#the writing thing just wasn’t happening

[arminsumi]

tattoartist!suguru losing nonchalance when reader flirts with him?

im down bad for him holy hell

Oh, he's falling to pieces, got it bad for the girl he just met 'n he's gonna make a drunk little bet — y'think he's crazy enough to get your name tattooed on him? Or crazy enough to ink his name into your skin?

ㅤ★ wc; ~3k

ㅤ★ note; continuation of tattoo artist Suguru Geto!

ㅤ★ an; aaa!! you got my brain whirring like a laptop... tysm and i hope this makes u blush and kick ur feet as much as i did while writing!! 🍰✨

ㅤ★ tagz; @ohimsummer 💗@fairiesthrum💗 @heartofjasmina 💗 @kwonan 💗 @ghost-buddies 💗 @madamecorbie 💗 @mima0127 💗 @moggleatlife 💗 @natasaa13 💗 @yemmuishomeforthementallyunwell 💗 @wakashudou 💗 @khaothick 💗 @candy-s72 💗 @creamflix 💗 @starriesworlds

ㅤ★ warnings; sum alcohol/drunkenness

“So, was she joking, or am I your type?” Suguru asks, black eyes staring right into your soul.

“Mm, well…” you hum, giving his form a look-over – god, if only you could feel how hard his heart’s beating when you do this. “Maybe.” You reply teasingly.

“Aw, just ‘maybe’?” he groans, now leaning his hip against the edge of the display case that housed the studs and gauge earrings.

“Yeah, just ‘maybe’ – I’m teasing. No, she wasn’t joking; I’ve always had a thing for the black hair, black nails, bad boy look…”

“The ‘bad boy’ look…?” he questions, recalling what your friend had said earlier about bad boys being just your type.

“Yeah, the ‘bad boy’ look.” You giggle.

His heart beats even harder, muttering a naughty little “Well, lucky me.”

“Nah, not so fast – I’m a smart woman.” You warn.

“Oh, are you?” he clicks his tongue in defeat, “Damn, would you believe that my type is smart women? No, no I’m serious… I’ve got a thing for smart women.”

Your cheeks grow hot, the heat spreading to your ears.

“I can assure you that the ‘bad boy’ look is just an aesthetic; I’m really an artsy dork making a living off doodling on people’s bodies.” He shrugs.

“Hm… maybe, maybe not.”

You rub your lips together. He briefly licks his bottom lip. You look him up and down. He looks you up and down. Body language open and alive with attraction, the both of you stand in this air of electric tension that Shoko spies from the other end of the room.

She watches as the two of you giggle like little flirts, observing how totally absorbed the two of you are in each other’s company. When you catch her eye, Shoko gives you a wink and points at her wrist, mouthing “five more” – fair enough, the two of you have promised to get pizza.

Pizza first, boys later, right?

Five minutes more go by – adding to the total of four hours spent at the tattoo & piercing parlor. But despite her discomfort and need for a change of scenery, Shoko decides to linger around just a little longer so that the two of you can indulge in each other just a little more.

But now you're getting nervous – Suguru has you breathless, holding you in a battle of who can flirt harder? which you're starting to lose.

He's captivated by you. This 6’3, tattooed, goth-grunge, slightly dorky man chuckles and smiles like he hasn’t had this much fun talking flirting with someone in years.

It's going well, then your smile trips him up. I know, it’s always the smile, huh? If you see enough of it, you slip… and that’s exactly what's happened to Suguru. He quickly grows obsessed with the way your cheeks look when you smile – the image burns into his memory without him even realizing it in the moment.

No, in the moment he doesn't realize the magnitude of your effect on him. He's just thinking about himself, about you, about —

“I’ve gotta go,” you say goodbye finally, “I don’t want to keep my friend waiting. But you’ll probably see my face here again… she loves dragging me along for these kinds of things.”

He stutters, “Oh! Oh… yeah – yes. Of course. Looking forward to it… maybe next time, you’ll be the one getting ink in your skin.”

“Yeah right.” You smile.

It’s your French exit that makes his heart throb in need.

No, don’t leave yet… I like you – don’t you ever wonder how many acquaintances in your life have thought this when leaving your company? And you’ll never even know.

Oh, Suguru was thinking so hard about asking you to exchange numbers or to meet up for coffee, but he didn’t want to come off as too forward – no, no… he had to maintain his mysteriousness. Or at least, he had to cling to whatever was left of it after revealing his inner dorkiness to you.

*****

After you leave, he wanders in and out of his studio, has small interactions with his co-workers, and doodles ideas for tattoos down.

Throughout all of these things, your face is at the forefront of his mind. Your voice echoes in his head as he recalls every detail of the conversation you two shared. Then he starts smiling softly as he applauds himself for being so gutsily flirty with you… a stranger, just someone, who he probably won’t see again…

A girl with no name.

God, why was he so slow? He didn’t even ask for your name. Suguru groans.

Yes, he probably won’t see you again… not unless your friend brings you along for her next visit. How long does he have to wait? Weeks? Months? That’s insane.

Suguru stops doodling, stares at the scrap of paper, and then looks up at the wall displaying his works. He rubs his fingers back and forth across his mouth.

I gotta.

He looks over to his phone. He reaches for it, takes it into his veiny hand, unlocks it, and scrolls through his list of contacts.

And then he dials his client’s number. Shoko Ieri.

*****

Now, it’s been just under an hour since you and Shoko left the tattoo parlour. She’s complained three times about the pain because exactly three times she has leaned back on the seat – squishing the fresh ink wound against her chair. You just cruelly laugh at how her eyes twitch in pain and each time.

The two of you sit eating pizza.

“He liked you. Why don’t we go back and you ask him for his number?” she teases.

“No way… he’ll think I’m too forward.” You shake your head.

Then three minutes later, Shoko's phone goes off. She reaches into her backpack. She looks at the caller ID, then at you, then at the caller ID, then –

“… is that him?”

“It’s him.”

“What’s he calling for! Me?”

“Absolutely he’s calling for you – I can bet gold on that.”

It stops ringing. She tells you she’ll text him back but guess what? She doesn’t even need to, because he calls again.

“Relentless.” She giggles. “I’m answering.”

“Pretend I’m not here!”

She winks at you and answers, “Hey, Suguru, what’s up?”

The two of you lean in until the your foreheads press together – it’s still hard to make out every word.

“Yo.” You hear his smooth voice coming from the other side, “Sorry to bother you… (muffled)… your friend (muffled)… so embarrassed, so don’t tell her that I’m calling… (muffled)… what was her name?”

You clap your hand over your mouth when you hear those snippets.

She gives you a devious look before saying, “Oh! Well, she’s right here with me, actually, so you can ask her yourself.”

Mouth full of pizza, you freak out and X your arms to signal a fat NO WAY SHOKO! and fall to pieces all with the taste of pepperoni on your tongue.

But she just hands the phone over to you anyways, then proceeds to silently laugh as you spit out your pizza before talking.

“Hehlooo?”

“H-hey.”

You get right to the point. “My name’s Yn…”

“Oh… I like that… I’m Suguru.”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

“Suguru. Suguru Geto.” He raises his voice.

Cheek hot against the screen of his phone, Suguru is silently freaking out at the tense silence. He can feel his stomach starting to flip. His mind blanks.

“Anyways! Um, that’s all.”

No. That’s not all. He has a novel’s length worth of things to talk about with you.

At this point, Shoko rolls her eyes at the two of you being so awkward on the phone and decides that she needs to take matters into her own hands.

So she snatches the phone from you.

“ – Suguru? Say, you wouldn’t be free on Saturday, would ya? Yeah, I’m going on a date with this guy… and I’d love to make it a double date with you and Yn if you’d like to –”

You hear him stutter out a yes, absolutely before Shoko can even finish her sentence. She grins.

Suguru can sense that the two of you are smiling and giggling. He can predict that the two of you are probably going to gossip about him being the 'dork from the tattoo parlor that called not once, but twice for the name of a girl he just met' – but he doesn’t care. He’s been presented an opportunity and taken it.

To hell with seeming too eager.

When the call ends, Suguru blows out a breath through his lips. Then he promptly texts his best friend. Dark strands of hair slip out of his sloppy bun as he puts his face over the screen, thumbs swift and eager.

Toru 🤞😜 lol bravo... but i thought u said she was out of ur league??

Sugu i mean... yes. she's way too pretty and smart for me. but i'm not gonna pass up this opportunity

Toru 🤞😜 still can't believe u called ur client just to get her friend’s name... lol

Sugu you would understand if you met her ok

Toru 🤞😜 damn she must be something else

Yes, yes you are something else — Suguru can’t even begin to describe why. Translating his thoughts into words isn’t his thing; he translates them into art.

****

It's later in the day. You're lazing around Shoko's apartment.

She confirms the time and place of the double date, and cackles on her couch while kicking her feet, teasing you for being so crazy about a guy you just met – her tattoo artist.

You just couldn’t stop talking about Geto Suguru.

“Shiiit, should I even let you and a bad boy like him be alone in a room together?”

“I can control myself.” you assure her.

She slowly shakes her head at you.

“Yeah right… but can he? I don't trust neither of you... miss crazy and mister crazy... you might just wake up with his name in your skin.”

You giggle to yourself, biting your thumb. “Maybe…”

“Oh girl…” she groans, causing you to giggle into yourself, “You’re gonna be licking the tail of his dragon tattoo by the end of the date tomorrow.”

“H-h-he has a what? And where?” you stuttered, lashes quivering.

She shakes her head at you. “God, you’re screwed…”

*****

It's Saturday night. The bar's more alive than ever.

You've learned that Geto Suguru does, in fact, have a dragon tattoo inked up his toned arm – and a tight-fitting black tank top that shows it off along with his martial artist’s physique, too.

He’s got a glint of the devil in his black eyes. Softly-delivered dirty jokes ready to roll off his pierced tongue. A habit of tilting his head and looking hungrily at your lips and neck.

“Martial arts, huh?” you ask with stars in your eyes.

“Mhm, I could teach you a few things.” He purrs in reply.

Your stomach starts squeezing and flipping – that’s got to be the flirtiest 'mhm' that you’ve ever heard in your whole life.

“You think so?” you purr back.

Now it’s his turn to feel that squeezy, flippy feeling in his stomach.

Fuckfuckfuck is all he could think when he looks into your eyes.

I’m gonna fall to pieces. You’re gonna be the death of me.

“Uh…  do you two need some privacy?” Shoko teases.

Oh. It’s a double date. How could you forget? Shoko is literally sitting beside you at the bar with her date. But for a second there, it really felt like it was just you 'n this deliciously tattooed bad boy.

“Maybe.” Suguru chuckles coyly.

“There’s a hotel just next door…”

“Shoko!” you scold, playfully shoving her arm.

She giggles into herself, sipping down her cocktail innocently as if she didn’t just electrify the air between you and Suguru. His throat’s tensing, foot’s tapping up and down on the bar stool – boy’s got long spider-legs, huh?

Now after that, Suguru grins wider – showing off his pretty canines – his posture assuming something self-soothing; he holds his elbows, arms squished against his ribcage, which just makes his biceps more pronounced. Oh why, why did he have to wear a tank top like that? Surely he’s aware of the effect it has on girls. Or maybe he’s oblivious…

Nah. He's not.

*****

“Did it hurt?” you ask, trying to blink out the tipsiness from your love-drunk eyes but you’ve got three cosmopolitans surging through your veins.

“Not really… I’ve got great pain tolerance.” Suguru replies.

“Oh really?” you blink up at him again and his mind goes blank.

“Look at that...” He murmurs softly, not breaking eye contact with you. Where’s your friend and her date? Who knows. It’s just you and him now – and that’s all he wanted.

“Hm?”

“Not every day I see eyes like that…”

You widen your lips into a smile, “You’re laying it on thick.”

“Am I? Sorry – see, this is what happens after you feed Suguru too much rum. I just can’t keep my mouth shut.”

“That’s terrible… need someone to shut ya up?” you flirt.

He tilts his head at you, loose strands of hair shifting across his cheek. His left brow quirks up – he’s so taken aback by your forwardness but he falls right into it.

You just giggle flirtatiously after making that comment and pull the straw of your drink between your lips, sucking the remnants of a cosmopolitan into your mouth as sensually as you dare to in front of a bad boy who’s got bedroom eyes on you.

“I think I could do with some shutting up…” he admits.

“Mm,” you hum, “y’think by our third date you’re gonna snap and kiss me hard like we’re in a movie?”

Suguru smiles bashfully and looks down into his drink, swirling the melting ice cubes with a straw – slowly, round and round, they clink. Then he draws his gaze back to you, catching you with a sultry side-eye, and now it’s not just the ice cubes that are melting.

“Nah-uh…”

“Nah-uh?” you question.

“… I think it’s you who’s gonna snap first.” He says.

“Wanna bet?” you tease.

“Sure. What’ll be at stake?” he asks.

He keeps his sultry gaze on you as you look off to the side in thought for a moment. Your friend’s joke echoes in your mind.

“… you might just wake up with his name in your skin.”

Then you look back to him – his heart throbs but he’s trying to keep it together here, pulling his straw to his lips to get a sip of whatever rum still exists in his glass.

“Loser gets a regrettable tattoo?” you suggest.

He looks at you with a little bit of disbelief at your boldness.

“How regrettable?” he questions, one eye squinting shut in suspicion. He's wondering just how wild you actually are.

“Like my name on you? Or vice versa.”

He covers his mouth and lets out a chuckle hearing this. “You want me to tattoo my name on ya skin?” he teases. “Sure, I’ll bet on that.”

You can’t believe that he’s matching your crazy.

You stutter, replying only after a lingering moment of hot eye contact, “… there’s no way I’m gonna snap first…” you say boldly, proceeding to pop the cherry of your drink into your mouth and eating it right in front of the poor boy’s eyes. “ ‘m gonna have you walkin’ around with my name on you.”

Eyes glued on your lips, his breath catches in his throat.

“Yeah?”

Ooh, there it was. That feeling. That body singing electric songs feeling… that tummy-tightening, blood-rushing, skin-flushing feeling – it hit him all at once. He knows that if he were standing, his knees would have buckled now for sure, or at least he would have felt the tremor of your words under his feet.

He’s unsteady – smiling uncontrollably, looking dishevelled and softly drunk. Those rouge lips are begging to be kissed.

The bar grows quieter and quieter.

You’re hardly able to call each other anything more than strangers, and yet you’re leaning into him, closing the distance.

The tips of your noses are just inches apart now. You’re in each other’s air. He eyes out your lips, feels your hot, liquor-scented breath tickle his face.

But when you try and close the distance, he raises his hand and presses his thumb against your soft lips, stopping you.

“What happened to that bold statement, huh? Keep it together, baby; the bet’s on.” He feathers against your face.

*****

Tumbling into Shoko’s apartment after a night out drinking, you smile and giggle into the pillows of her bed.

She’s letting her hair down and swapping out her tight dress for jammies when she looks at you in your gleeful state.

“Someone’s in love.” She teases, coming over to tickle you.

“I’m not in love!”

“Oh, quit the act; I saw how the two of you said goodbye – you could barely hold yourself together. Drunk or not, I ain’t seen two adults giggling like that before.”

“Sh!” you swat her, “Not! In! Love!”

She takes a look into your eyes and observes your smile, then shakes her head. You're drowsy, so you make a dive into her bed and fall asleep almost instantly.

Shoko pulls a blanket over you, affectionately ruffling your hair.

“Madly in love, at the very least.”

[tojisun]

the hand that feeds you

— “i take care of her, s’all.”

johnny mactavish x f!reader

cw: 18+ work - minors dni; age difference; daddy issues (kinda the central plot); cooking as a love language; slow burn but in high speed; a breath of angst; power imbalance; canon divergence - regular/non-military life au // amazing divider by @gildui! // 6.5k words

extra notes: this is a very self-indulgent work. there are holes in the plot, 100%, so ignore those holes pretty pls </3 also ik this is more of a captain johnny-verse but midway through, i started projecting so i might’ve written him incorrectly and im really sorry for that!!

being roommates with johnny is not as weird as it is; he’s amicable, at first, then full blown nice when days passed. he’s not loud, per se, but there’s always a constant chatter streaming from his space, like he physically can’t sit still through the silence which is great because you don’t fare any better with the stillness too, so reminiscent of how it was in the suburbs.

you moved to a neighbourhood just skirting past the inner city just because it’s a lot cheaper. but even then, rent was always high and your little box in a rundown complex wasn’t going to sustain you forever even if you wished it would. then, an opening in johnny’s townhouse was posted, almost half-price than whatever is up in the market, and it’s great despite your skepticism. hell, it’s more than great �� it’s lifesaving.

your shitty job at the bookstore really can’t cover much of your expenses anymore, and sure student loans and the grant is great, but the growing debt makes you wince so it’s whatever at this point. you’re about to graduate soon anyway, pooling work experience from volunteering and club organizations, and it’s not like you can even go back to how it was.

(underway to law school, primed up before your father’s scrutiny but the burnout got to you before you could even write the LNAT. you realized that being a barrister wasn’t really what you wanted so you changed programs, midway, and switched to children’s education.

god, the disappointment in your pa’s eyes was so big, you knew to pack your shit before he could even kick you out.)

it’s… tough.

god, is it tough. none of your old friends and colleagues could stay in contact, which you don’t hold against them because most of them, by now, have graduated and entered law school. you’re straggling about two years back because of the switch in programs, and everything’s gone too tight. your budget. your social life.

your dating life.

johnny often distracts you from it all — he works in downtown, in one of those high-rise buildings often reserved for limiteds or holding companies, and has to travel off the city every three months. he makes good money, he said jovially, and you know it’s a nudge as to why your portion of the rent is cheap in the first place.

when you finally bit the bullet and asked why he put up one of the rooms in the market, johnny just shrugged and said he needed someone to house sit but sort off permanently. said something like last time he left, the pipes bursted and he couldn’t really fly back to help with the repairs.

it’s great being with him. he’s bright and bubbly, but also dependable in ways you never really thought about. like—

well, it’s all mundane things so listing them feels embarrassing, and it makes you feel as though you’re a touch-starved damsel and johnny just so happened to be the next older man to give you any attention and his time. but you can’t help it. god, you can’t help preen at the way he exists beside you.

he’s just so… beautiful, is what it is.

rugged and charming and loud and filling. the townhouse is too big for the two of you, but johnny makes it work. makes it feel like the two of you just fit into each other’s spaces.

early mornings are spent with him lilting between english and scottish, his exhaustion plastered onto him even after he’s downed two cups of coffee. he bumps his hip onto yours when he ambles out to prepare for his work, grumbling something like good morning and how’re you. afternoons are more lively and productive; it’s of you coming back from campus at six in the evening only to find him in the kitchen, fixing up dinner. it’s always something fancy and rich in flavour; something he always eats with wine on the side.

you, uh, you never thought he could actually cook, let alone feed himself well, but there he was, always a plate ready for you too like it’s expected that you’ll eat dinner with him. like spending time with him was just natural — the sky is blue, the ocean’s deep, and you and johnny fall into each other like there is an invisible string pulling you close to him.

it’s a beautiful change of pace, and there are more days now when you can breathe in a little easier, and you know it’s all because of johnny. it’s all him who pulled you out of your slump and out of that darkness and gave you the room, literally, to grow.

he’s beautiful, but you’ve said that already, haven’t you? he’s just… so good to be with.

then, johnny began picking up and bringing some home.

.

the first time it happened was shocking, really.

you had an early morning, something that’s so murky now in your memories so you’re unsure if it was anything uni related or work related, just that it was five in the morning and you were clambering downstairs as quietly as you could. you rounded the length of the hallway from the platform to the kitchen when you ran into someone.

“steady,” she’d said, voice hoarse and loud in her shock too.

you yelled, jumping, arms swinging because was there an intruder, and it took johnny physically subduing you for you to calm down. looking back now, you burn in embarrassment, but then you had been so worried, your body wound up so tightly in your fear.

“shh,” johnny had murmured with that wry grin. “s’just me, lass.”

your eyes danced between him and the brunette — pretty even in her rumpled shirt, with long legs and a small waist — trying to understand what was going on. you are sure johnny had told you before that he wasn’t seeing anyone so who—

“your girlfriend?” she asked johnny, turning to him with her lips pursed and her brow cocked up.

the question settled in your stomach, doing wonders to your already-fragile psyche. you’d just spent hours thinking about johnny and what he meant to you; what living with him meant. how it eased up something carved within the trenches of your being, like you’d always been waiting for someone like him.

the question was a reminder, like prickling you with icicles, leaving you to navigate the swoop. but johnny had laughed, nothing mean but so dismissive that you felt the curl of shame brandishing from the base of your spine like johnny was laughing at you.

“oh, nah,” he replied, arm still slung over your shoulders. “she’s sorta my ward, yes? i take care of her, s’all.”

that’s all. you’re nothing more to him but a ward. a tenant. not even a friend—

she hummed, then leaned over to kiss johnny, her eyes still drawn to you like she’s watching, waiting for a reaction, and when she got none, she trudged to the door. you and johnny watched as she bent down to slip in her shoes, some stilettos with red bottoms, before wordlessly disappearing into the darkened morning.

“pretty,” you chirped, trying to break the tension of whatever that was.

johnny laughed in that way that surely crinkled his eyes, only to steer the conversation away by asking why you were up early. you remembered what you had to do and you dived to the kitchen in a flurry, chatting about the deadlines and due dates — so it was a school thing — and johnny just watched, silent, humming, eyes still curved in his glee.

you left no sooner than his… paramour did and, for a while, that was that.

but your semester is coming to a close and your schedule is changing, but so is johnny’s. he’s coming home later and later, but always seemed to offer apologies in the form of easy-to-microwave meals for your dinner. they’re still homemade, probably cooked up in the morning before he left for work, and you’d messaged him to say that he didn’t need to worry about you. that, sure, you came to him amidst financial struggle, juggling work and school, and trying to decide if you would have to starve this month because of rent, but you can cook. for yourself and for him too.

johnny’s face did a terrible thing when you mentioned that in person, the first in a while after things got hectic.

“what,” you bit out, embarrassed.

“nothing,” he said, blinking like he was realizing things he shouldn’t. “s’fun doing things f’r you.”

then he clamped up, spooning soup into his mouth, some of it messily dribbling into his chin. it’s not like you were doing any better, with how your throat closed up at his words, eyes going wide.

it’s been a thing, is what it is, but neither of you two have ever acknowledged that it’s a thing. it’s been a wordless experience — of johnny taking over things when it comes to the house because of course he will, it’s his home, but he always covers things for you too. things you’re sure normal landlords don’t really worry about, but not johnny.

there’s always extra food in the kitchen, extra blankets when the weather dips. there’s even a new cooling machine for the summer even though you know johnny’s room already has an installed air conditioning. he’s even changed the seats in the dining room because he caught you once hitting your hip after an all-nighter on a project.

then, he refurbished the den to make it your office.

“you didn’t have to,” you told him, mind racing at your savings, wondering if he was going to increase your rent.

johnny just shook his head with an almost fond roll of his eyes and clapped your back, arm hovering there. “s’all yers, hen.”

everything he did always accounted for you. so why the women?

they’re all long limbed and trimmed waist, with eyes that sparkled even when all you’ve seen of them is always within the poorly-lit hallway. they have voices that curl teasingly, breathy like they’re enticing johnny for one more night. and they’ve always, always, treated you like a—

like a kid.

a burden, almost, of johnny’s.

and, hell, maybe you are. johnny’s almost twice your age; he’s also already well-established in his career, some senior position that you can’t really follow but one he talks about with fondness. he’s got land rover-money, the car in his garage big and black and almost military grade, and it looks so expensive especially beside the crappy civic you were able to snag for a cheap price because it’s got about three-hundred-thousand mileage already.

you’ve got nothing to give him, other than the lousy rent payment that he doesn’t even really need but is just asking for courtesy because it’d be so weird for him to offer a room, or two now given you have the den too, for free. you’ve got nothing on your name, and if it isn’t pity that makes johnny care for you, then you don’t know what.

maybe his string of one-night stands are right — you are just a kid.

that maybe you really are still too wet behind the ears for the real world that you go running to the next person that could protect you from it, stumbling into his life and licking up every drop of his attention, mistaking his kindness for devotion. his care for love.

.

you should have known, then, that the thoughts would ripple, leaving you to feel like the days are unnavigable. obsession quickly took root, growing fangs, and it ensnared you; a vice noose at what had been a pleasant coexistence.

hell, you can barely stand being with johnny because of the jealousy. it’s a shameful thing, but a part of you thinks you deserve johnny more than the others do.

you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s nightmares and the horrors that spill from his lips when it’s twelve in the morning and the two of you have hit the bourbon. you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s aversion to the windows in the living room; that the reason why the curtains are a deep green is not to match the new plants he’s allowed you to fill up his home but because they shroud the panels more than the cream ones had. you tell yourself that nobody knows that johnny can sing; that he can cook a mean tomahawk; that he likes reading; that his wrists were hurting so he’s currently scheduled for a surgery; that he’s soft to you.

the women don’t know this johnny, you tell yourself, nails clawing at the hems of your chest. they don’t know him the way i do.

it’s a pathetic whisper. it’s so laughable. so juvenile.

they’re right. they’re right.

(you’re just a—)

“i don’t see you anymore,” johnny murmured one morning, when things have gone quiet again, a cup of coffee sitting on the counter while he watches you throw orange peels into the garburator.

he just got back from a work trip in aberdeen, his exhaustion loud on his face. his hair is overgrown, the bottom ends of his mohawk curling along his nape. he was there for over three weeks, skirting almost close to a month — the longest he’s ever been away — and you had tried so hard not to message. not to drop casual check-ins because you’re sure no tenant ever does that to their landlord, but johnny had remained just as friendly; asking things like if you wanted another potted plant, a monstera or a dragon tree, or if you still had that swiss chocolate he brought home as a gift, or—

the list of his questions grew, but you’ve given him clipped replies, not knowing how to act right anymore since your quiet realization. even the “thing” that you thought you shared with him had fizzled at the drop of the women coming-and-leaving, and you are left to pick up the pieces.

it’s not like you’re broken or ruined or angry. god, no you aren’t.

but you feel unsteady, like now that you know that you liked him more than he liked you, you forgot how to breathe. how to live without that looming burden because your affection is nothing but a burden.

what will johnny do if he finds out? you can’t afford a new place to move into, not when you’re so close to graduating, the finish line just about to graze your very fingertips with how near it is. money is still tight, and johnny has already spoiled you rotten. has shown you how it is to live a comfortable life. and if he learns of your feelings, you would lose this. more than anything, you would lose him.

so you detached yourself from the noose, curling into yourself and using his work trip as a way to move on.

jesus — move on, huh? like there was a ‘you and johnny’ to even move on from. like there was anything there to read. like there was anything there to pull away from; twitching fingers drawing back into the spaces of your ribs, tucking yourself away from his warmth.

“i’ve been so busy, john,” you muttered, just as tired.

“yeah?” he said, still light. still jovial. “let me cook something nice for ye, huh? reward yer hard work and all.”

“i can’t.” you swallowed down the prickle lodged in your throat, eyes ducking away to avoid seeing his. “i’ve got a meeting with the club.”

(you missed the way johnny’s smile dipped.)

“oh,” he said.

you shrugged, internally wincing at your weak attempt at being normal, before gathering your thermos and your messily-wrapped sandwich. johnny was still standing by the counters when you turned around from the sink, his bulk so close to yours in ages. it had been so long since you could just reach over and feel his warmth; feel the soft pudge of what once were hardened muscles.

he’s looking at you with such sad eyes that it’s jarring to truly see because he’s looking at you like—

like he’s losing you.

“i’m gonna…” you trailed off, not really knowing how to end this truly awkward interaction.

“yeah, f’course,” he croaked out. “take care of yerself huh, lass?”

“thanks.” the smile on your face felt more like a grimace. “see you.”

he said nothing more after that, his eyes still searching; still furrowed like something’s changed and something’s happening, and it made your stomach drop because please. please don’t let him notice.

but johnny just watched as you went, his coffee all forgotten.

(something bloomed in the soft press of your heart, flickering like a young ember. you’ve never realized how longing could feel like your mouth is stuffed with cotton.)

.

johnny hasn't picked up since his return from aberdeen.

they’re getting a new firm so the shuffling has been brutal, leaving johnny to clamber out at five in the morning before coming back home when it’s pushing 11pm. the scruff on his face is becoming more unkempt, salt and pepper becoming more intense, but even then, he’s never looked more ruggedly beautiful as he is now.

it’s like he’s aged years and you shouldn’t be reacting so strongly to the change, but looking at johnny now makes you ache in a different way — core throbbing, throat parched and eyes stinging as you watch him. you’re so drawn to his gravitational pull, unable to detangle yourself now that it feels like he’s more back in your life than he ever was.

and you know it’ll end up hurting you. that you’ll go back to isolating yourself at the drop of a new girl in the house, the smell of her chanel or bvlgari perfume filling up the crevices that you’ve dutifully dusted every saturday morning while johnny’s out for a run. he’s made having casual lovers a cycle, one that you cannot blame him for because johnny doesn’t like you back.

but johnny’s been so attentive to you these days. he’s been a hovering presence even when he looks like he’s one blown wind away from passing out in his exhaustion, his warm hand always on the small of your back as he walks you to the door before chirping a hearty, “kick ass, bon!”

he’s back to fixing up food for you, like that blip in your schedule got him all creative because now, it’s not even just dinner. you’ve got breakfast waiting for you in the microwave, and packed lunch already in your bag, carefully tucked beside the manila folders and plastic envelopes for your capstone. it’s like he’s making up for something which is dumb and wrong because now, you’re all swooping stomach and prickling lungs.

“yummy?” johnny asked, catching you wriggling in excitement at the flavour bursting into your tongue.

your cheeks tingled, feverish, before giving him a shy nod.

he huffed, something so achingly fond, and rested his chin atop his crossed arms. you didn’t know what to focus on — the scruff on his face or the hard lines of webbing veins spilling from beneath his folded sleeves. then, he crooned, “good. that’s good.”

you ran upstairs to your room, throwing an excuse about finishing up your paper, before locking the door, and feeding your cunt two fingers to satiate the burn. the stretch was delicious, raw and sweet, and you humped your wrist, trying to douse the flames burning you up.

you thought of johnny, of the way he looked and how much nicer he’s been; of johnny and the way he was so kind to you, so caring like you’re up in his priority list again, overtaking his busy schedule and the firm restructuring, and his needs.

your orgasm felt like a ripping of reality, your mind splintering at the edges as you’re stretched thin. it felt like you’ve been pulled taut, then released with a resounding snap. it felt euphoric, like the explosion of something intoxicating. something wickedly addicting.

you knew that this could never be unmade. your affections had grown their tendrils, curling past the quiet admiration and spiralling into something unforgiving. into something greater than yourself.

“fuck,” you had rasped out, eyes prickling with tears as shame rushed into your chest. “fuck.”

you didn’t need this. you didn’t need any of this.

but it becomes a cycle — wash, rinse, repeat.

johnny continues to go unshaven; continues to pour his attention to you. and you soak it up, needy and soft, unable to turn away with your tail tucked between your legs. you fall back to the ease of how it had been, hip bumping his, morning coffee shared in the silence, dinner a filling affair once more. all that’s changed are the lingering looks, the resonating touches.

how johnny’s wide hand falls to the small of your back more often; how his fingers just slots against yours every time he passes you your cup; how his eyes rove over your face, always searching for something you dare not hope for.

the last time he flicked his eyes down to watch the way your tongue lapped at your lips, swiping away at the extra cream, johnny’s pupils had constricted before a quiet groan rumbled from his throat. your thighs had quickly clenched close as heat exploded in the pit of your belly, spreading like wildfire through your veins. the pressure on your nub made you hiccup, like a whine dragging itself from your trachea, and johnny had snapped his eyes back to yours so quickly, it made you heady.

“bon–”

“i have to go,” you murmured, clamouring to shaky legs.

you fucked yourself to a deafening point once more, ears ringing as you squirted, the gush of your slick pushing past your fingers. you had to gnash your pillow cover to muffle the moan rumbling from the base of your throat, trying desperately to be good. to not be heard. to be better.

but johnny’s burning gaze on your lips was seared into your memory, blazing on top of everything, and you imagined—

god, you imagined.

the way he’ll take you — beard rough on your chin, thicker fingers spreading you wider, reaching deeper, before finally filling you up with all of him, bullying the whole length of his cock until he bottoms out.

you pressed on your stomach, dizzy, thinking about how johnny would hit that far. you know he would. the women he’s slept with have told you, anyway, in passing, describing how he was in bed with dreamy sighs like they weren’t still reeking of sex and johnny’s aftershave.

(you still wonder why so many of them were mean, their noses tipped up every time they saw you. they were the ones that johnny chose, the ones who were fortunate enough to have been his lover, so you wonder why they still sought you out like you were competition.)

“johnnyyyy!” you moaned, loud and long, your fingers prodding at your walls, and you knew that you’d regret the wrangled cry later, but you didn’t care then, too busy swimming in the aftermath of your orgasm.

.

but johnny heard it anyway.

he told you that he had heard you. 

it happened so quickly — one moment you were bent over the espresso machine, fiddling with the levers with bleary-eyed attempts, then the next thing you knew was that johnny was crowding you, trapping you between the warm bulk of his body and the counter, his eyes furrowed so deeply which made the lines on his forehead run much deeper.

“whu’?” you asked, blinking tiredly at him.

johnny just did this shaky breath that rattled his whole body, like he was propped up by a couple of sticks instead of his whole mass. the mood shifted with that weak inhale though, and you turned to fully face him, ignoring the beeping machine because johnny was still looking at you with those eyes.

the ones that made you feel seen, read, and laid bare before him. like he could weave his eyes past the fabrics of your shirt to peek into the very jagged shards of your heart and see the cross that you’ve been carrying. like he knew things about you that he shouldn’t.

“johnny?” you prodded again, finding his silence alarming.

“yer too young for me, m’eudail,” johnny finally rumbled out, voice thick and deep.

and it’s—

what.

your mind was pressing into your skull, trying desperately to link your synapses together; for the fog to clear and for your coherence to rise above the pull of drowsiness, but johnny was faster. like now that he’s said the first words, the rest just follow, unstoppable in their force and in their meaning.

“i told myself i couldn’t,” he murmured, still breathing shakily; gaze still too fragile. “that yer lookin’ for nothin’ like me, and that yer just tryin’ to get out there with yer career.”

he lifted a hand, fingers twitching, before balling it back down to a fist.

“told myself i’ve gotta let go. found a way to cope and shit.”

johnny took another ragged breath in, and it startled you into gulping one of your own — you didn’t even realize that you’ve held your breath as he spoke to you, your chest clenching tightly as your mind began to link the passageways together, filling you in on what he wasn’t really saying.

“but carin’ f’you was so easy. christ, it was even delightful, hen.” he chuckled, something that was somewhat raw and pained.

you licked at your lips, blinking wide eyes open. johnny tracked the movement, his nose flaring like you’ve done something more than a subconscious thing, his shoulders going taut.

“i like doing all sorta things for you. liked seeing y’eat what i cooked; liked seeing y’use what i got f’you. liked watching y’come home to me. to me.”

a soft sound echoed between the two of you, and it took you an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was a breathless whimper that petered out from the base of your throat. you didn’t even realize that you’ve curled into yourself, almost like you’re trying your best to shrink before johnny, and johnny crooned.

callused palm cupped the round of your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your eye. “told myself yer too young; that surely yer looking for someone closer to yer age, but bon, i heard y’last night.”

you startled in his hold, a quiet gasp piercing through the heat. johnny’s lips danced with mirth.

“s’right. heard a loud thump against the wall and ran upstairs, all worried, but guess my surprise, yes? y’were moanin’ my name so loudly, it’s like y’left yer door open.”

“johnny, i–”

“tell me,” he said, moving closer, his chest pressing against yours. “tell me t’stop, bon, an’ i will. but y’ve got to tell me. y’ve got to push me away.”

you looked at him, your eyes trembling at what he was laying out thickly, and your throat going parched at the blanketing desire rippling from him. there were so many things you wanted to ask, but his breath was tickling the bridge of your nose, dancing so close to the bow of your lips, and your heart ached.

desire coursed through you in waves, dribbling from the cup, and you lurched forward, chasing after his lips.

johnny melted into you. his hesitant touch turned greedier, more possessive, mapping your body and pulling you closer into him. his mouth devoured your own, gulping down the pleased little sighs and keens spilling from your lips. he kissed like a man starved, but you weren’t any softer; all nippy and desperate, fingers digging into his hair and fisting at the thin strands.

it was feverish, almost to a boiling point, and you needed more.

god, you needed more.

“johnny,” you mewled when he pulled away just enough to slide his damp lips along the cut of your jaw. “johnny, need you.”

“christ,” johnny sounded so wrecked, his voice rumbling deeply from where his lips were suckling on the soft curve of your neck. “i’ve been dreaming of this, mo luaidh. i knew i shouldn’t but yer so sweet to me and i– i wanted.” he said that word like it was dirty; like he’d been fighting tooth-and-nail to suppress it.

it made you tremble to hear how johnny desired you just as much. he had always felt unobtainable; always danced too far from your grasp and was always bigger than what you knew you could handle — his lovers had always looked divinely; pretty, yes, but fierce in their own right like they knew how to live without johnny; and you know they could, because they didn’t need johnny the way you do. they didn’t look at johnny like you do, like he hung the stars with those thick and aged hands of his.

but as you stood there, feeling every word punctured onto your skin, you couldn’t help but begin to cry, the tears springing from your eyes to slip down your cheeks. johnny rubbed your back, soothing and gentle. 

“i wanted t’take you – make y’all mine,” he whispered. 

you hiccuped, shaky from the weight of your hunger, and nuzzled close. your hands fell from fisting his hair so you could claw at the sharp corners of his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles there rippling, all taut when he bent forward and kissed you.

“please,” you began, feeling your mind thinning because you wanted more. more. more. more. “i can be– johnny, s’always been you. nobody else but you.”

you tugged him away, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look at you. and god, johnny looked so devastatingly beautiful, his eyes all furrowed and his cheeks all flushed, and his lips spit-sheened.

“fuck me,” you whispered, tired of dancing around.

he groaned, something that sounded so pained, before he was tugging you with him, up the stairs and skirting past your room and into his. 

you’ve never been in johnny’s room before, just as he had never been in yours since you moved in, and until now you still don’t know what you had been expecting upon walking in, but the smell of johnny wafting through was almost gut-punching. he smelled so close, like he was everywhere — surrounding you from the ground-up, dousing every pore with him until even your mouth felt full.

and johnny, he smelt like home. 

there were no more words uttered as he stripped you off your pyjamas, sure fingers making their way down the buttons, unlatching them from the hemmed slits. you watched with heavy eyes, blinking slowly like everything had been wrung out of you, leaving you pliant and soft. johnny hummed, appreciative, and mapped kisses from your heaving chest, teeth nipping at the fat, before moving on, sprinkling every expanse of your skin with such reverence. 

your hands were balled to your chest when he reached the jut of your belly, his chin hovering just above your crotch. johnny flicked up his darkened eyes at you, asking silently.

you gave him a nod, not trusting your own voice too.

johnny’s eyes had turned into slits, pleased, and hefted himself up just enough to be able to fit his hands on your hips and tugged your pants down. you shivered, the warmth in his room not enough to suppress the winter chill, and it made you buck into him. johnny comforted you with a quiet shh, rubbing his palm on the pudge of your thigh in soothing circles.

you don’t know why that touch was what did it for you, but soft sobs finally spilled from your mouth, scrunching up the desire into something undeniably frail. johnny didn’t startle though, like he knew that you had been wounding up to this tipping point, and instead continued to touch you tenderly, almost like if he could, he would cradle you close. 

“i love you,” you said, sniffling, because that was the crux of your vulnerability, right?

you love him. god, you love him. 

you’ve loved him since the day he sat you down for dinner and told you that you’ve got nothing to worry about, not anymore and not with him around. you’ve loved him since the day he flipped the den so you can have your own space for work; don’t mind the fact that he didn’t know if you were going to even stay, just that he insisted that you deserved that room either way. you’ve loved him since that swiss chocolate, since that cup of coffee, since he’s begun filling your painfully lonely days with his care. 

you’ve loved him since and now—

“oh, mo graidh,” johnny breathed out. “i love you too.” he kissed your thigh, scruff ticklish. “gu siorraidh is gu brath.”

you wanted to ask what that meant but johnny was already moving, sitting back up to strip out of his own shirt. you trailed your eyes down his body, capturing your trembling lips between your teeth at how breathtaking he was — soft with fat but still heavy with muscles, fuzzy with hair with the smattering pooling just underneath his belly button before trailing down to where they were hidden underneath his pants. 

you twitched before finally braving enough to reach out and brush your knuckle over the indents of his softened abs. johnny hummed, something that curled with appreciation, before covering your hand with his and holding it there. 

“all of me s’yers, hen,” he said with such finality that you felt it settle deep within the marrows of your bones. 

you nodded, emotionally spent and johnny lilted something else in scottish, so soft that it was almost a croon. you let him manhandle you — pushing your hips up so he could slot a pillow under for your back; you were so malleable to his touch as he took over, bending once again for a kiss while his fingers danced past the laces of your panties and into the damp heat of your pussy. 

you moaned, eyelashes fluttering when he pressed one in, so careful and slow, but you were so wet that it slid in with no resistance, gobbling it up knuckle-deep. johnny had groaned like he could feel your rising euphoria, before nosing along your temple as he wiggled the finger around, stroking at your walls. you wondered if he was going to tease but then he was pulling it out, only to plunge two in the next thrust, curling and stretching, and oh—

oh, ssss’good.

you don’t even remember how long he’d been spearing you with his thicker fingers, rough and long and reaching far, far deeper than you could with your own, but you laid there, sobbing, feeling your slick slip out, pooling, making a mess of your thighs and his sheets. johnny had moved from suckling on your neck to taking a nipple in his mouth, teeth softly gnashing at the bud. you felt like you were on fire, burning from your core, aching for a release. 

“cum f’me, m’eudail,” johnny groaned, breathless himself, his cock poking underneath his boxers, the fabric all wet from where his tip was, leaking pearled pre-. “let me see you.”

“johnny, i’m gonna– i’m–!” you squealed, legs jumping, squeezing johnny’s sides as you jolted, hips twitching at the bloating ecstasy. johnny just pushed down on your thigh, not letting up with the pace of his fingers. he was fucking you so hard that his hand’s slapping against your skin, his palm grinding down on your clit just right, and the pleasure sizzled into something biting. into something that was almost painful.

it was catastrophic, pulling you into two directions. johnny’s everywhere — his scent in your lungs, his fingers deep in your pussy, his mouth hot and wet on your tits, and like this, like this, you felt yourself breaking. 

ripping—

then, your orgasm was punched out of you. 

your senses had gone awry — throat throbbing as you cried out, your eyes going blind as they rolled into your skull at the final curl of johnny’s fingers. white noise filled your ears, and it was like you were submerged underneath water, wading through the crashing tides of your climax.

you came back to johnny peppering your face with soft kisses, whispering something you couldn’t decipher past the croon of your name and something like you did good and so beautiful. he’d already pulled his fingers out, and used both arms to cradle you close. you felt so empty — god, that wasn’t even his cock, yet — but your body thrummed pleasantly, almost like the itch was finally scratched. 

“johnny?” you puffed out, voice all scratchy and weak. 

“i’m here, bon. i’m here.”

you hummed, curling into his chest, head pillowed by his arm. you wanted to ask what about his own euphoria, but johnny seemed so content just laying there with you, not really desperate or needy, so you let it go, losing the battle against your drowsiness before finally slipping into a quiet sleep. 

.

johnny’s there for your graduation, carrying a big bouquet of only eden roses. you didn’t even know that those particular ones were expensive until someone from the graduation party oohed and aahed to their friend. 

your cheeks burned when their friend chirped, “well someone’s clearly loved.”

you know that what they said would have had johnny agreeing loudly if he was allowed in the lineup because he is never one to be shy about what he feels; or not anymore, anyway. he loves so fully and openly that you still wonder why it took the two of you so long to get together, but the days since then had just been kind and filling that you have long forgotten how it was to not be with him. 

they’re going to call your name soon, and your stomach swoops, excitement and anxiety mixing in a dizzying tandem. 

you’re graduating with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a diploma in early childhood education, and this is not where you thought you would be when you first started university, but it’s the happiest you have ever been. and sure much of your poli-sci courses were scrapped when you changed majors, and that’s also a lot of money wasted, but you have three job opportunities lined up already and it’s like the seismic shift in your life had finally corrected itself. 

(your mom said she’s sorry that she and your pa couldn’t come, but you’ve stopped longing for their acceptance and told her it was fine.

there’s a date saved in your calendar, though, for a brunch with her and that was enough.)

you ducked into johnny’s arms when the graduation ceremony ended, careful of the bouquet he’s holding. 

“congratulations, bonnie,” he says, a hearty laugh rumbling from his chest. “christ, i’m so, so proud of you.”

you never pegged yourself for a crybaby, but tears begin to pool in the corners of your eyes at the weight of his words. 

“thank you,” you reply, soft and raw, and honest. 

johnny pulls you in, his lips warm as they’re pressed on your forehead. 

and this, just like this, you know things will only get better from here on out. 

[yamumsyadadd]

missing sister

Keira Fae Walsh. The midfield maestro, record breaking transfer player. She was adored by all. At 10 years old, her world changed. 

September 27 2007, Noah Elle Walsh made her entrance into the world. Keira had overheard her parents talking about their “happy little accident” and how they were so excited for Keira to be a big sister. Keira herself was excited. 

The day after her birth, Keira visited her parents and new baby sister at the hospital. The tiny, one day old, 6 pound baby was placed into her arms. From that day, Keira promised to love and protect her. No matter what. 

A year after Noah was born, Keira joined the Blackburn Rovers Girls’ Centre of Excellence. Blackburn became a second home to the Walsh family. It’s where Keira got to continue player football, and develop into the player she was today. It’s where Noah took her first steps, and where she first realised her disdain for the sport. All of her parents time was spent on Keira and football. 

By 2014 things were going great for Keira, not so much for Noah. Their parents had put Noah into football at Blackburn Rovers just like they had done with Keira, however Noah had no intention of playing. Noah preferred to write, draw or play the piano, sports were simply not her thing. 

Most weekends were spent travelling to watch Keira play, if the game was within driving distance then you could bet the Walsh family would be in attendance. 9 year old Noah hated it. Every minute of it. Instead of having sleepovers with her friends, or going to the mall or park with them, she was made to suffer through the hours in the car and then the 90 minutes of a stupid game. 

In 2015, Keira signed her first professional contract and in the same year bought home her first girlfriend. Lucy Bronze, she was nice. Really nice. Over the next 8 years, Lucy would become a sister to Noah and when Lucy and Keira broke up, it hit her hard. 

2016 was when things changed. Manchester City had won the league, it just so happens that the celebrations fell on the same day as Noah’s 9th birthday. Every year it was the same tradition, the birthday girl would pick a restaurant and everyone would go. However this year, Keira and her parents would be celebrating Manchester City’s league win meaning Noah would be left at home with the babysitter and an empty to promise that they would make it up to her. 

2017 was much the same, Keira was winning awards, playing amazingly and very much in love with Lucy. The whole family was. On the nights when Lucy would stay over, all three of them would climb into bed and watch a movie. More often than not, Noah would fall asleep between the two. Her two Bestfriends, and despite her disdain for the game, also her two hero’s. 

When Keira got the chance to captain Manchester City in the 2017/2018 pre season, every single person who interacted with their mother would know about it. This is also when Noah started to really realise that it was all about Keira. It wasn’t necessarily Keira’s fault, but it didn’t help that she never asked about Noah’s hobbies. 

At Christmas in 2017, Keira announced that her and Lucy were going to be buying an apartment together and Keira would be leaving. Lucy wasnt even living in the country at the time, she had left to go to Lyon. The selfish side of Noah thought that this meant her parents would finally spend more time with her, come to her piano recitals or come to her school art shows. She was wrong though.

The awards truly started to flow in for Keira. If you were to meet their parents on the street, it would seem that they only had one child, not two. Noah was sure that they didn’t know anything about her, Keira liked to think she did but she truly didn’t. 

Noah was winning awards too. For her art and her piano skills. Her teachers at school loved her, her friends and their parents too. The blonde hair, green eyed girl was adored, just not by those who she truly wanted. 

No matter how much Noah protested, her parents dragged her all over the country to support her old sister, sometimes even making her go to France to support Lucy. 

The 2019 Women’s World Cup was where the family truly split. It was held in France over the summer. Smack bang in the middle of the World Cup was meant to be Noah’s national piano recital that could get her into the junior Royal Northern College of Music. Her parents didn’t care though, not truly believing their youngest daughter had the chance to do something like that. 

Noah was miserable in France, fighting with her parents everyday, crying herself to sleep and withdrawing from her friends. The 12 year old simply couldn’t understand why her parents couldn’t believe in her the way they do to Keira and even Lucy. 

England won all their group stage games, then they won the round of 16 game. In the quarterfinals, they were set to play Norway, it was an important game and Noah was told time and time again they she had to be there to support her sister and her girlfriend. Lucy scored that game, their parents were so extremely proud of their daughter and Lucy. Jealousy and anger seeped through Noah’s bloodstream. 

England lost the semifinal against the US and then lost the Bronze medal game against Sweden. That was it. The next week was spent consoling Lucy and Keira. No one noticed how Noah had retreated. Barely eating, not taking off her head phones, nose always in a book or in her sketches. 

As Noah got older, her parents stopped forcing her to go to Keira’s games. They barely forced her to live in the same house as them. Covid lockdown forced Noah and her parents to spend more time together. The world was shutting down around them. Noah’s hopes to get a scholarship in London (which her parents were yet to know about), were put to the side. 

Keira barely spoke to Noah, assuming Noah didn’t want to because she was a teenager. Leah Williamson however had become a confidant to the teenager. Leah tried her hardest to get Keira to pay more attention to Noah, but it didn’t work. Keira was struggling with the distance between her and Lucy and struggling with the aftermath of the World Cup. 

By the 2021 school year, Noah had turned into a very independent 14 year old. Most weekends she would catch the train to London for her piano lessons which she paid for by selling her art. Her parents nor Keira or Lucy were any the wiser. Leah however, had caught her in the city centre one day by herself. After promises to not tell her parents or Keira or anyone for that matter, Noah would spend Friday nights at her flat and Leah would take her home after her lessons. 

It tore Leah apart. Keira was off in her own little world, without a clue what was happening with her little sister. She tried to subtly tell Keira but it wasn’t working. She would have to pull out the big guns before something happened. 

By the summer of 2022, Keira and Lucy had won the Euros and Noah was regularly going to London for piano, she had received a scholarship to receive lessons from the London Piano Institute. All that was needed was a signature from her parents. However it doesn’t go to plan, the day Noah planned to present the forms to her parents, Keira had called around. 

She would be joining Lucy at Barcelona for the upcoming season. It was a record transfer fee, not only for Barca but for women’s sport. Noah was proud of her, even if it wasn’t said out loud. Barcelona were the best of the best, after an impressive Euros she deserved it. 

Noah threw the papers in the bin, giving up on her dream to go to London. She felt like she would forever be in the shadow of Keira. Maybe that was Noah’s destiny. 

Once Keira and Lucy left, Noah had completely changed and withdrawn. She no longer had contact with her sister or Lucy, she refused to speak to her parents and to Leah. Her birthday was yet again forgotten by her family, only her friends celebrating with her. 

Noah was left to her own devices, her parents frequently travelling to Spain to support Keira, leaving Noah in Manchester, alone. Not that she minded, she made friends with the older kids at her school, often skipping school to hang out with them. She started partying and exploring her sexuality. 

A few months after Leah tore her ACL, she was sent by her parents to Leah’s flat. They all decided that Noah could help Leah around the house. Basically being a maid to her. However, this isn’t what Leah wanted. She lied to Keira, to the Walsh parents and even her own. 

Leah wanted to learn the piano. She wanted her best friends little sister to teach her how to play. Noah would be patient, and calm with her. She knew Noah loved the piano and that London would be a good change for her. 

For the month that Noah spent at Leah’s flat, she returned to her usual self. Playing the piano everyday, finding new joyous things to draw, teaching Leah everything she knew. When she returned to Manchester, she felt great. She had a plan to convince her parents to let her move to London. It didn’t work, instead it caused a massive fight between the three of them. 

Noah retreated again. She went back to partying with her friends, skipping school, started to vape and occasionally dabbing in drugs. The summer of 2023, was spent away from the family home, going back once a week to get clean clothes and money then disappearing again. If her parents cared, they never said anything. 

It was fine until they cornered her one weekend with the exception of her joining them in Australia for the World Cup. Her parents didn’t care when she said no and told them she had plans. They told her she had to drop everything to support her sister and her country. It was a very very long few weeks in Australia. 

Keira didn’t notice the change in her sister, Lucy however, she did. She took her out for a few hours, grilling the 15 year old on what was wrong. It took a while, but Noah broke. She told Lucy everything. Lucy had always had a suspicion about what was happening, but Everytime she asked Keira she got nowhere. Now that the pair weren’t together, Noah felt safer telling Lucy. 

Lucy approached Keira, knowing it had to be done gently. She sat Keira down and told her everything Noah had said. Something in Keira changed after that. The lingering stares, the forcing of a conversation, the extra long and tight hugs. Keira even bought Noah down from the stands after their loss to Spain, wanting to introduce her to her Barcelona teammates. 

Once back in the UK, Noah went off the rails. Completely abandoning school, staying out drinking with her friends. She’d gotten herself a new phone and with that, a new number. She’d disconnected herself from her family all together. It took a week, which was shorter than Noah anticipated, until her parents noticed. They had called the police, called Lucy, Keira and Leah. 

The police found her, passed out in a park with her friends. They ignored the pleas to not force her back at her parent’s house. It took a few days, but then Noah was gone again. Again, they called the police. The police returned her home. This routine happened for six weeks until her parents had had enough. Forcing Noah to pack her belongings as she was going to Spain for a while, to live with Keira. 

————————————————————————

Keira Walsh

Lucy and I are waiting at the baggage claim. We have your bags, no rush though. 

Great. She bought Lucy along. Ma and dad didn’t tell me how long I’d be here for, just that they had had enough. Which is funny because they never gave a shit before. Basically my whole life it’s been them and Keira. Me on the outside, even when Lucy was around she’d get treated better. 

“Hey Noodles.” Keira pulled me into a hug. It was awkward, for the both of us. Once she let go, Lucy was next. Hugs were certainly not something I enjoyed. 

“The car is this way. Lucy will drive us back to mine and then she’ll stay for dinner, if that’s alright with you?” 

“Yeah whatever that’s fine.” Dinner was the last thing on my mind. Living here, in a country that I don’t speak in the language, without my friends, would be pure hell. I wanted no part in this. 

The drive to Keira’s apartment wasn’t long. It was a tense drive though. Both Lucy and Keira tried to make conversation with me but realised pretty quickly I wasn’t in the mood for that. 

“So this is the apartment. Your bedroom is through the hallway there, opposite is the bathroom and my room. I put fresh towels in your room for you. If you want to have a shower before dinner, go ahead.” 

It wasn’t a small apartment by any means. It was bigger than their Manchester one, nicer too. The room had a queen sized bed in the middle, two side tables and a desk, some generic artwork on the wall above the bed but other than that, it was a typical guest room.  I very quickly grabbed what I needed for my shower. The flight was only two and a half hours but doing that after being hungover and having a massive fight with your parents wasn’t the best. 

When I remerged, Lucy and Keira were talking in hushed voices in the kitchen. No doubt about me. They quickly stopped when they saw me. 

“Help yourself to dinner, we got a variety because we weren’t sure what you wanted.” 

Nodding my head, I did as they said. Dinner was awkward. It was just like the car ride. I spent the majority of it pushing food around the plate. 

“Why am I here?” I spoke softly, curious but not wanting to know the real answer. 

“Ma and dad thought you needed a change of scenery.” 

“No. I meant why am I here, at your apartment.” 

“Well where else would you go?” 

“To my friends house. To Leah’s. Anywhere but here.” 

“You’d prefer to be with Leah over me? I’m your sister?” The hurt was evident in her voice. 

“She’s been more of a sister then you have ever been.” I regretted it as soon as the words left my mouth. 

“What’s the supposed to mean Noah?” 

“Forget it. I’m going to bed.” 

“No Noah! Come back here now!”

“Kei, leave it. She’s clearly going through something and needs time.” Lucy spoke up for the first time since they all sat down for dinner. 

“What if she runs away again? She doesn’t know the city? Her phone won’t work.” 

“Then we will find her. Me, you and the team. She’ll come to training tomorrow, we can ask Ale or Mapi to watch her while we train then we can sort out her phone situation, alright?” 

Keira nodded. Unsure what to really say. Had she been that bad of a sister to not realise what was happening? When did things change between the two of you? 

No matter how hard I tried, sleep didn’t happen. I didn’t want to be here, in the city or in this apartment. Keira was acting like everything that’s happened is my own fault. 

The sun started to slowly seep through the curtains, and I heard Keira’s alarm go off. Followed by her getting into the show. I knew she would be in here soon, I doubt she trusted me enough to be left alone. Right on que she knocks on the door, letting me know Lucy will be here in 20 minutes. 

I waited until I heard Lucy come in the apartment before I started getting ready. Slowly I made my way out. 

“Good morning. Are you ready to go?” 

“I just need to brush my teeth.” I walked back up the hallway and into the bathroom. Not hearing the conversation or the confused looks between Keira and Lucy. 

“That was easy? Why didn’t she fight it? Ma and dad said that she’s been fighting with them over everything?” 

“I don’t know Kei. Maybe Mapi and Ale can get some answers out of her?” 

The drive was again, silent. Neither girls attempted to make conversation with me, I was grateful for that. If I had to be at this training ground, I would not make a noise. Keira hurried in first, presumably to get change first so I wouldn’t be left to wander. 

“She’s worried about you Noodle.” 

I stopped dead in my tracks, “why does she care now? Why do either of you care now?” My voice started to get louder, Lucy looked around, spotting her teammates getting out of their cars. 

“Noods cmon. Let’s not do this here.” 

“Why! You don’t want all your teammates to know that you and precious Keira left me! I don’t want to be here, in this stupid fucking country. You and Keira don’t want me here so let me leave!” 

“What’s going on?” The heavily accented voice stunned me for a moment, I’d completely forgotten that there were others around by the time I was done. 

“Nothing Ale. Sorry for the yelling.” Keira was very quickly by my side, probably been alerted by her other teammates. 

“Noah, this is Alexia, our captain and who you’re going to stay with today while we train.” 

“Hola Noah.” She stuck her hand out for me to shake. 

“Are you kidding me? I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. 

“Noah! Use your manners!” 

“Keira it’s fine. Let’s go then. I will show you around the place.” Keira and Lucy shared looks as I was ushered away by their captain. 

Neither of us spoke. Alexia just kept walking until we reached an empty conference room that overlooked the field. Slowly the team started to walk out onto the field. The silence was deafening, until Alexia broke it. 

“I have a little sister. She’s 26 so not as young as you are but I know it’s hard for Keira.” 

“All due respect, you don’t know shit.” She quirked an eye at that, eyes burning into the side of my head. Admittedly, I understood how people were intimidated by her but I wasn’t going to let her know that. 

“I do know Keira is worried about you. Lucia too. I know you were sent here and you’re upset about that but don’t take it out on Keira or Lucia. That’s not fair.” 

“Not fair? You want to know what’s not fair Alexia? My whole life it’s always been about Keira. Keira’s football, Keira’s awards, everything is about Keira. My ma cried for a week when Keira said she was moving out, then cried again when Keira said she was moving to Spain. None of them care about me. It’s all keeping up appearances. I bet if you asked Keira what I enjoyed doing she wouldn’t be able to answer. To Keira and my parents I’m just some annoying accident that they pretend doesn’t exist, so I’m so sorry if I hurt your precious Keira’s feelings.” 

I violently wiped the tears that came out. We sat in silence for the next half hour. I knew it wasn’t fair to lash out at Alexia, but no one was listening to me. No one ever listened to me. 

“Vamos. I have physio and you must come.” She made her way over to the door, waiting for me to get up. 

“Why are you not training? Aren’t you supposed to be the best?” 

“My knee hurts.” Her response was stern, clearly a soft spot for her. “Sit there. Don’t move please.” 

the more I watched her the more I realised we had something in common. We were both struggling. I pulled out my sketch pad, deciding now was the best time to get some stuff drawn. 

On the bike next to Alexia was a younger girl, she didn’t look too much older than me. Taking a mental photo of the imagine in front of me I got to work. After an hour, the younger girl came walking over, scaring me a little when she spoke because I was so into my work. 

“Hola, me llamo Jana. ¿Cómo te llamas?”

“Jana no habla español.” Alexia spoke up from the weights. 

“My names Noah.” 

“Nice to meet you. What are you working on?” At this point, it was just a bunch of messy lines. There wasn’t much to see or make out. 

“it’s nothing yet.” 

“Show me when you’re done?” I nodded. Not really planning on going through with it, “I have to leave now. Adiós Noah!” Her smile was infectious. 

No one disturbed me for the next little while until Alexia informed me she was going to the next room and for me to follow. She seemed to be fine talking about her knee, considering I didn’t understand a word of the fast Spanish they were speaking.  

“Vamos! We are done and we leave now.” 

“Leave? Where are we going?” Keira and Lucy never said anything about leaving, in fact they said the opposite. 

“My home. Let’s go, Olga is waiting.” She gave me a push out the door. 

“Who the fuck is Olga?” 

“Language Pequeño. Olga is my girlfriend. She will not hurt you. Keira said yes.” 

“Keira said yes to a stranger taking me in her car, to her house, where another stranger was waiting?”

“I am no stranger to Keira and you are know stranger to me. I know a lot. Vamos I am hungry.” 

Alexia’s car was fancy, really fancy. Definitely the nicest I’ve ever been in but I guess it makes sense when you’re as famous as she is. She riddled with her Spotify before driving off. It was a quiet drive, she didn’t push for conversation which I appreciated. 

Her apartment building is near the beach, looking over the coast of Barcelona. Seemed like a fitting place for her. As we pulled into the garage she started talking. 

“Olga, my girlfriend, doesn’t speak the best of English. She is very nice though.” 

“Keira and Lucy yell at me for talking to strangers so it’s fine.” 

“You’re a, sabelotodo, you can talk to her. Just slowly. Or I will translate.” 

“I don’t know what you said but thanks?” She laughed. We made our way upstairs, and into her apartment. 

“Jesus Christ this is fancy.” 

I could hear her groan from the hallway, “language Pequeño. Please take your shoes off.” 

I very quickly listened, throwing my shoes haphazardly near hers, then walking straight over to the big windows in her living room, ignoring the body on the couch. 

“Hola amor. Este es Noah. Lo está pasando un poco mal, así que mientras estoy en rehabilitación va a pasar el rato conmigo. Puede que no hable contigo, pero te prometo que es una buena niña.”

(Hola amor. This is Noah. She’s having a bit of a rough time so while I’m doing rehab she’s going to be hanging out with me. She might not talk to you, but I’m promise she’s a good kid.)

“¿Habla español? Mi inglés no es bueno, Ale.”

(Does she speak Spanish? My English isn’t good Ale.) They both turned their heads to me, I was too busy staring at the coast to pay any attention. 

“Noah, say hi please.” Alexia’s voice was soft. 

“Hola, soy Noah.” I gave a small shy wave. Both of them looked at me shocked. 

“¿Dijiste que no habla español?” Olga was dumbfounded. 

(You said she doesn’t speak Spanish?” )

“¿Ella no? ¿Keira y Lucy dijeron que no lo sabía? Noah, you speak Spanish?”

(She doesn’t? Keira and Lucy both said she doesn’t know it?)

“No. That girl from the gym, uh Jana? I remembered what she said and just said the same thing. Obviously replacing her name with mine because I’m not Jana, I’m Noah.” 

I pulled my sketch book and pencils out and started the draw the imagine in front of me. Olga and Alexia were engaged in a conversation behind me but I couldn’t understand them, not that I particularly cared anyway. 

After what felt like 5 minutes, Alexia interrupted. 

“Pequeño, come wash your hands please. Olga made lunch.” Abandoning my book and pencils I got up and followed her. We all sat at the table, Alexia started bringing the food out. 

“Gracias for lunch Olga.” 

“Mira, te lo dije. Es una buena niña”.

“You are okay.” Olga beamed at me. 

“Welcome, you’re welcome.” I smiled back, she seemed nice enough, obviously if she was with Alexia she couldn’t be a horrible person. 

“Ale, pregúntale qué estaba dibujando, por favor”.

“Olga wants to know what you’re drawing.” 

“Just the view out the window.” 

Alexia translated it back, then Olga said something else, so bloody fast it just sounded like one noise. 

“She would like to see it. If that’s okay, if it’s no that is fine.” 

“Okay.” I shrugged, getting up and walking back over to my book. I handed it to her and let her flick through it. Thankfully it was relatively new so there wasn’t any depressing stuff in it. 

“Ale and Jana, no?” I knew exactly which one she was talking about. I nodded my head and continued to eat. 

“Good. I like.” She flicked to the next page which was of the view outside. “Ale, ven a ver esto. ¡Es tan bueno!” (Ale, come look at this. It’s so good!”)

“You drew this just now?” Her eyebrows were raised, there was a look in her eyes that I couldn’t place. 

“Yeah? It’s not finished yet or prefect-“

“¡No, no! Esto es genial. Se ve perfecto. ¡Díselo a Ale! Dile lo genial que es.” (No no! This is great. It looks perfect. Tell her Ale! Tell her how great she is. )

Olga look excited, it worried me a little bit. “Olga loves it. She says you’re very great.” 

“Oh, um, gracias?” 

Olga placed the sketch book back on the table, we all continued to eat our lunch. It felt a bit awkward afterwards, alexia announced she was going to shower and then we would watch a movie until Lucy and Keira came. I helped Olga clean up from lunch and as we sat down on the couch, she pulled out google translate. Clearly wanting to have a conversation with me. 

“I have a proposition for you.” I urged her to continue, she typed quickly. “Alexia loves her mami and sister. If I gave you a photo of them, would you draw them? I will pay you of course, but you can’t tell Alexia.” 

I took her phone, “yes, but I don’t want money. Will you teach me Spanish instead? I don’t think I’m leaving anytime soon.” She agreed, throwing her arms around me and hugging me. 

Usually, hugs make me anxious, claustrophobic and uncomfortable, but there was something about this hug that didn’t. Maybe because it was full of appreciation and happiness and not out of obligation. 

Alexia came back and we all got comfortable. I sat in the middle, alexia joking it was so I didn’t run away, not that I’d get very far here. After 10 minutes of watching Lilo and Stitch (with the Spanish subtitles), my eyelids started getting heavy. My body finally realising what sleep is. It very quickly overcame me and I fell asleep with my head in alexia’s lap. 

Keira and Lucy arrived just after 5pm, they had some media things today which meant that they were later than normal. 

“Hola Keira y Lucy. Noah está dormido en el sofá con Ale. Entra”.

“Gracias” both girls softly said as they slipped off their shoes. The sight in front of them was not what they were expecting. Noah looked so small, and so peaceful snuggled into Alexia. 

“Noodle, hey kiddo you gotta wake up. We’ve got to go home.” Keira spoke, softly pushing hair out of my face. 

“Kei?” 

“Yeah baby. Come on. Do you have everything?” 

I groaned as I got up. That was a good sleep, at least for me it was. “Um I just need my pencils and book.” I very quickly gathered my stuff up. Saying a quick goodbye to Olga and Alexia and walking out her front door, Lucy was hot in my tail. 

“She’s a good kid Keira. She showed us her drawings, I think she’s better than Maps.” 

“Thank you Ale. I mean it. I’ll see you tomorrow. Tell Olga I said thank you too.” 

The ride back was quiet. We made small talk about our days but once we got inside Keira’s flat I beelined for the room I was staying in. Olga had sent me the photo of Alexia, her sister and Mami and I wanted to get a head start on it. It needed to be perfect, that meant it would take hours and hours. 

I was so lost in the artwork that I didn’t realise what time it was until Keira came in to tell me to get ready. With one look at me, she knew I didn’t sleep. She didn’t push it though. 

Alexia took me away as soon as we arrived, this time to the cafeteria. 

“We eat, then go to the gym. Get some food please.” The concern was evident in her voice, Keira probably told her I didn’t sleep or eat anything since I left her house yesterday. 

I sat down with a small bowl of fruit and a piece of toast, alexia sighed when she saw the little amount of food I had, “we will work on you eating more and better.” 

The morning was the same as yesterday, I sat and continued my drawing of Alexia and Jana, expect this time someone else interrupted. 

“Hola Poco Walsh. I am Mapi.” She sat down next to me, a child like smile on her face, “you draw alexia and Jana?” 

I turned the page towards her and her eyes almost popped out of her head. “¡Dios mío, eres tan bueno! ¡Muy, muy bueno!” 

“María, déjala en paz, por favor.” 

“Aye capi, we are friends yes. She draws good!” 

“Vamos Pequeño, we leave now. Say goodbye Maria.” Mapi said goodbye straight away, I laughed at her enthusiasm. 

Alexia’s car was warm, soft and safe. The sound of the engine and the soft music out of the radio lulled me into a sleep very quickly. She woke me up when we arrived and we went upstairs. I threw my shoes off, remembering yesterday when she said no shoes in the house, then threw myself onto the couch. 

Alexia smiled, announced she was going to shower and then walked off. Her couch was like a big cloud, it engulfed me and I easily went back off to sleep. she woke me back up after an hour, shoving a plate of food and a bottle of water in my heads. It was quiet for a while until Alexia spoke. 

“Why are you angry with Keira and your parents? I heard what you said to Lucy yesterday.” 

“Did you know I played the piano?” 

“Nena, that’s not what I asked.” She was stern. 

“I know, but did you know?” 

“No. But I only just meet you.” 

“Keira has known me all my life and I could bet £100 that you know more about me than she does. You probably know more about me than my own parents.” 

“I don’t think I understand nena?” 

“My whole life has been about Keira. Travelling to see Keira play, missing piano recitals because Keira is playing. I remember when Man City won the league, it happened on my birthday and my parents said we couldn’t go out because Keira won. That was the start of them missing my birthdays. I was 9. Then I got into this music school in London that offered lessons on Saturdays, so I could sell my drawings to pay for it and catch the train to London for my lessons. I got into this school and was going to ask my parents to let me go but then Keira said she was leaving for Barcelona. Then they would leave me at home, alone so they can go to Spain for Keira. Keira never cared but Lucy did. So did Leah. But then Lucy left too and I guess it just became too much. They only i was gone after the World Cup, which they forced me to attend. So it’s just been me, in the shadows and Keira never said anything or cared.” I didn’t realise I was crying until the tears dropped onto the table. 

“Oh nena, come here.” She pulled me into the tightest hug I’ve ever had. “I will talk to Keira yes? We can fix things?” I nodded my head against her chest. She let me cry for a minute before dragging me into her bedroom, pushing me onto the bed and then walking away and coming back with a change of clothes. 

“Put these on, then we will watch a movie.” 

I did as she said, climbed back into her bed and got comfy. After she picked a movie and put English subtitles on, we both relaxed. I ended up falling asleep, again. This time in a warm, comfy bed. 

[hexxedcore]

idk if you write for Jayce and I'm kinda having mixed feelings about him after act2 but hear me out: yandere! Jayce's first priority being to look for you after getting out of the hexcore

shamefully i am prioritising this because i have quite a lot of thoughts as of act two 💔. writing will be beneath the cut for people who wish to avoid spoilers. nsfw is included and given a separated section!

also, yes i write for (and love) jayce. i stand with my cancelled wife 💯

WARNINGS: YANDERE, possessive behaviour, delusion, unhealthy + toxic relationship, S2 ACT 2 SPOILERS. NSFW, marking

SFW:

If ‘tunnel vision’ was personified, it would be Jayce after coming out of the Arcane. This man clearly witnessed something so incomprehensibly horrible that it’s amped his determination up to 100%. Good luck with that.

After quite literally squashing Salo, his main mission is you. Find you and protecting you from whatever he witnessed in those Wild Runes from becoming true. Now, we don’t know how quickly time passed for him, but it had to be a long time. God knows what happened to you while he wasn’t there to keep a watchful eye on you. You were hopeless without him — you could be injured, or worse.

You were exactly where he thought you’d be. Tossing restlessly in a bed that was far too large for one person, wondering why exactly his absence was just so abrupt. No letter, no goodbye that morning; radio silence.

You were in for a shock when you were startled awake by the sound of something heavy and burdened being dragged on the floorboards, having little protection save for a knife you’d procured from the kitchen in the case that any burglars attempted to make themselves cozy.

And you were just about to throw it, too, when he stepped into the small gap of your bedside lamp. This was hardly the Jayce you knew; haggard, disheveled, scruffy — most of all, startled, his breathing laboured and his hands tightly clasping his hammer.

That man had dropped his weapon and was on you in seconds; holding you, clutching you, in the fear that you would dissipate if you weren’t treated carefully. The tight was warm and shaky, but most of all oh so incredibly suffocating.

That night there is one thing he’s promising you, like a mantra: he is never letting you go again.

NSFW:

This man is starving and there is absolutely nothing getting in the way of that. He comes out of the Arcane like he’s in a rut and poor old you for having to cope with it. Good luck.

Jayce doesn’t feel like he has the time to be sensual. He can, and still is of course, but he’s rough in the sense that it’s animalistic. He’s acting on his basest desires now, and that’s a stark desire for you.

There is nothing more that this man gets a kick out of than marking you. For general yandere hcs, yeah, but Act Two him? The whole world is finding out about it, believe it. And god forbid you leave some scratches on his back — he’d go feral.

Constantly muttering affirmations that you aren’t going anywhere, that you are so divine yet so so hopeless without him. You missed his cock while he was gone? He’ll make up for that, because like he’d let someone else do the job.

[eucatastrophicblues]

I’m going to very gently point out that this isn’t an evolution-based bias, it’s racism; the two are often intertwined but are very much not the same thing.

The Europeans who colonized the Americas were very clear in their writings that they saw the indigenous populations they encountered as savage, less than human, and incapable of the kinds of “advanced” and “civilized” societies and behaviors and social norms typically practiced by (Western) Europeans. They also wrote at length, especially in North America, about how they perceived the expansion of their colonies as a fundamental clash between good and evil, because God had sent the good Christians to civilize the world and the devil had taken the whole of the wild and untamed land they were trying to steal for himself. Many early Christian settlers did in fact truly perceive the indigenous populations as possessed and dangerously blasphemously heathen, and were convinced that if they lost against the native people they were in conflict with it was Satan winning. This predates the theory of evolution by several centuries.

The slave trade in the Americas also predates the theory of evolution, but it also uses rhetoric surrounding Europeans as superior and inherently above Africans, and justifies slavery through demeaning their cultural practices and arguing that as non-Christians they should be subordinate to their masters. Several entirely religious pro-slavery arguments exist that hinge upon perceived Christian duty to the lower orders, because for most of slavery’s existence there wasn’t a concept of genetics and the white people in power relied upon other arguments to cement their control and convince their prisoners not to fight back.

The Old Testament, and a fully and completely young-Earth creationist worldview, did not fix these people. It’s a popular argument by creationists that racism was exacerbated and made worse by evolutionism, and personally I find it a horribly offensive one because it erases all of the ways that fully Christian worldviews and fully religious worldviews did irreparable harm to colonized and enslaved people. On the Origin of Species was published in 1859. John Brown’s raid on Harper’s Ferry had already happened. The Trail of Tears and the Potawatomi Trail of Death had already happened. The American Civil War was just about to explode into open conflict. These people did not rely upon evolutionist arguments to frame their views of human beings, they used religious ones. They weren’t convinced of the fundamental humanity of different kinds of people by reading their religious texts - they should have been! I am, as a Native Catholic! But they weren’t.

The same attitudes extended to ancient peoples, too. Misconceptions about primitive practice or unenlightened perspectives drove a lot of academic scholarship. Egyptology was in its early years as a discipline, but it was plagued by even more colonialism and grave-robbing. This was the era of “blow up Troy to find Troy”, and of a complete disdain for archaeological finds that weren’t lofty and impressive. The Old Testament was one of the driving forces behind modern archaeology, and that’s not always a good thing.

I’m a Catholic. I take my faith very seriously. I am, also, full disclosure, a theistic evolutionist who was ideologically and religiously abused using creationist doctrine. I do have a bit of a bias here. But biases aside, we have to stop listening to this idea that it was the development of race science that started racism - they were already racist to start.

(Edit: Christians also did not need race science or evolution to be horribly, horrendously, disgustingly antisemitic. The race science approach of Nazi Germany was only one of hundreds if not thousands of antisemitic justifications for persecuting and murdering and expelling Jewish people from Christian countries. Pre-evolutionist antisemites were equally concerned with Jewishness-as-contagion and Jewishness-as-ethnic-trait, and their arguments were about religion too. We have got to put the lie to statements about creationism and Christianity as the antidote to bigotry. We have to. People have died. People will continue to die.)

I love reading things about ancient history, because they're always like, "and we were shocked to discover that these ancient people were....civilized???? And intelligent????" Yeah bud, that's your evolution-based biases talking. The Old Testament will fix you.

[fratttymatty]

Jock'd

(All characters are 18+)

Cameron Hayes was a high school senior with two things that defined him: his love for biology and his passion for nerdy hobbies. He’d always been the type of kid who spent his afternoons reading biology textbooks, obsessing over cellular processes, and analyzing ecosystems. At 18, he was already planning to study biology at a prestigious university, and his life revolved around his love for science. But that was before one fateful night.

It all started when Cameron sat down to finish his biology homework, which was supposed to be a simple review of basic human physiology. As usual, he’d spent hours studying the material the day before, and now it was just a matter of getting the homework done before bed. His room, decorated with posters of scientific breakthroughs and his collection of rare fossils, felt like his sanctuary.

On his desk lay his open notebook, the textbook, and his phone, all with the soft hum of a lamp glowing beside him. He breezed through the first few questions—simple stuff. His mind, sharp as ever, was in its element. But then came the last question. It looked innocent enough:

"What's one form of exercise?"

Cameron didn't hesitate. He wrote down the first thing that came to mind: "Sports."

It was supposed to be a harmless answer. After all, sports were a form of exercise, right?

But the moment he finished writing, something strange happened. His head buzzed, his vision blurred, and an icy chill ran down his spine. He blinked hard, thinking maybe he was just overtired, but something was different. He felt... strange. His body seemed to tingle, like every cell was reconfiguring. He swore he heard faint laughter echoing in the air, distant, but unmistakably mocking.

Before he could even process it, his room began to warp. The walls seemed to contract, the posters of atoms and molecules turning into athletic ones, with images of football players, basketball courts, and weightlifters replacing his beloved scientific displays. A strange heat spread through his body, like he was suddenly in the middle of a workout.

His body itself was changing. His arms grew thicker, more muscular, his once slender frame becoming broader and stronger. His clothes seemed to shrink as his muscles swelled, his jeans tightening around his quads and his shirt clinging to his newly developed pecs. His hair, once a soft brown that barely fell past his ears, now grew short and spiky, and his face changed too—more defined, sharper, with a hint of arrogance.

He stumbled in front of his mirror, his heart racing in confusion. The boy looking back at him wasn’t Cameron Hayes. The reflection was of someone else—tall, strong, and undeniably attractive. His face had lost its nerdy softness, replaced by a chiseled jawline and a confident smirk that Cameron had never worn before. And most bewildering of all: the name that he now saw written on the mirror was no longer "Cameron."

It was "Kyle."

A surge of memories flooded his mind—new ones that didn’t belong to him. He remembered his high school’s football team, the parties, the beer, the girls that surrounded him, and the constant urge to be the center of attention. His brain, once filled with complex scientific concepts, now held only simple things like winning games, lifting weights, and picking up chicks. He felt... dumb.

Cameron—no, Kyle—gazed in horror at his transformation. The old him, the geeky, intelligent Cameron, felt like a distant memory, lost in the haze of his new identity. His brain just didn’t care about science or biology anymore. What mattered now was sports, looking good, and impressing people.

As he stood there, confused yet strangely satisfied by his new reflection, his phone buzzed. It was a message from one of the jocks, no doubt someone who’d gotten a laugh out of this transformation. He read it:

"Bro, you look SO ready for the football game tomorrow. Don’t worry, we’ll show you how to throw a perfect spiral."

The words didn’t even faze him. Kyle just grinned, his mind only focused on the idea of tomorrow’s game. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cared about homework. Hell, he didn’t even want to know anything about biology anymore. All he wanted was to hang out with his jock friends, hit the gym, and be the life of the party.

As he grabbed a basketball from his new collection of sporty gear, Kyle felt a surge of energy course through him. His muscles flexed, his chest puffed out proudly, and his confidence was sky-high.

He didn’t need to worry about anything anymore—no homework, no classes, no biology notes. His new life was all about being the king of the school, playing sports, and dating hot girls. And he loved it.

When Kyle walked into school the next day, every head turned. His former friends—quiet, bookish kids—now seemed like distant strangers. They watched in awe and confusion as Kyle swaggered down the hallway, laughing with his fellow jocks and getting high-fives from everyone he passed. He didn’t even remember his old friends' names, nor did he care. They weren’t part of his new world.

The old Cameron was gone, replaced by Kyle the jock, and that was just fine with him. There was no turning back now.

By the time Kyle walked through the halls of his high school the next day, he felt completely at home in his new skin. The sensation of power, of confidence, was intoxicating. Every step he took, he felt more sure of himself, more right in this new role. The people he passed seemed to admire him, their eyes following him as he swaggered down the hallway.

As he approached his first class, he bumped into Madison, the most popular girl in school. With her long blonde hair, perfect smile, and reputation for dating only the top athletes, Madison was everything Cameron had once admired from a distance. Now, she was smiling at him, and her eyes had a sparkle that made Kyle feel like he was on top of the world.

"Hey, Kyle," Madison said, her voice low and flirtatious. "I saw you at the gym yesterday. You’re looking even bigger than last week."

Kyle grinned, puffing out his chest a little. "Yeah, just trying to stay ahead of the game, you know? Got to keep the muscles strong if I want to keep winning."

Madison giggled, her hand brushing his arm as if she was already claiming him. "I like a guy who works hard," she said, clearly impressed by his new look—and more so by his jock swagger.

Kyle’s new brain buzzed with excitement, and he leaned in a little, his voice oozing confidence as he responded, "Well, I don’t just work hard, babe, I dominate."

It felt so natural. Too natural.

Madison laughed again, this time a little more flirtatiously, and Kyle felt the old Cameron—deep down, in the quiet corners of his mind—shudder. But he didn’t care. He was Kyle now.

The bell rang, and as they made their way to class, Madison slid her arm through his, leaning in close to him as they walked. Kyle smiled smugly, enjoying the attention, enjoying the way people looked at them with envy.

Later that afternoon, Kyle met up with his jock buddies in the cafeteria, his tray piled high with a ridiculous amount of food. They were already at their usual table, laughing and tossing around their footballs. Kyle was one of the guys now, and it felt like he was finally where he belonged.

"Yo, Kyle!" Tom, the quarterback, shouted when Kyle walked up, slapping him on the back. "Madison was totally checking you out, man. You’ve got her hooked. She was practically drooling over you."

Kyle chuckled, running a hand through his freshly spiked hair. "Yeah, she’s been eyeing me for a while. What can I say? I’m irresistible."

His friends all laughed in agreement, nodding enthusiastically.

"Dude, you’ve got everything," another guy, Mike, added. "The muscles, the looks, the girls. Seriously, it’s like you were born to be a jock."

Kyle threw his head back, laughing, and for a moment, he actually felt like he was on top of the world. "Hell yeah, man. That’s because I don’t waste time on stupid stuff. I’ve got priorities, you know?"

The guys nodded in agreement, each of them trying to one-up each other with stories of parties, girls, and who’d bench-pressed the most at the gym.

Kyle’s new personality had already become a perfect fit for this crowd. He found himself throwing out one-liners about how much he hated studying, mocking anyone who wasn’t in sports, and bragging about how he could easily pick up a girl just by showing off his abs.

The old Cameron—the one who loved discussing the complexities of plant biology and how to identify different species of insects—seemed like a memory from a distant life. Now, he was the guy cracking jokes about how much homework he’d skipped or how much he could drink without puking.

And as the conversation shifted to tonight’s football game, Kyle grinned even wider. This was it. The peak of high school glory.

"After we crush these guys on the field, we’re gonna hit up Joey’s party," Kyle said with a smirk. "You know, get some drinks, talk to some babes. Maybe even let them take a selfie with me."

The guys laughed and cheered, high-fiving each other. They didn’t even seem to care that the game wasn’t for a few hours. They were all already living for the after-party, and that was enough.

And then, as if on cue, Madison showed up, leaning in from behind and slipping her arm around his waist. "Hey, Kyle," she purred, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ready for tonight? You can show me how many push-ups you can do with me on top of you."

The table erupted in hoots and laughs, and Kyle felt an unfamiliar sense of pride flood him. Madison was his. She was smiling at him, wanting him, and all of his jock friends were jealous.

"Yeah," Kyle replied coolly, "I think tonight’s gonna be a good night."

And just like that, he realized: he didn’t care anymore. The old Cameron, the one who loved biology and was obsessed with books, was a distant, pointless memory. What mattered now was sports, muscles, parties, and making everyone around him know that he was the king of this school.

As Madison kissed him on the cheek, her fingers tracing his abs, Kyle couldn’t help but smirk. This was the life. And there was no going back. Not that he wanted to.

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LADS Zayne: A Few More Minutes | SFW

I'd like to apologize if this isn't my best work. I debated not posting this because when I initially tried writing it, I was at work and I was overstimulated, so I don't know if it makes perfect sense. I tried tho, I really did.

Pairings: Zayne x Reader Warnings: Angst with Comfort, Nightmares Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Zayne

It had confused you at first, his hesitance at the start of your relationship. Before you two even began dating, he had been on edge with the thought of you sleeping under the same roof as him. It wasn’t until you had come into his office that one day that you found out why.

The nightmares.

He had been sleeping in his office, probably exhausted from work. It was a fitful sleep, and by the time you got over to him, he was in a full blown panic. You had woken him up, let him hold onto you, let him breathe and calm down.

Zayne initially never wanted you to see that, never wanted you to have to wake up in the middle of the night to his whimpers as the nightmares plagued his dreams almost every night. That was until you had insisted on staying the night with him, telling him it was okay.

He had woken up, as per usual, tears staining his cheeks and his heart hammering in his chest. It was different this time, though. He could feel your hand running through his hair, the scent of your shampoo pressed against his nose, and your soft voice whispering that he was alright.

His arms had instinctively wrapped tighter around you, not daring to let you go. You were the only thing grounding him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

You had never seen Zayne truly cry, the time when you saw his episode in his office he had managed to hold back. This time, however, in the comfort of his own bed in the middle of the night, with you wrapped up around him, he couldn’t help it.

He didn’t make much noise, but you could feel the wetness of his tears as it ran down your neck. Your hand never stopped playing with his locks, doing your best to comfort him. However long he’d need, you’d be happy to stay there for him.

You weren’t even sure how long you two had laid there with him in your arms, but you do recall how his body had slumped as he managed to calm down enough to fall back asleep, never uttering a word about what happened. Your eyes had grown heavy after that, seeing him now peaceful in your arms.

Then you woke up to the sound of birds outside, your alarm ringing on the bedside table as you groaned. Zayne was still in the same position he had fallen asleep in, slowly rousing from his own sleep.

“Zayne…?” You murmured, checking the time. You were used to him being the first one awake to get ready for work, but in your sleep addled brain you recalled he had the day off.

Zayne groaned against you; despite what everyone seemed to think, Zayne wasn’t a robot. He didn’t like mornings, especially early ones. He knew the importance of making the most of his day though, and making it to work on time, so he’d wake up before the sun even came out normally. So seeing him groggy like this was a treat, the stubborn side of him winning out as he didn’t want to start the day.

“Zayne, come on.” You murmured, “I gotta get ready for work.” As much as you didn’t want to work, you understood it was a necessary evil to pay your bills.

“No,” the word slipped out of Zayne’s mouth before he could even register it, his arms wrapping tighter around you, “Stay here.”

You felt like your heart was melting as you brushed his bangs out of his face, catching a glimpse of tired hazel eyes staring at you, “Are you suggesting I play hooky today?” You teased; the ever responsible Zayne was trying to convince you to call out of work.

“I can write you a doctor’s note…” he murmured, his head nuzzling into you, “Just gimme a few more minutes.”

“Are you sure it’ll only be a few?” You asked, knowing he was falling back asleep already. His nightmares always tended to leave him more exhausted when he woke up.

“Mhn…” he couldn’t even bother with a response as he closed his eyes.

“Fine, I’ll text Captain Jenna and tell her I caught a cold.” You said leaning over to grab your phone, but his grip on you tightened again, “Zayne, I need to at least tell her something.”

“Just a few more minutes.” He tried again.

“You got five minutes before I roll over to text her, then I swear we can relax for the rest of the morning in bed.” You settled on, your arm going to curl around him.

In the end, it was more than a few minutes as you both drifted off to sleep.

[cheshiresense]

Hi Cross! I'm so happy you're writing for ShunStarrk, it's one of my favrite ships and Starrk is one of favorite characters and I love how you write them. I also couldn't help thinking about wat would happen if you sent Starrk bac with Ichigo in Swinging Pendulum (or just TBTP). You've done Kisuke and Aizen so I was curious how it would go with Starrk. I'd love to see any ideas you might have for it!

lol my first thought when I saw this was a mental image of Ichigo throwing Starrk at Shunsui and being like “go seduce us an ally!” 😂😂😂

But okay, more seriously, I have a few thoughts on it so I guess I'll just ramble a bit? Well first of all, in an AU like SP/TBTP, I would employ one of my handy dandy Bleach headcanons where the next step up from Arrancar is a fully restored soul, so to speak. We know Hollows are generally souls that Shinigami failed to purify and save in time, but I like to think that as Hollows, after hitting rock bottom, if they have the power and the strength of will and the ability to survive long enough to work all the way back up on their own, they can actually fix themselves.

(I actually also headcanon that becoming “perfect artificial Arrancar” via Aizen and his Hougyoku actually stagnates them, so they’re given a power boost and Shinigami-like powers, but they’ve basically peaked and will never again be able to grow much because there is no growth from perfection, which also explains why the Visored’s power levels have always felt a cut below the other captains and lieutenants’ and even after a hundred years they could never manage much with their Hollow abilities, nor did they make any significant improvements or contributions between WW and TYBW, because the Hougyoku pushes you to the pinnacle of your potential at that point in your life, but by doing so, it also cuts off any possibility of further growth, and so over time you might even deteriorate. And all of that ties neatly back into one of Bleach’s major themes of perfection/stagnancy vs. growth/development. But I digress, that isn’t overly important here.)

My point is, the fuckery in the bad end future where Ichigo and Starrk are from lasted long enough and resulted in a terrible enough war that Starrk finally allowed himself that last step of growth and became a whole - if scarred - soul again, so he no longer has a Hollow hole or that collar of teeth, and he has a proper Zanpakutou merged with his Hollow abilities. So like he’s the first and only Hollow ever who managed to rebuild his own soul and is super OP as a result. Like if Aizen’s the upper limit of a Shinigami, and Yhwach is the upper limit of a Quincy, then Starrk would be the upper limit of a Hollow, which the Soul King took into account and was like yay finally the best of a species that isn’t out to ball the universe for once, he’s hella depressed and lonely and grieving but he’s just gonna have to deal cuz the world isn’t going to save itself and my god-slaying mad-scientist-experiment-child of a descendant needs all the help he can get to pull his saviour schtick off again.

All of which is just to say Starrk can blend in much better in Soul Society and yes I took the long-ass way around just to establish this single plot point lmao.

Secondly, as implied above, I’d prob change the final big bad to the Quincy because 1) it’s fresher in my mind and also 2) it gives me more established material to work with. Also 3) we’ll pretend Yhwach wasn’t senile and so didn’t kill off half his own army, because lbr his Auswahlen won half the war for the Shinigami in canon. And this way we get the tragic bad end we need to kick off an SP AU.

And thirdly, just to tie up that loose end, you can’t have two of the same souls in one timeline, so past!Starrk&Lilynette wink out of existence the moment the Soul King drops future!Starrk in TBTP because I’m heartless like that and the more angst the merrier.

Also fourthly, the thing about sending Starrk back with Ichigo is that the dynamic is just so completely different than if it were Kisuke or Aizen or Shinji or any of Ichigo's friends. Like I guess in other fics you usually see Starrk as one of Ichigo's ppl, lured over to the good side because of Ichigo's whole power of friendship, friends and family must be protected thing, and I enjoy reading those of course, but writing-wise, I can't really get behind it because for me, their relationship would come out sth like part-comrade, part-mentor/student because someone's gotta teach Ichigo how to Hollow and I honestly don't rly count the Visored training as such because what they did was basically the equivalent of a temporary patchjob/lesson on how to unhealthily repress a part of yourself instead of actually dealing with it, all so it won't get in the way of fighting Aizen, so Ichigo never actually gets around to harnessing that side of him as opposed to everything he does with his Shinigami and Quincy sides, and lastly part-wow-this-kid-is-a-hundred-years-away-from-becoming-another-Aizen-if-the-Shinigami-keep-fucking-up-with-him whenever Starrk looks at Ichigo, because if anyone aside from Ichigo understood what made Aizen into the would-be-god he became, it would be Starrk, and there's no way he wouldn't be able to see the exact same potential in Ichigo.

And yeah, technically Kisuke was a mentor too, same with Shinji and a few others, but with their history, it's hard to really see that role as one of their main ones, esp since all of them end up following Ichigo's lead. If you want to get poetic about it, he's the sun they're drawn to and revolve around and devote themselves to. That's completely not the case with Starrk. If anyone is Starrk's sun, it's Shunsui. Plus Starrk's just a lot older than most of them so he can't just be crammed into the peer/partner/friend willing to burn SS down for Ichigo and follow him to the ends of the world box. It would be the same if it was Shunsui or Ukitake sent back. But that's fun to play with too, something new, and I imagine Starrk's got a soft spot for kids, and this one was also taught by Shunsui (a la SP canon), and Starrk taught Ichigo as well, so it's not like they don't get along or that Starrk wouldn't absolutely throw down with someone trying to take another chunk out of Ichigo. It's just that this is a dynamic where for once, Ichigo isn't the absolute top priority and object of fascination/love/devotion for the one sent back in time with him. For Starrk, that position's already taken by a certain Shinigami captain.

And wow okay we're not even into the actual AU and I already rambled too much, I guess I'll end this with the two of them entering the Academy after wandering in from the wilds of Rukongai? In SP, I had Ichigo being found by the Shibas and sort of faking amnesia, but I feel like it's simpler here to go with the two of them finding their way to the Seireitei on their own, and then the Shibas hear of someone with a face that could pass for Kaien's twin, so ofc Kaien's immediately like HELLO LONG-LOST FAM and rolling out the welcome mat.

Obviously Ichigo's like fuck that this is way too soon after losing all my actual friends and family, but Shibas don't know how to take no for an answer (honestly you're like that too Ichigo), so there's a good few weeks where Kaien haunts the Academy like an enthusiastic ghost two steps left of empty nest syndrome or something, and Ichigo spends an equal amount of time ignoring him in favour of tearing through the Academy curriculum like a man on a mission, which he technically is. He doesn't like the attention, but he's also never had much patience for subtlety, and he's used to ignoring other ppl's opinions of him anyway, so by the end of the month, everybody knows him as the newest Shiba prodigy slated to graduate in a year, and Ichigo doesn't care so long as he gets what he wants.

Meanwhile, not many people notice the man who'd come to the city with Ichigo and applied to the Academy at the same time. Unlike Ichigo, Starrk is very good at fading into the background, and it's doubly easy when you put him next to someone whose very existence is as bright and loud as Ichigo's, with the kind of charisma that attracts ppl to him even when he doesn't do anything.

That suits Starrk just fine. He's exhausted and heartsore and still not entirely sure why he'd said yes when Mimihagi had waylaid him when he'd been on the brink of death and asked him to accompany Ichigo back in time to save the world. He's not a hero, not anyone important or special, and also not particularly interested in living in a world without Kyouraku Shunsui - his Shunsui - in it. But Shunsui had also died for the world, for the Soul Society he'd devoted his life to protecting, died to buy time for others to live just a little bit longer, and it had seemed a mockery of one of the things Shunsui had held so dear if Starrk didn't even try to protect it too when the option was laid out in front of him. Besides, it had also seemed unfair to leave it all to Ichigo, to dump the literal weight of the universe on the kid's shoulders once again, and this time he wouldn't even have any help if Starrk didn't go because everyone else was dead or - Starrk assumes - not as strong as him. Once again, his strength is more a curse than anything else. So he supposes he does know why he'd agreed - a moment of insanity, a moment of weakness - and now here he is stuck in an era he'd certainly lived through before but in a location he'd only ever seen in the midst of war.

Peacetime at least affords him time to rest, although he's not sure how he likes that either. Fighting and killing at least means he has little time for anything else, like sleep plagued with nightmares, but it's that or staring into empty space and being plagued with memories instead, and that's not really any better. Still, he deals and doesn't let Ichigo catch on to the fact that his head's not in a great place because the kid doesn't need anymore on his plate. It's not like Ichigo's getting much sleep either anyway if the bags under his eyes are anything to go by. Besides, Starrk's used to nightmares and bad memories. He has a thousand years' worth under his belt, so it's nothing new, even if the content is.

The Academy is something of a novelty, if only because he's never gone to school before. So unlike Ichigo, he doesn't mind going to lectures instead of immediately testing out of most classes and jumping straight to the sixth-year curriculum and whatever extra credit work that Zanjutsu department head who likes stalking Ichigo gives him. Starrk had checked and discovered that so long as he applies for it before the deadline, he can take the graduation exams at the end of the year, and so long as he passes, the school doesn't much care what classes make it onto his academic transcript. There's even been clan kids who just stay at home with an army of private tutors before directly taking the exams and entering the Gotei that way.

But like Ichigo, there's also not much the Academy teaches that he doesn't excel at. Combat-wise, there are already very few people in all the known worlds who can best him, let alone anyone in this school. His worst subject is history, because he knows almost nothing of Soul Society aside from major events he'd heard of in passing and anything related to Quincy, but when everything else is easy, that just means he can spend all his time memorizing the readings he's assigned.

Aside from that, he goes to class and sleeps in class, he skips class and sleeps then too, he spars whoever the teacher wants him to but never volunteers otherwise, and he's very careful to keep his reiatsu levels under wraps. He looks at his classmates in each class and picks out the middling to above average students and copies their progress, and he doesn't bother doing more.

"Isn't it boring?" Ichigo asks him once when he's once again hiding from his cousin in Starrk's room. Starrk shrugs from his bed and doesn't tell him that one doesn't know boredom until they've spent a thousand years alone in a barren desert. Anything else is a step up. Even if all the theory in his lectures are things he's already read about because Shunsui had let him have free reign in the private library back home, hearing it again never hurts. "It's a pretty good sleep aid," Starrk says instead, just to hear the amused snort it coaxes from Ichigo.

It is of course impossible to fool everyone, and Starrk hadn't been aiming for that anyway. Ichigo also doesn't spend time with anybody else, so inevitably, two months into their Academy life, one Koyonagi Senzou turns his attention on the man who probably spends more time sleeping than anyone else in the Seireitei.

"All your assignments fulfill the minimum requirements," Koyonagi says, smiling from behind his desk after summoning Starrk to his office. "Never more, never less, perfect across the board even if they all come back with a note suggesting you could try earning some bonus points. All your tests are returned with a score of 75-80%. Never more, never less, but the points that get docked off are always for questions you've left blank. And every single week, you win exactly half your total spars. Never more, never less. Tell me, Coyote-san, do you think yourself more or less subtle than Ichi-chan?" Starrk blinks once, slowly, and stares back without the energy to muster much more than a noncommittal grunt. Koyonagi reminds him a little of Aizen and a lot of Ichimaru, and this kind of person, Starrk knows, wants for nothing so much as they do a reaction. "Wasn't trying to be subtle," Starrk eventually says when it becomes clear that Koyonagi is perfectly willing to wait him out for as long as it takes, and Starrk doesn't care enough about power plays to try and win this one, not when he hasn't even been offered a chair to sit in. "I've been passing everything, so it's fine, right?" Koyonagi doesn't stop smiling, but it becomes just the slightest bit fixed the way Ichimaru's had when he'd not been entirely pleased with his prey's response. Even Starrk probably would've missed it if Ichimaru hadn't often looked like that around Starrk. As expected, the teacher prods a few more times, a little more cutting each round, and Starrk in turn replies with the same dull apathy that comes so very easily to him. "Well-played," Koyonagi finally says, and he just looks bored now. "Although I honestly can't fathom what Ichigo sees in someone so lacking in... ambition." He pauses like he wants Starrk to hear the insult underneath, like he wants Starrk to take offense, but Starrk's barely paying attention as it is, and there was no question anyway, which means Starrk isn't expected to answer, so he doesn't. Koyonagi sighs like he's never met a bigger disappointment. "Never mind, you're dismissed." His eyes glitter with something like mockery. "Your new schedule will be sent to you by tonight. You'll be moved up to the sixth year classes. Do keep up the good work, won't you?" Starrk raises an eyebrow, then sighs right back. Well, whether it's first year or sixth year, it's all the same to him. He's not the one who took the initiative to present himself as a genius, and students are moved in and out of classes for more reasons than just skipping grades. And with Ichigo around, no one will look twice at him. He dips his head in acknowledgement and wonders why people like this can't just say what they want to begin with. This had clearly been the point from the very beginning and could've been over and done with in two minutes, but this meeting's dragged on for half an hour. What a troublesome guy. He heads for the door. The weather is nice today. Maybe he'll even be able to take an uninterrupted nap for once.

On the Shiba front, something's got to give, and unfortunately for Ichigo, he doesn't have experience warding off family unwilling to leave him alone.

"I came here with a friend!" Ichigo snaps, his last-ditch attempt to chase Kaien away. "He's practically family! I'm not leaving him behind!" He'd heard all about the bullshit that was Rukia's adoption into the Kuchiki Clan, thank you. Kaien blinks at him, mystified. "What are you talking about? We just want to add you to the family registry and probably throw you a party while we're at it. You don't have to leave your friend anywhere. Hell, bring him back with you. If he's your family, he's our family, and we have plenty of space!" At this point, Kaien looks like he's warming up to the idea. "That's right, you mentioned you've known him for a while, right? Uh, what's his name again, Coyote Starrk? If he's been watching your back out in Rukongai, I should thank him properly. Is that why you've been resisting all this time? Did you think we'd make you cut ties with him or something? We're not like the other stuffy clans, Ichigo! Any friend of yours is welcome! We'd love to meet him! Hey, how's he doing in his classes? Does he need a sponsor? It doesn't matter, a clan sponsor can only be a good thing. Don't worry, Ichigo, we'll take good care of him!" Ichigo has a moment to picture the sheer amount of chaotic energy that even he can already tell is a common factor amongst the Shiba Clan, meeting Starrk, whose favourite hobbies include napping, creating new Kidou seals, and listening to Kyouraku read to him when they can scrounge up some time for themselves, and the only conclusion he can come to is a horrified, holy shit, Starrk-san's going to kill me.

[sandraharissa]

I think one of the many things wrong with Jinx this season is how like, half of her personality was cut off and thrown out.

Like her reaction to grief. We see her suicidal after Silco’s death and she’ll be again very suicidal after Isha’s death. Makes sense. Don’t have notes on that part. However I have so much notes on her rage. In s1 we see Powder sometimes responding to bad situation by being shy and sad, but sometimes she reacts in a more adversarial way, like complaining they should try fighting Piltover or trying to stand up to Mylo. But we also get these moments like when she’s left behind and has an absolute meltdown and starts wrecking shit but more importantly her reaction to Silco. He says they’ll show them all and she throws the audience the most rage fueled look you’ve ever seen. When really pushed beyond her limits this is Powder’s emotional reaction to tragedy/being wronged. We see that all throughout acts II and III and we see it when she blows up the council after Silco dies. And that’s the problem cos that’s the part that’s missing from s2. They cut her personality in half and only kept one half. Anger as part of her personality and reaction to grief was discarded when writing her in s2. Even tho she goes through a lot of grieving in s2.

Another example is Isha. Jinx prioritizing family and just chilling? Wanting affectionate interactions with family? Having an easier relationship with a younger family member cos there aren’t any expectations or need to prove anything or gain anyone’s attention? No fear of abandonment/betrayal? She just has this kid who hero worships her and follows her around like a puppy so no stress? No notes. However I have a lot of notes about Jinx’s paranoia and how not normal and possessive and toxic she is about relationships. And I have notes on the generational trauma. Where did all that go? That’s not how ppl work. Living in a messed up society and Silco’s parenting won’t just evaporate like that cos Isha is just so overwhelmingly cute. It’s more likely that Jinx would corrupt the kid. (which you could argue on paper she does cos the kid in the end thought that suicide was dope but why did the narrative frame it as this beautiful thing lol)

And on the topic of fighting Piltover where did “we beat the enforcers with just the four of us imagine what the whole Lanes could do” go? Jinx definitely prioritized family more but she wasn’t neutral or indifferent on the Piltover matter. The enforcers wrong her/hurt her/threaten her family yet again, they kidnapped Isha, and she just acts panicked and sad, but also jokes and quips while on the mission. Where’s the rage and hatred and desire for revenge on the ppl who wronged her? Sometimes it’s just ppl around her being mean or lying or smth, anyone could be her enemy, like Sevika, Silco or Vi, but a lot of the time it’s Piltover, they killed her parents, they were her fathers’ enemies and drove them to hate each other, they chased them as kids and tried to arrest them, they kidnapped and abused Vi in prison all her adolescence, they would have killed Vi so she blew up the whole blockade, Council tried to turn Silco against her and now he’s dead so she bombs them, all her life she can see that the quality of their life is bad bcos of Piltover, she’s in Jayce’s apartment and immediately goes for the sandwich. Jinx doesn’t come off as a very politically/ideologically motivated character but what happened to all her personal beef with Piltover?

They also inexplicably just ceased to write her fucking up all the time. what about her y’know, being a jinx? In s1 even in acts II and III when she is proficient in fighting and bomb-making they still constantly show her being more of a burden and fucking up in other ways. While never explained (which was good) to me it came off as a symptom of trauma and being neurodivergent, like how ADHD kids can’t escape the allegations that they’re lazy, but on a meta level it did make it feel like she was supernaturally cursed. Part of what felt so profound and empowering about s1 finale and her embracing being jinx it that it was her embracing that she’s different (and ‘wrong’ in some ways) and can never live a happy life in the society she lives in and so she lashes out. Now she just chills and nothing ever doesn’t go her way (ig until Isha died but that wasn’t even directly her fault, Isha just acted on her own choice and agency). Suddenly her mental issues don’t exist or get in the way of her socializing and being a part of society. This bigoted, violent and unfair society.

Don’t even get me started on her mannerisms. Remember how she would bite her lip? I’m not sure if she does that even once in s2. “Sister, thought I missed her”??? let Jinx rhyme sometimes and in general say weird shit, not one-liners.

So the only way for the writers to have Jinx do nothing, heal up completely and just chill with a kid in her lair (and really everything else she does (or doesn’t do) this season) is to get rid of half of her personality, the traits that would dictate she take action and feel wrath and lash out/hurt her loved ones in the process.

All of her tragic traits from s1 that made her Jinx were just erased, not changed throughout the course of an arc, absent from the get go, so that they can have her say that Jinx is dead and have it make sense in the context of s2 cos from her very first appearance is s2 this Jinx was devoid of pretty much all of her jinx-y character traits from s1.

[rosenotactuallyquartz]

here’s why the situation with bismuth says a lot about rose’s dynamic with pearl

surprisingly, the bismuth episode says a lot about rose’s feelings for pearl.

rose kept many secrets, but pearl carried some of the heaviest ones. at first, rose felt guilty about the fact that pearl was keeping such big secrets for her.

but by the end of the war, rose was keeping a huge secret from pearl

“we thought you’d been captured. or worse, shattered.” — pearl, bismuth

rose knew how close pearl was to bismuth, but she lied to everyone about what happened, claiming bismuth had been lost in battle. she even acted “worried sick,” as pearl describes when bismuth comes back. for thousands of years, pearl believed bismuth was probably dead.

as we know, rose was deeply ashamed of herself and her past. she believed that everyone around her was better than her & she also really admired pearl. the guilt of lying to pearl was overwhelming, but rose was very afraid to tell pearl the truth. she also couldn’t bear the thought of losing her… but at the same time, the guilt made her feel unworthy of being close to her.

this guilt caused rose to become avoidant and distant—not because she didn’t care, and not because she didn’t trust pearl.

she didn’t trust herself. she couldn’t imagine a life without pearl, but she also felt like all she did was cause pain and she was terrified of hurting pearl again.

rose’s dishonesty (and being too afraid to tell pearl the truth) is also very related to rose’s trauma on homeworld. when it was known that she messed up, rose would be met with pain (punishment) or abandonment (being locked in a tower). rose trusted pearl, but taking accountability scared her because on homeworld, these situations never ended in anything positive, such as forgiveness and fixing things for the better. rose also believed she deserved to be abandoned if she messed up. self-compassion was something rose struggled with deeply.

pearl, on the other hand, didn’t understand rose’s avoidance and hesitancy until much later, after learning the truth about bismuth

before this, pearl was insecure & she struggled with self blame. this is tied to her homeworld trauma—the belief that her worth is defined by what she can do for others. she wondered if she had done something wrong and she questioned whether she “wasn’t good enough” for rose to love her as much as she loved rose.

but rose was very, very in love with her; it’s been confirmed that their love was never unrequited, so it’s funny that some people in the fandom assume this before thinking about bismuth

rose never distanced herself because she didn’t love pearl; she did it because of guilt and shame. she did it because she didn’t believe she deserved someone who made her so happy.

& here’s something interesting: pearl continued to love rose after she found out the truth. she showed no signs of wishing she left her. in reunited, she thought everything i do, i do it for her while she was fighting. she would never see this action as being okay or defensible, and she likely felt some bitterness for awhile which is understandable. but she never stopped loving her, nor did she want to abandon her.

by the way, i think that lying about bismuth was one of rose’s worst actions. i don’t think this makes her a bad person, especially because she felt guilty about this lie. i just hope you guys know that this analysis isn’t me trying to justify what she did. it wasn’t okay! the whole purpose of writing this is just to show that rose really was in love with pearl. her behaviours are never from a place of not being in love with her—they’re from a place of having her own issues and feeling undeserving of love from someone like pearl.

[nemesyaaa]

🔝🔝🔝 you know it's a real footage of me at this point because i'm still highly sick but damn, I dont have words for much good and fabulous it was ! but can't you hear my applause through the screen ? was insane and perfect, shani ! 💞 i'm so glad you posted it. and i'm so much in love everytime you post about stepbro!rafe. the twisted stepcest relationship did some things inside me i couldn't lie, and your writings too ✨

when rafe left for college, he responded to you when he could, just like he said he would. talking to him nearly every day almost made it feel like he wasn’t hours away from home. however, a month passed, and you started to hear less from him until your calls and texts were unanswered. at first, you assumed you weren’t hearing from him because of how busy he may have been with classes, and it wasn’t until you came across instagram posts from him and his fraternity brothers that he was too busy partying to get back to you. — this is just so well-written 😊

“missed you, princess," his hands slid up your waist, walking you back until your lower back pressed against his dresser, "if you had answered when i called, you would’ve known i was coming home for the holidays.”. — already sarcastic huh ???

"what happened to being my good girl? guess your poor, needy little pussy couldn't handle being empty for a few months, hm?" rafe snickered, "and now you wanna push me away all 'cause i've been too busy?". — make me giggling so badly

rafe bent down, grabbing your panties before standing back up. his hand reached around, cupping your jaw, your lips parting when his fingers dug into your skin as he squeezed your cheeks. rafe shoved the silk material into your mouth and his lips brush against the shell of your ear, "you want an apology? fine, here's your apology.". — I NEED THIS man, it's an urge. PLEASE take him back in my bed :((

rafe removes your panties from your mouth, your chest heaving, small pants filling the room. your breath hitches in your throat when his hips slowly rolled into yours, “how’s that for an apology? or you still need some convincing?”. — LXZDKOZODOEODODOEIEIE PLEASE.

kissing u for giving me this idea cause I love frat daddy as stepbro!rafe! what if reader is 18 but in her last year of high school (I know even with age of majority that’s still kinda icky but it’s the only way this scenario would work🫣) so when rafe’s away for his first year at college before the events of s1, she knows it’s wrong but she’s always worried and jealous of what he could be doing there or what other girls he could be seeing, especially when she sees his and his frat brothers’ instagram pictures. he doesn’t always get back to her texts or calls, and even though she has needs too, she feels guilty for hooking up with any of her friends or trying to date to distract herself. so when he comes home for the holidays, she’s all mad at him and pushes him away and they get all angsty and he apologizes because you were always willing to wait for him and his approval and with him being as nasty as he is he has to remind you that you come first because “you’re my sister”🫠✨

— stepbro!rafe is away for his first year at college

warnings: stepcest, reader is 18 + rafe is 19, indent is a flashback, jealous!reader, mention of hooking up w jj, choking, hair pulling, spanking, mirror sex, degrading, praise, gagging, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, 18+ mdni !

a/n: i hope it's ok that i tweaked a few things such as rafe apologizing & reader graduated high school but doesn’t go to college cause she isn't sure what she wants to do!

“gonna miss you,” you frown into your stepbrother’s chest, hugging him tightly. he rested his chin on the top of your head, “i’ll miss you too, but hey, i’ll be home for the holidays, and i’m only a phone call away. you could call me or text me anytime, i’ll make sure to get back to you when i can, alright?”.

when rafe left for college, he responded to you when he could, just like he said he would. talking to him nearly every day almost made it feel like he wasn’t hours away from home. however, a month passed, and you started to hear less from him until your calls and texts were unanswered. at first, you assumed you weren’t hearing from him because of how busy he may have been with classes, and it wasn’t until you came across instagram posts from him and his fraternity brothers that he was too busy partying to get back to you.

it was his first year at college, and you knew you shouldn’t be upset; you had no right to be. especially when it was the only time he had freedom away from home, specifically from ward. it didn't stop you from missing rafe; you couldn’t help but think about what else he could be doing, and no matter how much you tried, knowing it was wrong, your mind started to wander over who he could be with.

when two more months had passed and still no communication from rafe, you sought out a distraction through jj maybank, who was unknowingly helping you take your mind off your stepbrother. the more time you had spent with jj, the less you thought about rafe and the promise of not running to anyone that wasn't him.

the promise you made was pushed into the back of your mind until one night, as you were about to sneak out of the house to see the blonde pogue, you received an incoming call from rafe. you could feel the guilt consuming you the longer you stared at his name, itching to answer. but your bitterness got the best of you, your finger tapping 'decline' before quietly leaving your house, not knowing rafe was calling to tell you he'd be home for the holiday.

a week later and yet another late night with jj, you tip-toed up the stairs, ensuring not to wake anyone up. just as you were about to reach your bedroom, you froze in your spot, looking like a deer in headlights, when the door to the room across from yours swung open. "sneaking back in?", his hand encircled your wrist, pulling you into his room and shutting the door behind you. “rafe, what are you doing here?” your brows furrow, more than confused as to why he was home.

“missed you, princess," his hands slid up your waist, walking you back until your lower back pressed against his dresser, "if you had answered when i called, you would’ve known i was coming home for the holidays.”.

your palms pressed at his firm chest, pushing him away when he started peppering kisses along your jaw. "what? what's wrong?" rafe asks, "don’t tell me you’re upset cause i made you promise not to go to anyone else while i was away on campus.”.

“i can't be upset over that when i’ve been seeing jj,” the words rolled off your tongue with ease, “i don't know why it matters anyway when you've been ignoring me for the past few months, probably too busy sleeping around with sorority girls every weekend”.

rafe’s nostrils flared the second jj's name slipped from your mouth, “what did you just say?” he gritted his teeth, removing his hand from your waist to grab your throat. “what?” you bat your eyes innocently, “don't act all innocent, you've been fucking around with maybank, huh?”.

"what happened to being my good girl? guess your poor, needy little pussy couldn't handle being empty for a few months, hm?" rafe snickered, "and now you wanna push me away all 'cause i've been too busy?".

your mouth gaped open to speak, only for him to cut you off, "is that why you're pushing me away, acting like you didn't miss me and your panties aren't soaking wet right now? ".

rafe spun you around to face the mirror of his dresser, bending you over. his large, warm hands slip under your skirt, pushing the article of clothing around your waist. his fingers hooked into the elastic of your panties, pulling them down to pool around your ankles. "step out of them," he ordered, delivering a sharp smack to the fat of your ass; when you didn't oblige, "don't make me tell you twice.".

rafe bent down, grabbing your panties before standing back up. his hand reached around, cupping your jaw, your lips parting when his fingers dug into your skin as he squeezed your cheeks. rafe shoved the silk material into your mouth and his lips brush against the shell of your ear, "you want an apology? fine, here's your apology.".

his free hand dipped between your legs, chuckling as he ran his fingers through your slick folds. “i’m sorry, princess…” he cooed, extending his thumb to rub circles to your clit, pulling a soft moan from you.

a desperate whine bubbled in your throat at the loss of friction on your puffy clit, your heart racing in anticipation at the sound of fabric rustling behind you. rafe nudged your thighs further apart with his knee, slotting himself between your legs. his palm rested on the small of your back as you squirmed under him, feeling the thick head of his cock sliding up and down your folds.

he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back to make you look at him in the reflection, watching your eyes roll back as his thick cock stretches you deliciously, “sorry that my poor girl was so fuckin’ needy to the point she had to run to a pogue of all people.”.

“shit…missed being buried deep in this sweet cunt,” rafe groaned, "guess i gotta ruin this tight little hole; make sure you don't go runnin' back to jj, huh?" he taunted, slowly pulling back, leaving just the tip of his cock inside you.

"don't worry, by the time i'm done with you, all that pretty little head and pussy is gonna think about is how much she missed and ached for my dick," rafe sucked his teeth, your body jolting forward, biting down on the pair of panties stuffed in your mouth as he slammed himself back into your willing cunt.

your hands grip the top of his dresser, eyes barely staying open. a loud, muffled yelp forces its way through the flimsy silk fabric stuffed in your mouth when rafe harshly tugged at the roots of your hair, "did i say you could close your eyes? keep 'em open, want you to watch me fuck you like the needy little cockwhore you are.".

rafe removed his hand from your hair, snaking it around your throat to hold your head upright. he buried his face into the crook of your neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave bruises on your flesh. he leaned forward, putting all his weight onto you and pressing his chest to your back, "this s'all you wanted, yeah? just wanted to be stuffed full of my cock again?".

drool soaked through the silk as his cock pounded into you relentlessly. you grabbed onto his arm, struggling to keep your eyes open, and your nails bite into his skin as the tip of his cock repeatedly hits your cervix. rafe’s eyes flicker to look at the two of you in the mirror, “look at how pretty you look takin’ my dick,” he praises.

“came way too many fuckin’ times to the thought of you…been craving feeling your pussy around my cock again since the day i left,” rafe rasped. “especially feeling you cum all over my cock,” he groaned as he felt your walls flutter around him.

“c’mon, princess, cream all over my cock and make a mess like you used to,” he nipped your ear, holding you steady as your legs trembled. your pussy convulses around him, his hand clamping around your mouth to further muffle your cry of pleasure as you cum all over his thick cock.

your orgasm triggers rafe’s, his hips slowly pumping into yours as they become sloppy. he gives you one more harsh thrust, his hips stilling, pushing his cock deep inside you, and letting out a moan as thick ropes of cum spill into you, painting your walls white.

rafe removes your panties from your mouth, your chest heaving, small pants filling the room. your breath hitches in your throat when his hips slowly rolled into yours, “how’s that for an apology? or you still need some convincing?”.

taglist: @oceandriveab @babygorewhore @cameronsprincess @starkeysbabygirl @bloodibambiidoll @fallbhind @sematarygirls @nemesyaaa @ilovefiction4lmen @zyafics @sturnioloshacker @heartsforvin @cxrrodedcoffin @rafeyscurtainbangs @rafesthroatbaby @jjslaybank @kisses4angels @littlelamy @rafesangelita @starkeygirlposts @drewsarms @hallecarey1 @fallrafwe @sturnskiss @blckbrrybasket @wearemadeofstardust0 @honeybunniesoobin @starkeysbebe @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @starkeysheart @rafeinterlude @starkeyisthelastname @flvredcas @emilysuperswag @proxy-princess @hyperfixationgirl @ijustwanttoreadlols @slumnit @cl4uus @coco-cinnamon @stoned-writer

[diamonddaze01]

hi tara! if the prompt already hasnt been asked for, can i request 86 "Please just leave." with mingyu? thank you <3333 reading all the drabbles now hahahah

silence, at its loudest

pairing: mingyu x reader | wc: 1.1k prompt: "Please just leave." au: chef!mingyu | warnings: angst! and tears a/n: TIYA HELLO! thank you for this req it was so sad to write but i hope you love <3

The apartment was suffocatingly quiet for a fight. No music playing in the background, no rain against the windows to soften the edges of your words—just silence, heavy and dense, pressing against your chest, making it hard to breathe. Mingyu stood in the center of the living room, his coat still damp from the storm outside, water dripping from the fabric, leaving a faint puddle at his feet. His tall frame seemed out of place here, as if it didn’t belong in this small space, weighed down by the tension between you both.

You were perched on the couch, arms crossed tightly, a defensive shield you knew wouldn’t protect you from the pain of this conversation. You wanted to retreat into the softness of the cushions, to sink away from him, but you couldn’t move. You couldn’t look away, even as your chest tightened and the cold of the room seeped deeper into your skin.

“I don’t even understand what I did wrong!” His voice cracked, frustration and confusion lacing his words. He ran a hand through his damp hair, as if trying to shake the tension out of his mind. “I—I’m here, aren’t I? Why is that never enough for you?”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your throat, but you didn’t back down. You couldn’t. The words you’d been holding back for so long finally broke free, raw and cutting. “It’s not just about you being here, Mingyu. It’s when you decide to show up. You don’t get to keep ignoring me until I’ve hit my limit, then think you can fix everything by standing in my living room and saying you care.”

He took a step forward, but his eyes were desperate, pleading for some sign that you still cared, that there was something left of the person he used to know. “I don’t understand. I’ve been working—working to build something, something for us! And when I’m finally here, you still—”

“You’re always working, Mingyu!” Your voice cracked under the weight of the frustration that had been building for months, maybe longer. “When was the last time you didn’t have your phone on you? When was the last time you didn’t cancel on me because ‘the restaurant’s short-staffed,’ or you just need to finish one last thing?” Your breath came out in short, shaky bursts. “You didn’t even call me back when you knew it was my birthday. That’s what hurts the most.”

The words hit him like a blow, a quick intake of air following the realization. His expression faltered, the first cracks appearing in his armor. “I... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah, you didn’t mean to,” you interrupted, voice soft but heavy with disappointment. “But it keeps happening, Mingyu. You keep doing it. You keep saying it’s not intentional, and then you walk through the door like everything’s fine, like you haven’t been neglecting me for weeks.”

He froze. The tension between you thickened, hanging in the air like smoke that wouldn’t dissipate. “I wasn’t ignoring you, okay? I was just trying to... I thought you’d understand. I thought you’d—”

“No, you didn’t think, Mingyu. You assumed,” you said, bitterness seeping into every syllable. “You assumed I’d be fine with it. You assumed I’d be okay with the empty promises, the unreturned messages, the way you disappear whenever things get hard. But I’m not fine. And I’m so tired of pretending that I am.”

His hands shook as he stepped toward you again, his voice breaking with a softness you hadn’t heard in months. “I’m sorry. I know I screwed up. But I’m here now. Let me make it right. I’ll... I’ll stay. I’ll be here for you. I’ll make things better.”

You shook your head, stepping back, distancing yourself both physically and emotionally. “That’s the problem, Mingyu. You think that just showing up, just being here in front of me, is enough to make everything better. But it’s not. It’s too late for that. I can’t just pretend like everything’s okay when it’s not.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, the boy you fell for peeked through the cracks. The one who used to wait outside your office just to walk you home, who stayed up late to hear every mundane detail of your day, who never left you wondering where he was or if he cared. That version of him felt like a distant memory now, buried beneath layers of missed calls, broken promises, and unspoken words.

You could see it in his face—the hurt, the regret—but the distance between you both felt too wide to cross anymore. “Please... Don’t do this,” he whispered, stepping closer, his voice raw with emotion. “I need you. I need us.”

You swallowed, your throat tight with the weight of everything you wanted to say but couldn’t. “I can’t keep waiting for you to care when you decide it’s convenient for you, Mingyu. I can’t keep putting myself through this. I can’t keep pretending that it’s enough just because you’re here when it suits you.”

The silence stretched between you both, suffocating and heavy. His hand reached out, fingers trembling as if he wanted to hold you, to make things right, but he stopped himself. He knew, deep down, that it was too late. That the bridge between you had already collapsed, one small misstep at a time, until there was nothing left to salvage.

“Please just leave,” you said quietly, the words slipping from your lips like they didn’t even belong to you. They were heavy, final, like the last breath of something you once held dear.

His breath hitched, his chest tightening, but you didn’t look away. You couldn’t look away from the wreckage that was left between you both, and you knew that leaving now was the only way to preserve whatever was left of yourself.

He stood frozen, his hand still on the doorknob, his body shaking like he was fighting to say something, anything, to change the course of what was happening. But the words wouldn’t come. There was nothing left to say. The silence stretched until it became deafening.

With one last look, he stepped out, the door closing softly behind him. You stood there, motionless, listening to the sound of his footsteps fade away into the distance, swallowed by the rain and the night.

The apartment was cold now, emptier than it had ever been, the silence louder than any argument. And when you finally exhaled, it was like the breath you’d been holding for so long had escaped—too late, but finally out.

But the ache in your chest remained.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[angelpuns]

Mikey stretched his arms up, then out, then stretched each of the fingers. They always ached in the early morning like this, but it was slowly getting better, bit by bit. He pulled on the special gloves Donnie had made him and headed for the kitchen, only yawning a little bit as he went. 

Maybe they'd have something easy today, yesterday’s fight was surprisingly long….

He usually slept like a baby after missions, but something was nagging at him. He hadn't been able to figure it out before bed last night, and the worry seemed to dissipate as he got up for the day. He chalked it up to the whole witch-incident, even if the spell had been a complete dud. 

Some witches just weren't cut out for it, he guessed. 

Mikey was shocked to see the kitchen light was already on, and when he peeked around the corner he got an even more surprising sight. Leo was already up, hand on his hip as he rifled through the cabinet for breakfast. 

“Morning, Leo! I was gonna whip up some eggs and toast if ya wanna wait a little, “ Mikey started, voice soft in case Leo hasn't actually slept, as he seemed to have trouble doing these days. Well, more trouble than usual, anyway. 

Leo didn't answer for a moment, but he did go still. Like he'd heard Mikey, but was afraid to answer. 

“uh…you okay, Lee?” Mikey asked again, slowly walking towards his brother.

After the invasion - which was nearly a year and a half ago now - they'd all had trouble adjusting. They'd been beaten down both mentally and physically, and the recovery was long and slow. They were all still recovering, Leo included. 

So it wasn’t too strange for him to not answer them sometimes, or for him to act strangely for no apparent reason. His panic attacks and nightmares had become less frequent as time went on, but they'd all learned how to help. 

So maybe it was just something like that! Even though Mikey had never had Leo just ignore him like this before. Usually he at least acknowledged him or tried to communicate in other ways. 

Maybe this was just a new development, and they'd help Leo through it like always! 

Leo slowly turned around, with a faintly anxious expression. His breathing was even, though, and his eyes were plenty focused. So not a panic attack, but his demeanor was still…weird. 

Leo stated at him with wide eyes for a moment, before letting out a nervous chuckle.

“Um…sorry, this is a really weird question, but…who are you, exactly?” 

Mikey blinked. 

Well, that was new. 

He ran through a list of Leo's previous symptoms, and sometimes, yeah, he didn't exactly recognize them. But this was a clearly very cognizant and not panicking Leo, so it couldn’t be- 

And then Mikey remembered the thing in the back of his mind. The worry that had been lingering since their fight yesterday. 

What if the spell hadn't been a dud? 

“ well this isn't good….”

--------

Another part to that one au idea. I still don't know what to call it, but I'm kinda hopping around the ideas for it. I don't usually write in such little parts like this, so maybe it will become something idk :)

Technically this is exactly how wirm was born so maybe it'll be like that LMAO

But yeah enjoy Mikey being like ' ah yes the trauma' and then realizing that ' oh that's not the trauma '.

This part happens BEFORE the last blurb I posted btw, so I'm labelling it part one :) Chronologically it happens the morning before part two ;)

Part Two

[helenanell]

Shattering Still || Joel Miller

'I had been so ready to die, but Joel Miller stopped me.'

Joel Miller x OFC - (Although can be reader as there's no name or physical description, just an age: 40)

WC: 11K

Warnings: ANGST! Smut MDNI. Interrupted suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, grief, loss of a child. (I'm so serious this is SAD) Joel is angry but well-meaning. Not quite enemies to lovers, but they have no idea what to make of each other.

AN: I never thought I'd write for Joel, but I've been obsessed with and inspired by @almostfoxglove - specifically 'Lock the Gate' which is amazing!

Read on AO3

:✮:·

Blood bloomed upon the snow.

One after the other, crimson drops fell to the ground. And fell and fell. The gash on my forehead had scabbed over the day before, but the tumble I'd taken down that slope an hour or so ago had ripped it right off. I could have stopped, wiped the blood from the side of my face and fashioned some kind of bandage. But there’d be no point.

My path stopped here.

The small clearing in the woods I’d stumbled into was beautiful in its barrenness. As good a place as any, I supposed. 

My bruised and battered body screamed when I pressed my back against the nearest tree and dropped inelegantly to the earth. The snow cushioned the impact, but it began to seep into my jeans; dozens of frost-tipped pins pricking at my skin.

I sat there for a moment, transfixed by the indifferent incandescence of winter: so lethal yet so enrapturing. The snow that covered everything from the ground to the tree branches was a smothering weight and yet it glinted in the sun like diamond dust. 

Blood from my head wound rolled down and got caught in my eyelashes. I blinked to get rid of it, but it only served to bathe that eye with a tinge of crimson. With an irritated huff I pulled off my glove and used it to wipe at my face. It was messy and sure to be smearing it about my skin, but in minutes that wouldn’t matter. I pulled the glove away and looked at it: stained red, some of it transferred onto my palm, but my eyes snagged on the dried, darkened blood beneath my fingernails that wasn’t mine.

It’s easy to tell yourself that killing in the interest of self-preservation is permissible. Or, at least, that it should not burden you: the snuffing out of a life. I’d always liked the idea of that: snuffing out. To extinguish a flame. It felt fitting when applied to people, seeing as we're all just stardust; detritus from a dead thing that burned in the sky. 

We wink out just like stars. What human beings had used to navigate upon land and sea for millenia, were just dead things. We found our way thanks to bodies burning in the darkness.

I’d left behind enough bodies to form whole new constellations. There wasn’t one of them that I regretted.

I’d had someone to protect. Someone worth saving. And I had. Over and over again I had saved that little boy. But none of that had accumulated into some lasting cosmic protection, or formed armour over his skin. None of it had stopped him from dying. 

I’d saved him, until I hadn’t. Until I’d watched him die. Let him die.

He’d always been small for his age, but his hands had felt smaller still in my own bloodstained ones, his unblemished skin swallowed up by the crimson smeared on me.

My nephew had been born into grief. He’d been placed, red-faced and squalling, into my arms instead of my sister’s. In the moment, I hadn’t been able to look at him, a led-weight in my arms, screaming for breath as my sister drifted away. 

Too much blood. 

I’d known it, but I'd still stood there, my sister’s baby in my arms as I screamed at someone- everyone to save her. I’d screamed at the fucking world.

Someone must have taken him from my arms then. I don’t remember it happening, only that my memories then skip like a scratched record to me kneeling at my sister’s side and squeezing her hand. She’d been so exhausted that her head hadn't so much as turned to me, rather it had lolled to the side. Her gaze had been distant and untethered as though she couldn’t see exactly where I was, only knew I was there because of her hand in mine. 

“You have to protect him.” She’d begged, her voice hoarse, tears trailing down her face. “He’s yours- your family. Promise me.” 

I’m no longer sure if I said it back before her eyes drifted closed. I used to be ardent in the belief that I had, but over the years I started to think maybe her eyes had already been shut when I’d finally said it. Maybe I’d still been kneeling by her side, her hand cooling on my own and the sun set behind me when I let out a sob and said: ‘I promise.’ 

I had named him. Sophie had told me that she wouldn't feel right to give him one without having met him first. She'd wanted it to suit him. So, I'd looked at him and done my best. Fred, after our grandfather, because I hoped he’d be just as kind as him. I hoped that I was capable of raising him to be kind.

I’d raised him to die. 

 Perhaps it was my punishment to outlive them. To live long enough that I started to forget. Already my sister’s face had started to blur, the tides of time wearing down her features. Like waves against a rock face.

Everything is always crumbling to pieces. Life is a perpetually disintegrating thing. 

It was time for me to disintegrate, to let death wash over me like a wave over a sand castle. When it receded, the thousands of pieces of me would be dragged back into the deep, with no evidence left on the shore that I had existed at all. 

I could have just laid down in the snow and shut my eyes, let the cold subsume me, purify me in a wash of white. Drift off in a snow drift. It even sounded nice. 

Just like falling asleep. Isn’t that how hypothermia was meant to end. Peacefully?

As tempting as it was, I knew that I couldn't do that. I didn’t deserve an end so… quiet . Not when all those I'd loved had died in such pain and so afraid. The people I had known who were the least deserving of suffering. 

The least I could do for them was pull the trigger on myself. 

With my body now quaking with the cold, assailed by the dampness soaked into my clothes, I pulled the gun out of the waistband of my jeans. I let out a breath, watched it appear and then disappear in the air before me. Like human lives: blink and you’ll miss them.

I pressed the barrel to my temple, the metal so cold it was a biting kiss. 

I shut my eyes. My finger fell upon the trigger. 

Snap! A branch broke close by.

It’s funny how even when humans are ready to die, our bodies can still react to imminent danger. Fight. Flight. Freeze. I’d always favoured the first. 

My eyes flew open, the gun fell from my temple as I swung it out and pointed it at the figure that had emerged through the trees. No- figures . There were two of them.

Two men moved towards me, similar in aspect but with markedly different expressions. 

The one that stepped through the trees first, dressed in a thick tan coat had his gloved hands closed around a rifle that was pointed right at me. He had dark, distrusting eyes that were narrowed into a scowl. His hair was snow-dusted and shot-through with grey.

“Put it down.” He snapped, voice forceful but calm. Texan, if I had to guess. He nodded at the gun in my hand as if I couldn’t have put two and two together. 

I didn’t obey him, at least not right away. I watched him watching me and thought about letting him put a bullet between my eyes.

It could be my coward’s way out. If I kept the gun in my hand for even a few seconds more, he would fire his. I could see the promise of it in his eyes. He could finish the job for me. But Sophie and Fred deserved more. I couldn’t be a coward for their sake. I had to be the one to end myself, not a stranger. 

I uncurled my rapidly freezing fingers and dropped the gun. The impact sent up a small dusting of snow.

The man grunted disapprovingly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Throw it out of reach.”

“I’d rather not.” My voice was hoarse from dehydration and my throat was still shredded from all of the screaming I'd done when Fred…

I was going to need the gun once the two men had left and I really didn’t want to have to get up again. I wasn’t really sure I could. 

The man was having none of it. His face tightened with anger.

“Wasn’t a request.” He snarled. “Now do it.”

I couldn't help the scoff that bubbled up. He had just come across me about to shoot myself, the precaution felt unnecessary. Then again, being distrusting had probably allowed him to live long enough to get the grey in his hair.

At last, the other man stepped forward. He was younger, his hair still mostly dark, but there was a kinship in their features. His deep brown eyes looked me over, not unkindly, before settling on his companion.

“Joel.” He said pointedly. I didn’t need to know him to discern what he left unsaid. 

It’s not us that she’s a danger to.  

Then, his eyes slid over to the object clasped in the other hand. Pressed against my chest was Fred’s teddy bear, it’s fur matted with blood. I’d been carrying it for my entire journey and ice crystals had formed upon it. The teddy was the only thing I’d brought with me besides the gun: I had no need for anything else l where I was going. 

Joel’s gaze followed the other man’s and for a moment, he went utterly still. Only for a moment though, because it wasn’t long before his eyes snapped back to my own and he repeated his order:

“Throw the gun out of reach.”

With an exhausted sigh I did as I was told. The moment the thump of the gun landed, the other man moved forward and pushed down the barrel of Joel’s gun so it pointed at the ground.

“Sorry about my brother.” He said, shooting the brooding man a reproachful look before looking to me. His smile was tentative. “I’m Tommy and this is Joel.

I nodded stiffly, not in the mood for greetings. I just wanted them gone. And yet, when I spoke it wasn’t to tell them to fuck off and let me die.

“You’re from Jackson.” I said. 

It wasn’t a hard leap, we couldn’t be more than an hour outside of it.

“That a question?” Joel spat. 

I didn’t acknowledge the walking stormcloud and instead kept my attention on his brother. It wasn’t that I was deluded enough to think he was in any way kinder, the way he stood told me enough: just as willing to shoot me if I looked at them the wrong way. 

“Yes, we are.” Tommy confirmed. His brother’s head whipped around, but he was unbothered by the glare he received. 

“We were heading there.” I uttered mournfully. 

We . I must have been more delirious than I realised. 

Thankfully, neither of the men pressed me on my blunder. I suppose the way they had found me and the blood-stained bear in my hand made the absence at my side clear enough. 

“We’re on our way back.” Tommy said. “You could come with us.”

“Tommy!” Joel closed the gap between himself and his brother, grabbing his arm and jostling him.  

Honestly, I was also a little startled. It took the exchange of a couple of sentences for him to extend such an offer? 

Tommy shrugged off Joel’s grip. “That’s not your decision to make big brother.” 

“Tommy, look at her! With all the shit she’s covered in, she could be bit and we wouldn’t see it. You want to drag an infected into Jackson?”

“Not infected.” I sniped back, not really knowing why I bothered. 

Something about his contempt stoked the dying fire within me. There was no need to be a bastard about the woman you’d just stopped from blowing her brains out. 

Joel’s eyes returned to me, sharpened with a new edge. “If you’re not bit, then why were you–”

His speech stopped abruptly, his mouth clamped shut before the rest of his sentence could tumble out. I could make an educated guess at what it would have been: Why were you about to kill yourself?’ 

“That’s hardly the only reason for it.” I grumbled, answering his incomplete query. “Now, seeing as you made me get rid of it, I'd appreciate it if you could pass me my gun before you go.”

Whatever wary confusion had possessed Joel to even start to enquire about my motives disappeared and his scowl returned. 

“Get it yourself.”  He barked. His hand shot out and he grabbed his brother’s arm again, tugging him back. “Tommy, time to go.” 

With that Joel turned away, already marching through the trees. I entertained the thought that if he found anything in his path, instead of going around he’d just walk straight through it. He seemed the type: stubborn to a fault. Stubborn to the point of pain.

Tommy, as if repelled from his brother like a magnet, moved in the opposite direction and right towards me. His heavy boots crunched on the snow. As he came to a stop, he slung his rifle over his shoulder.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly trying to find the right words. “Look- whatever you were about to do…I know that ‘aint any of my business.”

“Tommy!” Wherever Joel was, his brother’s body blocked my view, but I could feel the glare passing through his brother and into me like a laser beam.

Tommy ignored him and moved closer, then dropped to a knee in front of me.

“Our lives are all we’ve got a right to anymore, so yours is to do with what you will. But, that’s not a decision to be made lightly and you look like you’ve been through it. How about you come back with us, stay for the night, have a hot meal at least?”

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. He had no reason to offer me this, to try and coax me to Jackson at all. At least, no good reason. No one made altruistic offers, not anymore. 

Then again, I could guess that this man had taken his fair share of lives. Maybe he’d changed, or was changing and thought that stopping a stranger from dying would do a little to balance his scales. 

I could understand that urge. I’d thought Fred could redeem me. Make me nurturing when I’d never had the inclination. Kids will do that to you. Make you want to be better than you had ever considered possible. 

I’d tried my best. I really had. But I’d never escaped the feeling of being a poor substitute for my sister; my care and compassion so pitiful compared to what she could give. I’d never had a deep well in that regard. 

 I suppose I wouldn’t have known until Fred was older if he’d truly felt loved by me. Sure, he’d told me he did, but he was a little boy and I was all he had.

It had been a selfish, self-indulgent fear of mine that he’d grow up, meet other people, perhaps see other families and realise how poorly I measured up; that he’d been deprived by me. How desperately I wanted to return to those anxieties that had felt so crippling at the time. Fear meant he was alive. 

Now there was just…nothing. I served no purpose. There was no point to anything at all.

But I also had no fight left to give and I had a feeling that despite what he said, Tommy wasn’t going to let me refuse him so easily. I also doubted that he’d retrieve my gun for me: passing me the weapon that I would use to end it all might feel too much like culpability for a man who seemed to have a conscience. 

So, I gave in. I granted a stay of my own execution and nodded. 

Tommy smiled warmly as he stood up. “Come on, we got our horses tied up nearby. You can ride with me.” He leant down and offered me a hand, easily hauling me to my feet. 

Weak and exhausted, I staggered to the side, but Tommy’s hold stopped me from falling. The wind blew, drying the blood that had slowed to a trickle on the side of my face.

“Woah, easy.” He said, looping one hand through my arm to anchor me to him. “You good?”

“Fine.” My breathlessness betrayed me. 

“We gotta worry about anyone coming after you? Your blood’ll be like a trail of breadcrumbs in the snow.” Tommy guided me to turn around and we walked towards the treeline. Joel was waiting there, his gun still gripped tightly as he watched his brother and I advance.

“No one’s following me.” I assured him, fighting against the images that flashed behind my eyes. Bullets fired in my mind and then ricocheted off the inside of my skull.

“You sound very sure.” Joel said flatly as Tommy led me past him, he fell into step behind us. It was like having a dog snapping at my heels.

I bristled at the hostility in his voice, it was a challenge that I usually would never have been able to resist but there was no point in fighting him. 

“They’re dead.” I answered bluntly. 

I’d killed every last one of them. 

Their blood had mingled with Freddie’s on my hands. It had felt like a desecration but it hadn’t stopped me. 

Both brother’s made no further comment. When Tommy told his brother to fetch my gun, I was surprised that he complied without verbalising any objection. Although he didn’t give it back to me, just tucked it into the back of his jeans.

We remained silent after that, right up until we reached their horses. I joined Tommy on his, his, his brother striking out in front and brooding on his own mount. 

When the wall’s of Jackson came into view I failed to fight back tears. I’d been so close to getting Fred to safety. 

So close. 

:✮:·

Once I had the two jagged edges of the gash on my forehead pressed together between my fingers, I gritted my teeth and pushed the needle through. The skin was already livid and raw, but a fresh drop of blood beaded there thanks to the pressure I was exerting. As I made the first stitch, I caught the sympathetic wince of the woman behind me in the mirror’s reflection. 

“Not good with needles?” I asked, already back to sealing myself shut. It was another pointless endeavour, like glueing a shattered teacup back together while knowing that I was only going to drop it again, but acquiescing to it had seemed to appease Tommy. He’d also assured me that his wife wouldn’t hear of it being left unattended.

That had proved true enough when Maria had arrived at Jackson’s infirmary. Tommy had sent someone to pass along word of the stray he’d brought home.

 Maria had looked me over with guarded concern, assuring me that I was welcome, while making it very clear that stepping out of line would be met with swift consequences. I admired her sternness: it was so clearly rooted in the desire to preserve the remarkable place that had been built.

I wasn’t entirely convinced that I hadn’t passed out in the snow back and was just imagining all of it. 

Jackson felt like a dream that only my dying mind would have the luxury of conjuring up. I’d walked through the streets with Tommy and seen…normalcy. A sort of mundanity that had become a fanciful thing in my mind. 

“Not good at watching someone stitch themself up, I guess.” Maria answered. She shifted so that she was leaning back against the wall, one hand cradling her belly. She couldn't have been far off her due date. 

“I’ve never had anyone to do it for me.” I admitted, piercing my skin again. 

I’d had to fight them to be able to tend to myself. Maria had insisted they had someone who knew what they were doing, but I couldn’t stand the idea of it: a stranger leaning over me, breathing on me for an extended period of time. Too close. Too prolonged. Just the thought made my gut twist. 

It was best that I did it myself. 

“It’s hard to accept help, at first. But you’ll adjust.” Maria’s tone was soft yet knowing. 

I focused intently on the movements of the needle, forcing down a scoff at her words.

“Trusting people to have good intentions is asking for trouble.” 

Maria nodded. “Out there, sure. But there are good people here. Families just trying to make it through.” 

My grief was as volatile and shifting as the sea and I found myself biting back a nasty retort about it being pretty damn easy for the people here to make it through, safe behind high walls with their children, while somewhere else another mother lost hers. 

The people of Jackson weren’t surviving, they were living . That was a luxury. And while it was a beautiful thing, practically incomprehensible given the state of the world, it shone too brightly for me to stand. I found it blinding. I wanted to throw dirt on it, smear it with filth to cover the shine. 

When you’ve lived so long by crawling through the dirt, the sight of cleanliness is disconcerting. Almost uncanny.

As I came to the last stitch, my open wound now a raised edge, puckered and tied together with thread, I let myself meet Maria’s eye through the mirror. 

“Look, I do appreciate the welcome, but there’s no need to go to any trouble.”

Maria waved my words away. “We’ve got enough empty houses to go around.”

Houses. 

Not a room in an abandoned building where i’d have to barricade the door, or a tent that never felt remotely safe enough to get any sleep in. Or out in the open, beneath the stars. 

Wherever Fred and I had found ourselves, I had never slept. I always ended up just watching him, his little chest rising and falling beneath his sleeping bag. 

Oblivious to my wandering mind, Maria continued. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we do have a process. The council–democratically elected–would want to talk to you if you decided to stay with us. You got any skills?”

“Define skills.” I said, as I tied off the thread and reached for the scissors that gleamed in the metal tray by my hand. 

“Hunting. Shooting. Would be nice to have another person with a green thumb.” 

put down the scissors and turned to face Maria. I leant back against the table, crossing my arms over my chest. It had long been my instinct to take a defensive stance. 

“I can hunt.” I told her. “I can make traps and snares and I’m good with a gun.” I didn’t know why I was entertaining Maria’s inquiries, but acting as if I was someone intent on surviving seemed like it would lead to less resistance. 

The last thing I wanted to do was solicit questions about what had happened to me. To Fred. Questions about why her husband and brother-in-law had found me alone in the woods, clutching a bloody teddy bear and readying to shoot myself. Tommy must have told her. 

Before he had excused himself, husband and wife had ducked out into the hallway to talk and while Maria hadn’t treated me like a broken thing once she’d returned, there was something in her eyes that amounted to understanding.  

“How good with a gun?” Maria asked, appraising me inquisitively.

“Very good.” I admitted matter-of-factly. “Our dad was a marine. Taught us to shoot long before the world went to shit.”

“Us?” Maria pressed tentatively.

Shit. 

A decade after my sister died and I still thought in terms of ‘us’ and ‘we’. Ours.  

“My sister.” I offered, hoping my bluntness would crush the topic of conversation before it could grow. Thankfully, it did.

We fell into a brief silence that bordered on comfort before Maria pushed off the wall.

 I tensed instinctively at the movement, my hand itching to reach for the gun that Joel hadn’t returned. I’d need to ask Tommy about that. 

Maria woman clearly noted my reaction, but carried on as normal.

“So…” She began with a smile. “Have I convinced you to stay? For the night, at least?”

“That’s what your silence was: you convincing me?”

“With some people, words hurt more than they hinder.” Maria said simply. “It has to be up to you. So?”

“Okay.” I said slowly. “One night.”

Maria had started moving towards the door before I'd finished my sentence. “Great! Let’s get you home. I’ll find you some clean clothes too.”

As Maria walked out, beckoning me to follow, I released a long sigh. I didn’t like the sound of that: your home. It had the distinct whiff of someone who wasn’t done trying to convince me, in silence or otherwise. 

If only the Miller brother’s had arrived in the clearing just ten seconds later. I’d already be far from there, far from myself and all that I had done. And all that I had failed to do.

:✮:·

Something about the house I was given broke through my numbness to inject a dose of sadness. It was small. Just one floor. But it held vestiges of the life that had been lived so long ago.

 Lines were etched into the wooden door frame that led into the kitchen, marking the growth of ‘Katie’ . She’d reached the height of my belly button before any chance of a normal future had been snatched away from her. Maybe she was alive somewhere, now an adult taller than me, but hope was just self-deception. It made reality more bearable.

Then there were the cupboards that were full of mug’s, many of them chipped. One had ‘ World’s Best Mom!’ stamped across it. 

Everything was covered in dust that had gathered since the last occupants had fled, only to be kicked up by my footsteps. It felt a bit like disturbing a tomb. Except there were no bodies, just an absence. But that’s what death was: an absence in the existence of those left behind.

Maria had showed me to the house and then promptly left me to my solitude. 

I attempted to settle down in the bed, curling up with the patchwork blanket I'd been given, but the softness of it was unpleasant.

 I’d gone too long moving from place to place with Fred and when there had been a bed–and there was usually only one–I had let him take it and slept on the floor, or in a chair. Sometimes, I sat with my back against the door all night. 

Then there had been all of the camping we had done. It had felt strange calling it that, as if it had been a recreational activity rather than a necessity, but framing it that way had made it seem more like an adventure for my nephew.

All of which was to say, I lasted a pitiful amount of time in the bed before I was gathering up the blanket and the pillow and traipsing into the living room at the front of the house and settling down on the floorboards between the couch and the coffee table. 

There were bay windows that looked out onto the street, but there were no curtains or blinds to close for any semblance of privacy. No matter, it meant I could see the stars. 

I laid down, bathed in a moonbeam that streamed inside, but made no attempt to shut my eyes. I just stayed there and stared up at the damp stain on the ceiling. Once clouds crossed the moon and the room darkened, the stain became a pool of blood in my eyes, spreading and spreading and spreading.

:✮:·

Tommy had returned my gun to me on the morning of my first day in Jackson. And yet, three sunrises later, I was still alive and kicking. Well, not kicking, but I was breathing.

I hadn’t had a change of heart where the wastefulness of my life was concerned, I just…hadn’t ended it yet. I was just so fucking tired. Part of me had died back in that clearing I think, even though Joel and Tommy had stopped me pulling the trigger.

There were so many more kids in Jackson than I’d thought there’d be. I don’t know why it surprised me, but seeing all the chubby cheeks and gapped tooth smiles was salt in a gaping wound.

 I couldn’t help but imagine Fred and his head of blonde curls amongst the little flock. I’d called him duckling for a long time, because when ruffled, his hair had looked like the fluffy down of a little bird.

He’d have been so happy in Jackson. Nervous, at first, because he had never grown up with kids his own age, but he’d have shaken the worry off in no time, buoyed by the prospect of friends.

We’d been so fucking close. So close to a type of happiness I’d thought died with the old world. Part of me hadn’t even believed that a place like Jackson could exist. A community where actual kindness could be found, polished to a shine; a point of pride instead of something people let gather dust in a dark corner of their mind. 

It had been a dream. A wish that I'd made for the both of us, one that I’d repeated with every step that we had taken forward. 

But it did it exist. 

Just being there hurt . 

And if there was one thing that was intrinsic to humans no matter what state civilization was in, it was that we’d hurt and be hurt. And pain led us to seeking out ways to numb it. It’s how we’d ended up with alcohol. 

The Tipsy Bison was almost too close to the bar’s I had spent my early twenties in. All dark wood and dark walls, sticky booths and shitty lighting. 

The back wall behind the bar was an explosion of discordant memorabilia, all fighting to catch your eye first: a shooting trophy, a tiny American flag, a clock with what looked like a submarine on it, a little anchor. Everywhere you looked something new. 

With a heady buzz building behind my eyes, I looked up at the mirrors behind the bar, partially obscured by the empty bottles that cluttered up the shelf beneath it. There were fairy lights strung up on the ceiling and in the reflection, my blurred vision made them bleed into one pulsing, glowing mass. 

I groaned and dropped my forehead down onto the bar, enjoying how cool the varnished wood felt. My stitched head wound stung at the impact, but I found a perverse thrill in it.

 I thought if I stayed utterly still and tried my best to block out the noises of the other patrons, the headache might begin to abate. Then I would move, stumble back to the house I'd been given. 

I thought my plan might just work, until someone gracelessly dragged out the empty stool beside me. It scraped against the floorboards and I felt the vibrations in my brain. I groaned as I sluggishly lifted my head to find the culprit. 

The scar at Joel’s temple was the first thing my eyes fell upon. It was almost illuminated in the bar’s inconsistent lighting. His posture was rigid, making him seem somehow even more solid, like he weighed himself down to the extent that movement was a chore. A hulking immovable object. 

“Quit it.” Joel groused. He didn’t so much as glance at me out of the corner of his eye, his attention reserved for the barman who’d already poured him a whisky.

I sat up a little straighter, narrowing my eyes at him. “What?”

“Quit fuckin’ staring.” He snapped in answer, still not deigning to meet my eye.

“Wasn’t staring.” I spat back. 

“What would you call it, then?”

“Observing.”

Oh, and Joel really didn’t like that: the notion that I had been watching him actively. As if taking him in visually, learning even a little about him from it, was a kind of theft, a terrible, offensive transgression. He gripped his glass tighter, making the tips of his fingers turn white. He angled his head in my direction, not quite looking at me, but close enough.

“Nothing to observe.” He muttered resentfully.

It had been over a decade since I'd let myself get so drunk and it brought out an instinct to antagonise that I’d forgotten I possessed. I smiled nastily and leant a little closer to him. 

“Are you under the impression that you’re invisible?”

“No.” He shot back. “Sure would be nice though.”

“Oh?”

“This conversation wouldn’t be happening.”

“You started it.”

Joel slammed his glass down into the bartop, some of the dark liquid spilled over onto his hand. “What are you, fuckin’ five years old?”

I didn’t answer. My heavy head became too much to bear so I dropped it back down into my folded arms. The energy the alcohol had given me was already spent.

As I expected, the silence suited Joel just fine and minutes passed without another peep. I started to entertain the thought that he’d never try to engage with me ever again but then…

“Do you not need to eat?”

I looked to look at him but didn’t lift my head up off my arms. “Feeling talkative now?” 

Joel had gone back to looking at anywhere but me. He grunted in displeasure at my mockery but carried on. “Been five days, haven’t seen you in the mess hall once.” 

Instead of answering him, I forced myself to sit up and called out to the bartender, pointing at my empty glass. But, when he approached, Joel’s hand reached out, enfolded the top of my glass and dragged it out of the man’s reach. And his generous pour. 

“About time this one was cut off, Seth.”

I scowled and clumsily reached forward to snatch back the glass, but Joel just swept it up and away from me. 

“You were happy to leave me to shoot myself in the woods, but you’ll stop me from drinking?” I seethed. I thought I had whispered, but the few heads that turned in our direction told me otherwise. 

Joel tensed so severely I thought the glass might shatter in his grip. But after a second or two, he set down the empty vessel and retrieved his own drink and lifted it to his lips. He kept set his eyes forward and took an obnoxiously loud sip.

“Fine. Fucking asshole.” I mumbled as I slid off and snatched my coat off the back of the stool.

“What was that?” Joel asked sharply. 

Emboldened by the alcohol and infuriated by him, I sidled right up beside him and leant onto the bar. My other hand fell on his arm and he actually flinched . 

“I said, you’re a fucking asshole.” Before Joel could muster up much of a reaction, I pushed off the bar and sent a consternated Seth a weak smile. “Night.” 

I lurched out into the street and had to steady myself against the wall, sucking in icy breaths that scratched their way down my throat like glass shards. Painful, but it helped me come back to myself enough to put one foot in front of the other and head for my house. 

Shit. 

My house. 

It should have been ours: Mine and Fred’s. Our home.

 Never just mine.

:✮:·

It turned out that getting blind drunk didn’t just impair your vision, but also created such a fog in your mind that you forgot a lot of things. In my case, what I failed to remember as I staggered up the cracked stone path towards the house, was Maria’s warning that the wooden steps of the porch had rotted. 

I was not exactly light of step at the best of times, but in my inebriated state, my footfalls may well have been able to crack concrete. So, when I stomped up onto the porch, my right foot went clean through the top step. 

My stomach dropped and bile rose as I lurched forward. I was just barely able to catch myself and avoid breaking my nose against the wooden planks. My palms were abraded against the unforgiving surface, my skin riddled with splinters in an instant. I could feel something digging into my ankle and suspected that if I wasn’t so numbed by the alcohol, that I’d be experiencing at least a little pain.

“Fuck.” I grunted as I dragged myself up, pulling my ankle free of the hole. Once most of my body was on stable ground, I flopped down onto my back. 

I shut my eyes and willed the world to stop spinning. The wind blew, drawing my attention to the exposed skin between my pant leg and my boot, upon which I could feel the trickle of blood. 

Out in the open air with the stars glittering above, although obscured from my sight, I found myself beginning to feel oddly soothed. It was more of a familiar sleeping arrangement than the bed in the house that I’d rejected. 

Which was probably why my eyes drifted shut. 

:✮:·

A sharp kick against my leg woke me up. 

My eyes fluttered open, only to find a dark mass standing over me. After a few more blinks, the nebulous shape began to shift into something more recognisable. Wide chest and broad shoulders, atop which sat a distinctly displeased face. 

I couldn’t actually see his expression all that well, but it wasn’t exactly a hard leap to make once I realised that it was Joel. 

Now sleep-addled as well as drunk, I was unwilling to be the first to break the silence. He must have realised this, because he spoke first. It sounded like he was under significant duress:

“Your steps have rotted.”  

“Thanks for the heads up.” I slurred. 

Joel gave no answer, but dropped down onto a knee beside my prone body, emitting a small grunt when the bone cracked. 

“Feeling your age?” I asked, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

“Shut up.” 

I was, quite frankly, far too drunk, exhausted and frozen stiff to find to rouse myself to tell Joel to fuck off. The frigid night air had frozen my reservoir of rage. For now. 

Despite that, when I felt cold fingers push up the bottom of my pant leg to expose my sticky blood to the night air, I kicked out at his hand. When the sole of my heavy boot made contact with Joel’s hand, he pulled it back with a hiss. “Go away.” I ground out, focusing on the way the now exposed scratches on my ankle stung. 

Boots scuffed against wood as Joel rose to his feet, face contorted with displeasure. Before I could let out the sigh of relief at his anticipated departure, he kicked the side of my leg again.

“Can’t stay out here. Get up.”

“I’ll get up when you're gone.”

“No. You’ll pass out and freeze to death.”

“Just fucking let me, then! I’m nothing to you.” I hurled back at him, wincing at the resultant pain in my head. 

Daughter, sister, aunt. Through every stage of my life, I had understood myself and my purpose through those titles. But now…I wasn’t anything to anyone. Just nothing .

The silence was drawn out just long enough, I thought he might have left and I was just so delirious I hadn’t heard his footsteps. But the next thing I knew a hand curled around my arm and I was hauled to my feet. 

I wanted to curse him, to spit and claw at him, to turn my pain against someone other than myself and draw blood. Before Fred had died that’s what I would have done. But whatever the husk of who I was had left within it, it wasn’t the quickness to violence. 

So, I let Joel drag me like a dog on a leash. He was rough. His fingers dug into my arm and he let me stumble over my own feet. He threw open the front door and stormed in, moving far too quickly for my drunken body to coordinate with. As we crossed over the threshold into the house, I tripped and would have ended up on the ground again if he hadn't pulled me to his side. He smelled of whisky and woodsmoke.

We moved down the hall at a jarring pace. It felt as though I was a piece of obsolete equipment that he was hauling around, and therefore he was uncaring about jostling me to the point that a screw or two came loose.

Thankfully, the little house didn’t give us much ground to cover before he was shoving me into the sitting room. When he came to an abrupt stop, I presumed that he was taking in the sight of my blanket and pillow on the floor, but when his hold on my arm eased up, I followed his gaze to the coffee table.

My gun sat atop the dusty surface and right next to it was Fred’s teddy bear, still stained even though I'd lost count of the number of times I'd scrubbed it. No industrial-strength stain remover at the end of the world.

I heard a short, sharp intake of breath and braced  myself for a cutting remark, but instead he returned to his man-handling. Joel grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me onto the couch. He then bent down, took hold of my calves and lifted them up, forcing me to twist around so that I was lying flat. When he pulled off my boots, I hissed at his unforgiving hold on my bleeding ankle. 

He made no apology, just dropped my boot to the ground and proceeded to yank off the other one. 

I laid still and stared up at the ceiling, silently begging that he’d leave without uttering another word. He stood at the end of the couch, watching me like I was a rat caught in a trap. His brown eyes were black in the darkness of the room.

“You got a bed. No good reason to be sleeping on the ground.”

Exhaustion had me back in its grip, so all I could manage as my eyes closed was a mumbled: “What would be a good reason?”

A disgruntled huff. “Don’t be a smartass.”

A heavy weight was tossed over me. I clawed at the fabric, pulling it down until my face was freed and sucked in a breath as if I'd actually been at risk of suffocating. He’d thrown the blanket over me.

My eyes darted around but only caught a glimpse of Joel’s back as he was stepping back into the hall. His footsteps receded and then there was the unnecessarily harsh opening and closing of the front door. 

Had I been less intoxicated, the entire interaction would have likely been confounding, but in the state I was in I just sank down into the couch cushions and shut my eyes and thanks to the alcohol, fell right to sleep.

My wakeup call was the sun that speared through the window and landed in my eyes. It split my throbbing head in half like a block of wood. My mouth was like sandpaper and something throbbed angrily behind my eyes. A hangover at forty was a different beast altogether.

I’m not sure how long I stayed inert and wallowed in my self-inflicted sickness, but eventually I did find it in myself to sit up, I swung my legs off the couch and edged forward and as I did so, my eyes fell onto the coffee table.

Fred’s teddy bear was right where i’d left it, but my gun was missing.

:✮:·

Thanks to the tour Maria had given me, during which she’d pointed out her and Tommy’s home as well as ‘Joel and Ellie’s across the way’, tracking down the thief didn’t take long. 

My knuckles rapped viciously against his door, exacerbating the symptoms of my hangover and my anger all at once. 

Just as I started to contemplate kicking it in, the front door swung inward and Joel filled the gap. It was obscenely early and yet he was already dressed in jeans, another plaid shirt with its sleeves rolled half-way up his forearms. I knew I was a ghastly sight and his displeasure was evident, but I gave him no chance to express that verbally.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth when you’re at my goddamn door.” He bit back.

“Give it back.” I held out my hand, matching his hateful stare.

Joel didn’t try to deny it, he didn’t even blink before he turned around and stomped down his hallway. I waited at the threshold, unwilling to enter his space.

Joel returned with the gun already held out, but when I reached for it, he pulled it back and left my fingers to clutch at the air.  

“Don’t be a fucking child.” When I lunged for the gun that now hung in the hand at his side, he enclosed his other one around my wrist. 

“You plannin’ on using it?” His voice was strained, as if pressure was being exerted on his neck.

“No.” I sneered sarcastically. “I just think it makes a nice table decoration.”

Joel’s hold tightened and the pads of his fingers pressed into my pulse point. The touch lingered long enough that it felt like he was tracking my heartbeat, but he soon let go. 

He did let me take back the gun then, but when I put my back to him he asked:

“Why bother?” 

“What?” I wouldn’t turn back to speak to him. I didn’t know what expression he’d end up finding on my face.

Wooden floorboards creaked beneath him as he shifted in place. “Killing yourself here or out there- it makes no difference. Why come with us when Tommy asked? Just means someone has to clean up after you.”

I wanted to see it. I thought. It came to me only then, having not really considered it before that moment. I wanted to see the place that could have become home if both Fred and I had made it.  

I shook my head and continued on. 

Joel’s voice stopped me again. I hated that it stopped me. Why didn’t I just keep walking?

“If you were sure, you would’ve done it already. You wouldn’t have walked with your head streamin’ blood for as long as you did before sitting down by that tree.”

I looked back at him over my shoulder. “I’m not dragging it out because I want to live, Joel. I just haven’t decided what the actual punishment is: life or death.” 

 “Punishment for what?” 

“He died.” I didn’t offer Joel more than that and left him standing in his doorway.

:✮:·

In the two weeks that I had been in Jackson, I’d spent more time on the floor of my living room than anywhere else. My body protested in its stiffness, almost threatening to atrophy, but I could conjure no will to stop it. 

I had no will to do anything at all. 

So, it was night and I was yet again, flat against the floorboards, staring up at the stain on the ceiling. 

I hadn’t shut the door properly on my way in, something which was signalled to me by the noise coming from the hallway. The wind blustered through the gap, taking every opportunity to rush inside and whisper to me. 

The door would hit against the jamb and then creak open. Shut. Then open again. 

I had realised almost as soon as I’d laid down, but found myself unable to get up again to close it. So the cold invaded, a pervasive chill that had settled over everything, pricking the skin on my arms on the way down to my bones, attempting to freeze them too. 

It didn’t help that I’d just dropped down on top of the blanket instead of crawling under it, leaving myself protected by only sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt.

The noise of the door didn’t bother me. It had a sort of soothing rhythm. Open, shut. Open, shut. The wind whispered through a wooden mouthpiece. 

Just out of curiosity, I'd put my fingers against my wrist: the noise was almost in time with my heartbeat. 

Outside, the dark clouds which had spent all day swelling to an ominous, bruised bloat had finally burst. Rain lashed against the windows as though it endeavoured to break the glass. 

With my fingers still on my wrist, I felt my pulse jump as my front door slammed shut. I waited, but it didn’t creak open again. The wind’s whisper had been quieted. 

I don’t quite know how I didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. I must have been more out of it than I’d thought.  

“Catchin’ your death from the cold is slower than a bullet.”

I wasn’t startled by the sound of Joel’s voice. I wasn’t angry or even confused. It was more of a disquiet, that the noise of the wind and the door that I had used to ground me for the last hour or so had stopped so abruptly. 

The feel of my pulse became an unwelcome sensation. I pulled my fingers away from my wrist.

I didn’t sit up. Couldn’t yet. It felt like there was a physical weight on my chest: grief sitting there, spiteful and malignant but unseen. Maybe I’d spent so long on the floor I’d fused to it.

Joel moved closer and that time, I heard his footsteps. 

“You left your door open.” He said.

 He’d stopped right by my feet. I could feel the scuffed soles of his boots brush against my socks. There was something about his presence that prompted a slight buzzing behind my eyes.

“I noticed.” I answered. 

“Where’s the gun?”

I didn’t baulk at the question, or feel a familiar flare of irritation, I simply reached back, my hand questing beneath the pillow where it wrapped around the grip. I pulled the weapon free and held it up.

“Why is it under your pillow?” 

If I had known Joel better- or just known him at all, I might have been able to tell what exactly the tone of his voice signified. 

“I want it close, in case of intruders.” I said glibly.

 I lifted my head just enough to make out the shape of Joel, a dark, unmoving mass and shifted my hold so the barrel was directed at him. 

“Don’t point that fucking thing at me!” He snarled, his boots knocking against my feet as he lurched forward. “Put it down. Now.”

I was thrown into the memory of the day we’d met in that clearing, when he’d barked the same order with a rifle pointed at my head.

I let my arm drop and the gun clattered onto the floorboards.

He might have mumbled something under his breath then, but I couldn’t make it out. The buzzing was intensifying.

Joel moved forward and soon his large form filled the gap between my body and the couch. He crouched down, his knee brushing against my thigh. He picked up the gun and tossed it onto the couch.

“Still sleeping on the floor.”

My head rolled to the side and I found his eyes in the dark. Outside, the wind howled, the rain like stones thrown against the windows. 

 “I don’t really sleep.” I told him. “Doesn’t matter where I am.”

“You don’t sleep.” He repeated my words in a tone that I was far too untethered to pin an emotion to. If there was any emotion in it all. 

“Why are you here?” I asked, if only to fill the silence. 

I missed the sound of the wind through the gap in the door, considered asking him to go back and open it again but then thought better of it.

“I was passin’ by.” He said.

I chose that moment to force myself to sit up. Being around another person coerced me into some kind of self-awareness and I realised I was in a vulnerable position: him looming over me. 

Once I was upright, the details of Joel came into focus. He was soaked from the rain. His tan coat darkened by patches of moisture. A grey-flecked curl fell over his forehead. I was much closer to him when upright. Close enough that I felt the warmth coming off him, flooding the freezing room. 

My skin began to prickle.

“Why were you passing?” 

“Hmm?” Joel hummed, Then, still kneeling he shifted closer to me. The knuckles of the hand thar he used to hold himself up, ran along the outside of my leg.

“It’s late.” I said thickly. “Why were you wandering about in the rain?”

Joel huffed as his eyes dropped to the ground. Perhaps he’d only just realised he was touching me and decided to take a look. He didn’t move his hand away. “You about to give me a lecture?” He asked.

I shook my head. “No. Tell me.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Is all he offered. 

“You’re dripping onto my floors.” I said, drawing attention to the tell-tale noise that had been poking holes in the silence between our speech. 

Joel’s thick brows rose, as if he was affronted. “Oh, they’re your floors? Thought you weren’t sticking around.” 

The double meaning swelled in the air between us, taking up space. It stole our breath. 

Was that what I’d been doing in Jackson the past two weeks? Just sticking around ?  

Yes, I realised. It was exactly what I’d been doing.

I loitered in the land of the living when I knew full well that I didn’t belong anymore.

“My floors, for now.” 

The hand against my leg lifted and then passed across my torso coming to settle on my side. With me now partially caged in, Joel leaned closer, which left our faces only a hands breadth apart. 

The cold from his damp coat felt like it was seeping into me. 

“For now.” Joel repeatedly tersely. His jaw tensed.

“Yes.”

Then his eyes flicked to the coffee table- to Fred’s blood-stained teddy bear. 

“Your kid?” He asked upon a strained whisper. 

Yes. No. My child and yet not. 

My nephew. My reason for living. Mine.

Almost of its own will, my hand shot out and grabbed the collar of Joel’s coat. I held him so tightly I thought my knuckle bones might split my skin. The action inadvertently tugged him closer. His breath fanned out across my face.

“Don’t.” I warned him.

“Don’t what?” His voice had turned brittle, as if something within him was breaking. Perhaps it was his resolve.

“I can’t—” I spluttered out. “I'm not talking about that.” 

About him.

Fred was still a part of me. Talking about him after his loss felt like surrendering further pieces of him; tearing of strips of my own skin, a slow flaying of flesh. 

“Okay.” 

“Don’t try to know me.” 

Wanting to escape Joel’s unrelenting gaze, I stared at a bead of water that had fallen from his hair and rolled down his temple. I still had hold of his coat, the damp fabric bunched up between my freezing fingers.

“Who said that’s what I was doing?” Joel challenged, sounding almost insolent.

I made myself meet his eyes again. “Why are you here?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He repeated, a stubborn set to his jaw. “Was walking.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Your door was open.”

“You could have shut it and kept on going.”

“Should’ve.” He admitted gruffly.

My shoulders sagged and I shook my head, trying to dislodge his unwavering gaze. It didn’t work

 “I don’t want to talk, Joel.” I told him tiredly.

“Don’t have to talk.”

We watched each other closely. Carefully.

“Okay.” I uttered. 

My breathing faltered as Joel’s calloused hand curled around my wrist and tugged, encouraging me to release my hold on him. I did immediately. Then, his other hand landed on my back and he began to guide me down. It wasn’t gentle, but the force didn't feel like an imposition. 

When the back of my head hit the pillow, he clambered over me. One knee rested on the ground beside my hip, while the other nudged my legs open. 

Joel sat back on his knees, his dark pupils trained on me as he unzipped his coat. I watched as he shucked it off and then tossed it onto the couch, right on top of my gun. Then he began to unbutton the cuffs of his plaid shirt. 

A sensation that I thought had been lost to me long ago returned; something deep within me coiling tight at the sight of him rolling his sleeves up his toned forearms.

Then he crowded over me. His hands planted themselves on either side of my head. Joel held himself there, our chests brushed against each other, no longer enough space between us for them to swell with full breaths.

 There was something suffocating about having him so near. Perhaps that’s why I welcomed it when he pressed even closer. 

It felt almost as if Joel tried to cover my body completely with his and absorb me into him. He ran his hand down the side of my face, thumb grazing my cheek before he tucked my hair behind my ear. Then he pressed his lips there to whisper:

“If you want me gone, say it.” 

“If I don’t?” I asked breathlessly. 

Joel’s breath was hot against the side of my face and it faltered ever so slightly before he spoke again. 

“Got something that might help you sleep.” 

We stayed like that as his statement dissipated in the air like smoke. Even when it went, the scent lingered: heady and overwhelming. 

I lifted my hand tentatively and let it fall on the back of Joel’s neck when he didn’t flinch from it. I don’t know I’d expected him to. I ran my hand up and my fingers collected drops of water until they curled into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

In answer, Joel ran his lips down the shell of my ear and then nipped the lobe with his teeth. My eyes fluttered shut at the slight sting. 

Joel was solid, tangible enough that he grounded me. He was something that wasn’t going to slip through my fingers. And yet he was utterly detached from me, after this, he would drift away untethered. 

I knew whatever happened between us would be fleeting; melt away with the sunrise like frost. I wanted it that way. 

My hands fell away from the back of Joel’s neck as he pulled back. Not far, just enough so that he could grab the band of my sweatpants and tug them down, my underwear going with them. He reached the curve of my ass and lifted my hips so that he could pull the clothing free. 

I shivered at the rush of the freezing air of my exposed flesh, but Joel was already crawling back on top of me, his warmth returning. I stared up at him as he took two of his own fingers into his mouth. He pulled them free and they glistened with his own spit. Moistness gathered between my thighs accompanied by an agonising throb. 

Joel pressed his chest to mine, my hardened nipples pressing through my t-shirt and into his. 

When his fingers ran through my folds, my head fell back. He wasted no time, pressing firmly on the way down before he pushed them inside of me. He held them there, no doubt feeling me pulsing around him. 

His mouth fell against my neck, not kissing, but holding me flesh between his teeth as he began to pump his fingers. The movement was almost languid, his digits rippling inside of me. 

My breath stuttered and my hands lifted, falling on either side of his neck just for something to hold onto. 

Joel’s mouth closed into an almost kiss against my pulse point and the little hum he let out vibrated through me. 

The tightness deep within me intensified, but just as I began to grow close, he pulled his fingers out of me, leaving an ache in his wake. 

But then there was the clink of his belt buckle and his hands fumbled to pull it free. I moved to help him, my fingers brushing against his own that were slick with me. 

He submitted to my help and his hands returned to either side of my head as I pulled the belt free of the loops and let it drop to the ground. I went to work on the fly of his jeans, now desperate and panting, but he would not abide my help in that endeavour. 

He murmured disapproval and took hand into his and held it above my head. He did the same with the other one and cuffed both of my wrists together with just one of his hands. With the other he popped the button of his jeans and the undoing of the fly soon followed. 

His fingers ran through the sensitive flesh between my legs and gathered up some of the slickness there. He kept his eyes on my face as he took himself in the same hand and spread my arousal over his hardness. 

My t-shirt had been shucked up to reveal my belly. His eyes flicked to the ugly scar just above my pelvis only briefly. 

When Joel lined himself up at my entrance, I let my eyes flutter closed. It had been so long, but I didn't care. I wanted him inside me, to feel him moving. To feel pleasure. Anything to keep the numbness at bay. 

Joel pressed himself inside me with a hard thrust. A low groan came from his throat and the hand holding my wrists tightened.

 Our hips aligned. And then he began to move, rolling into me, the force of the movements pushed me along the floor, rumpling the blanket beneath me. 

When I lifted my feet and wrapped them around his hips, intent on driving him into me even harder, Joel groaned in pleasure. His head dropped low again and his lips skimmed over my temple, then brushed over the still healing gash on my forehead.  

Pressure built within me as he pounded relentlessly. The sound of our fevered joining and ragged breathing blocked out everything else, even the wind and rain beyond the house. In that moment it didn't really feel like there was a beyond. Just him.

When I murmured his name, Joel released my wrists. My hands immediately ran up his neck and over the sides of his face. Right when I brushed past the scar on his temple, he pressed his lips against the wound on my forehead. 

He thrust into me with such a bruising force that my pleasure burst, my release rolling through me in a violent shudder. I dug my nails into Joel’s hair and his thrusts became sloppier, slowing until he was just grinding his hips against mine. 

His hands mirrored my own and he cradled my head, his forehead pressed to mine as he came inside of me. 

We stayed like that, our sticky skin pressed close, until our breathing calmed. 

Joel pulled out of me and then sat back on his haunches. I felt him looking at me so I shut my eyes again. 

I don’t remember much after that before I drifted off.

:✮:·

When I woke up, I was alone. There was an ache between my legs, but it wasn’t painful. I was fully-clothed and tucked beneath the blanket. Almost warm.

But, while I was glad that Joel was nowhere to be found–it had felt like an unspoken agreement between us–something else was missing. 

My gun was gone. Again. 

Bastard. 

[aventurineswife]

HIII I SAW YOUR LATEST WRITINF ABOUT THE ALLERGIES AND ATUFF AND IT WAS SO GOOD BUT UHM ANYWAY....

may I pretty please request for Obey Me about MC who's a famous singer on Earth? Like MC's music is very versatile and makes multiple songs of multiple genres that the characters will most likely listen to, and the characters find out about this either by their own or someone helped them find out about singer!MC. You can pick which characters you want to write this with, I don't have a preference on whoever gets chosen!!!

If you can't take this request it's okay!! There's still more content of yours for me to feast on!!! 😋😋 have a nice day!!

Singer at Devildom!

Tags: Lucifer x Reader, Mammon x Reader, Leviathan x Reader, Satan x Reader, Asmodeus x Reader, Beelzebub x Reader, Belphegor x Reader, Singer!Reader/MC, I'm lazy on adding more tags.

Lucifer

Lucifer had always prided himself on being aware of everything that happened in the Devildom, but this was a revelation that caught him off guard. It all started with an article from an Earth-based publication that appeared on the Devildom news network. The headline caught his eye: "Rising Star of Earth’s Music Scene—The Versatile Artist Who’s Taking the World by Storm!"

The singer’s name? MC. Lucifer furrowed his brows, the name ringing a bell, but it wasn’t until he saw a picture accompanying the article—MC. His heart skipped a beat. The face was unmistakable, and the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

"MC…" he muttered to himself, not sure how to process the information.

Later that night, Lucifer approached you, his expression unreadable.

"I didn't realize you were so talented." he said, his voice smooth but with an undertone of something deeper—was it admiration or was he trying to figure out how you managed to keep such a big secret?

You smiled lightly. "Well, not everyone needs to know everything about me, right?"

Lucifer couldn't suppress the faintest smirk. "I suppose you're right. But don't think I won't be keeping an eye on you."

Mammon

Mammon’s love for Earthly things was no secret, and he often spent his time scouring the internet for anything shiny and new. That’s when he stumbled upon a link that caught his attention. It was a YouTube video titled "MC: The Artist Who Does It All! (Pop, Rock, R&B, and More!)".

He clicked it out of curiosity, and within seconds, his mouth dropped open. He had no idea you were that famous! Not only were you on Earth’s charts, but you were in multiple genres—ranging from catchy pop anthems to soulful ballads to energetic rock songs. Each song sounded completely different, yet all of them had something that was undeniably you.

Mammon watched every video for hours, his heart swelling with pride. “That’s my human! My MC!” he exclaimed as he bounced around the room, not caring about who could hear him possibly.

When he finally found you, he didn’t know how to express how impressed he was. “Why didn’t ya tell me yer were famous?!” he nearly shouted. “I would’ve been showin’ yer off to the whole Devildom!”

You chuckled softly. “I guess I wanted to keep it lowkey.”

Mammon grinned ear to ear. “Well, now that I know, everyone’s gonna hear about it, MC. Ya’re mine to brag about now!”

Leviathan

Levi, who was always glued to his screen, was indulging in his usual obsession with Earth media. He was scrolling through his favorite streaming platform when an alert popped up: "Exclusive Interview with MC: The Earth Star Who’s Conquered Every Genre!"

He clicked immediately, his eyes widening as he saw your face and heard your voice. It was surreal to him. The person he had been living with, the person he joked around with, was not just some random human—but a huge star on Earth?

“This… this is amazing!” Levi squealed, clutching his Ruri-chan plushie. “MC, you’ve been hiding this from me?! A multi-genre superstar? How is that even possible?”

When he confronted you later that day, it wasn’t in anger, but pure shock.

“MC, how long were you gonna keep this from me?” he said, his eyes wide with excitement. “You’re famous! You’re like, a legend!”

You laughed, giving him a sheepish smile. “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal…”

Leviathan's jaw dropped. “Not that big of a deal? You’re a rockstar!” His eyes sparkled with admiration. "Can you teach me how to make a song? I wanna be like you!"

Satan

Satan discovered your secret in the most unexpected way: through an obscure literature blog on Earth that also reviewed music. It was a niche article on artists who used their songs to convey deep, poetic messages, and of course, your name appeared. The article praised your ability to blend complex lyrics with diverse melodies.

Intrigued, Satan listened to a few of your songs—one being a deep, melancholy ballad, another a poetic piece about the struggles of the soul. He was mesmerized. You, a human, had an ability to express such profound thoughts through music? It resonated with his own love for literature and words.

He found you in the library later, his eyes gleaming. “MC… your music,” he started, his voice unusually soft. “It’s… it's incredible. You convey emotions and ideas so deeply. It’s something I rarely encounter.”

You raised an eyebrow, half-amused. “So, you’re saying you’re a fan?”

He smiled, though it was subtle. “I suppose I am. Do you have any other songs that explore the nature of human emotions? I would love to discuss them with you.”

Asmodeus

Asmodeus discovered your fame through the Devildom’s social media channels. A post about a viral music video caught his attention. It was you—dressed in a fabulous outfit, singing and dancing with effortless elegance. The sheer glamour of it all had him hooked instantly.

“Oh my, MC! You didn’t tell me you were a superstar!” Asmodeus squealed the next time he saw you, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and a little envy. “Look at you! You’re stunning, so talented, and iconic!”

You laughed, your cheeks flushing slightly. “Well, I try to keep it humble.”

Asmodeus winked. “Humble is so last season. Darling, you’re a god/goddess on stage! You should let me style you for your next performance—I’ll make sure you outshine everyone.”

Beelzebub

Beel’s discovery was almost accidental. He was scrolling through Earth’s food blogs when he saw an ad for your latest single. The ad was paired with a video of you performing live, and he couldn’t help but click. What drew him in wasn’t just your voice, but the way you performed with such passion and ease.

Later, he approached you quietly in the kitchen while you were making snacks. “MC, I didn’t know you were… um, a famous singer,” he said, a bit shy. “Your music is really good. I… I like it a lot.”

Your eyes softened. “Thanks, Beel. I didn’t mean to keep it a secret, it’s just something I’ve done for a while.”

Beel smiled, his usual warm, comforting smile. “I think you’re great. I’d love to hear more of your songs.”

Belphegor

Belphegor discovered your secret when he overheard a conversation between Lucifer and Diavolo. They were discussing a music video that had gone viral on Earth, and your name came up. Belphegor was half-asleep on the couch, but that single mention was enough to grab his attention.

“MC? A singer?” he muttered lazily to himself, still processing the information. "That’s a little surprising."

When he finally saw you again, his tone was teasing. “So, you’re a famous singer on Earth, huh? Must be nice. Do you get a lot of fans singing your praises, or is it all just too much for you?”

You smiled knowingly. “It’s a lot, but I enjoy it.”

Belphegor let out a yawn, resting his head on his arms. “I guess you’re not so bad. Just don’t get too full of yourself, okay? If you want me to listen to your music, just know I won’t be impressed that easily.”

You chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind, Belphie.”

[impala-dreamer]

In The Arms of Sleep

A Supernatural Story

~ Death has been hunting him, turning every moment into a painful dream of blood and pain. His only hope for a moment's rest lies in her arms...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

2,985 Words

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of death and show level blood, Allusions to sex. Set right before the series finale. | Originally Published to Patreon 9/11/2023

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

He probably should have called first.

Probably should have at least texted.

It was too late now though.

She’d just have to deal with it.

The highway stretched out before him, undulating and twisting like so many tentacles of some viscous midnight monster. Black and unforgiving; poised to devour him should he jerk the wheel in the wrong way at the wrong moment.

Suddenly, the thought of a crash crossed his mind and he couldn’t break away from it. How many miles had he driven in his life? How many times had he transverse the country, weaving back and forth across the yellow lines; crossing state borders without a second thought. Impossible to count. And yet- he’d been in so few accidents that it was almost comical. It was statistically impossible that he hadn’t careened off a cliff in New England and plummeted into the icy waters of the Atlantic, or been mesmerized by a heat mirage outside of Phoenix and missed a turn, crashing into the rocks, his last moments spent hearing the sickening crunch of metal and bone.

For a moment, he saw himself, half alive and wheezing, chest punctured by the wreck of the steering wheel; both legs broken, face shredded and bleeding as he crawled from a mess of black steel. The Impala crumpled, smoke billowing from beneath the hood while fluids mixed on the blacktop below. He clawed at the dirt, nails breaking painfully as he struggled to pull himself from the rubble. Each movement sent white-hot pain through his body, but he kept going, desperate to save himself as flames licked at the upholstery, turning the slick, shining chrome to blazing orange.

Shaking himself, Dean cleared the vision from his mind and shifted in his seat. The soft leather cradled him perfectly and he sank into it a bit, letting himself relax even as he tightened his grip on the wheel.

Things like that had been happening more and more. Nightmares were common in his life, but bloody daydreams were a new phenomenon. They often came out of nowhere too, making it almost impossible to stay calm and on task. One moment, he was playing on his phone or fixing dinner, and the next, he was watching as bullets tore through his chest, blood erupting from the punctures in slow motion cascades of crimson. More often, it was some monster attack, something easy that he could handle on his own that caught him. He’d turn a corner in a farmhouse and be ripped apart by massive talons, feasted upon by wolves, drained by an earth-covered vampire.

Every moment now, he saw his death. Every breath he took sent images of the end into his mind. He was plagued by the sights, haunted by the feeling, exhausted and helpless. Despite his best efforts at drinking the scenes away, the whiskey only made things worse. He’d tried talking about it, but it sounded insane. Tried writing them down, but he wasn’t good with words, couldn’t get the emotions right, couldn’t describe the anxiety. Hell, he’d even tried meditating, but that only proved to make the thoughts more vivid and devastating.

He needed something that he couldn’t find back at home.

Needed something he knew would soothe him, even if only for one night.

He needed Y/N.

So, he drove. Miles and miles, wheels spinning so fast that human eyes couldn’t see the treds turning, gripping, biting at the roads. So fast that it felt as if the car would leave the blacktop and float on the wind, fly him right to her front door.

He wasn’t so lucky.

He drove through the day and deep into the night, stopping only for gas in Oklahoma and then to take a piss a few hours later. Landscapes changed outside the windows, trees growing tall and full; the earth deepening from deep yellow to rich green. The world outside passed by, but he couldn’t see it. All he could see was blood.

A little after two in the morning, he reached her street. The little blue house was set back a bit from the road, tall bushes fencing in a modest lawn. She’d inherited the property when her parents were killed; the same time she’d met Dean.

He’d saved her life that night, and many more times, she’d done the same for him. Whether she knew it or not, she was always on his mind.

Dean slowly slid into the empty space in front of her house and cut the engine. He switched off the headlights and peered up at the front left window. Her light was off; the house dark and quiet.

He should have called first.

Exhausted, he closed his eyes for a moment and considered leaving. He could drive back straight away and be home before Sam got to worrying or Miracle missed him too much and chewed up his slippers. He fingered the ignition key, running his thumb across the dull ridges, ready to jam it back into its place.

He took a breath and a muzzle flare ignited in his head; the silenced gun taking him down with a shot perfectly executed right between his eyes. He jumped and willed the vision to dissipate, but it refused, growing brighter as his soul darkened.

A light flipped on in the window above and Dean’s heart jolted out of rhythm.

He made it to the front door just as she pulled it open and green eyes flooded with tears.

“Dean?”

Her voice was like a balm to his aching soul and he slumped forward into her outstretched arms.

“I heard the car,” she whispered, chin digging into the crook of his neck. “I thought I was dreaming.”

Dean clasped his arms around her back and held on, refusing despite the cold night air that swirled around them, to let her go and follow her inside. He needed a moment. Needed to lay his troubles down before crossing the threshold.

“Not dreaming,” he answered in a sigh. “But I may be.”

She smiled and placed a hand on the back of his neck, holding him to her. “You OK?”

He laughed bitterly, body shaking against her. “Not even a little.”

Y/N pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. The green was darker than she remembered, his soul burdened with so much pain that the color was fading, growing deeper than the evergreens that lined the back of her property. She lay her hand softly against his cheek and his eyes fluttered shut. He leaned into the touch, desperate for any human connection, desperate for her. He took a choppy breath and set his jaw tight. She felt the muscles flex beneath her palm, and she pressed her fingertips into the side of his face, giving him something real to feel.

“Hey…”

Her voice was calm and sweet, hiding the worry in her heart. Dean’s lashes lifted and he looked down into her eyes. She smiled.

“You’re gonna be OK.”

He wanted to believe it, needed to put his faith in her words, but blood was dripping from the deep, imagined gashes in his mind, puddling at his feet, flooding the concrete steps.

Subtly, he shook his head. “I dunno about that.” He tried to smile, to sprinkle in a bit of Winchester charm, but he had none left. He closed his eyes again and once more, the sight of his flayed body floated by, and he shivered.

Y/N’s fingers tensed, her middle finger pushing lightly against his temple. “Dean…”

He opened his heart, but not his eyes. “Y/N, please-”  His voice cracked around her name; pathetic and spent.

Y/N’s hand slid from his cheek to his hand, closing around it and pulling him along as she turned.

They didn’t speak. The only sound in the darkness was the door closing behind them and his boots hitting the old hardwood floor. The white pine planks were thin and long, stretching out down a hallway that barely seemed familiar to him. She had painted since last he’d been there, but it was too dark to see the shade of green she’d chosen.

Y/N held his hand and walked straight down the hallway and to the left. If memory served him, it was her bedroom- a small rectangular room with a big antique brass bed pushed into the corner and hand painted art on the walls. She flipped the light switch and a dim lamp by the bed turned on. It did little to illuminate the room, but it was enough to guide them across the thick carpet.

She stopped by the side of the bed and turned to him.

“Boots off,” she said firmly.

Dean’s forehead creased in question. “Huh?”

She sighed and nodded to his feet. “You’re not getting into my bed with those filthy boots on.”

He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard. He wanted nothing more than to slide into her arms, but something was blocking his movements. A strange tightness grew in his chest, spreading outward like clinging ivy. His throat closed, his breathing quickened. Tears welled, but he refused to let them fall.

Slowly, Y/N lifted her hands to slide the canvas jacket from his shoulders. “Relax,” she whispered, tugging the fabric off his thick arms. Carefully, she folded it in half and laid it on the corner of her bed. The army green popped against the pale rose comforter and Dean set his gaze upon the contrast, desperate to hold onto it and push the phantom blood aside.

He let her pull off his flannel; open his belt. When she reached for the hem of his gray tee, his hands shot around her wrists.

He shook his head. “Y/N…”

She smiled softly. “Let me.”

His grip released and she lifted the cotton up over his head. He sighed deeply as the sweaty shirt caressed his cheeks and he emerged with half a smile.

The room was cool. A vent in the floor to his right pushed a light breeze into the air and it chilled his exposed skin. It felt good.

Y/N tried not to linger too long over his naked chest, tried to ignore his soft belly, the dip that lay across his broad shoulders. Unconsciously, she lifted her hand to cover the ink on his chest, the same design he’d insisted she get tattooed on her hip. They were connected in that strange way, and sometimes she wondered if he could feel her tracing the arms of the pentagram on her own skin late at night.

Dean stared down at her, awed by her gentleness, her shadowy beauty. The lamplight danced on her cheeks, cut out the lines of her lips; highlighted the fringe of lashes over her eyes.

She could feel his eyes on her and looked up, meeting his gaze. He shivered as her fingers slipped down his chest, sucked in a breath as her nails bit lightly into the tender flesh of his hips, exhaled slowly when she tugged his zipper down.

As his jeans sank to his ankles, Y/N turned away and lifted the thin nightshirt from her body, leaving her naked but for a pair of lilac panties. She didn’t look back as she slid into bed and tucked herself in the corner by the wall. When she was in place, she rolled over and lifted her arms, calling Dean to her side.

He kicked his boots off, let the denim rest beside them. He kept his boxers on and gracefully climbed in beside her.

His head sank into the pillow and her scent flooded his senses. The cushion was cool and comforting, the blanket heavy in a delicious way that made his body finally relax. Y/N tucked him in and then cuddled closer, pressing her flesh against his.

Dean could feel her firm breasts against his side, the soft curve of her waist, the heft of her hips. He bathed in her heat and rolled towards her, ready to unburden his soul. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat but no words would form.

He struggled.

She smiled.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she assured him, scooting up a bit on the bed. “I’ve got you.” She shifted quickly and Dean fell against her chest, cradled in her arms.

He pressed his ear to her heart and closed his eyes. Every beat pulsed through him and he breathed slowly with her, letting the tears finally come.

The harder he cried, the tighter she held him. She ran her hands through his hair, rubbed at his shoulders, kissed the top of his head, again and again reassuring him that he was safe with her, cared for, and loved.

Dean slid his arm around her waist and held on, feeling more like a whimpering child than a man. Forty years hung on him like lead, threatening to twist his bones and break his spirit.

He cried it all out as Y/N held him. Every hunt gone wrong, every death and resurrection. He cried for his parents, he cried for Sam. He cried for every soul he’d tortured in Hell, every life on Earth he’d failed to save. He cried for Charlie and for Eileen; for Kevin and Crowley. He cried for Lisa, cried for Ben. He cried for his youth, his wins and losses. He cried for Cas.

Y/N absorbed every tear, soothed every sob. She rocked him gently as his body shook, traced circles in his back to give him something else to focus on. She never let her grip waiver, never let a second go by without touching him in some way.

Night lifted slowly and the sun poked at the curtains. The windows glowed with pink and golden light and Dean stirred.

He lifted his head from Y/N’s arm and blinked into the growing light. She was fast asleep, chest rising and falling gently with each breath. Half circles darkened the flesh beneath her eyes and her hair was a mess, but she was nothing short of beautiful in his eyes.

Dean breathed easy for the first time in a long while. He felt lighter. When he closed his eyes, he saw the empty darkness of his eyelids and nothing more. No death, no blood, no hiding dangers. He smiled.

Daring to wake her, he slid his fingers lightly across her forehead and tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear.

Y/N pulled in a heavy breath and her eyes fluttered open. She saw his face and smiled.

His eyes were brighter, his cheeks pink and warm.

“Mornin’,” he whispered, leaning closer to her lips.

“Good morning.” She licked her lips and looked down at his. Plump and wet, they pushed out a bit, reaching for hers. “You seem better…”

He smiled. “Thanks to you.”

She bit her lip, tugging the corner of her mouth between her teeth. Shyly, she looked up into his eyes and knew that, if only for a little while, he would be alright.

His kiss was heavy and needy, tongue pressing between her lips before she was prepared. She gasped into him, slid beneath him when he tugged her closer.

His weight was crushing and devastatingly arousing and Y/N spread her legs, wrapping herself around his waist. She could feel that he was as ready as she was, and reached down between them to pull her panties aside.

Dean propped up on his aching arms and gazed down at her. She was everything in that moment- lover, friend, nurse, savior. He licked at her lips again and closed his eyes, breathing every drop of her in. He held his breath, memorizing her taste, her scent, her warmth, and tucking it away for later.

He’d always need her.

Always love her.

They showered together; unwilling to part.

They held hands over slightly burned pancakes and chewy bacon.

They lingered in the doorway, clutched in each other’s arms.

“You sure you can’t stay?” she asked, refusing to let go.

Dean kissed the top of her head and gave her arms a squeeze. “I have to get back.”

“Places to go, people to save, right?” She laughed sadly and pulled back, giving him a faint smile. “I missed you, you know.”

He sighed and looked down for a moment, feeling the weight of everything pushing down on him again. Guilt rattled in his brain and he chewed his lip, rubbed her hand between both of his.

“I’m sorry-” His voice was deep and heavy.

She shook her head. “Don’t be. I’m just… I always miss you, Dean.”

He smiled. “I miss you too,” he confessed. “A lot.”

Y/N grabbed his hands and swung them playfully at their sides. “So… maybe don’t stay away too long next time, huh?”

“I won’t.” Dean dragged her hands to his lips and kissed the knuckles on each hand. “I promise.”

One last kiss goodbye, one last press of her body against his.

The road home was just as long but a little bit easier. He carried the feel of her home with him, kept her face in the back of his mind. She was like a soldier in his head, forever poised and ready to defend him, to cast away the visions that plagued his daydreams, to set his heart right when his faith began to dissipate. An angel there to keep him safe and guard his nights, a gentle love to make everything alright.

Death would come for him soon enough, but for now, he drove the highways and unpaved backroads home with a new sense of hope. He could watch the trees fly by, enjoy the changing horizon and let the light seep into his soul.

He felt better.

He felt strangely OK.

He was glad he hadn’t called.

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