#you give me a story about memory and i'm HERE for that

[bestworstcase]

Genuine question, but where did you pick up "the Brother cult is a common religion in modern day Remnant" from? At least, I'm pretty sure you've said this before on here; my memory is pretty bad lol.

I'm just curious since I've been rewatching RWBY lately, and i remembered that, and I thought it was interesting bc I never once saw or picked up on anything that would suggest that in canon (unless it's like, a headcanon on your part, in which case feel free to ignore me, I'm not here to needlessly criticize a fun headcanon if that's the case loll, i have my own fantasy religion headcanons bc I'm unhinged abt worldbuilding).

If you don't mind, I want to explain my reasoning/thoughts on why I don't think the Brothers are worshipped on modern Remnant (feel free to pick them apart):

-> Qrow says that "not many people are super religious these days". Mind you, I don't take much stock at all in what characters say, especially not in RWBY (i frequently side-eye characters who speak on the Oz merge who aren't Ozpin himself, Light, or Jinn), but i feel like this would be an odd thing to say if it wasn't true. This is supported by The Shallow Sea fading into just a 'fanciful creation myth', as well as none of the main or even side characters being religious (though it could be bc it's just not important) nor discussing religion. Churches don't seem to be common (aside from the one in v4), and imagery of what seem to be altars are scattered and infrequent. Religion is also never brought up when discussing the kingdoms' governments either. So, so far, Qrows line holds true.

-> When Qrow talks about the Brothers, RNJR never really shows that they recognize the story, or at least that they don't put weight on it, unlike finding out the Maidens are real. They're just like "...okay so why is that important", unlike how I imagine religious people would react to finding out their God(s) are real. Plus, Qrow has to explain it to them; if it was a well known religious story, I'm sure the writers would have written it more like "So, you know [insert religion name]? Yeah, according to Ozpin, that story is real. In case you aren't familiar, let me explain it for you... [insert convenient lore dump for the audience]". Plus, the way Qrow phrases it gives me the impression that it's an obscure story. Weaker point, though, I'll admit.

-> In any of the times that we see what *might* be evidence of religion (i.e. the candles/altar in the White Fang in v4, the church in Ruby's v4 short), there's no religious iconography depicting the Brothers (at least, nothing that I've caught). In general, there doesn't seem to be any dragon imagery in modern Remnant (again, nothing that I've caught yet).

-> It's depicted as a fairytale. When Ozpin asks for Pyrrha's favorite fairytales, the first thing she says is The Tale of the Two Brothers. It's also in his fairytale book, something i feel would've been a controversial (if extremely funny) decision if it was a popular religious story (like if you put Jesus' crucifixion in a book including rapunzel and Cinderella).

-> Also, there's no common sayings including the Brothers (like how fics like to have the characters say "Oh Brothers" and other variations).

-> And, in general, Oz's inner circle really wasn't at all concerned with the Gods or really even the Divine Mandate. All they knew was that the Gods created Remnant, humanity, the Grimm, and the Relics and promptly abandoned Remnant, and that "If someone were to collect all four [Relics], they'd be able to change the world." And that that's "exactly what the enemy wants." So they only know the absolute basics of the Mandate, and the way it's worded implies (to me, anyways) that Oz worded it in such a way that cautioned against collecting the Relics (which is very interesting to me. This also tracks with how he depicts the Mandate in TTOTTB). So in general not even the inner circle feels like Brother/Light followers to me, just Oz followers (in general i imagine the events of the infinite man made him learn that bringing up judgement day is a Bad Thing, considering before bringing it up the Circle flourished, but after spreading the message, it was immediately destroyed. Instant karma. Poor dude). Though this starts leaning into the territory of my theory that Oz actually gave up on his mission (which like, could be wrong, but I'm holding onto it until I'm proven wrong), and I'm sure you don't wanna hear that one lol.

In general it seems to me like there isn't a Brothers-centric religion so far, even though Remnant still has organized religion (albeit uncommon). But I'm honestly not sure if I missed anything? I'm sure as hell not the type to comb through every background to see if I did lol.

Sorry for the long ass ask. Take your time answering, and have fun picking apart my reasoning. Please be nice abt it tho 👉👈 I just want to know your thoughts and if i missed anything that proves it's a modern day religion :)

-🌙

okay. first, at the risk of being condescending: religious people believe that their gods are real. you know that, right? religion is not a big game of play pretend. people who practice religion do so because they believe in it.

yes, religious people can and do experience doubt. but a religious person whose doubting and questioning leads them to conclude their god(s) aren't real don't continue to practice the religion they don't believe in. i mean, they might make an outward performance of doing so if it's unsafe for them to leave and they're likely to keep cultural practices and even moral frameworks--see: ex-christians who are exactly as dogmatic and puritanical about whatever new belief system they've adopted--but people who don't believe in gods don't practice religion. 

this:

They're just like "...okay so why is that important", unlike how I imagine religious people would react to finding out their God(s) are real.

is a fallacy you're making because (i presume) you aren't religious and have never been so; i suspect you just don't have any frame of reference and consequently you're projecting your own skepticism onto the hypothetical religious people in your imagination. to be clear, i don't mean this as a personal attack on you--this is a very normal thing for people to do when we're trying to conceptualize experiences that are profoundly different from our own.

my background though is evangelical christian. i was raised in a staunchly religious household attending church 2-3 times a week; i attended a christian school until transferring to public school in fifth grade; i've been to bible camps and conferences where they teach you how to evangelize to nonbelievers and that kind of thing. i'm not talking fundie cult here, to be clear--this was a relatively-by-evangelical-standards socially liberal and theologically mainstream nondenominational protestant church--but christianity was the central organizing structure of my life until i left home. i'm agnostic and fundamentally disagree with the moral framework of christianity but i know a lot of very devout christians and i'm very familiar with the religious praxis. 

(including what genuine, good faith evangelical proselytization looks like--not door-to-door like what e.g. mormons do, or street corner chick tract fundie cult behavior, which is what non-christians typically think of as evangelism. but that stuff is a tactic high-control religious groups use to strengthen identification with the in-group through rejection and alienation by the out-group--evangelical churches that aren't culty don't do that, and in fact the idea that door-to-door and street corner preaching is an isolation tactic used by predatory religious groups is something that was first explained to me in sunday school by the people who taught me how to evangelize. put a pin in this for now.)

so: i'm not imagining hypothetical religious people when i say this, i'm imagining a few hundred specific religious people whom i personally know and how they would react in an equivalent situation. 

what qrow does in 'a much needed talk' is he sit the kids down, goes "not many people are super religious these days… there's a lot of (false) gods people have made up throughout history, but y'know, these two are real. here's the truth…" and then tells them a simplified version of the two brothers creation myth. 

he doesn't do anything to prove that these two gods, in particular, are real. he gives zero evidence. he doesn't even demonstrate that magic is real. this isn't "finding out" that the gods are real, this is uncle qrow doing a little impromptu sunday school lesson like that's an explanation for why some lunatic attacked us earlier. this is like if some rando tried to grab you on the street and pull you into an unmarked van and i saved you and me and the van guy clearly had some sort of history because he knew my full name so you asked me "WHO WAS THAT GUY. WHAT THE FUCK" and i said okay sit down, the first thing you need to know is that in the beginning, god created the heavens and the earth…

regardless of your personal religious beliefs or lack thereof, you would probably go "…what. does this have to do. with the van guy who ATTACKED ME" because that's like, truly a bizarre non-sequitur. but it's not like God Himself is descending from the heavens in a flaming whirlwind to demonstrate his existence. it's just me telling you he's real. 

if you're a christian, in this scenario, that is not in any way a revelation to you. that's akin to, like, "the king of england is real." BIG IF TRUE?--you know this. you already know this. if you are a christian then you believe that the christian god exists and is the one true god. in this hypothetical scenario i'm telling you things you already know and believe foundationally to be true. a devout christian would probably respond more in the vein of "amen! god is good!" but one whose practice is casual--the christmas-and-easter christians--and secular christians would absolutely be "okay and…?" in an equivalent situation to 'a much needed talk.' 

hell, come to that, i'd be asking what this has to do with the crazy guy who tried to kidnap me if i were in that situation. who cares that my dead headmaster was a true believer or whatever i want to know about the guy with the knife! you feel me?

the type of person whom i can imagine making a big deal out of qrow's little creation myth are:

reddit atheist types who cry and scream and shit bricks if they have to talk to somebody who believes in a god; you know. the kind of person categorically incapable of talking about religion in any capacity without at least one sneering "sky daddy"?

someone with no previous exposure to this religious tradition or anything remotely like it. imagine if i were to sit you down and earnestly tell you that the only Real Gods were, like, the hero twins who descended into the underworld to challenge the lords of death to a ballgame. you'd probably be like "HUH??" because hunahpú and xbalanqué are not a cultural reference point you're familiar with in the way that you're familiar with the crucifixion of jesus christ.

like, all religions are fucking weird. the christian gospels are not remotely less weird than the popol vuh, or whatever. you're just familiar with the essentials of the gospel story--even if you're not and have never been christian--because christianity is culturally dominant in the west. and the familiarity makes it normal. unremarkable.

invisible, in a way. 

this is something the writers of rwby really get. if something is normal and ordinary in the world of remnant, the characters don't pay attention to it, even if it's bizarre to the audience. to use a non-religious example, civilians don't know what aura is! it's not common knowledge! we know that because jaune's never heard of it, civilians in vale are shocked and confused when penny stops a truck with her bare hands, and oscar (who has dealt with "occasional grimm" before) has no aura training and doesn't know what a semblance is. but to the rest of the characters, aura is a completely mundane aspect of their day to day lives and they're a little taken aback by characters like jaune and oscar who don't know about it. 

with that in mind, i want to really underscore something about the things qrow tells RNJR in 'a much needed talk' and the way the kids react. 

because. first, qrow gives them the same intro level rundown on the maidens that pyrrha got in v3--offscreen because that's shit the audience has already heard and don't need to be rehashed. the kids are like, "that's a lot to take in," and jaune in particular is like "this is all very sketchy, what the fuck is actually going on." 

THEN, apropos nothing, qrow drops "not many people are super religious but These Two gods are actually real btw" and an abbreviated creation story, with NO proof and NO apparent connection to the maniacal cultist who ranted and raved about his body and soul belonging to his goddess-queen who sent him to "retrieve" ruby for her. and none of the kids express the slightest bit of skepticism about this super out of left field sunday school story, no one is like "what the fuck" or "are you drunk"--ren just goes "okay but how. is that relevant." 

whereupon qrow finally tells them about the relics hidden under the schools and salem wanting them and that BAD THINGS will happen if she gets them. and then, jaune the skeptic goes: "alright, so let's say we believe all this--there really is this crazy evil being behind these attacks, not just some thugs trying to become powerful. why doesn't the world know?"

THAT'S the part he finds outrageous and difficult to believe. not that the two brothers are real, but that SALEM exists. salem. these kids literally JUST got attacked by a lunatic cultist who kept babbling about MY GODDESS HER GRACE THE QUEEN and directly stated that he is cinder's associate and referred to the white fang and torchwick as pawns, but the thing that makes them go "wait but this is crazy and makes no sense" is qrow explaining that there's a malevolent entity called salem who orchestrated the attack on beacon and sent that guy to capture ruby. like, objectively, from a purely logical standpoint, that's the least unbelievable thing that qrow tells them. 

but people aren't rational agents. and one thing this scene does very effectively is establish the relative normality of each major chunk of information through the way the kids react:

maidens? "there are four special people who can do magic without dust? and when they die that power passes on to someone new? that's. well that's a lot to process but. sure."

brothers? "and this is relevant how?"

salem? "that's crazy how could someone like that possibly exist without everybody knowing about it? why should we believe any of this!?"

salem is so fucking far out of their previous understanding of how the world works that they all kind of have a kneejerk "that! can't be real!" response even though tyrian shouted from the literal rooftops that he's working for a 'goddess' who was behind the attack on beacon.

but the maidens? they have a frame of reference for magic--magic is what anyone can do with dust, and ruby…petrified a massive grimm with her eyes somehow a few months ago, so like, it's not THAT unbelievable to accept that an old story about four maidens who can do magic without dust is true, apparently. 

whereas the stuff about brothers… nothing. not one of these kids so much as blinks even though. again, from a purely logical standpoint, the creation of remnant by the brothers is the most fantastical part of qrow's explanation. but the kids don't react that way, because it's normal to them. ergo they're either casual practitioners of brother-worship or brother-worship has cultural hegemony in vale and mistral, where RNJR grew up.

now! it's actually a simple matter of text whether the second possibility is true or not and this is the part of the answer where i have to just say: you're factually incorrect actually. 

-> In any of the times that we see what *might* be evidence of religion (i.e. the candles/altar in the White Fang in v4, the church in Ruby's v4 short), there's no religious iconography depicting the Brothers (at least, nothing that I've caught). In general, there doesn't seem to be any dragon imagery in modern Remnant (again, nothing that I've caught yet).

there is a big statue of the dragon brothers smack in the middle of the train station in mistral. one gold, one dark. very unmistakably a depiction of Those Two. this is in v6 so if you're only up to v4 on your rewatch you can't uh, be expected to remember. (<- i am just unhinged enough about fictional religion i can tell you off the top of my head that yang and ruby swear by God in v1 but the ship captain in v4 swears "by the gods" and i think that church in ruby's character short implies maiden-worship on the basis of the statue of the cloaked young woman in front, details of this kind just stick in my memory for nerd reasons.)

[as an aside why would… the white fang… have an altar to mankind's gods… like. there are no faunus in 'the two brothers' and the culturally dominant religion among faunus is worship of the god of animals, as ozpin notes in his commentaries on 'shallow sea' & 'judgment.' the trappings of religion that we see in the white fang's private spaces are… obviously… god of animals-worship. this feels half a step shy of saying "well the altar in salem's war room doesn't have any draconic iconography, so therefore brother-worship isn't a thing." brother-worship is explicitly not the only religion in existence!]

-> Also, there's no common sayings including the Brothers (like how fics like to have the characters say "Oh Brothers" and other variations).

in v7, 'pomp and circumstance' specifically, ironwood says "brothers know you deserve it" in reference to RWBYJNR receiving their huntsman licenses. and a quick round up from the novels:

after the fall: "thank the brothers you found us," said by a bit character.

before the dawn: "thank the brothers," said by octavia; "by the brothers," said by finn asturias when he learns what his kids are planning

roman holiday: "thank the brothers," said once by neo's mother and once by a bit character. 

there are also general exclamations of "my gods" or "by the gods" and general references to "the gods" both in rwby proper and ancillary materials, with "gods" being in far more frequent use than the singular "God"--gods, plural, doesn't necessarily mean the brothers every time, because qrow does make a point of noting that remnant's people, collectively, worship "dozens" of gods. but it is pretty evident that the dominant religion across the four human kingdoms has more than one god, and the coincidence of that with, taking the novels into consideration, characters from literally every kingdom except mistral which has a honking big statue of the brothers in its train station swear by the brothers… yeah the dominant religion globally is brother-worship. probably not in menagerie. but in the four human kingdoms, yeah. 

-> It's depicted as a fairytale. When Ozpin asks for Pyrrha's favorite fairytales, the first thing she says is The Tale of the Two Brothers. It's also in his fairytale book, something i feel would've been a controversial (if extremely funny) decision if it was a popular religious story (like if you put Jesus' crucifixion in a book including rapunzel and Cinderella).

…and the second is 'the shallow sea,' which is also a religious myth. 'the story of the seasons' is alsowhat we'd call a myth, not a fairytale. 'the girl in the tower' is the only story pyrrha names in that scene that is actually a fairytale per se. in general the delineation we make between "fairytale" and "myth" in the real world, as discrete genres of folklore, doesn't seem to exist in remnant--legends and fairytales scattered in time, and all that. the conceit of rwby is about engaging with fairytale-as-myth, so this is a very intentional blurring; like, this is a narrative where maiden-in-tower IS the creation story, fundamentally. rapunzel is orpheus is prometheus and that's how the world was made.

and that's the kind of thing that we as the audience have to just accept as a fact of the fictional reality, because… like… gestures at 'the shallow sea.' 

ozpin included THAT one in his book of fairytales, too, and in his commentary he explicitly describes it as part of a closed(!) oral tradition whose inclusion he deliberated for fear of being disrespectful. he devotes more than half of his commentary to justifying the choice to include it, and the rest to describing the myth's cultural context to his (presumed human) readers. he asks forgiveness for "overstepping himself." 

and it is very obvious, in the way ozpin talks about 'the shallow sea' in particular and the book generally in his forward and afterward, that his concern is not "it is grotesquely horribly disrespectful to place this profoundly meaningful and important creation myth (of a culture that is not my own) in a collection of frivolous fairytales" but rather "this book is meant to be a collection of profoundly meaningful tales drawn from all of remnant's cultures and i believe this one is too important not to include, but i am also acutely aware that it is a closed tradition to which i do not belong." the latter is still out of pocket, but the simple fact is that a character who so obviously knows that publishing a story from a closed tradition without permission is Not Okay and so obviously feels immensely conflicted and guilty about doing so isn't a character who would blithely denigrate a myth like this by publishing it in a book of trivial fairytales. and a character who would denigrate the myth that way wouldn't agonize over whether it was important enough to be worth violating the closed tradition. 

and then you consider that, out of the twelve stories ozpin put in this book, three are explicitly religious creation myths ('the shallow sea,' 'the judgment of faunus,' and 'the two brothers'), two others are myths describing the origin of natural phenomena ('the story of the seasons' and 'the gift of the moon'), and one is a mythical culture hero ('the infinite man')… so fully half the stories in this book aren't actually fairytales. they're myths. 

so the inclusion of 'the two brothers' is less cinderella-and-christ than it is "here is an eclectic collection of folklore from around the world" in terms of what would be equivalent in the real world; and… like, 'the shallow sea,' 'judgment of faunus,' and 'the two brothers,' the plain text of these stories is clearly and unambiguously religious in nature, and ozpin explicitly discusses them as such. 

his commentary on 'the two brothers,' in particular: "there are many versions of our creation story […] but certain elements are always consistent: they arrived from a realm outside of our own and together created the universe from nothing. and then they left us on our own." and "whether or not you believe in the brothers, or in this story in particular […] like the twin gods, we are intricately connected to each other" and, um:

Even if the gods aren’t real, even if they don’t return to judge us for our deeds, we should act each day as though they are arriving tomorrow. In the end, we will be the arbiters of our fates. We will either create a beautiful, peaceful world and live in harmony together or destroy ourselves and our planet, and the gods will judge what we have chosen.

remember how i said i'm intimately familiar with, specifically, evangelical christianity and what actual evangelism entails? not the deliberately off-putting door-to-door shit but proselytization for the purpose of bringing new people into a church that isn't a predatory high-control group?

the way ozpin talks about the brothers here, and the way qrow talks about them in 'a much needed talk,' is christian evangelism 101.

"not many people are super religious, these days." you know who says this type of thing? like, fucking constantly? evangelical christians. never mind that christianity is the majority religion in the US by a significant margin (66%!)--evangelical christians inhabit a constructed alternate reality wherein they're an embattled minority shining candlelight into a sea of darkness. (many of them accomplish this by deciding that most other christians aren't real christians; the classic protestant move of course being "catholics aren't christian" but your average evangelical takes a dim view of like. any denomination that isn't their denomination and when i tell you the nondenominationals are the worst offenders in this regard... lmao. anyways)

"not many people are super religious [christian] nowadays. people believe in all kinds of different gods and creeds, but there is only one true God"--this is literally just how evangelicals talk. both to each other and to non-believers they're hoping to interest in the church, although the tone depends on who's listening. internal discussions of this nature are strategic in nature--how do we reach people and speak to them effectively in these godless times? what is the right balance between presenting ourselves and our faith honestly while still creating a welcoming and accessible space for people who don't know jesus? how do we share what we believe with people who just don't care? and so forth--whereas the framing with nonbelievers is that it's innate in human nature to crave purpose and meaning and that everyone seeks fulfillment but few ever manage to find it because none of us are born knowing where to look, etc. 

meanwhile in his commentary ozpin is doing a fantasy repackaging of the pascal's wager tactic, which like. i have sat through literal educational films on the rhetorical use of pascal's wager in effective evangelism. "well, if i believe in god and i'm wrong, i'll have lived a good, moral life and lost nothing; if you don't believe in god and you're wrong, hell" is one of THEEEE evangelist talking points. ideally, one used to open a conversation with friends and/or people who have indicated interest in talking about your faith in some way, especially if they ask "what if you're wrong?" because then the idea is to demonstrate that you're not rigidly dogmatic in your faith but instead you've given serious thought to the possibility that you might be wrong, and thus show that you understand and empathize with the nonbeliever's skepticism so as to build a genuine rapport. (whether it *works* that way in practice is highly dependent on like. charisma and actual meaningful ability to click with non-christians, which a lot of devout evangelicals… just can't even when they really earnestly do try, but ozpin as a character does have the charisma and the knack for connecting with people that can make this approach effective at getting irreligious people to give "hey, come to this church thing with me?" a shot.)

i cannot emphasize enough that after the obvious one of "directly openly stated religious beliefs," the reason ozpin and qrow specifically read to me as highly religious characters is because they talk exactly like evangelicals in secular company. they talk about and share their beliefs about the brothers the way i was taught in church to talk about christianity. 

you don't go banging on people's doors or harassing them in the streets. nobody fucking likes that and it makes people not want to go to church. you don't go around with a stick up your butt about the non-christian people in your life not being christian. what you do is treat people with kindness and respect and draw firm boundaries for yourself to keep yourself safe (<- unironically growing up in an evangelical christian household is a huge part of the reason i am SO comfortable just fucking saying no to things i don't want to do and i think this is the one thing that evangelicals really have on a LOCK) while being open and honest and unapologetic about your own faith. you save the bitchy judgmental gossip and fire and brimstone garbage and like, talking about the eschaton for when it's just true believers. 

evangelical christianity is an eschatological religion, by the way. in case you didn't know that. evangelicals believe that we are living in or on the cusp of the end times and the political action of evangelical christians in the united states is motivated in large part by a desire to enact the prophesied conditions that will herald the second coming of christ. for example a lot of evangelicals like trump because they think he's a divine implement of the great tribulation. evangelicals are obsessed with and actively trying to enact the apocalypse. and rwby is straight up the only fictional story i've ever encountered that understands how an eschatological cult operates because you can NOT advertise that shit. it FREAKS PEOPLE OUT. you keep the "i want the world to be riven by unprecedented catastrophe and suffering so i can be taken up to heaven in the rapture while the wrath of almighty god crushes what remains as grapes in a winepress" between yourself and the other doomsday cultists. 

it's not like. SECRET. it's in the bible. but very few non-christians bother to actually read the bible and the ones who do are just not going to have the cultural context to know how very deadly serious evangelicals in particular are about the book of revelation or how much of a core pillar the eschatology is to evangelicalism; meanwhile american evangelicals are knowingly deliberately voting for the apocalypse. similarly,

“We must take back our gifts,” the God of Darkness said. “Reclaim our power and wipe this experiment from existence.”

“I disagree,” the God of Light said. “And we promised to share in the fate of our joint creation.” He gave a mighty yawn. “Let us rest, and when the time comes, we will see what Humanity has become in our absence. At that point, we will judge them. If they are worthy, we will take their forms and walk among them as equals. If not, we will take back our gifts and start over elsewhere. What do you say?”

“Who will decide whether they are worthy?” the God of Darkness said.

“Humanity will make it plain. If they come together in unity and find a way to destroy the evil in the world and within themselves, then they are worthy. If not … we will let them burn,” the God of Light said.

“So shall it be.” The two brothers agreed. But even in rest, they needed some distance from each other. Each dragon transformed himself into a new continent at one end of their world.

And there the dragons still sleep, until the day that the gods will waken, rise, and judge.

ozma's mandate is not a secret. the apocalyptic final judgment is clearly and emphatically spelled out in the myth of the two brothers, which he included in an anthology of tales intended for the general public and annotated to the effect of "i believe this one is true and even if you don't you should act like you do. btw. because it's true" YEAH MAN WE GET IT. 

(he also asserts apropos nothing in his commentary on 'the gift of the moon'--a myth that does not mention the brothers at all--that the sun is a "celestial gift from the all-powerful god of light," so either 'the gift of the moon' is brother-cult doctrine or ozpin is pointing at a myth from another tradition and making it about his god.)

the main difference between ozpin and your average evangelical is that ozpin fears the end times because he doesn't believe anyone will be spared. but his behavior is the same. his way of presenting his religiosity in a way that minimizes and obfuscates the eschatological intention at the core is the same, if not more intense because the material reality of his situation, as the accursed chosen one literally commanded by God Himself to immanentize the eschaton, is a lot more terrifying and desperate. 'the infinite man' is quite literally a veiled autobiographical story about how he figured out that he CAN'T… go around just… TELLING EVERYBODY… that he's MAKING READY FOR THE FINAL JUDGMENT.... because people don't fucking like that and will kill him and put his cult to the sword about it.

that emphatically does not mean that he doesn't still believe in it; it means that he has, in the same way that evangelical christians in real life have, figured out how to code-switch. there's the public face for mixed company where you're friendly and humble and make a concerted effort to live by the virtues of your faith while being open and unapologetic about your religious identity while maintaining a posture of respectful invitation toward everyone else and engaging in meaningful ways with people you personally know to gently encourage them to explore your faith…

…and there's the private face for when it's just you and your fellow true believers and you're talking in intricate detail about how current world events line up with this or that prophesy about the end times. ozpin in public is the mixed-company evangelical to a T. and ozpin in private with people who have been informed of the whole situation re: maidens, relics, salem is like "i am the divinely-ordained champion of the gods and we must stop her from getting her hands on the relics that My Schools were built as fortresses to defend."

in 'the lost fable' these kids literally hear the god of light say with his whole chest that mankind will be found irredeemable and destroyed if they are "unchanged," and they do not even blink. 3.75 volumes spanning months later, they STILL haven't really registered that the god of light holds the view that not a single person alive on the planet RIGHT NOW TODAY deserves to live. why?

because they knew that part already. not the precise detail of ozma being the one who's meant to decide when the world is fit for divine judgment and actively invite the brothers back, but the final judgment and the need for humans to be United when the day of judgment comes lest they be burned to ashes? They Knew That. it is invisible to them except inasmuch as salem embodies, to them, the danger that mankind will be condemned, because it's normal. regardless of their personal religious beliefs or degree of religiosity, they're all familiar with this story to the point that hearing God Himself promise to exterminate everybody didn't even mildly startle them. they knew. 

like. fundamentally. the story as-written and the way the characters present in the lost fable do not react whatsoever to the divine ultimatum does not make sense unless every single one of them already knew the story about the dragon-brothers who created the world and then departed and will return to judge humanity's worth, to either reward them with completion or wipe them from existence. and because the kids seem to fall in the zone of irreligious to casually religious the simplest and most likely explanation is that there is a global hegemony of brother-worship, akin to christianity in the west. 

taps the sign. and this sign too.

like. in one sense it's a question of your frame of reference and specifically whether you know what deeply religious people are like and how an eschatological religion actually functions in the real world or if your mental model for what this looks like is drawn from, like, pop culture fundamentalist caricatures. i can tell you that the way qrow segues into and tells the brothers creation myth is something i can imagine almost verbatim coming out of the mouths of elders in my parents' church and that ozpin's commentary on the same myth is a point-for-point translation of christian evangelism into his fictional religion. i can tell you that your presupposition that a religious person "finding out" the god(s) they believe in really do exist would feel any kind of surprise or revelation about it is baldly incorrect in a way that leads me to believe you have zero real personal experience with religion or religious people. i can tell you that your presupposition that the secular democratic institutions of government in the kingdoms means there can't be a religious cultural hegemony of brother-worship (or any other religion) is, again, just factually not correct.

but in another and, in many ways, more important sense: rwby is a story about a religious conflict. there are two gods who destroyed the last world and a promised day of judgment that will be ushered in by four divine relics, each guarded by fortresses that act as the central hub for each plot arc, and the overarching narrative conflict is about a power struggle between two people--the immortal agent of rebellion against the gods and the divinely-appointed chosen one tasked with preparing for the final judgment--fighting for control of these relics. that's the plot. 

why are you reading scenes where the characters intricately involved in this power struggle talk about religious matters like the existence of gods and divine relics and divinely-ordained tasks as evidence that these characters… aren't religious? why are you reading actual myths that are textually presented as religious stories as… not a religion? why are you looking at a character commanded by God Himself to unite mankind, who in the present day speaks incessantly of the importance of unity and existential threat of division, who annotates the aforementioned explicitly religious myth with an exhortation to act each day as if the gods will return to judge you tomorrow, and concluding that he… is not religious and does not fundamentally believe in any of it?

what do you think a religion is?

and in this story, of all stories--when the central narrative conflict is overtly a war over divine relics left behind by the gods for the sole purpose of bringing about the final day of divine judgment--why in the world is it your baseline assumption that religion is not something that matters very much within the world of the story? why do you take qrow saying "not many people are super religious these days" completely at face value to mean "most people are agnostic/atheist and religion has no cultural relevance whatsoever" even though the next thing out of his mouth is "but these two gods are REAL" and even though, a single volume prior, his colleague said "what we're telling you goes against hundreds of years of human history, religion" and insinuate that consequently the truth would cause uproar and panic to justify keeping the maidens a secret?

i think that ozpin and his inner circle are religious because they speak and act like it and the core purpose of their "brotherhood" (as they call it) is to safeguard the divine relics while they publish religious myths about their gods and talk about how those gods are real and nothing is more important than keeping the divine relics safe. if it acts and looks and quacks like a duck and repeatedly turns to the audience to say that it believes in ducks, i believe it's a duck. i am not going to say "well it complained one time that there aren't a lot of ducks left in the world, so i think it's actually a chicken." that's nonsense. 

[lezforsapphicwrites]

first of all, thank you to everyone who engaged with my last post about my theories and give really good points. i love all your theories! so thank you thank you!!!

someone asked me about my thoughts on how lenore and annabel fit all three of the love tropes and i put it off back then cuz i hadn't organized my thoughts about it (yet). but i've finally thought about it and here it is!

(again, feel free to add your own take or to argue with my points. i'm welcome to discussions! just pls don't be mean and fight me. i'm just trying to share my thoughts with fellow fans)

before i dive in, i'm basing this off a post/comment that i encountered before. that all love stories are just variants of either orpheus & eurydice (doomed love), odysseus & penelope (love that dooms everyone else), and romeo & juliet (love that dooms them). i'll do my best to explain how annabel and lenore fit all three.

First Trope: Romeo & Juliet (Love That Dooms Them)

this is mostly tackling annabel and lenore's time together when they were both alive. we all know r&j as the most famous example of the forbidden love trope. their families are enemies, they are not allowed to love each other, yada yada. over time, that trope had been overused for het couples and became stale. what brought it back? homosexual love stories. nothing like good ol' homophobia to keep lesbian couples from living together. annabel and lenore are definitely not exceptions to this when they were alive, which is why lenore pretended to be a man, to be suitable for marraige with annabel.

theories of their death can vary but i'm gonna use mine for this and the theory of one of my replies in my last post. they died at their supposed wedding after lenore was exposed for being a woman. again, how they died is still unknown, but most likely, they died together (with one of them dying a little before the other), which is exactly how r&j ended.

i rest my case cuz this was a kinda easy comparison. off to the next one.

Second Trope: Odysseus & Penelope (Love That Dooms Everyone Else)

this one is a bit tricky so stay with me on this.

i'm covering their time in nevermore academy for this. a short breakdown on odyssey: ody does anything and everything to stay alive and return home to penelope. a lot of his actions were not morally right. he killed or destroyed a lot of people's lives for the love of his life, to return to her. hence, the love that dooms everyone around them.

how is this connected to lenore and annabel?

annabel is basically odysseus in this story. she is not afraid to ruin or kill the others to keep lenore safe and for them to come out winning in the end. we all saw how she traded duke's life to stop her group from killing lenore instead. she thinks of everyone as collateral for her ultimate goal of her and lenore getting their second chance at life together. odysseus was willing to destroy their marriage bed because penelope told him to despite not wanting to. meanwhile, annabel was ready to give up her life when lenore was starting not to trust her because she believes that nothing else mattered if lenore wasn't on her side. it's a crazy form of love and yet, i'm so hooked!

Third Trope: Orpheus and Eurydice (Doomed Love)

this was the hardest to point out because the parallels were hard to find.

for this, i'm just going for a shot in the dark. the doomed part of their love is mostly just hunch (bc i'm hoping for them to get their happiness) so i'm gonna skip that and focus on some parallels.

lenore is orpheus. deep her in heart, she loves annabel and she knows that but her mind hasn't caught on due to her missing memories. all the while annabel is blindly diving into her loyalty for lenore because she knows the end and the intensity of their love (i think). lenore's missing pieces of the story is why she can't fully trust annabel and in a way, "looks back" to see if she's "really behind" her, meaning she keeps questioning annabel's intention.

(yes, i know some iterations say that orpheus looks back because of he loves eurydice too much not to look at her. but i'm using the version where he looks back because he doubts that he is not enough for eurydice to feel the same and follow him back to life. kinda my take sorry)

honestly, that's all i got for this trope. if you have your own take, pls share because this was hard to organize in my brain.

feel free to use this as a safe space to discuss theories. i would like to hear what you think of this opinion of mine. gosh, i just love nevermore and i wish i had enough money to fast pass (no, pls don't dm me for deals and stuff. i can wait)

edit: i forgot to tag the one who asked for this. sorry about that @xxdelusionsofgrandeurxx

[starbuck]

i'm honestly so easy...

[yandere-romanticaa]

Seen the request, so I shall deliver. Could you pls write a drabble or hcs of a yandere sunday with an isekaied reader?

Good timing because I'm actually planning a non yan isekai fic for him, I wonder if you saw that post. Here it is in case you haven't.

Sincerest apologies if this isn't the best, this fic is 100% emotionally charged by my obsession with him and frankly with a little bit of a high for passing a tricky exam. This is a treat for myself.

EDIT: Please check out this wonderful comic that @danijaci made me based off this fic!! 😭🫶

Picking up the cup from the fine oak table, you gazed towards the eerie galaxy before you, hundreds upon thousands of stars giving you a constant reminder of just how far from home you truly were. Taking a sip from the little porcelain cup you could not help but to hum in delight, the soft notes of the tea soothing your nerves ever so lightly as you pretended to ignore the heavy gaze which lingered at the back of your head.

Even from this distance, it was easy to tell that Sunday was eager to approach you. Still, he kept his distance and made a silent offering in the form of the very tea you drank at the moment.

Anything is better than Himeko's coffee but you were never going privy her to that.

In a not so distant past, all of this was nothing but fiction. The Express, the story, the characters - it was all nothing more but fiction, something to pass the time as your days went on and on, the same monotony repeating each and every day.

It was hard to not think about your friends and family, what sane person would not? Lord knows how they must be feeling right now, worried sick out of their minds with indescribable sorrow. In their eyes you had merely vanished, not a single trace to be found. For all they knew you could have been left for dead in a ditch somewhere, beaten, bloodied and broken, never to see the light again or if they were even more inclined to be morbid, you had succumbed to a fate worse than death. Death at the very least grants you finality, that all is over regardless of what happened moments prior.

But that was simply not the case for you.

Here you were, lounging about in a comfortable chair as you pondered on your old life while enjoying tiny little luxuries, far away where none of your loved ones could reach you. However, life was funny sometimes because it had some fun games in store.

Sunday was very kind upon arrival. He made sure to always be there for you, always checking up on you, always there to keep you company. You were already smitten with him but now to actually witness him in the flesh was just... Indescribable. You got along like a house on fire, so much so that the crew liked to tease that you ought to just get a room. Sunday, ever the gentleman, would just brush their words aside and assure you to not take their playful little jabs to heart.

You wouldn't say anything, resorting to merely giving him a smile but not because of what he said but rather of what he did not - never once did he actually shut down those perverse accusations. Never, not even once did he deny them.

He became an emotional crutch, someone to whom you would come running to when things got tough and he would always welcome you with open arms. Sunday would hold you tenderly, his serene voice dripping with honey along with a tender drop of ecstasy, for his excitement with holding you would just show itself sometimes. His grip would be too tight at certain moments, never quite ready to let you leave. His hugs were warm and comforting, he always smelled so good too. He smelled like kindness and sweet wildflowers, always lulling you back to him no matter the time. In dark corners and perhaps even under the watchful eyes of the crew, Sunday would wrap his scarf around your head, securing the soft fabric in order to provide you with a sense of comfort.

It was humiliating just how much you would try to inhale his scent as much as possible. You wanted it etched deep inside your memory, you wished for it to linger on your very soul and for it to follow you everywhere you went, sticking to your being like tar. The fabric of the scarf would muffle your ears a little but someone was always chatting in the background. Be it March bickering with Dan Heng, Mr Yang scolding someone for doing something they were not supposed to, or just Conductor Pom Pom trying to give a speech, all of it was irrelevant.

You were ready to kill whoever would try to pry you away from sweet Sunday. That thought came often which had left you worried - just what kind of person had you become? Regardless, you kept your mouth shut and had no plans of sharing such violent sentiments with anyone, particularly not to the one you held so dear.

When it was time to part for the evening you would bid the crew farewell and wished them a good night. You always made sure to take a few extra seconds with Sunday, just to ease your aching soul. He would tell you to sleep well and would see you in the morning, ready to take on any endeavor that crossed your paths.

As everyone parted ways, Sunday would wander off somewhere dark and distant, somewhere no one could see nor hear him. He would fall to his knees and clutch his chest in agony, fat tears streaming down his face as he did everything he possibly could to steady his raging heart. In a rush he would reach for the scarf which clung around his neck, his grip tighter than iron as he would bring it close to his nose. Taking a large, deep breath, Sunday was greeted by your familiar scent which would promptly calm his poor heart.

He sometimes wondered if his heart would start bleeding from the pain due to the sheer intensity of his emotions.

This was wrong, everything about this was not right and it hurt. Sunday was obviously ill but he had no clue on how to fight this... This emotion, this white hot feeling of need whenever you stood by his side. He started to choke on the air around him and fell into an abrupt coughing fit but even then, he could bring himself to remove the scarf from the lower part of his face.

Sunday wept and sobbed, filthy snot coming out from his nose but he could not handle that now. He needed you, Oh Heavenly Aeons, how he needed you. However was he going to tell you how he felt? How, oh how was he going to express the sheer magnitude of his true thoughts? He would scare you off, he was sure of it.

Even with this pain, even with these clipped wings and bleeding heart, Sunday had never felt so alive, so harrowingly present in the moment whenever he was with you.

Perhaps, he was doing himself a kindness by just letting you be. Drink your tea, be at peace.

He can always just make you another cup if you so desired.

Without knowing, you both haunted each other in the most agonizing way known to mankind and neither was strong enough to face the reality of the situation.

[unexpectederawhilesubmitting]

WARNING: DOCTOR WHO SPOILERS EXPLAINING REGENERATION SHENANIGANS

-------------------

okay so I was kind of not on board with the concept of bi-regeneration, mainly because of how it seemed like all of the Sad and the Trauma that the Doctor had undergone got kind of handwaved away? i'm all for ncuti's Doctor being sort of a fresh start/jumping on point for new viewers, but i didn't get how that could work if like, literally 40 minutes ago he was David Tennant being a sad wet puppy dog of a man

however, after rewatching it, i've realized what i think happened there, and it goes all the way back to something introduced with the 4th doctor's regeneration that was never explained: the Watcher

^this spooky guy

so, for those that don't know (or haven't seen every episode of a show that is over half a century old), the Fourth Doctor regenerates at the end of a story called Logopolis (he falls off a satellite dish, but that's not important right now). all throughout the episode, this weird figure, The Watcher, stands off in the distance, and even intervenes slightly by saving the Fourth Doctor's companion. there's not much given in the way of an explanation until the Fourth Doctor regenerates, saying "it's the end. but the moment has been prepared for..."

the watcher walks up, and gets absorbed in a super rad 1980's digital effect (never change doctor who), while his companion just gives us the not-super-helpful-for-lore statement "He was the Doctor all the time!"

then, in a crossfade, the Doctor goes from Four to weird-powder-man to Five

canonically, the Watcher is explained as a future version of the doctor that comes about in sort of a weird overlapping thing with the doctor's timeline, it's very wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey.

-------------------------

SO what does this have to do with biregeneration and satisfying character arcs/moving on from trauma?

Well, remember, Fifteen said this, about Time Lords doing rehab out of order:

so, here's the thing: Fifteen is the Doctor AFTER Fourteen (duh, I know?) But to be clear...Fourteen lives out an entire lifetime with Donna and family, gets to a ripe old age, and then, when his lifetime of healing is over, he gets yeeted back through his own timestream just to zoot himself out of David Tennant's chest.

Remember, his first words to Fourteen (after popping out of his chest) are "So good to see you! So good!", not the RTD classic "what?". He greets himself like he's almost expecting this, he then says "does anyone want to tell me what the hell is going on here?" which only makes sense if he's coming from a different point in his own timestream (remember, when two doctors interact, memory gets really weird, 10 and the War Doctor don't remember the events of Day of the Doctor until they live through them as 11).

SO TO BE CLEAR: Ncuti Gatwa is playing the Doctor AFTER he has spent years healing from his traumas. His Doctor is fine because Fourteen takes the time to rest and work on himself.

tl;dr: I didn't like biregeneration at first because I thought it looked like this:

In actuality, it looks more like this:

[danidrabbles]

Cardinal

Pairing: Logan Howlett ("Worst" Wolverine) x f!reader

Rating: Explicit (for themes and smut).

Word count: 16.6k

Summary: At the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

Tags/Warnings (Please, read the warnings!!): Post-Deadpool & Wolverine, female reader (female anatomy etc + 2 mentions of hair long enough to fall into your eyes), strangers-to-lovers, depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt and mentions thereof, addiction, drinking alcohol, drugs (mentioned not used), panic attacks, sobriety meetings, anxiety, recovery, co-dependency vibes, sprinkles of soulmateism, explicit smut (oral and unprotected PIV), happy ending (yay!!). If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Notes: Deadpool and Wolverine re-triggered my X-Men obsession and what started as a means to write some smut actually became this idea about two broken people who shouldn't even have met in the first place finding each other. There's a lot of me in this story, more than there's ever been I think. I'm sorry for this glimpse into my head, and I'm sorry if this isn't as Reader-insert as it should be, but... I'm not that sorry, you know. Huge thanks to @javier-pena , for not only reading this over and fixing so many embarrassing mistakes, but also for saying she'd read this even if it was 20k words and always believing in my abilities as a writer, even when I sometimes didn't.

If you want to read the smut as a standalone, you can! Just CTRL + F (or search in page) for 'Logan reaches for' and read away.

THE LOOKOUT

With closed eyes, you inhale the cool, December air, before looking down at your feet. Here, at the edge of the lookout, the grass has been trampled. You imagine friends taking bets on who dares get closest to the edge, lovers making memories, families taking pictures. It’s strangely soothing that maybe you’re not the first to stand here to do this. 

Far below your feet, the water laps at the rocks. The force of it depends on the weather and tonight it’s violent, with big splashes and crashing sounds. The wind tugs at your coat, pulling you towards the water as if to help you along, making you look up again as you hold your balance. In front of you, the line of the horizon is dark but visible – it would have been impossible to make out if the moon hadn’t been as bright as it is.

It’s like you’re looking at the edge of the world.

During the weeks that fall had made way for winter, you scoped the place out a couple times. The first time you stood at this cliff’s edge, the place it took you to mentally scared you so much that you got back into your car and broke down in tears. The next couple times, things became more and more serious, as your life crumbled around you, and your feelings numbed, and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Something had crept in while you weren’t looking, settling somewhere behind your eyes and spreading out to make a home behind your ribs, slowly but surely changing you. And once you realized it, it was already too late. It had grown large, became jilted and jealous, like it wanted all of you. It pushed away everyone and everything you held dear, until it was just you and that… something.

Especially during the quiet of the night, the lookout became soothing, a strange sense of familiarity enveloping you each time you were here. It was addictive and pretty soon, it became a daily routine to visit. But lately it’s been losing its shine, your feelings here dulling and darkening too. You’re exhausted, fed up, tired of giving it more of you.

Today you want it to be your last time here. 

You’ve had countless hours to contemplate what it would be like, imagined – all but romanticised – how the cold water would paralyse your limbs if the impact wouldn't do the trick. You read somewhere that it’s apparently like falling asleep when the water finally fills your lungs. You’ll be gone, but the thing will be too.

The thought makes your eyes fill with tears, but not from fear. All you feel is relief, like it’s right, how it’s supposed to be. It makes you smile despite everything, and–

“Hey, stop!”

A voice behind you thunders through the silence and makes you shriek into the night, dirt toppling over the edge of the lookout below the shuffle of your foot. A string of curses follows, heavy footfalls behind you indicating that the intruder is approaching you.

“Fuck off!” you throw over your shoulder, your voice a roar with how it’s amplified by the wind. 

After, your throat closes up, fighting the angry tears over the fact that you can’t even fucking kill yourself in peace. Never have you seen anyone here at night, never. What you hate even more is how it breaks your momentum. The haze that was surrounding you is pierced, and your body’s baser instincts kick in. Adrenaline suddenly pumps through your veins, making your legs tremble, your heart hammer, your body scream for you to step back from where you’re standing. Your anger, however, has you nailed to the floor. 

You almost miss the much softer, “Hey,” as a man steps into your peripheral vision. You pretend like you don’t hear him, or see him – you simply pretend he isn’t there, focussing on getting back into your previous mindset. 

But then he takes his hands out of his pockets.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you warn, hating how your voice comes out trembling – weak.

“Easy.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

You stand there together for what feels like hours. You will yourself to not let it affect you, setting your jaw to keep your teeth from clattering on account of the cold, allow the wind to blow your hair into your eyes without brushing it away. Even when it begins to rain, you don’t move, don’t blink even once more than you need to. From the corner of your eye you watch the man shove his hands back in the pockets of the brown leather jacket he’s wearing, and you quietly celebrate that your surroundings are fazing him more than they are you.

“You know–” he begins.

“I’m not really looking for a conversation.”

“Me neither,” he immediately counters, suddenly impatient, “so I’ll get right to it: You planning on jumping? Because if you think the water’s gonna be nice to you, you’ve got that wrong. You’ll end up in there feeling everything, that fall isn’t gonna do shit.”

Having expected a gentle approach, his bluntness and his tone knock the wind out of you. You cock your jaw, the shame creeping up your body the first bit of warmth you’ve felt in a while. Your cold fingers ball to fists as you will yourself not to care. Yes, his words and the way he's shatteríng your expectations with them sting, but you don’t even know this guy–

“And there’s nothing fuckin’ peaceful about it, it’s just panic. Right before you go too far…” He raises a fist and holds it against the center of his chest, “...there’s this burning right here that’s hell.”

“And what makes you such an expert?” you finally spit out.

“Died like that a couple times,” he says without waiting a beat.

The casual statement of something so bizarre beats your resolve before you know it, your head turning in his direction. “‘A couple times’?”

“I, uh…” You watch him hesitate, the moonlight illuminating the tick of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallows, the way his chest falls as he sighs, “Let’s just say I can’t die.”

Before you can stop yourself, you snort at that. “That must fucking suck.”

He barks out a laugh, “Got that right.” It startles you when his head suddenly turns to you, when he looks you in the eye for the first time. “But trust me, being down there isn’t much better.”

There’s something in the way he looks at you that makes you waver. You can’t really place it, or decipher why it makes you want to open up to him. Maybe it’s because you’re freezing and it’s your body betraying you, tricking you into moving so you can generate some warmth, moving your lips to keep them from going blue. Or maybe it’s simply because he’s a stranger and it’s so much easier to be honest when there are no consequences.

“Things just feel so…,” you begin, voice shaky. Every possible way to end the sentence crosses your mind, seemingly all wrong, before you settle on what’s closest to how you feel, “endless.”

To your relief, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t tell you to give it time that it will get better, or any of the other bullshit you’ve heard from all the other people that had been in your life and left a long time ago. You do find something else in the shift in his eyes, something you haven’t encountered before.

Understanding.

It might be worse. If anything, it’s overwhelming, making your eyes dart away from his as you sniff. 

The wind still tugs at you, the waves still hit the rocks, but your moment seems to have passed. It’s a sobering conclusion, a twisted version of wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe it was him who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, the outcome is the same.

You take a step back, and another, but it takes considerable effort; you hadn’t taken your numb legs into consideration. You stumble, falling back on the dewy, cold grass, not quick enough to catch yourself on your hands. With a groan, you move to sit upright.

“Shit. Hey, you still with me?” The stranger kneels next to you, fingers lifting your chin to look into your eyes. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.”

“No s-sh-hit,” you retort.

He sighs, offering you a hand so he can pull you up. “C’mon, let's get you warmed up.”

– – – – –

Logan.

That’s his name. 

It’s how he introduced himself, anyway, after he suggested you follow him. To his credit, he did offer to drive you, but you didn’t want to leave your car in the parking lot of the lookout. Logan waited 15 minutes for you while you put the blowers on the highest, warmest setting and waited for the feeling to return to your limbs. After, his brown truck led the way here – here being some hole in the wall, 24 hour diner. You could have not followed, but the drive was kind of mesmerizing; the night seemed darker than usual, and Logan’s tail lights served as a lighthouse.

Outside, the diner is all Christmas lights and flashing signs, but the interior is like something straight out of Twin Peaks; booths to the left, red barstools to the right, a girl that looks too pretty and too young to be here standing behind the counter. There were two other patrons you spotted along the way as Logan led you to one of the back booths. Once seated, Logan studied the pamphlets–or pretended to, more like, because as soon as the waitress came up he ordered two whiskeys and nothing else.

Between then and now, as you nursed your drink sip by careful sip, you hadn’t learned much more about him other than that he could knock back a glass of whiskey like he got paid to do so. And in truth, you like it this way; preferring silent company, the droning of the machinery behind the counter and the quiet hum of a song on the jukebox next to the entrance. The white noise helps to distract from the white noise in your head. Settling back into the leather cushions of the booth, you let some warmth seep back into your body. Opposite you, Logan does the same. 

Some moments after you finish your drink, one of the waitresses walks up to your booth to ask you about a refill, like she’s asked Logan twice now. You’re handing her the glass when Logan says, “She’s had enough.”

Your head whips from her to him. “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t say anything, and from the corner of your eye, you see the girl leave. With your glass. Logan’s is on his lips, his eyes observing you over the rim, looking at you like he– Dammit. You sigh deeply, a sense of anger filling you. You don’t need this, least of all from him. When you stand from the booth, those eyes follow you, making you voice your observations,

“Quit pitying me, Logan.”

“I’m not,” he says before taking another sip. “You still have to drive.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “And you don’t?”

Logan shrugs. “It’s different for me.”

Anger is still prevalent in your voice when you ask, “Well, let me guess, it’s another case of ‘I died like that a couple times’?” 

He hums.

“And how does that work?”

“Regenerative ability,” he sighs. Another sip before he elaborates, “X-Gene.” 

The admission makes you plop back down in your seat. Well, that explains things – he’s a mutant. You’re not familiar with that world, but you know enough to know it meant that. It isn’t like you couldn’t have deduced it before, but truthfully, you kind of thought he was bullshiting you as part of some tactic. Now, his actions and words make more sense: He really knows what it’s like to... That’s why he had that look on his face. Suddenly, you see him in a different light–

“Now who’s pitying who, hmm?” Logan asks, giving you a thin-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he sets his glass down on the table.

“I’m not, I’m just… processing. So this...” you lift his glass, swirl the contents around, “...doesn’t even affect you?”

“It does. For a few seconds.” He plucks the glass back from your hand, and throws the whiskey back with one gulp. His pupils dilate, pushing the hazel of his irises out until his eyes are almost black for a second, two… before going back to normal. “But if I chugged the bottle, I’d pass out.”

“Well, so would I,” you say with a chuckle. “So maybe we’re not that different after all.”

Just as the corner of his mouth lifts, your smile falls, because… it isn’t true; you’re very different. You’re pretty sure you don’t have what it takes to do what he did tonight. To care enough to do it. To sit with a stranger and hear them bitch and moan about being denied a drink. A feeling creeps up on you, sticky and uncomfortable, like you’ve overstayed your welcome—burdened him.

“I should head home,” you say, standing again.

Lightning fast, Logan’s hand shoots out to close around your wrist. “That really where you’re going?”

“Yes,” you reply. When you pull your hand back, he doesn’t let up. You fish your car key out of your pocket with your free hand, voice tighter when you say, “Let me go.”

“Just promise me something,” he says, eyes as dark as they’d been earlier, yet his drink has gone untouched since. “Don’t go back there again.”

“Not making promises I can’t keep,” you say, giving him a wry smile. “To strangers, but least of all to myself.”

He sighs, and lets you pull yourself from his hold.

THE CRAVING

New Years comes and goes, and you quickly discover that it was foolish superstition to think that it might change how you feel.

You find yourself in some club, a drink in each hand. You hate to admit it, but Logan’s words scared you out of your original idea and the only time you can bear to think of how to move on from it is when alcohol soothes the embarrassing grief of your shattered, macabre fantasy. It’s not a good way to deal with things, but it works.

There’s a part of you that welcomes feeling anything at all, but that… something inside you is busy trying to squash it. 

It’s getting somewhere, because you have no idea how much you’ve already had to drink, but you’re buzzing pleasantly. Adding to it, you knock both drinks back, slamming the glasses on the bar before spinning around and facing the crowd of dancing bodies. The music sucks, the dance floor is cramped, you’re tired… The truth is that you’re too old for this, but it’s easy to escape here, surrounded by strangers. You clumsily drag the back of your hand over your wet mouth, push your sweaty hair from your eyes, and join them.

The past couple weeks, you found yourself craving something. Contact. And here is where you can get your fill; a hand on your waist, lips on your ear, the music too loud and yourself too drunk to even comprehend what’s being said, but never more. You want them to get close, but never too close.

After some time – could be an hour, could be 10 minutes – you make your way to the bathroom. It’s quieter here, the dulled thump of the music making the time you spend there feel slow and syrupy. 

When you exit the stall, you bump into someone.

It’s a man. The dark hood over his head obscures his eyes, but you can’t help but think he’s looking right at you when a bright, almost unnatural grin appears on his face. It draws you in like a magnet, more so when he says, “Need something to take the edge off?” 

Curiously, you watch as he opens his palm, long fingers unfurling slowly until they reveal a small plastic bag in his hand. 

“First time’s on the house.”

You have no idea what it is exactly, but your eyes widen. This is new territory for you, and all the possibilities it opens up are suddenly invading your mind. As if on auto-pilot, you reach for the place where you keep your money, the sound of the door opening completely lost on you.

A hand closes around your bicep, pulling you aside with a quick yank of an arm.

“She isn’t interested, pal.” 

It’s another man, who effortlessly tucks you half behind him. Before you can protest beyond an indignant huff, there’s a sound, like a sword being unsheathed, and you catch a flash of red, and of knives. Frowning, you try to get a better look, but your view is obscured by the man’s shoulder. The hooded man seems undeterred, regarding the weapons with the same sickening grin, before leaving the bathroom, muttering something that you don’t understand on the way out. The sword sound returns, the man twists around, and–

“Logan?” you slur in disbelief. 

Logan doesn’t reply, instead takes hold of your arm again, making you follow him out of the bathroom. There he stops the two of you to murmur something to a woman wearing the same clothes as him, before tugging you along again. You’re stumbling after him on account of his pace and the iron grip he has on you as he leads you to the back door. He pushes it open with enough force to make the hinges creak, a gust of wind blowing in your face. It’s a contrast to go from the crowded, sweaty club to the silent, cold back-alley where tall brick walls and employee cars cage you in. You shake your arm and Logan’s grip loosens – another and he lets you go.

“How did you even find–” You cut yourself off, eyes widening, “Oh, my god, are you following me?”

Logan scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “Oh, please, do you think I have time to follow you around all day?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? You and your fucking…,” you gesture wildly into the air at him, “savior complex.”

“I work here,” he growls. When you give him a look, he adds, “It’s temporary. ‘Sides, me and my savior complex are the reason that creep isn’t selling god knows what to you in that bathroom right now!” His voice is a roar, echoing off the walls around you.

“Maybe I wanted that creep to sell god knows what to me in that bathroom,” you say, doing a poor impression of his voice, before turning and walking away from him.

Logan sighs. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving.”

“And then what, huh?”

“I don’t fucking know, Logan,” you say, twisting around to face him again, arms spread out by your side. “Figure out a new way out of this.”

“Yeah? Third time’s the charm?”

“Why do you even care, huh? You don’t even know me,” you say. Almost immediately, you let out a bitter laugh as your own words hit your ears, a sad realization dawning on you. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

It’s not like you expected him to, but he doesn’t answer.

“You know I used to like myself? I used to smile, I used to have friends, I used to be more sober than drunk. But this feeling, it takes… everything.” You raise a fist, hold it to the center of your chest. “It takes everything I love, pushes away everyone I love, including myself. It eats me up, and wants more and more, until I’m something I’m not and until I’m so far away from that version of myself, my old self, that it feels easier to just fucking–” you pause with a wet gasp for air.

“Destroy yourself,” Logan finishes for you.

Your chest heaves, an unshed tear clings to your lash line. “Exactly.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Let me take you home,” he says, voice gentle. 

You should hate the implications of that gentleness, but you don’t. In your drunk state of mind, it’s easier to admit it’s nice that someone understands, that someone’s there to stop you from going too far… 

Tomorrow, when some of your pragmatism returns, you’ll deny this embarrassing thought ever occurred; if relying on other people worked, it would have worked a long time ago, and you wouldn’t be standing here with him. If you’re lucky, you might even forget this entirely, and wake up with a hangover that you’ll enjoy a little too much because it feels like a punishment–

“What about your job?” you ask with a sniff.

Logan’s palm finds the space between your shoulder blades with a gentle push, the warmth of it seeping in through your clothes, and he leads you to his truck. “They’ll manage without me.”

– – – – –

When you wake, your world is tilted sideways, a blanket is pulled up to your chin and there's a pillow under your head. They’re not your own; the blanket is itchy and the pillow’s too small. When you try to move your legs, they stick uncomfortably to the material below them, and you realize you’re on a leather couch. You squint at the light that comes in from a window across from you–

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

The voice startles you, eyes shifting to focus on the source: A man lying on his front on the floor, chin in his hands as he kicks his feet back and forth in the air. 

“Wish I could say it’s a pleasure, but it hasn’t been very pleasurable. You’ve been barfing up the place since the moment you stepped inside. Kept poor Al up all night. Her ears are sensitive,” he adds with a whisper. “But don’t worry, she left about an hour ago.”

“Who are you?” you slur, blinking against the light.

“Logan.” He sighs when you frown. “I know, not how you remember. This is what I look like during the day; blessed with incredible good looks at night and, well,” he gestures at his face that’s covered in scars, "this, during the day. Bit of a reverse Princess Fiona situation–”

“Cut it out, Wade,” comes the sharp protest from next to you. With considerable effort, you turn your head and see the actual Logan, slumped back in a recliner next to the couch, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes while motioning for the other man to go.

“I’ll let you two talk.” Wade winks.

Logan stands when Wade does, walking from your field of view. Your head is scrambling to catch up, trying to piece together what happened last night, but only coming up with bits and pieces.

“How are you feeling?” Logan asks as he makes his way back to you, handing you a glass of water.

You flinch when the front door closes behind Wade with a bang, before taking the glass from Logan and taking a few thankful sips. “Like shit.”

“Yeah,” is all he says as he sits back down.

“What–”

“You fell asleep in the car. Didn’t know where to take you, figured the couch was the safest place.”

“Oh…,” you say, voice small. 

You try not to think about being so wasted that you had to be carried out of Logan’s car, or about what Wade said earlier about the things that happened as soon as you stepped inside the apartment. During your silence, Logan’s fingers fiddle with the armrest, before his hand balls into a fist, and it unlocks something in your hazy memory.

“I have the weirdest memory of you having… a sword?”

You watch as Logan’s lips purse in amusement. His tongue rolls around in his mouth, seemingly contemplating something, before saying, “You probably saw these.” He holds up his fist, flexing his forearm before three blades shoot from between his knuckles like claws, accompanied by a shing!

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you startle, spilling some water on your blanket. Your head spins with your hangover and the bizarity of the situation. If it didn’t sound so much like how it did in your memory, you might think you were still drunk. 

There’s so many things you want to ask, your intrigue almost winning out over your hangover until the sharp start of a headache gives you pause. Instead, you take another sip of water before rubbing your temple.

“It’s a story for another time,” Logan says, like he can read your mind, and you want to ask him that, too. His claws retreat, the cuts they leave between his knuckles immediately smoothing over until they’re gone. “I gotta go check if I still have a job.”

The words make you feel warm all over, the memory of your back-alley conversation coming back in full force. The thought of the things you admitted to him and that you put him in the position that he had to risk his job for you make you feel even warmer, your gaze no doubt laced with embarrassment and worry when you look at him.

“‘S not your fault,” Logan assures, standing and fishing his car key from the pocket of his jeans. “You don’t have to rush but um, make sure you close the door behind you on the way out. Gets jammed sometimes.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, watching as he makes his way to the front door. 

He takes a final glance at you over his shoulder, then leaves, accompanied by a bang.

THE PUZZLE

It takes you a little over a week to muster up the courage to go back. Admittedly, your courage is aided by another, foreign feeling. You don’t have a name for it yet, or maybe you’re afraid to call it what it is, but somewhere along the week, you became consumed with the thought that feeling like you did wasn’t all there was. That there is something beyond this. 

Perhaps foreign wasn’t the right way to describe it, because it is something you’ve felt before – it’s just been long dormant. The last time, it lasted about a month before it all came crashing down, and you swore you wouldn’t fall for it again, but you can’t help it. The feeling’s too sweet, and the idea that there’s still some baser instinct willing you to keep fighting for yourself makes you feel like the sun is shining on you. 

So yeah, maybe you’re just having one of your good weeks, where the thing sleeps – quiet while its presence still simmers. But you figured now’s your chance to take advantage of its unguarded moment.

Sneaking into the building is surprisingly easy. It helps that it isn’t anything fancy. You wanted to forego the humiliation of ringing the bell and him not letting you in, but standing in front of the door now, panting after climbing three flights of stairs, you don’t know if this is much better. 

Just when you’re about to knock, the door swings open. In the opening, Logan has one arm in his jacket, head twisted to watch the other that’s caught halfway in the sleeve. It takes him almost bumping into you to realize your presence. “Shit, sorry.” He steadies himself with a hand on your arm, the touch leaving you as fast as it appeared.

“Hi,” you breathe, taking a step back to give him a little more space.

He nods in greeting. “Brings you here?”

It takes you a moment, caught off guard by him skipping over pleasantries and cutting right to the chase, despite your best intentions; it’s not that he’s ever been any different in his interactions with you.

“I came by because I, um, owe you an apology, for my behavior at your workplace and for, you know…,” you trail off, gesturing at the door.

“Barfing up the place!” comes a shout from inside the apartment. 

Logan’s eyes close with a sigh, before he steps into the hallway with you and closes the door with a bang. 

“That,” you finish sheepishly. “I’m really sorry.”

He nods in acknowledgement.

“I also wanted to ask, um, if you want to come with me to get a coffee. To make it up to you.”

Logan just looks at you, the leather of his jacket creaking as he crosses his thick arms in front of his chest. He raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. You hate how he somehow can see right through you, how he makes you elaborate, and honest.

“I want to quit drinking,” you say, fiddling with the sleeve of your coat. “It doesn’t make me better, and when I don’t do it I finally feel a little… normal. Maybe coffee’s technically just as bad, but it’s the only thing that’s currently acting like… like a reverse gateway drink? And I feel like you’re the only person I know that might get that feeling of–”

“I do,” Logan cuts in, voice softer than before – assuring. His arms drop from where they’re crossed and he starts making his way to the stairs. “Let’s go.”

– – – – –

You don’t know this coffee place, and from the way he looks around and shifts around in a chair that might be a bit too small for him, neither does Logan. Main reason you picked it is because the booths remind you a little too much of a bar – and you like the tall windows. The coffee’s pretty decent.

“Did they fire you?” you ask, picking at a loose corner of one of the laminated menus before setting it back in its holder.

“Boss commended me for helping a customer, but not so much for leaving before my shift ended,” Logan replies. “Got off with a warning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Said that already, and I accepted,” he says. When he takes a sip of the coffee, he winces. “No need to worry about it anymore, okay? I would do it again.”

You nod, folding your hands around the warm cup in front of you.

“But, um, Wade hasn’t shut up about… the incident.” There’s a different tone to his voice, like he’s trying to lighten the mood. “His words.”

“You know, I kind of get the feeling that Wade doesn’t shut up about a lot of things.” It comes out a little meaner than you intend, but it makes Logan laugh and finally slump back in his chair a little. 

“You’re a quick study.”

Offering him a short smile in return, you continue with the other real reason you came to see him, before you chicken out. “I also stopped by because I wanted to, uh… because I realized I never really… I never… I never thanked you, for um… And–”

With a shake of his head, Logan sits upright. “Y’don’t–”

To your horror, your eyes brim with tears, “Logan, I’m supposed to be dead–”

“So am I,” he counters. He lets the words hang between the two of you for a moment, until you look at him, before he continues, “I’ve been where you are. Past it, even.”

You don’t know what to say to that, if the lump in your throat will even permit you to speak, but it’s impossible to look away from him. Logan’s gaze is piercing, frown ever present, but it’s not from anger. Instead, it’s like he’s searching for something, the right thing, to say. The silence doesn’t bother you; if anything, it makes his words seem more genuine when he does speak,

“I had someone who was annoying enough to not give up on me when I could really use it. If getting a coffee with you that’s, frankly…,” he makes a face as he pauses, “a horrible excuse for a coffee, helps… I can do that. I want to do that.”

The corner of your mouth lifts as you blink away your tears. “Was it Wade?”

Logan lets out a chuckle, and it’s honest – fond. “Yeah.”

“Figured,” you say. “How did you meet him?”

Across from you, Logan stills. You swallow thickly, adjusting yourself in your chair. It’s an innocent question, but maybe it isn’t something he’d like to revisit right now. Logan’s mug squeaks when he grips it tighter, and he looks at you with something like defeat– 

It makes you deflate. This must be what you looked like the night you met…

There’s no way to have prepared for what he tells you next: That he came from another timeline about three months ago, that he and Wade saved this one from being destroyed and almost got killed in the process, that he has nothing to go back to after the death of his team, so he stayed here. 

There’s hesitation in it, like he isn’t telling you the whole story, though you don’t comment on it. He doesn’t owe you anything and you’re too busy putting all the pieces in the Logan-shaped puzzle in your mind together; his words and actions towards you are starting to make more and more sense.

“It’s a very brave thing the two of you did,” you say when he’s finished.

“Hmm, it was all Wade,” Logan muses. “He did it all for the people he cares about.”

“I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in his place.”

At that, he lets out a dry laugh with absolutely no joy behind it. “Do me a favor, don’t put me on a pedestal.”

You frown, but before you can comment, he stands. A knot forms in your stomach, worried you’ve offended him, but he clears up the uncertainty immediately.

“I gotta go but um, Wade’s friends–,” he stops himself, correcting, “our friends are coming over to watch a movie, next week, 7:30. I have no idea what crap they’re going to be watching but… it’s nice. It’ll be nice to be around good people.” Logan doesn’t wait for your answer, simply takes his wallet from his pocket and leaves enough money to cover the bill.

“Wait, no, I invited you,” you protest. “I should–”

“You can pay next time.” 

When you nod, he says his goodbyes with a jerk of his head and makes his way to the door.

– – – – –

You see Logan two more times for coffee that week. He never lets you pay.

THE PANTRY

“–but it’s the best one!” Wade protests, DVD in hand.

“They fly a car into space, Wade,” Laura sighs.

“Launched off a jet,” he corrects. Like it helps.

You cover your mouth with the back of your hand, hiding the smile that appears at everyone’s babbling. Unbeknownst to you, you had found yourself invited to a double feature night, with Wade as the self proclaimed DVDJ. The credits had barely started rolling on A Good Day To Die Hard, or Wade had another DVD at the ready. It was met with the same amount of enthusiasm as when he presented the first.

It hadn’t been easy to make yourself go to this tonight. On your way, you’d thought of turning around at almost every step. Of course, that was all before you knew it would be this fun, and that you’d be relieved you hadn’t canceled last minute. Even meeting everyone hadn’t been as bad as you feared. 

There’s Peter, Wade’s friend. Ellie, another one of Wade’s friends. Yukio, Ellie’s girlfriend. Laura, Logan’s daughter. Mary Puppins, Wade’s small, disgusting but adorable dog, who had greeted you with equal amounts saliva and enthusiasm, before falling asleep next to the TV, completely unbothered by the commotion. Unlike Althea, Logan and Wade’s blind roommate, who had taken one listen to the gaggle of voices and left. The elusive Vanessa, Wade’s ex-but-we-might-get-back-together you heard about a couple times, wasn’t there.

Logan had been right, it was nice to be surrounded by good people. Especially good people who were… unconventional. It made joining them less complicated, less performative, and as the evening progressed it made you a participant instead of a silent observer. Wade even called you, “good for the group dynamic,” and it made you beam with pride.

“Don’t they have like, rockets attached to the car?” Ellie questions, to which Yukio’s eyebrows knit together.

“Exactly!” Wade exclaims, mistaking her confusion for enthusiasm. “Citizen Kane wishes.”

There’s more grumbling from everyone when Wade pops the DVD into the player, and he grumbles something back about how Logan would back him up if he wasn’t in the bathroom because he, quote unquote, goes way back with some of these dudes.

You’re pretty sure he’s the only one who knows what he’s even talking about.

An empty bowl of popcorn rests in your lap, and as you put it on the table, you notice how sticky and greasy your fingers and palms are. When the opening credits begin to roll, you get up to wash your hands, assuring Wade he doesn’t need to pause the movie before you go.

The apartment’s small, so it isn’t far to the kitchen, but it’s nice to stretch your legs. You can still hear the sounds from movie night; tell-tale action movie music, comments of disbelief and Wade shutting them down. They’re more faint, though, more so when you turn the tap on and wash your hands.

Right as you’re finished, you hear a dull thud. You turn the water off, head tilted and at attention while you dry your hands. There’s another sound, like a muffled groan. It’s coming from the pantry, you realize, noting that the door is slightly ajar. There’s a shing! sound followed by a distressed grunt, and before you know it you’re walking over, wrapping your fingers around the door to pull it open–

You’re not sure what it was you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Logan’s sitting on the floor, uncharacteristically small, curled up against one of the walls. His chest is heaving, shoulders all but going up to his ears with how he’s trying to draw in breaths. Next to him, his fist is balled against the hardwood, claws buried in the floor.

Fuck.

Dropping to your knees, you wedge yourself between his. “It’s okay, you’re having a panic attack,” you explain, your hands landing on his shoulders with a light shake. “You need to breathe. I’ll help you, just look at me.”

Logan’s head stays tipped down, a deep, rattling breath sailing from his mouth as he curls further in on himself.

“Hey!” you say sharply, cupping his jaw with two hands and tilting his face up, “Look at me.” 

Logan’s eyes are wet when they meet yours, moving frantically as they search your face, tears spilling over when he blinks. Something changes in his gaze, like he finally sees it’s you, and his bottom lip begins to tremble. His hand lifts from where it’s buried in the floor, clutching onto your wrist like a lifeline.

“Breathe,” you instruct, trying not to flinch at the sharp claws in front of you. He doesn’t catch on immediately, so you overdo the purse of your lips when you blow out a breath before exaggerating an inhale through your nose, showing him what to do. It starts off shaky, a fresh set of tears falling from Logan’s eyes as he does as you instruct, but after a couple of times you find a rhythm together. The silver between his knuckles slowly disappears. “There you go, good job. Keep going.”

You sit like that, until the wild shift of his eyes stops, his pulse steadies beneath your fingertips, and eventually his eyes close with a deep exhale. His grip on you loosens and you take it as your cue to let go of him, slumping back against the wall opposite him with a sigh of relief. The both of you catch your breath, sitting together in silence until Logan breaks it.

“Came outta nowhere… suddenly I was back there… letting them down.”

“It caught you off guard, it happens–”

“I let them get killed,” he says, voice raw. “They were like– They were my family, they trusted me to be there for them and I… I was too caught up in my own bullshit. I should have been with them, I should be dead with them.”

Logan’s tears still come, but the words almost sound reverent; as if saying them out loud just to punish himself with his own shortcomings is a balm. He’s talking about his team from there, you realize, and something clicks. All this time, you thought this was about him being unable to die due to his mutation, but it’s more than that. It’s shame, remorse, grief, survivor’s guilt, all wrapped into one.

It’s the final piece of your mind puzzle that makes his picture appear.

“How– How can I ever atone for that?” he asks. “How can I ever–”

“Logan, you can't change your past,” you interrupt carefully. “You made your choices and they made theirs, and you honored them by– by…stepping up to the task, by doing what you did with Wade.”

“What if it wasn’t enough?”

“What if it was?” you counter. Your hand finds his knee with a squeeze, before adding, “You did what they would have done. And now you… you need to allow yourself to honor their memory without feeling like you have to destroy yourself to do it. You deserve that.”

Logan blinks at you, eyes still glossy. He looks devastated yet calmer than before, like the emotion is still there, but displaced. For a good while, you sit with him like that while his sniffles lessen and his breathing returns to normal… until there’s a loud explosion coming from the living room. It’s followed by cheers and hollers, and you’re both suddenly reminded of where you are. 

“C’mon,” you say, patting Logan’s knee before using it as leverage to haul yourself up with a groan. You give him room by holding the door open for him. “Better get back before we miss the good stuff.”

Still on the floor, Logan exhales heavily. “Think this was the good stuff.”

– – – – –

Three weeks later, on your way to your third movie night, you catch Wade and Vanessa making out in the building hallway. 

It stops you dead in your tracks and makes for an awkward meeting with Wade’s mystery woman, who is beautiful but very direct when she asks you what the fuck you’re staring at. Wade certainly has a type when it comes to the company he keeps… He quickly shushes the situation, introducing the two of you, and it immediately makes Vanessa’s expression twist into recognition. 

“Nice to meet you,” she says, followed by an apologetic smile. 

You respond in kind. 

When Wade tugs at her jacket impatiently, they brush past you and make their way to the exit. “See you around!” she throws over her shoulder.

A grin forms on your lips, realizing what you just witnessed, and you race up the stairs. With Wade gone, you’re not sure if there will be a movie, but at least you have gossip to share with your friends.

THE MEETING

April flies by, rolls into May, and thing’s are… okay.

With some help, you find a therapist. It’s good, she’s good, but it’s difficult to be confronted with things that are painful, week after week, and to keep reminding yourself it’s all part of the process you’re going through.

Last week, after a particularly difficult session, you’d left her office being auto-piloted by dark feelings, like they knew exactly when to strike. You had turned corners and crossed streets, wandering as you stewed on everything you’d discussed –  like your mind was playing a constant loop of your most painful moments. It was a small miracle you had heard your phone, and that you had the presence of mind to thumb the green button.

You’d answered without saying a word.

“Got any plans?” Logan had asked on the other side of the line.

“No,” you’d replied, coming back to yourself a little bit at the sound of his voice.

“Al’s making her meatballs – she and Wade can’t agree on if they’re famous or infamous. Thought you might like to come. If it tastes like shit, we’ll order in.”

You’d hummed, managing to ask, “What time?”

It had stayed quiet on the other end, and that’s how you’d known he was onto you, could picture the pinch of his brows, his lips forming a thin line. For the first time, you welcomed it—wanted so badly to reach through the phone, shake his shoulders, ask for his help and accept it, like he had done with you weeks ago. 

“Sounds to me like now might be good.”

“Yeah,” you had agreed, the constricting tightness in your chest easing up. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon.” You’d released a shuddering breath, ear still pressed to the phone as you took in your surroundings before you auto-piloted yourself to a different destination. 

“Logan?”

“Still here.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“‘course. Get here soon, I’ll stay on the phone.”

The afternoon had ended with Logan and yourself allowing Althea to boss you around in the small apartment’s kitchen, rolling meatballs, sharing stories — Althea’s recollection of something that happened to her in her 20s that involved her stealing a police horse while wearing nothing but a thong, made you cry from laughing.

The meatballs were the best you ever had, though you couldn’t be sure if they actually were, or if it was just the taste of the moment that was better than anything had been that day. 

Sometime after dinner, Logan had nudged your shoulder to show you a little plastic chip. He flashed it at you long enough that you could read the words one month, before he pocketed it again. Then he suggested you come with him next week. 

“I thought it was bullshit too, but it helps,” he’d explained. “Figured I couldn’t continue to drink whatever that stuff is you call coffee to… avoid my problems.”

You contemplated his suggestion. Things were going well for you in that regard, but your therapist had also recommended you go to one of these things, even if it was just for the community aspect of it. It just made it so… official. Your problems, but most of all, your recovery. You weren’t good at keeping promises to yourself, and this felt like a big commitment. Not to mention the speeches and other people’s problems...

But as Logan told you more about it, the location, how it had been for him, you sensed something else between the lines: He wasn’t just asking for you, he was also asking for himself. Maybe… this was his way of telling you he needed some support. 

That’s how you find yourself inside a high school gymnasium a week later. It’s as gloomy as you expected. Slick floors, gray fold-out chairs set in neat rows, buzzing lights in a high ceiling, and a slightly raised podium with a whiteboard that reads a welcome message in capital letters. 

Unsure of what to do, you follow Logan as he weaves through the crowd to find a seat. As you do, it strikes you that there’s a pretty even distribution of people, with many genders, ages and lifestyles represented. Eventually you take a seat; not quite in the back, but definitely not in the front. 

The whole thing goes by in a blur, but where you expected to be overwhelmed, you feel… connected. Here you are, surrounded by people with different backgrounds, different lives, but all their stories have something you can relate to. Where you thought addiction was the common denominator, it’s actually the desire to turn your lives around that unites you the most.

“Before we end the night I want to circle back to last week, when we spoke about goals, or things we want to work towards,” says the woman leading the meeting – you’re ashamed to admit you already forgot her name. “Does anyone want to share something about that?”

It takes a lot to hide your surprise when Logan raises his hand. 

“Logan! Come on up!” She sounds as surprised as you feel, beckoning him to her.

The plastic chair he sits on creaks when he stands and his boots squeak against the shiny floor as he does as she asks. He looks so out of place on a podium; both larger than life behind the lectern and lost to the space of the stage. He clears his throat as he retrieves a paper from his pocket and unfolds it while his eyes scan the room until they land on yours. You give him a little nod of encouragement, and it kicks him into gear.

“Not good at this stuff, so I’m going to keep it brief,” he starts. 

It earns him a chuckle or two from the other attendees, and you can tell he doesn’t expect it when he looks up from his paper. Your hands clasp together with nerves as you watch him divide his weight from one leg to another, before focussing his gaze back down.

“My life has changed a lot over the past few months. For the first time in a long time, it’s not all bad. Coming here has been good. I’m starting to feel more like I did before–” 

He stops his monotonous droning with a frustrated sigh, stuffing the piece of paper in his pocket and sounding considerably more lively after. 

“I have people I care about again, and um, it scares me. ‘Cause I don’t want to let them down, and every day I feel like I will because of all of my… past shit.” He pauses and swallows hard before he continues, “They show me so much kindness and understanding, that… that even though it’s fucking hard, I want to be able to see myself the way they see me. And allow them to care about me without feeling like I… have to earn it all the time, without destroying myself to do it.” 

You exhale for what feels like the first time in an eternity.

“So, that’s what I’m currently working on.” Logan sighs. “That’s it. Thank you.”

A small applause follows, and you quickly unclasp your hands to join in.

Your palms hurt after.

– – – – –

“It was really nice, what you said in there,” you say, fingers caressing a little plastic chip of your own that you keep safe in your coat pocket. You haven’t felt proud of yourself in a while, but tonight you do.

The evening is nice, the setting sun bathing the city in hues of orange and pink. Your pace is slow and comfortable, your arm occasionally brushing Logan’s when you make room for all the other pedestrians. You didn’t plan on him walking you home, but he insisted and you enjoy the company – it makes you a little sad when you turn onto your street.

Logan scoffs in reply. 

“I’m being serious,” you say, knocking your elbow against his arm on purpose now. “It was nice for people to hear a guy like you say those things. I’m proud of you.”

You swear he blushes. “A guy like me, huh?” he asks, almost amused.

It’s your turn to scoff. “You know what I mean.” 

“A mutant?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“No,” you say, because it’s not what you meant, but the hint of seriousness in his voice and the fact he’s not entirely wrong make you track back. “Well, maybe that, too, but I meant someone who looks like you, allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Sets a nice example.”

Logan doesn’t shoot your comments down like you expect. Instead, he seems to consider your words, maybe he even silently accepts the compliment. “Think you have some things to say that could set a nice example, too.”

“Maybe next time.”

During the comfortable silence that follows, you’re reminded of something you’ve been considering for weeks now. You hadn’t paid much attention to it since that night, but as you worked through the feelings that got you to that point, the question kept coming back.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you begin. “The night we met... What were you doing at the lookout?”

Logan glances at you, contemplating the question. “When I had just, um, gotten here, it wasn’t always easy to adjust, you know? So I went to all these places that I knew from back there, to ground myself, to see that things may be different, but that they’re not that different.”

“You went there on your side?”

He hums.

“By yourself?”

He hums again.

“Did you…” You hesitate to finish your sentence, both because you’re not sure if you have any right to ask and because you’ve reached your building. You stop walking, and Logan follows your lead. 

“No, no, no, I… I can’t explain it, it’s just one of those places I was always drawn to,” Logan says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans with a shrug. His brows furrow suddenly, his mind seemingly lost in something before his eyes flick back to yours. “Think it took me coming over here to find reason in it.”

It’s a thought that’s equal parts sad and lovely. 

The silence that follows hangs between you, thick with something you can’t place, but Logan doesn’t look away from you, eyes scanning your face before they land back on yours. You can’t help thinking that maybe this is how he does it, and the question comes out before you can help it,

“Is mind reading part of the X-Gene thing?”

His eyes widen – amusement or surprise, you can’t say. “It can be.” 

“Can you do it?”

“No,” he says. “And it’s for the best, fucking hurts when you can’t control it.” Then the start of a smile begins to form on his lips. “‘sides, I don’t know if I would have a lot of… consideration for people’s boundaries.”

It makes you chuckle. “Right. Not to mention some minds are probably a lot – imagine reading Wade’s mind.”

“Hurts to even imagine,” Logan says, gesturing for you to be quiet as he winces, but a smile breaks through anyway. When your shared laughter dies down, he jerks his chin at the building behind you, “This your place?”

“Wha–?” Going home long forgotten in the moment, you glance over your shoulder. “Oh! Yes.”

“All right,” he nods. “See you next week?”

“Definitely,” you reply.

“Oh,” Logan says right before you turn around. “Bring coffee? You owe me.”

You make a face at him. “You don’t have to– I’ll get you something else, I know you don’t like it.”

“I like it when I drink it with you.”

It’s incredibly hard to hide your grin. “Okay, I’ll bring coffee. See you next week, Logan.”

“See you.” 

He lingers, watching you climb the steps, waiting until the door opens after you turn your key in the lock. It’s not until you close the door, when you can only make out his silhouette through the patterned glass window in it, that he walks off.

THE SUMMER

Walking back from a very successful job interview, you find yourself on your way to your friends with a big, plastic bottle of coke under your arm. It’s a warm feeling to know that you’ll soon have a job that suits you and that you have people to celebrate with; you look forward to seeing them and sharing this with them.

You’re invited inside with open arms, tight hugs, exclaimed praise and congratulations, and it makes you giddy, a feeling so foreign that you wish you could bottle it up right this instant. With a grin, you shake the Coca Cola bottle, before twisting the cap off. You let out an excited shout as you watch the foam shoot out from the top, bubbles and dark liquid pulsing down the neck of the bottle as cheers surround you.

It’s not champagne, but Althea grumbles about the soda ruining her floors, Wade gets mismatched glasses from the cupboard, and Logan clinks his glass to yours and tells you he’s proud of you.

It’s way better than champagne.

– – – – –

You’re in serious, desperate need of a new place… 

The August heat is relentless, and the entire building’s AC isn’t working. It’s with considerable effort that you manage to make your way to your friends’ place, the promise of a constant, cold stream of wind the only thing that keeps you going. But when the front door opens, it isn’t with the welcoming, cool waft of air you were hoping for. Instead, there’s no temperature change, only Wade in his underwear.

“No.” It’s a little embarrassing how you literally pout, but these are desperate times. “Here, too?”

“If it wasn’t this fucking hot I’d be offended by that greeting.” He sighs. “Come in.”

Slightly defeated, you shuffle past the threshold, while Wade lingers. Mary Puppins trots by, an ice-pack wrapped in a towel secured on her back, and you catch a glimpse of Logan exiting the bedroom. He’s in black shorts and a ribbed, sleeveless shirt, and with a desperate groan, he lets himself fall back into the recliner in the living room. 

“Tried everything, there’s no fixing that fucking thing.”

Wade makes a face, “Listen, I know what you’re thinking: Wade’s in his underwear, Logan’s emerging from the bedroom… But we didn’t fuck, it’s not that kind of st–”

“Who are you talking to?” you ask from behind him, glancing over his shoulder into the empty hallway.

“No one–You!” The door closes with a bang.

Confused, you walk further into the apartment. “Well, telling me you didn’t is just going to make me think that you did.” Wade darts past you and takes a seat on the couch, but you hang back and lean against the kitchen table to avoid sitting on leather.

Wade suddenly turns to face you. “Did I ever tell you about our time in The Void?”

“Wade,” Logan warns.

Wade’s eyes are sparkling with mischief and you can’t deny how fun it is to indulge the way he pushes Logan’s buttons. It’s a good distraction from how you’re drenched in sweat. And you’re actually curious.

You play your part, letting out a faux-scandalised gasp. “Did you..?”

“Oh, yeah, baby. Wolverine goes both ways. All the ways, really.” He grins. “We’re so alike.”

“Shut up. Both of you.” Logan groans, lacking any real threat as he adjusts in his seat and wipes some sweat off his brow. “It’s too fucking hot to be annoyed.”

It isn’t lost on you he doesn’t deny a thing.

– – – – –

Apartments look weird with nothing in them.

It’s what crossed your mind after you finished packing up your place three days ago, and it crosses your mind now as you look into the open space of your new one from the doorway. It’s a pleasant, late summer day; perfect weather to move, which was on your schedule for today.

“Incoming!” comes from behind you, followed by quick, heavy steps.

You jump aside as Ellie sails through the door, carefully setting a big box marked “Kitchen” down in its designated area, followed by Logan who is balancing three boxes at once. After a beat, Yukio follows, holding a single table lamp in her hand. It takes some effort not to laugh, not just because of how funny it looks, but also because you relate; after all the exhausting late nights you pulled packing up, that’s also the kind of energy you’re bringing to this.

It’s nice of them to help, and instead of shoving that feeling away in fear, you allow yourself to bask in it. You don’t get long, however, because more help has just arrived.

Wade. With Vanessa. Hands interlocked.

It draws everyone’s eyes to the doorway. Wade looks almost bashful, and it baffles you how someone who can say the most insane things unprompted, all without batting an eye, could blush while holding hands with a girl he likes. To his credit, he shakes it off quickly.

“All right, all right,” he says. “Stop ogling me and my girlfriend and get back to work everyone!”

– – – – –

“So it was like an experiment?” you ask, stirring the pot on your stove before taking a careful bite of food off your wooden spoon.

Tonight’s your first night hosting at your new place – Family Dinner, Wade had dubbed it. With fall setting in, you had an idea of what to make, but it still made you nervous to have everyone in your space. Logan saw right through you, offering to come over early to help you prepare. 

Once he had arrived, it hadn’t taken long for him to admit he wasn’t much of a cook, so he mainly chopped vegetables as you chatted; you about your new place, Logan about his new job as a boxing instructor, Laura going off to college. You don’t remember exactly how the subject of his adamantium came up, but he was telling you freely about it.

“They needed someone who could regenerate fast enough to bond with it,” he explains. “I was in a dark place. Figured I didn’t have anything to lose if it didn’t work.”

You nod in understanding. “Do you… remember much about it?” You put your spoon down, then put the lid back on the pan. 

Logan’s knife stops hitting the cutting board. “Yeah, I… I remember every second of it.”

You look at him then. His eyes are still cast down at his task. Unsure of what to say, you think about what you’d want to hear, and you find it might be best to say nothing at all. Instead, your hand finds his shoulder. Logan’s head turns to you, and you feel like the look you share is more important than anything you could’ve told him. His hand covers yours with an appreciative squeeze. 

“But I’m trying to leave that there so I can focus on remembering what happens to me here.” As soon as he’s said it, his hand quickly slips off yours, adding, in a rush, “Here in this timeline, I mean.” 

You smile at him, but a strange feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. “That sounds like a great idea.”

– – – – –

“I need your help with something,” you say, balancing your phone between your ear and your shoulder while you turn a birthday card over in your hand. Deciding you don’t like it, you throw it back on the pile of cards and continue your grocery shopping.

“Just say the word,” comes Logan’s reply from the other end.

“I need you to steal something out of the apartment for me.” There’s a silence, and you purposely let the feeling of trepidation linger.

“Am gonna need you to say a little more than just that.”

You laugh, “Wade’s been talking about getting a little frame for his polaroid. You know, the polaroid that you held on to for him in The Void, after the two of you fu–”

“Yes, I know the one,” he interjects with a huff. He pauses, sighs, then says, “Consider it done.”

THE PARTY

“There you are!” Wade shouts after he opens the door. He pulls you into a hug that you return with a wide smile. Over his shoulder, you see that the apartment’s crowded, bustling with people who are there for his birthday party.

“I got you something,” you say, offering the small package to him after you step inside and hang up your coat.

“Wouldn’t have let you in if you hadn’t,” he admits as he closes the door behind you with a bang. Wade takes the package from your hand, shaking it next to his ear but hearing it make no sound in response. “Is it a cock ring?”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “Unfortunately, they were all sold out.”

“They always are,” he says, making a disappointed face. Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you watch as he tears at the wrapping paper to reveal his gift. He makes another face when he sees it. “Well, now I feel like an asshole. This is really nice.”

“Logan helped me kidnap it,” you explain, pointing at the picture. “And the little red hearts on the frame, well, they’re your color, but they also reminded me of how much you care about people.”

When he looks at you after, it’s with genuine emotion… but Wade is Wade. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m kind of happy you walked in here barfing up the place.”

A strange mix of embarrassment and gratitude claws its way up your neck. “Thank you.”

“We should take a new one,” he decides suddenly, pointing at the picture. “You both should be in it.” His head turns, watching as Logan approaches the two of you. “But let’s be realistic, his shoulders are so broad he wouldn’t even fit in the frame, much less his bul–”

“Stop talking about my dick, Wade,” Logan snaps.

“I was saying only good things! Jeez, so sensitive…” Wade turns, putting the picture on the kitchen table behind him where it joins all the other gifts.

“Did he like it?” Logan asks, voice low.

“Yeah,” you smile.

“Good,” he replies. “Was a nice idea.”

You eye all the other gifts, some clearer who they are from than others. “What did you get him?”

The corner of Logan’s mouth lifts as he points at a roll of silver duct tape with a small red bow on top, making you fix them both with a confused look.

“It’s an inside joke,” Logan shrugs.

Wade’s eyes sparkle, but in a rare turn of events, he doesn’t elaborate, only adds, “It’s classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.” 

“And I have top level clearance, lieutenant,” you reply. You exhale through your nose in an amused laugh when Wade makes a surprised face that indicates you’ve gotten the reference. “What, you thought a Tom Cruise impression could save you?”

“No,” he grins, and as if on cue, the doorbell rings, “but that can. Birthday Boy duty calls, but I want it on record that I could do Top Gun, easily, while Tom would never be able to pull off Deadpool.”

– – – – –

The party settles into something comfortable, soft music in the background of lively chatter. Yukio has just finished telling you about a Professor Layton cosplay she’s doing when you excuse yourself, both your glass and your social battery empty enough to look for a momentary out. Finding your way through the crowd, you make it to the kitchen, filling your glass with water and taking a few sips. 

While you do, the music suddenly gets louder, taking over for the steady chatter. You turn around, leaning back against the kitchen counter, and watch as Wade drags Vanessa to the middle of the apartment. People make room for them, exchanging looks while Wade wraps his arm around her waist, takes her hand in his and begins dancing with her. With a laugh, she slaps him on the chest, before settling into his embrace anyway. Some follow their lead, but your eyes stay glued to them. Wade spins Vanessa under his arm, the smile on her face bright enough to light up the entire room. In return, he looks at her with so much adoration he’s almost glowing himself. It fills you with warmth to see the both of them so happy.

It hits you how you haven’t thought about this in a while. You’d decided long ago that the future wasn’t something you had to worry about, but suddenly you’ve arrived, like you’re in some alternate reality where your future is now, and that it would be nice to share it with someone. The sting behind your eyes catches you a little off guard; mixed feelings of time that has been taken from you, but also of time you’re getting back with the life you now have.

For a while now, you’ve suspected the thing inside you is gone, that there isn’t much to feed off of anymore. If it is, it would make sense that there’s room for something else.

Wade and Vanessa make it look easy, even though you know it’s been far from easy for them. You suppose that’s what it’s like, especially as you get older. It’s less about big gestures, more about small ones; someone to make you laugh, to spin you under their arm, who knows how to apologize, seeks you out during your quiet moments–

“Do you dance?”

You startle, head turning towards the voice next to you– 

“Logan,” you breathe. 

It’s like you’re seeing him for the very first time. He’s standing so close, almost touching you but not quite, heat radiating off of him nonetheless. The plaid shirt he’s wearing isn’t even buttoned and still the fabric is pulled taunt over his shoulders and the thick of his biceps. He’s grinning, his nose pulled up in an adorable scrunch, the corner of his eyes crinkling - you never noticed before, but there’s a hint of green between the hazel.

It hits you so suddenly that you have to grab the counter to keep your balance. Everything that’s been happening, that you’ve been feeling, all the times something happened between the two of you that you couldn’t put your finger on… it falls into place with a well-timed, completely unrelated question and a glance at him.

You like him.

All you can do is blink at him, dazed, unable to speak, even more so when he leans in a little closer, mistaking your silence for misunderstanding. “I mean, not that I– You and Wade were doing a bit earlier, it’s a reference to–” Logan straightens suddenly, his expression slipping into concern as he watches you, “Are you okay?”

You feel warm, so aware of all his attention on you that you’re afraid he might be able to see your pulse blink rapidly below the angle of your jaw. “Yeah,” you reply, voice hoarse, looking away from him to blink the leftover wetness from earlier out of your eyes. 

Anxiety claws its way into your chest, your mind coming to terms with what it’s puzzled together at such a sickening pace that there’s an immediate knot in your stomach. The party has instantly lost its shine, and you look down at the glass in your hand, gulping down its contents. You need to be alone with your thoughts, you need to think about this before–

“I gotta go,” you say in such a rush that it almost sounds like one word while you set your glass on the kitchen counter.

Logan’s eyes follow you as you push past him, grab your coat and reach for the doorknob. “Wait–”

“Bye, Logan.”

THE TABLE

Once at home, you change into something more comfortable, your mind racing while you peel your party clothes off, toss your bra aside, change into an oversized shirt and plop down on the couch after.

Despite having already established that your mind was occupied with other things for a very long time, it’s laughable in hindsight that you never noticed your feelings before. It’s not like you don’t know what Logan’s like; he’s kind, funny, supportive…

…broad, handsome.

Shit.

Why did you have to come to your senses? Things were better before that moment. Logan’s your friend, whom you met in the most unconventional way possible. It’s ridiculous to want more than what you have when what you have is good. Or to think that he would want more.

But he might.

Because you may have been occupied with depression, anxiety, recovery, and everything in between, but you were there; you remember the time you spent with him, the way he looks at you, drinks the coffee you like, laughs at your jokes, seems to know exactly when to call you, seeks you out in a crowd.

But it would change everyth– 

Actually, not a whole lot would change, if you really think about it. You already see him all the time, you’ve seen the very worst of each other, overcome a great deal of hardship together, you make each other better, his friends are your… 

friends. 

You didn’t say goodbye to Wade.

The thought comes suddenly. It was his birthday party and you didn’t even say goodbye to him before you left. You’re a terrible friend. Dread sinks into your limbs, and you reach for your phone to type out a quick, apologetic message. Just as you hit send, there’s a series of loud knocks on the door, and it makes you freeze up where you’re seated.

“Are you in there?” a muffled voice calls out.

It’s Logan, you realize, and a plethora of fake excuses as to why you left the party early present themselves to your mind as you quickly make your way over to the door.

The first thing you notice when you open it is that he’s dripping wet from the rain, clothes soaked through and his hair flat. There’s a deep furrow in his brow, and it’s different from how he usually looks; he looks actually mad.

“Logan, is everything–” you begin, concerned, but he cuts you off by pushing past you and letting himself inside, boots stomping against the wooden floor. 

“Jesus, here you are. Why’d you leave like that, huh? Saying goodbye, your eyes all wet. I went after you and you were fucking gone, it scared the shit out of me. Didn’t see the car at the lookout, but I went to look for you anyway, and you weren’t in the water, thank fuck–”

“Wait, you went–” you pause, the mental image of Logan running out into the rain to the cliffside making your eyes widen. “Did you think..?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Shit.” Your heart is racing when you step closer to him. “No, I wasn’t… I don’t want that anymore.”

“Then what the fuck was that all about?”

The desperation and misunderstanding in his eyes is unmistakable, and you hate that you made him feel like that. “I was just… I needed a moment, after seeing Wade and Vanessa like that,” you say, trying to provide yourself with more time to think, unsure if you already want to broach the subject of why you really left.

“You… like Wade?” Logan asks, his frown deepening.

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at the unexpected question. “No. I mean, I adore Wade, but not like that. He’s with Vanessa.”

The answer does nothing to change his expression. “And you want it to be different?”

His line of questioning confuses you. “I– No. Logan, this isn’t about Wade or Vanessa, but it’s about… what they have. Something that’s real, but imperfect, and that’s what actually makes it perfect, and I just… I was in a really bad place for such a long time, I didn’t give myself time to even think about… I haven’t felt myself wanting for so long,” your gaze flicks up to his. “Seeing them just made me realize there’s so much left that I still want.” 

Internally, you curse the way he always makes you say too much, because you can see the understanding wash over his features. His expression softens, the balled fists by his side loosen, and his eyes search you, as if to see if that thing you want is him. There’s no doubt he finds his answer; you’re ever the open book when it comes to him, and your pulse quickens while he silently observes you. 

Logan reaches for you so quickly that you can barely prepare for it, a hand on your waist to pull you in, another on your cheek to tip your face up and guide your mouth to his. A shaky breath sails out through your nose when your lips meet, your eyes fluttering shut and your palms sliding up his damp but warm chest to curl in the soaked fabric of his shirt. It’s eager, and the angle is off, but it’s quickly adjusted with a brief parting and a near in-sync tilt of your heads in the other direction. 

Logan pulls away, but stays close, and you almost feel his words before hearing them, “Been… thinking about doing that.”

“Really?” you say, breathless and amused. “When did you, um, start wanting to do that?”

“Few weeks ago–Fuck, no, more than that. Almost did, that day after your first meeting, after you told me you were proud of me,” he admits. “But I wanted to give you time, space. Wasn’t sure if you felt–”

“I do. Didn’t realize it before, but I fucking do,” you assure him, another tug on his collar trying to pull him back to you. His admissions, knowing he wants you too, only make you want him more, like you have to make up for all the time you wasted not doing this sooner.

Logan’s hand on your waist holds you off. “I just don’t know how to… how to be this,” he confesses softly.

“That’s okay,” you say, your nose brushing against his. “I don’t either.”

He inches forward like he intends to kiss you again, but seems to reconsider, swallowing hard before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time we figure it out together, huh?”

The words make you surge forward to close the gap between you, your brows creasing, attempting to convey everything you feel with one press of your lips to his. Logan’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you to him in a way that seems to mirror your efforts. Something lights up inside you, something you lost long ago, and it makes you bold, opening your mouth under his to get a taste of him. 

His grip on you tightens with a groan, spurring him into action and walking you backwards into the dark kitchen, the only illumination the slivers of moonlight that come through the kitchen window. You jolt when the back of your thighs hit the table, before you’re scrambling to get on top of it, two hands at your waist helping to hoist you up. Your thighs widen to make room for Logan’s while you push the green flannel shirt off his shoulders, struggling to peel it off his arms to the point you have to break away with a laugh to really get it right. It lands on the floor with a wet sound, before he reaches for the back of his shirt, curling his fingers around the collar and pulling it over his head.

Logan’s sturdy, warm to the touch and surprisingly pliant when you can’t help but let your fingers flit along the corded muscles and protruding veins while he toes off his shoes. His hand flies to the back of your head to fist the hair at the nape of your neck when your lips explore, find his jaw, and travel down his neck. A soft sound sails from his mouth, a barely audible moan that carries over into something deeper when your lips brush a spot just above his clavicle. Using the grip he has on you, he drags you back up to his mouth, doing some more of his own exploring when his warm tongue strokes against your own. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs with a buck of his hips against yours. The thrill of having him pushed up against you, half-hard, warm, full of promise, makes you moan, teeth clacking against his when you do. “Always so fucking good to me.”

It makes you want to protest, from the very moment you met, he’s the one always being that to you, but it dies on your tongue when Logan’s flicks over the tips of his fingers. His impatient hand finds its way between you, disappearing under the waistband of your underwear and stretching the material to make room. His name comes out as a whimper when his spit-slick fingers easily glide through the soft skin between your legs. He curses, another buck of his hips pressing his hand closer against you, and your kiss turns messy and uncoordinated when he dips one finger to touch your clit. 

“This okay?” Logan asks when you gasp, drawing languid circles between your legs.

“Yeah, it’s just– Oh, god.” Two thick fingers find your entrance, swirling the wetness there around. “Been a while,” you manage to finish your sentence.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he promises. “You want that?”

All you can do is nod, and Logan presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before he pulls his hand back. It’s paired with a wet sound that makes your cheeks heat, more so when you watch him get on his knees and yank you to the edge of the table, the quick turn of events and the casual display of his strength making you a little dizzy. Logan’s nose presses into the fabric between your legs with a sharp inhale, before quick, practiced moves work your underwear down your legs. One eager hand places a thigh on his shoulder as another holds you at the bend of your knee. You lie back, arching as you hurriedly pull your t-shirt over your head, leaning up on your elbows just in time to watch him bend down. 

The feeling of Logan’s hot breath sailing out over your sensitive skin alone is enough to make you gasp. He drags his lips and nose across your folds, easing you into it as much as his lack of patience will allow before tasting you with a swipe of his tongue. It isn’t tentative or testing, but firm and sure, and clearly for his enjoyment as much as yours when he repeats his action and groans into you. The vibrations of it and the gentle scratch of his facial hair only add to the liquid feeling in the pit of your stomach. Letting go of your knee, he curls a strong arm around your thigh, spreading you open then pulling you flush against him while he sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, that feels really good,” you spur him on, your heel digging in between his shoulder blades. You watch him with hooded eyes, shifting your weight to one elbow so you can cup your breast with a whine. 

Logan’s eyes slip shut in focus, working his tongue up and down your clit and making you arch into his mouth. Reaching for you blindly, he slides a hand over yours on your chest, fingers fitting between your own and squeezing while his tongue slides lower to lick over where you’re dripping for him. He lets out an appreciative hum as he repeats the move until your thighs clench and shake around his ears. His tongue dips inside you, curling up against the slick walls of your cunt, and his name tumbles from your mouth, soft, pleading, making his eyes shoot open to meet yours.

The sight of him looking up at you like that from between your thighs, with dark eyes, the tip of his nose glistening with your wetness, will probably haunt you for the rest of your life. 

Logan shushes your begging, pulling away and watching as your pussy clenches at the sudden lack of attention. “Let me give you something to come on,” he murmurs, before fitting a finger at your entrance. It meets absolutely no resistance, a second finger sliding inside with just as much ease, and he sets a steady, deep rhythm before his mouth returns to your clit.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck–” Your head rolls back between your shoulder blades, mouth open on a silent gasp, but he draws your attention back to him with a curl of his fingers, finding a spot that makes you go rigid for a second. It all builds so fast, so suddenly. The hand on your chest shakes Logan’s off, finding the crown of his head and sliding your fingers into his hair. He’s too strong to really make purchase, but you try anyway, using your grip to roll your hips against him. The sound of his groans, every flick of his tongue and every squelching, delicious curl of his fingers all send you closer and closer, until his hand presses down on your belly, and…

“Logan,” you manage, voice sharp with a warning that comes too late when he makes you tumble over the edge. 

It’s so much after so long, the force of it making you fall back against the table, something between a gasp and a shout tearing from your throat. He holds you tighter, to keep you in place and guide the desperate roll of your hips against his face. Your orgasm quickly slips into something bordering on oversensitivity, and you let out a dry sob that makes you slap a hand over your mouth when Logan’s tongue travels a path from where his stilled fingers disappear inside you, up to your clit. He stays there, gentle, uncharacteristically patient as you slowly come to a twitching halt. 

He’s a blur when he comes back into your field of view after standing up, towering over you to watch as you come back down to earth. Becoming sharper with every heavy blink of your eyes, you notice the smile on his face is smug, that the hair surrounding it is a shade darker than the rest. You sigh softly when his fingers slip from you, the feeling of them sliding wetly over your clit making you tremble, but his touch doesn’t leave you completely when he moves to stroke the outside of your thigh.

“How’s that?” Logan dares to ask.

“Hmm, no speaking yet,” you protest.

Reaching for him, you slide both of your arms up over his broad shoulders, wrists crossed in the nape of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. It’s slow, and deep, the taste of yourself shared between the two of you as your tongue slides over his. The table protests with a creak when his hands land beside your head, more when his chest pushes down on yours and you wrap a leg around his waist to get him even closer. The hair scattered across his broad chest teases your nipples and the hard ridge of his cock strains against his jeans and presses up against your slick cunt. It makes your jaw go slack, stoking your desire and making you burn with the need to make him feel as good as he just made you feel. 

With a push against his shoulders, you take him along as you sit upright again, accompanied by another creak of the table. Mouth still on his, you slide a hand down to cup him over his jeans, the weight of him against your wide open palm making you pulse. Logan grunts when your hand squeezes, and your mouth slides off his, kissing his jaw, sliding back down his neck. He cups your head, keeping you in place while watching your hand.

“Feels nice,” he husks, voice so deep it makes you want to push him aside and get on your knees for him, but then he asks, “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”

“God, yeah,” you say with a nod, watching as the mark you just sucked into his neck disappears far too soon while you continue rubbing him over the denim. “Want you inside of me.”

“Jesus–Then get it out,” he instructs, guiding your hand to his belt. 

If you weren’t so turned on you might wince at how eager you are, at how quickly you tug the buckle open and pull the leather free. Logan groans when it relieves some of the pressure, letting his forehead rest against yours. Together, you watch your hands make quick work of his zipper, your fist closing around his cock while your other hand works his pants down until he can kick it off and under the table.

He fits nicely in your palm, heavy and ready, sticky at the tip. With a purse of your lips, you let your spit trickle down in a straight line, and he hisses when it hits him. Your free hand flattens against his stomach, sliding down along the hard planes of his body and following the vein just below his belly button down, until it meets your other hand that loosely strokes up to the root of his cock. Logan arches into you when you stroke back up with a tighter grip, all but getting on his toes to chase your touch. Using both of your hands to get all of him, you twist your fists in opposite directions once, twice, before circling his tip with one thumb. Your other hand curls around the underside of him, dragging some of your spit down to his balls with the tips of your fingers.

“F–fuck,” Logan stutters when you play with him there, cupping him in your hand as well as you can and squeezing his shaft when it twitches in response. His eyes slip shut as his palms land on the outside of your thighs with a smack, fingertips digging into your soft skin. 

It makes you jolt, then grin, giddy from the sharp sting and the power you have over his pleasure. “How’s that?” you echo with a teasing lilt.

He does have the words to answer, albeit a little slurred, “‘S good, sweetheart.”

The nickname tacked on at the end takes root in your chest, blooms bright and makes you ache. You translate your appreciation into tightening your strokes and spreading more of the precome that steadily leaks from his tip around.

“C’mere,” Logan says softly, taking over for you with one hand, giving himself a few strokes before pushing your thighs further apart and shuffling closer to line himself up with you.

You’re so wet that the head of his cock is practically already slipping inside of you, but your hand clasps around his bicep when he really starts to breach you. After giving you a shallow little thrust, his hips draw back, before pushing a little further, gauging your reaction.

“Just like that,” you sigh, watching the careful slide of him in and out of you. “Keep going just like that.”

He gets you opened up like that, giving you a little more with each wind of his hips. Logan’s hand finds the back of your neck, his palm splaying out and keeping you close enough that you’re practically sharing air with each sigh and moan. Eventually, your knees have to draw up to his flanks in order for him to keep going and you wind a leg around his hip to close the final distance with a press of your heel into one of the firm cheeks of his ass. A long breath sails out from between your lips when you pulse around him, slowly adjusting to having all of him filling you up. You can tell he has to put considerable effort into letting you, wood groaning below you when he clutches onto the table.

“Fuck, it’s a lot,” you say, and when he grins against your mouth you can’t help but kiss him again – just a peck. The hand at the back of your neck squeezes in reassurance as he continues to let you lead, and it’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel warm all over. You melt into it his touch, your body relaxing as the pleasure of the stretch of him takes over.  

“Can stay like this a little longer if you want,” he says, but the strain in his voice says something different.

“Hmm, no, you can move.” You’ve barely said it, or his hips are drawing back, and it would have made you laugh if it didn’t feel so fucking incredible. He almost slips from you completely, before sliding all the way back inside with a grunt. The table scrapes along the floor, and vaguely you register one of your chairs falling over in the process. When he repeats the action, the furniture squeaks again below you. “Just don’t break my table.”

The sound he makes in response is non-commital, and when he fucks back into you and nudges against something wonderful, you can’t say you disagree. Grabbing hold of his shoulder and using the leg you have wrapped around him, you roll your hips against his, and he begins to meet you halfway until you work up a rhythm together. The table protest further, a shrill sound filling the room after each slap of skin–

With a frustrated groan and accompanied by a startled squeal from yourself, Logan lifts you. The surprised laugh that threatens to bubble up your throat quickly morphs into something heavier that comes out with a rasp when he makes it all look unusually effortless. Attempting to brace yourself, you sling one arm over his shoulders, the other winding around his neck so you can rake your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s a struggle to keep your balance, a helpless heel digging into the back of his thigh to keep yourself upright. Quick to aid, Logan slides an arm under you, fingers splayed across your ass as your knee hangs off the inside of his elbow. He turns a quarter, presses you up against the wall, and doesn’t miss a beat as he continues fucking you. 

“Jesus, Logan,” you say, voice almost a growl and barely recognizable as your own.

With your new position, you can see him better, the both of you lit from the side with the window to your left. The moonlight paints him in a tapestry of light and shadows when the wind blows through the tree branches, momentarily amplifying the glint in his eyes and the flex of his chest and arms like a strobe light.

The different angle he finds with his cock is a little too good, the feeling of the thick base of him stretching you open with each thrust making you dazed and talkative, “It’s so deep like this, can–oh, my god–can feel you everywhere.” 

Logan curses at your words, squeezing your waist and pushing you harder against the wall. There’s a deep-voiced appreciation of how good you feel in there too that doesn’t quite make it from your ears to your brain because somehow he’s still speeding up. His head ducks down to your chest, mouthing at the soft skin of your breast before closing his lips around a nipple. 

You whine, using the grip you have on him to roll your hips against the piston of his while you pant into his crown. Though the sound he makes against you when you do it makes you beam with pride, it’s not something you can keep up for very long, your hold on him slacking after a few thrust until you slip back against the wall. 

Logan pulls back when you do, tightening his hold on you while his eyes glide from the bounce of your tits that glisten with his spit to down between your bodies. 

“Touch yourself,” he instructs, grunting when you immediately do as he says by bringing a hand down between where you’re joined. Your fingers spread in a V-shape around where he fucks into you, collecting some of your mixed arousal before using it to rub your clit. “That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, make yourself come.”

You nod, rapidly feeling everything zeroing in on the fingers that draw tight circles over your clit and that spot deep inside you that Logan’s finding with every thrust. “Yeah, fuck, I’m–Don’t stop, don’t stop, please–”

He’s coming before you are, tucking his head below your chin to let out a deep, drawn out moan against your neck that ends with his teeth grazing your skin. It’s so much, the pressure of him grinding himself into you with twitching, barely there thrusts, the heat of his release as it fills you where you’re gripping him like a vice, and as your fingers still twirl between your legs you come, and come, and come. 

The leg you have wrapped around his hip slips off, but before your toes can even scrape the floor, he catches your thigh, cupping your ass with both hands now to keep you up, and close. With a soft, satisfied sound, you let your forehead fall against Logan’s shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat with every light press of your lips there.

It takes you a moment to notice your back has come off the wall, that Logan is walking the both of you into your living room and to the couch. He bends his knees, dropping you between your pillows, where you land with as much grace as you can muster considering you feel like you’re made of lead. The soft couch is pleasant against your body, your sore limbs sinking into the cushions. 

Logan fits himself between your legs again, widening them around his broad shoulders before his lips find your overstretched thighs, leaving marks and kisses up up up, until his tongue slips back into your pussy. Your back arches off the couch, hands shooting down to fist his hair with a whine while Logan’s hand fists his cock. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can tell he’s already getting hard again, and his tongue is making something swirl low in your belly that’s making you pant, and...

It’ll be a long night.

THE PEARL

It had taken a lot of convincing and downright groveling, but Wade had allowed you to bring a movie for movie night. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust your taste in movies, his main gripe with your choice was that it wasn’t a Christmas movie – mandatory for December. Wade’s right, but after you explained that it’s the movie you always watch at the end of the year (and after Logan and yourself conceded that yes, his birthday was technically also your anniversary) he’d agreed. 

Now that you’re actually watching it, you suspect he’s genuinely invested, because after a handful of comments about The Hulk, he’s been quiet for longer than you’ve ever heard him be quiet.

In the scene on the screen, Mark Ruffalo’s character Dan and Keira Knightley’s character Gretta are taking an evening walk around New York City, dancing, singing and sharing music with each other as they do. Eventually, they stop and sit next to each other on some steps, watching as the city continues to move without them.

“...the most banal scenes are suddenly invested with so much meaning, ya know? All these banalities, they're suddenly turned into these… these beautiful, effervescent pearls,” Dan says, wistfully looking on as New York bustles around him. “I gotta say, as I've gotten older these pearls are just… becoming increasingly more and more rare to me.”

The arm Logan has slung around your shoulder tightens, and the couch creaks softly as you lean further into his side, your cheek squishing against his warm chest.

“More string than pearls?” Gretta inquires with a frown.

“Yeah. You got to travel over a lot more string to get to the pearls.” There’s a pause as he turns to look at her, “This moment is a pearl, Gretta.”

She gives him a hint of a smile. “It sort of is, isn't it?”

“All this has been a pearl,” he admits, sharing a look with her.

A finger curls under your chin, tipping your head up until your eyes meet Logan’s. He gives you the same look you just saw on the screen, his eyes soft as they take you in, the hint of green between the hazel illuminated by the light of the television. A thumb swipes over your bottom lip fondly, before he leans down to kiss you.

It takes a lot of string indeed.

Sometimes even interdimensional string.

– – – – –

(THE END)

If you made it all the way here, thanks for reading. Seriously. Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with. I hope to share more writing soon - emphasis on hope, I'm not making promises, just an educated wish.

And lastly, if you're struggling with mental health problems, please don't wait for a handsome stranger to sweep you off your feet. I know from experience that it can be incredibly difficult to reach that hand out, but I also know from experience that things can get better. There are ways to get help and you deserve to get help 🫂

[omgeto]

☆ COVER UP — tattoo artist!GETO SUGURU

summary: all you wanted was a cover up tattoo to replace the name your ex left on you. you didn't think you'd be leaving the tattoo shop with a replacement for your ex's tattoo and a replacement for him as well.

wc: 3k

cw: afab!reader, geto gives you backshots, he's kinda obsessed w/ your ass here, unprotected sex (since I forget condoms) BUT he's a gentleman pulls out </3 your kinda a meanie. he's kinda a meanie so light angst (?) but barely. MDNI

an: haven't posted a longer work in a hot minute, but here is how you meet tattoo artist boyfriend!geto soooo give this one a chance big fanks to my lil twat @kazushawty for helping me out and reading bits of it.

as you push open the heavy glass door of ‘cursed ink studios,’ a subtle bell chimes softly, announcing your presence. instantly, the atmosphere inside crackles with an electric charge. the air is thick with the intoxicating scent of ink, mingling with the sterile bite of antiseptic. the walls are adorned with vivid flash art form a chaotic tapestry, while the rhythmic hum of a tattoo gun echoes through the room.

and there he is, geto suguru – a tall, enigmatic figure with jet-black hair and sleeves of mesmerising tattoos that seem to tell stories of their own. he sits at his workbench, surrounded by an array of ink bottles and tattoo machines, his piercing eyes never leaving the art he's creating. a carefully curated playlist of music plays softly in the background, punctuated by the occasional buzzing of the tattoo gun.

he glances up from his intricate work as you enter, his gaze slowly travelling up and down your form. there's a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as though he's wondering why you, of all people, have ventured into his sacred space. his expression, however, suggests that he's far from thrilled about the interruption.

"need something?" he asks, his irritation evident.

"i need a cover-up” you swallow your nerves, holding your head high, your voice steady, ”my ex's name."

geto raises an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by your request. "ex's name, huh? you people never learn."

your jaw clenches at his condescending tone. "well, i'm here now, so can you do it or not?"

he continues to scrutinise you, his gaze feeling like a judgmental weight. finally, he nods, albeit reluctantly. "fine, show me."

with a sigh of resignation, you turn around, your heart pounding as you pull down the waistband of your jeans just enough to reveal the offending name covering your left ass cheek. it's a constant reminder of a relationship gone wrong, and you're more than ready to be rid of it.

"this won't be easy," he mutters, his fingers cool against your skin as he traces the outline of the name. his touch lingers, just a little too long, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. his fingers, skilled and confident, continued to trace the inked letters of your ex's name on your skin — almost toyingly. and you could feel the chill of the tattoo parlour's air-conditioning contrasted by the warmth of his touch.

his voice, though still gruff, held a trace of disgust "who did this?" he asks, not looking up from the tattoo.

you hesitate, your memories of that past relationship flooding back. "my ex-boyfriend," you reply tersely.

geto's fingers stop their tracing, and he lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. "you let your boyfriend do a shitty tattoo on you, and you let him make it his name," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "you practically let him brand you."

“is it your job to be such a bitchy artist?” you snap, already fed up by his comments. you’ve heard it from your parents, your friends, ever since you got that trashy tattoo. but couldn't disagree with that sentiment — you knew it was a shit tattoo. “i thought i was paying you for your artistry, not your smart mouth.”

"listen," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "you walk in here with that god awful mess on your skin, and you've got the nerve to criticise my attitude? if you want to be rid of it, you'll do well to keep that attitude in check, sweetheart."

you bite back a retort, realising that you've indeed crossed a line with your comment. there's a palpable tension in the air now, a simmering anger beneath the surface, and it seems that geto has no intention of backing down.

with a deep breath, you swallow your pride and offer a reluctant apology. "i'm sorry," you mutter, a touch of remorse in your voice. "i shouldn't have snapped at you."

he continues to hold your gaze for a moment, his expression still stern, before finally nodding. "apology accepted."

you didn’t actually have an idea of what you wanted for the cover up, you just knew you needed it gone. geto was a highly sought out cover artist so you had no doubt that he’d be able to do you good. with your initial meeting being heated, you thought it was best to leave him to do his thing.

with a sense of relief that the confrontation has subsided, you decide to give geto some space to work his magic. "i'll leave you to it," you say, your voice quieter now, and you turn away from him.

"good," he mutters, his focus fully on his ipad as he starts to sketch, not even looking as you leave the shop. 

geto usually was quick to draw up tattoo sketches for clients, but when it came to you he was stunned — too busy thinking about how your ass looked rather than what he was meant to tattoo on it. from the moment you stepped in his shop, he was intrigued, you didn’t see the type to get work done by him and the marking stretched on your ass didn’t seem like it would belong to someone with an attitude like yours. 

his mind was anything but focused on the design. he couldn't help but replay the encounter with you in his thoughts, your brashness and the way you'd stood your ground, even under his scrutiny.

"why the hell did she get that shitty tattoo?" he mutters to himself, his fingers deftly working his pen. the sketch was beginning to take shape, but his mind kept drifting back to the curve of your ass. he couldn't deny the attraction he felt, and it frustrated him. he was supposed to be a professional, detached from his clients beyond the art he created on their skin. but something about you had thrown him off balance.

“so you ready to get this tatted on you?” is the first thing he asks when you return the following day. you inspect his sketches in awe, of course you never doubted his talent but you didn’t think he’d be able to draw something you wanted without you even having to say.

“well it seems you do live up to your reputation,” you comment with a neutral facade, but you both know that you were downplaying your excitement — you were pleased. and like with any client, that made geto satisfied that he was doing his job correctly. but when he saw the way your eyes lit up when he initially showed you the sketches, it was a sight he wanted to see again. “i guess we can start the tattoo.”

“okay i’ll get my stuff set up, get rid of those,” he says nodding towards your jeans, “and lay down when you’re ready.” you slip yourself out of your bottoms, leaving the itty bitty thong that you knew you’d need for the appointment and that a small part of you hoped he liked.

he pauses when he sees you laying down on the seat in his station, your head resting in your arms, your ass slightly raised.  ‘this is gonna be a long session,’ he thinks to himself as he smirks, shaking his head as he works his way to his seat.

as he sits down, he places the stencil over your ass, and you berate yourself for getting giddy at the feeling of him rubbing over the design to make sure it was in place — wishing that his hand stayed for longer. 

“how are you with pain?” he asks, and from the way you were laying you weren’t able to see the way he was gawping at your ass.

“what type of pain?” you retort.

“y’know the type of pain where someones drilling into your ass for hours,” he comments as if it’s obvious but you both knew his words were hinting at more than just the tattoo.

“choice words there,” you muse, “but any type of pain i’m alright with, so give me your best.”

geto's needle hovers just above your skin, poised for action. "you sure about that?" he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive.

a coy smile tugs at your lips as you respond, "I can handle it if you can."

with a deliberate, almost tantalising slowness, he lowers the needle to your skin. the first touch is a sharp, stinging sensation, but you refuse to flinch. you're determined to hold your own, to meet geto's challenge head-on.

he continues to work, the needle dancing across your skin with a practised precision. the room is filled with the rhythmic sound of the tattoo machine, creating a hypnotic backdrop to your growing tension.

as minutes turn into hours, you find yourself lost in a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. the pain is undeniable, but there's something oddly exhilarating about it. you steal a glance at geto, his intense focus on his work, and you can't help but wonder if he's enjoying this as much as you are.

"still doing okay?" he asks, his tone a mix of concern and something more primal.

you bite your lower lip, suppressing a moan that threatens to escape. "i told you, i can handle it."

geto smirks, his gaze locked on your ass as he continues to tattoo. "you've got quite the threshold for pain. impressive."

“is it really? i'm sure you’ve worked on a lot of other clients with higher thresholds for pain.”

“but none of them have had an ass like yours though,” he mumbles to himself — but you hear him loud and clear, a grin forming on your face at the confession. “anyways, we’re all done now, go ahead and look in the mirror.”

you stand in the full length mirror, your head slightly turned at an angle as you gawp at your ass. your eyes widen seeing what was once your shitty exes name, now turned into a piece of true art. 

“so what d’you think?” he asks, and you didn’t even notice him coming to stand behind you until you felt his breath on the back of your neck, “this shit is hot right?”

“you can say that again,” you agree, keeping your eyes focused on the tattoo, trying to ignore the quickening of your heart beat at the presence of him, “this is really great though, like i couldn’t imagine my ass could look this good after having that tattooed on on it all his time.”

“well no need to imagine anymore,” geto’s face forms a smiling grin, you can tell he was admiring way more than just his artwork, “you mind if i take a picture… for my instagram?” he says, barely asking as his phone is already out of his pocket and is in his hands, he looks up at you for permission and you give a slight nod before he’s snapping away at your ass.

“are you sure this is for your instagram,” you tease, as he continues to take photos crouched down, as he circles your ass with his phone, “or is this just for your personal wank bank?”

“would you like it to be?” he retorts back swiftly, there wasn’t even any mischief in his eyes as he looks up at you, just pure lust.

“um i–” you stutter, only now feeling exposed — as if he hadn’t been working on your ass already for the past six hours.

“don’t get shy on me now,” he coos, standing up to face you head on, “y’gonna let me finish off making you forget that ex or yours or what?”

“be my guest,” you respond, trying to come across as nonchalant, but the eager look in your eyes gave geto all he needed to know. 

he pushes you softly, as he commands, “hands against the mirror and spread your legs.” and you do just that, as he comes behind you, fitting in between your legs perfectly. his hand forces ur back down, deeping the arch of your spine before both of his hands grab onto your ass.

geto really rubs and digs his thumbs into your cheeks, biting his lip at the sight at the way his fingers mould into your ass. “fuckk man,” he groans out, he’s not even in you yet and he was already obsessed with every inch of you. 

he frees his dick from his pants, and pumps it quickly before sliding it across your already gushing slit. you hiss at the contact, a pleased smile working its way on your face as the tip of his dick edges into you.

“s-shit,” you stammer, as he inches himself into you deeper, “w-what about the rest of the shop?”

“what about them?” he shrugs, “you don’t want them to hear naught you’re being right now? HEY GUYS—”

“oi,” you hiss out, your eyes widening as you turn your head to look directly at him.

“i’m just playing, i’m not ready to share you quite just yet,” he retorts, his dick moving in you at an achingly slow pace, “now, keep your eyes focused on the mirror, and you better not let those hands slip.”

before you can respond, he thrust his hips into you as deep as he could, his dick slamming into you. you moan out at the surprising force, trying your best to keep your palms flat on the surface of the mirror, as you stare straight at him — watching how he works his hands from your ass to your hips so he can drive into you with all of his force. 

“this pussy is s-so fucking good,” he praises, the sloppiness of your cunt making it easy for him to slide his dick in and out of you. “oh and this ass,” he continues giving a hard spank on your ass cheek, to emphasise his point, “c’mon throw your ass back on my dick, i wanna see it bounce.”

you fuck him back, doing exactly as he says, your ass meeting his hips with the same amount of force. his spanks encourage you to be quicker, to give him everything he wants. his repeating, strong strokes, have you feeling weaker, your hands slipping as you try to stay up right, when all you want to do is collapse and cum everywhere. 

“f-fuckk it’s too much,” you whine, as he drills into you.

“nah,” he says, shrugging his head, “it’s not enough,” he lifts up his legs, his digits pressing into your deeper, as he now angles his strokes even further into your pussy, hitting your spot with ease. “give it to me harder, i know you can” he encourages, another two swift spanks landing on your ass.

with his continuous contact of your ass and his hips, and the way his dick pushes into you deeper, you felt like you were splitting in two. but you kept going, thinking back to your earlier conversation, you didn’t want to prove him wrong, you wanted to show him that you can handle it, handle him.

geto was practically beaming, licking his lips feverishly at the sight of your fucked out face through the mirror as he watches himself plough into you, your body rocking forward with every thrust. his eyes concentrate on your ass, as he says, “d’you see how your rocking my work on you now?” and you nod dumbly, too busy trying to reach your climax to string a sentence together, “so fuck that ex of yours and his shitty ass tattooing, from now on you only can me on your body, you got that?” he asks and you nod again, but he shakes his head, his hand moving from your waist to your chin as he grips it making your eyes stay locked on his through the mirror, “i said do you got that?”

“ahhh s-shit yet i do, i do,” you say, mirroring his words, “i will only have you on my body, ‘promise.”

“good girl,” he approves, giving your chin a squeeze before letting go, “now cum.” 

with those simple words, you release all over him, your stance getting weaker, as you shoot out cum all over his dick. he’s quick to pull out of you though, stroking his dick as he sprays his cum all over your ass, with a deep groan.

your hands are still on the wall, as you take deep breaths, trying to recollect yourself. but you turn around swiftly seeing a flash of a camera behind you, and geto is back to crouching down, with his phone out, taking pictures of your cum covered ass.

“you mind if i keep these in my wank bank forreal this time?” he asks, smirking as you nod, “i’ll take some more later, but i got two questions to ask.”

“and those are…” you say, prompting him to continue.

“first, let me take you out after this?” he asks with a smirk, already knowing the answer. after the way he just dicked you down, you’d be a fool not to let him wine and dine you, “second, y’gonna come suffocate my face with that ass of yours or not?” you couldn’t even answer the second question since he’s pulling you down to the floor with him, with a joyous grin on his face.

AN: IGNORE THE FACT THAT HE CUMS ALL OVER UR FRESH TATTOO. LIKE JUST IGNORE IT. just focus on the fact that you have a lovely ass and geto loves it too. but yes do you want to see more, I HAVE ENOUGH IDEAS TO EVEN MAKE A LIL MASTERLIST FOR IT. I love tattoo artist boyfriend!geto so so much, like when u guys become an established relationship it actually gets so good. BUT I DONT REALLY LIKE THIS ONE, BUT IF U GUYS FW IT I PROMISE ILL ACTUALLY WRITE AND POST THE ONES I LOVE. BUT I FELT LIKE I HAD TO WRITE THIS FIRST SO YOU COULD SEE HOW U AND GETO STARTED. LMK UR THOUGHTS

[matsunoluvr]

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ how I think the boys from love and deepspace would give a first kiss :3

warnings: suggestive content (obviously?), writing might be out of character, spoilers in general, i get carried away explaining everything because i'm afraid of being accused of mischaracterisation

[story spoiler] first kiss = first kiss where mc is a hunter/the timeline in game

authors notes: i have favourites and it will show CLEARLY in my writing… sorry (not sorry no1 rafayel stan) and i am a yapper

characters: rafayel, xavier, zayne and sylus

link to my master list here!!

more below the cut :3

sorry rafayel... but i feel like he's the most unskilled at kisses because - hear me out - you're his very first kiss. lemurians as a species seem to value bonds and loyalty, and as the literal sea god he wasn't able to nor wanted to just hook up or mess around - he's looking for devotion!!!

(okay, we ignore the kiss in forgotten sea myth story because like come on there was literally no romance mc was drowning)

definitely waits a while before kissing you, rayafel really takes his time to fall into place. after all, he needs to make sure his beloved bride/groom is well and truly his!!!

the type to wait for the ‘right moment’ - but doesn’t force or stage it ykwim? like the time comes naturally - e.g. watching the sunset, or you’re leaning close to him whilst he’s painting

he’s a romantic 100% like there’s a reason his 'floral promise' card was (imo) way fluffier compared to the others - like xavier's was tender-ish but rafayel was fucking melting

he's a sweet talker I just know it.

that charm he uses on his clients? he doesn't want to nor will he manipulate you with it but you know he's going to ramp up the charm to tease you a little

definitely knows his effect on you and uses it to his full advantage (cough cough fiery undercurrents secret times) like whispering in your ear, making excuses to touch you or get close to you

(i think he’d be more 'traditional' because of lemurian customs - the whole bonding + [forgotten sea spoilers] the sea god ceremony where the mc must devote themselves to rafayel displaying a strong level of devotion)

SUCH A GENTLE KISSER OMG like compared to his almost bratty and childish personality he’s a gentleman when it comes to kisses (also because he's kind of unsure what to do...)

the type to tuck strand of your hair behind your ear, fiddle with it a little maybe twirl it around his finger before trailing a finger along your jawline... i can see him like massaging your ear too? idk how to describe it he's a handsy man

first kiss was definitely more sweet than passionate ugawhriulgs he's such a cutie

right after the first kiss i think he’d be pretty affectionate, rather than bratty/tsundere since for him to kiss someone i believe he’d really need to love them (and therefore is more open to being vulnerable)

affectionate as in saying something cheesy probably, commenting on how you tasted or another one of his poetic, artistic quotes (dw raf we love it)

wouldn't be satisfied with just one after that, i can see him going in for a more passionate second and even a third (i mean look at his 'floral promise' memory OR 'fiery undercurrents') in the same few minutes

these follow up kisses would probably be longer and way less chaste, hands moving from tilting your chin up to your waist ahahahahahuwfa

you'd have to show him the appeal of tongue if that's your thing because he's seen it before but never really saw what was nice about it

"But... you're just drinking each other's saliva?" "Rafayel that's hot-"

definitely relived the moment in his head hundreds of times after that night - and you bet your ass he painted a piece inspired from your first kiss with him

any kisses after that i feel like they would follow this default pattern;

if he initiated the kiss i think he’d be more cocky and teasing, especially if he surprised you with one and he sees your flustered face

“Didn’t expect that huh, cutie?”

if you surprised him, however, get ready for typical rafayel childish behaviour, blushing and averting his eyes, covering his mouth with the back of his hand and a pout

“Hey- what was that for!!” Σ（・□・；）

either way rafayel is the worlds silliest man and would cave into literally anything with just a few kisses from you

ALSO KISS HIS COLLAR BONES AND YOU'VE GOT A WHOLE NEW SCENARIO TO UNFOLD

oh i just have a feeling this man is devouring you because puh-LEASEE?? sir we aren't forgetting your 'tender night' card i know that night was anything but tender

xavier is the definition of pent-up desire because this man has been waiting a LONG time and he's not going to be able to hold back very well

(taking heavy inspiration from his '21 days' memory because with his reaction it kind of feels like his first kiss with mc... but tbh i don't know much about xavi)

he's definitely not shy when it comes down to it, yeah he gets flustered if he thinks about it because of course imagining kissing the person he's pined over for centuries is going to fluster the shit out of him but he doesn't shy away form the idea or avoid the topic in conversation

i feel like he'd bring it up casually - like in the 'partner go go' event (aka heartbreaker-chasing-rhythm-game event) he was so insistent on the 'kissing page'

mc was like "apparently you can solve arguments with a kiss" and this mf straight up said "we can argue then" this man is STARVED

i feel like you'd need to initiate the kiss or give him very clear signs you'd be okay with a kiss for it to happen, i don't know why i just feel like he's that type of person

the first kiss is deep despite him trying his best to hold back - you can just feel his desire and longing oozing out of him and he's definitely on fucking cloud nine

xavier's holding your face and stroking his thumb along your cheek and god damn he's good at kissing where the fuck did he learn this from?

the type to break the kiss and then fucking bulldoze into the next one and my god his restraints have broken and he's actually kissing you as if it's the last thing he's able to do on earth

100% a tongue user he's biting at your bottom lip before slipping it in the sly minx

after the kiss he's more flustered than he expected to be - kissing the love of his life (literally) sends him into a flurry of emotions he's never really experienced before

given how possessive xavier is i wouldn't be surprised if halfway through making out he managed to leave a hickey or two in very. visible. places.

he isn't even pretending to feel guilty in the slightest, a smug grin as he shrugs out a half-assed apology.

"Sorry, I guess you'll have to try hide it. Or don't, that would be easier."

if you leave any marks on him he's not leaving you along that night. forget sleeping you two are recreating 'tender night' ALL night.

but seriously, if you leave hickeys over his neck (his canonical sensitive area and where he feels vulnerable) he's going to go crazy because what do you mean you want everyone to know he's yours??? what do you mean you want him as much as he wants you??

tldr; xavier is unusually talented with his mouth and is desperate to prove it to you.

i accidentally wrote way more for xavier than i expected i even cut out some bits holy crap maybe i’m more into xavi than i thought

oh no... zayne you beautiful man i am so sorry... (here comes the one character i have no idea how to characterise + no clue about his lore zayne fans pls bear with me)

okay - zayne looks like a gentleman and i'm sure he very much is even in intimate moments, but i cannot get rid of the idea that his first kiss w you was lowk spicyyyyy

like OH MY GOD I JUST WATCHED SNOWY SERENITY RN I FUCKIGN KNEW IT

that man was pouncing on you in a hospital bed, dishevelled, and kissing you deep my god like the type of kiss that literally as you forgetting where you are

i feel like zayne would be the one to initiate the kiss, again no idea why maybe i'm falling into the dominant zayne agenda

you're probably surprised when he kisses you because he's usually so composed, the 'cold unfeeling' dr zayne - then suddenly he's panting and pushing himself on top of you (consensually of course), pinning you down and going to town.

when he kisses you i don't think he's much of a lip biter, but if you bite his lips or lick at him or anything he's not opposed, as long as your lips are on his and vice versa

after the first kiss he's going straight into another one, his patience has thinned to the point of snapping and now he just needs you.

his hands what does he do with his hands? i'm thinking the typical otome face hold, gentle grasp juxtaposing his fervent kisses LOL

now, why does he kiss you?? how does this all build up? unfortunately all i can think of to match this scenario is something angsty or something along the lines of zayne has fucking had it and all he wants is you

"I need you... please."

this is the type of kiss where he wants to drown in you, breathe you in and just smother his being into yours to forget and erase whatever else is happening/happened

if he's kissing you and pinning you down and you bring up your hand to interlock fingers with him - your warm hands against his cool hands? wow his kissing is all of a sudden even more passionate.

after the little make out session he's going to go all mushy on you, physical affection of an embrace something uncharacteristic of him to match his dishevelled state

in kisses after the first i like the idea that he checks your pulse mid make-out and just silently smirks/chuckles when he notices it's faster and more erratic than usual

"Why are you nervous, this isn't our first time."

he also has this sneaky habit of whispering incredibly close to your ear, the reason why i choose to point this out it because i feel like sometimes he uses his evol to his advantage to like, breathe out cool air on your neck/ear and likes to watch you shiver

the ultimate dominant figure if you try to kiss him first and take control he somehow manages to overcome you and take the lead without using his strength, just good ol' sweet talking and technique

congratulations, you managed to snatch a kiss from the renown leader sylus!!!

i can see why people would think he's promiscuous or a fuck-boy because honestly i see it, but imo just because he is more flirtatious, assertive and... responsive (try tapping his... crotch... in the café LOL) does NOT = play boy

to me it just shows that - unlike the other LIs - sylus is just more forward with his approach, he has that devil-may-care like feel to him ykwim?

"Do I like you? What type of question is that, isn't it obvious? Or do I need to show you?" is much different to "Hey baby girl lemme rock your world tnite xx"

but just because he's got a 'fuck-all' attitude doesn't mean he fucks around with random people, he's 1. got standards and 2. living in the n109 zone?? do you THINK he can afford to let random people close just to fuck???

that being said i don't think he's a kiss virgin, just very selective and honest man when it comes to love and physical intimacy

now, when i say he isn't a fuckboy, that doesn't mean i don't believe in cocky-smugass-know-it-all sylus - he kisses well. and with PASSION. and probably the worst part is that he knows it.

first kiss with sylus? i can't imagine him making a large fuss about it like rafayel, nor it having to be some "i'm-at-deaths-door-and-need-to-kiss-you-atleast-once" situation like zayne, but no matter where or when you two share a first kiss he is making sure you remember

that being said, there was definitely a LOT of romantic and sexual tension between you and sylus for at least weeks before the kiss, i mean the air was thick with suggestive glances and denial

i think you two'd have to already be in close proximity which is very easy to achieve with sylus (touchiest man award goes to him) for the first kiss to initiate

he's grabbing your waist, or your face, makings sure your eyes are on. him. as you two kiss. watching with delight no matter what reactions you have, he admires you through surprised and flustered to confident and defiant

rather than a tender first kiss it’s probably a full blown make out session, just desire and lust flooding out of the both of you after having built up for over a month.

assertive does not mean he's going to force a kiss on you to clear this up, more that he likes to take the initiative and take control as you two kiss <3

yeah he's into biting (wow what a big shock) - likes biting your ear, or neck, or bottom lip, one time he tried nipping at your tongue too.

you can bite him back, he likes it.

"Hah, looks like someone is baring their claws tonight..." he’s really into that whole cat thing huh.

what does mr sylus do with his hands? waist, hips, ass, around your neck, pulling your face in by squeezing your cheeks, fingers threading through the hair on the back of your head, you name it he does it. again, i think sylus is a touchy man.

he doesn't mind if you try to take control, just dont expect to be successful. different to zayne - as in he will overcome your control with his evol and strength…

inappropriate use of his evol has occurred (he ‘tied’ you up and made out with you (CONSENSUALLY))

after his affinity 15 (i think) memory i can just tell he’s freaky with it bruhhh so yeah handcuffs are probably something he indulges in

if you’re persistent or physically overcome sylus you might get rewarded with a resigned, more submissive sylus

the idea or sight of someone man handling/overcoming his strength really sets him off.. i mean have you seen “no defence zone”?? but you’re really going to need to work to get him to this stage, and he’s going to have to love you

“No one’s ever seen me like this, lying on my back and begging for you.”

secretly finds out through you that he enjoys being dominated (BRAT SYLUS FOR 2024) so climb on top of him and kiss him until he’s blushing and panting hahahahahaha

tldr: sylus isn’t a fuck-boy but he sure kisses like one

AN; as an ao3 writer may say, no beta we die like caleb i wrote half of this when i was half asleep LMAOO anyways i hope this was okay please dont attack me BYE

[stylesispunk]

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

Joel Miller xf!reader

part one | next part

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

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

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

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

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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

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

A lie.

A maim affair engulfed in fire burning your lungs.

A tragedy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt like breathing again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You managed a small smile. "Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps he was here to apologize.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Week one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Week two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The old versions of two people trapped in the endless tragedy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe someone, his thoughts screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man I’m in love with.

Why did you even love him?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel nodded, his heart aching.

Week three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maria and a group of people found you two days later

And you had become terrified of storms ever since.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A simple affair, torturing you.

+

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

Week four

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

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

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

He couldn’t bear to face you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are your migraines doing?” You asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that bullshit?” He cried out.

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

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

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

He had saved that ten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@riedswifts @dizzyforyou @prideandaesthetic @chateaujoon

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

@missladym1981

[mediocre-writing]

Fic recs Yoongi

Some fics I read this week, and I need to make people read them too lol I'll probably do it with the other members too.

Interlude | MYG | Series Masterlist @yoongiofmine (Idol!Yoongi X Deaf!Reader)

Summary: All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.

– This is simply the most beautiful Yoongi series I've ever read.

——

The Consequences of Fucking Up @borathae

“Your break up was messy and painful. All you want to do is to forget about him. His friends, who ever since you ended it with Yoongi see you as their bullying target, make sure that the memory of him stays fresh in your mind however, haunting you day by fucking day. While Yoongi makes it seem as if he gives no fuck about your situation. Until one night he is in front of your door. Drunk and fucking regretful.”

– You won't regret reading it, trust me.

——

his entire world | min yoongi x f!reader | a serendipitous life series @serendipitous-seven

summary: you and yoongi are trying to enjoy your friends' wedding with a very fussy baby

– THIS WAS ONE OF THE SOFTEST THINGS I'VE EVER READ 😭💞

——

F*ck Tradition | Yoongi @dancinglikebutterflywings ( Min Yoongi x Fiancee!Reader)

- Synopsis: Y/N takes Yoongi with her to go wedding dress shopping because her fiancées opinion is the only one that matters.

– I feel like this story and this writer deserves much more recognition, MY GOD IT'S SO BEAUTIFUL.

—

you're okay | myg (m) @taegularities

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

– This here comforted my heart in a way 😭😭💞💞

—

ex-things - m.yg. @namfinessed

summary: over the years, everything you've owned has belonged to yoongi and everything yoongi's owned has belonged to you but when you break up, everything is your's and everything is his but none of it belongs to the two of you anymore and both of you can't stand it.

– That was adorable and made me smile like a fool.

—

impression | yg @namjoonchronicles

↳ summary many forgot that when you marry someone, you marry their family too, at least that’s how Asian family is like

– This is so cute, I love the husband!Yoongi

—

The Final - Day 02 | MYG | ONESHOT @yoongiofmine

Summary: You've been Yoongi's go-to companion for the past few years, well aware that's all you were going to be. Despite your very real, growing feelings for the rapper, you took what you could get every time. Now, you're backstage at day two of the final leg of his tour when another member takes an interest in you. Will it be enough to make Yoongi realize he's got competition?

– it made me wild and crazy

—

dissertation | yg @namjoonchronicles

↳ summary many people doubted your union, how exactly an artist with as much influence as yoongi be a husband to a wife that is still studying. 

– Yoon being the person we all need, This writer is wonderful, please give him a chance. (I'm telling you this writer is amazing)

—

Shy - Yoongi X Reader @7ndipity

Summary: You’re desperately craving your boyfriend's attention, but are too shy to ask for it outright. Luckily, Yoongi knows what you want anyway.

– This is something cute and warm.

—

YES, I WILL DO MORE BECAUSE WE HAVE MANY TALENTED WRITERS.

[copperbadge]

I've told this story before: in January of 2020, about six months after I started this job -- where we support lung disease research and help patients with lung disease -- I emailed a colleague that we were getting an unusually high number of donations for a new year. Lots of people give at the end of the year but this much giving in January was anomalous. My colleague, who had been here a few years longer than me, came over to my cubicle and said, "I need to tell you why this happens."

He explained, with a kindness born of having lost family this way, that the giving wasn't strange for us and would happen every year. It was memorial giving, because if you have weakened lungs or a compromised immune system, sometimes winter is simply what kills you. The cold, or a new flu strain, or pneumonia. January is the worst because people travel in December. And then our people, whether they travel or get visitors and even if they take every precaution, they get sick. And they die.

I had to sit with that for a while.

It's been better during the pandemic, actually, because our people can work from home, can stay indoors; masking has lowered flu transmission. We still see more deaths in winter, but not at the rate of that first winter I was here. And for a long time they were just names -- I saw my colleagues mourn sometimes, but they actually knew these people. I didn't, except as names in the data.

This year that has started to change. For the first time, because for the last two years I've had closer contact with our donors and clients, I've known people who died. One was my age. Another passed over the Thanksgiving weekend; I just got the news from an email. It's better getting an email, honestly. The alternative is finding out when I get the weekly giving report and see their name in the "in memory of" column of the spreadsheet. I'm dreading January's reports.

I work next to death all the time; I read obituaries for a living. I'm fine and will be fine. It's a good reminder to think about what's important and it has made me a better, kinder person, because sometimes death is there at my elbow saying, does this matter?

But some days are a little harder than others.

[pennyellee]

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰

title: ANUBIS pairings: yandere mafia namjoon x barmaid f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: 19,7K release date: december - january

beta read by one and only @chaoticpuff17

prompt 1: “You are something I can sin for” prompt 2: An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that’s what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time where you’ve resented Namjoon with every fibre of your being and every word that came out of his plump lips after what he had done to prove his power. Unfortunately, you will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, reader meets namjoon young but nothing happens until she's 21, forced engagement, kidnapping, graphic violence, death, murder, blood, explicit language, misogyny, mentions of feminism, alcohol usage, mentions of religion and God, church smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, oppa-kink and so on (i'll add some if i'll forget)

author's note: so here we are! this is the story i've been thrilled to push out as it is happening in the universe and almost simultaneously with CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI. Y/N alias Peaches here, is my baby, and I cannot wait to write more for her and Namjoon after champagne confetti side B goes out. I have drafts for another fics that are happening in the same universe as champagne confetti and now anubis but step by step my faries ♥ I hope you will enjoy reading this piece I was keeping for myself for a looong time. The best thing about writing is that I get to build this world of imagination and live in it for months before it gets to you. Sooo I'm very nervous and excited to push Anubis out as a second fic within champagne confetti universe - which i still didn't name coz all the fics just have different titles so let's just call it like that for now. Without further ado, enjoy fairies! ♥ let's go back to 1996. omfg, let's call it thatttt, back to 1996!

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone. main masterlist 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

1996

"Did you sleep well?" Namjoon asked, his voice softer now, as if he was trying to breach the walls that had begun to rise between you.

You nursed your coffee in the black ceramic mug while you shrugged, keeping the answer with spice in it for yourself just yet. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you could see the cracks in his façade when you didn't answer.

"I see... silent treatment," he gulped down, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. Pouring himself a cup of coffee too, he leaned on the counter right in front of you. You took his appearance in. He got a buzz cut, creamy satin shirt tucked in leather pants. A few of the buttons were undone, giving you a perfect view of his toned chest.

"Is that really how you want to start the day?" he provoked. You set the mug down, the clink of ceramic against marble echoing in the tension-filled kitchen.

"Did you ask yourself the same question when you threatened me?" you shot back, your voice rising slightly as the memories flooded back. The anger surged within you, igniting a fire that had been smoldering since the moment you woke up in his penthouse.

Namjoon's expression shifted, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a flicker of defensiveness.

"Well, you for some reason seemed too adamant that you needed to patrol the streets of Bronx by running away from me. I know you too damn well, Peaches; I know where you were headed."

The words stung, each syllable laced with accusation and an unsettling truth. Your heart raced, the anger bubbling just below the surface.

"You know fucking shit, Namjoon—"

"Oppa," he jumped in, his voice firm, yet tinged with a note of caution.

You inhaled sharply, the familiar term slicing through the tension like a knife. It reminded you of the intimate moments you once shared. "You've lost that honorific the moment you decided to threaten me and kill that man right in front of my eyes!"

Namjoon's jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict brewing beneath his composed exterior.

"You don't understand the kind of world I'm in. We protect ours."

"Protect?" you spat, feeling the heat of betrayal wash over you.

"I'm a person who deserves to make her own choices—" He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.

"What choices are you making? Running off into the night like it's some kind of adventure? You think that's brave? I refuse to let you get hurt because you're unhappy with my decisions."

"Oh yeah, like something would happen to me—"

"You are my woman, and people know that you are, Peaches!" he declared, his voice rising with intensity, as if the weight of his words was meant to command respect from the universe itself.

Your heart raced at his proclamation, a mix of anger and something softer twisting in your gut.

"The fuck you're talking about, Namjoon?" You snapped, your voice echoing off the sleek kitchen walls. Anger surged within you, fueled by the sheer audacity of his claim.

"Not fucking once did you say that we ought to be official one day—" you shot back, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"You act like I'm some sort of possession, something you can just claim without any conversation or commitment!" Namjoon's expression hardened, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes.

"You need to stop pretending like we don't have a future because you're scared of the past," he said, smashing the mug down on the counter. Namjoon's jaw tightened, and the conflict in his eyes was palpable.

"Since we met, not fucking once have you made your intentions strictly clear, Namjoon! The fuck am I doing here then?!" The words burst from your lips, raw and unfiltered, echoing in the tense space between you.

He ran a hand over his face, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

"I thought you knew. I thought you felt it too," he replied, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I thought it was understood that it was a matter of time."

"Understood?" you scoffed, incredulity seeping into your tone. "You think that just because you've made me a part of your life, I should automatically know my place? That's not how it works!"

"I was waiting till you'll—"

"Age of consent is eighteen in this state, Namjoon, keep that bullshit to yourself." Namjoon's expression darkened at your words, and you could see the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"So you would rather be wifed and knocked up as soon as we met, am I right?"

.

.

.

.

.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: if you want to be notified once the full story will be up for reading, you can write in the comments and i'll create a taglist!

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

lots of love, p.

[mirrorballjustforyou]

hockey fic recs

this list made my realize how much I read about Quinn lol. please enjoy this list of my favourite fics of your favourite players and support the very talented authors!!

more fic recs with other players will be added soon!!

𖤓 = smut

Quinn Hughes

homeward | capquinn normally I'm not super into reading pics that involve pregnancy or kids but this one had me in all my feels. watching reader and Quinn get the life they deserve was so much fun

loving him was red | sweetestdesire 𖤓 okay this one is HOT I love how Quinn just wants to make reader feel good and is so so caring

bicep shy | hugheshugs as a shy girlie myself this one was sooooo cute. I absolutely love how patient Quinn is with reader. this one had me blushing

more than a memory | blueskrugs I read this for the first time while I was reading every summer after and the connections between the two are sooooo cute

oh, my my my | sweetteainthesummerx as a ts girlie with dreams of a real life childhood friends to lovers love story, this one checked all my boxes VERY, and I mean VERY cute

can I be close to you? | 43-hugs the slowwwww burn in this holy shit. I was reading this with a giant smile on my face

explodin' (like a golf ball) | puck-luck 𖤓 this one is so so hot and I absolutely loved the dialogue. Quinn is such a tease and I ate it up

dishes in the sink | hhughes this one feels very domestic and Quinn is very cute here

oliver the orca | mattatouilletkachuk THE HOCKEY BABIES AU!!!!! this one was very very cute!!!

day by day, year after year | 13-hugs 𖤓 THIS ONE OMG its absolutely everything is such a roller coaster as so cute!

Luke Hughes

lakeside kisses | zebrasdrysdale i absolutely love friends to lovers and this fit is no exception. I also love how all they boys knew they were meant to be

under wraps | star2fishmeg 𖤓 another friends to loverssssss and this one is very cute but also hot. I love hype man Dylan in this lol lol

friends with feelings | resilientwins 𖤓 I LOVE LUKE IN THIS LOL. this one has me absolutely giggling

a bed for two | resilientwins I love reader is Lukes banter in this and when they finally give and and hold each other so cuteeeeeee

birthday blues and a matchmaking hughes | resilientwins resilientwins I am your biggest fan!!!!!! legit obsessed with every single one of their fics

blushing | hearts4hughes the teasing in this is so cute and I'm obsessedddd

invisible string | hugshughes Taylor Swift and the kiss in the rain??!! I'm screaming

in the morning light | theemporium 𖤓 this one is so hot hellooo?? Luke is such a gentle lover in this fic and I absolutely love it

practice makes perfect | misshoneyimhome 𖤓 this one is so cute and I love how flustered Luke gets

Cole Caufield

four weddings and a funeral | thewintersoldierdisaster. THE BUILD UP. this fic is so so good and Cole is so sweet in it. I loved the relationship between reader and Trevor and in the ending he is so funny

frat fever | puck-luck 𖤓 Cole is so so toxic in this but I ate every word up and I can't blame reader because I would have folded for him as well because hellllooooo look at him

hey stephen | nhlclover I love love love the pining in this! watching reader and Cole get nervous infront of each other was so cuteeee and the fearless mention yassssss

Jamie Drysdale

always trust the match maker | drysdalesworld this one is very sweet and makes me smile a lot. I was kicking my feet when reader and Jamie fell asleep on the couch

about a month | adorethedistance Jamie and Trevors bater is so cute and funny in this

[hurtblossom]

You belong with me L.N.4

Pairing : Lando Norris x Driver!Reader (Female)

Summary : Driver reader is in love with little Lando Norris, but he is too oblivious to notice ?

Warning : ANGST + Insecure reader + Terrible english (feel free to correct me) + Relatively short. Use of she/her pronounce

INSPIRED BY THE SONG YOU BELONG WITH ME, BY TAYLOR SWIFT

Materlist

You've always had a soft spot for Lando Norris, from the moment you first saw him at one karting race, when you were just kids. You grew up together, along with other drivers, so you were on the first line to see the little boy you once knew, turn into one hell of a man. But it wasn't his beauty that caught your attention. It was rather how mature he was at such a young age, how he was shy around all the other boys during karting, or how he always managed to have a good heart.  

You'll always remember the day you met him; it was during your first ever karting competition. You've waited for this moment a long time, and trained hard, with your father's help, to achieve your goals. Unfortunately, nothing went as planned, and you ended up being covered in mud, and disqualified, due to someone pushing you off the track (it was just an inchident, on the race).

You'll always remember that little boy, coming towards you and sitting next to you, telling you how much of a great racer you are, and how you should beat yourself up over one loss. When you turned to look at him, the only thing you could see was his smile.

He raised one hand, which made you flinch a little, and he carefully brought it to your face, whipping the tears. That was the first ever memory you had of Lando Norris, and ever since then, you've been growing a crush on him, to which he had been oblivious.  

Back to the story ...  

You're on the phone with your girlfriend, she's upset  She's going off about something that you said  Cause she doesn't get your humor like I do 

You've been a driver for McLaren for a little less than 3 months now, they were kind enough to give you a chance, as the first female, racing in Formula 1, against men.  

You often saw Lando, on his phone, texting away, or just talking on the phone with someone. You didn't want to pry or to be weird by asking questions. You were only his teammate after all, so you just watched him, from afar.

You noticed that he always seemed to be upset when on the phone, always huffing and arguing with the person on the other side of it. You could hear small bits of the conversation, something about him being rude or whatever.  

"You should stop staring, it's becoming quite obvious." Max said, sitting beside you.  

"I don't know what you're talking about." You said, burying your eyes on your phone.  

"I'm serious Y/n/n, it's been years, when are you going to give up?" He asked.  

" Again, I don't know what you're talking about." You replied, sitting up. "Now, if you don't mind, I have places to be "  

"The sooner you'll get over it, the better. " Yelled Max, while watching you disappear.  

But she wears short skirts, I wear T-shirts  She's Cheer Captain, and I'm on the bleachers  Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find  That what you're looking for has been here the whole time 

The first time you met Magui, Lando's girlfriend, you couldn't help but compare yourself with her. The way she dresses, how she talked, how she laughed, her posture. Everything she had, everything she was, you envied, because you were never that. Deep down, you wished to be like her, and even deeper than that, you wanted to know if Lando would even spare you a glance, if you looked just a little bit like Magui.  

McLaren was having a little brunch, where all the team was invited, including plus ones. You were all sitting around a table, talking about the previous races, laughing and just having a good time, all together. It was loud.

It was now that Lando cracked a joke, and everybody laughed that you realized that Magui wasn't really interested in what was happening, only focusing of her phone.

You looked back at Lando and saw the disappointment on his face. You made direct eye contact, and you smiled at him, waving slowly your hand, to which he did the same, you couldn't help but think that she really wasn't for him.

What you didn't see was Magui's face after that. And what you surely didn't know was that after that lunch, you were the topic of an argument between those two.  

If you could see that I'm the one who understands you  Been here all along, so why can't you see?  You belong with me 

The last GP left Lando in pieces, feeling like a disappointment, like he couldn't do anything right, win anything. During that last race, he ended up DNFing, while you were P3. Once out of the car, you were smiling, but it slowly faded away when you noticed your team's behavior.  

"What's happening?" You asked one of your coworkers after taking off your helmet.  

"Lando DNFed, and we can't find him anywhere." You've informed.  

Technically, you had to go straight to media, to talk about your race, but at that moment, your whole attention was focused on finding Lando.  

Walking around the paddock, you bumped into Magui, you didn't miss the dirty look she gave you.  

"Have you seen Lando?" You asked her.  

"Why are you looking for my boyfriend?" She asked in return. "Haven't you understood yet? He doesn't want you. Stop being so clingy with him, stop laughing at his stupid jokes, and stop looking at him all the damn time. " 

"What on earth are you talking about?" You asked, confused.  

" Don't act stupid. You know exactly what I'm talking about. He told me how much of a creep you are. Leave him alone. He's too nice to tell you that himself." She explained, getting angrier every time she pronounced a word.  

" He told you that?" You whispered.  

" That and many other things." She spoke. "Leave my boyfriend alone. Understood?"  

"Yeah. Alright. I will." You said, trying to get as far away as possible from that woman.  

"And for the recorded. He blames you for today." She finally said, before leaving.  

Tears were going down your face, as you continued to walk. That's when you saw him, sitting alone, far away from any cameras, his face buried in his hands. You dried your tears with the back of your hand, before joining him. You took a seat next to him, silently, not daring to look at him.  

"Don't beat yourself too much." You said, catching his attention. "It wasn't your fault; you did the best you could."  

"I failed, again." He said, looking straight forward.  

"You're a fantastic racer, Lando. One fail doesn't define you. You have many wins coming your way. I know it." You explained, looking at him.  

"How can you be so sure?" He asked 

" Because I know you." You simply said, smiling at him. "And I know you're going to do big things."  

At that moment, his face turned, and his eyes studied your face, his smiled disappeared, replaced by a frown.  

"Were you crying?" He asked, noticing the redness of your eyes.  

" Um, yeah." You whispered. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I wont bother you anymore Lando." 

"Bother me? What are you talking about?" He asked, confusion visible on his face, but you just couldn't deal with that now.  

"I have to go." You stood up quickly, making your way towards the paddock. Lando stood up quickly, calling after you, but you just didn't turn around. 

part 2 🩷

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Character Development

Rick Riordan's Writing Tips

Rick Riordan:

Character development is paramount for me. I firmly believe that plot and character development must occur simultaneously. Plot cannot be left to chance. Neither can characters be automatons who carry out actions envisioned in the author's master plan. Below are some things I try to keep in mind when developing my characters:

RICK RIORDAN'S TOP 5 TIPS ON CHARACTER

Define a character first through action, second through dialog and description, never through explanation.

A character should be primarily defined by the choices he makes, and the actions he takes.

How does he respond to violence?

How does he respond to love?

Secondly, a character must be vividly but deftly describe through his speech, and through the initial view you give the reader.

Never stop to explain who a character is when we can watch him in action and decide for ourselves.

Be impressionist rather than realistic.

Describe characters as Dickens did – with a single deft stroke.

A laundry list of physical traits is realistic, but it is neither memorable nor compelling.

A jarring metaphor for the character, or a focus on one mannerism or physical trait, can be very compelling.

Example: She was a human tornado.

Do not be afraid to use real people as models, but do not be constricted by your models.

It is very natural to use parts of ourselves or the people we know when creating characters.

Do not be afraid to do this because someone might get mad at you.

At the same time, let your character develop.

Do not force them to do what the real-life model would do.

Characters seldom end up exactly like the real people they are based on.

The reader does not have to be told everything you know about the character.

It may be critically important to you that your character has blue eyes, or went to Texas A&M.

But if these details have no part in the story, the reader will not care.

Leave them in your subconscious.

If you are having trouble figuring out a character, fill out a character profile, or do some journaling in that character's voice.

Your character must act, not simply be acted upon.

We care about characters because we are interested in the choices they make.

We want to boo the villain, cheer the hero, and cry with frustration when the tragic figure makes the wrong move.

A character who does not act, but simply receives information and is acted upon by outside forces, is not a character who will compel the reader.

Remember, plot is what the characters do next.

If the characters do not create the plot, the plot is hollow.

Here's a character profile worksheet I sometimes fill out if I'm having trouble understanding a particular character I've created:

Character Profile

Name:

Height:

Age in story:

Birthplace:

Hair color, length, style:

Race/nationality:

Regional influences:

Accent: (include voice, style of speech, slang, signature phrases or words)

Religion:

Marital status:

Scars or other notable physical attributes:

Handicaps: (emotional, physical, mental)

Athletic? Inactive? Overall health?

Style of dress:

Favorite colors:

How does the character feel about his/her appearance?

Brothers/sisters:

Relationship with parents:

Memories about childhood:

Educational background: (street smart? Formal? Does he/she read?)

Work experience:

Occupation:

Where does the character live now? Describe home (emotional atmosphere as well as physical)

Neat or messy?

Sexual preferences/morals/activities:

Women friends/men friends:

Pets?

Enemies? Why?

Basic nature:

Personality traits (shy, outgoing, domineering, doormat, honest, kind, sense of humor):

Strongest trait:

Weakest trait:

What does the character fear?

What is the character proud of?

What is the character ashamed of?

Outlook on life (optimistic, pessimistic, cynic, idealist)

Ambitions:

Politics:

How does the character see himself/herself?

How is the character seen by others?

Do you like this person? Why or why not?

Will readers like or dislike?

Most important thing to know about this character:

Present problem:

How it will get worse:

What is the character's goal in the story?

What traits will help/hurt the character in achieving this goal?

What makes the character different from similar characters?

Why will readers remember this character vividly?

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[remlionheart]

Growing Pains

part three

♡ˎˊ˗ hiiii, welcome to the final installment of the fic that’s taken over my life for the last four months ♡ ̆̈ be sure to start here if you're new ♡ moving on from this story will be emotional i can’t lie, i've gotten way too invested in this but i'm very happy that i was able to see it through and hopefully do it justice. what started off as a small idea turned into something much bigger and i'm so thankful for all of the love and support you guys gave me. i love u all SO much, thanks for sticking with me on this ♡ biblically-cannon-megumi x fem!reader. slow burn. hurt / comfort. aged up characters. forced proximity. (light) enemies to lovers. eventual smut. this is what jjk could've been if fushiguro was the main character and gege would’ve been hugged as a child. lemme know whatcha think, luv u ♡ˎˊ˗

₊⊹♡ MDNI ₊⊹♡

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

You'd lied for him.

Despite absolutely everything– despite your better judgement, despite the sick, burning sense of anxiety that had taken over your mind and body, you'd still... covered for him. Giving Gojo vague and concise answers, fabricating lies to make Megumi's late-night disappearances seem less concerning than they actually were. Telling him that it'd just started happening instead of admitting that it'd actually been going on for nearly two months. Painting a soft, false picture that he was usually only ever gone for an hour at a time though there had been several nights he hadn't made it back until nearly 4 in the morning. Mending his worries with whatever reassuring words you could string together to make him loosen up on his questioning until he'd finally closed the door to your dorm, leaving you with a poignant– "If anything else happens, you come find me."

You weren't sure how you'd managed to hold it together so well, but the minute it was just you alone with your thoughts again, you found your hands trembling as you rushed over to his side of the room. Reminding yourself to breathe while you rummaged through his bookshelf and nightstand for any sort of explanation.

Going through his things felt wrong, but not going through them would've somehow felt worse. If you'd learned anything from your time spent with him, it was that Megumi Fushiguro was a lot of things, but deceitful without cause wasn't one of them. He wasn't the type to lie for no reason. He held his secrets unreasonably close to his chest but never out of malice. If he was hiding something, if he was lying to you, Gojo, Nobara, and Yuuji– arguably the only people he'd ever really let in, it wasn't because he wanted to.

His belongings were every bit as organized and well-guarded as he was though, hardly anything seeming suspicious or out of place no matter how many journals and textbooks you searched through. You were trying to be as meticulous as you could, doing your very best not to acknowledge the race against the clock you knew were up against or the ever-increasing weight that was sitting on your chest as you reached for the only book left– the one that you'd gifted him for his birthday.

You pushed past your body's consternation, carefully flipping through the pages when finally, a folded up loose-leaf piece of paper fell out of it, making your heart completely abandon any semblance of a steady rhythm.

It was a series of bullet-points mostly, jotted down information about reversed curse techniques and different types of healing abilities that didn't seem to go in any particular order. You were almost afraid that you'd hit another dead-end until your eyes landed on the bottom of the page. Your legs suddenly struggling to keep you upright as you trailed over his handwriting, all of the rigid pieces of the last few months gradually beginning to unravel and connect.

"Technique Name: 'Kokoro Kiri' - also known as Heart Severing," it read, "is a reversed curse technique developed to manipulate, distort, and erase memories by severing the spiritual and emotional connections tied within a person's mind. This technique utilizes cursed energy to fracture the target's emotional bonds to certain experiences and people, effectively making them unable to access specific memories."

The page nearly slipped from your grasp, your hand suddenly shaking beyond your control as you forced yourself to take a seat on the edge of his bed. Your breathing was alarmingly uneven, tears desperately trying to push their way out no matter how hard you fought to keep them at bay. As much as you wanted to lie to yourself– to naively choose to believe that all of this somehow wasn't directly related to you, you couldn't.

Reality had you backed into a corner with its steel grip locked firmly around your neck and there was no escaping it.

Your vision was blurry, the words almost bleeding together as you continued on to the last paragraph, "Memory Fragmentation– typically performed by a healer, is used to destroy emotional and cognitive connections attached to selected memories or selected people in the target's mind. In some extreme cases, a skilled enough user may even have the capability to erase large portions of their target's past or sever bonds between them and a specified individual. Unlike memory manipulation or distortion, this ability creates a void in the target's mind, leaving them with a permanent sense of disconnection from who or what was once there."

The oxygen had all but vanished from the room as you stared back at his words, a devastatingly cruel fate laid out in such pretty handwriting. It was hard to fathom, that the same hands that had touched you so gently– the ones that had played with your hair until you'd fallen asleep, the ones that had tangled into yours on the nights that neither one of you wanted to be alone were the same ones that had been carrying around the weight of this plan all along.

You knew him well enough to know that this wasn't something he'd just decided on– no, nothing Megumi ever did was half-thought-out or impulsive. He was unbearably analytical. Annoyingly thorough when it came to most things, but especially research. He'd never bother to waste his time on variables or flimsy possibilities. If he was going to do something, he had to be impossibly sure that it would work, which meant that this… this must've been a guarantee.

All of those moments of hesitation– both big and small. The layers of distance and formality. The harsh, venomous silence that he used to separate himself from you. They all finally made sense.

"Itadori. Kugisaki. Anyone else here that you meet, for that matter," he'd said, "they’re not your friends.”

The tears that streamed down your face were painful and completely unavoidable as you pulled your knees up to your chest, letting your head rest against your arm while his words continued to haunt you.

“You can’t avoid it forever." The way he'd said it had felt so cold and unwarranted at the time. "You’re gonna have to get used to loss and to keeping everyone you meet at a distance." But it'd never occurred to you until now just how necessary that conversation actually was.

It had been a warning, not for you, but for himself.

Your body was numb, mind completely overrun with questions that you weren't sure you even wanted answers to, and they just kept multiplying the longer you sat with it all.

You allowed yourself another minute to breathe before slowly unfolding your legs and using the sleeve of your hoodie to dry your cheeks. Letting your eyes drift over the page one last time as you carefully tucked it into his book again and got to your feet, wedging it back into the spot you'd taken it from.

Would he have told you? Or would you have woken up one day with a void in the place that he should've been, not even realizing that something was missing? How far did this go, exactly? If there were different degrees of memory fragmentation, where did his interest in using it begin and where did it end?

The only real thing that made sense to you was that this must've been some sort of loophole to negate his contract with Yaga. To either free you from Jujutsu Society as a whole or to break his tie to you. It was too late at this point though– after everything that had happened, you didn't want to go down either of those paths and the fact that he did, the fact that he had somehow come to terms with the entirety of this... it made you realize that maybe you'd never actually known him at all.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, abruptly pulling you back to reality as his name flashed across the screen: "No project tonight," it read, "it'll finally just be us."

You stared at the text, unable to even write back a simple reply with how hard it was to keep yourself standing upright and steady. Your thumbs hovered above the keys, almost typing, but never actually letting a full thought form before another blue bubble popped up from him: "I wish it could always just be us."

Tears were instantly pricking at the corners of your eyes again, your insides burning as your chest constricted. Precarious but determined fingertips spelling out the last bit of honesty that seemed to exist between the two of you–

"It could’ve been...”

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

He was frozen in place, the cold chill of the abandoned church that they'd been assigned to suddenly feeling like the very least haunting thing he was up against as he stashed his phone back into his pocket. Nothing had gone right since you'd dropped the three of them off. They'd been stuck in the same cathedral for hours and still hadn't found so much as a trace of cursed energy despite how small the area was.

Everyone was getting worn down and frustrated, but they didn't have the luxury of coming back empty-handed. His concern should've been on finding a solution, on checking the place over again to see if there was a hidden door or passageway that they'd somehow missed– something, anything that might lead them to the cursed object they were supposed to find. But instead, the only thought occupying his scattered, sleep-deprived mind was your use of the word "could've". The concise, intentional past-tense bite it had to it.

You were more similar to him than he'd care to admit, clumsy with your words at times and prone to rambling when nervous, but just like him, you never spoke out of turn. You were tactful. Soft-spoken, yet very deliberate when it came to expressing your feelings.

"Could've been" felt like a serrated knife because it was meant to. "Could've been" held the weight of a threat because it was one. "Could've been" implied that you knew something because–

"God, this is a pain in the ass," Kugisaki huffed, rolling a piece of rubble under her shoe as Fushiguro found himself actually pacing the longer he mulled over it. "We've looked damn near everywhere, there's nothing here!"

"Maybe Gojo gave us the wrong coordinates." Itadori shrugged, plopping himself down on one of the concrete pews as he stretched his arms behind his head.

Gojo.

Why did everything in his god-forsaken life have to lead back to Gojo?

You were the only two people at Jujutsu High with everyone else being out on missions– of course he'd tried to talk to you to see how things had been going. Gojo was constantly keeping tabs on him, always poking around to see how he was doing even when it was none of his concern. And you, being you– you'd probably been honest with him, not understanding how consequential your answers were.

The picture had become excruciatingly clear to him, what must've led up to that one single text from you. There was no wishful thinking left, no maybes or what-ifs that could possibly free him from this hell that you were both aware of now. Reality had him in the same chokehold it had you in, its grip just as merciless around his throat too– you knew and the only thing he could do was accept it.

He drew in a sharp breath, running a staggered hand over his face as his footsteps finally came to a pause. "We're withdrawing for now."

Kugisaki's eyes snapped up towards his, a blend of relief and confusion sweeping over her as she blinked back at him. "You sure?"

Fushiguro had never backed down from an assignment. Never tapped out no matter how long or grueling a mission was, but this was different. He could barely focus on anything, could barely keep himself present and coherent let alone concentrate on piecing together the layout of this abandoned building.

He needed to talk to you. Needed to get back to his room as soon as he could. It was the first time in his life that his emotions had managed to overrule his logic. Whatever was here clearly wasn't as threatening as it was thought to be– it could wait, you couldn't.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, shooting you a text to let you know that they were ready as he motioned for Itadori and Kugisaki to follow him.

"We'll come back tomorrow," he reasoned, trying to sound more sure of himself than he actually was, "we can talk to Gojo about it in the morning and reconvene when we have more information, but there's no sense in staying here all night."

He knew neither of them would fight him on the decision, they'd both been practically half-way out the door before he'd even said anything anyway.

He stuffed his hands into his jacket, a sobering gust of late-winter air swirling around him as they stepped outside and started heading towards the cafe that you'd dropped them off at earlier.

Nervousness wasn't a feeling he knew well, but it had become a deep, painful pit in the center of his stomach the closer they got to you. There was so much he had to explain, so many agonizing words that he had to somehow make seem acceptable even though they were anything but.

He hesitated as he reached for the car door, his eyes meeting yours with all the caution in the world before he finally settled into the passenger's seat and gently reached over to rest the palm of his hand on your thigh, almost flinching at the idea of you pushing him away. It was hard to process that you'd somehow become both the cause and the remedy to his distress.

Your voice was even, your composure seemingly in-tact, but the way you looked at him... your glossy, defeated stare told a completely different story than the nonchalant facade you were putting on for your friends.

The ride back was unnervingly calm– you, Itadori, and Kugisaki all chatting back and forth, the volume of the radio getting turned up and down every few minutes depending on the song, Kugisaki's laughter echoing from the backseat at something Itadori had said. He found his grip tightening around your leg in a feeble attempt to stop his racing thoughts while his head rested against the window when the warmth of your hand landed on top of his. Your eyes subtly drifting over to him with more reassurance than he deserved.

His heart was lodged in his throat by the time you pulled into the parking lot, each step feeling more damning than the last as you made your way to the dorms until you'd finally reached the end of the hall. You both waved and said your goodnights to Itadori and Kugisaki before you dug your key out of your hoodie and opened the door, leaving him alone with you and the truths he couldn't possibly say.

It was quiet, the tension in the room absolutely suffocating as you stripped out of your coats and put your uniforms away, dodging glances from each other while changing into your usual sleepwear. He took a seat on the side of his bed, his pulse ringing through his ears as he watched you put your hair up in the mirror.

He could see your apprehension– the internal debate of whether to say something or stay silent. The indecision of retreating back to your bed or his. It was in every movement you made, every small detail of your mannerisms plagued with a sense of uncertainty that made him ache.

He swallowed hard as he reached his hand out to you, "Can you–" He cleared his throat, watching you slowly turn to face him. "Can you come here?"

The same hurt he was feeling was reflected in your gaze, your breathing coming to a visible stop as you struggled to look back at him.

"Please?"

His voice was barely a whisper, wavering and broken but still strong enough to pull you in.

You turned off the light before taking his hand, letting his arms wrap around you as you burrowed yourself into his chest. The familiar scent of him settling your nerves while his lips pressed against the top of your head and his fingertips began drawing soft, hazy patterns along your shoulder. The two of you welcoming the calm silence that followed as you sank further into the safety of one another.

Growing up, you'd never really known if home was supposed to be a place or a feeling. You'd lost it so many years ago, you figured there wasn't much sense in giving significance to a word that didn't belong in your vocabulary anymore anyway, but finally being with him after the day that you'd both had... You quickly realized that maybe it still did exist after all– not as a place or a feeling, but as both. It was here, right inside the small space between you. It was this, the sound of his heart beating steadily against your temple.

It was him and there was going to come a day where you'd wake up without the privilege of even being able to remember the beauty of what you'd lost.

Your chest heaved against your will, tears soaking his shirt as they spilled down your cheeks, the weight of it all becoming far too crippling to bear. Your arms locked around his waist desperately. Hopeless, childlike thoughts suddenly soaring through your mind like– maybe if you held onto him tight enough, you could somehow stay here forever, maybe if you could find the right things to say then time wouldn't have to carry on.

His grasp mirrored yours, holding you as steady as he could while letting out soft little nothings that all bled together, “Shh, it's okay. I've got you." and "Please breathe, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

He was dangerously close to his own breaking point too though, the only thing holding him together was the need to be strong for you. His resolve was crumbling, every wall he'd ever built absolutely annihilated by the feeling of your nails digging into his sides as you clung onto him like he was the most important thing in the world.

"I don't–want–" you shook your head at the thought, your words choppy and almost impossible to get out. "I don't... want to– leave you."

He let out a semblance of an exhale, fighting to keep his hands from shaking as he guided you down onto the bed with him so that you were both laying down with his arms still wrapped around you and your head back on his chest.

The way you trembled against him as he ran his fingers through your hair was the exact reason why he'd kept all of this hidden in the first place– the same reason why he'd tried so hard to keep his distance from you. This pain would've always been inevitable for him, but it shouldn't have been for you.

He continued to brush away your tears, more reassuring whispers spilling out every so often until your body finally started to relax. Your breathing gradually coming back down to a normal pace while his thumb traced along your neck.

"If it were up to me," he swallowed, forcing his vision to stay pointed up at the ceiling. "Things would be different."

You lifted your head slightly, your eyes roaming over his face as your fingers absentmindedly tangled into the collar of his shirt.

"You'd stay here with me. We'd graduate together." He rested a hand over his forehead to keep himself distracted from the weight of your stare, knowing it was the only way he could the next part out. "But, that's not how this place works– things are rarely good and when they are, they don't last long. There's... a lot– so much you don't know about the contract that's keeping you here."

Your lips parted, but no words came out, your shoulders suddenly stiff again as you watched him.

"I haven’t been protecting you because Yaga told me to or because Gojo told me to or even because it was my assignment to... I’ve been protecting you because it's what I promised myself I would do."

It was like looking into a storm over the ocean when his eyes met yours again, graveness mixed guilt. "I need you to listen to me, okay? Really listen to me. This doesn't leave this room. This doesn't leave us."

You gave him a slow nod, chills splintering down your spine as he cupped your face with his hand.

"Yaga's original plan to have you executed didn't necessarily end just because I intervened. All I was able to do was postpone it and have the responsibility of who would carry it out be... transferred."

The air had officially been stolen from your lungs.

"My job? My actual mission when it comes to you? Is to monitor you. To watch you. To see if you'll have any lingering effects after coming into contact with Sukuna's finger as a non-sorcerer. You might as well be a science experiment to Yaga and the other higher-ups.” The disgust in his voice was thick, heavy. “I'm supposed to be the one to make sure nothing goes wrong while you're here. I'm contracted to keep close tabs on you to ensure that if Sukuna takes over Yuuji's body to try and coax information out of you, you aren't able to give it to him..."

It was the first time you'd seen his emotions evolve past his usual irritability or stoicism. He'd finally reached the core of it. The root of all of the negativity that he had bottled up inside of him for so long. It wasn't something as simple as anger or resentment– no, it was... grief that he’d been facing.

"The agreement was never for me to keep you safe, it was for me... to kill you if you became too much of a liability." He could barely look at you, his jaw clenched, the room blurred by tears he wasn't prepared to shed.

"That's why– I leave every night... I got Shoko to tip me off to a healer on the outskirts of Tokyo and we've been... going over different techniques... I've been burying myself in research, trying to figure out–" He paused, more violent waves of shame crashing over him as his thumb continued to lightly trace your jawline. "Trying to figure out the least invasive way to go about this because I– don't want it to... hurt. I want you to be able to keep as many memories as you can. I... want it to be... quick and painless. I– just want you to be... safe. Safe and out of here. That's all I care about."

You were crying again, but this time for both of you, for every single dismal decision that had been made and led to this.

You almost felt selfish for your own feelings, finally seeing the full scope of his. He'd saved you– again and again. And even after managing to find a way to do it one last time, he was still on the losing side of it. He would always be bound to the knowledge of what he'd done to you no matter how much time passed. You'd go on to not remember him, but oh god, would he remember you.

He'd been mourning you since the day you arrived and it'd only been getting worse with each day that he woke up with your body pressed against his. Even when he fought to find solutions, they still came with such a steep price that they ended up feeling like losses in disguise.

Neither side of this was fair. You'd be a late-night what-if that haunted him for the rest of his life and he'd be that place between sleep and awake for you. That confusing, gut-wrenching feeling of waking up and missing someone so immensely only to question if they'd ever really existed or not.

Both of your fates were equally cruel in vastly different ways, but realizing the selflessness behind his plan made something inside of you break. Everything he'd done, all of it, had always been for... you.

His hands were firm and secure against the sides of your face as he guided you up to him, looking back at you with all of the strength he had left.

"You've gotta trust me, okay?" Even through your own tears, you could still see his too. Just barely pricking at the corners of his eyes as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear like he'd done so many times before only none of it felt the way it should've. "I'll get you out of here. I won't let anything happen to you. But I need you to promise you won't fight me on this because.... it's the only way... we have to be in this together. Please."

Your breathing was staggered, your mind completely overwhelmed by promises you couldn't possibly make but had to. Feelings you absolutely couldn't lose but had to.

"What happens to you?" You faltered. "After all of this is said and done– where will it leave you?"

You couldn't help but think that the somber smile that cut across his face was one of the prettiest and most devastating things you'd ever get to see in your life.

"Doesn't really matter..." he whispered, featherlight touches still trailing across your skin. "I get to know that you're okay and that's enough."

His grip tightened around you, delicately pulling you closer to him until his mouth was grazing yours. "Promise me."

You wouldn't– you wouldn't do this for anyone else in the entire fucking world, and yet, you'd do it... for him. Your voice was shattered, barely audible as you finally agreed.

"Promise."

He rested his forehead against yours, taking a moment to soak you in. To share the same space as you. To hold you and know that he didn't have to let go just yet.

"You know, I used to watch you too." he said, lips softly pressing into yours as more tears spilled down your cheeks. "Across from the courtyard– you sat in the very back corner with a book in your hand. I always liked that about you."

You shook your head in disbelief with a half-hearted smile as he kissed you, again and again, more easy little confessions from him slipping out between breaths. Quietly reminiscing while he played with your hair, easing the room back into its usual calm state before he reached for the comforter and wrapped it around the two of you, letting your head nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

He watched you intently as you slowly began to drift off, your words tapering down to incoherent little hums while your body tangled further into his. Exhaustion finally stealing you away. He laid as still as he could, memorizing the ceiling pattern while the sound of your breathing mixed with the snow tapping against the window. The warmth of your skin perfectly contrasting the frigid temperatures outside.

Maybe Gojo had been right after all– because from where he was laying, he really couldn’t imagine any curse or nightmare or hell that was scarier than what he was feeling right now.

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

The next day was a blur.

Ijichi returned back to class– but you didn't, refusing to leave the comfort of Megumi's bed. As much as you both needed to keep up appearances to avoid any more suspicion being tossed his way from the higher-ups, he still didn't fight you when you told him you weren't going. "I just..." you'd hesitated, your body not at all ready to untangle itself from the faux safety of his sheets. "I think I need a day to..."

"I get it." His eyes were just as exhausted and heavy as yours, but he'd still tucked you in anyway, gently wrapping his blanket around your shoulders as his stare lingered over you for a moment. "Don't worry about Ijichi," he said, "I'll tell him you're not coming. Shouldn't be a big deal. Just... try and get some rest."

You'd nodded, a seed of guilt settling into the pit of your stomach for not being able to pull yourself together when you knew he didn't have any other choice. He didn't fault you for it though– instead, he'd kissed the side of your cheek, whispering a soft but impossible, "It's gonna be alright." before smoothing down the collar of his uniform and heading out the door.

All of the progress that you'd made over the last six months– all of the painfully naïve optimism that you'd been clinging onto about finding purpose and normalcy suddenly felt so hollow, cruel almost. If Megumi's plan played out the way it was supposed to, it meant that you had approximately 9 days left until your mind would be permanently altered in ways that you couldn't even begin to let yourself try and comprehend.

You'd decided that you'd return back to class tomorrow– you'd take your meaningless little quizzes on probability and ratios and listen to Ijichi's lectures and do your very best to pretend that it didn't feel like your insides were catching fire with each passing minute. You'd put your best fake smile forward and go through the motions no matter how much of a slow death it felt like, because that's what you promised Megumi you'd do. But until tomorrow came, you weren't leaving his bed for anything.

You drew in a sharp breath, willing time to stop, even if just for a second as you attempted to declutter your thoughts. Maybe it was a coping mechanism or maybe it was because you were all too aware of the fact that soon, they'd no longer be there, but you couldn't stop yourself from sifting through old memories. Digging through the recesses of your mind like it was an old attic, letting nostalgia crash over you so hard you were almost afraid you wouldn't be able to find your way back to the present.

It started off slow, little snippets and fragments of mid-July air and the sound of your childhood best friend's laughter. Easy things like swing sets and waking up to the smell of fresh-baked bread at your grandma's house, but then you really started to remember the details. The duality and nuances of that house...

You rolled over as you rested your head in your hand, a painful static rippling through your mind.

You'd had to start over so many times in life– from the unexpected death of your parents when you were a kid, to moving into your grandma's house the summer before middle school after she'd gained full custody of you... She'd always been so kind and gentle but also feeble with a slew of health issues surrounding her. You'd been terrified when you'd lost her freshmen year, completely unsure of what your fate would be. You'd managed to avoid foster care though, quietly living in her house alone since it was already paid off. Keeping the utilities and yourself afloat with the small bank account she'd left you with.

"Come by my place after school," you'd never forget how relieved you were when he'd offered his house for that project instead of asking about yours.

Your life had been uprooted more times than you could count, everyone you'd ever loved ended up being torn away from you in the most unexpected and unfair ways imaginable... But even with everything that you'd faced, there was still nothing that could've prepared you for what happened at that party.

Your best friend who went with you... the way she held your hand while the two of you browsed through thrift stores and laughed together. She was the only one back then who really knew your situation...

"Fifteen fatalities have been reported so far, but we're still keeping an eye on it." She was your immediate first thought, yet another part of yourself that you'd lost only this time, it had been your fault. "Usually when something like this happens, the numbers climb more often than they fall."

Your fingers tangled into Megumi's blanket, the smell of him swirling around you as tears streamed down your face. While he may have carried the weight of it differently than you did, he wasn't the only one who had been forced to deal with loss. It'd been a haunting and viciously persistent theme in your life too, one that you were painfully tired of having to accept.

Your head was throbbing, your eyes closing to try and block out the rest of it when a knock at the door forced you back into the room.

"It's me!" Yuuji called out, his voice just as familiar and comforting as it always had been. "Promise I'll be in and out, I just wanted to drop off some curry for you."

You swallowed hard before rubbing a hand over your face to steady yourself. You didn't need a mirror to tell you that you looked like hell, but you still stole a quick glance at yourself anyway as you made your way to the door, cringing at the distraught reflection that stared back at you.

"Sorry to drag you out of bed when you're sick but Fushiguro said that..." The way his face fell as his eyes trailed over you made your stomach drop. "What happened...?"

You shook your head, offering him the most sincere smile you could manage. "Just... a really bad migraine." You shrugged, taking the bag of food from him. "I've been trying to sleep it off, I'll be alright."

You knew he didn't believe you.

“A migraine?”

"Yeah, they come out of nowhere sometimes." You nodded, a tidal wave of guilt washing over you for so blatantly lying to him. “I should be okay by tomorrow. It's really not a big deal."

"Right..." He hesitated, doing his best to map out his words. “Well, you know that if you’re not okay tomorrow… or the day after that… you can talk to me, right?”

The only thing you could do was nod again, the lump in your throat threatening to break as you fought the overwhelming urge to grab his wrist and ask him to sit with you. To tell him how much you were going to miss him. To tell him how much he and Nobara meant to you. To tell him that even if you didn't remember them, they'd always be a part of your heart... But you couldn't, you couldn't say hardly anything between the weight of his concern and Megumi's secret.  

He waited another few seconds, his apprehension to leave you alone palpable. But when you didn't say anything else, he finally took a step back. “Just... get to feeling better, okay?"

You nodded again, your voice catching as you said, “I will."

He shot you a faint smile and you did your best to return it before he disappeared back down the hall towards the sound of Nobara's voice. "She okay?" You heard her ask as you closed the door.

Everything in your life had always been fleeting and temporary but knowing that they were too was a level of a pain that you weren't ready to face. Your hands shook as you set the bag of curry down on the nightstand and fell back into Megumi's bed, curling into yourself as a sob racked through your body without warning.

You'd experienced more grief than you could ever put into words, and still, nothing had ever hurt quite like this.

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

Megumi's footsteps were light when he returned, his movements cautious as he approached you, glancing over at the untouched food by his bed.

He ran a gentle hand along your back, trying his best to keep you comfortable despite the selfish part of him that wanted to wake you up and bury his head into your chest after a long day.

You shifted, your hand instinctively reaching out for his as your eyes started to open, your surroundings still a blur. It was later than you'd anticipated it being, the moon just barely lighting up his side of the room. 

"You should eat," he said quietly, his thumb rubbing patterns into the inside of your palm.

"I know." You winced, your stomach burning at the thought. "I just... can't right now."

A blend of understanding and worry flickered through his stare as he pressed a light kiss onto the top of your hand. It wasn't like he'd necessarily been taking the best care of himself either the last few weeks.

He kicked off his shoes, stripping down into a t-shirt and boxers before laying down with you, the warmth of your body settling over him in a way he didn't realize he needed until he had it again.

A small smile crept across your face as he nestled into you, his tired arms wrapping around your waist while your fingers threaded through his hair, your nails just barely grazing his scalp. His legs were cold against yours, the sobering smell of winter air and pine filling the space between you.

You stared up at the ceiling, focusing on the sound of his breathing as it gradually began to sync with yours. It was rare that he clung to you like this, but it never failed to make you feel safe, like the rest of the world couldn't touch you as long as he was near you. 

The thought was soft when it first entered your mind, deceptively dreamy and trancelike with the way it had flowed in so easily. It was warmth, comfort, and... panic.

Your pulse quickened as the sentence echoed through your mind again, louder this time. Three words that you couldn’t possibly let yourself hold onto. Three words that represented everything you were losing. The feeling shifted from something gentle and manageable to sharp and serrated as it started to press against your ribs, demanding space you couldn’t afford to give it. Your fingers stilled in his hair, another rush of static and tears suddenly clouding your vision.

“Hey.”

His voice was low and steady as it cut through the haze, his hand brushing against your side. He propped himself up, tentatively hovering above you while his eyes searched yours. He could feel your heart racing, the way it was practically trying to beat through your chest.

"Breathe for me, okay?" He reached for your hand, but you could barely register it, a haze of anxiety replacing reality as your surroundings began to blur together.

You grabbed the side of your head, desperately closing your eyes to try and escape it, but the static in your mind only continued to spread. The room faded in and out, the edges of his face blurring together as the panic attack swept over you with vengeance. All of the things you wanted to say but couldn't. All of the feelings that you'd tried to bury but couldn't– they were all right there, right at the forefront of the storm.

Your fingers tangled into the fabric of Megumi's shirt, his face just inches apart from yours. He was still talking, still trying to keep you steady, but it wasn't working. There was a deafening ringing in your ears. A sea of scattered thoughts and displaced emotions crashing down around you. And then–

Nothing.

The static had somehow lifted, the suffocating wave of fear dying down. Your panic gradually replaced by what felt like an impossible stillness as he continued to hold you.

"Hey," the franticness in his voice was something you'd never heard before. "Look at me. Please, just–"

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, your vision clearing as you let the hand that you had pressed to your forehead fall back down to your side. 

The relief he felt was fleeting, quickly replaced by something else entirely as you froze again, your gaze locking onto something over his shoulder. 

You thought they were shadows at first– the type of looming figures that you'd see out of the corner of your eye when you'd been up for too long. The ones that would disappear with a simple blink, but the two sets of glowing eyes staring back at you were only becoming more and more visible the longer you looked at them.

Your head tilted slightly, taking in the mix of black and white fur, the matching red markings that decorated their foreheads before the smaller one took a step towards you, its movements gentle but seemingly protective as it laid beside you at the edge of the bed.

Megumi shifted, his shoulders visibly stiffening as he watched your reaction– the way your eyes carefully drifted over the Shikigami next to you. He drew in a sharp breath, keeping his tone as even as he could despite his own fears rising, realizing what this meant.

“You can see them... can’t you?”

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

The sun had just started to creep in through the blinds, but Megumi hadn't slept at all. He laid with his eyes closed and his mind racing for the better part of the night, tracing delicate patterns along your skin any time you'd start to stir.

"It's more common than you'd think," Gojo said as they walked across the training field, the August sun beating down on both of them. "Negativity takes on all kinds of different forms, it's not always as black and white as we make it out to be."

Megumi had shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes pointed down at the track as they made their way past two first-years struggling to land a hit on each other. "But if curses only become visible when someone's on the brink of death, then why –"

"That's not the only time it happens." Gojo interjected, "There are exceptions, just like anything else. All it takes is for enough grief and despair to hit someone at just the right frequency and..." He snapped his fingers, pulling Megumi's attention towards him again. "A non-sorcerer would be able to start seeing things they shouldn't– curses, residuals, it would all become visible to them."

Megumi's pace slowed, his brows furrowing the longer he thought about it. "And you think that's what happened to him?" He finally asked, "You think he just... spiraled so hard that he stumbled into this world by accident?"

"More or less." Gojo rolled his shoulders with a sigh. "Look, Junpei was a perfect example of what can happen when all the wrong things line up exactly at the right time. All that bullying, that isolation, losing his mom– his entire life was one long string of pain and anger. That much negativity? It doesn’t usually just sit quietly. It festers. And in his case, it built up to the point where it broke through the usual barriers."

Megumi paused, trying but failing to block out how hard Yuuji had taken his death over the last month. "And cases like him– exceptions like Junpei are... common?"

Gojo's smirk faltered, his hand resting easily on Megumi's shoulder as he bent slightly to meet his gaze. "All I'm saying is that they're not unheard of. Even the strongest people have their limits."

The memory had replayed itself so many times he could barely distinguish the present from nostalgia by the time you woke up next to him. He'd known that he was on borrowed time from the moment you'd arrived, but now... even that was gone.

His grip on you was light but firm as you started to stretch your legs, your eyes barely having the chance to open before your own thoughts began to spiral. No matter how much he tried to keep you calm, the demon dogs staring back at you were a solid reminder of where the two of you stood.

"We have to go... tonight, don't we?"

The silence that followed made your chest tighten, your hand shaking as your fingertips dug into the side of his arm. You drew in a breath before nodding in defeat, sparing him from having to be the one to say it.

You knew the second it had happened that this was what was coming, but there was still something so unexplainably damning about how it felt settling over the two of you. This was the last morning you’d wake up beside him. The last time you’d get to see him like this– soft and unguarded in ways no one else would ever know.

Your lips parted with those three words still desperately clinging to the tip of your tongue, but you managed to swallow them down, refusing to make things worse than they already were. It was the second time in only a few short minutes that you'd been the one to spare him.

His hand caught yours, your quiet acceptance hitting you both in steady but unrelenting waves as you laid together, your feelings embedded into every touch and every movement you made. It was tangible, absolutely everywhere in the space between you, and maybe… that was enough.

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

The hours went by like minutes, a heavy sense of finality and dread clinging onto even the most mundane things– from the way it felt to help Megumi with the buttons on his uniform while the two of you got ready together to the car ride where you'd had to take him, Yuuji, and Nobara back to the same church that they'd failed their previous mission at. It was all painfully familiar and foreign at once.

You were digging mental graves for friends that were still very much alive. Glancing over at Yuuji with a small smile as he leaned up to the front of the car to make sure you were actually feeling better. Knowing that this was your last day with him and having to push down the grief of not being able to give him or Nobara a proper goodbye. Kissing Megumi– really kissing him before you left and trying not to break down at the way his eyes lingered on you as you drove off. Every interaction you had was somehow more futile than the last and yet, you had no choice but to endure it.

By the time you reached Ijichi, you were more than ready to take a seat and tune out the rest of the world with one of his infamously dry lectures, but even his monotone voice and horrible puns were finding ways to tug at your heartstrings. Your mind wandered back to your first week with him– how welcome he'd made you feel without even meaning to. His classroom had always felt like more of a reprieve than a punishment, a quiet comfort amongst the chaos.

You shook your head, fighting past the tears that were threatening to spill over as you busied yourself with one of the ratio equations he had on the whiteboard when you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. You swallowed hard, watching his name flash across the screen before getting up and promptly making your way out into the hall.

He'd never called on you while on a mission.

"Hey," you exhaled, "is everything–"

"We found a special grade curse." He said breathlessly, "Nobara– she's alright, but I need you to come get her and take her back to Shoko."

The phone nearly slipped from your hand, the loud, piercing background noise coupled with Yuuji's panicked, 'Fushiguro!' made your heart feel like it was going to stop altogether.

You looked back at Ijichi from over your shoulder as Megumi continued talking, giving you instructions on what to do when you got there, but your focus was suddenly everywhere else.

"Gojo..." You hesitated, "Do you want me to bring him? Just in case–"

"No," his voice was sharp, leaving little room for protest. "No, Itadori and I can handle it, I just need you to come get her, okay?"

You hated the knot that had formed in your stomach, the nervousness that danced through your veins as you reluctantly agreed, telling him you'd be there as soon as you could.

When working as an assistant, sorcerers are always to take top priority regardless of the situation, it was one of the first lessons he'd gone over with you, though neither one of you had any way of knowing at the time that you'd one day be using it against him...

You zipped up your coat, shaking away the thought as you headed down the faculty stairs and dug your set of keys out of your pocket. You didn't have time for remorse– not now, and not when the lies you’d told would be forgotten by the end of the night anyway.

The cold air nipped at your face, snow still blowing haphazardly across the parking lot as you climbed into the driver's seat, overwhelmed and completely unaware of the set of eyes that had been following you since you'd left Ijichi's classroom.

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

The drive there was a blur, your mind flooding with nothing but worse-case scenarios and scattered images of Nobara laughing and holding your hand as the two of you walked down the hallway together.

Knowing that she was hurt... knowing that she needed a healer while also not knowing the extent of her injuries amidst the stress of everything else you were already facing had your foot heavy on the gas pedal, your car slightly shaking from the gravel road you were on.

The city lights had vanished a few miles back, the grey overcast not helping your case as you struggled to make out buildings in the late January haze of snow and poorly marked country roads. You weren't sure if it was relief or more dread that swirled through your stomach when your GPS started to chime, but it was too late to let yourself indulge in either.

Your throat tightened when you finally spotted it– an old worn-down cathedral in the middle of a seemingly empty field, surrounded by fresh debris and rubble that only made your anxiety swell. It was the first time you'd ever been to an actual pick-up spot. The first time you'd been exposed to the things that Megumi had tried so hard to keep you sheltered from.

You peered through the icy windshield, searching but failing to find any sign of her. "She'll be out front waiting for you when you get here so just stay in the car." He'd said, "She'll come to you, okay?" Even after you'd agreed though, he still repeated it back with an unnerving amount of conviction laced into his words. "Promise me– you won't get out of the car."

Your hands trembled as you pulled out your phone and began dialing his number, squeezing your eyes shut to try and block out just how wrong all of this felt. Each unanswered ring seemed to drag by slower than the last, your pulse thrumming through your ears by the time his voicemail echoed through the receiver.

You'd done everything that he'd asked and so much more. You'd kept his secrets. You'd protected him. You'd lied for him. You'd cared for him in more ways than you could ever bring yourself to say aloud. But this was one promise you were quickly realizing you wouldn't be able to keep as you watched a familiar thick, black smog seep out through the cracks in the boarded-up windows of the church. Another powerful thud reverberating with such intensity that it shook the ground beneath you.

"I'm sorry." You whispered, though you weren't sure if you were saying it to him or yourself as you reached for the door handle.

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

Your breathing came to a halt the moment that your feet hit the ground. The air was impossibly dense, contaminated with a thick layer of smoke that seemed to tangle around your limbs the closer you got to the entrance.

You could practically hear Megumi's voice screaming at you to turn around, but you forced yourself to push past it as you approached the edge of the broken stone staircase, redirecting your focus on where and where not to step.

The entryway was completely shattered, the heavy wooden doors splintered and hanging off of their hinges. You held your breath as you squeezed your way through a small opening, doing everything you could to keep yourself steady despite the trail of fog that seemed to follow you.

Your pace was meticulous, each movement calculated while you navigated your way through the wreckage. It wasn't until you saw the faint waves of light flashing through the darkness that you froze. Your eyes snapped towards the back of the church, watching in quiet horror as the unmistakable hum of cursed energy exploded across the room in bursts.

You were stuck somewhere between fight or flight– your legs carrying you with agility you didn't even know you had as you broke into a sprint. You ducked, taking cover behind one of the destroyed pillars, just narrowly dodging a support beam that came crashing down when a hand suddenly reached out for you.

"'The hell were you thinking–" she coughed, her voice still maintaining its usual firmness despite how feeble it was. "You know you shouldn't be here."

"Nobara," you breathed, your hand cupping her face to wipe away the red rolling down her cheek. Her body was lax, slumped against the remains of a wooden pew with blood dripping from her hairline down to her chin.

Your insides felt like they were on fire, adrenaline flooding your system quicker than you could keep up with as you scanned the area for the most manageable way out before looking back at her. "I'm not leaving you here." You promised, your body acting faster than your brain as you reached for her arm and slung it over your shoulder.

"Are you insane? You can't just–"

"You'd do it for me, wouldn't you?" The question was sharp enough to slice through the tension, time seeming to stop even if only for a second when her eyes met yours.

"Of course I would." She conceded, slowly lifting herself up as she leaned on you for support. "Megumi's gonna... kill you though."

It was one of the first times you'd really smiled in the last three days. "I think I'll be alright."

The calm was momentary though, another amethyst-colored beam tearing through the air. "Hold onto me." You said, tightening your grip around her waist.

Shattered stone cascaded around the two of you, your breath catching in your throat as the cursed energy spiked again, sharper and heavier than before. It almost felt alive with the way it twisted around your legs– that same fear, that same dread from the night Megumi had saved you creeping over you once more. The burning sensation seeped into your pores the higher up it climbed, rooting itself into your chest.

Your movements were strained, each step forward nearly knocking the wind out of you as you shielded Nobara from more falling debris, both of you crouching behind an abandoned altar.

The entrance was just within your reach if you could manage to keep yourself upright and steady, the light from the outside barely grazing the edge of the corridor. Right as you shifted your weight to stand though– a low, guttural growl reverberated across the floor sending another wave of what felt like rogue electricity beneath your skin.

"Fuck," you hissed, your vision becoming blurry as you fought to keep your focus.

"Leave me here," Nobara insisted, trying but failing to shake you off of her. "Look, Yuuji's right over there, he can grab me when he–"

But her demands came to an abrupt end as the two of you became frozen in place, the curse emerging from the shadows to reveal a series of vine-like limbs and skin that resembled ancient bark. The size of it alone was enough to make your heart forget how to beat, but the second its eyes landed on you, the earth seemed to still entirely.

"What the–" Megumi's voice broke through the chaos, the weight of his stare crippling when he spotted you from across the room, his frustration and concern palpable even from where he was standing.

"Go!" He shouted, another Shikigami already forming in front of him.

The figure tilted its head as if it were studying you, the pressure of its gaze pinning you to the floor. It wasn’t just fear this time– it was something deeper, almost primal that wrapped around your spine and pulled tight as the taunting hum of its cursed energy crackled into the space between you. Its floral patterns glowing faintly in the dim light with its vines curling and writhing carefully towards you.

“Why do you fight so hard to protect something so fleeting?”

“Kugisaki!” Megumi stiffened, his hands stretched out in front of him like weapon as Nuu lunged toward the curse, but he wasn't even able make it halfway to you before a branch-like limb sprawled out and slammed the demon dog into the ground with a force that shook the foundation of the already crumbling building.

Your head felt like it was going to explode, your thoughts and emotions bleeding into each other all at once as its question repeated on an unwanted loop.

Fleeting.

“Listen to me!” Nobara’s voice suddenly felt distant, blurred by an odd sense of clarity that had started to wash over you. “Leave me here. You have to go!”

It was right– your life had been made up of nothing more than fleeting contentment and memories that weren't made to last. The things that you were trying so hard to fight for would be gone by tomorrow, just like everything else, but they were here now and so were you. If this had to be your last day with them– if losing Megumi, Yuuji, and Nobara was truly inevitable no matter what choice you made, then you'd do everything you could to protect them.

“No,” you said, the word falling from your lips before you even realized it. “I told you I’m not leaving you.”

The curse moved again, swift but intentional, closing the distance between you while its vines began to thrash, leaving more broken concrete beneath its force. Megumi yelled your name, his expression dropping as he watched the somber smile that cut across your face when your eyes met his.

"Don't!" He warned, his hands cast backout in front of him, but your mind was already made up.

You secured your grip on Nobara, forcing her to lean more heavily on you while you dragged her a few steps closer to the fragmented remains of the entrance. You were so close– just a few more feet and you could hand her off to Yuuji, who was locked in a struggle of his own ahead of you.

But close wasn’t enough.

The energy in the room surged again, its presence suddenly suffocating and absolutely everywhere as thick, sharp tendrils snared around your legs. Your body felt like it had caught fire, the white-hot heat of its touch making your vision flicker in and out as it started to pull you backward, Nobara's weight shifting dangerously against you.

Your jaw clenched, your ears ringing as you fought to garner up every ounce of strength you had left to push forward. You were desperate, every step seeming to tear something essential out of you, but still, you moved.

Another blinding wave of pain hit you– the curse’s vines snapping again, just barely missing your head as they shattered another fixture above you. It was a storm of debris and splintered wood, making it hard to tell where its limbs began and the church's destruction ended.

“Yuuji!” you screamed, your voice raw as your stare caught his. “Take her!"

He was stunned, too worn-down and short on time to argue with you.

Your adrenaline was exhausted, every part of your body ready and willing to collapse, but with one final push, you managed to shove Nobara toward the faint light spilling out through the ruined entryway.

She staggered, her legs barely holding her as Yuuji lunged forward, catching her in his arms right before she fell. It was the first time you had allowed yourself to really breathe since you'd found her, a warm sense of relief cutting through the pain.

But it didn't take long for it to vanish, the crushing reality of the curse now looming over you suddenly outweighing any amount of comfort you'd once had.

Its grip coiled tighter around your legs, your body going limp as it dragged you back once more. There was static in your veins, an overwhelming pressure pushing down on your ribs, the taste of copper filling your mouth.

This was it.

The background commotion slowly tapered down, your senses gradually disconnecting from your body as the chapel started to drift further and further away. A surreal sense of acceptance wrapped around you like a warm hug. No more fighting, no more flailing– it was just you and the comfortable abyss that you were sinking into. Just you and the memories that you were able to keep until the very end. If you had to die in one way or another tonight, at least you were able to do it knowing that you had spared him one last time.

There was a distorted fluttering feeling in your chest. A dizziness in your brain. A hazy montage of impossibly blue eyes and all the things you should've said.

And then,

it all,

faded,

to black...

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

Megumi's head was throbbing when his eyes finally opened again, his stomach still in knots as he blinked back tears, trying to piece together where he’d ended up. He was sprawled out on a familiar grey leather couch with a knit blanket carefully tucked over him. The rigid winter air only amplifying his headache as it knocked against the window of his office.

“'Bout time you woke up."

His mind was overrun with the fractured pieces of what had happened, sensations and memories coming back in painful waves: The leveled church. The sound of glass shattering as he channeled his domain expansion. The feeling of your body pressed against his before everything vanished…

“Where’s..." The panic he felt was all-consuming, time coming to a grinding halt when he realized that he was the only one recovering. “Where is she...?"

Gojo's smirk was nowhere to be found, his stare softening a bit as he took a step towards him. "I talked to Shoko,"

"– And?" Megumi demanded.

"She told me about your sudden interest in Kokoro Kiri," his tone was light despite how pointed his words were, "Usually used for memory manipulation and soul severing, right? Causes the victim to forget specific people and events?"

"You know that's not what I meant–" Megumi snapped, "Is she...?" His face was flushed, his nerves completely shot as he struggled to swallow down the rest of his question. "Look, I don't care what happens to me after this, I'll take whatever punishment the higher-ups decide on, but I need to know what happened to her. Please, just..."

Gojo's demeanor was eerily calm, his hand resting easily on Megumi's shoulder as he bent down to become eye-level with him.

"If I had to guess," he paused, "She's probably still asleep."

Megumi's lips parted but the only thing that came out was a jagged exhale, his breathing coming out in short, choppy intervals. "So she's..." His head was spinning, relief and fear both clinging onto him at once. "She's okay, then? I mean, she's not...?"

"She's got some pretty deep cuts on her legs– probably gonna end up with a scar or two once she's fully healed, but other than that," A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched the life slowly return back to Megumi's eyes. "She's alright."

The tone of the room shifted into something more manageable despite the multitude of other unanswered questions that still sat between them. Megumi's hands shook slightly as he ran them over his face, images of the ruins he'd left behind coming back in flashes.

"You took down a special grade curse by yourself before I got there," Gojo said, almost sounding proud as he took a seat next to him. "I still had to clean up the aftermath of course, but..."

His stare lingered on him for a moment, the amusement in his tone fading, "She must be pretty important to you, huh? Making you tap into your full potential like that?"

Megumi hesitated, his gaze drifting to the floor as he nodded, remembering a brief conversation they'd had last year during a training session. "Yeah," he admitted quietly, "she is."

"You could've asked me for help, you know." Gojo shifted in his seat, letting out his own sigh while he rested his chin in his hands. "You should've asked me for help. You've gotta quit thinking that you can handle everything by yourself."

Megumi's jaw tightened, his words hanging heavily between them.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Gojo pressed, tilting his head at him as their eyes met again. "About the details of your contract? About the healer you've been seeing? Do you have any idea how bad that could've ended for you? For both of you, if you would've gone through with it?"

"I thought you already knew," Megumi bit back, exasperated by the fact that he was even asking in the first place. "You were there the night that I brought her back– you met me in Yaga's office after the negotiation was finalized."

Gojo looked back at him incredulously, "You honestly thought that I'd let you take on that kind of burden? From the higher-ups no less?"

His head was pounding, his thoughts clouded by an unnerving mix of exhaustion and guilt. "Yaga's never done anything in regard to me without running it by you first, even some of my missions get sent to you for approval, so why the hell would this have been any different?"

"Because you're an adult now." Gojo said simply, the gravity of his sentiment strong enough to break down Megumi's defense. "I didn't ask Yaga anything about your contract because I wanted it to be something that you handled on your own. I just figured you'd be smart enough to let me know if something went wrong."

The walls of his office felt like they were closing in on him as all of the resentment and pain that he'd been grappling with for the last five months suddenly came circling back to the true source of their existence– him. It was never you or Gojo or anyone else that had complicated his life this much, it was his own stubbornness. His refusal to accept help and admit defeat.

"I..." He faltered, his brows furrowing as he fought to keep his emotions at bay. "I'm sorry. You're right, I should've told you. I should've known when it was too much to take on alone..."

Gojo's expression softened slightly, his shoulder gently nudging his.

"Hey," He soothed, knowing better than anyone that getting an apology from Megumi– a sincere one, at that, meant something. "Growing pains are a part of life– this isn't your first and it won't be your last, but it's what makes us human. Sometimes lessons have to be hard to be remembered." 

Megumi was quiet as he took in his words, letting the familiar sense of solace have its moment.   

"Don't beat yourself up over it too much though, alright?" Gojo mused as he leaned back, lazily stretching his hands behind his head. "Your face is rough enough as is and I hear there's a cute girl waiting for you down in Shoko's office."

A small smile crept across Megumi's face as he nodded before getting to his feet.

"Oh and– and Megumi? One last thing."

He paused, his hand resting on the door handle as he looked back at him from over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"We can go over the details later when you're not so," he gestured vaguely towards his tattered appearance, "Half-dead," he said flippantly, "But she's staying just so you know. No strings attached other than her maintaining her cover story while she's here, but aside from that, the contract is null and void– for both of you."

He froze, his pupils doubling in size as he stared back at him in disbelief. "How did you...?"

"10 million yen and a few offhanded threats tend to go a long way in the sorcerer world." He shrugged. "That, and the fact that we'll have her as an assistant once she graduates. Continuing to room with her is optional, but–" His smirk returned with playful ease. "I figured you wouldn't be in a hurry to kick her out just yet."

There was a part of him that was afraid if he blinked for too long, he'd wake up slumped against a rutted pillar with nothing but debris and ash surrounding him again. His throat tightened, trying his best to ground himself as he hesitated at the doorway.

"Thank you, Gojo." He finally managed. "For everything."

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

The next few days were a blur of pain medication, sleep, and holding Megumi's hand as he dozed off in the armchair next to you. He would end up in what looked like the most uncomfortable pretzel-like positions, but he still refused to leave your side no matter how many times you tried to tell him that it was okay if he wanted to go back to the dorm instead.

Aside from the occasional injured first-year that would wander in every so often, the medical ward was strangely peaceful. Your mornings were spent listening to Shoko explain various healing techniques while redressing the bandages on your legs. Checking to make sure that your body was responding to treatment the way it was supposed to while Megumi watched intently, taking mental notes for himself just in case he'd need them later.

Your afternoons were filled with visitors after word got out about how you'd sacrificed yourself to save Nobara against –what you'd later learned from Gojo– was a curse named Hanami. She was still recovering too, but her healing process had been a lot more sped-up than yours with her body being more acclimated to the effects of cursed energy. Yuuji brought you fresh flowers every day– big, well-thought arrangements with all of your favorite colors. "You'll tell her that these are from me, right?" He'd tease Megumi. "Don't want you takin' credit for my hard work."

While you knew that Gojo had managed to revoke the terms of your contract, the weight of it still hadn't fully left you. There were nights that you'd wake up in cold sweats, tears streaming down your face as you'd find yourself frantically reaching out for Megumi's hand. "I'm here," he'd whisper, "I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

It wasn't until you'd been released and the two of you were finally back in your room that things actually started to feel somewhat solidified. There wasn't the same looming sense of dread that used to follow you. There wasn't the constant weight of abandonment clawing at your chest.

There was just him and the way his hands felt grazing your jawline as he kissed you. The way that he tried so hard to be so delicate with you despite the pent-up fire behind his stare every time he touched you.

"Megumi," you breathed, pulling him closer as the morning sun began to seep in from the window. "I'm not made of glass." You reminded him, your fingers tangling into his hair.

HIs hands were still lingering on your waist, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he looked back at you through heavy lashes. "You'll tell me if it's too much?"

There was something about the care in his eyes, the way he always put you first, even when his own restraint was clearly hanging on by a thread. You cupped his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek as you nodded. "Promise."

His grip on you tightened, the palm of his hand warm against the side of your neck before his tongue parted your lips again.

You could feel the shift of him starting to let go, the way his hand roamed from your neck to your lower back with his movements becoming more and more fervent. Breathy little noises filling the space between you while he helped you out of your shorts and tossed them to the side of his bed.

His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes tentatively trailing over you as he lined himself up with your entrance. It was the very last wall he had left, one that he never thought he'd be able to fully tear down until now.

He couldn't stop the low moan that escaped him as he slid into you, watching how your pupils dilated as you looked back at him with trust that he still wasn't sure he deserved. The words were right there, right where they'd always been, steady and terrifyingly honest.

He drew in a breath, letting himself sink into you, noting the way your body held him tighter the further he went. It had always been you. His hand shook slightly, using his thumb to tilt your head up towards his while his hips met yours with the same deep, consuming pace. It would always be you.

His lips parted, his mind slipping as he finally let go completely and buried everything he had in you,

"I love you."

It was soft but impossibly sure as it brushed across your skin, leaving a trail of warmth you didn't even know existed in its wake. There was suddenly no such thing as holding back– not the tears that were pricking at the corners of your eyes or the feelings that you'd tried so hard to control for the last six months. He was everywhere, embedded into every single part of you.

It settled over your chest, opening up like a floodgate once it began– "I love you." you breathed, your nails digging into his neck."I love you." you whimpered again as your back arched beneath him. "I love you." he panted, his hands firm against your hips as your walls began to unravel around him. "I love you." you cried, letting yourself fall apart for him entirely.

"I love you, I love you, I love you..."

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .