#whew what a doozie

[bioticlaw]

Can You Tell Me Who I Am?

You wonder if zealots ever find themselves in the same position as you: lost in a paradox without a clear path. When you look at him, you see salvation, but in that salvation, you also see ruin. The Doctor gives, and the Doctor takes away. You picture yourself kneeling before his feet and feel nothing, yet you can’t see yourself following anyone else but him. Then what are you supposed to be?

PAIRING: Dottore x Reader, minor Scaramouche & Reader

CONTENT: yandere Dottore | gender-neutral reader | human experimentation, unhealthy relationships, master/pet, emotional/psychological manipulation, conditioning, religious themes, implied sexual content, dom/sub undertones, canon divergent but spoilers for sumeru archon quest! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. ( ~10k words )

NOTES: finally, after nearly two months, I can finally share what I've been brainrotting over :')))) is there a plot?? not really tbh the demons just won. this is disgustingly self-indulgent but I'd still like to dedicate this to @eanul-rambul and @hiperacid2 for sitting through my madman ramblings and making this story possible!! this can be read by itself, but if you'd like, the prequel/first part can be found here! much love, enjoy :3c // @houseofsolisoccasum

DARK CONTENT UNDER THE CUT | READ ON AO3

The people of Sumeru do not dream.

The Akasha terminals harvest it all from them to create a singular massive brain for the collective to take knowledge from. That was what the Doctor told you on your journey from Snezhnaya to the land of wisdom. As expected of him, he figures everything out without batting an eye. He never makes mistakes and he is never wrong, so what he told you can’t possibly be a lie.

A walk through the Akademiya confirms his initial findings as well. The people of Sumeru do not dream. They live in ambition and convenient, unlimited knowledge, far more valuable than a mere dream can be. It’s not your first time meeting such personalities. The longer you work with the Doctor, the more people you meet, including some of the Harbingers he doesn’t seem too particularly fond of. He seems to have a fondness for relying on your ability to judge a person. From their strengths to their weaknesses, he has you remember all of them should they decide to turn against him later.

Even if you don’t understand why he wants your insight (human emotions aren’t your area of expertise—very far from it, in fact), you have no reason not to trust him. It will become useful in the future, he said. You can do that for me, can’t you?

You can, and you will.

They say that dreaming is when the human mind becomes the most vivid. It’s where Sumeru’s knowledge all stems from: a collective mind of sorts, bountiful sciences for the academic mind to pursue. The Doctor was particularly interested in this system, so he’d taken the Akasha terminal you were given to study more closely. It wasn’t a request.

It also wasn’t something you were going to decline. It wouldn’t have made a difference regardless. With or without the terminal, just like the people of Sumeru, you do not dream. Your day ends with a period of nothingness before the new one begins and gives you a mission to complete, as per routine.

Still, you believe it is quite inconsistent with typical human behaviours you’ve observed. Every person has a dream, don’t they? Some dream of travelling the world and getting to adventure much like the golden-haired traveller and their flying companion. Some dream of a happy life for their families, and some dream of exacting revenge on certain people.

But you don’t. You don’t have a dream, though you suppose if you were ever asked about it, you’d say that it’s to serve the Doctor. It’s what you’re made for. You kill anyone he tells you to kill. You guard him from the shadows, ready to slit the throat of whoever dares lie to him. You follow every order and every whim because it is your duty—your ‘happiness,’ you think—to do so.

You always have, and you always will.

Your gaze flits over to the Doctor who stands before the giant automaton, the Shouki no Kami, that looms over him. Thanks to his insistence, the project has been progressing just as he’d like. You remember his crazed words when the idea came to him, his words an epiphany and almost choir-like among the dullness of machinery. Warmth rises to your cheeks as you watch him engrossed in his work, lost in his own world. It’s a sight that’s familiar to you, a constant in each day you spend with him.

How strange, you think. This must be the sensitivity implant he’d put in you. Not too long ago, he had expressed his interest in your responses to foreign stimuli. You weren’t made aware of when he would put it into motion, so this is entirely new. Is this what people refer to as fondness? To feel nothing but a semblance of joy when you watch someone close to you?

You try not to dwell on it and return to the task at hand. The Doctor had stationed you by the entrance to the workshop, close enough to reach when needed and not too close to disturb him. Ready to be at his beck and call, just where he likes you.

It’s quiet in the workshop save for the dull whirring of the cogs and wheels overhead. It almost fascinates you how such dreariness can exist in a lush and vibrant place like Sumeru City. The workshop, despite its hollow grandness, doesn’t seem like an optimal place to be productive. You find that it’s not that different from his laboratory back at Zapolyarny Palace. There, the windows show you nothing but snow and frost. Here, all you see is metal on every corner, drab and colourless unlike the city and its lush outskirts.

You suppose the Doctor is simply not like other people. He doesn’t need to feel the sunlight to have a change of mood. He doesn’t share their composition, either; this much you know thanks to the nights where he’d lay himself bare for your recalibration. It’s one of many secrets you keep for him.

Something hits the floor with a loud clang, making you snap out of your reverie. Right, you have a job to do. He hates it when people zone out. His patience has been running thin to begin with thanks to the ‘tedious and menial’ conversations he’s had to have with other researchers. Aggravating him further is nowhere near the decision you must choose to make.

While you always do as he says without question, doing nothing proves to be possibly the most arduous task you’ve done. You don’t feel anxious or afraid—you can hardly feel anything at all, but you’re lost, so to speak. It’s out of routine and order to only be on standby.

“—Why don’t you escort the grand sage to safety?” His voice breaks the silence and echoes in the chamber, bringing you back to the present. “I unfortunately have my hands full and can’t see to it myself. Could you do that for me?”

There’s a lighthearted tone to his words. He must be excited to finally make use of the puppet he’s been working so hard on. In just a matter of a few seconds, the long-awaited plan is going to come to fruition and as always, you will be there to witness it.

“Of course, Doctor.”

(Anything.)

“Come back to me when you’re done. I’d like you to stay close in case any… complications occur.”

When you return, a couple of mechanics are tinkering away at the automaton. Finishing touches, you assume. You’re not entirely sure what the process entails. The Doctor hasn’t told you much about this project. All you’ve had so far is bits and pieces of information, namely how this is meant to be all for who the Doctor and his fellow Harbingers refer to as Scaramouche.

They’re a total anomaly, nonexistent in your memory, never seen and never known. You wonder if there’s a reason why you’ve never come face-to-face with it. He tends to tell you whatever’s on his mind, not seeking for you to be a conversationalist, but as an echo chamber. Maybe it’s his segments that know of this Scaramouche character.

While it’s not unusual for the Doctor to keep certain things from you, it raises questions that will go unanswered. Trust has always been an unspoken agreement between you and him. As his servant and his guard, his creation, there is nothing you won’t do for him. You’ll figure out a way to cut down every Archon alive if he so wishes it. But does he not share the same sentiment? Are you, ultimately, just another one of his disposables? Does he not trust you after all this time?

(After all the steps he’d taken to keep your lips sealed and you completely, utterly his?)

“I’ve called for the subject,” he says with a chuckle. “He’ll be arriving any moment now—”

“Let’s just get this over with,” comes a new voice you don’t recognise.

“Heh. You’re right on time.”

When you turn, you see a young man dressed in Inazuman clothes and a large hat adorned with gold and red threads. His face is twisted into a scowl that contradicts the softness of his features. His brows are furrowed as he glares at the Doctor in visible disdain. Nevertheless, he reminds you of ice and porcelain statues in Snezhnaya, carved for everlasting beauty and grandeur.

It is now that you realise that he is here—the new god himself in the flesh.

The missing puzzle piece, the sign of a new beginning. If that is who he’s meant to be, you believe that he will be fully revered without fail. If this is the one to worship at the altar, sacred offerings and prayers would be made day and night, pleading for their god’s wisdom.

With your constitution, your priorities do not lie in faith, but elsewhere: in recalibration and maintenance, in servitude and protection. There is much you don’t understand about religion, but is he not the very image of a being worthy of worship? An inexplicably beautiful, powerful being who holds the honour of succeeding their Greater Lord Rukkhadevata? A replacement for the Lesser Lord Kusanali, who is deemed beyond lesser in researchers’ eyes?

Scaramouche is cold and callous, but is that not how gods should be? Domineering, easily able to strike fear into their subjects? The fact holds as he stops beside you and gives you an irritated glance. Already is he regarding you, a stranger, with so much disdain, or something more malicious. You’re suddenly overly aware of your talons—sleek, black metallic, lethal—and the alarms ringing in your head. Accordingly, you deem him a threat to be kept under surveillance.

“This is your new pet project?” Scaramouche scoffs. “You’re declining, Dottore.”

As if he can feel you ready to act, the Doctor dissuades you by blocking you with his arm. A wordless warning. Despite finding it an unwise decision, you let your hands hang limply by your sides and return to your normal posture.

He’s right. He always is. Only he gets to decide who the enemy is. This Scaramouche is not an enemy, but evolution itself; something that transcends science and the mortal realm. You cannot ruin something he worked so hard for.

“I’m sorry, Doctor.”

“Perhaps you should wait for me to give you a command,” he says dryly. Though he appears to be smiling, you know better than to trust that his ire has fully dissipated. Clasping his hand on your shoulder, he nods at the other Harbinger. “This is my assistant, but let’s save the pleasantries for later, shall we? Go on, now.”

Steam rises from the surface as the metal plates of the automaton’s mask slide open. Although the automaton is only at half of its height, it encompasses nearly half of the room and casts a shadow in its wake. Scaramouche climbs into the cockpit with grace and agility, evidently familiar with the standard procedures.

You watch as the mask closes, sealing the sixth Harbinger inside. The Doctor patiently makes his way to the automaton with the Electro Gnosis held between his fingers. You hear chatter from the crowd behind you and murmurs that echo throughout the workshop, all in anticipation of what will take place soon. Not long after, he inserts the Gnosis in its rightful compartment and steps back.

Soon enough, Shouki no Kami comes to life. Electricity bursts in hues of amethyst and violet and sparks run across its surface. The insignia at its centre glows far brighter than anything you’d ever seen. You feel its strength with your eyes alone, as do your fellow witnesses. You realise now that you behold the birth of an almighty being, one ready to take fate into his own hands and overthrow the false god.

(You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.)

—

Dottore doesn’t play favourites, but if he were asked to pick a favourite thing about you, he would say without a doubt that it is your unquestioning compliance.

He’s fully aware that it’s how he encouraged you to be, but he’d be a fool if he didn’t acknowledge it. Trust is not earned so easily, even if years pass and one hasn’t wronged the other yet. Despite having sworn loyalty to the Tsaritsa and by extension Pierro, there isn’t a single member of the Fatui he’d trust with his projects.

But you, the one he made, the one he changed; you stand above them all.

It’s an entertaining sight indeed to see you fall and get back up time and time again with a new life, a new memory and the same ever-present constant: him. No matter what he puts you through, on the operating table or on dangerous missions, you trust him with your being. Your faith and loyalty are in his hands, binding you to him for as long as he’ll need you. Perhaps, in some way, you see him as more than your master. Feelings are fickle things and unimportant to him. Inquisitiveness and uncovering the world’s secrets are all he needs, but you—

You are a different variable.

You put your fragile life in his hands and let him keep you in his possession. You guard him like a loyal hound to the leader of its pack. Even if he can simply use his segments or remake you, it’s quite hard to imagine a life without you behind him. You’ve become a long-withstanding presence he can continue to study and rely on under the guise of diagnostics. No longer are you the meek little thing shyly watching him from the sidelines. No longer are you his benefactor who naïvely believed his lies about medical research and evolution. You’re an entirely new person, but one fact remains true all the same.

You are his, before and after ‘death.’

With you constantly dutifully close by, it hadn’t taken long for some of his fellow Harbingers to take an interest in you. It infuriates him to remember the wicked smile on Pantalone’s lips as he mentioned how much he was willing to spend on you. It’s worse to remember how Childe would tell you anecdotes of his travels in an attempt to convince you to join him. The memory never fails to make him huff in irritation every time it comes up.

How absolutely imbecilic. Is it not clear enough that you cannot be taken from him?

Dottore wasn’t always one to make rash decisions. He’s meticulous and calculated, sharp and precise. But to hear those idiots imply their desire for you made his blood boil for reasons unclear to him. There was no other way he could have dealt with the inexplicable rage surging in his veins or the warmth that bloomed in his chest. As long as you need him to live, and as long as your heart is locked behind a code only he knows, no one can take you away from him.

Since then, he’d given you another strict order. It was admittedly a selfish and conceivably unreasonable one that he made clear. You are not to interact with any of the Harbingers unless he is also present. It seems to have worked well for the most part. They don’t ask about you as much as they used to, as much as they are dying to know of your whereabouts.

It’s satisfactory enough. He can’t have you falling into less-than-capable hands. After tearing you down and putting you back together, there is zero chance he’s letting it all slip away. You know it fully well, too, that there is no other place for you to go except with him.

Unlike the average person, you lack innate desires and greed. With or without an incentive, you’d never leave him in favour of something or someone else. What reason would there be for you to do such a thing?

None.

You have never failed him. You can’t fail him, regardless of if the probability of success is slightly above zero. If you somehow deviate from your chosen path and escape him, finding you won’t be difficult. He has the agents to subdue you if necessary and the concoction to keep you pliant. While he’d prefer not to have a single blemish on you, it may be just the right choice with the right intention.

But there won’t come a day when he’d have to make that decision. You won’t fail him. As long as he has you in his grasp, you will never leave him. As long as he stays the subject of your fealty and the cause of your existence, you will never leave him. The reassurance alone is enough to ground him once again, his anger dissipating out of his mind like smoke in the wind.

Bringing you along to Sumeru was just another part of his routine. As far as he knows, you’ve never stepped foot outside Snezhnaya both in your past and present. He could practically see the cogs and wheels in your mind turning as you observed the horizon for reconnaissance. He wasn’t very keen on letting you become too curious, but for once, he’ll consider allowing it. It was fascinating, he thought, to see you try to mask your awe with apathy.

For the first time in years, you were human, and just a naïve little thing eager for adventure.

Dottore isn’t quite one for the arts. He can appreciate beauty where it’s done, even if the words of an artist matter very little to him. It’s too abstract, he finds. There is freedom in knowledge, but there is also discipline—something that artists lack in his eyes. Yet he wonders if the poets were right to liken their subject to a warm summer day. If seeing the glimmer in your eyes and your parted lips is how his mind interprets art to be.

(Are those worshippers right, in the end, when they swear ‘til death do us part’ to their lovers?)

He saw that wondrous expression again in the Joururi Workshop.

There was a lot to behold in those chambers: Shouki no Kami lighting up to life, the purple lightning streaks running across the surface. In the midst of it, all he could focus on was not the result of his success, but you. The face of an awed spectator, the face he’d see in the devout. He didn’t think too long about it, however. A sudden wave of annoyance crashed over him and so he took his eyes off you and back to his creation. He didn’t care how long you were in that flabbergasted state. He didn’t care for trivial things, he thought, albeit more bitterly than he’d anticipated.

There are a lot of things he could (and has) stripped you of. Your innate curiosity is not one of them. It’s not as if he could’ve stopped the questions in your mind from rising. He didn’t tell you much about the collaboration with the Akademiya. It wasn’t necessarily his intention to leave you in the dark about it, but when he thinks of your reverie again, he decides it was for the best.

Scaramouche is considerably more… sentient than you are, and Dottore is a careful man. The way you stared at that puppet was telling enough. The fewer interactions you have with him, the better. You picking up his opinions and attitude certainly isn’t ideal. Of course, he has a plan in case something like that were to happen, though he’d prefer not to use it.

He’s grown fond of the current you, after all.

Though a natural sceptic of fate and divine intervention, today the heavens have taken the victory. They mock him and laugh in his face, at his expense, as his beloved pet project grows fascinated with something else before his very eyes. As much as he hated to think of it, it was inevitable that you’d meet Scaramouche one day. Despite the other Harbinger having acknowledged you once (just to insult you, he thought indignantly), the more pressing matter at hand isn’t Scaramouche.

It is you.

He figures he’ll have to get you under control soon, if not now. Yet at the same time, the scholar in him questions. What would you think of the new ‘god’ from what you already know of devotion? What would you pray for at the altar in the throes of desperation?

Would you still look at him with the same loyalty and—dare he say it—love if your ‘heart’ lies in someone else’s hands?

He’s never been one to let his emotions take the reins. He leads himself with rationality and logic. Reason is a bigger priority than sentiment, he finds. And yet, he fully resents the implication of you finding someone else to belong to other than him. It is irrational to think of it. Keeping you in his clutches comes as easy as breathing does. With your body inside and out under his control, it leaves little to no reason for you to need somebody else.

As fun as it is to nudge you back in the right direction, he isn’t always as cruel as he seems. You’ve always been an inquisitive thing, which is why he has you record all of his musings and disorganised thoughts. You care about his work and you guard his laboratory in his absence like the perfect guard dog. Letting you wander about is relatively harmless, but he’d prefer to be able to keep his eyes on you.

The snowy mountains and frosted ground of Snezhnaya are all you know. In Sumeru, there is fauna and flora that you’ve never seen. Scaramouche is one of them. With him being a deviation from what little you truly know, it definitely wouldn’t take very long for you to develop some sort of fascination for him.

Were it someone he knew who wasn’t at all a threat, Dottore would’ve let it slide. He doesn’t find Scaramouche a threat per se, but the situation raises concerns regardless. As apathetic as you are to most occurrences, you won’t stay that way for long. What he saw on the journey to Sumeru is proof enough. After so many years, you could feel once more the wind in your hair as you breathed in the scent of the ocean. You could feel the sun’s rays warming your skin in ways Snezhnayan skies never have.

Contrary to what he’d initially told you, he never ‘took away’ your sensitivity or implanted a new one. All it took was small doses of anaesthesia and a new command—subdue anyone who lets their touch linger on you for too long. It worked for a while, but he decided to slowly lessen and eventually stop those doses. That was for your benefit as well. A new research question, one could say. How would someone unfeeling handle new sensations all at once? How touch-starved would you become?

Would you seek him out just like you used to?

Unfamiliar sensations inadvertently affect your mind, and you’ll learn once again what you crave more or desire less. He remembers the night you fully became his, all in mind, body and soul. How pliant you were and how you never ran away even when things became too much. How the most featherlight of touches would have you caving in, melting in his hold. He knows you like the back of his hand. He made sure that he would be the sole one who gets to be this close.

Yet for reasons he just can’t fathom, his plans of keeping you all to himself had gone awry.

Months have passed since the incident, and he finds himself equally infuriated thinking about how flustered you were when Childe dared to touch you. It was a minuscule gesture, not one you were unfamiliar with—a hand on the small of your back gently urging you in the direction you were supposed to go. For some reason unknown to him, it managed to fluster you somehow. Your eyes widened and you stumbled over your words, much to the younger Harbinger’s delight.

Incredibly irksome was what it was.

Dottore never denies that he is a selfish man. He won’t deny that he missed seeing your expressions from torture to bliss, either. Your reactivity was what he liked most about you. Here, he contemplates whether to put you under that treatment again. He doesn’t want to do it so soon, not when he wants to see it all coming back to you. Robotic and unfeeling is what people expect you to be, but what he misses is the vividness of your emotions—your fear, anger, sorrow, and joy.

“Isn’t it fascinating to discover something new? To feel something new?”

Yes, this is for your benefit and his. You’ll get to learn what it’s like to be a being of science, someone who dares to challenge the divine with pure knowledge. You’ll get to feel what you have lost, and he’ll get to watch as it changes you for the worse or the better. It doesn’t matter what the outcome is; you are ultimately his to own, his to toy with. This is just like any other experiment. It should be.

Regardless, it is hard to keep the annoyance at bay. It’s unclear how Scaramouche is going to interact with you. Between your endless patience (sometimes he wishes you’d just snap and show him what he’d missed these past years) and Scaramouche’s lack thereof, there is no clear vision of what will happen. It wouldn’t make sense to send you back to Snezhnaya so hastily, either. As far as he’s concerned, your presence is imperative, and who knows what’ll happen if he isn’t there to watch over you?

“Troublesome little pet,” he mutters. You’ve distracted him from his work again.

—

Pardis Dhyai tends to be a lively place. Scholars walk past each other at the plaza, some sit together on the grass and chat about what is on their minds. Crowds are hardly foreign to the Doctor, but he prefers to have his privacy. The more you visit here, the more you begin to think that you are the same way.

Today, however, the crowd is nowhere to be seen.

The indoor gardens are barren with only you as its visitor. No conversations can be heard in the background. Birds chirp a cheery tune beyond the forest and the running water flows in the fountain endlessly. You barely make a sound as you continue your exploration, observing the flowers you’ve never seen back in Snezhnaya. Hills of ice and snow hardly make a suitable environment for these florae, so it comes as no surprise that botany here surpasses home. It’s pleasing to the eyes, far more colourful than the glow of blue lights and drab walls you typically see.

The Doctor is busy in a meeting back at the Akademiya with the Grand Sage and a couple of other scholars. With the reasoning that it wasn’t something that required your attention, he’d given you permission to wander about as long as you returned before the meeting ended. It wasn’t an unreasonable request. Some of his matters are confidential, even to you who tend to be a witness to most. It doesn’t happen often, and when it does, you don’t find it an abnormality.

Still, much like that day in the workshop, doing nothing proves to be a most difficult task.

Despite the idyllic scenery that surrounds you, you feel hollow. Quite the oddity—you’ve always presumed that this is what romantics seek and what artists hope to immortalise on their canvases. Yet with the unfamiliar things spread throughout the room, nothing particularly strikes your fascination. Flowers are delicate little things and your fingers are razor sharp—you can’t touch them if you wanted to. A part of you is curious about what soft touches to the skin would feel like, touches that aren’t inspection or painful.

You stop yourself before you can reach out for one of the roses. You’d prefer not to end a life without reason. You solely harm and kill those who try to harm the Doctor in one way or another. Sometimes you’d bring them to him yourself and give him a new subject to test on. It depends on what he asks of you.

The bells above the door chime. You rise on alert, razors extending from your fingertips and ready to strike. As you whip your head around, you find that it’s not an assassin, but a subject you had met days prior.

Scaramouche stares at you with an unimpressed look that borders on disgust. “What trash heap did he pick you out of?”

“He did not pick me out of a trash heap,” you reply, suddenly irrationally irked. “I don’t have memories of when we met. All I know is that he saved my life.”

“And you believe him?” His brows knit together in visible annoyance. “The second of the Harbingers, spending his valuable resources on you? Don’t make me laugh.”

“I have no reason to doubt the Doctor.”

He scoffs. “You’re hopeless.”

After deciding that he doesn’t harbour any intention of hurting you, for now, your claws retract on their own. Not a word is spoken as you keep your gaze trained on him. He walks around the garden, seemingly deep in thought and regards you no more than a handful of times. He’s much different up close than he was back in the giant machine. Without the armour, he reminds you of the Doctor’s other segments; built flawlessly with a life to him that you can’t fathom yet.

“Dottore. Is he your god?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re kissing the ground he walks on. Is that how he trained you?”

It’s not something you’ve questioned a lot in your years of servitude. A master is a master and you are his pawn. What is there to be curious about?

“It’s the least I can do for him,” you answer after a pause. “Forgive my rudeness. I don’t see how this is any of your concern.”

His hostility raises your caution and you watch warily as he approaches you. You don’t break eye contact either, blankly staring at him until he speaks up again.

“Don’t you think?”

“I still fail to see why you’re asking me such trivialities.”

Though Scaramouche likely meant the question rhetorically, your curiosity is piqued nonetheless. You are capable of thought. You are capable of judgement, and you can see how someone is feeling just by observing them. What else could you possibly ‘think’ of?

You’ve always followed orders without hesitation. The Doctor’s time is valuable; if there’s anything you wish to know, you learn of it when you’re off duty. It isn’t a regular occurrence. He has you by his side at all times and gets irritable when you wander off. You aim to please him. You aim to be the best weapon in his arsenal, so you’ll follow him for as long as he’ll let you.

(Is that what ████ would have wanted?)

“Hey,” Scaramouche snaps. “I’m talking to you.”

You return the unimpressed look. “I was contemplating your question.”

“So?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you an answer.”

“Figures.” He rolls his eyes, dropping the issue. “What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be his favourite pet?”

Pretending the jabs were never said, you decide that he’s at least harmless enough for you to be honest. “I’ve been dismissed for the time being.”

It’s hard to predict what he’s thinking. The expression on his features is unreadable and leaves a strange sensation trickling down the length of your spine. Heaviness tugs at where your heart should be. You remember now—this is what you felt when the Doctor expressed his disappointment in you. Scaramouche glowers at you for reasons unknown, arms crossed over his chest much like the petulant children you see on some journeys.

“Is there a problem?”

“A problem?” He huffs a sardonic laugh. “It’s right in front of me.”

This is irregular. You’ve been trained to handle every situation possible, but for the first time in a while, you’re at a standstill. Thousands of possibilities can come from this encounter. Violence is a part of them, but considering Scaramouche’s status, it is the very last on the list.

“I don’t understand you,” he says, exasperated. |You have your own life ahead of you, but you choose to serve someone who doesn’t bat an eye at you. And you can’t tell me why you do it.”

“It’s my purpose.”

“Is it really?” He gives you a once-over head to toe then clicks his tongue, deciding that he’d gotten what he wanted out of you. “Whatever. Don’t tell him you saw me.”

Scaramouche’s words shouldn’t matter. He doesn’t know you inside and out like the Doctor does. He hasn’t repaired you with his own hands. But his questioning continues to leave you unsettled, mind wandering in directions it hasn’t been before.

You’ve never thought much about life without the Doctor. Your soul already lies within him, found itself a home within his ribcage. Your subservience is voluntary. Even if the Doctor wasn’t your saviour, you would still see him as one. Even if you didn’t owe him your submission, you would still give it to him.

He is your saving grace, your maker, your one true companion. He’s all you have. For as long as he’ll allow it, you belong to him. You are his weapon. You are his subject. You are his toy. You are his, just as you’ve always been.

Scaramouche must be doing this to get under your skin, and you are but a fool who’s allowed it to happen. You keep your glare trained on him as he eventually fades into the distance, leaving you with more thoughts than ever.

Several hours pass before you’re back in the Akademiya. The hallways are crowded, much to your dismay, but you dutifully wait at the end for your Doctor to arrive. You’re unnoticed for the most part. Frantic mutterings and crazed discussions become white noise as you lean against the wall. Your eyelids flutter shut and a quiet sigh leaves your nose while restlessness slowly brews within your chest.

“Ah, there you are. Tired?”

You straighten up. “Doctor! I… I’m sorry.”

“Poor thing.” He smiles wryly. “Seems I’ve overworked you.”

“No, I’m alright, I was…”

“I jest,” he chuckles. “Well? Shall we go?”

The walk back to the laboratory is quiet. Your sharp glare scares off curious passers-by and scholars looking for small talk with the Doctor. Meetings with the sages always leave him in a sour mood; it’s for their benefit as much as it is for him, you think.

The lights turn on one by one and machines whir to life, filling the room with low buzzing sounds. You shift your weight from one foot to another, brows furrowing in thought. Your mind tells you to talk to him about Scaramouche, but is it the right time? It’s difficult to gauge his current mood. All you know is that the unease is similar to the last time he’d been in a meeting with the other Harbingers.

“I can hear you fidgeting,” he snaps. “Spit it out.”

As suspected, nothing ever gets past him. You heave out a sigh and regain your composure, not wanting to worsen his disposition. While he’s never had an explicit rule that forbade you from interacting with the other experiments, you wonder if your interaction with Scaramouche would be considered overstepping. The uncertainty of the consequences dawns on you, sending you into a state of inquietude.

“I met Scaramouche again today,” you admit, relenting. If this is forbidden, the Doctor may have mercy on you for the first offence you were unaware of.

Attempting to gauge his mood doesn’t yield much of a result, but there’s something in the air that borders on impatience and anger. His posture, however, is relaxed as he assesses the situation on his own. The atmosphere feels tense—as tense as those pesky Harbinger meetings he’s always complained about. You can’t read him like you can the others. He never lets any vulnerability show, not the smallest tell or twitch.

“I assume he had some things to say.”

You hesitate. “He asked if I had a god.”

The noises from whatever he’s tinkering with abruptly stop.

“And what did you tell him?”

“I couldn’t give him an answer.”

He exhales through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with the heavy breath. “I see. Don’t indulge him next time… I’d prefer it if you stayed close to me or in the laboratory.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“One last thing, my dearest hound. You don’t need a god.” He peers over his shoulder, glancing through you from the corner of his eye. “You need me.”

—

Is he your god?

The question echoes in your head for days. It demands an answer each time the mysterious Balladeer crosses your mind. The books you read in your leisure hold no answer for you, either. Theories upon theories and centuries’ worth of history could not prepare you for the inquiry. As much information as you’ve gained, not a sliver of it helps you. If anything, more questions are raised—those of the mind and soul.

You’re well cognisant of the fact that you’re no longer human by definition, with some of your organs being synthetic. Your arms are not flesh but obsidian and the rarest metals, sharper than blades crafted by the best smiths. Cybernetics have been implanted into your eyes and your ears, enhancing your abilities as a living weapon.

But are you truly living? You follow the Doctor and sing his praises, but do you do it because you want to, or because he trained you to?

Is he your god?

The breathtaking view of the Shouki no Kami flashes before your eyes again. Everything spoken and written by the Doctor about the upcoming project echoes in your mind. Then, the image changes to those with the Doctor—him in your view as you lay pliant on the operating table, him inspecting your hands with a relaxed expression. You hear voices of the past. Voices that belong to him as they say how you were on the brink of death when he’d graciously saved you. You don’t remember anything before your ‘reawakening,’ so you trust him—they must be true.

You think again of the grandeur that resonated as Shouki no Kami stood tall in the chambers of the workshop. The violet sparks and the overwhelming awe you felt upon seeing it. He who wields the Electro Gnosis shall become stronger than anyone, strong enough to replace the previous god, and you may very well understand what the choir sings of.

If this is what Scaramouche can become—the Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom himself—he falls under the definition of a god. At the same time, so does your Doctor. His infinite knowledge, his ability to create life, and his outstanding achievements that put him on a pedestal higher than everyone else all make him perfect.

Archons and the Adepti have hymns and ceremonies dedicated to their sanctity. Statues built in their likeness stand tall throughout the lands of Teyvat. Art and literature are made of them and their legendary exploits. You believe Scaramouche will have poems and symphonies in his honour one day, but is the Doctor not worthy of the same? Is the man who bestowed upon you a new life, a new identity, not as great as the divines, if not better?

You stare ahead at the blueprints pinned on the corkboard. Scrawled notes and rough sketches of current and upcoming projects are scattered throughout the surface. If all goes well, he will allow you to witness their creation at his hands and his segments’. Anything he does is always a sight to behold.

You don’t need a god. You need me.

Your loyalty doesn’t lie with the Tsaritsa. It lies with the Doctor himself. Archons don’t have any meaning to you, and thus, they do not have your trust. The one altar you will offer yourself to is not any of theirs; it’s the table where the Doctor fixes you. You need me, he had said. He is right and he never lies—gods are nothing, but he is everything. You believe him wholeheartedly.

“Zoning out? Great job, you just got him killed.”

In a flash, your claws dig into the skin of Scaramouche’s throat as you move to pin him against your chest. He scoffs sarcastically but makes no move to wrangle free, going so far as to lay his head against your shoulder with a smirk.

“That’s better.”

“How did you get in here?” Your voice is stern, levelled. If this was any other person, their throat would already be slit without a second thought, but Scaramouche is important. An essential piece to the puzzle that will be the domination of Sumeru, living evidence that not only Archons can wield a Gnosis. Your jaw clenches. “The Doctor won’t be pleased about this. You need to leave.”

“There it is. The Doctor this, the Doctor that,” he sighs, “I can’t understand you at all.”

“You need to leave,” you repeat. “Or I will cut you down where you stand.”

“You won’t.” Scaramouche chuckles. “You can’t.”

Your hands are trembling and a burning sensation crawls up your neck, engulfing you in the flames of rage. You can feel it—the lightning and the storms, all brewing within the confines of your chest. Irritated, you loosen your grip and shove him away, making it a point to keep your blades unsheathed and pointed at his throat.

“Hm. Are you always this rude?”

“I almost believe you want me to hurt you,” you hiss.

He grins impishly. “Really?”

“Talk.”

“Fine,” he says with an exaggerated sigh. “Tell me, hound, have you ever experienced betrayal?”

Your brows furrow. “I don’t see how this is important.”

He shrugs. The gesture, albeit minuscule, makes visions of violence run through your mind, visions of bloodshed and mercilessness. Your hand does not waver from where it points at his jugular. Unfazed, he continues, “Don’t you think he’ll betray you one day?”

“I trust him,” you cut in. “Without question.”

With a bored expression, one akin to an impatient teacher, he softly swats your hand away from him. You don’t push back, though you stand guarded—using force remains an option.

“Dottore doesn’t need you. He already has his segments,” he drawls, pretending to check the dirt under his nails. “You’re only there as a toy.”

As irritated as you feel, something in the back of your mind tells you to listen to him.

It’s not that you’re unaware that you are a test subject. Because of your enhanced durability and patience, he often seeks you out for his experiments. You’ve had plenty of substances and chemicals injected into your bloodstream. You’ve been pushed to your limits until he deems it satisfactory. You bear all the pain he inflicts on you and you melt under his touch when he repairs you himself.

Your existence revolves around him. Your body does not belong to you—it belongs to him, and he shall do whatever he pleases with it. This is the life you’ve accepted. This is your pride. This is your ‘dream.’

But it doesn’t explain the weight upon your shoulders. The anxiety lodged in your throat, the numbness spreading across your skin, the chill trickling down your spine. The sense that there is something wrong, very wrong, but nothing points to anything. All the paths ahead of you lead to him. Where are the ones without him?

No matter. You don’t exist to think.

“I’m doing my role,” you say with finality.

It’s a response you have said many times, whether to attempted assassins or lesser agents, yet somehow, the words don’t feel like they’re yours. They’re automated, rehearsed. You shake it off. Routines aren’t out of the ordinary. Following a pattern is merely a part of what you do.

He scoffs. “Fool. You just don’t get it.”

You feel like you should. You feel that there is more weight to his words than he’s letting on, but you simply can’t see this from a new perspective. What you’re doing—how you live now—is enough, and the fulfilment that comes after the Doctor’s praise is something you always aim for.

They can call you whatever they want. His pet, his guard dog, his toy, none of it matters. The only person you listen to is the Doctor. Without him, you are nothing. Without him, you have no purpose.

Then what will you do without him? When he inevitably decides that you are no longer needed, that a replacement would suffice? Every image that comes after is out of your control. The Doctor isn’t afraid of discarding things he deems useless. Would he dismantle you, hide you away until he needs you again? Would he throw you into the same pile as all of his broken segments? Would he decide to dispose of you entirely, shutting down all of your systems and turning your world into a void?

An invisible knot lodges within your throat and your mouth goes dry, uncomfortably so. Sweat beads at the crown of your head and the tremors in your hands are becoming harder to hide. The room spins and renders your vision distorted. You purse your lips, doing your best to keep the instabilities in check. You cannot show weakness. Anyone can turn against you in the blink of an eye.

“Is that all?” you speak up after a beat of silence. The shakiness in your words is more audible than you anticipated. “I will ask you one more time. Leave.”

Scaramouche watches you with an unreadable expression before he thankfully does as demanded without further argument. Your chest feels tight as you glare daggers at the door, keeping your ears trained to hear if the footsteps are going quiet as they should be. The razors on your fingertips retract. It is over.

Shaking your head, you return to the task at hand, unaware of the blinking light in the corner of the room monitoring your every move.

—

The laboratory becomes less of a frequent sight as you are given more tasks to do.

No longer are you needed to wait on the Doctor hand and foot outside the conference room. No longer are you needed to guard him in the workshop. Your time is spent lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportune time to strike. He has you stay so close yet so far away, demanding your presence one moment then dismissing you the next.

The aberration in routine is too drastic to ignore. You’ve begun to analyse him the same way you do with your kill targets, mentally cataloguing his every action in an attempt to discover a common factor. You broke down everything he said, trying to find any hidden meanings behind them, to see if he speaks to you in riddles. Just like the attempt to search for who you were, you found nothing.

Naturally, you concluded that he is hiding something from you. He’s more adamant about being left alone while he works on a little project. His segments are the ones carrying out the tasks you are usually assigned to. When you’re not on reconnaissance, you’re left with the chores. It’s not entirely unusual for him to command you without further explanation. The tasks are simple enough, but the sudden shift brings forth unwanted anxieties.

You wonder if this is a gateway to something worse. The dismissals and growing lack of conversation remind you of someone no longer interested in what they used to love. With the Doctor’s eccentricities to begin with, nothing aids the formation of a relevant hypothesis or predicts a pattern. Some nights you’d find yourself trying to pick out past mistakes, any errors you might’ve missed, only to be met with nothing. You’d feel strangely heated—upset—being reminded of the possibility that he has simply tired of you.

You’ve always given your all in what he asks of you. If he needs someone killed, you do it clean, untraceable and unsuspecting. If he needs you to retrieve something, you make it seem like what you’ve stolen has never left. You lay yourself on the operating table when he demands it, let him inject toxin upon toxin into your vessels. You’ve been the perfect puppet for as long as you can remember, but is it not enough for him? Does he want more from you?

Maybe it’s his current collaboration with the sages of the Akademiya that is making him neglect you. Shouki no Kami is no small feat and the Doctor is meticulous. He could be devoting more of his time to perfecting the project. A burst of jealousy clouds your mind at the thought. Surely a project he’s had for centuries will be more interesting and resourceful than what you can offer him.

And yet, his demeanour every time you come across him contradicts everything you’ve suspected. He hasn’t been behaving particularly strangely. His mood is still quick to change and his temperance with the other scholars is as turbulent as ever. He still wordlessly watches you complete his orders, fingers drumming against his arm as he’s deep in contemplation. There shouldn’t be room for suspicions, but there is, and the lingering unease has started to hinder your progress.

You come to realise that perhaps this is what he’s called you here for.

The room is eerily quiet as the Doctor leers at you from where he leans against the workbench. You’re kneeling before him, eyes cast on the ground while you wait for him to speak. You don’t remember the last time you failed him, much less trigger a change in his temper. Your mind races with possible punishments he could inflict on you. Would he isolate you from the rest of the world? Would he shut you down for days on end, waking you when he decides you’ve learnt your lesson?

A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You don’t have to see it to know his features are marred with ire, his lips pressed in a taut frown. The impatient tapping of his foot seems to accelerate your train of thought, sending tremors to your frame. His glare burns into you and suddenly you feel all too exposed, vulnerable, and it is here that you realise that you are afraid.

But the scolding you were preparing yourself for never happens.

Instead, you feel a cold and heavy object wrapping around your neck and locking with an audible click. With a gloved hand, he takes hold of your chin with a disturbingly gentle touch, tilting your head up to meet his. You feel his breaths quickening against your cheeks, excitement bubbling in his blood at the confused expression on your face.

“Just as I suspected,” he whispers, voice tinged in manic delight. “It suits you. But…”

Searing heat rushes around your neck and tears spring forth as you look up at him wide-eyed, lips parted in shock. Words die at the tip of your tongue, dissolving into nothing. Still, you don’t move or ask. You aren’t supposed to. Much like an obedient child, you sit and wait, even as you feel as though you’re going to collapse. The burn on your neck gradually wanes with time, the pain fading away but leaving behind a red trail in its wake.

He crouches down beside you and grazes his fingertips over the fresh wound, causing you to involuntarily wince. His glee is more than evident with how he holds your face in his hands and inspects you with pride.

“Why…”

“Why?” The mirth on his features immediately twists into a scowl. “Are you questioning me, pet?”

Your reply is instant and without a second thought, your mind unable to register the underlying threat in his question. “Is… Is that what I am, Doctor?”

“You are whatever I want you to be. Does that not suffice?” He presses against the wound, visibly overjoyed by the choked noise you let out. “Have you forgotten your place, pet?”

“No!” you gasp, tears streaming down your cheeks in rivulets. You don’t remember the last time you cried—you thought you couldn’t—but they flow on their own, uncontrollable and never-ending. “I’m sorry!”

It hurts. You feel as though you’re being torn apart by the neck, skin burnt and blistered at the Doctor’s will. Is this what he had wanted? Is this the foreign stimulus he needed to see your reaction to? Your pain tolerance was high and allowed you to withstand any trial he put you through. Did he take that away just to see you squirm? Just so he could hurt you himself?

For someone so unfamiliar with feelings now, everything comes back to you in full force. While you knew that the Doctor never saw anyone as his equal, the degrading act hits you harder than anything could ever do. You were proud of your duty of serving him, of being the subject he always looked for, but you are now lost in a void.

“I asked for one simple thing.” Whatever joy he previously had is all gone. The gentleness in his touch becomes harsh, fingers pressing against the collar again to rub your wound. “And my dearest little hound ignores it.”

“It hurts, Doctor, please—”

“Have I not been clear enough?” he continues, ignoring your cries. “Must I spell it out myself?”

The pedestal you put him on crumbles into pieces, surrounded by a cloud of dust and smoke. The holy light is replaced with unbounded darkness and the marble flooring is splattered with blood and broken parts. In the destruction, you see your lifeless body lying among the faceless, and all he does is watch as you wither away with his old selves.

“You treat this as a punishment,” he says with disappointment, breaking you out of the dreamscape you’d found yourself in. “But I implore you to consider it a gift.”

Not waiting for your reply, he continues. “A reminder of sorts. For you and for anyone who looks at you. It was quite the hassle deciding between this or reworking you entirely.” He shoves you away and gets back on his feet, slowly pacing around the room as he speaks. “I’d have to start over from zero again.”

You don’t understand. You don’t know what reworking entails, and you don’t know what he means by starting over. All you can do is stare blankly at the tear-stained ground as your body becomes static and shuts out everything around you. Only he and you exist in this void. Only he is in control.

“I made you myself. Gave you a body when you had nothing.” He stops in his tracks, hands behind his back. “And you repay me with disloyalty.”

It’s been days since you last spoke to Scaramouche. You haven’t seen him since, and here the Doctor is, punishing you for something that was out of your control. A part of you screams at you to fight back, to tell him that he was the one who sought after you, but all you can do is tremble where you stand. You want to apologise, despite your instincts telling you not to. That the Doctor is lying to you, just as he likely did before.

“Please,” is all that leaves you in a broken whisper. Defiance brings nothing. You’ve learnt it the hard way, you know you have, even if you can’t remember what it was. Briefly, you question if he’s ever taken control of your memories, forming a faux story for you to remember. The dreadfulness is enough to answer the question.

He sighs, disinterested. “As thrilling as this is, you are wasting my time. I have duties to attend to.”

“Doctor…”

“Stay here and wait for my return. Do not leave our quarters. Am I clear?”

You feel as though you’ve been through this before. Visions come to mind, but none of the vignettes play; only a sense of familiarity and hurt remain. There is something about his effortless cruelty that hovers just out of your reach and keeps you in a perpetual state of insecurity. Are you not enough? Haven’t you done enough?

Hasn’t he had enough?

Numbly, you nod, your voice wavering as you finally manage to speak, “Yes, Doctor.”

—

As time passes, you come to realise that your punishment was only an interlude for something worse.

The Traveller’s arrival in Sumeru and the failure of the Sabzeruz festival had thrown a wrench into the Doctor’s plans. More disagreements between him and the sages occurred, none of which you knew of, but his mood grew more dour with each passing moment. You haven’t seen Scaramouche since he’d broken into the laboratory that night, and there’s a nagging thought telling you that you won’t see him again, either.

He’d been defeated at the hands of the Traveller with the aid of the Dendro Archon and disappeared, presumably under their custody. Years worth of work had fallen apart in a blink of an eye. The Grand Sage and his underlings were swift to surrender to the Mahamatra himself, forcing the operation to a halt. The people of Sumeru were freed from the influence of the corrupted Akasha terminals, and ‘the good’ began to rebuild what they had lost.

Meanwhile, the ones who had been on the verge of victory were left with the scraps.

The Doctor had returned from his negotiation with the Dendro Archon with more irritation than when he’d left. As per agreement with her, he’d destroyed his remaining segments stationed throughout Sumeru. In return, she gave him her Gnosis. Though it seemed like a fair deal, it did nothing to lift his spirits. He didn’t believe in wasted effort—how could he, when it’s in everything he does?—but there was not a moment of hesitation when he decided to abandon the project entirely.

It was a clear enough sign: he saw it as an utter failure.

A part of you is curious (or worried?) about what will become of Scaramouche now that he’s no longer needed. The Doctor either completely abandons his projects or destroys them. With Scaramouche missing, will he be hunted or presumed dead? Will you come across him again one day? He’d left behind only a husk of what he could’ve been, a being at heights you don’t know he can reach again.

And now, all that is left to do is to salvage what you can from the disaster.

What used to be filled with sounds of whirring cogs and wheels is now completely silent as the machines are no longer in motion. The metallic walls haven’t changed in their dreariness and the lights flicker on and off overhead. The centrepiece lies in ruins, smothered by dust and rubble as the last of its vibrancy begins to dull completely. You can see broken concrete and shards of glass everywhere, a visible mark of what had woefully transpired in the last twenty-four hours.

It’s a stark difference from the first time you’d been here. The chambers are devoid of people and it’s daunting, more so with what remains of Shouki no Kami. The god has died before it can bless its people, leaving behind remnants of its power and godless land. What was meant to be a hall of worship had become a battlefield, a site of devastation and loss. Your gaze drifts back to the Doctor standing before the disaster.

If you had a heart, it would ache for him and weep.

You know he’d chide you for the sympathy you have for him. He’d make you remember that your ‘emotions’ are his, that he’s the sole person who gets to break you and build you back together. Still, you can’t help but feel sorrowful on his behalf. He’ll get back up and come up with a better plan; he’ll never crawl or bow in the face of an obstacle. He will move forward and you will continue to trail behind him, just like the loyal dog he wants you to be.

You’re reminded of the question Scaramouche had posed to you before—the question of whether the Doctor is your god. As it stands, you find that you still don’t have an answer for him. You don’t know what a god is supposed to be. You don’t know how close you can be to a god. You don’t know what makes the perfect god, if it’s benevolence or evil that constitutes their power.

You’ve heard stories of cruel gods: the fall of Khaenri’ah, the Raiden Shogun’s tyranny; stories about Rex Lapis at the height of his time as a warrior and those punished by Celestia. You’ve heard of the kind ones, those who created life and allowed them happiness beyond the waters. The Archons are all worshipped for different reasons: the grant of freedom, the discipline of contracts, the pursuit of wisdom and the like.

You wonder if zealots ever find themselves in the same position as you: lost in a paradox without a clear path. When you look at him, you see salvation, but in that salvation, you also see ruin. The Doctor gives, and the Doctor takes away. You picture yourself kneeling before his feet and feel nothing, yet you can’t see yourself following anyone else but him.

Then what are you supposed to be?

Your existence relies on him. Your life belongs to him. Your purpose is to be at his beck and call, by his side, beneath him, anywhere he needs you. A life without him would lead to nothing—or would it? Would you break free and find a life of your own like Scaramouche has? Your heart sinks into your bowels at the fogged outcome. You don’t know if it’s fear or ‘love’ that holds you back from thinking of freedom. You don’t know if you need it or if you don’t.

Were you to ask him what you are, he’d let the question linger and let it go forgotten. Were you to ask him who you were, he’d tell you a different story from the last, and there’d be no way of finding out what is the truth.

(Do you need to?)

“It’s about time we returned.”

The Doctor stops just by your side and faintly tilts his head towards you. He seems to be staring at something on your face but says nothing. Without another word, he marches forward and you dutifully follow him until you reach the same port you’d first arrived in.

The ship was docked and already filled with the other agents who’d gotten it ready for the long voyage back to Snezhnaya. It softly bobs in the waves as the Doctor boards, ignoring the salutes and greetings he is given. With your head down, you take post on the deck of the ship.

You feel gazes burning on your back. Behind masks, the surrounding agents are undoubtedly staring at the burns around your neck and the collar that lays atop it. A sense of shame washes over you and you instinctively bring your hand up to cover it, your eyes cast on the wooden floors beneath. It makes you overly aware of the collar’s presence, bringing back the tingles on your skin and memories of the pain inflicted by the Doctor.

He may take the collar off of you when his whims call for it in the future, but the scar burnt into your skin will still be visible. Owning you alone wasn’t enough of a tangible claim over you. Keeping your heart locked away in his quarters wasn’t enough proof of his ownership. Breaking you apart and putting you back together wasn’t enough reassurance that he was in total control.

It should all hurt you—it does—but a voice in your head tells you that the Doctor is not an unreasonable man. It’s soft, timid, and nostalgic in a way that makes you think of summer days and toothy smiles. It’s doused in affection akin to a king’s loyal servant feeling for their master. The voice belongs to a person unknown, though you feel that they’re closer to you than you think. Conflicted, you shakily exhale, the sea breeze turning your skin cold and your eyes dry.

Is he your god?

The question sounds once more, and you find that you have an answer this time—the Doctor is not your god, but if he were, then he is one who has forsaken you.

[thewulf]

Calming Storms || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - It's aaron hotchner x reader, and reader is the mother of one of Jack's new friends (let's call him Marc for now but you can change it obvs), and one time the bau have a kind of short case but away, Jessica is away also so Jack says he could do a sleepover at Marc's and everything goes fine until the second night where Marc's dad gets so angry at reader that she locks the kids in Marc's bedroom... Read Rest Here

A/N: Whew this ones a doozy. Very sweet but triggering. Talks of violence against reader/kids. Please be cautious while reading if this triggers you!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

TW: Talks of DV, drunk absent fathers, scared kids

The evening unfolded with a rare promise of simplicity, a brief respite from the relentless whirlwind of investigations that consumed the Behavioral Analysis Unit's days and nights. Aaron Hotchner, taking charge in Jessica's absence, found himself overseeing operations with a steely determination. With each passing case, he was reminded of the fragility of life and the weight of responsibility that rested upon his shoulders.

Amidst the chaos of their lives, Aaron made it a priority to ensure that his son, Jack, found moments of normalcy and joy. Tonight, he had arranged for Jack to have a sleepover with his best friend, Marc. It was a small gesture, perhaps, but one that Aaron hoped would offer Jack a brief respite from the realities of their world.

As Jack eagerly packed his overnight bag with the essentials—a favorite stuffed animal, a handful of snacks, and a well-loved book—Aaron couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude for Marc's friendship. In the short time they had known each other, Marc had already become a source of light and laughter for Jack, a sense normalcy in the chaos.

With a reassuring smile, Aaron watched as Jack bounded out the door with excitement shining in his eyes. It was moments like these that reminded Aaron of the importance of cherishing the simple joys in life, even in the darkness that surrounded them. The best thing about Jack’s friendship with Marc though? You. His mother. The woman that walked into his life, took a seat and had taken ahold of him in a hurry.

When Aaron Hotchner looks at you, he sees more than just physical beauty. Sure, you're undeniably pretty, with features that catch the eye and an elegance that's hard to ignore. But what really captivates him is something deeper, something that goes beyond mere appearance.

In his eyes, you carry yourself with a quiet strength and confidence that sets you apart. There's a grace in the way you move, a poise that speaks volumes about your inner resilience. Your eyes, he notices, hold a depth that hints at a wealth of experiences and emotions, drawing him in with their intensity.

Everything about you attracts him to you. It's the way you approach challenges with unwavering resolve, the way you stand by your principles even in the face of adversity. He admires your determination, your ability to stay true to yourself no matter what. To Aaron, you're not just beautiful. You're a testament to strength and resilience, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there's always the possibility of finding light. And as he looks at you, he can't help but feel a sense of admiration and respect for the remarkable person you are.

Aaron got to know you through a series of casual encounters that gradually evolved into something more meaningful. It started with the occasional coffee break during team meetings or after-work gatherings where the BAU team would unwind. As the kids played and laughter filled the air, Aaron found himself drawn to your presence.

At first, your interactions were brief and centered around small talk—discussing work, sharing anecdotes about the challenges of balancing career and family. But over time, those conversations grew deeper, more personal. You discovered shared interests and common values, forging a connection that went beyond the confines of the office. As Aaron spent more time with you, he began to appreciate your unique perspective and unwavering dedication to your work. He admired your intelligence, your ability to analyze complex situations with clarity and precision. And as he got to know you better, he found himself drawn to your warmth and kindness, your willingness to listen and offer support when needed.

Before long, those casual coffee breaks evolved into something more—a genuine friendship built on mutual respect and understanding. And as Aaron navigated the complexities of his own life, he found solace in knowing that you were there, a steady presence amidst the rocky days, offering comfort and companionship when he needed it most.

After he dropped Jack off at your house he went back to work, even though he had no desire to go back after the already stressful week. As the night settled in and the BAU headquarters grew quiet, Aaron allowed himself a moment of respite, a rare chance to breathe amidst the chaos. He found solace in the knowledge that, for tonight at least, Jack was safe and happy, surrounded by the warmth of friendship and the promise of a new day. And as he settled into his own quiet routine, Aaron couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope among the darkness—a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was always the promise of light.

As laughter and chatter filled your home, your watchful gaze swept over the scene, a silent sentinel guarding over the children's fleeting moments of joy. The sound of their innocent giggles echoed through the room, a melody of pure happiness that brought warmth to your heart.

But then, like a sudden squall, that joy was ripped from everybody in the room. Marc's father, a distant figure with visitation rights, arrived in a whirlwind of anger, his shouts piercing the tranquil evening air. His words were sharp, laced with bitterness and resentment, tearing through the peaceful atmosphere like shards of glass. You felt a chill run down your spine as his presence loomed over the room, casting a dark shadow over the innocence of childhood.

Taking a peak outside the window you were hit with a sense of overwhelming dread. He was drunk. There was no mistaking the glassy look in his eyes, the slurred speech that spilled from his lips like poison. This was why you moved time and time again, running away from the man that scared you senseless, the specter of his rage haunting your every step.

In that moment, instinct propelled you into action. With trembling hands, you gathered the children, ushering them into your young sons bedroom. Their faces were a mixture of confusion and fear, mirroring the turmoil raging inside your own heart. Marc, wide-eyed and trembling, clung to your side, seeking comfort and safety in the shelter of your embrace.

You locked Marc’s bedroom door behind you, the click of the bolt a final barrier between the children and the storm brewing outside. With each passing moment, the tension in the air grew thicker, suffocating in its intensity. But you stood firm, a pillar of strength amidst his fury, shielding the children from the darkness that threatened to engulf them.

As you huddled together in Marc's room, Marc clung to your side, his small frame trembling with fear. "Mommy, what's happening?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes wide with uncertainty.

You knelt down beside him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. "It's going to be okay, Marc, Jack," you reassured him, your voice steady despite the turmoil. "We're safe here."

Jack, sensing the tension in the air, looked up at you with wide eyes. "Are we in trouble Miss Y/N? Daddy says if I’m in trouble I should call him." he asked, his voice tinged with worry having had to go through this same scenario one too many times for being such a young kid.

You shook your head, mustering a reassuring smile for both boys. "No, sweetheart, we're not in trouble," you said gently, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "We're just going to stay here until everything calms down, okay?"

The boys nodded, their trust in you unwavering despite the chaos unfolding outside. Together, you formed a tight-knit circle, finding solace in each other's presence amidst the uncertainty. But you knew you couldn’t just wait it out in Marc's bedroom. You had to do something though, anything. You couldn’t wait for Marc’s father to break down the door.

Your mind raced with possibilities as you scanned the room for any means of defense. Should you grab a knife? Look for any baseball bats around? With a sense of urgency, you sprang into action, determined to protect the children at all costs.

As the tension in the room thickened, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what needed to be done. With a gentle hand, you lifted Marc's chin, meeting his frightened gaze with a reassuring smile. "Listen to me, Marc, Jack," you began, your voice firm but gentle. "I need you both to be brave for me, okay? We're going to find a hiding spot, and I need you to stay quiet and stay hidden until I come back. Can you do that?"

Marc nodded; his eyes filled with determination as he squeezed your hand. "We can do it, Mommy," he whispered, his voice steady despite the fear that lingered in the air.

Jack hesitated for a moment before nodding, his small frame tense with uncertainty. "Okay, Miss Y/N," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You pressed a kiss to each of their foreheads, a silent promise to keep them safe. "Good," you said softly, your voice filled with determination. "Now, I need you to find a hiding spot and stay there until I come back. I'm going to call your Dad, Jack, and he's going to help us, okay?"

With a nod, the boys scrambled to find a hiding spot, their small figures disappearing into the shadows of the room. As they huddled together, you felt a surge of pride and love welling up inside you. They were scared, yes, but they were also brave, just like Jack’s father.

The sound of fists pounding against wood echoed through the room, a chilling reminder of the danger lurking just beyond their sanctuary. Every blow sent a jolt of fear coursing through your veins, your heart pounding in your chest as you fumbled for your phone, the air thick with terror.

With trembling hands, you dialed Aaron's number, each digit feeling like an eternity as you prayed for his swift arrival. The urgency in your voice betrayed the gravity of the situation as you finally managed to connect with him.

"Hotchner," his voice was calm, a reassuring anchor that threatened to engulf you.

"Aaron, it's me," you managed, your words tumbling out in a rush, your voice trembling with fear. "Something's happened. Marc's father—he's here, and he's... he's furious and drunk. I don't know what to do."

There was a brief pause, the silence heavy with unspoken understanding. In that moment, you could almost hear the gears turning in Aaron's mind as he processed the gravity of the situation. But despite the fear that threatened to consume you, his voice remained steady, a beacon of strength in the darkness.

"I'm on my way," he replied, his words infused with determination.

As you hung up the phone, a sense of relief washed over you, knowing that help was on the way, but the danger still lurked just outside. With trembling hands, you made your way to the window, your heart pounding in your chest as you peered outside.

Marc's father stood in the dimly lit street, his figure looming menacingly in the shadows. His shouts filled the night air, a chilling reminder of the mayhem that threatened to engulf you all. You could see the anger etched on his face, the twisted expression of rage that sent shivers racing through your body.

Your stomach churned with fear as you watched him pace back and forth, his movements erratic and unpredictable. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to hide, to protect yourself and the children from his wrath.

But you stood your ground, rooted to the spot as you watched the scene unfold before you. You were the first line of defense to those kids, and you wouldn’t let him through. Not in your wildest dreams. You knew that help was on the way, that Aaron would be here soon to put an end to this nightmare. But until then, all you could do was wait, your heart pounding in your chest as you prayed for safety and protection for you and the children.

As you strained to listen, the angry shouts of Marc's father pierced through the stillness of the night, each word a sharp dagger of fear that lodged itself in your chest. His voice was laced with venom, filled with threats and curses that sent chills down your spine. Through the window, you saw him pacing back and forth, his movements frenzied and erratic. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides, and every now and then, he would pound on the door with a force that made the wood tremble.

The streetlights cast eerie shadows across his face, distorting his features into a grotesque mask of rage. His eyes burned with a wildfire, his gaze sweeping over the house with a predatory intensity that made your blood run cold. With each passing moment, the tension in the air grew heavier, suffocating in its intensity. You held your breath, your heart hammering in your chest as you prayed for Aaron's swift arrival.

And then, just when you thought you couldn't bear it any longer, you heard the distant sound of sirens wailing in the night. Relief washed over you like a wave as you realized that help was finally here, that Aaron had arrived to put an end to this nightmare once and for all.

From your vantage point at the window, you strained to hear over the pounding of your heart. Marc's father's voice grew louder, his words slurred with anger and alcohol. He stumbled, his movements unsteady as he continued to rant and rave. Suddenly, a familiar figure appeared on the street. Aaron emerged from the darkness, his presence commanding and authoritative. He approached Marc's father with caution, his hand resting on the holster of his gun.

"Sir, I need you to calm down," Aaron's voice cut through the night, firm and unwavering. "You're causing a disturbance."

But Marc's father didn't heed the warning. He lashed out, his fists swinging wildly as he advanced towards Aaron. In one swift motion, Aaron drew his weapon, his stance defensive yet controlled.

"Back off," Aaron commanded, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.

But Marc's father refused to listen. He lunged forward, intent on causing harm. With a steady hand, Aaron moved to subdue him, the click of handcuffs echoing through the night as he wrestled Marc's father into submission.From the window, you watched as he engaged Marc's father in calm but firm conversation, his authoritative presence making it clear that his priority was the safety of you and the children.

After what felt like an eternity, Marc's father finally relented, his anger simmering down as he was escorted away by the authorities. With each step he took, the weight of the tension that had filled the room seemed to lift, leaving behind a sense of calm in its wake.

As the chaos outside began to subside, you approached the door cautiously, your heart still pounding in your chest with each step. Peering through the peephole, you saw Aaron's familiar silhouette standing on the other side, strength amidst the darkness. With trembling hands, you reached for the door handle, the sound of your own heartbeat echoing in your ears. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what lay on the other side, but the urgency of the situation spurred you into action.

Gripping the handle tightly, you slowly turned it, the creak of the door breaking the eerie silence that had settled over the house. As you swung the door open, Aaron's concerned gaze met yours, his expression filled with determination and resolve. Without a word, Aaron stepped inside, his presence a comforting reassurance in the midst of chaos. And as you closed the door behind him, the weight of the tension that had filled the room seemed to lift, replaced by a sense of calm and security in his presence.

But just as he looked at you with the utmost concern, a sudden realization hit you like a bolt of lightning. The kids. They needed you. Panic surged through you like a tidal wave. Without a moment's hesitation, you broke free from Aaron's grasp and rushed past him, your mind consumed by one thought: the safety of the children.

"Aaron!" you called out, your voice trembling with fear. "We have to check on them, Marc's father—he can't hurt them, right?" Your words spilled out in a frantic rush as you bolted towards the bedroom door, your heart hammering in your chest knowing they were fine but fear bested you in the moment.

Every worst-case scenario played out in your mind, fueling your panic as you reached for the doorknob. But before you could open it, Aaron's strong hand gripped your arm, halting your frantic movements.

"Wait, Y/N," he said firmly, his voice cutting through the chaos of your thoughts. "Take a breath. The children are safe. You need to trust that."

Your breaths came in short, ragged gasps as you struggled to rein in your panic. "But what if something happened?" you choked out, tears blurring your vision. "I can't bear the thought of them being scared and alone."

Aaron's gaze softened, understanding flickering in his eyes as he pulled you into a reassuring embrace. "I know, Y/N," he murmured, his voice a soothing anchor in the storm of your fear. "But right now, we need to stay calm for them. They need you to be strong. Kids can sense these things." His BAU training was working diligently as he calmed you down just outside Marc’s bedroom door trying to stay as quiet as possible. He, better than anyone, knew how these things could traumatize kids. He had seen it time and time again as he worked these cases.

While his words sank in, you felt some of the tension begin to ebb away, replaced by a glimmer of hope amidst the turmoil. With Aaron's steady presence grounding you, you took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling yourself for whatever lay ahead. With a newfound sense of determination, Aaron gently guides you back to the living room, his steady presence a calming force amidst the chaos. As you sink onto the couch, still trembling with adrenaline, he kneels beside you, his eyes filled with reassurance.

"Listen, Y/N," Aaron begins, his voice steady and calm. "I'll go check on Marc and Jack, okay? You stay here and try to relax. They need to see that everything's going to be alright."

You nod, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you at Aaron's words. With a reassuring squeeze of your hand, he rises to his feet and makes his way towards the bedroom door. As he disappears from view, you can't help but feel a sense of unease gnawing at the edges of your mind. What if Marc's father returns? What if Aaron can't calm the children down? But you push those thoughts aside, trusting in Aaron's ability to handle the situation. You focus instead on taking deep breaths, trying to steady your racing heart as you wait for news.

Moments later, Aaron returns, a small smile playing on his lips. "They're okay," he says softly, his voice filled with relief. "A little shaken up, but okay. They’ll be right down; they’re changing for bed."

A wave of relief washes over you, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you let out a shaky breath. "Thank you, Aaron," you whisper, your voice choked with emotion. “Thank you for coming so quick.”

He nods, his eyes filled with understanding as he takes a seat beside you on the couch. Together, you sit in companionable silence, the tension slowly dissipating as you find solace in each other's presence. As you sit together on the couch, the weight of the situation in the air slowly beginning to dissipate, a tremor of unease still lingers, casting a shadow over the room. Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoes down the hallway, and before you can react, the two kids come bounding into the room more concerned about you than anything.

In a flurry of motion, both Jack and Marc jump on top of you. "Miss Y/N!" Jack cries out, his voice thick with emotion. "Are you okay?"

Their presence is like a balm to your frazzled nerves, and you reach out to them, pulling them into a tight embrace. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you hold them close, feeling the weight of their love and concern wash over you like a soothing tide. Aaron watched from beside as the two little boys clinged to the loving presence that you were.

"I'm okay, sweetheart," you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm okay."

But Marc's small frame trembles with fear as he clings to you desperately, his tears mingling with yours as he buries his face against your shoulder. "I'm scared, Mommy," he whispers, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm scared of Dad. I don't want him to hurt you."

Your heart breaks at his words, and you hold him close, offering whatever comfort you can in the face of his overwhelming terror. "I know, baby" you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. "But Dad's gone now, and he won't hurt us. I promise you that."

As you speak, Jack wraps his arms around you, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions. "We'll protect you, Miss Y/N," he says firmly, his voice filled with determination. "We won't let anything happen to you."

Tears well up in your eyes as you look at your son and defacto son now, feeling an overwhelming surge of love and gratitude for the brave, compassionate young boys they've become. With their arms wrapped around you, you know that together, you can face anything that comes your way, united in strength and love.

Marc clinged to you, his trembling form gradually relaxing in your embrace. Jack's voice cuts through the tension-filled air, filled with desperation and fear. "Daddy, please stay," Jack pleads, his eyes wide and pleading as he looks up at Aaron. "I don't want anything to happen to Miss Y/N or Marc."

Aaron's gaze softens as he looks down at his son's friend, his heart breaking at the fear in Jack's eyes. Without hesitation, he nods, his voice filled with reassurance. "Of course, Jack. I'll stay."

With a sense of relief washing over the room, Aaron gently guides Marc and Jack to their beds, tucking them in with care and tenderness you hadn’t seen from a father before. As he leans down to brush a gentle kiss on each of their foreheads, you can't help but feel a swell of gratitude towards him as you watch from the doorway letting him take control.

Once the boys are settled, Aaron returns to the living room with you, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of concern and determination. The soft glow of the lamp casts a warm, intimate light over the room, accentuating the vulnerability in both your gazes.

"I don't think any of us should be alone tonight," he says softly, his voice filled with sincerity, as if he's making a silent vow to protect you from any harm that may come your way. "Would you like me to stay?"

Your heart skips a beat at his offer, a blush rising to your cheeks as you meet his gaze. The rush of warmth flooding through you at the thought of having him by your side through the night is overwhelming. It's more than just a gesture of protection; it feels like an unspoken promise of comfort and solace, wrapped up in the tenderest of sentiments.

"Yes, please. If you don’t mind," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes shining with gratitude and a hint of something more.

With a small, gentle smile that lights up his eyes, Aaron settles himself beside you on the couch. The soft brush of his hand against yours sends a flutter of butterflies through your stomach, igniting a spark of something that feels incredibly special. “Not at all.”

As you lean into his embrace, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your own, a sense of peace washes over you. In that moment, with Aaron's strong arms wrapped around you, everything feels right in the world.

His gaze softens as he looks at you, his voice filled with sincerity and affection. "I'll always be here for you, Y/N," he whispers, his words carrying a warmth that melts your heart. "You're not alone. Never will be."

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you snuggle closer to him, reveling in the sweetness of the moment. The world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the warmth of your connection.

With a contented sigh, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. And as you drift off to sleep in his arms, you know that together, you can face anything that comes your way, united in a love that feels sweeter and more precious than you ever could have imagined.

Aaron Hotchner/Criminal Minds: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: (Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @daily-evanstan @hardballoonlove @14buddy22 @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @mrs-ssa-hotch @panandinpain0 @viscade @kreepja @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kajjaka @guacam011y

[thetriumphantpanda]

two is better than one | joel & tommy miller

Summary | Frustrated that whatever you're trying to do still isn't working, you decide to give it one more try with Joel before cooling off for a while. Tommy is back to keep an eye on the both of you this time, but what happens when he starts to feel a little left out, watching his brother bring his girl over the edge more times than he cares to count?

Warnings | I swear I always start this the same way so here we go: Tommy getting cucked but also getting involved this time 👀, Joel being a fucking menace, dirty talk, oral sex (F&M receiving), face sitting, breeding kink, unprotected PiV sex, talk of infertility, no use of Y/N

Word Count | 3.8k

Authors Note | Whew. When I tell you this little threesome has been rotting my brain, I'm not lying. This is the only thing I can focus on, hence them being updated so fast! I just wanted to say a huge thank you to you all for the continued love you're giving this series - it honestly blows my mind every time that it's something you guys enjoy, that my writing reaches so many people and that they lap that shit up. I'm so grateful to everyone who has taken the time to comment, send me asks, reblogs and those who have slid into my DMs with all the love. I see you, I hear you, and I love you all - thank you. I hope you enjoy this next part just as much as the rest - it's a doozy. You know the drill, if you did like it, please consider reblogging, commenting or sending the love to my ask box, it's what keeps me going. And if you'd like to leave me a tip (of course no pressure!), then here's my Ko-Fi.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Another month and another fucking negative pregnancy test. You knew it was irrational, but you were starting to think that maybe you were also part of the problem now. You’d been doing everything right, following all the advice in the books you’d bought almost a year ago when Tommy and you had first started trying for a baby. You’d been exercising, eating as healthily as possible, tried to keep yourself a stress-free as possible. You’d been keeping a close eye on your cycle and still, nothing to show for it. 

When you clambered down the stairs, test in hand and flung it in Tommy’s direction, he already knew. He could see the heavy set of your shoulders, the quiet sniffling of you trying to hide the fact you were crying. Tommy had settled you on the couch, covered you in a blanket and made you some tea. Then he’d made your favourite meal for dinner, even driven to the store and picked up Diet Coke, emptied a can into a glass filled with ice and lime juice like you loved, but none of it really helped to soothe how upset you were. 

The TV was on low, and he had your head in his lap, slowly stroking the strands of your hair as you tried to calm yourself down. Remind yourself that even the most fertile of couples needed to try for months sometimes before they had their first baby. It was stupid to think you’d be any different. 

“You’re thinkin’ way too loud, sugar.” Tommy muses, letting his hand run up and down your arm instead. 

“Sorry,” You mumble, “Just thought it would be easier.” 

“I know,” He coos, “We can take a break for a while, if you want.” 

You turn so you’re led on your back, looking right up at him, “I just want a baby.” You feel a tear slip down your cheek to pool near your ear. 

Tommy uses his thumb to brush away the tears that have started to fall, bobbing his leg up and down gently to try and soothe you, “It’s still fresh,” He speaks softly, “Let’s give it a couple of days and see what you want to do, okay?” 

You nod in agreement, feeling the beginnings of a headache pooling behind your eyes. You push yourself up into a sitting position and turn around to press a soft kiss to his lips, “I’m gonna go to bed,” You announce, “Headache.” 

He lets you go, it’s still early and you know there’s the game highlights he wanted to watch. In bed, you can do nothing but toss and turn for a few hours. Every time you’d try to close your eyes, all you could see was vision of you and Joel, in all the different positions he’d put you in so far, and all for what? When the bedside clock hit 10:30, you head out to use the bathroom. As you near the door at the top of the stairs you can hear Tommy talking to someone, through the phone because his is the only voice you can hear. 

“I know, brother, she’s just really beat up about it,” You hear him say, “I don’t know how to make it better.” 

You lean against the closed bathroom door, wondering if perhaps you should leave Tommy to talk to Joel. There’s a pause where you can hear Tommy humming along to whatever Joel is saying on the other end of the phone. 

“I dunno man,” Tommy sighs, “You managed to knock Sarah’s mom up on a one-night stand, guess I thought it would be easier for you.” 

There’s another pause, then he’s speaking again. 

“No Joel, all of her tests came back perfect,” Another sigh, “I was always the problem.”

You’re about to push down the handle to go to the bathroom when Tommy speaks again, “I don’t know, maybe we should just cool it for a while, we’re all gonna work ourselves up otherwise.” 

You decide you don’t really want to hear the rest of the conversation. You sit on the toilet and let your face drop to your hands in frustration. Why couldn’t you just be normal? Why couldn’t you have been a nice, normal couple, having a baby in the most natural way possible? Why did this have to come along and fucking complicate everything? And why did Joel have to be so fucking good to you every time? 

You wash your hands under the tap, water as scalding as it could go, just in order to feel something that wasn’t frustration before you head to bed. There’s no longer the sound of voices as you pad back across the hall and get back into bed, shutting off the lights and curling onto one side, knees as close to your chest as you can manage to get them. It’s not long before you can hear Tommy shuffling around upstairs. He pushes open the bedroom door quietly, obviously thinking you’re already asleep. You can hear him undressing before he's slipping onto his side of the bed, pulling your body close to his under the covers as he spoons you. 

You let your own arm cover his over your waist as you lean back into the comfort of his chest, letting his breath fan across the skin of your shoulder as he presses a kiss to your skin. 

“I wanna try again,” You speak softly into the dark, feeling Tommy’s arm’s squeeze you tighter, “Once more and then we cool it for a while.” 

“You sure?” He asks into your ear, lips pressing to the sensitive skin behind your ear. 

“I’m sure.” You respond, turning around in his arms to capture his lips in yours. 

When the time comes to try again, it’s you who greets Joel at the door when he knocks. Tommy already upstairs and situated in the chair he had taken the first time you’d done this as a three. Joel leans down, lips just millimeters from your own, but instead of kissing your mouth, he places a soft kiss to your cheek instead. 

“Hello, darlin’.” 

You step up onto your tiptoes to press your own kiss to his face, just shy of the corner of his mouth – the kisses from last time still a secret between the two of you. 

“Evening handsome,” You smile, pulling away from him to close the door as he steps inside, “You ready?” 

“To give you what you want?” He smirks, “Always, pretty girl.” 

You feel that telltale heat flush across your cheeks as Joel pulls you into his side, hand dipping down to squeeze your ass over the fabric of the robe you’d thrown on moments ago. God, why did he have to be so fucking intoxicating around you?

You take hold of his hand in yours, leading him up the stairs behind you. Tommy was reading a book as you entered the room, folding the corner of the page before setting it down on the nightstand closest to the chair. You can’t help but snigger as you watch him and Joel give each other the typical male greeting of a curt nod of the head. 

You drag Joel by the arm to the foot of the bed, pushing his shoulders down so he sits on the edge. Then you take a step back and tug on the belt of your robe, letting it fall open and off your body to leave you completely naked in front of him. You watch his face as he trails those beautiful brown eyes over your body, letting out a low whistle of approval. 

“Beautiful as ever, darlin’,” He compliments, reaching out a hand for you to take, “But you’re worked up, ain’t ya? And not in the good way.” 

Your eyes flit to Tommy in the corner of the room, who has that smug ‘I told you so’ look on his face. You’d been itching for Tommy to arrange this since that ovulation test said you were in the zone, but Joel had been working away for the past two days, and now you were worried that if you didn’t hurry the fuck up, you’d miss your chance. 

Joel reaches out and puts his hands on the back of your thighs, pulling you into him, he’s looking up at you, pressing hot kisses to the skin of your tummy, “Gotta relax babygirl,” He moans, “I’m tryin’ my damned hardest, but you just gotta let nature take its course.” 

“Just frustrating.” You mumble. 

“I know baby, I know,” He’s got his hands palming your tits now, “Long as I need to, I’ll keep fillin’ you up, y’hear me?” 

Your breath catches in your throat and all you can do is nod as he moves himself back on the bed. 

Joel leans back on the bed, his head just shy of the pillows, “Sit on my face, pretty girl.” 

You’re almost embarrassed at how quickly you scramble yourself onto the bed, moving up to straddle his hips – even Tommy is chuckling from his chair. 

“Can’t get enough of Joel’s mouth on your pussy, can you, sugar?” He speaks in a low voice. 

Joel has his hands on your ass, guiding your naked body to hover over his face before his hands are slipping up to your hips to pull your cunt to his mouth. He wastes no time in getting straight to business, wide tongue licking stripes from your entrance, where he laps up your slick like a cat would cream, to those deliciously tight flicks of the tip of his tongue to your clit. You can hear him groaning into your pussy, your hand coming down to anchor itself into his hair to hold him still as you start grinding against his face. 

You can hear the obscene slurps that he’s making underneath you, it’s half the reason you think it takes you no time at all to reach the edge, because he fucking enjoys this just as much as you do, he loves tasting you, loves making you feel good and you can feel that, can feel it on his mouth. 

As you throw your head back as Joel’s tongue swipes perfectly across your clit, you catch Tommy in the corner of the room. He’s palming himself through his jeans as he watches you, your body writhing as his brother’s mouth brings you closer and closer to the edge. It wouldn’t hurt, would it? You think, if you asked if he wanted you to help him out. 

“You feeling left out baby?” You coo, reaching your hand out for Tommy to take, “Joel gets my pussy tonight,” You punctuate with a grind of your pussy down onto his mouth, “But I can help you, if you want.” 

He’s standing at the edge of the bed in minutes, his hand pressing into the back of your neck, not unlike how he tries to work the knots from there when you watch TV together. It’s soft and it’s loving and a complete juxtaposition to the vice grip that Joel’s fingers currently have on your hips. 

Your lips are impossibly close to Tommy’s, you could easily lean forward and kiss him, instead, you have a demand, “Take off your pants.” 

Tommy’s hands start to undo the belt holding his jeans up, so you turn your attention back to Joel between your thighs. He is expertly holding you right on the edge, you’re mewling and whining as he tongue works you to the edge, and then pulls away, moving down to gather more of your slick on his tongue. 

You drop your head and catch his eyes looking up at you, “You gonna tease me all night, Miller?” You ask, voice cracking as he makes a point to suckle on your clit, making you cry out, “Fuck, make me come, please Joel.” 

All of a sudden, Tommy’s hand is on your face, pulling your mouth to his own in a searing kiss as he guides your hand to his cock. You’re moaning, a combination of the fact that any second, Joel’s mouth is going to have you screaming and the fact that it’s Tommy kissing you, his cock you’re currently pumping through your fist. It’s delicious and it’s filthy and it should feel all shades of wrong, but it fucking doesn’t. 

You feel it in your legs first, the way they begin to shake and pulse and your thighs clamp around Joel’s face. Then you feel it in your abdomen, like a knot unfurling all at once as pleasure bursts over every inch of your skin. Your mouth detaching from Tommy’s, so you can cry out his brother’s name as you feel yourself almost collapse onto him. 

“Such a good girl,” Tommy breathes into your ear, your hand still firmly held around his cock, “So good when you come for us like that.” 

You feel Joel’s hands tapping at the cheeks of your ass, telling you to lift yourself off his face which you do, dragging yourself down enough so that you’re sat across his chest, not caring that your leaking pussy is dragging slick all over him. His face is covered, covered in you. He’s grinning up at you like the devil, tongue circling his mouth to clean your taste from wherever he can reach. 

“I gotta be inside you, pretty girl.” You can hear his gruff voice speak. 

Tommy immediately moves back from you so you can settle yourself down on the bed. You start on your back, but Joel moves you to lie on your side. He’s still fully clothed behind you, but when he presses himself up against you, you can feel his thick cock straining in his jeans. 

“Take your clothes off.” Is all you can manage to whine as Tommy settles on his knees on the space in front of you, taking the back of your head in the palm of his hand to bring your mouth to his cock. 

Joel shuffles away from you and you feel the mattress lighten as he gets off the bed to shed his clothes. You almost wish you could watch, there’s something about the way Joel reveals his body to you that drives you wild. The way he drags his shirt off to reveal his broad frame, chest peppered with hair, or the way his cock bounces when he finally pulls off his underwear. But right now, you’re focused on making your man feel good. 

You’re making sure that you’re doing it exactly as Tommy likes, almost telling him through the ministrations of your mouth how grateful you are for him, for this being his idea, for loving you enough and trusting you enough to let someone else give you what he cannot. You’re giving all the attention of your tongue to the head of Tommy’s weeping cock, tasting the salt and musk of his pre-cum, using one had to pump the base of his cock. 

You can feel Joel settle back behind you, pressing his entire body against your own, hard cock slipping through the slick folds of your cunt as he settles himself in the right position, then, he’s taking hold of your leg, hand in the crux of your knee to pull it up, baring his prize. He slowly inches his cock inside your tight heat and suddenly it’s all a little overwhelming. 

You’re giving the love of your life the kind of head you’ve only ever seen in porn, Tommy taking most of the control to thrust in and out of your mouth. You’re pretty sure the tears falling from your eyes are a mixture of his length hitting the back of your throat and the overwhelming emotion, love, and admiration you feel for both the men who are crowding your body, owning it, taking what they both want, one of them hopefully leaving you with what you want. 

You pull your face away from Tommy’s cock for a moment, still giving his length the attention it needs, but you let yourself lean into Joel behind you, his cock still moving languidly inside you. He’s got one of his arms snaked under your neck, your head leant against his arm like a pillow, his other hand holding your leg up so that every time his cock brushes inside you, it’s hitting that damn spot that makes you want to cry. 

“Look at you, lucky girl,” Joel growls into your ear as his lifts your leg up higher, pushing it almost to lie flat aagainst your side, “One cock in that pretty little pussy, another in your mouth,” You let a moan, muffled by the fact that Tommy is currently doing a slap-up job of fucking your throat, “He’s a lucky man,” Joel speaks again, “Bet that mouth feels divine.” 

“You ask nicely, she might oblige you, brother.” 

You feel him puff air through his nose in a chuckle, “I’m quite happy right where I am,” He speaks, pumping his cock so deep inside you that you actually think you can see stars, “You’re a lucky son-of-a-bitch gettin’ this for the rest of your life.” 

“She’s special, I’ll give you that.” 

It’s like you have to prove him right now. You can feel the walls of your pussy clenching around Joel as he picks up his pace. You can feel his balls slapping into your skin with every thrust, the power behind them causing your mouth to take Tommy cock deeper into your mouth every time. 

“Sugar, I ain’t gonna last much longer.” You hear him speak from above you. 

You pull off him, again letting your hand work him as you look up at his through your lashes, “You want me to swallow for you, baby?” You asked, wondering what you must look like when he looks down at you, fucked out from his brother, begging for him to come down your throat. 

“There’s an offer I cannot refuse,” Tommy grins, letting your mouth take him back inside the warmth, “Such a good girl.” 

He only lasts a few more seconds, cum hitting your tongue and seeping down your throat. You swallow down every drop, grinning up at Tommy. He leans down and plants a kiss to your lips, and now your focus is on Joel, thick and solid, pumping his cock in and out of you. 

“You focus on Joel now, sugar,” He croons, “I’m gonna sit back and watch you have fun.” 

As soon as Tommy has moved away from you, Joel is pulling his cock from your pussy, turning you onto your back before he’s crowding his frame over you, settling between your thighs. You’re pliant and you move easily when he hooks your legs over his shoulders, folding you back as he slips his cock back inside you. 

You’re gripping his arms as he fucks into you in earnest now, tip of his cock bruising your cervix with every thrust, you know he’ll have half-moon shaped marks on his arms come the morning, they’ll match the bruises he always leaves on your hips, the shape of his fingertips indented into your skin. 

“God fuckin’ damnit,” Joel groan, head falling to the column of your throat to graze teeth and lips over your delicate skin, “Gonna come so deep in this fuckin’ pussy it won’t have a choice but to take, you hear me, pretty girl?” 

“Fuck!” You exclaim, as he shifts just enough to change the angle that his cock is spearing into you, “Joel please.” 

“Please what?” He teases, “What do you want, babygirl?” 

“Inside,” You breath out, “Want you inside.” 

“Yeah, want me to make you a mama?” You can feel tears pooling in your eyes, “No need to cry, pretty girl,” He leans down, folding you in half even more, almost uncomfortable, to kiss away the tears, “Gonna give you what you need.” 

He thankfully moves back a little, stopping your bones from screaming at you for being folded so inhumanely, then his thumb is on your clit, “Only gonna make you a mama if you come with me,” Joel smirks, “Deal?” 

“Oh god – fuck – whatever you want,” You cry, “Please, give me what I want.” 

His thumb is relentless on your already sensitive clit, those tight circles have you clenching around him and when you look into his eyes you know he’s just as close as you are, “That’s it baby, you keep those big, beautiful eyes on me,” Joel’s hips are snapping into your with a force you didn’t know you could feel, it’s entirely too much and entirely too little all at the same time, “Can feel that tight little pussy suckin’ me in,” You cry out as his thumb falters and drags across your clit in a way that has that not threatening to unfurl yet again, “It’s alright baby, if you come, I’ll follow, yeah?” 

That’s exactly what happens. His thumb traces wet circles over your clit and you do exactly as he says. You keep your eyes wide open, staring directly into his own, as your mouth falls open with a screech as your vision clouds. Whatever happens, Joel is right behind you, his cock pounds into at most, twice more, before he’s growling your name through his teeth, cum painting every inch of your pussy. He drops your legs from his shoulders, and falls forward, letting his head rest in the crook of your neck as you both fight to catch your breath.

You wrap your arms around him but it’s all too soon before he’s pulling himself out of you, a kiss to your cheek as he does so. You’re spent and you’re aching and if you’re honest, a little overwhelmed. Joel dresses quickly, and you wish you could ask him to stay, wish he didn’t feel the need to run away, but you know it’s for the best. Tommy tells you he’ll see him out and come to bed, so you roll over and pull yourself under the sheets, trying to warm yourself from the cool air that’s spattering across the sweat of your skin. 

Tommy is back within minutes having seen Joel off. He shed his clothes and moves right up behind you, gathering you into his arms. He takes some time to press kisses into your neck and across your shoulders and for some reason, it sets your belly on fire. How have you been fucked so thoroughly by another man, this man’s own brother, and now you’re aching for this man behind you. 

“I love you so much, Tommy,” You whisper into the dark, clutching at his arms wrapped around you, “So fucking much.” 

“I love you too baby,” He whispers into your ear, stilling your hips as they grind back into him, “Enough of that, I’ll give you what you want tomorrow.” 

[fairymascot]

rewatching utena for the first time in about a decade and it is truly the funniest show ever.

we just finished the black rose arc, the last ep was truly a mindfuck. mikage completely succumbing to his delusions and unable to tell memory from reality, finding out he's been frozen in time for decades, mamiya has been dead all this time and anthy was pretending to be him. mikage is defeated and expelled/set free from ohtori, the existence of his life and of nemuro memorial hall wiped from everyone's memory.

then the following episode is a recap. and maybe you're thinking, whew, this arc was a doozy, it'd be nice to have it broken down into a nice, digestible 20 minute episode that'll really help me understand and process things! AND THEN THE ENTIRE RECAP EPISODE IS ABOUT NANAMI AND HER GOOFY SHENANIGANS OH MY GOD.

'wait so what's real and what isn't, how long was mikage trapped there was anthy the one orchestrating this all along--' 'HEY REMEMBER WHEN NANAMI WAS BEING CHASED BY SURFING ELEPHANTS IN INDIA???' it is so POINTEDLY and MALICIOUSLY unhelpful, it is truly the most king shit I've ever seen. it's broadcasting the clearest message possible that if you went into rgu expecting it to explain anything to you, it's not gonna happen. you are getting elephants instead. fuck you.

(this post was brought to you by @not-the-blue who is watching the show with me for the first time and has no idea what's going on, i just turned her frustrated-amused rant into a post❤️)

[thriftedtchotchkes]

You take my self control

summary: your first act of brutality leaves you reeling, but you’d do it all over again if it meant saving joel’s life. in the aftermath, you realize you’ve started to crave that violence and it terrifies you. joel steps in to satisfy your craving.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, extremely graphic depictions of violence, dark themes, blood and injuries, dead clicker, angst, comfort, ptsd, reader struggles, undefined age gap, established relationship, language, smut, piv, rough sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, minor dom!joel, guided handjob, pet names

word count: 3.4k

a/n: whew, this one is a doozy. the original plan was to write something fluffy, but then i wrote this instead 🥲 based on moments from kill bill vol. 1 and sin city, and the title is from the song self control by laura branigan! please lmk if i missed anything in the warnings and i’ll add it asap. it’s a lot darker than my last fic, but i’ve always wanted to write this story, so i hope you enjoy! as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated 💕

You can’t see. You can’t hear anything at all. Numbness permeates your limbs, and your thoughts are a mishmash of gnashing teeth and nails, sharp and jagged like claws, and so, so much red.

There’s something warm and sticky on your face and hands. It’s up your nose, trickling into your open mouth, and it tastes like salt and iron. Blood…it must be blood. You hope it’s your own but, in the dark recesses of your mind, you know it’s someone else’s. It tastes all wrong, like the fact that you’re tasting it all means you’re alive and you really shouldn’t be.

He’s yelling, or at least you think it’s him. Sound returns to your ears all at once and it’s fucking loud.

Joel, stop, it hurts. 

Everything hurts so much now, and you feel it everywhere—scratches down your arms and legs, your heart slamming an angry beat against your temples.

Fuck, you’re probably bit. Joel sounds frantic and terrified, but you don’t know why. There are massive gaps in your memory and you can’t remember how you got here, knees heavy on the ground, your thighs bracketing the sides of a dead clicker. 

A woman—you think it used to be a woman. It’s hard to tell after the carnage. The fragments of bone and wet chunks of flesh and fungus where her head should be tell a different story now. You desperately wish your sight hadn’t returned at all, but it’s too late and you can’t unsee it. You can’t unsee her.

The muscles in your arms and hands burn something vicious, and when they give out, something hard clangs to the ground. A metal pipe. 

Joel calls out to you again, and he sounds closer this time.

“...go…have to go now…can’t…here…” 

Strong hands tug on your arm and pull you to your feet, and suddenly you’re running. Joel is all but dragging you out of what looks like the living room of a modern, suburban home, and you do your best not to trip on tipped-over furniture. 

You look back over your shoulder and the body is still lying there, lifeless. You’re not sure why you thought it would be chasing you, hungry mouth snapping at your throat; it’s dead. Because you killed it.

You’re exhausted and your legs are sore, but when you start to slow down, Joel’s hand tightens around yours and tugs harder.

“We have to go, baby, we can’t stay here.” Ah, that’s what he was saying before. “I know it hurts, but you gotta keep goin’. Just a little longer, you gotta keep it up for a little bit longer.” He should be out of breath by now, but he’s running on fear and adrenaline, and you let it fuel you, too.

When you make it outside, the sky is a clear, cloudless blue above you and the sun is brighter than you’ve ever seen it. It makes your skin itch, and you’re suddenly hyperaware of the dirt and dried blood matting your hair and caked under your fingernails.

Instinctively, your hand rises to shield your eyes. It’s effective enough that you’re able to take in your surroundings as they fly by and, while they’re familiar, you still can’t remember what you were doing here in the first place.

“Joel, I’m…I-I’m—I can’t. I can’t run anymore, p-please—,” you whimper, chest heaving with exertion. House, driveway, lawn—they repeat over and over and over again. They’re starting to blur together, and your tunneling vision worsens until darkness consumes you. “...Joel…”

And then everything goes black.

You’re…surrounded. By something that feels soft and warm and solid against your aching skin, and it moves steadily against you, rising and falling. Your head tilts to the side and it’s Joel breathing into you, his head at home in the crook of your neck, arms wrapped loosely around you. 

You nuzzle your nose into his graying hair, pressing a kiss there, and a sharp intake of breath follows as he blinks awake blearily.

“Hey, baby,” you murmur. He hums something deep and unintelligible in response, tilting his head back to mouth wetly at the base of your throat. 

You let out a sigh of relief. If Joel’s in bed with you like this, it means you’re not infected. Hurt and in pain, yes, but you’re both alive and that’s all that matters. You saved his life out there and you’d do it all over again, even at the cost of your own.

Your memories are returning quickly now, like waves violently crashing to shore after a storm, and the images are gruesome. What you did to protect Joel was barbaric, but you acted on impulse, out of rage and desperation.

The clicker came out of nowhere. You were searching an abandoned house for supplies when it lunged out of a closet, tackling Joel to the ground. The metal pipe in his hand clattered to the ground at your feet and you picked it up as quickly as it fell.

Then, something inside you snapped and you reacted. It was dead after the second or third blow to the head, but you kept going anyway, angry at it for almost stealing Joel away and destabilized by the fear of losing him. 

Blood sprayed from every artery you severed and after each new crack in its skull, and it showered down like rain, thick and warm against your skin. It made you feel powerful, like you were in control for the first time in your life. You enjoyed it.

Only when you realized the pipe was connecting with wet, dented pieces of floorboard instead of flesh did you finally stop.

You remember everything now.

“I’m not sorry,” you tell him, staring vacantly at the popcorn ceiling of your bedroom. He sighs, and you think he’s about to start lecturing you. You don’t want to hear it. You barely want to talk about it at all. “You could’ve died, Joel. If you think for one second I’d ever let that happen, you’re out of your mind.”

He squeezes you a little tighter, mindful of your injuries, but doesn’t respond. Silence blankets you for a moment, and then it breaks once he realizes you’re trembling and your eyes and cheeks are wet with tears.

You’re not sure when you started crying, but you can’t seem to stop, and the frustration in his eyes lessens with each soft hiccup that escapes your lips.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, thumbing away the tears as they fall. He leaves his hand there, gently cupping your cheek, and you lean into his touch. You can feel the fight leaving his body; it’s just not worth it anymore, not after everything you’ve been through. Sighing, he drops his head to rest on your collarbone. “There’s nothin’ to be sorry for. I shoulda been payin’ more attention, been more cautious. Then, you wouldn’t have had to…you wouldn’t be—” He’s fumbling his words. Joel’s never been good at conversations like these, but he’s trying. “...I’m tryna say it’s not your fault. You did what you had to.”

It’s not his fault, either. In the aftermath of everything, no one’s to blame, but it doesn’t help how much it still hurts. How broken you feel.

“Joel, I—,” the tears flow freely and you struggle to suppress a sob. “I’m a monster. You saw what I did…I just—I couldn’t stop. I know she wasn’t a person anymore, I know that, but…b-but I think I liked it. What does that say about me; what does that make me?” You’re spiraling now. He shifts up the bed to hold you properly and rocks you against his chest for a while, like he’s soothing a child. 

“It makes you human,” he murmurs into your hair, running his hands up and down your sides. Your eyes flutter closed as you focus on the feeling of his warm, calloused fingers on your skin.

“I’m scared, Joel,” you whisper. “Whatever that was, it feels like it’s a part of me now—like…I’ll be fighting it forever.” His eyes darken, even as he kisses the side of your head gently once, then twice. “I close my eyes and she’s there. I can hear her, feel her. I…I feel like I’m losing my mind.” 

That fucking neighborhood. Why the fuck were you even in that neighborhood? There wasn’t even anything useful in any of those houses. You try to tell yourself that all of it could’ve been avoided, if you had just decided to head straight back to Jackson, but it’s a fantasy. In this world, it was inevitable. 

Joel still hasn’t answered you. Instead, he presses his lips to your throat again, this time with teeth, and sucks hard where your neck meets your shoulder. You should be wondering why he’s not responding when you’re so clearly distraught, but the only thing you can think about is the delicious pain blooming under your skin. When he finally speaks, it’s a low hum against the fresh bruise.

“I never wanted this for ya,” he nips at you sharply, his beard dragging roughly against your sensitive skin, and you gasp, burying your fingers in his hair and tugging. He groans, hips stuttering into your thigh, and the need to feel him bare and heavy on top of you is overwhelming. “I tried to protect ya—wanted to save you from this. All of it. But I failed ya.” There’s anger in his voice now, and it feels violent. He’s aggressive in the way he touches you, and though you know he’d never purposely hurt you, you think you want him to. “This world takes and takes and takes, and we’re forced to adapt,” he all but growls. “You’re no more a monster than anyone else.”

Rationally, you know it’s true. The bloodlust you feel—you’ve seen it before, in the eyes of raiders you’ve come across on the outside and in the hungry gaze of infected, all of them desperate to tear into you, to take what they want. Looking into Joel’s eyes now, you see it there, too.

The room feels hotter, somehow, like his body heat suddenly spiked, and it draws you in like a moth to a flame. You press your hand into the soft skin of his stomach and it burns like molten lava, begging you to play with fire. 

He snatches your hand from where it’s splayed beneath his shirt and drags it under the waistband of his sweatpants to cup his hardening cock, and you suck in a harsh breath through your teeth. Fuuuuuck. You’re not in charge here, you realize, not now.

“Tonight, I want you to give in to me, alright? You let me take control. ‘m gonna fix it,” he grits out. “Gonna fix everythin’, just need you to trust me,” and you do. You’ll let yourself go, because even though that dark, horrible part of you doesn’t want to submit to him, your body clearly does. It’s a power struggle you hope you lose.

His hand doesn’t leave yours once it’s wrapped around him and, instead, leads your fingers to grip him tightly as he sets a strong, steady pace. You give him a rough squeeze, and he throbs, leaking a bead of precum onto your fingers that you thumb over his head, digging your nail into the slit.

Joel chokes out a moan, hand releasing yours to bury itself in your hair, and begins to fuck your fist in earnest, each thrust punctuated with a sharp exhale. It’s like gripping steel, hard and smooth and searing.

Or a metal pipe. Fucking hell, he feels so much like that fucking metal pipe and you clench down around nothing, your cunt soaked and devastatingly empty. More precum leaks from the tip, and he’s so wet now, your palm sliding easily up his cock and back down to squeeze the base. 

It makes you see red—viscous, red blood coating your fingers, and you release him, pulling your hand away to suck it off each one. It’s not real. Of course, it’s not real. The creamy liquid on your fingers tastes like Joel, bitter and heady, but still, you can’t get the thought of his blood in your mouth out of your head now.

God, that’s so fucked up. You must look half crazed right now, pupils blown wide as you look up at him through your lashes,  each glistening finger pulling from your mouth with a pop.  But he looks angry at what he sees in your eyes, and suddenly both of his hands are on your hips and he’s slamming you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress with his entire weight. You’re not following his rules.

“Baby…baby,” he moans, finally brushing his lips against yours, soft and wet, and licking a line across the roof of your mouth as he grinds into your aching pussy. “Stop fightin’ me. Just…focus on me, right here. Lemme make you feel good.” You whine pathetically into his mouth as he runs his hands up your sides, fingers catching on your shirt and dragging up until his thumbs brush the underside of your tits. 

Lifting your shirt up just enough to expose your pebbling nipples, he leans back on his heels and looks down at you hungrily, like he wants to devour you whole. And fuck, you need him to. But you also want to take and take and take, itching for the fight. 

His head lolls to the side as he takes you in. “Fuck, baby…,” he mumbles, as he drops a hand to palm himself. “You’re so goddamn beautiful like this. So good for me, my—” He pauses to squeeze his cock, and groans out, “...my brave, strong girl.” 

There’s a massive wet patch on the front of his sweatpants from where you soaked him through your underwear, and his eyes roll back when he feels it, warm and sticky against his fingertips. Your mouth waters and you’re starting to feel a little desperate now that he’s stopped touching you. You don’t even notice the whine that escapes your lips as he continues to jerk himself off through the fabric.

“What, brave girl?” he coos, biting back a growl at the warring emotions on your pretty features. He reaches forward to thumb a nipple, his touch rough and calloused. “I promised I’d make ya feel good, didn’t I?” He tweaks it and you keen, hips canting upward in search of friction. “Feels that good, huh?” he rasps, smug at how your body responds to him.

A strong hand forces your hips back onto the bed, trapping you against the mattress, and you feel a sudden, intense urge to slap him. Heat blooms in your lower belly and you feel yourself gush at the thought. “Joel…fuck, just fucking touch me. Please.” 

The sides of his mouth quirk down and he nods, like he’s thinking it over. Asshole. You know you’re still breaking his rules but, by now, you’re too horny to care. You don’t think sex with Joel has ever been like this, nor do you think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life. Christ, if he doesn’t fuck you soon—

You lurch forward to tug at his pants in a moment of weakness, but he’s quicker than you and snatches your wrists, pinning them above your head. The scratches on your arms are still raw and angry, and the skin pulls painfully as he tightens his hold. It’s another reminder of earlier today, and you muster up all of the strength in your body to rip your arms out of his grip, but he shoves you down by your shoulders. 

“If you keep that up, I’m not gonna give you this,” he warns you, flipping the waistband of his pants down just enough to free his cock, thick and leaking all over itself. Your thighs squeeze together at the sight of it, and you abruptly feel remorseful, ready to beg for it if you have to.

Fuck, he’s powerful. And fuck, his tactic is working. The power struggle you hoped you’d lose—you’re pretty sure you just lost. You can tell the moment Joel recognizes acceptance on your face and, immediately, you’re being yanked onto your hands and knees, ass in the air and face smushed on one side against the mattress. He’s rewarding you.

It’s like his hands are laser-focused and, yet, still everywhere all at once. 

“Brave girl,” he murmurs, mouthing a wet trail down your spine. “That’s my girl—g-good, good girl.” He’s already starting to stutter, his voice breathless and shaky. Joel gets mouthy when he’s pussy-drunk, like he just can’t help but verbalize every filthy, incoherent thought when he’s inside you.

You clench in anticipation as he grinds his painfully hard cock into your ass, precum soaking into your underwear and mixing with your own slick. He slides the offending fabric halfway down your thighs and then stops, and you can feel his breath, hot and humid, against your cunt as he spreads your legs for better access. 

He wastes no time licking a wide stripe up your sopping core before swirling his tongue against your clit and sucking hard. It punches a moan out of your chest and your mind goes blank as you grind back into his mouth. The sound of skin slapping roughly against skin reaches your ears and you realize he’s jerking himself off as he devours you, groaning raggedly as he fucks into you with his tongue. 

What the fuck, you’re so fucking close already. Frantic, you reach out to Joel behind you, managing to tug a fistful of his hair. “J-Joel…ngh, fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you whine pathetically, drooling onto the sheets. “I can’t…I— please, ‘m so empty. Don’t make me c-cum empty, Joel.” 

It happens so fast. Your entire body is thrown forward with the weight of him, as he sheathes himself in your heat to the hilt in one violently powerful thrust, and oh, oh fuck, you’ll never get used to how big Joel is. The stretch is almost painful and you bear down on him, not expecting the sudden intrusion.

“Baby…girl. Squeezin’ me so tight, so f-fucking tight,” he moans helplessly, already starting to babble as he fucks into you. “Fuck, your pussy gets s-so tight when you’re…,” he reaches around to rub circles into your clit and you start to pulse around him, “about—ngh, to cum.” 

With his other hand, he grips the back of your neck, squeezing just enough to remind you who’s in control; of your pleasure, of your safety. The new angle drives his cock directly into that soft, spongy spot inside you that has your jaw dropping, staccatoed moans punched out of your lungs with each thrust. 

“‘m gonna cum. Fuuck, fuck, ‘m cumming…Joel, ‘m—,” your pussy convulses hard, and you soak his cock as you cum with a hoarse shout. Joel growls over your shoulder, slamming into you over and over, your pussy squelching loud and wet.

Your arms and legs give out, and Joel grips your hips with both hands, hovering above your ass as he fucks into you, thrusts harder and more frantic. He’s so close, the telltale signs obvious to you, now. 

He barely has time to choke out a panicked, “where?” and hear you moan, “on my face,” before he’s thrusting once, twice, and pulling out, rolling you over and bracketing your head with his thighs. You rub your hands up and down them as he jerks himself off above you. For a moment, he gazes down at you in wonder, like maybe you’re a beautiful figment of his imagination, and then he’s cumming hard.

Joel sounds wrecked, his groan long and drawn out, as his cock spurts thick ropes across your lips and tongue, dribbling down your chin and onto your chest. Shifting down your body, he kisses you deeply, licking into your mouth and tasting himself on your tongue. He pulls away, cradling your face in his hands.

“I told you I’d fix it.”

And he did. He put your broken pieces back together and overwrote your bad memories. 

Now, all you see, all you can hear is Joel. Your thoughts are a mishmash of searing hot skin, his lips, soft and wet against yours, and mind-numbing pleasure.

Your skin is still warm and sticky with his release, and it tastes so undeniably like him. Woody and salty, and right.

It’s quiet, now—peaceful—and everything doesn’t hurt so much anymore. 

Strong arms pull you close and you sigh, tired and relieved, into his embrace. Joel holds you tighter as you drift off to sleep, murmuring something you don’t quite catch against your cheek, and you feel safe. 

From the monsters beyond the walls and the one in the mirror.

thanks for reading! 💕

[sungbeam]

𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬

nonidol!lee hyunjae x f!reader

6.7k words (my hand slipped, sorry), fluff, angst, low-key e2l, ex friends 2 implied lovers?, low-key rich kid au, swearing, drinking and drunk talks/crying, a shitty situation, a bitchy ex gf, uhh very low-key hurt/comfort?, lots of mentions of pizza and soft drinks, THE PLOT IS SO RUSHED IM SORRY I CRAMMED.

a/n: requests now closed! whew,,, what a doozy 😭 im sorry if it feels rushed bc it low-key really was such a rushed and ambitious plot on my part. to the anon who requested it, ik it's not exactly what u asked for and im sorry ><

The pizzeria was like your second home. Maybe it was your home, but you weren't sure if calling a pizza place your home was the best word. It acted as your bubble away from academic responsibilities, family obligations, and anything else you wanted to forget. For the past three years of your college career, you made this place your comfort spot, while also picking up some spare change.

Your friend and co-worker Dae bumped her hip with yours as she passed by you with her hands full of empty plastic cups to refill. "Your group of banshees just walked in," she mused, slipping past you to the fountain drink machine on the bar counter.

Your head perked up and watched the front door on the other side of the room open to let a wave of your friends in. Dae liked to joke that your friend group consisted of a bunch of "banshees" from how loud they could be. You couldn't blame her at all; it was hilariously accurate. On a bad night, the group's volume could reach levels of a nightmare baby being birthed from the Devil's anus.

"Yn-ie!" Chanhee and Jacob waved to you as the group of five made their way through the tight spaces between tables.

"Hey, guys," you greeted them. "You're so lucky a group just left." You nodded toward the circular table in the back corner where your friends often made their home. It was big enough to seat seven—ten, if you squished—but it was almost always for you and your friends.

The pizzeria's owner and your boss, Mr. Moretti, usually didn't mind your friends occupying the space. You were pretty sure he was glad your friends were hiding themselves away in the back. (Not because of the merriment, just because of the noise. Some customers just wanted pizza and a quiet night, and you could respect that.)

"Waitress! Waitress!" Changmin screeched, waving one of his hands around like a lunatic.

You came up to the table with an unimpressed look on your face, and Kevin wrestled his neighbor back into this seat. "Okay, so Changmin doesn't get to eat tonight," you drawled and braced your hands on the backs of Sunwoo and Chanhee's chairs.

"I was just wondering how long it takes for someone to get service around here," Changmin jested. He feigned one of those pompous brushes of his hair, mocking one of the rich pricks who had come in here last month thinking that the RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE sign didn't apply to him. Changmin broke into a lopsided grin at your arched brows. "What? I think I'm funny."

Your eyes widened in a silent 'Can you believe this guy?'

"He's sugar high because someone let him get to the cupcakes," Kevin directed his flat gaze to his counterpart, Jacob.

Jacob's hands lifted in innocence. "What? No one was eating them, and he said he was hungry."

"Okay, drinks, folks!" You clapped to regain their attention. You did, after all, have other customers. "What're we feeling tonight?"

A chorus of drink orders flew up into the air—coke, iced water, Sprite, lemonade—and you nodded, stepping away to grab them those very beverages. Your friends had all been here enough times to know exactly what was on the menu, so while you stepped away briefly for their drinks, they could deliberate and get back to you as soon as you returned.

Like a well oiled machine, you delivered them their drinks, and Kevin doled out the lineup for tonight.

"You know, I was thinking of painting my nails black," Kevin said as he finished off the order. He held his hand out in front of him, inspecting the state of his bare nails.

Sunwoo straightened in his seat. "We should do it together, hyung!—I mean… you could probably paint my nails. I dunno if you should trust me with one of those thin ass brushes."

"You're right," Chanhee chimed in, "we shouldn't."

You snickered to yourself as you left your friends to their own devices and pinned their order sheet to one of the clips hanging in the kitchen window. There was a set of plates set out on the window sill, the bill reading for table three, and you picked it up to take over to them. Dae appeared next to you, tightening her ponytail, and grabbed the dishes for table four right beside it.

With both your hands full, you departed to deliver your respective orders.

As you set the dishes off food down onto table three, you heard the telltale swish of the door opening, and night air flooded into the room. On instinct, you straightened with a smile to greet them. "Hi! Welcome—" your voice died on your throat, and when his eyes locked with yours, you stuttered, "—in. For how many?"

Lee Hyunjae brushed a hand through his blond hair, his other arm wrapped around the shoulders of a girl who was unfortunately familiar to you. A couple of the guys with him, you recognized, too, but he was the one who had made you trip over your words.

One of them with jet black hair and kind, feline-like eyes, lifted four of his fingers in a wordless signal.

You nodded, lips set in a firm line, and gestured to the open four-seater at table eight.

You tucked your empty tray beneath your arm, mentally thanking anyone who was listening that his party was seated in Dae's section and not yours. Thank god for odd numbers.

Dae was swift to chirp out her usual cheeriness to the newcomers, and you scurried back over to the register to cash a table's check. As you did so, your eyes flitted up toward Hyunjae's table. He glanced over at you periodically, looking away whenever you were already looking at him.

What the hell was he doing here? You wanted to yell, scream. Out of all the places, out of all the nights, out of all the times… how long had it been since you last saw him, you wondered to yourself as you let the bitterness seep into your bones and meld with the marrow. It was a feeling you knew all too well.

You strode over to table seven to set their check down on the edge of the table. Everything in the pizzeria was so close together; it was near impossible not to catch the words being exchanged at table eight.

"—don't understand why you chose this dump, Hyunjae." That was the girl, the one who's face made you want to throw something at it. Her name was Kyla, and the last time you saw her in person, she had just become Hyunjae's girlfriend.

Sometimes you questioned how they even managed to stay together so long, but then again, people like them deserved each other.

"Eric just wanted pizza, babe," drawled the blond, his arm casually draped over the back of her chair.

The two others seated at the table consisted of the man with jet black hair, and another with a medium-toned brown hair peeking out of a gray hoodie. The latter said, "You guys'll love this place! Their breadsticks are literally the fluffiest things in the world."

A smile curled onto your face at that comment. Now that you thought about it, you'd seen him around before.

You slid over to table one and began stacking the dirty dishes left behind by customers who had gone. Table eight's conversation continued.

"Is it normal to be able to see grease in the air?" Kyla gagged, her nose wrinkling in disgust. She soaked in the close quarters of the restaurant with little appreciation.

The other third wheel at table eight, the one with black hair, lifted his eyebrows. "It's cozy in here, Kyla."

"Yeah, just give it a chance," Hyunjae chimed in.

You brushed past their table to grab table seven's check and hustle it back over to the register. You met Dae at the counter, her hands once again full with cups that needed filling.

A grunt left her lips. "Table eight," she began.

"Yeah," you agreed. "Sheesh."

Her head turned to you over her shoulder. "You know 'em?"

"Unfortunately." You pursed your lips. "It's been awhile," you amended. "I only know the couple at the table—enough to say, good luck, girl."

Dae made a face, but she pulled her shoulders back to solidify her posture. You always admired her work ethic and her customer service skills. As fellow waitresses during many a dinner rush hour, you both had to deal with your own handfuls of difficult people. At this point, it wasn't difficult to sniff them out from a mile away. There were some days you just wanted them to yell at you and get it over with.

Just as Dae left to go drop off drinks, your friends' order hit the window sill. You tucked the finished bill for table seven into your apron pocket and grabbed the trays to set on the table for your friends.

"You look like you're about to gnaw my fingers off, Jacob," you teased with a twinge of nervousness.

The man grinned at you, with teeth. "I'm hungry."

"Valid." You backed away from the table, and the carnage began.

You laughed, ducking your head, as you left your friends to their feast. You arrived at table seven and wished them a good night—

"Do you not have cherry coke? Isn't that, like, a universal fountain drink?"

You glanced over to see Dae's mouth twitch just slightly, but gave nothing else away. "No, we only have regular Coke and Diet Coke; I said that earlier, miss."

Kyla stared at her as if she'd just gotten her puppy revoked. "But they both taste like ass."

"You can have a fruit punch instead," Dae offered.

"But I don't want fruit punch."

You saw that the other two boys at the table fidgeted nervously. They were making eyes at Hyunjae, urging him to do something.

He seemed to lift his gaze to yours at that exact moment and you wondered what he saw in them. Something shifted in him, a silent acceptance of surrender.

The next thing you knew, he was leaning into the conversation. "Ky, you can just get a water or something and then we'll go get a drink after this. How does that sound?"

She threw a look over at him. "I really just want a cherry coke, Hyunjae. If I have to be forced to eat at this place, then the least you could do is get me a cherry coke."

Okay, that was enough.

"Is there a problem here?" You asked, sidling up beside Dae. You saw her loosen up out of the corner of your eye.

Kyla opened her mouth to retort something, but she halted abruptly. Her head cocked to the side, eyes narrowing, like she was trying to figure something out. You knew the moment she recognized you. A slow smile curled onto her mouth. "Oh my god… Yn Ln. Mommy and daddy kick you out or something? Why are you working at this dump?"

You were certain your eye started twitching.

Hyunjae grappled her shoulder. "Kyla."

"This is gold," she chirped. "Wow, I didn't think anything good could come of this dinner, but—" she sneered, "wow. You look awful."

"Takes one to know one," you said with venom dripping from your words. "We have a right to refuse service, ma'am, so if you don't quit badgering my friend and me, then I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

She didn't seem to catch your drift. "No. Get me. A cherry coke."

You suppressed every urge to fuck this girl up. To Dae, you murmured, "Can you cover my tables?"

"For sure, girl," she said, giving you a reassuring clasp on the shoulder. "Should I call Moretti?"

"No, I think we should be fine—"

"Wait until I tell everyone I know about how absolute ass this place is," Kyla ripped you back out into reality. She had her phone out now, and Eric, the guy in the hoodie, was reaching across the table to stop her.

You weren't allowed to touch her, you reminded yourself. You could do this with just words. No matter how much it killed you to not sucker punch her stupid, pearly whites in. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave," you told her through gritted teeth. "Either you buckle down with your regular Coca-Cola, or you get out."

"How about—no."

All breath dissipated from your lungs when you felt the carbonated liquid dumped in your face, the blocks of ice just missing your eyes. The entire establishment seemed to freeze with you.

You scoffed, slowly wiping the soda from your eyes and shaking out your arms. You couldn't seem to form coherent speech.

"What the fuck is going on here?" You recognized Kevin's hardened voice behind you, his hand squeezing your shoulder to tell you he was here.

As Kyla and Kevin dueled it out, you found Hyunjae's eyes again. To his credit, he seemed horrified and apologetic, his mouth parted in shock. But then again, he didn't have much credit anymore in your book.

Your hands fisted. You wanted to yell at him to get out. It had been a decent evening, a good evening, before he and his like came in and threw a drink in your face.

You didn't want to address the burning bitterness that coursed beneath all the annoyance and anger—out of everything, why didn't he say anything? Why didn't he try harder to help you? Why was he with her when he could be with y—nevermind. That didn't matter.

Even now, your back still ached from when he'd last left it stabbed.

"Are you okay, Yn-ie?"

You realized that Hyunjae and his party had gone now, and the shop patrons were slowly going back to whatever they had been doing before. Chanhee appeared before you with a couple napkins from the dispenser on the table, and Dae rushed over with a massive roll of paper towels. Your other friends had flocked over, too, to help clean up and also attend to customers while you pulled your shit together.

You gave a nod, finding your voice to tell them so. Your gaze casted briefly toward the front door where you knew he wouldn't ever be stepping back into.

You told yourself that was a good thing.

It was late when you finally pushed out of the back doors of the pizzeria building. Your car was parked out back with many of the other employee cars; it was just a lot more convenient and a lot less traffic. It had been a couple days since the fiasco with Kyla and Hyunjae, and you hadn't heard or seen him once since then.

That was a good thing. It was supposed to be a good thing. After all, why would he suddenly reappear in your life now? What purpose or what significance did that have?

You were going to try and forget about him again. Your life was plenty good without him, and yet…

"Yn."

Speak of the Devil. You swore under your breath as you nearly tripped over the curb. His voice was haunting, as was his presence, his whole silhouette. You'd once found a home with all those things—with him.

You and he stopped beside your car. "What are you doing here?" You asked him.

Hyunjae had his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. "I, uhm," he began, "I wanted to say sorry."

"Sorry?" You parroted. The word was sticky in your mouth and it clung to all the wrong crevices.

"Yeah, for the other night." He clasped the back of his neck. "I… I broke up with her, by the way."

Your eyes widened at his words. He broke up with Kyla? A part of you wanted to pump the sky and jump up and down—finally. Fucking finally! But there was another part of you, the rational one, who yanked you back to Earth and smacked you in the head to think about it. Three years of dating that girl, and just now he decided to break up with her? What was the tipping point? There was no way he didn't know she acted like a spoiled brat all the time.

What was so good about her anyway? You thought you had understood at the time—she had more money, more connections. Her parents were old money rich, not entrepreneurs like yours. It was stupid to think that was the reason, and you couldn't afford to go down that rabbit hole of methodology again.

"So?"

Your singular word seemed to slap him in the face. "So? I—" Frustration flickered across his face for a split second. Now he knew how you felt.

You couldn't wait for him to say anything; you had so much to say to him. "Listen Jaehyun," you said plainly. "I don't know what you want from me. You broke up with your girlfriend? Good for you. You're sorry for the other night? Okay. I don't know if you expect me to grovel and praise you for owning up for once—"

"Okay, what?" He cut in. "First of all, I don't expect you to grovel or praise me or whatever. Second, what do you mean 'owning up for once?'"

"I mean it exactly like I said it." You clenched the strap of your bag in your hand. Crazy how your car was literally right next to you, but you couldn't get into it. Your feet were glued to the street, and a part of you wanted to know how this ended. "The last time I saw you, Kyla laughed in my face, and you encouraged her. You dropped me like our years of friendship meant jack shit to you. I don't know what you're trying to pull, Jaehyun, and I don't wanna know."

Hyunjae leaned his head back, eyes closed for a second. "Yn, it's so much more complicated than that."

You stuck your tongue in your cheek. "That's such bullshit, and you know it. You don't get to come back and tell me this." There was a shakiness in your voice now, and you knew you had to get going or risk yelling. "That's just not fair."

"I know it's not fair."

"Good."

"Fine," he bit out. "I don't even know why I'm here."

Your hand found purchase on the driver's side door. Say something. Give me a reason to stay. "Maybe your sense of guilt has finally returned and your brain wanted to make amends."

He rolled his eyes, and it felt like a stab in your chest. "I'm going to leave now."

"Thank god." The words tasted sour in your mouth and you realized that he hadn't given you a reason to stay; in fact, it had been the exact opposite.

You both went your separate ways again. When you clambered into your car and watched him walk away through your rear view, it dawned on you that the entire conversation had been one massive circle. You wanted to hear him out—of course, you did.

You used to know him, after all. You used to know him so well. And perhaps that was why you hadn't just now.

"We need to talk."

A pair of hands slammed down on your desk and you nearly fell out of your chair. You tugged your earbuds out of your ear to give whoever this was a piece of your—

You frowned. "Oh. It's you."

Hyunjae frowned back at you. He was wearing a jean jacket today, hair styled presentably. He didn't have to look so good in this lighting, but you supposed even the sun liked to favor him. "Yes, it's me. Can you get up so we can—" He nodded out toward the library window beside you, "—talk?"

"So you want us to jump out the window?"

"You are so annoying."

Your smile was saccharine. "Not as annoying as you."

It had currently been around fifteen hours since he showed up at the back alley to confront you with that sorry apology. You'd woken up this morning less mad and more sad… smad. Sure, you were smad. It seemed that a night of sleep hadn't deterred your ex-best friend from talking to you, and you couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing.

"You don't even go to this school," you told him in a pathetic attempt to wave him away without actually waving him away.

"This is a public campus, Yn." He pulled out the seat across from you before you could protest. "I don't have to go to this school."

You scowled. The organ in your chest was beating awfully fast—you really hoped you weren't about to get in a screaming match with him here of all places. "What do you want, Hyunjae? You can't just show up everywhere I go unannounced."

"I don't do that."

"I'm starting to think you're obsessed with me, actually."

"Will you just—"

"Heya, Yn." Relief flooded through you at the sight of Changmin and Sunwoo walking up to your table. The former narrowed his eyes behind his dark-framed glasses. "Everything okay?"

You flipped your notebook closed and swiftly packed all of your items up. "Yeah, perfectly," you said. Hyunjae didn't follow as you stood up. "Bye, Hyunjae."

As you walked toward the library exit, Changmin and Sunwoo converged on either side of you. "What was that all about?" Sunwoo asked, his head peering behind you at the boy who was no doubt still sitting at the table. "Why is he here?"

You shook your head and pushed out onto the university grounds, propping the door open for your friends trailing behind. "Dude, I have no idea. He dropped by on my way out of work last night—"

"He what?"

"It wasn't even a productive conversation," you told them. You didn't know where you were going, but you turned around to face them as you walked backward along the path. Maybe you shouldn't have just left him there. "I don't even know how he knew I was at the library."

Changmin's mouth quirked downward. "Isn't this like… kind of creepy? What's with him anyway?"

"Yeah, Yn, how do you know him?" Sunwoo chimed in.

You sighed, face scrunching up as you thought about where to begin. Swiveling back to front, your friends clung onto you—both physically and to your words. "Our parents loathe each other, because they're business rivals, but Hyunjae and I went to the same schools when we were kids and we became friends."

It had been the two of you against the world—best petty friends. That first time his parents had driven him over to your house for a play date, the looks on both yours and his parents had been priceless. It'd been a wonder that they'd let you continue with the play date. From that point on, however, you both became friends for life, all despite the odds.

At least, that was how it had been.

Three years ago, just before both of you were going to begin your college careers, he had pretended that everything between the two of you was nothing more than dumpster fire. He ended up with Kyla, he became a jerk, and you'd spiraled. Had it been something you'd done? Had it been you? Did his parents open his eyes to your families' petty rivalry and get him to turn on you? That was what it had seemed like.

You'd survived, somehow. You had friends now—good friends, nice friends, un-petty friends. (But Hyunjae had been that person for you, too, once upon a time.)

You found yourself in your apartment at six in the evening the next day, staring at a half-drunk glass of wine and a crossword on your coffee table. You'd snatched up one of the newspapers in the lobby to busy yourself with in an attempt to take your mind off thrown cups of coke, bitchy ex girlfriends, and bitter ex friends.

It hadn't worked yet.

A knock on your front door drew your focus away, and you dragged yourself up from the couch to see who it was. Something panged in your chest at the face on the other side of the peephole.

You ripped the door open. "Do you want a restraining order?"

Hyunjae stood on the other side looking a little less put together than yesterday, but still more put together than you. "Yn, can we please just talk?"

"How do you even know where I live?" You asked him, not moving from the threshold, and thus, leaving him no room to come in.

"I literally helped you move in three years ago," he said, blinking. Oh. "Now, can I please come in?"

At least he was saying please, you reasoned with yourself. Begrudgingly, you let him in.

His shoulders seemed to deflate as he slipped inside, and he left his shoes on the show rack by the front door. Once you'd replaced all the locks, you swept past him to your kitchen area. "Want a drink?"

"Uhm, sure. Yeah, thanks."

You came back to the couch with another glass and poured him some of the red.

The two of you sat on the couch beside each other with a comfortable amount of space in the middle. He picked up his glass and chugged the entire thing, while you finished off your own glass and reached for the bottle. It felt so strange to be in his space again—or at least, for him to be in your space again. You didn't know if the jittery kick in your heart was from nervousness, excitement, or both.

What more did he have to say to you?

When you topped your glass off again, Hyunjae refilled his own.

"What do you want from me, Hyunjae?" You asked him for what felt like the hundredth time within the past week. You didn't have the heart to look at him now, the alcohol making your brain buzz and your chest heavy.

He nursed his glass, elbows braced on his knees. "I'm sorry," he said, clearing his throat when his voice came out rough. He fidgeted with the collar of his shirt. "You're probably so fucking tired of me, but I just… I knew I had to make things right."

You tugged your legs onto the couch and tucked them under you. "Why? Because you broke up with your girlfriend for throwing soda in my face?" For a moment, the thought amused you. Out of all the things to break up with Kyla for—out of all the things—it'd been over Coca-Cola.

Hyunjae swallowed down his wine. "No, that's not—that's not why I wanted to break up with her. I mean, part of it, of course. She'd disrespected you and your friend and the workplace."

His words and their sincerity drew your eyes to him on your left. His head hung, but you could see the glazed look in his eyes, dulling out those pretty, mahogany irises of his. He looked like your Hyunjae for once, not the one who had appeared in the doorway of the pizzeria with his arm around a girl who didn't appreciate him or anyone.

"And I'm sorry for that," he continued. "I'm sorry I didn't do more to prevent that from happening."

You stared down into the dark stillness of your wine glass. "Well, it wasn't exactly your fault," you said quietly.

You heard him huff, "Yeah, sure." He lifted the glass up to his lips again, and you did the same.

"The little altercation was recorded and posted online," Hyunjae suddenly said. "And when my parents saw, they pretty much backed out of the partnership between our company and Kyla's parents'. They didn't let me break up with her before because of the contract or whatever, but after that PR nightmare, they pretty much cut ties for me."

He took another swig, and you found yourself really looking at him this time.

"I was and have been an asshole to you, Yn," he said. "And it's no excuse, but it was… I was just trying to make it easier for both of us."

The wine was penetrating your defenses. Or maybe that was his story. But either way, the stinging in the corners of your eyes led to a watering of your vision, and everything was getting blurry. The lights, him, your whole view of the situation. His parents hadn't turned him, but shackled him instead.

"I thought," you began, lifting a hand up to wipe your eyes dry, "you hated me."

Hyunjae raised his head, shaking it, then hanging it again. He drank. "I couldn't hate you. I tried—I tried to make it easier to see you differently, but… Yn, you were my best friend." His voice broke at the end and he swallowed. "I thought about you so much these past few years, and it was so hard to get through it without you."

Your heart was sinking fast into your stomach and you could feel it hammer against your bones. You'd thought about him too much, as much as you loathed to admit. The man who you felt had simply thrown you away… how pathetic was it that you couldn't stop caring? But now, the lens was widening. Maybe your feelings weren't so unique.

Both you and Hyunjae moved at the same time, arms raising to drain your glasses of the last bits of wine.

You told yourself it was the wine that was making you want to cry, but when you and Hyunjae looked at each other, his eyes were lined with silver. He sniffled, setting his glass on the coffee table. "I'm sorry," he whispered, biting his lip when emotion made him screw his face up and turn away from you.

You put your glass next to his and clambered over the sofa to wrap your arms around him. He turned his face into your chest and sobbed, the sound coaxing a crest of emotion out of you, too, and you held him and rocked him through the oncoming waves.

It was the wine, you thought. God it was the wine. It had to be the wine.

But your best friend was here in your arms, where he belonged, you liked to think. He was home.

You curled your hand over the back of his head, your cheeks damp. "'m sorry they forced you into that relationship," you rasped. The bitterness was sweeping back in a different color. "I wish I knew."

He sniffled. "They threatened to do something to your parents' company. I couldn't—I couldn't let you and them get involved."

The confession stabbed through you. You had no idea what his parents had told him, and made him do, for the sake of business. You had no idea how unhappy he was, and god—you wished you'd known. Maybe things wouldn't have come to such hurt.

Hyunjae pulled himself away from you and wiped his eyes. "I think after all that shit, I'm a little fucked up."

The both of you shared a watery laugh, the space that had originally been left between you, nonexistent.

You cupped the sides of his face. "You made it though, and you've been so strong, Jae."

His bottom lip trembled. "Can you ever forgive me?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "Yeah, I forgive you." How could you not? And it was the wine—you swore it was the wine—that had you leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his hairline. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into you, his hand reaching up to cover your hand with his own.

"I like you a whole lot better than her," he murmured.

"I'd hope so," you mused, patting his cheek. "You deserve to have someone so much better than her."

He gulped, eyes searching your face. "You think so?"

"I know so."

Your heartbeat stuttered when he leaned forward slightly. You could smell the wine on his breath as it fanned over your skin. It felt as if the world slowed in that moment—the lights were dimmer, his eyelids low, lips shiny and plush.

And then he blinked, energy and alarm and… something else in his expression. He pulled out of your hold and his ears turned bright red. "I should go."

Your lips parted. "Wait—"

He practically leapt off the couch and banged his knee against the wall as he hobbled into his shoes. "Damn—I—" he opened the front door, pausing over the threshold. You didn't know why he was leaving; you wanted him to stay. Why, why, why was he leaving? "I, uhm, I've overstayed my welcome."

The door rattled as he closed it behind him, as if to tell you to not follow him out. You were left on the couch alone again, two empty glasses of wine, feeling stripped.

What the hell was that?

"And he just… left?"

You nodded, sweeping the apron around your waist over the hook in the back room of the pizzeria. It was late when yours and Dae's shift ended, as per usual. The shop was pretty much closed, leaving the two of you and two of the cooks who usually closed up the establishment when you both left.

For the entirety of your shift, you had been turning over yesterday's events over and over again. "I don't know what I did wrong, y'know? Maybe I crossed a boundary or something? I dunno."

Worry gnawed at your stomach as you recalled what happened to Dae. You both stepped out of the back of the building to head to your respective cars. It was dark out, as it usually was, with a few street lights along the road that you and Dae stuck to while walking.

As you approached your car, you noticed Hyunjae standing beside it with his hands tucked in his pockets and his head turned toward you. Rather than the sourness you'd felt for him at the beginning of the week, the feeling twisting in your chest was sweeter, but bitter still.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," Dae said to you softly with a gentle nudge of your arm. She walked ahead of you and passed by your car to get to hers, leaving you to confront the man plaguing your every thought for the past week.

You swallowed as you made your way over to the driver's side door where he was standing. "Hey."

Hyunjae gave a slight bob of his head. "Hey."

"Did I do something wrong yesterday?" You asked him, earnestly, searching his face for any hint as to why he had left so abruptly.

"No, it wasn't your fault—it definitely wasn't your fault," he told you. He sucked in a breath, carding a hand through his hair. "I had an epiphany of sorts."

"An epiphany?" You furrowed your brows.

His cheeks had flushed slightly, and he couldn't exactly meet your eyes. "I thought it was just the alcohol clouding my judgment, and in combination with all the emotions, and I just—" he shook his head. "It's probably not important, but…"

You bumped your elbow with his. "Jae, you're here. It probably is important."

A small smile curled up onto his face. "Y'know," he began, finally lifting his head to look you in the eyes, "she would have agreed with me and brushed me off."

You knew who the "she" he was talking about was. You frowned. "She was never good enough for you, Hyunjae."

"I know." He sighed. "I just wanna be enough for you though now."

Surprise lit across your face, and you could feel the butterflies in your stomach start to take flight. You couldn't think coherently with his words, and you were probably reading into it too much. The two of you had been away so long that you probably forgot how to read him; there was no doubt that something changed over the past three years, right?

When you failed to find a reply, he shifted slightly, his body facing straight toward you. "I've had a lot of time to think, and the whole time I was with her, I just kept comparing her to you." He stepped closer to you and his hand reached out to tentatively take your fingers with his. "She never measured up; maybe that made me even more bitter for ruining our friendship."

You met his eyes. There was that glimmer of the rich brown like what you'd seen last night. (Your Hyunjae was present and accounted for.) "What… what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I," he said, fully taking your hands with his, "would like to start over on a slightly different note. But if you don't feel the same, we can start wherever you're comfortable with."

It would be different, you realized. But it would be a good different, right?

You found your voice, curled your fingers around his in the space between you. "Okay."

His smile slowly widened, his eyes squinting into upturned crescent moons. "Okay?"

You nodded, returning the expression. "Let's start over on that different note."

The pizzeria was as alive as usual. It was warm, smelled like tomatoes and cheese and bread, and it was still your home away from home. You had just finished your break and were tying your apron back on when Dae bumped her hip against yours as she passed by with a tray of dirty dishes.

"Your banshees just got in," she said, before disappearing through the kitchen doors.

Your gaze went to the door where you found your five friends, and the additional three, who were filing in altogether. You made eye contact with one person in particular, his smile softening into something fond at the corners of his mouth. He lifted a hand in greeting, grabbing everyone else's attention as they said their hellos to you.

The eight of them made their way over to the round table in the back corner, piling into the chairs around it.

"Waitress! Waitress!" The hyena-like sound set off an alarm in your head and you came over to the table to give Changmin a stink eye. He grinned innocently. "Oh yay, it worked."

You gave him an unimpressed look. "You sound like a chihuahua."

"Joke's on you, I think chihuahuas are cute," he huffed, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

You braced your hand on the back of Hyunjae's chair, the other one gently patting the top of his head. He acknowledged your greeting, his hand reaching up to cover yours on the chair back. "What's to drink, y'all?"

A chorus of beverages rang out, and you mentally counted the few repeats and the singles. You promised to be right back, and left to go grab them. As you went, you could hear your boys start up a lively debate about the multipurpose properties of the lemon. You wondered if that was what they had been bickering about on the car ride over here, and you heard Eric say something about lemons for cleaning; Juyeon just said lemonade; and Changmin said for inflicting "more pain." (No, you didn't want to know.)

When you returned to their table to pass out your drinks, you went around, leaving Hyunjae for last. You set his cup of coke in front of him and he passed you a smile.

"You're not gonna dump that on me, are you?" You asked, eyes narrowing playfully.

He grinned. "As long as you don't dump me, we're good."

Sunwoo made a face from across the table. "Yuck, get a room!"

Chanhee smacked him upside the head. "At least they have someone to be yucky with."

"This feels familiar somehow," Kevin pondered aloud. "Like déjà vu."

Jacob shrugged. "Maybe in another universe. I dunno, it seems like something we would have said to Sunwoo at some point."

"Hey!—"

You were halfway through a laugh when Hyunjae caught your attention, twisted around in his chair to smile up at you. "What's up?" You asked him.

His eyes, you could never get sick of his eyes. They glistened in the lighting here. "Nothing," he said swiftly, "I'm just… happy to be here." With you.

You understood, and you caught his hand on the back of the chair and gave him a little squeeze. "I'm happy you're here, too." It seemed that some things were just meant to come full circle.

tbz m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @zzoguri @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu @justalildumpling @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @outrologist @vernonburger @maessseongs @kflixnet @ericlvr

[senjuroprotectionsquad]

how do you think akaza feel if reader was preggo with their child?

AKAZA WITH A PREGNANT S/O

omg he'd be an absolute malewife-

first and foremost

He wants to TRAIN the child (starts talking about it immediately after you announce you pregnant)

Not even questioning how a human and demon had a baby just STRAIGHT to training (your not surprised though. it's akaza.)

Although a demon he is still part man and that part wants him to have a mini version of himself, wants the child to be strong like him (maybe eventually replace that bastard Douma-)

He's a bit inexperienced when it comes to being around pregnant women (He avoids women as a whole due to not wanting to bring them harm) so forgive him if he doesn't treat you like glass right away

As soon as you start showing belly though?

it's OVER

Won't let you go outside at night, at your side returning with supplies every dawn. Keeps you locked away because your his, and he'll be damned if someone takes that away from him.

This man is TOUCHY. Belly, thighs, hips, breast, butt. NOWHERE is safe. A squish here and a squeeze there is enough to tell you that he loves you, even if he's not very vocal about it.

Once you get into the later months of your pregnancy and start to really show, he won't do anything sexual with you other than go down on you, much to your dismay.

it's just... just too easy to accidentally hurt you, ya know?

He's always watching you, staring. It might seem a little intimidating but behind that blank expression are the vivid images of you guys making more babies. The mushy stuff too, holding hands, kissing the baby's forehead goodnight, watching you fold laundry or other mundane housework all while the mini akaza runs all around causing havoc. (just like him, he thinks)

He'll give you massages and cook for you, becoming more doting and wonderful with each and every passing month.

Won't let any of the other upper moons know about it (other than Kokushibo because he somehow already knows)

Kokushibo showed up one day out of the blue while Akaza was gone on a hunt and while it was scary he was only interested i talking with you about the pregnancy. Intrigued.

The look on Akaza's face when he came back to see the two of you talking over tea was enough to tell you how he felt about that.

This man is possessive as it is, but when your pregnant? Oh boy.

He doesn't even want you talking with humans let alone demons, i mean what if the slayers found you? they'd surely take your head for carrying the baby of a demon. The thought alone has him taking his anger out on the nearest tree.

WILL smash a tree or person to absolute bits and then touch you with the most gentle, reaffirming hands ever known.

He loves to kiss you everywhere but his favorite place would be your knuckles, raising your hands to his fangs only to place the sweetest kiss on the back of them.

EYE CONTACTTTTT

While he kisses you, while he holds your hand away from the stove so you don't burn yourself, while he helps you get in and out of the bath, while he turns you into a cream puff-

Asks how you're doing, if you've eaten, if you've been feeling sick. Your in pain? He will threaten the gods to make you feel better.

Stole a book from a nearby medical center on remedies to reduce cramps (acts like it's a coincidence that he found it when he searched all night)

He loves and loves and loves until he can't anymore, he's stubborn and occasionally shy due to his utmost respect for you, but once the baby is born he's back to his teasing self, promising to put another baby in you as soon your back to health.

He will also absolutely chuck the baby 20 ft up in the air while playing "catchies" much to your disapproval 💀

He catches him everytime though. As if the great Akaza could let his little champion get hurt. (at least that's what he says)

WHEW that was a doozy, sorry if i went a little off the rails, I love husbandy Akaza so muchhhh

I hope you enjoyed!

[tatdritt]

I know the motto of this entire studio is basically “what the fuck” but whew… this one… this one’s a real doozy

[avelera]

OFMD really said, "Pursue the things you love, not the things you fear."

I'm still turning this idea over in my head like a microwave but I'm thinking about Stede's line to (the picture of) Ed, "I'm afraid that your life is better without me."

From @blackbbonnet's gifset here.

Whew, what a doozy of a line!

And what a curious line!

Because the reason Stede left Ed at the end of Season 1 was in the hopes that it would improve Ed's life if he took off.

Despite the fact that Ed chose to be with Stede. Despite the fact Ed was content with folding socks if he was by Stede's side. Despite kissing him and declaring, by somewhat obliquely, that a life anywhere was fine as long as Stede was there, Stede just couldn't hear it over the sound of the Badmintons and his own trauma in his ears telling him he destroyed beautiful things, like his family, and Ed.

Ok, so what does this have to do with my thesis above?

Stede failed, he messed up, because he saw his worst fear of Ed being happy without him and decided that the painful thing was the right thing. That the voices in his head telling him he was worthless were correct. That it was better to listen to those voices, and to make his greatest fear a reality.

I've argued that the narrative morality of OFMD, the actions that give you plot armor and allow you to save the day, are when characters pursue what they love.

This is in contrast to many other adult-aimed works of fiction that say we should do things out of duty. We should do things that are painful but necessary. OFMD said, "Fuck that noise."

Because Stede left Ed out of a sense of duty. And he fucked over every single person in his life by doing so, including Mary and his kids, though he was able to fix that eventually specifically by resolving to return to his own happiness so that they could have theirs.

But then we've got this quote above! This quote saying that Stede is afraid Ed's life is better. Fascinating! Absolutely fascinating! Because that means the thing Stede was ready to self-sacrifice for at the end of the Season 1 was the thing he feared most: a life for Ed that was better without Stede in it.

I suppose there's no better definition of duty, huh? Then the resolve to do something that will be personally painful to us for some higher goal. And again, OFMD said fuck that noise, pursue your happiness, and do so proudly.

But there's an extention to this too, the more I thought about it. The show literally even said that even for matters of survival, the better motivation is joy not fear or duty.

Think of the storm in S1 ep. 4. While trying to think of a way for everyone to survive because it's his duty as a captain, Ed is distracted, disinterested. Izzy's frustration with him mounts. The tension rises. His heart is really not in it, we know Ed's actively suicidal...

And the plan Ed comes up with fails.

It was born out of duty as a captain and it failed because he messed up the dates.

But what plan succeeds? The plan born out of joy. The Ed that works with Stede to become a lighthouse is acting out of an active, joyful desire to live, he chooses life out of the joy of being with Stede, of partnering with Stede.

The you flash forward to the scene where Ed is drowning in his Purgatory fever dream and the simple motions of struggling to stay alive are not enough. The duty of staying alive is not enough. The thing that actually works is when the choice he makes to live is joyful, it's a positive choice to go towards the light and be with Stede. Stede, embodied as a beautiful gold fish of a merman.

And just to be clear, I don't at all think that OFMD is saying, "If you don't have a joyful reason to move forward, just give up." Not at all.

What I think it's saying is, pursuing your happiness will succeed. Even when it's scary. Even when it means confronting fears. Even when it's hard. Duty alone isn't enough to live on. It's not enough to motivate us when things are hard. It has diminishing returns. Pick and pursue what gives you joy, choose a shining target to move towards, and you'll not only be true to yourself, but good things will come out of it. Just like Ed finding Stede, and Stede finding Ed, because they pursued what made them happiest in life.

[shigayokagayama]

jodo ^_^

Sexuality Headcanon:

whew. this ones a doozy.

“No.”

“Just hear me out!” The man standing on the other side of the desk was the last person Reigen had been expecting, or wanting, to see today. His black, oily hair did well to frame his smug, weasley face, and his suit looked too expensive for the cheap smelling cologne Reigen caught wafting off him.

“I wouldn’t go to any event as your date,” Reigen grimaced as he spoke, “Much less to the funeral of the man who tried to ruin my life.” 

“Oh come on, you’re doing great for yourself!” Roshuuto protested, “Besides, I’m sure there’s nothing Master Jodo would hate more than knowing you’re enjoying a banquet paid for by the company he built.”

“I’d probably get food poisoning,” Reigen muttered.

“No, trust me, Psychic Sun funerals have the best catering,” Roshuuto smirked.

“How the hell do you know that? How many have you even been to?”

Roshuuto started counting on his fingers for a moment before shrugging. “Twelve?”

“Goddamn, you guys are dropping like flies!”

“It’s a dangerous line of work,” Roshuuto said pensively, hanging his head for a moment before perking up, “Anyway the ceviche is to die for.”

“Pun intended?”

Roshuuto let out a fake sounding laugh.

“Oh, Reigen-san, you’re so funny.”

“Shut up,” Reigen groaned, “Why do you even want me there?”

“Well,” Roshuuto sighed, “I’ve been telling everyone I’ve been seeing a very special someone for the past few months now and I don’t think I can go alone to another event without someone calling my bluff.”

“Why me?” 

“Because I trust you Reigen,” he said, looking at him with big doleful eyes, “And I know literally no one else who’s not already going to be there.”

Reigen stared at him for a moment, locking eyes with him, before turning back to his computer and clicking play on the husky screaming compilation video he’d been in the middle of when Roshuuto had waltzed in.

“Hey hey hey wait,” Roshuuto cried over the wails of the damned coming from his shitty laptop speaker, “I… there may also be some financial incentive to your attendance.”

Reigen paused the video and looked back at him, eyebrow raised. Roshuuto sighed, putting a hand behind his head.

“Master Jodo… I was like a grandson to him,” Roshuuto said wistfully, “In those final months before he slipped in the shower, I was attending to his every need. I’ve never felt closer to another person before, and I’m sure he felt the same when he was writing his final will and testament. I expect I will be receiving a significant portion of his fortune, and if you were to do this for me, I would be willing to part with a fraction of it in exchange for your company.”

“Fifty percent.”

“Fuck no. Ten.”

Reigen turned the video back on.

“Twenty five!” Roshuuto said quickly, “Twenty five and I pay for our ride there!”

“Were you not already going to?”

“Does that sound fair?” Roshuuto quirked an eyebrow with an oily grin.

“...How much do you think you’ll be getting?” Reigen asked.

“Ah, I don’t want to jinx it by saying a number,” Roshuuto’s breath hissed as he sucked in through his teeth, “But if I were to throw out an educated guess… 90,000,000 yen.”

Reigen put a thoughtful hand to his chin, then held it out to Roshuuto.

“Sounds like a deal.”

“You won’t regret it,” Roshuuto grinned. The door creaked open as Tome and Serizawa stepped into the office, Mobdonalds in hand. Roshuuto looked up and released Reigen’s hand.

“Ah, lovely to see you two again,” he said. Serizawa stared at him, unblinking. Reigen watched a bead of sweat form on his forehead. “I uh, I best be going now,” he coughed, walking towards the door and sidestepping Serizawa. “Call me!” 

Reigen watched the door slam shut.

“I don’t even have his phone number.”

Roshuuto was unsure how to feel about the smallness of the backseat of the taxi he had ordered. On one hand, he had gotten exactly what he paid for, ordering the cheapest taxi he could find out of Seasoning City, and the idea of driving crammed in the back of this car for another hour was making him feel kind of sick. 

On the other hand, being pressed this tightly against Reigen Arataka was not the worst feeling in the world.

“I should have brought headphones…” he heard Reigen mutter. The taxi driver had been blasting some obnoxious talk show for the entire drive, occasionally laughing so hard Roshuuto was afraid he’d swerve off the road and crash the car. 

“Do you want me to sing for you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“It was a joke, Reigen.” Roshuuto said, “Honestly, before we met I always thought you’d have more of a sense of humor, but in all the time I’ve known you I can’t remember a single time I’ve seen you laugh.”

“Try being funnier.” Reigen muttered, staring out the window.

“You know, my colleagues always compliment me for my ability to lighten the mood,” he said. Reigen glanced at him for a moment then went back to staring out at the view of the winding mountain road. Roshuuto yawned, trying to casually put an arm over Reigen’s shoulder but hitting it on the car roof and pretending nothing had happened.

“Hey, driver!” Reigen called, “Do you think you could roll down the windows? I need some air.”

“What, so you could stick your head out like a dog?” Roshuuto snickered. Reigen stared blankly at him until he stopped laughing. The window rolled down and Roshuuto shuddered at the blast of cold air.

“Ugh, no, please close it,” Roshuuto grimaced.

“Why?” Reigen frowned.

“It’s freezing out there,” he scoffed.

“What? It’s like 15 C’s.” Reigen protested

“C’s?”

“Yeah like Celcius?”

“Why didn’t you just say degrees? Who even says that?”

“I do, shut up,” Reigen turned to the driver, “Sorry about him.”

“Ey, it’s fine, I’ve had worse customers,” the driver said, motioning to Roshuuto. “Someone gave birth on that seat once.”

Roshuuto’s eye twitched and he reached into his bag, pulling out a wet wipe and shifting to scrub the seat under him, trying to ignore the trembling in his arms from the cold air seeping through the window.

Roshuuto stumbled out of the cab, sifting through his pockets for the exorbitant cab fare before making his way towards his former employer’s manor. Reigen was a few steps behind him. He’d managed to convince him not to wear his usual tie, as Roshuuto was sure the bright pink would have raised some eyebrows for such a somber occasion. The courtyard was full of all manners of psychics that Roshuuto had probably met before but certainly didn’t remember the names of. He made his way towards the front door, shaking hands with all the weirdos lining his pathway.

“Ah, Roshuuto-san, glad you could…” Utuo Muzuo stopped mid handshake, staring past him to where Reigen stood. “...What are you doing here?”

“Ah, Utuo-san,” Roshuuto let a wry smile creep across his face, “Allow me to introduce you to my partner.”

Reigen messily shoved a piece of ceviche he had grabbed from a waiter’s tray into his mouth and held out a hand towards Utuo, who stared at him dumbfounded.

“Your partner… as in…”

“Sexual partner,” Roshuuto said in a low voice, eyebrows raised. Reigen choked on his food, dramatically pounding his fist against his chest in some sort of amateur self-Heimlich maneuver. Utuo looked between the two of them and Roshuuto watched a shudder pass through him. 

“Excuse me,” he said, turning and pushing through the crowd towards the bathroom.

“Why did you have to say it like that?” Reigen spluttered.

“I wanted to make our relationship clear!” Roshuuto said, “I needed to ensure this wasn’t mistaken for a business venture.”

“But this is a business venture.”

“I know it is you idiot, but they don’t.”

Reigen sighed, throwing his head back.

“Couldn’t you have just said boyfriend…” he muttered.

“Where’s the mystique, dear Reigen?” he said, “Oh, wait, is it odd for us to be dating and still on a surname basis? Should I call you Ar-”

“I will actually kill you.”

“Okay,” Roshuuto threw up his hands, “Just. Make sure we make this convincing, alright? The truth of this venture would have been even more humiliating than me turning up alone again.”

“That you’re bribing me with blood money?” Reigen shoved a deviled egg in his mouth.

“You say it like I killed him,” Roshuuto said, horrified.

“Well, you did say you were taking care of him and then he slipped in the shower and died, so...” 

“I didn’t mean literally take care of him, I wasn’t his nurse!” Roshuuto snapped, “I just paid him the occasional visit. You know, to keep him company. And pick up food for his wretched mongrel.”

“There’s a dog here?” Life seemed to return to Reigen’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t classify it as a dog,” Roshuuto grumbled, “The damn thing has outstayed its welcome on this earth and seems to be clinging on exclusively to spite me. I can’t think of a single time I’ve visited this place where I did not return to some manner of excrement in my shoes.”

“Reigen-san?!?”

Shinra Banshoumaru made his way through the sea of people towards them. Reigen breathed a sigh of relief.

“Finally a friendly face,” Reigen said, “Hey buddy, what are you doing here?”

“I- it’s my boss’s funeral?” Shinra said.

“Oh, right, forgot you worked for this clown too.” Reigen said. A waiter passed by with a bottle of champagne and Roshuuto saw Reigen’s eyes light up.

“Reigen!” Roshuuto hissed, “You can’t say-”

“Be right back,” Reigen grabbed a champagne glass off the table and jogged towards the waiter. Shinra watched him go with a frown.

“Wasn’t expecting to see him here,” he said, “Honestly, I figured he’d be the last person Master Jodo would have invited.”

“Oh, he didn’t,” Roshuuto said, “I did.”

“What?” 

“Reigen is my-”

Reigen pushed in front of him, two champagne glasses in hand. He handed one to Shinra and held up his glass.

“Cheers,” Reigen said. Shinra considered for a moment, then clinked his glass against Reigen’s with a soft smile.

“Erm, hello?” Roshuuto said, grabbing Reigen by the shoulder. “Where’s my glass?”

“Get one yourself,” Reigen waved his hand dismissively, “You have legs.”

Roshuuto scowled, storming towards the table to grab a glass. With how uncooperative his date was being, he was probably going to need it.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today-” the speaker frowned, looking over his notecards. He quietly shoved them into a pocket on his robe and pulled out another set of cards from the other pocket. “Friends and family, today we gather in grief…”

Roshuuto could barely focus on the words leaving his mouth with all the whispering and giggling coming from beside him. Somehow in the space between Reigen discovering that they provided alcohol and the beginning of the service, he had managed to get completely wasted. How was a complete mystery to him, as Roshuuto was pretty sure he hadn’t even seen him get a refill. Was this his first glass? 

“Can you two behave yourselves?” Roshuuto hissed.

“I don’t know, can you get that stick out of your ass?” Reigen whispered. Shinra started giggling and Reigen leaned against him for support, laughing so hard he looked like he was about to cry.

“Might I remind you we are at a funeral?” Roshuuto snapped. Reigen he might have expected this from, but Shinra?  

“Might I remind you that you told me I should ‘get a sense of humor’ on the drive over?” Reigen said smugly. “Is this funny enough for you?”

“There’s a time and a place you cheap suited-”

“Oh, I’m cheap?”

“At this time,” the speaker continued, “We would like to invite the members of the departed’s family to speak.”

Roshuuto watched as the oldest man he had ever seen wheeled himself onto the stand.

“I can’t believe I have to live in a world without my baby brother,” the man spoke into the mic. Reigen wheezed for breath, tears forming in his eyes.

“Reigen-san, stop,” Shinra wheezed, trying to suppress his giggles, “It’s not funny.”

“I know-” Reigen gasped, “That’s why I’m laughing.”

Shinra doubled over, almost knocking Reigen, who had been hanging on him, to the floor. Roshuuto was painfully aware of the eyes of the funeral procession locked on him as the old man sobbed on stage. He grabbed his wine glass and downed the remaining portion of it, immediately feeling it hit his stomach. 

Oh god.

He jumped out of his seat, pushing through the crowd towards the bathroom. Where the fuck was it? He’d been in this stupid labyrinthian house a million times and he still could never find it. He spotted the door out of the corner of his eye and turned too fast, slipping and hitting his head on the floor. He tried to stand and doubled over, losing the wine along with the rest of the contents of his stomach. He shakily got to his feet and made his way back into the main room. Everyone was looking at him. Everyone except Reigen and Shinra, whose seats were conspicuously empty. Roshuuto shuffled back to his seat, trying to ignore the anxiety welling in his chest. Had they gone looking for him? No, they would have run into each other in the hall, right? As the minutes ticked by his worry grew. Maybe he should look for them. 

Just as the thought crossed his mind the people around him began to stand and make their way to the casket. Roshuuto rose with them, scanning the crowd. Maybe they had just moved seats? He felt like a mother who had lost her two worst behaved children in a Walmart. Everyone knew Reigen was here because of him, he’d made a point of that. Whatever he did here, Roshuuto would be held responsible. He made his way to the casket, cursing himself for not bringing flowers. Now he looked like even more of a clown than he had before. He felt a hand on his shoulder and Utuo looked him in the eye, leading him aside. Roshuuto’s throat went dry as he guided him away from the party towards Jodo’s study. Utuo opened the door, standing aside to let Roshuuto enter. He balled his hands into fists and entered the room, where a collection of the Rising Sun Union’s upper echelon sat in a small circle.

“What’s happening?” Roshuuto said shakily.

“We’re reading Master Jodo’s will,” Utuo said flatly. Roshuuto let out a breath. Right. The reason he was here in the first place. A man in a crisp black suit that Roshuuto didn’t recognize sat behind the desk, paper in hand.

“Now that everyone’s here, is it alright if we begin?” he said. Roshuuto nodded, noticing a wheelchair with the same man who had spoken earlier in the corner. The man made eye contact with Roshuuto for a moment, sneered, then pointedly looked away. Roshuuto kept himself steady. It didn’t matter what these people thought of him, all that mattered was the money. The man Roshuuto assumed to be Jodo’s lawyer cleared his throat.

“To Utuo Muzuo, I leave the business I built in your capable hands, as well as the current sum of money in the company’s bank account. To my dearest brother, I leave my estate, as well as half of my fortune…”

Sweat dripped down Roshuuto’s temple as names got read and more and more money got divvied up. He tried to run numbers in his head. How much was even going to be left for him?

“...to Amemura Tooru, I leave 5% of my fortune, as well as my silver Maserati. Please take good care of it.”

Roshuuto felt his stomach sink. That was the last of the money. Why had they even brought him in here? To taunt him? Had Jodo somehow posthumously written him out of the will as punishment for bringing Reigen?

“...And finally, to my colleague Roshuuto Dozen, I leave my beloved Muffin. Please take good care of her, I know you were always her favorite.”

Roshuuto understood now. This was one last “fuck you” from beyond the grave. He wanted to laugh but he felt as though those simple words had drained every remaining ounce of energy from his body. 

“The will then goes on to elaborate on her feeding schedule,” the lawyer said, “Uh, which seems to be now. Does anyone know where she’s being kept?”

“In the bathroom,” Utuo said, voice strained. For the first Roshuuto noticed an inconspicuous looking stain on his shirt. 

“Well,” the lawyer said, rising from his chair, “We can discuss the finer details on the way there.”

The men made their way across the house towards the bathroom. They stopped abruptly in the middle of the hallways.

“Uh, did someone throw up on the floor?” 

“Must’ve been the dog,” Roshuuto said. No one had the energy to argue. They stepped around it and opened the door to the bathroom, where a black and white chihuahua stared at them with wide, hazy eyes. Roshuuto glanced to the right and saw Shinra sitting on the bathroom counter making out with a familiar blonde conman. 

“SHINRA WHAT THE FUCK WHY ARE YOU MAKING OUT WITH MY DATE?”

“YOUR DATE?” Shinra backed away from Reigen, looking between the two of them.

“I don’t love him, he paid me to be here!” Reigen said defensively.

“You what?” Utuo’s jaw gaped.

“You hired an escort to come to a funeral with you?” Amemura yelped.

“NO NO IT WASN’T LIKE THAT IT WAS A MUTUALLY BENEFICIAL BUSINESS DECISION,” Roshuuto waved his hands defensively in front of him. 

“Speaking of business, are these the jokers who are making us rich or whatever?” Reigen looked at the lawyer. Roshuuto flinched, turning to look back at his colleagues.

“Well, actually, uh,” Roshuuto turned to look at the dog, “Wait, where did my inheritance go?”

The lawyer pointed to the hallway, where Muffin lapped at the vomit on the floor. Roshuuto looked back at Reigen.

“How do you feel about split custody?”

[blacclotusss]

Do You Know What It Means to be Loved by Death?

My meta and analysis of my favorite scenes from IWTV s02e02

Louis and Claudia at the Cafe

Been a favorite of mine since the scene dropped way back in February. I've always loved Louis and Claudia moments where the two of them are just acting like the siblings they are. Claudia's question of who Louis is, I believe, implants something within him. Louis does dodge the question, of course, but I think we'll see what happens once he's without her. Now, the question is whether he will be without the hallucination of Lestat (I don't think so).

Claudia and Madeleine Meeting

Claudia and Madeleine's first meeting! Eep! There was more tension than I was expecting, but I liked the interaction. Claudia bursting in and demanding her wants is music to my ears.

Louis Cruising

Baby...I'm so glad Mr. du Lac is in Paris living it up and doing so freely. I do wish we could have seen him cruising more...explicitly; especially with the way Armand and Louis described their love lives. But, it's nice to know he was free and without judgement to do as he wanted.

Louis and Armand's First Meeting

Can we talk about legit love and first sight?! They're both so cute in this moment, it's the sweetest thing. The awkwardness of Louis against the smoothness of Armand meshed together beautifully. And the way the two looked at each other as they recounted the story was so magical. "I will not harm you" "And I never have." Such a tender moment and I hope and pray Armand has not hurt that man in any way, even indirectly. I can see it in the both of their faces that they wish to go back to that time, if only for a little while.

Introduction to the Theatre/Coven

I am such a sucker for all things camp and theater and this was both of those on steroids. The theatrics, the acting, the usage of both the projector and the blurred lines between real and fake was amazing. It felt like a show all on it's own. Louis and his facial expressions were hilarious and you can clearly tell it's not his thing, but Claudia wants to fully immerse herself in that. It was so sweet looking at how in awe and happy she was to see the production. Cannot wait to see her on the stage. I'm glad the show have each member of the coven a bit of backstory instead of just sticking them in the scene. We can already see on stage Santiago's personality and I'm intrigued with how he'll develop. I also noticed Armand seemed to be a bit distant when watching them interact. I believe he's already began to pivot his focus to Louis, which is confirmed in the murder mansion scene.

Lestat Reading His Letter to Louis

The only time we see Lestat in the episode and of course it's a tense moment. The first time we hear from de Lioncourt himself (will we have more of these moments?) and you can feel the tension and despair in the air. It probably made things worse for Louis for a couple of reasons. One, even in "death" Lestat, his first vampire love, loves and trusts him. "Know only this, mon cher, you are the only being I trust, and whom I love, above and beyond myself. All my love belongs to you. You are its keeper." That probably made Louis' heart swell. But, as much as it swelled, it hurt him beyond measure. The mention of treachery and seeking revenge probably made him feel as if he was choking. He knows he's the one that's going to have to let treachery eat away at him and let Lestat's face press up against his longing. I'm not sure if his hallucinations of him are longing, but the idea of killing him is still eating away at him.

Louis and Armand Toying with Daniel's Thoughts

Whew boy. This was a doozy, wasn't it? I was not expecting the flashback moment in that scene but I have a few theories. One: Armand is Alice. Yes, it's controversial but after this episode I don't think it's as far fetched as it was in season one. Armand popped up at that moment for a reason. And it's quite funny how no one has checked on the man, not even his daughters. I get strained relationships, but was it that bad? Now, I still don't fully believe this theory, but it's a thought. Another theory is that Armand's relationship with Daniel parallels his and Alice's. We don't know the full extent of what happened, but the two got divorced and no longer speak so it wasn't good. Third, Armand could have simply planted that in Daniel's head, which I think is the strongest one here. We all know Armand possesses the capabilities to do this and that flashback could have been him planting that in his mind. I saw someone say something about the editor messing with Daniel as well since they were the ones who pointed out flaws in his book (read by Louis in season one), which would be crazy, to say the least, because why?  And say what you want, that old bastard deserved it.

Murder Mansion Scene

Another scene I've been obsessed with since we saw it last year. These two are just lost in each other as there's a whole murder party happening behind them. I did like how protective Louis was of Claudia when Armand mentioned her (Armand please don't piss me off), but I hope he takes lessons from Maitre about shutting off his thoughts because that could definitely be his downfall.

[snapdragoned]

wcif the cute kitchen tops, cooker, mini fridge, microwave and clutter from junes tiny kitchen please? ty

hey! sure, let's see what i can find:

These are the Maxis ones that came with University!

Detached Stove Top by CrispsandKerosene

The mini-fridge from the 4t2 Smeglish Set by Ravasheen, converted by Thimblesims (not pictured in the preview)

Another maxis one! Not sure which EP/SP it came with.

Paper towels from the 3t2 Bayside Set by Veranka

The Kings Cookware from this 4t2 Cottage Living set by Thimblesims

Dish stack from the Vintage Crockery set by leaf-motif, converted by moocha-muses

Cutting boards from the Vintage Crockery set again!

Small saucepan from the Kitchen Basic Clutter set (my beloved!)

I could've sworn I'd screencapped everything in this image, but apparently not this one. I'll try to figure it out the next time I open my game, sorry!

Large Pasta Jars from the New Vintage Kitchen Set by Veranka.

Loaf of Bread by Crackfox, converted by pixelry. Looks like the original tumblr is deactivated, so here's a link to a reblog.

Beans from elvisgrace's conversion of faesims4's makin magic set.

Three Bowls from the Vintage Crockery set from #7 & 8.

BBs Superbowling Kitchen Bowl from the Kitchen Basic Clutter set. It looks like this is one of Anna's colors, but I couldn't find the recolors anywhere. I assume we all have this in a billion recolors anyway. Sorry about that!

Baking Mix from elvisgrace's makin' magic conversion from #13.

Small Pasta Jars from the New Vintage Kitchen Set by Veranka.

Bakery Flour Sack from the 3t2 Deliciously Indulgent Bakery Set by Veranka.

I numbered this separately but I'm pretty sure this is actually the dish stack from #7 again.

whew! that was a doozy. let me know if I missed anything 😸

[youunravelme]

Okay so I feel like when Ella gets older like 9 or 10 Mama Bear and Mat get into an argument and Ella is mad at mat because Ella doesn’t want her mom to leave her again

WHEW WHAT A DOOZY

ella for sure has some mommy issues when she finally is old enough to understand the truth of her bio mom. shortly after finding out the full extent of the truth, ella is super clingy to mama bear.

and then when mama and mat argue, like you said, she's terrified of losing mama bear because if her bio mom could leave her, why wouldn't mama?

she ends up having a screaming match with mat who is just as hurt and confused, but nothing will calm her down until mama has to reassure her for like ten minutes that she's not going anywhere.

they look for therapists the very next day.

[penvisions]

return the favor {chapter 13}

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: The end of the tunnels brings a short-lived moment of relief, but all of that quickly changes as a sniper awaits on the edge of the city limits.

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical gore, panic, fighting, gunfire, ambush, active shooter scenario, active fight scene, threats, casual talk of killing, graphic descriptions of injuries 

Notes: i've had the ending to this chapter written for the longest time and i am so excited to finally share it with you all. i like to think i find good ways to end chapters but this one, whew, it's a doozy and i am HERE for it haha

can't thank y'all enough for checking out my story, for all the attention on ao3 and on here as well! all if it makes me so happy and grateful to be a part of this fandom ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist 

A shuffling sound from above had you ducking without a thought, hand going to the colt in its holster at your hip. You aimed it and your flashlight up, everyone freezing around you as they dared to look up. It was hard to see in the small tunnel, the ceiling still lower than it had been when there were still hatches and pipes lining the walls of the entrance that you had taken down here. There was a rather large crack that stretched out ahead of you, some rubble falling from it as the shuffling sounded again. Joel urged everyone back, tone sharp. There was an even louder scrabbling sound as a result of his order. It sounded like something was moving around above the ceiling.

There was a sickening crack that had you shoving Ellie and Sam ahead of you, trying to quickly get them to further down the tunnel. The ground was quaking underneath your feet, the entire tunnel shaking as you tried to close the distance between the kids and the bits of concrete that were beginning to crumble from the ceiling.

“It’s gonna collapse!”

Henry shouted, trying to move right behind them as larger rocks and pieces of the tunnel started to rain down, using his body to try and shield them from getting hit. As you pushed him forward you felt something too close to you. You felt large hands shove you to the side as something fell among the debris, sending you crashing into the wall, the last thing you saw was Ellie’s panicked face as she shouted out for you and Joel through the cascade of debris before the tunnel went completely dark.

You gasped, trying desperately to pull air into your lungs but dust was heavy in the air. You started coughing, the sound harsh even to your ringing ears. It was pitch black all around you, your flashlight having flown from your hands along with your colt. The sounds of debris settling around you had you flying up from your spot, thankfully not having been crushed by anything large enough to do any lasting damage. You were half leaning against what remained of the side of the tunnel. You crawled away as another large chunk of concrete came tumbling down, hands and knees scraping along the ground.

“Joel!” You called into the darkness, breath shuddering as you were met silence. You were sure he had been behind you, or at least close to you before you had tumbled into the wall. You worried he had gotten caught underneath the concrete, your mind racing as coughs racked your body, gasping as you tried to clear your lungs of dust. It was too heavy in the air.

Heaving, you pulled your pack from your back once you felt safe enough, digging blindly into the ground around you in a desperate attempt to find the colt. It hadn’t been yours; it had been his and it was one of the last things you had after fifteen years. When you couldn’t find it in the space around you, you felt tears sting in your eyes. Completely overwhelmed by the prospect of having lost a part of him, not being able to get a response from Joel, the cave in separating you from Ellie and potentially trapping you within the city, having to backtrack alone and find another way out from under Kathleen’s militia. You didn’t have another second to think before there was a clicking sound followed by a sudden gasp from beneath the rubble.

“Joel!” You shouted again, reaching for the smaller flashlight in the pocket hugging your thigh. You clicked it on in time to see a twisted body crawling from underneath the rubble, twisting its head in an unnatural display. You tried not to breathe too loudly, but it wouldn’t have mattered as you did. You spied a smudge of brown that was moving about among the white dust that covered everything, it had to be Joel. When he started coughing harshly, you felt relief flood your veins but only for a moment. Your heart leapt into your throat as you saw the clicker amble out of where it had been buried and made its way toward him, leaving your precious pack behind on the ground without a thought.

“Hey!” You shouted, pushing yourself up, grit underneath your boots making you trip. Your shoulder hit a large chunk of concrete jutting up, but you just pushed off it and scrambled over to where Joel was stuck in the debris. He was groaning, coming to, making far too much noise as he did so. You felt your foot get caught as you rushed, heart thudding hard as you tried to keep your flashlight on the clicker moving around, it wasn’t as fast as it could’ve been, one of its arms was nearly torn from the shoulder socket, cordyceps slowly reaching out from it and making your stomach lurch.

You heard your name, Joel suddenly shooting up from his spot in a slight crevice as he regained his awareness. He groaned, his back hurt like hell where the large sheet that had been about to fall directly on you had grazed him when he threw himself at you to get you out of the way. You had been too focused on the kids getting to safety you hadn’t seen it. He tried to sit up but was quickly leaning back against the rubble around him, a strangled sound getting stuck in his throat. His noise spurred the clicker on, it picked up speed, the inhuman shrieking filling the collapsed tunnel, and you managed to get your foot out from where it was stuck in time to throw your body over Joel.

He shouted your name, the flashlight having landed to shine the beam up at the ceiling from somewhere in the rubble, lighting up the whole space enough to see. The site of a clicker hurdling right toward him had him scrambling but your figure flashed before him, blocking his view completely. His hands had come up to catch you, to help you, to shove you, whatever he could’ve managed to do in that spare second. You felt the clicker reach out for you as you hovered over Joel, its good hand reaching to claw at the front of your jacket, its teeth snapping harshly as it tried to crane its neck and get a hold on you. You grunted with the effort it took to fight off its hand, kicking out your legs at its body despite the bad footing you had. It managed to get some footing itself among the debris, and it lunged.

You screamed as its wide mouth appeared right in front of your face, hands coming up in a last-ditch effort to keep it away. There was a loud squelching sound followed by the thing screeching so loud you went to cover your ears, Joel doing the same below you. Yours and Joel’s harsh breathing sounded in the air, though everything was still for a second. You pried your eyes open, not realizing you had shut them as the clicker had lunged. It was scrabbling to reach for you still, though it’s good hand couldn’t quite reach you. You looked up to see it had been impaled on a piece of rebar sticking up over where Joel had been trapped. It was struggling to free itself, the ugly sound of its old flesh ripping as it thrashed about.

Joel shoved at you, urging you to move to the side and give him some space to stand. He pushed to sit up despite the stab of pain in his back and the tug of his ankle freed it from where it had been lodged, twinging as he did so. He stumbled as he tried to gain some footing and raised the knife he had freed from his belt. He grunted with each harsh stab he made to silence the clicker once and for all. His shoulders heaving underneath his jacket.

“You’re so goddamn stupid!” He shouted as he rounded on you, scrambling back over to you, your name falling from him in a biting tone. His hands were trembling as he brought them up to cradle your dusty face, fingers tangling in your hair. It hurt when his chest collided with yours and he knocked his head into yours in a searing kiss. “Don’t you ever think of jumping in front of me again! You hear me?”

“I wasn’t about to let that thing tear into you!” You shouted back, pulling him to you as his arms came around you in a crushing embrace. You dug your own shaking fingers into his shoulders, lips bruising against his. Nose throbbing as his own nudged as yours. The flashlight flickered, the space pitch black once again, and the sound of the rubble shifting had you both twisting to see a large chunk tumble down from where it had nearly been touching what was once the ceiling. Muffled shouts of yours and Joel’s names squeezed through the opening that had cropped up.

The flashlight flickered off completely, the thing too worn down to keep operating as more debris shifted toward the top of the collapse.

-

After what seemed like hours of working in the limited light from two flashlights, there was finally enough of the debris cleared to crawl through. Joel had insisted you move through as soon as it had been large enough for you to safely fit, but you argued you weren’t moving until he could follow after you. He was frustrated, still, that you had thrown yourself in front of him. But he knew he was nothing but a hypocrite because he would’ve done the same.

He was frustrated further when you were insistent that your pack was the first thing to make the move through the opening.

You had won the minor argument of there being enough supplies, minus food, for the three of them on the other side to survive off of for days should the rubble give way and you two were caught. You and Joel could handle yourselves, you had pointed out, could find and fight for survival and supplies. While Henry would need all the help he could get if he were left to watch over Sam and Ellie alone. Joel had shut up at your words, a mix of emotions swirling in his mind, but knowing that you were ultimately making the most sensible call.

The second you were through the questionable opening and on your feet, something slammed into you hard enough to make you stumble back. Dust flew to the air at the contact.

“All we heard was the clicker and you screaming, we thought it got you.” Ellie’s voice was muffled where her face was buried in your chest. Her hands were tight around your ribs, squeezing the air out of your lungs. She pushed from you as quickly as she had launched herself at you. Joel let out a loud ‘oof’ as she had moved to do the same to him, her arms not quite going around his form but still squeezing him tight around his middle. “We didn’t hear anything from you until you started hollerin’ at her. I thought you got crushed.”

He hesitantly brought his arms down to loosely return the embrace, his face a weird mix of emotions you couldn’t quite make out. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. They were blocked from view when Sam suddenly stepped up to you and curled his arms around your waist, looking up at you with tears in his eyes. You felt your heart melt, kneeling down to bring him into a proper embrace. He was shaking, his small form quaking as he tried to sign something to you but couldn’t quite make it out with the proximity. You pulled away a little to see better, he was gushing that he was glad you were okay. Over his shoulder, Henry nodded at you, reaching over to place a hand on your shoulder.

“This was on our side.” Ellie spoke up, having let go of Joel as quickly as she had done with you. The man was standing with a hand on his hip, turned away with a slightly pinched look about him. She was holding out her hand, but you couldn’t see what was in it over Sam’s shoulder. The young boy released himself from you with a shy smile and went back to Henry’s side.

The gleam of silver in her hands caught the ray of Joel’s flashlight and you felt a shuddering breath fall from your lips. The detailed inlay along the handle had you surging forward and bringing Ellie into a tight embrace. She yelped at the sudden move, not having expected you to crush her to your body. Shaking hands came up to cradle her head, the gun wedged between your bodies a comforting sensation.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You let her go to take the missing colt from her hands when you realized your own were shaking. The gun rattled in your grip; it was scuffed from sliding along the concrete, but it was still in one piece.

“I see the way you clean it whenever we have a moment of peace. Figured it was important.” She offered you a lopsided smile, a blush on her cheeks as she realized she liked the feeling of hugging you, of hugging Joel. It felt like something she had only ever had with one other person, it was comfort. She wanted more of it with you both, but she knew that was a dangerous thought. Attachment always ended in being hurt, either due to unspoken expectations or when it was taken forcefully from you without a moment's notice. Joel’s eyes were on you both, a question in his mind that he didn’t dare ask. He glanced down at the broken watch on his wrist before urging everyone into motion once again.

-

The night air was cool on your heated skin as you emerged from the depths of the tunnel. The door that you had entered led into the lower levels of a building had indicated that you could go through one more into the building itself or the one that led out into a parking garage. The stagnant air of the building was marginally better than that of the tunnel, but the cool air of the outside as you walked into the open level of the structure was heavenly. The brisk fall air settling around you and you breathed deep despite the sting to your broken nose.

You had not been a fan of the tunnels, traveling so far underground in such a cramped space. You closed your eyes and took a moment, the rest of the group walking past you and into the open space. You could feel eyes on you, but they didn’t linger. You brought up your hands to wipe at the sweat on your forehead, being mindful not to graze the scab there.

“Do you know where we are?”

“Yep. On the other side.” Henry's words weren't clipped, but they were did have a weird tone. You chocked it up to the way things were progressing, surely he was experiencing an overwhelming amalgamation of emotions with leaving the city he had once called home. Being chased from his home for just trying to protect his brother the only way he knew how. You couldn't fathom what he was going through. While not being one yourself, you could understand how people ended up in positions that demanded they be collaborators. Thankfully, you hadn't been cornered or targeted in such a way, FEDRA needing proper medical knowledge but your QZ not being so far gone as to test the murky waters with demanding too much of you. They had paid you well in vouchers and supplies, certain soldiers looking the other way when you went beyond the walls to retrieve more. It hadn't been for you, none of it had been for you, it had always been about helping people as best you could with what you knew. But you were aware that no everyone was so lucky.

The mood was somber as the group walked through the parking garage, through the last bit of the main city. The streets you were now making your way through were lined with houses, abandoned vehicles parked in both normal spots as if someone had just come home from work and had walked into their home for dinner as well as haphazardly left in the middle of the street in a rush. It was another mark of a panicked time when the world had fallen so swiftly, so suddenly. You were grateful to be away from the denseness of the city, it had been suffocating the second it had turned into more than a simple drive through.

Joel led the way, Ellie following closely behind him. Henry and Sam were a few steps behind her, and you were still on alert behind them. There was enough moonlight to guide the way, flashlights would only draw attention in the open environment, should someone be waiting or watching. A sure-fire way to gather attention you really didn’t want. Feeling the same way about gunfire, you paused and holstered your gun. You kneeled into a crouch as you removed your pack from your shoulders. You felt a twinge in them as you did so, the harness helping to alleviate some of it but not all.

A few strides ahead of you, Joel stopped when he heard the hush of your pack zipper. He watched as you carefully pulled the machete he hadn’t known was in there until he had been looking for medicine earlier in the day. It gleamed dully in the moonlight cascading down, the silver of it clean and polished, well taken care of. He was curious as to how that had come to be your choice of backup weapon, but as you stood and slipped your pack back on his eyes took in the way you twirled it in your right hand. You had a good sense of the weapon, balancing it perfectly with your fluid movements as if stretching an old muscle seemed unnervingly natural. He wouldn't want to end up in a close quarter scuffle with you, you were no doubt faster than it would take to aim and fire a gun.  

The slight muscle tone to your arms made a lot more sense, he mused as he turned back around. The phantom feel of your hands on him, your arms around his shoulders sparking something in him that he quickly tried to shake off. His steps hadn’t faltered but Ellie had noticed his attention on you and looked back herself. She took in the way you were maneuvering the machete easily, as if it were nearly a broadsword one of her favorite comic book characters wielded and she couldn’t help the excited smile that broke out on her lips. She was so going to ask you to show her how to use that.

A patting noise pulled her attention from you and toward the two boys beside her. You, too, had come up to make a line behind Joel. It was Ellie, Henry, Sam, and you. The younger of the boys was signing, trying to quell his curiosity of what happened next.

‘Why can’t we use our lights?’

‘He says so we don’t draw attention.’

‘But no one’s out here?’

‘Someone could be on patrol out here,’ You signed, mouthing the words as well in case your hands weren’t precise enough in your lack of efficiency with the language. You smiled down at the boy, hoping he felt safe being outside the city, despite it being a new experience for him. ‘Just to be extra safe.’

“No. No one is here.” Henry spoke as he signed, a bit of his frustration at still being talked at and told what to do seeping through. You had trusted him enough to shove both Sam and Ellie at him when the tunnel collapsed but Joel was still holding them at a safe distance. He felt like you and him had come to an understanding, the children come first, they are the most important thing. But Joel was still hard to read, indecipherable in how he felt about everything and how to move forward from here. “No one’s gonna be here because my plan worked.”

“So much god damn talkin’.” Joel’s voice didn’t hold any contempt or malice, just mild annoyance. And while you and Henry had come to an agreement with each other, an understanding, that didn’t negate the fact that he needed to learn to be more careful. He still had that air about him that if something small worked out, everything would follow. You had too much experience in this world that contested that type of thinking, though you had always been overtly cautious of things even Before.

“I’m just saying,” Henry pointed ahead to his right. I delivered. Make this right, go down the street, embankment behind the last house and we’re out.”

Joel pivoted in the direction the younger man was pointing to, head on a swivel. You were doing the same, there was a gnawing feeling in your gut, telling you something was off about the stillness and the quiet air about the neighborhood. It almost felt like you were being watched, eyes following your movements through the streets causing your back muscles to twitch and goosebumps to raise up on your arms underneath your jacket.

“So we cross the river and then what?” Ellie spoke up, a cautious almost hopeful tone to her voice that had you looking toward her. You had promised Henry you would help him to keep Sam safe, but she couldn’t have overhead that while loudly playing tag earlier. Joel too, hadn’t quite heard everything, but had to have a hunch as to your thoughts on the matter. You wanted to keep that promise, Sam was too young to be out here in the expanse of wasteland. And while you were sure Henry would do what was needed to provide for and protect him, he was young as well. He had a lot to learn and learn quickly in order to not get taken advantage of or trapped, killed. “Where you gonna go?”

“Don’t know yet.” He cut his eyes toward you, taking in the way you were watching the back of Joel’s head as he led the way.

“Well, we’re goin’ to Wyoming.” Joel’s head turned so fast it was a wonder his neck hadn’t popped. He was training a warning look at Ellie, his eyes shifted to you. You raised an eyebrow, a silent argument that he felt was already futile. Ellie was hard enough to deter, and she had made a friend, a connection that seemed to excite her and make her feel a little more like the child that she was. And if you were to back her up in your sensible, matter-of-fact manner, he was sure he would crumble. Ellie dug her feet in and began the first stages that would eventually break him down into agreeing it was the best move for everyone. “What? It’s a huge state. It can fit two more people.”

“Yeah…” Henry looked to you, wanting to believe that you would hold true to your promise. But he was unsure now, in the open air outside the city. Joel, again, would be the one to make the final call and he couldn’t see you splitting off from him in order to uphold it. The looks you two shared, whether it be to communicate thoughts you didn't say aloud or when the one didn't think the other was looking, and the comfortability between you two was obvious to him and he had only just met you. The way that is was obvious you would both do whatever it took to keep the other safe, to keep Ellie safe. “Maybe we just call this one a success and say our fond farewells.”

“No, he’ll change his mind. Trust me.” Ellie nodded over to you, a cheeky smile pulling at her lips. She put on a deep voice in an imitation of Joel’s timbre, an over exaggerated twang in an effort to capture his accent. “This is how it goes. He like, ‘No, Ellie. Never, ever happening.’”

You stifled a bark of laughter at the absurd expression she made in order to do so, tucking her chin in and scrunching up her face. You could practically feel him roll his eyes as he glanced back at her, not amused in the slightest by her breakdown of how she thought decisions were made within your little trio.

“And then I’m like, ‘I’m gonna ask you a million more times.’ And then she’s gonna point out all the reasons why it would be better to travel-“

Sudden gunshots had you all ducking, Ellie shouting out in surprise.

“Move, move!” Joel’s hands were on Ellie in a second, guiding her by her shoulder to seek shelter behind the car just a few paces in front of her. It was one of the cars that was in the middle of the road, you watched as the rest of your group crouched down underneath the already shattered windows. You hadn’t had time to follow after them after making sure Henry had a good hold on Sam before a second shot buzzed past your head and you had skidded to your knees behind another vehicle. You could see them, but you were on the other side of the street, the cars perpendicular to the lanes that made it up.

“Ellie?” You called, not able to see her. She peeked out from where she was practically tucked into Joel’s right side. She was nestled with Sam between the two men, where the body of the car was largest, to provide them with more protection. She shakily called out that she was okay and let out the breath you had been holding. You had seen Joel reach for her but in the haste to get yourself safely out of sight you hadn’t seen them hunker down together.

A third shot rang out, shattering the taillight of the car that Joel had ushered everyone behind.

“Where the fuck is that comin’ from?”

“Shut up.” Joel immediately demanded. He looked across the street to you, seeing the way that you were reaching up to touch a tentative hand to your left ear. The bullet hadn’t grazed you, but it had been too close for comfort. He turned to raise his head over the trunk of the car, just barely getting his eyes over the top of it to survey the street. As he did so another shot fired straight from the higher story of a house facing down the street. Henry dared to look through the driver’s side window, prompting another loud shot to hit the broken window and shattering what was left of it.

“Fuck. Let’s move. Let’s go.”

Before you could even begin to argue, mouth pursed to open, Henry was gripping Sam by the hand and shoulder, ushering him away from the relative safety of the car.

“What’re you doin’?” Joel’s shout was edging on frustrated, truly not understanding the younger man’s train of thought. The lack of preservation even in the face of what’s he’s already done to ensure the safety of his brother.

“Henry, wait!” You moved to stand but at a harsh glare and click of Joel’s tongue you lowered yourself back down. Ellie watching everything with a pinched expression.

“Getting’ the fuck outta here!” They barely made it a few yards before a shot landed on the car they were running past. You could only watch as they stumbled and skidded, nearly falling on their backs as they tried to avoid another should it follow. Frantically turning back and rushing toward where they had just been crouched beside Joel and Ellie. Sam was tucked under him where he kneeled, the boy curling his face into his brother’s shoulder. Finally registering the severity of the situation, Henry looked over at you and then trained his gaze on Joel, who was leaning his back against the trunk. He peered over the top of it again only to duck back down as a shot landed unnervingly close to where he had just been.

He shifted to lean more of his weight back on the car, lifting his hips to holster his gun. He muttered something to himself that was lost in the tense air.

“Stay here.” It was quiet, like he wasn’t sure it was the right move, or he was worried about how you were going to react. He had just told you to not dive headfirst into danger to save him not even two hours ago, and here he was doing exactly that.

“What?” Ellie’s response was quiet, unbelieving. Joel shifted on his feet, facing away from you and toward Ellie, giving her his full attention. Urging her to listen to his words. He could feel your eyes heavy on his back, knowing you weren’t going to be fond of this plan in the slightest.

“If you don’t move, he’s not gonna hit you. I’m gonna go around, try to get in the house through the back, and then I’ll take him out.”

“But if you go out there, he’s gonna kill you.” Ellie maintained eye contact with him, her face open and earnest, pleading with him. Her tone as firm as his was.

“It’s dark and he has shit aim. Nobody’s gonna kill me.” Joel raised his voice above a whisper, urging her to hear him, to hear what he was really saying. That he’d be damned if someone was going to hurt either of you. Hurt any of you as long as you were with him.

“Then he’s gonna kill us.”

Joel furrowed his brow, knocking his head down to stare at her, eyes glinting with something behind the serious tone he was exhibiting.

“Do you trust me?”

She reeled back at the question, tears shining in her eyes as she came to a startling realization. That for the way that this had started, the gruffness, the snarky comments about his hearing and the way his knees popped, the way he insisted she wasn’t family, knowing that he had other things – other people in his life, she unequivocally did trust him. She nodded. She trusted him to do everything in his power to keep her safe. He looked away, not able to handle how vulnerable she looked, how raw he felt with the exchange. He was a swirl of emotions, some he hadn’t even known were stored deep in who he was, who he had become. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to handle seeing another child being taken out by a gun if there was something he could’ve done to prevent it.

"You good with that?"

He turned to you, wanting to close the gap or to usher you over to where they were. But he didn’t. He took in the way you were leaning your head back against the metal of the vehicle you were hiding behind. Your knees up to your chest as you crouched to make yourself as small as possible. Machete gripped tight in your hands and ready for whatever may come next. Your eyes were closed, mouth open as you pulled in air to even out the heaving of your chest. He knows you heard him, heard his plan to try and take out the person targeting them. When you opened your eyes and turned to look at him, you nodded, letting him know you were going to follow his lead.

"Copy that."

Joel moved to the front of the car and with a final pat on each of their arms, he made a mad dash across the street and toward the house. You watched him as he went, worry settling into your chest. As soon as he was up, you were standing with a shout, machete shielding your head as you hoped to distract the shooter. It seemed to work for a second, a shot buzzing past you before they caught sight of Joel beyond a fence line and adjusted their aim to him.

You bobbed on your feet for a second of thought before you made a dash to cross the distance between the cars, Ellie’s hands grasping at your sleeve the second you were couched beside her. You reached out to offer a hand to Henry and Sam, both of them gripping your other arm as you nestled in between them and Ellie.

“We’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

Shots bounced around you. Loud in the night air. Hitting the vehicle you had just been using as a shield, hitting the one you were all behind. But when one flew through the window and landed too close for comfort in the dirt at your feet, you were pushing yourself up, lips set into a firm line. You felt Ellie’s grip on your arm, her feet skidding on the ground as she tried to pull you back down. You did so, right hand tucking the machete close to you and the left coming up to cradle her face.

“I’m gonna draw his attention away, you’ll be safe, I swear it. Just stay, like Joel said, okay?” It was different than with Joel, the reassurance. You weren’t asking her to trust you, you were asking her to be brave, to hold her own ground while you lead the way. No less important as she grasped that you were willing to do whatever it would take to keep her safe just as he would. She was nodding her head, her fingers loosening their grip on your arm.

You made a run for the vehicle just ahead, a shot going over your head just as you ducked behind it. You hoped it had been enough time for Joel to get up to that higher level in the house. Enough time to sneak up on the shooter, to convince them to stop this madness. Another shot ringing out and then abrupt, heavy silence was your only answer. You glanced over the top of the car, still cautious. Just in case…

You spied a single figure in the dark window, but no shots came after you. You sighed in relief, hoping there hadn’t been a struggle. Joel raised his hand to you in the window, knowing you would only be able to see his outline or shadow but at the way your shoulders relaxed he felt a bit of relief as well. You brought up a hand as well and he let out a chuckle at the triviality of it. The others were looking to you across the distance of the street and you nodded as you spoke to them. You were about to stand at full height when the sound of a roaring engine had your heart beating hard in your chest and fear welling up in your stomach. You weren’t fond of loud sounds, especially when they announced that you were about to be ambushed.

“Run!” Joel’s loud shout was muffled due to the distance, but you still heard the urgency in his voice. He kept shouting twice, three, four more times. The desperation in his voice became more apparent as bright lights flashed from down the street where you had been traveling from. You were the closest, having backtracked in an attempt to get the gunfire to rain down further away from the kids. Engines growled loudly in the night air as a group of them could be seen moving right toward you.

The suddenness of a giant tank of a vehicle with a dozer on the front of it speeding down the street toward you had pushing off the vehicle you were still behind. Spurred into motion by the bight spotlights casting blinding rays across the street and surrounding area. Henry was quick to usher the kids in front of him, spurred into action just as quickly as you. The crash of metal as the dozer forced is way down the street was loud, every thud of a car being hit reverberating in your chest.

Ellie fired a shot behind her with her handgun as Joel did the same from his perch in the house. She was up ahead of you, Henry and Sam ahead of her by a few paces. Frantic, weaving desperately through the littered street.

“Veer off!” You shouted, sweeping your arm to indicate what you meant despite your body tensing as the vehicle was only a few cars behind you. Just as a shot landed to crack the windshield of the impending vehicle, you heard Ellie’s gun click to signal that she was out of ammo. You weren’t sure if it was one of her hits or Joel’s from the house at the head of the street, but she went tumbling down just a few paces further. Picking up speed despite the burn in your legs you jutted the handle of the machete into your belt, the blade facing down and away from you, the length of it lining up with your left leg. You reached down and pulled Ellie up by her bag, but the vehicle skidding around as it lost speed had her crawling away.

Without thinking you folded your body over her to shield her.

There was a loud splintering of wood and metal as the vehicle veered off the road completely and into one of the abandoned houses. Trucks and jeeps were quickly filled up the street in its absence to make a barricade, the blinding lights on top of them making it hard for you to see straight. The spots of light decorating your vision even as you diverted your gaze. You were pulling Ellie up, ushering her to move but she was nearly frozen in fear and panic. Your hands were rough on her as you dragged her a few steps before lifting her in your arms completely. She wasn’t much smaller than you so it was a struggle, her body held tight to you as you tried to move as quickly as possible from the people emerging from the vehicles.

The sounds of the doors slamming shut behind them and the crunch of their feet on the ground seemed to shake her out of her stupor. She stumbled as she regained feeling in her legs and tried to get a foot down on the ground, her hands gripping your arms and back tightly as you had to cradle her nearly bridal style in your arms. You tried to help her right herself but kept moving at the same time and she tripped, sending you both tumbling to the ground.

“Shit! I’m so sorry!” She cried out. You both gripped each other as you managed to get back up on your feet, you pulled her along, letting her know it was okay. She was okay, she was going to be okay. A few more paces was all the distance you managed before an explosion lit up the street. The sound of it deafening, the brightness of yellow and orange blinding as it reached high into the sky where the large vehicle with the dozer had settled halfway into a house. You threw yourself over Ellie again, both of you hitting the ground on pure instinct. Pieces of debris rained down all around you, some of it still on fire. Smoke billowed up and filled the air.

You coughed as you lifted off her a bit, getting onto your hands and knees to hover over her where she began to shift. She was sucking in air, having been winded from the fall. Everything was still as a fire raged far too close for comfort. The street was littered with smaller fires, mostly debris but some bushes were going up in flames as well, adding more smoke to the air.

Footsteps were approaching you, some from up ahead and some from where the vehicles had come to a screeching halt just a few yards behind you. Hands were suddenly on you, but they were accompanied by a friendly voice.

“You guys okay?” Henry was kneeling down, hands checking you both for any injuries.

“Yeah.” Was all Ellie managed before you were hauling her up again and shoving her at Henry, the two stumbled at your rough treatment and were about to ask what was wrong when they looked up to see your back to them and your machete raised. The gleam of it was threatening in the light of the fire all around.

“Get her the fuck out of here.” Your voice was low, tempered into a warning. But it wasn’t aimed at them. You didn’t glance back at them as they noticed the three figures ahead of you and retreated.

As soon as one of the figures moved to go after them, a shot ringing through the air from their handgun, you lunged. You didn’t think twice before bringing your blade down on their arm, severing it at the elbow and quickly silencing their screams with a second swipe to their chest. The other two figures fanned out and tried to surround you, but the part of the street you were on was too crowded with cars and flaming debris.

You shifted on your feet, turning the blades handle in your hand in anticipation. They were afraid to fire on you as if they were low on ammo and needed to be more cautious about its usage. Something you were going to use to your advantage. You took a measured step toward them, both of them stepping back to keep the same distance.

“You don’t even know me.”

“We know you killed our people.”

“Your people attacked mine. We were just trying to pass through.”

“This is our city.”

“Your city is shit, wouldn’t recommend it.” They closed in on you at once, one on your right side and one on your front. They both fired but you were more suited for close range and ducked. Surging forward you moved in a wide sweep, blade aimed down toward their legs, shouts falling from them as slices blossomed on their skin. It was a blurring of gunfire and metallic tashikaze that sounded in the air before the two figures dropped to the ground. Not wasting another second, you took off down the street and ducked behind a vehicle, skidding to a halt on your knees in your haste.

“He’s up there.” The shadow of a large man spoke, seeming to be the lead of the second wave of people that emerged from the line of vehicles and began to advance down the street. You looked up over the hood of the car you were behind, spying on Henry peeking over the trunk of one on the other side of the street. You didn’t like being so far from them, but it was good you weren’t all grouped together. It meant that at least some of you would be able to get out of this. It was not a good situation, they knew where Joel was, by himself up in that house. They knew where you had scurried too, surely the general vicinity, through the smoke. But they hadn’t seen where Henry had retrieved too with the kids.

“Two and two! Around the back, take him out!”

“Dead end, Henry.” A high-pitched voice announced, so confident in their observation. “Gonna step on out? Save us some time?”

You could hear as well as see the shadows of people advancing down the street, the group led by the large figure’s orders having dipped around off the street toward Joel. Now it was a woman who led a smattering of people, her frame getting closer and closer. Her voice was in a pitch that grated on your ears, too sweet for the words and venom she was spitting out. You could only assume it was Kathleen.

You lowered yourself to the ground in a crouch, peering underneath the car to get a look at the situation. Kathleen was standing in the middle of the street, gun in her hand but down by her hip, not up and ready to fire. She was an average looking woman, probably close to your age, stockier than her voice sweet voice alluded to. She was in a pair of loose jeans and a zipped-up jacket that you would bet was concealing a bullet proof vest. Her dark hair was pulled back in a braided updo that trailed between her shoulders. The large figure from earlier was beside her. He was a tall man, sturdy looking with his wide chest and thick legs covered in protective gear. His silver white hair was straight as it fell to his shoulders, his full beard much the same color. He was on guard with a rifle pulled up to rest on one shoulder, ready to shoot anyone who came close to Kathleen.

“That’s alright. Doesn’t matter.”

“I’ll come out.” Henry’s voice was loud, though you could hear a slight waver to it even across the street from where he was tucked. You straightened up at his words, no longer crouching low but ready to reveal yourself to give him the opportunity to take the kids and run. “Just let the kids go!”

“No. Sorry. The girl is with the couple who killed Bryan. And Sam…” Kathleen came to a stop in the middle of the street, just in front of your hiding spot. You tried to keep your breathing even so as to not give it away, but there was still a lot of smoke in the air that was making it hard to temper. You heard the crunch of steps followed by the hush of grass against fabric. “Well, Sam’s with you.”

“You don’t understand!”

“But I do.” She sounded as if she was merely having a discussion, not actively hunting down and cornering people to execute them in revenge. “I know why you did what you did. But did you ever stop to think that maybe he was supposed to die?”

“He’s just a fucking kid!” Henry was no doubt seething, you certainly were. How could this woman stand here after managing to successfully free her city and immediately put it all on the line for revenge? You were so caught up in your thoughts and trying to figure out the best way to give Henry a chance to get away when you heard a boot scuff behind you.

“Well, kids die, Henry. They die all the time. You think the world revolves around him? That he’s worth…everything? Well, this is what happens when you fuck with fate.”

You could barely make out what she was saying as the butt of a rifle came down hard between your shoulders. You spun around, standing quickly despite the pain fanning out along your back and prickling in your shoulders. Machete coming up and out to catch the man’s forearm where his shirt sleeve was rolled up. He hissed at the sting as blood dripped down to the ground before swinging the rifle out and knocking the blade from your hand.

As soon as it was flying through the air you reached for the colt safely tucked into its holster and aimed at the man’s leg, hoping to down him. When it jammed, you swore. He descended on you, the rifle was slung over his shoulder, and he was hauling you up by your hair. His large hands were rough as he gripped your loose hair tight in his fist, the other coming to wrangle the colt out of your own.

“Nice try, sweetheart, but we got you outnumbered.” His voice was smooth as he had you standing, your legs kicking out at him in an attempt to free yourself.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off me!” Your shout was loud even from behind the car, cutting off the conversation between Kathleen and Henry.

Joel dared to take his eyes off Ellie to search for your figure, the desperation in your voice enough to make his entire body go numb. He had lost you in the haze of smoke, in the frantic aftermath of you taking out that trio of people. He had seen you run closer to where he was but had lost track when you had ducked behind a car. His eyes found you again, gripped tight in the hold of a tall man. He was dragging you by your hair from around where you had been seeking safety, arms up to encompass his to try and loosen his grip, legs kicking up dust as you struggled to try and get footing on the ground. He was easily more than a foot taller than you and about a hundred pounds heavier. There was no way you could get free with just your bare hands, especially with the way he dragged you behind him as he walked briskly back to Kathleen’s side. He felt himself tense, a feeling of dread settling heavy in his middle, as he noticed there was no gun in your holster and the machete was nowhere to be seen.

“If we hurt her, it’ll draw the man out. Then we can end some of this.” Kathleen’s sickly-sweet voice sounded close to you, the gun she aimed at you not stopping you from continuing to try and fight out of the grip on you. You were confident that you could tackle her and take her out just before a bullet would find it's home in your skin. Joel felt his grip tighten on the rifle he held, daring to move in front of the window. He wouldn’t be able to land a hit without putting you at risk, the man was so close to you, and you were thrashing about too frantically. It was too risky, even if all he wanted to do was shoot the motherfucker dead. “Perry, restrain her.”

You tried to fight against the strong arms that came around you. Perry was crouching down, his grip still tight in your hair and forced you on your back. The force of you hitting the ground hurt, but you continued to struggle, not liking the how easily the man was throttling you about. He released the grip on your hair to pull both your hands in front of you, holding them steady while he patted you down for weapons. Some of the people gathered around her started to share looks with each other, unsure if they agreed once you had started shouting. You hadn’t personally done anything to them. It was one thing to go after the man who sold out her brother.

“No, no, no!” The man’s hands were rough on you. Your voice angry at being handled, Joel felt his knuckles crack around the rifle as he could do nothing but watch from above. Perry was hauling you up a bit to reach into the holster and make sure it was empty, his hands coming up to your chest and feeling around for where the harness was concealing your second gun. When his hand brushed underneath your chest, the callouses of his fingertips finding it, the fabric of his gloves rubbed the buttons open on your Henley. At the feeling of cold air on the exposed skin of your chest you sucked in a breath to scream but a hand clamped down over your mouth. Perry found your eyes and shook his head, but you couldn’t see the expression on his face through the blur your vision had taken on.

Once he had relieved you of all your weapons, he hauled you back up on your feet. His arms were tight around you, keeping your arms pinned to your sides as he pulled your hands behind your back with one of his own. He pulled your back to his front to try and keep his grip on your frame, but you continued to fight against him, your heart hammering in your chest and your head throbbing.

With all your thrashing, Perry’s hold tightened impossibly on you, the movement causing the back of one of his hands to brush against the waistband of your pants. The clinking sound of your belt buckle against his watch made you go stock still, tears filling your eyes and speeding down your face. The sound of it triggering something ugly and terrified in you. You quickly tried to shake the fear from clouding your mind, body humming but you couldn’t.

“Don’t! Don’t touch me, you motherfucker!” Your voice was trembling despite the volume, the fear all too real and you knocked your head back hard and made contact with his face. The crunch of his nose didn’t affect the hold he had on you, save for causing him to stumble a bit. His foot caught a piece of debris and you both crashed to the ground. The shriek you let out was so loud people flinched. Up in the attic of the house, Joel was sure his heart had stopped for a beat at the sound tearing through your throat.

Perry’s body was heavy on top of yours, but even if he hadn’t fallen on top of you, you wouldn’t have been able to move. There was a sharp pain shooting through your left arm, the sickening feeling of a broken bone churning your stomach. You dry heaved, nothing in your stomach to throw up after having given all your food to Sam earlier in the day. Perry was quick to scramble up on his knees, though he kept you pinned down to the ground, straddling your thighs between them and holding your shoulders down with his hands. His eyes were wide as he took in the damage the fall had caused. You were panting beneath him, chest heaving as pain seared in your body and sweat began to pill along your skin.

The scrape on your forehead had opened up, blood spotting along the deeper parts of it. Your nose, similarly, had begun to throb as the already broken cartilage had been jostled, blood trickling down over your lips. But your arm…your left arm lay still at your side. There was the bright white of bone where it ripped through the flesh on the outside of your forearm. You could feel the tight pull of it on your skin, causing more blood to gush from the wound. Your vision swam as tears stuck to your lashes and pain overwhelmed your nerves.

“Ah, fuck! Oh no. No, no, no, no, no!” Your desperate pleas turned into snarls, trying to move about but being unable to. You glanced down at where you couldn’t feel your arm, the sight making your anxiety spike. You thrashed your head about, seeking out Perry above you. Seeking out Kathleen’s figure still standing close but now over you both, her gun aimed should she need to stop you from getting up and away. “You did not just break my fucking arm!”

“Maybe if you had just come willingly with us, it wouldn’t have happen-“

“Shut the fuck up, you self-righteous bitch!” You growled out, anger taking over any fear that had been in your body. You brought a thigh up hard, using your heel to get momentum behind it and connected It with Perry’s groin, your other knee hitting him low on the back too. The man’s grip left you and you scrambled out from underneath him. You took the gun in the holster on his hip, cocked it, and brough it up to aim right at her, her own having been lowered at the sheer volume of your voice and the vehemence of your words. You put your foot down on the man’s neck, forcing him to the ground. You ground your boot into him until he raised his hands out and placed them atop his head in surrender, a choking sound coming from him.

Your hair was loose and wild about you, but the strands didn’t hide the rage in your eyes, the tear stains that broke up the grime and dirt on your face. Your broken arm was tucked close to your chest, shoulder tense with the effort it took to hold it there and not just let it dangle at your side. You were overtly aware that you were surrounded, that Henry had the kids hiding behind a car far too close, that Joel was up in that house with limited ammo, that you were all so thoroughly fucked.

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[midwestmade29]

It's a Wonderful Life 💙

To Anonymous: Whew, this one's a doozy, but worth the read! Thank you again for your request. I hope you enjoy what I came up with 🥰

Word count: 2,174 Divider by: Me 🙂 Original Anonymous Request: Can I possibly send a Christian x Female!Reader request? Maybe the Reader and Christian end up pregnant and she has to relinquish her title and the request is basically following them through their pregnancy and the after math of a complicated pregnancy and their lives as Parents (as well as juggling parenting Isla as well)

Due to the topics covered in this story, minors do not interact. If you're not 18+ years old, please KEEP SCROLLING.

Some topics and scenarios mentioned in the story may be upsetting/and or triggering for some readers. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimers: (Complicated) Pregnancy, mention of sex, hospital stays, illness (flu), mention of gestational diabetes, medical testing, (medical) shots, preterm labor, labor pains, bedrest, cesarean section (surgery), postpartum recovery, caring for a newborn.

An OB (obstetrician) is a doctor who cares for the mother and baby throughout pregnancy. They also deliver the baby.

A baby in a breech position means they are upside down. (Feet first instead of head first)

C-section (cesarean section) is a surgical way to deliver a baby.

“Well, what’s it say?” Christian asked nervously. Your eyebrows knit together the longer you stared at the pregnancy test in your hand. “I’m not sure. Do you think we waited the full 10 minutes? There’s not really anything showing right now.” The two of you walked away after you sat the test back down on the bathroom counter, deciding to wait a few more agonizing minutes. Christian sat on the bed while you absentmindedly tossed things in your suitcase for your flight that was leaving early in the morning. You and your shiny AEW Women’s World Championship were set to appear on Dynamite tomorrow, which was something you had been looking forward to, but your headspace was somewhere else now. “What’s going through your mind baby? Talk to me,” Christian asked softly, motioning for you to come and join him on the bed. He wrapped you in his arms, embracing you tightly as your head rested against his chest. “Just worried, I guess. We have a lot on our plates right now with everything. We’re traveling every week, sometimes multiple times a week all while juggling our home and family life. I’ve only been the Women’s World Champion for a couple months. My championship reign will be cut short if I am pregnant,” you sighed as Christian tightened his embrace. “If the test is positive, will you not be happy about it? Concern laced Christian’s every word. “I’m conflicted! Torn between the happiness of expanding our family and sadness for my career. I feel like I was just getting started showing everyone what I’m made of you know?” Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, but Christian did his best to calm them. “I know baby. It’s a lot to take on right now, but we’ll make it work. We’re in this together, every step of the way! As far as your career goes, your fans will miss you, but they will understand if you’re absent for a while. Just think of the epic comeback you’d make. It would be the biggest and most anticipated in company history!”

It was hard to miss the two pink lines that were now visible on the white plastic stick sitting on the counter. Christian’s blue eyes were focused on you while you were processing everything. “Y/N? Are you okay?” he asked. You nodded your head yes, joy replacing all your previous concerns and doubt. Seeing the positive pregnancy test changed everything in an instant! A switch had been flipped as the reality of the situation set in, easing the sting you felt about your career. This baby was so much more important than anything else! You threw your arms around Christian’s neck, and he held you tightly as he spun you around. Images of a little blue-eyed baby danced in your mind and the thought made your heart swell! When Christian sat you on your feet, a certain little girl crossed your mind, prompting you to ask Christian a serious question, “How do you think Isla will take the news? She’s been an only child for almost 10 years now. Do you think she’ll be upset?” “I’m sure she will have her own sentiments about it, but overall, I think she’ll be excited! There’s only one way to find out…”

Telling Isla she was going to be a big sister went extremely well! You had come up with the idea to order a custom puzzle for the 3 of you to put together to tell her the big news. You had taken a picture of a heart she had drawn for you some time ago and uploaded it on the puzzle website, editing her design slightly by putting the words “You’re going to be a big sister!” in the middle of it. Within a few days, the puzzle was delivered and the 3 of you put it together after Isla got home from school. When the last piece of the puzzle was set in place, she let out a loud shriek! She wrapped her arms around your neck squeezing tightly before running over to Christian and jumping in his arms. She started rapid firing questions at each of you, making you and Christian laugh at her excitement. “Is it a boy or a girl? When will its birthday be? Can the baby sleep in my room?” she rambled on. Could she be any cuter?! Telling her was the easy part. Breaking the news to your fans live on Dynamite was a different story.

Standing in front of a live camera and telling the world you had to relinquish your Women’s World Championship was incredibly hard for you. You choked up placing it in Tony Schiavone’s hands as it seemed to mock you with its shimmer and shine when you did. Dynamite cut to a commercial break, relief washing over you now that your announcement was over and done with. You let out a rush of air once Christian closed the door to your dressing room and you walked over to him needing to feel his strong arms wrapped around you. “I think that went well; all things considered. You’re amazing Y/N. You know that, right?” he spoke gently. “Thanks for supporting me, Christian. It means the world to me! Now, our next adventure begins. Baby Cage will be here before we know it!”

Days turned into months in the blink of an eye! Your baby bump was very prominent now, and Christian loved it. He always had his hands on your belly! Whenever he had the chance, he would lay his head on your lap and talk to the baby while planting soft kisses against your skin. Late one night while you and Christian were tucked in bed, he fell asleep with his head next to your stomach. You ran your fingers through his hair while you reminisced about your pregnancy up to this point. You remember how his eyes lit up when the monitor showed the baby at your first ultrasound appointment when you were 20 weeks pregnant. Both of you were mesmerized as you watched the little baby you created together wiggling around on the screen, and how you both got teary eyed when the ultrasound technician told you “It’s a boy!” You’ll never forget how nervous Christian was the first time you met with your OB doctor. He wanted to ask her if the two of you could still have sex despite you being pregnant. You could instantly see the relief he felt when she told him yes! A chill ran through you when your mind wandered back to the time you were admitted into the hospital because you were extremely dehydrated and sick with the flu. It was the longest 3 days of your life! You recalled the next hurdle that came when you failed your gestational diabetes screening at 24 weeks into your pregnancy. The test came back as positive which meant a second more invasive test had to be done. Thankfully your results from the second test showed that you didn’t have it!

The scariest moment of all came late one night when you started having intense pain in your lower half. Christian rushed you to the hospital after you called your doctor, and she told you to come in to be monitored. “You’re in preterm labor,” your doctor explained. She went over the details of everything that was going on calmly, “It’s too early in your pregnancy to deliver now. You’re 33 weeks along and the goal is to be at least 39-40 weeks for a safe and healthy baby. I’m going to administer medicine that will reduce your contractions, ultimately delaying your labor. I would also like to administer 2 steroid shots that will help the baby’s lungs mature faster in case we have to deliver early. I’m very confident that we will be able to halt your labor and keep that little guy safe and sound inside until we’re ready to meet him!” The air in the room didn’t feel quite as heavy after the doctor explained her plan. When she gave you and Christian time alone, it was obvious that he was shaken up. “I’m in good hands baby. I fully trust the doctor and her plan. We’ll get through this together and our baby boy will be okay!” you reassured him while giving his hand a light squeeze. The discomfort you felt from the shots the doctor gave you was ultimately worth it when your labor had successfully been stopped. You were eventually discharged from the hospital with strict orders from your doctor. You were placed on bedrest and could no longer travel with Christian unless it was to a place that was pre-approved by the doctor. No exercising or heavy lifting either. The couch and your bed were your new best friends! Whatever you needed to do to keep the baby secure, you were going to do it.

Ready or not, here he comes! At 38 weeks pregnant, it was time to finally meet your baby boy. You had met the goal your doctor set for you after your preterm labor scare! Your last ultrasound showed a healthy baby, and he was measuring right where he should be. Everything was going well until another curveball was thrown your way. Your doctor had come to check on you when she noticed something was off. “Was the baby breech at her last appointment?” the doctor quietly asked the nurse. They conversed for a few minutes more before the doctor directed her attention back to you. “Okay Y/N, the baby is in the breech position. To safely deliver him, I must do an emergency c-section…” her words started fading away as you got lost in your own thoughts. Emergency? Surgery? Must move as quickly as possible? Christian could tell your thoughts were in a downward spiral the longer you blankly stared past the doctor. He took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles, speaking calmly when your eyes locked onto his. “Y/N, I promise I won’t leave your side! I know this isn’t what we planned on, but you got this! You’re incredible baby. I’m in awe of your strength and courage!”

Never did you think that the sound of crying would be music to your ears, but hearing your son wail after he was born was the best thing ever! You had successfully delivered a healthy 6lb, 4oz precious baby boy! Christian was over the moon holding his son in his arms for the first time. It was a moment that you’ll never forget! As soon as you were taken care of and wheeled into your recovery room, Christian brought Isla in to meet her baby brother. “He’s soooo cute!” she exclaimed. She was smitten with him right from the start! If she could’ve held him all night, she most certainly would’ve. You and the baby were able to go home just 2 days after delivery. Recovering from your surgery was rough on all of you since you were healing, and you still had restrictions and things you just couldn’t do. It frustrated you not being able to do simple tasks and having to rely on everyone else to do things for you! Christian encouraged you to give yourself some grace, especially after everything you went through your entire pregnancy. Deep down you knew you would bounce back; it would just take time. 6 weeks into parenthood you were starting to feel a little better. Your body was healing, and your son was growing and changing by the minute. Just yesterday you and Christian took Isla and the baby to the zoo, it being one of your first outings as a family of 4. Isla had settled in to being a big sister well, but that’s not to say there weren’t pangs of jealousy and rough patches. This was a major adjustment period for all 3 of you, but the love and adoration each of you had for one another remained strong and continued to grow as each day passed!

You quickly learned that parenting was a juggling act! You and Christian dividing your time and attention between two kids, each other, and AEW was extremely difficult. Splitting yourself between 3 people that rely on you was hard. Having to put your career goals on the self (for now) was hard. Making sure Isla was getting the love and attention she needed and deserved was hard. Taking care of a fussy baby in the early hours of the morning with little to no sleep was hard. Finding alone time with Christian was hard. But, at the end of the day when you tuck Isla in bed and she tells you she loves you, and when you watch Christian rocking your baby boy to sleep in his strong arms from the doorway of the nursery, it eases the stress the difficult days bring and makes everything you went through to get to this point worth it. How did you get so lucky? It definitely is a wonderful life 💙

[elfdragon12]

NEW TRANSFORMERS!!

Just call Shockwave 'the Undertaker' because Optimus will Rest... In... Peace!

(For those who don't know pro-wrestling...)

SWINDLE SIGHTED

I am actually pretty curious about this take on Astrotrain. He speaks to some sympathy to humans as lesser/weaker beings... Though he still won't refrain from taking what he needs.

IT WAS BEACHCOMBER LAST ISSUE!!

Whew, what a doozy this issue!

I didn't snap any pictures, but now Elita-1 and Ultra Magnus are on Earth! It was a cold call that she made. I get it why, but cold. Not to mention not quite right.

Also, Ratchet gets no breaks!! TTATT