolls her eyes far more violently than Edwin had earlier. “Of course. Fucking typical.”

[kawhh]

this will be a lil long im sorryyyy but i thought u might like some of my really pervy thoughts abt being jack's cute little best friend <3

him buying his 'Angel', as he always called her, a stuffed animal w/ a voice recorder box. he'd hear all the little sounds she makes in her sleep and the moans as she touched her innocent holes before bedtime.

jack coaxing her into their first sleepover. sure they were best friends but she wasn't so sure as to why he couldn't just drop her off at her place. he'd make up a random excuse then, once she fell asleep, he'd touch her cute pussy through her lil pajamas. his Angel would think she had a wet dream and wake up all embarrassed and shy but she'd have no idea that it was no dream at all. it was Jack planting a seed in her mind to view him in that way <3

that same night he'd snap some pictures of his Angel in his bed, her little sleep shorts riding up and showing her butt. the way she slept through it all put crazy thoughts into his head - thoughts about fucking her in her sleep. would she even know?

sorry for bad grammar or typos or anything!!! i'm sick in the head and sleepy and english is not my first language 🌀

Angel is forever my favourite pet name for him and nobody can change my mind. It just fits. It's just right.

Warnings: recording you without permission, touching you in your sleep, grinding against your skin until he cums, hints at kidnapping you to keep you with him, fantasies about fucking you in your sleep

He'd be paying outta the ass for storage space, needing every single little noise recorded from you permanently saved. It makes him feel insane, every single noise from you shooting straight to his cock. Such a mess every single night, headphones in, his face buried in his pillow thinking about your pretty tits, his cock grinding against the bed.

He can't think straight. Hearing you exist is enough to make him leak, but he's fucked when you start exploring your body. His innocent angel, building her self-confidence.

He hears the squelch as you dip your fingers cautiously inside of yourself, the little circles around your clit obvious to his ears. The need to be inside you makes him want to scratch at his skin, has him panting into the pillow, his saliva drenching the fabric.

He can't control it. His mouth filling at the idea of his tongue tracing patterns around your tits, his cock head weeping at the thought. Mouthing around nothing, pretending he's flicking against your clit, consuming you.

You're fucked the minute you're trapped in the same room with him at night, even if you don't understand the danger you've been placed in. You don't see the way his mouth waters, how he shakes with restraint while he waits for you to fall asleep.

You have no way of leaving him. Even if you found where he'd hidden his keys, you have no other way home. You need him. He's unconcerned about the consequences of touching you while you're asleep. He'd just keep you here until you calmed down if you stir.

All the nights alone, cumming against his bed sheets is worth it for how adorable you look when he drags your teddy bear pyjama shorts down your legs. It's hard for him to not cum just from how you look in your underwear. The way he can see every part of you through the material.

Hyper focused on his finger as he drags it softly across your clit, watching your sleeping body jerk towards the contact, the way a wet patch instantly starts forming with his touch. He swears your pussy's trying to suck him in, pleading for him to come in.

It's saturating his finger, the slick forming a bridge to his finger when he pulls away. He's panicked trying to rush to suck his fingers, needing every taste of you he can get until he can fully manipulate you.

He can imagine the look on your face when you wake up. Your underwear sticking to you, the way the fabric would be ruined from how wet he'll make you all through the night. It's already almost transparent and he's barely touched you.

It's impressive how you don't stir in the slightest, with how whoreish your pussy is acting. Your hips on a mission, the little moans and whimpers he drags out of your mouth. The way his circles around your clit quicken, the way your thighs spasm. You don't even slightly stir. Your hands don't even twitch.

He can't resist his desires, his confidence growing when you don't react. Grinding his bare cock against your inner thigh, thrusting up against your skin, occupying the gap between your thigh and cunt.

You're too innocent to know what his cum'll look like mixed with the mess you've already made in the morning. You'll be too flustered, worrying too much about what you did. Not him. You'll be convinced it's your fault and he has no intention of confessing until he's confident that you've fallen for him.

He'd be recording you the minute he got close to cumming. The camera shaky as he tries to capture every second of your face and your pussy, every thrust of his cock. He can't decide what to focus on, what he needs to immortalise.

He's panting as his fantasies overload his brain, driving him further and further to the edge. It's a fucking miracle how you don't wake up. An aphrodisiac injected straight into his veins. He could ruin you. Ruin you for everyone. Mould you to himself. Mould you to his dick. You're so wet in your sleep from his touch. He could have you over night after night.

Sinking into your cunt, feeling you squeeze around him, being ever so gentle with you until he'd lose his mind, his grip would tighten on you before he'd start attacking your pussy, crashing into the deepest depths of you.

His eyes rolling back in his head from the thoughts, his cock throbbing as he releases against you, painting your innocent, sleepy little body with his cum.

[readychilledwine]

Starlight

Summary - After being brought to Terrasen, you find your place beside its Queen and her King Consort. You just seemed a bit clueless as to what that place actually was.

Warning - Reader is oblivious, reader is touch starved, mentions of reading smut

A/n - I wanted to do something short and sweet with Rowan and Aelin this year. I loved the idea of their very aware personalities with a clueless reader. Hopefully, you all will, too

Written for @polysjmweek day 2 reveal

Poly+ SJM Week 2025 Masterlist

✨️ Master Masterlist ✨️

Rowan had never been the type for games. He was forward, aggressive, and sometimes a bit scary if you were honest with yourself. He was the type who had the tendency to take things seriously, but right now felt like a game. 

You were attending a meeting on Aelin's behalf, listening to males and men drag on and on about what the King Consort and Queen needed to be doing. Rowan's sharp green eyes were locked on them all, intent and listening with the intensity you had learned to associate with him since he and Aelin had brought you to safety. He appeared to be the shining example of a king and leader. But under the table, his body told a different story.

A strong thigh was resting against yours, a large, calloused hand resting on your upper leg. His thumb was mindlessly stroking. Up and down. Up and down. His pattern was consistent. Pace slow. It felt odd having him touch you like this. He was mated and married to your best friend, your queen. Yet here he was, playing with the expensive silver fabrics of your skirt as if it were the most normal thing in the world. But perhaps the oddest part about it was how little you seemed to care.

He'd been affectionate the past several weeks. Aelin had as well. One of them was constantly touching you or doting on you. Even verbally, things had shifted between you three. Aelin had said you were a bright star to them, one leading them back home. Rowan had called you a haven, saying your presence put his mind at ease. 

His thumb stroked again, up and down, hand squeezing as he glanced at you from the corners of his eyes. “I think this has gone long enough. I will take the complaints to Aelin,” he waved them off with his free hand. His body relaxed once the room was empty to anyone else, a deep sigh leaving his mouth. Yet, that hand did not move. Nor did he make any efforts to pull away.

When night fell, you found yourself reading with Aelin, the two of you giggling as you traded passages of the frankly filthy books you were reading. You hardly noticed it at first, her hands moving to where your feet rested on the couch, slippers long forgotten on the floor. She gently grabbed your ankles, pulling your legs straight to rest in her lap. Her hand stayed on your ankle, fingers circling the bone as she read. 

She had them change you in a forest green dress for the dinner being held for guests, and you just noticed the way you two matched.  You knew that also meant your dress had coordinated with Rowan, his own outfit that was the same deep green with golden threads. You had noticed your wardrobe shifting. Gone were the dull colors you had been used to. Instead, outfits of expensive silk appeared. All seeming to match the gowns and vests gracing the closets of your two closest friends. Unknown to you, they’d been trying to make it completely obvious, a sign dangling in your face of what they wanted. To their utter frustration, you never approached them. Rowan was at his wit’s end. He craved you, and had you been aware enough of Aelin’s gaze, you would have realized she did, too.

“You are really unaware of what's happening, aren't you,” a deep voice joined you two, Rowan sitting in the chair across from you. 

You set your book down, noticing Aelin already had her own book marked and shut as she stared at you, smirking. “She is just an innocent little thing, isn't she?”

“Innocent or oblivious,” Rowan countered. “We have not been subtle, Fireheart.”

Aelin hummed, her forefinger still stroking the bone of your ankle. “Y/n,” she paused, glancing at her husband for confirmation. He nodded, telling her silently to continue. “We like you.”

You could only smile, hugging your book, “I like you both too-”

“No,” Rowan interrupted. “Do you truly not understand? Are you that clueless?”

Aelin shot him a look of warning, a spark in those eyes. She made him promise that he would be gentle and approach the subject with caution. She flicked her eyes to you, the soft pout and knit of your brows making her heart ache. “Rowan, you gave me your word,” her voice broke the silence. 

His gaze never left you, though, “And you have it. I am just.. stunned we are attracted to such a naive creature.” He caught the pillow Aelin threw without even looking at her, his head cocked slightly. “Have you ever experienced affections from a romantic partner?”

The flush that started began at your chest, fluttering up your neck and cheeks until it hit your barely pointed ears. “I have had plenty of time and affection from lovers-”

“Liar,” he said instantly. “When we touch you, even just that,” he motioned to where you had not pulled your ankles away from Aelin. “Your soul vibrates. We feel it.”

“Rowan,” Aelin whispered. “Gentle.”

He stood, hands now touching your face, “Fireheart, she will not get it unless we just tell her.”

“Tell me what?” The way you looked at him told them everything. Even if you were blind to your own emotions and to theirs, the feeling was mutual, the love mutual. You looked at Rowan as if he was carved by the Gods, every inch of him the embodiment of male perfection. That gentle sweep of his thumb began again, your eyes fluttering as he touched your cheekbone. 

“We love you,” Aelin stated it like it was nothing more than fair. As if she had not just handed you her very beating heart and begged for you to cherish it. “We're in love with you.”

“But you're mates. You have each other and -”

“And yet, here we are,” she shifted. “Feeling this emptiness every night when we don't get to cradle you between us. Feeling on edge when we don't know where you are, who you are with. Feeling at peace when you call our names, when we get to touch you.”

Rowan's voice was oddly gentle now, “We dress you in our colors, have you wear crowns and symbols of our house. We have been showing our love and claim to you for months now, starlight.” He tapped the necklace they'd given you. It was shaped almost like a compass with a centered diamond meant to represent Polaris, the star that sat at the center of the constellation that honored the King of the North. The star meant to guide the lost citizens of Terrasen home.

Aelin was quiet for once in her life, eyes desperately searching your own eyes. “Say something,” her voice broke. “Anything.”

Your throat was too tight to speak, a well of emotion building and pleadinging to come forward so fast you thought you might break. The tremble in your lip made Aelin drop your legs, body moving to you. Then the nod you gave moved Rowan. 

The body heat as they rushed and hugged you was better than any blanket covering your bed. The weight behind their hold was enough for the tears to begin to line your eyes. You had denied loving them for so wrong, believing that they did not want a third. To be so pleasantly wrong, it felt like a fairytale. 

“We will love you until we are called home,” Aelin whispered. “And then, we love you long into the next life.”

“We will always find you,” Rowan murmured into your hair. “Always.”

“Always,” you asked softly. They both nodded, silver lining their eyes as they looked at each other and then you. “Then I'll hold you two to that,” you whispered.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

[itsswritten]

gone. | 3

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader

Word Count: 5.9K

Warnings: Slight angst, drinking alcohol, nightmares, slight mentions of death.

Summary: Sometimes it take's heartbreak to move on...or to realise what you've always had.

<< Previous Part

To celebrate your return, Mor insisted on a night out at Rita's. Despite your lingering exhaustion and the pull of a quiet weekend begging you to spend it sleeping and reading, you didn’t have the heart to say no to her.

That evening, you prioritised finishing your reports before joining your friends at Rita's. You had always been exceptionally dutiful in your role, taking immense pride in your responsibilities. Though Mor grumbled at your decision to work, she reluctantly agreed to meet you there later, with the rest of the group.

As you worked alone, you cherished the moments of silence. After six months of solitude, acclimatising to the hustle and bustle of family life was both exciting and well… exhausting. And navigating your relationship with Azriel wasn’t the easiest, you were trying, trying really hard in fact. And although you had fallen into old patterns, it was still a little awkward at times. 

Azriel had perhaps had the most enjoyable week he’d experienced since you’d left all those months ago. Everyone had noticed how the tension had eased from his shoulders, warmth had returned to his eyes and how finally, his lips would pull into a full smile again. Azriel hadn’t allowed himself a moment of happiness since you left, in fact he quickly realised in your absence how you were the cause of most of his smiles. So your eagerness to mend a bridge between you both had been greatly appreciated, and he had relished in having your company back.

Yet, despite the familiarity in your interactions– friendly banter, teasing laughter and comforting silence. Azriel still felt the weight of your confession, and what it had done to him. How it had peeled back the layers on himself, revealing something that threatened the very dynamic you had begged for when you came back.

Best friends again?

Your words reverberated in his mind, a relentless echo of your plea. Azriel had teetered on the edge of refusal, almost said no, on the brink of voicing his own desire for something more. Admitting that just being friends would no longer be enough. But he found himself frozen under your vulnerable gaze, he had faltered, he too, consumed with the fear of unsettling the delicate relationship between you. The idea of risking your friendship was too daunting, too uncertain. It was safer to remain friends, safer to keep things as they were.

So he had remained silent.

Azriel took another sip of his drink, listening to his family laughing around their designated table at Rita’s. You weren’t here yet, your usual spot next to him and Mor still empty. Mor had mentioned you were wrapping up some work, and a part of him couldn't shake the urge to seek you out. He was contemplating sending his shadows to check on you. 

Again.

His shadows had been silent watchers since you came back, although you hadn’t you seemed to mind. In fact after spending six months with a few of the smoky tendrils, you actually welcomed their company. Each morning, you were greeted by at least one shadow curling around your cheek, or if you were away from the group for too long, a shadowy companion would appear to give you a light whispery kiss on your skin.

Whether they acted of their own accord or at Azriel's behest remained unclear to you.

He had always been protective of his family, but it only intensified with you since your return. It becoming somewhat obsessive. He couldn’t stop himself though, and you hadn’t rejected his shadows yet, so he took that as silent confirmation that he could continue.

“Gods, the girl has always known how to dress.” Amren said approvingly, her words pulling Azriel out of his thoughts. He followed her gaze to the entrance of Ritas, where a familiar figure seemed to capture the attention of the room.

You.

Dressed in a black lacy number, you exuded an alluring energy. In fact you always had, but Azriel in all his centuries of knowing you had done a remarkable job of ignoring it. The dress was classy in shape, but the sheerness added that Night Court sex appeal you always carried so well. A little black thong and bralette peeked through the sheer fabric, while the lace hugged all your curves.

You had always captured the attention of everyone, a trait of yours that had only become more endearing to Azriel as the years went on. But previously, he would bury those thoughts and feelings in the darkest recesses of his mind, never to be touched. Them only slipping out occasionally in his dreams.

Those particular dreams had plagued his sleep for centuries now, his deepest desires burying themselves in his consciousness to slide out when he drifted into a slumber. His suppressed desires manifesting themselves in vivid dreams, visions of you that often made him struggle with what was real or illusion. 

Some dreams were innocent, filled with whispered conversations under the starry nights. Dreams of taking you flying while your melodic laugh filled his ears. It was those nights he slept soundly, his mind surrendering to the hazy false reality.

There were also those darker dreams. More forbidden. 

The kind that made it hard for him to look at you the next day. It was those dreams he struggled to stir from, the kind of dreams where he’d find you waiting for him in his bed, or where he’d wake still hearing your moans and the taste of you on his lips. 

He’d had more of those dreams since you’d come back, and he knew he would definitely have that problem tonight after seeing you in that dress.

Was it really a problem though?

He couldn’t pretend that those dreams weren’t some of his favourites. As guilty as they made him feel.

And now, after everything. Knowing that there had been a possibility you could have been his, that feeling you, tasting you could have been his reality– he found it hard to steer his gaze. Hard to ignore your allure. Hard to believe he ever could have been so blind.

Pretty, pretty, pretty.

His shadows coiled round his ear to chant, it was information he didn’t need. Because he already knew how beautiful you were. 

He watched as you sauntered in, flashing a smile and small wave to regulars you recognised. A male had reached out, gently tugging on your arm for your attention, Azriel swore he heard him beg you to come dance.

“Maybe later,” you replied sweetly.

He was glad you rejected that male, glad he didn’t have to watch you dance with someone else, not that he had a right to feel that way. Azriel’s eyes followed the sway of your dress as it cascaded down to calf-length. He was mesmerised by you, and when he caught your scent he had to stop a quiet groan rolling up his throat.

Careful Azriel, you’re almost salivating there. It was Rhys’ talons that had clawed on Azriel’s mind, only for him to tease as soon as he was granted access.

Azriel shot Rhys a dark glare.

Fuck off.

Rhys merely laughed into Azriel’s mind. I’m just reminding you, that’s not how you look at a friend.

I said fuck off.

How you stayed composed all those centuries, to merely crumble now I’ll never understand.

Azriel was fast to push Rhys out his mind, while you took your seat beside him. “I got you a drink,” Azriel said to you, pushing your favourite cocktail your way.

“Thanks Az,” you beamed, picking the glass up to sip of the sweet concoction. A soft giggle left your lips as one of his shadows, coiled round the glass up your hand, to greet and pepper you with kisses.

He wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked, the words on the tip of his tongue but there was this fear holding him back. 

“ME-OWW, I want a bite of you!” Mor teased, her fingers grabbing your waist pulling you closer to her on the bench.

“Was that Orion giving you those sex-eyes?” she spoke loudly, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. She had clearly seen the interaction you’d had with an old admirer of yours. 

You shrugged nonchalantly in response, opting to sip your drink instead of answer.

“We aren’t the only ones to have missed you it seems.” Nesta purred from across the table, joining in on Mor’s suggestiveness.

“Put the poor male out of his misery and fuck him already.” Amren smirked, stating an obvious solution.

The table erupted in amusement, words of encouragement and teasing remarks filling the air. It was definitely an option, one worth considering. Especially after that crushing rejection from Azriel.

And Orion was undeniably attractive. He had that deep dark tan with vibrant blond hair that offered a stark contrast to Azriel. It would be a welcome distraction.

However he could never match Azriel’s beauty. 

You noticed how strikingly handsome Azriel was looking tonight, dressed in all black just like you. Always so smart and chic, the pair of you always dressed that way. Mor had pointed out years ago, you both always seemed to coordinate effortlessly. Her comment had sparked a glimmer of hope within you, something you had desperately clung to. That maybe yours and Azriel’s connection was deeper, and a small part of you had fantasised at the possibility that maybe you were mates. 

In the end it had just been wishful thinking. Fulled by your own affection and longing. You and Azriel were fated to be only friends.

And that would be enough.

You rolled your bottom lip into your mouth, glancing behind you with Mor to look at the male. A large shit-eating grin on his face as he winked at you. He was quite the charmer.

“Hmmm maybe,” you replied to your friends quietly as you turned back to face them, Mor bumping her shoulder with yours gently in response. 

Maybe this was how you would move on from Azriel? By getting under someone else. 

You’re not sure why you felt compelled to look, why you cared what he thought, but your gaze steered to your side. Gazing up at your handsome darked-haired friend. Azriel’s eyes were already on you. There was an intensity in his eyes that caught you off guard. 

He didn’t appear impressed, neither angry nor happy. “You’re too good for him,” he stated quietly, before taking a sip of his drink again.

You wanted to respond, ask what he meant by that. Ask why he even cared, why it even mattered. Casual rendezvous’ didn’t hold some kind of standards, and your partners didn’t need to meet whatever expectations Azriel suddenly had for you.

“Oh shut it Az! She deserves to get laid, she didn’t get to have any fun on her trip and that was six months long!” Mor reiterated her rhetoric from the other day.

You rolled your eyes, about to interject to remind her once again you were not on some half-year vacation.

“It was not some trip but a high-stakes mission yadda yadda” Mor chimed, mimicking you.

You had to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing, the female really knew how to open you up. Her teasing, her probing, was relentless to some. But had always worked on you. Pulling back those walls. 

Giving her a playful glint you spoke, “I almost had some fun if you must know.”

For some reason, you found yourself stealing a glance at Azriel, curious about his reaction. He had never taken an interest in your romantic encounters in the past, so his sudden attention confused you. 

Azriel tensed at your words, chewing the inside of his cheek before taking another sip of his drink. It was Rhys that was watching him with that infamous smirk. Azriel wanted to wipe it clean off his brother’s face.

I told you to fuck off.

Rhys only laughed back into his brother's mind.

“Give me all the details.” Mor squealed, clasping your hands in hers.

You shrugged, your lips curing into a soft smirk, retelling how you had met this mysterious male on your travels. “He was really cute…handsome…had these gorgeous eyes,” you sighed dramatically, your eyes gazing off into the distance, hand on your heart. “But he was the enemy, so I had to kill him.”

Your friends laughed in response, some of them shaking their heads in disbelief. Nesta leaned across the table with a dark glint in her eye, “You could have had a bit of fun first.”

You scoffed playfully at the notion, hand waving in the air dismissively. “Etiquette darling. I don’t like playing with my food before eating,” you purred.

Nesta shook her head with a smirk, “I’ve missed you, come dance.”

It wasn’t so much a request as it was a command when it came to Nesta and dancing. You rose from your seat, Mor and Feyre joining you eagerly as you made your way into the crowd, letting the music engulf you.

Azriel’s eyes, though, stayed glued on you.

"She's not going anywhere, Az," Cassian chuckled, downing the rest of his drink. It was easy for Cassian to assume Azriel’s obsessive nature had spun from your absence, from your dangerous mission, just Azriel’s natural protectiveness of all his family members, but of course that wasn’t the only reason.

He couldn't help but watch you, captivated by every movement. Not when you looked like that, when you moved like that, smelt like that.

Your confession had torn him a part, shattered his perception, forcing him to confront feelings he'd long buried. Make him acknowledge a possible reality he never considered himself worthy of. Azriel couldn't shake the image of what could have been, a world where it would have been your body swaying against his tonight.

Cassian had smacked his empty glass on the table now, shouting that he’d get another round in as he walked over to the bar.

“So what are you going to do, Azriel?” Rhys then asked, his own eyes never leaving Feyre who was dancing drunkenly with you.

Azriel glanced briefly at Amren, who remained at the table, swirling her drink absently. She didn't meet his gaze, clearly uninterested in being dragged into the complexities of her family's relationships.

"I don’t think you'll have four centuries to pine for her this time," Rhys remarked quietly. "I don’t think she'll wait that long."

Azriel drew in a sharp breath at Rhys’ words, his gaze still tracing the contours of your form. His breath caught as he realised your eyes had found him from across the crowded room. A soft smile forming on your lips, prompting him to give you one back in return.

If this was all he could have of you. Would it be enough?

❊

“Az…”

He heard someone calling his name. That familiar melodic tone.

“…Azriel wake up,” that soft sweet voice sang to him. 

Only that voice could pull him from his deepest dreams and nightmares. 

Azriel stirred, his consciousness slowly emerging from the recesses of sleep. Blinking groggily, he glanced around his dimly lit room, his mind clouded with confusion. 

His head throbbed faintly, a dull ache pulsating behind his temples. Had he drank too much? He couldn't remember.

He turned on his side to face where your voice had called him, only to find you laying beside him. Why were you here? What had happened last night?

There was a soft smile gracing your lips. You were adorned in a delicate white nightgown, that seemed to shimmer in the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the window. You were a vision of ethereal beauty— and you were in his bed. A sight that left Azriel momentarily breathless.

How had this come to be?

You were so close to him, only a breath away from his face. So close, he could feel the warmth radiating from your body. For a fleeting moment, he almost let himself get lost in your gaze. Those eyes, he loved so much. He often dreamt of them, lost himself in them, and searched for them in a crowded room. He loved the way they crinkled when you laughed. A sight he would never tire from seeing.

His mind was reeling though, he couldn't recall getting into bed. Or when you joined him.

"It's time, Az..." you whispered.

Azriel didn’t understand.

"Time for what?" Azriel mumbled, his brow furrowing in bewilderment.

Your words were sickly sweet, dripping with an unsettling ambiguity that sent shivers down his spine. But before he could make sense of them, your fingers were threading through his hair, and he found himself paralysed by the intimacy of the touch.

"It's just time," you murmured softly, your smile masking a deeper sorrow. Your voice echoing through the caverns of his mind like a haunting melody. 

But time for what? 

Azriel's confusion deepened, his heart pounding in his chest. Something was wrong, he could sense it. 

Where were his shadows?

Before he could question you further, he watched as you closed the small gap between you, pressing your lips to his.

As your lips met, there was a sensation of weightlessness over Azriel. As if he was suspended in a realm where time held no sway. It was silent, peaceful and felt endless. He wasn’t sure why or how this was happening, but he couldn’t bring himself to question. Couldn’t bring himself to break away.

No, not now. Not now he had you. 

His heart swelled with a mixture of joy and disbelief. You were finally his, finally in his arms.

He felt you against him. Your body plush to his, melting into his touch. A warmth vibrated through his chest, as your breaths mingled. Azriel’s arms wrapped around you tighter, as if terrified this would all slip away. 

Wait, something was wrong. But Azriel, lost to your touch, couldn’t remember what.

The softness of your kisses against his lips was like a sweet melody, stirring something deep within him. He craved more, his hunger for you insatiable, as if he could never get enough to quench the burning desire within him.

This was what he had been searching for all those years. All those times he got it wrong, thinking it was someone else. It had in fact been right in front of him the whole time– you. 

He could feel you pulling away. Azriel looked at you now, noticing that sorrowful expression on your face again.

“It’s time…I have to move on now,” you smiled sadly.

 "Move on...what do you mean?" he managed to ask, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I've waited so long, Az...too long," you replied, your words laced with a haunting sense of finality.

Unable to find the right words, Azriel watched helplessly as you began to slip away, sliding out of his arms and off the bed. He tried to move, tried to grab you, stop you, pull you back but you were slipping through his fingers like water.

A cold breeze swept through the room, sending goosebumps over his body. The air seemed to grow thicker, heavier, as if the very atmosphere was connected with your emotion. 

Panic gripped his chest, like a claw had clasped his heart and it was squeezing it with every heartbeat. Desperation was flooding his senses as he reached out for you, his voice cracking with emotion. Something was wrong.

“Wait don’t leave y/n, I’ve been meaning to tell you–”

"Will you make me wait another 400 years, Azriel?" your voice echoed in his mind, the haunting tone of your voice shaking him.

His body felt as if it were encased in stone, every movement sluggish and strained. No matter how hard he tried to rise from the bed, he could only manage to shift to its edge, his limbs refusing to obey his desperate commands.

In the doorway of his room, you stood, your form bathed in an eerie half-light that cast strange shadows across your face. Fear etched lines of worry into your features, your eyes wide with a terror that mirrored his own.

Something was wrong. You needed to come back to him, back to his arms where it was safe.

"I may not live that long," you cried out, your voice raw with anguish, the sound of it tearing at his soul.

Azriel tried again, ragging his limbs to try to get closer to you. Then in that moment, time itself seemed to warp and twist, as if the hands of fate were turning the clock.

Azriel could only watch in horror as you began to age before his eyes, each passing second drawing lines of time upon your skin. Your once youthful visage contorted and twisted, suddenly you began to wither, flesh peeling away like petals from a dying flower.

Your scream was piercing through his skull, your hands trying to hold onto the pieces of flesh that were burning away until there was nothing left. 

Tears were streaming down his face as Azriel stumbled off his bed, his heart pounding with a frantic urgency. His rapid uncoordinated footsteps matched his heartbeat. He felt drugged. But that didn’t matter, he needed to find you. He ran out of his room into a darkness that seemed to swallow him whole, his voice a desperate plea echoing through the empty halls.

"Come back...please," he cried out, his words carried away by the chilling breeze that surrounded him. Each step he took felt heavier than the last, his limbs weighed down by a crushing weight. "I won't make you wait…please...please," he begged, his voice suffocating with painful emotion.

“Azriel…” he heard a voice.

“Y/n,” he cried out again. But only darkness answered him.

“Azriel! Wake up!” It wasn’t your voice, no, someone was shouting. Someone was shaking him.

Suddenly the darkness faded, and the face of his brother speckled into his vision. Rhys had his hands gripped to the side of Azriel’s face.

Rhys and Mor had stayed up for the night, lounging with some faerie wine, reminiscing as the house slept silently. But then they’d hear screaming, and before they could even move Azriel had stumbled down the hall screeching your name. It was clear to Rhys, that Azriel was entrapped in some disorientating nightmare, and he had used his talons to pull him from the deathly grips of the dream.

“It’s a dream brother, only a dream” he tried to reassure him.

But Azriel’s eyes were searching, looking for you. 

Azriel was slumped on the floor, his knees under him. Rhys and Mor pulled him against a wall, hoping the cool stone would bring him to his senses. His shadows were frantically buzzing around him. Attempting but failing to console him.

“Where is y/n?” he managed to choke out.

Not here, not here, not here. His shadows whispered in his ear.

Mor stepped forward, concern on her face “She’s with Orion. You know this…” she spoke softly.

Slowly slivers of reality seemed to sink into place. His dream had felt like eternity, and yet it had only been a few hours since you had all left Rita’s. 

No you hadn’t left, you had stayed. Stayed with him, stayed with Orion.

He had been too late. Too late to find the courage, too late to speak his truth.

That male. Orion, had found you on the dance floor. Ensnared your attention for the evening, had charmed you. Charmed you enough that you hadn’t returned with your family, that you had stayed to seek the comfort of him that night.

Not Azriel. He had been too late.

Azriel had curled in on himself, knees brought to his chest as sobs began to rack through his body. The talons of the nightmare still clung to him, dragging him back into its clutches. Senseless words left his lips, your name rolling off his tongue repetitively.

"I was too late…" he cried, his voice choking with anguish. "Rhys, you have to save her… she… her face… Rhys… she was dying."

“I think you might need to call for y/n, Rhys,” Mor suggested, her concern evident as she crouched near Azriel. He was trapped in a dreamlike state, caught between the realms of reality and imagination. When she reached out to touch him, he only flinched away, lost in his own torment.

Azriel was drenched in sweat, his body burning with fever as he struggled to distinguish between what was real and what was not. As much as Rhys tried, Azriel’s mind was a mess. He couldn’t decipher what was right in front of him and what was in his mind. 

To him you were gone, he’d seen it with his own eyes. He had failed you. 

"What's going on?" Your voice cut through the tense air, drawing the attention of Mor and Rhys.

You stood in the doorway of the lounge, your hair tousled and your nightgown askew as if someone had forcefully dragged you from the depths of your own dreams. In fact that is exactly what had happened. Azriel’s shadows were circling you, pulling and tugging you relentlessly, just as they had awoken you.

You could tell from their desperate plea something was wrong, and it had only taken you a matter of seconds to run from your room.

"We thought... I thought you'd gone home with—" Rhys began, but you shook your head, your expression filled with concern as you took in Azriel's state. Without hesitation, you moved quickly to kneel beside him.

You could have gone home with Orion, almost did. Was tempted, but there was something about the way Azriel had looked at you as they all departed for the night that had gnawed at you. A look of a broken male. His expression, a mixture of sadness…and well, longing. It was confusing.

And unfair. He had rejected you after all.

Yet, there was a vulnerability in his gaze that you couldn’t ignore. Despite his rejection, your heart ached for him. After an hour in Orion's company at the bar, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease. So you called it a night and came home.

It had been a long time since you’d seen Azriel caught in a state like this. Azriel didn’t sleep much, but when he did there had been a few times in your years of knowing him that he'd find himself trapped in the liminal space between dreams and reality.

“Hey Az…” you moved to the space in front of him, crouching between the space of his kness. His eyes were skittish, looking at you but through you. It was as if he didn't register your presence at all, trapped in a world of his own making.

“I waited too long…” he breathed out, his fingers tangled in his hair pulling and ragging at the strands.

“Azriel,” you spoke gently but firmly, your voice a lifeline in the darkness that engulfed him. You needed to coax him out of this. “It wasn’t real, only a dream”

A torrent of incomprehensible words spilled from his lips, and you exchanged a glance with Rhys and Mor, who stood nearby, frozen in place. 

Over the centuries of being part of this family, you'd all encountered moments like these. Moments where the nightmares and traumas racked over you. However, Azriel had always been more private about his inner turmoil. You realised that this might be the first time Rhys and Mor had witnessed this part of him.

It wasn’t your first time, though. One of the earliest moments you realised you loved Azriel was after he had helped you through a debilitating nightmare, one that had left you screaming in your sleep. From then on, he had always been there to offer comfort in those dark moments. 

And you had always been there for him in return.

“I’ve got this…” you reassured them with a soft smile, and they nodded, reluctantly leaving the room. They didn’t want to abandon Azriel in such a state, but they trusted you, trusted that you would only ask this of them if it was for Azriel’s best interest.

You waited for them to leave, the room enveloped in a heavy silence, save for Azriel's incoherent whispers that echoed off the walls.

“I was too late…” he repeated, his voice strained.

“Hmmm were you? What were you late for Azriel?” Again you voice, firm but sweet resounding through the room. 

He blinked, finally recognising your presence. His brows furrowed as tears streamed down his face.

“I lost you, I was too late” he choked out.

“You haven't lost me, Az. I'm right here,” you reassured him, your voice a soothing balm.

But Azriel shook his head, haunted by the vivid memory of seeing you slip away before him.

“Tell him, tell him I’m right here.” You spoke, this time towards his shadows.

She’s here. She’s here. They sang.

Azriel’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as he listened to his shadows. They had never deceived him before, always guiding him with honesty. So surely what they were saying was true?

You tilted your head slightly, a soft smile gracing your lips as you reached for his hand. His eyes widened at your touch, but he didn’t recoil. He watched as you gently placed his hand against your chest, just above your heart.

Real, real, real. His shadows continued to sing in his ear. Their own feather-light touches caressing his body, cooling him down.

He could feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his touch.

Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump. The vibrations of your heart were sobering under his palm. And there was something about the way this felt, so different to the version of you in his dream. Everything was heightened, every sense felt multiplied.

“I’m real Az, and I’m here. It was just a dream, okay?”

Azriel felt a shaky breath leave his lips as his own breathing synced with yours. His rapid heartbeat gradually slowed to match the steady rhythm of yours.

You weren’t gone. But you had chosen someone else. 

“But…but you chose someone else,” he sputtered out.

You weren’t sure what he meant. Whether this someone else was what he had dreamed of, or if he meant Orion. But you leaned forward, drawing closer until your faces were mere inches apart, so close that he wouldn’t be able to look away.

“I’ll always choose you, Azriel.” It was the truth. You knew he needed to hear this, he needed reassurance to pull him from the grasp of his nightmare, but it was also unequivocally true. You would always choose him.

You had tonight.

In the opportunity of comfort and pleasure of another, you had chosen Azriel. Even in his rejection. Even if that made you a fool. You would always choose him.

“Really?”

“Always.”

You both sat there for a while, Azriel syncing his breathing to yours as the cloudiness of his vision cleared and he began to feel reality pinching him. It felt so real, that nightmare. A version of his future he never wanted to face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, gently moving his hand from your chest as embarrassment seemed to finally wash over him.

“Don’t ever apologise for this, Az,” you spoke softly.

“No,” he shook his head. “I just mean I’m sorry for everything, for hurting you before, for not seeing what was right in front of me all along, for not being honest…”

Your brows furrowed as you looked at him, but you let him speak.

“I’ve been trying to find the right words to say to you for the past six months.” He laughed then, not the laugh you loved. A self-deprecating laugh that made your chest ache. “I had six months to find the right words, and I was still too late…” he trailed off, his voice heavy.

“Ever since Mor introduced you almost four centuries ago, you’ve had me mesmerised. I thank the stars every day you came into my life…”

You thanked the stars everyday for him too.

“Azriel, I feel the same…” you began, but he interrupted you.

“No, I don’t think you understand, y/n. I adore you. I’ve always adored you.” Azriel's voice wavered slightly as he spoke, his hands trembling as he reached out to take yours. 

He hesitated with his words, still struggling to find the right way to say this. You felt the roughness of his scars against your soft skin, but it was welcome, you had always found his hands beautiful. His touch, comforting. 

Right now though, something felt different. 

The way Azriel was looking at you was unlike anything you had seen before. It was as if he was seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you.

“You are so wonderful, so beautiful, smart, hilarious. You’re the best of all of us.”

You weren’t sure how to respond, it was a notion your family had always told you. Azriel through the years, claiming that statement more times than you could count. But this time the words felt different, they weighed heavier, they revealed so much more. And you feel your cheeks heating under his intense stare.

“You are. You’re the best of us, better than me. Too good for me.”

“Azriel…” you said softly,

“That’s why your confession came as a shock, I just never considered myself good enough for you. Never thought I’d be the kind of male worthy of you.”

You felt your throat tighten at the idea. The thought that Azriel had never considered himself good enough for you, when he was exactly everything you wanted and needed.

“I’ve been deflecting my feelings for years, ignoring them, because I didn’t think I deserved you…”

Azriel's hand tightened around yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your skin.

"But I don't want to waste any more time," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know you were with Orion–”

“There’s no one else,” you cut him off quickly, the realisation dawning on you. A realisation of what was happening, what your dear friend was admitting. Something you had hoped and wished for so long.

Your heart was now the rapid one and you could feel it beating through your chest. 

"If there's a chance for us, I want us to take it." Azriel concluded, his confession final.

"Really, Az?" your bottom lip quivered slightly, your eyes becoming glassy as tears threatened to spill.

"Really, my love."

“I love you…” The words tumbled from your lips, soft and heartfelt.

With gentle strength, he pulled you into his embrace, your head finding its place in the curve of his neck. He inhaled deeply, savouring the familiar scent of you.

“I love you more than words can express, more than you may ever realise,” he whispered, his voice brimming with tenderness. “And I promise to make up for lost time.”

You leaned back slightly, your eyes meeting his. A soft smile was on his lips, one you gave back, as a tear rolled down your cheek. He moved gently then, leaning down to press a tender kiss where the salty tear had escaped. 

Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, a force he had ignored for hundreds of years, his lips found yours in a long-awaited embrace. Time seemed to slow as you shared that kiss, your lips melting into one another. Finally, the kiss seemed to speak of. 

This was it. 

This would be enough, because this was everything.

fin.

a/n: Sorry to make you all wait so long for this! I was in a really bad writing slump, and wasn't sure how to make this work, still not 100% on it but hey-ho (but thank you to my love, @illyrianbitch for her continuous support every time I changed my mind and scrapped an idea lol, and to @milswrites for her lovely words that helped me get out of my slump) Anyway I hope you all got the ending you wanted ;) but yeah let me know if you want any one-shots from these two! I'd be happy to explore their dynamic a little more if you've got a scenario in mind <3

Forever tags: @lilah-asteria @illyrianbitch @milswrites @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @alittlelostalittlefound @amberlynn98 @marscardigan