#probably not canon compliant but i can think thoughts
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11. up from the dust, inconceivable love
Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Chapter Summary: Ellie learns the truth. Your family gains a member.
Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.
Chapter Warnings: pregnancy related things, angst, hurt & comfort and no comfort?, self worth issues, canon violence, anger, child birth, spoilers for TLOU 2 (we’re entering the timeline that starts to burrow things for part 2 of the game)
Notes: huge thank you to my constants, my rocks @ramblers-lets-get-ramblinand @janaispunk for beta reading and letting me yell and scream and break their hearts.
If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader! The final part is out now!
Words: 5352
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“What do you think of Peace?” You ask, propped up in bed, hand over your swollen stomach. You’ve gained more weight this time, probably because you’re not in the throes of grief.
“I mean, I’m a fan. I hope everyone is.” Joel says, trimming his facial hair with the bathroom door wide open.
You bite your lip, admiring the expanse of his bare back. If getting out of bed wasn’t an event, you would be behind him right now, kissing his shoulders.
“No, as a name for a girl,” you say. Joel turns around looking at you like he’s contemplating checking you into a psychiatric ward if those still existed. “A middle name, not a first name.”
Joel sets his trimmers down, leaning in the doorway shirtless. “And what would her first name be?”
“Willow.”
Joel furrows his brow stepping into your bedroom, your shared bedroom. “Darlin, I know we live in a commune, but we’re not hippies.”
“You bring me wildflowers and we walk barefoot through the fields. I wouldn’t be so sure.” You can’t help but laugh. Joel cracks a smile. “Do you have suggestions then?”
“Thought about naming Sarah- Katherine.”
You make a face. You know one too many Kates and Katies even in Jackson.
“It’s not a bad name,” Joel chuckles.
“Neither is Willow.”
“Is this your way of telling me you’re a hippie?”
“Would you leave if I said yes?”
Joel shrugs “I don’t know, but I knocked you up so I guess I have to stay.” He crawls into the bed. His head is level with your stomach as he watches for movement.
You roll your eyes. “How romantic.”
He grins up at you and then his eyes are back on your belly. He rests a hand at the top, staring, waiting in wonderment. Neither of you can believe this is all real. Your baby moves around all the time, kicking your bladder and lungs, signifying life. A life you did not think would make it.
You thread your fingers through Joel’s soft brown hair. The outline of a foot appears and then disappears. Joel’s eyes sparkle and he kisses the same spot. He’s soft and gentle. In these moments, all your anxieties are carried away like leaves on an autumn breeze. This is your peace.
“What other names did you have picked out for Carter?”
You bite your lip. “We didn’t have any other boys' names.”
“And if he’d been a girl?” He’s still enthralled with your stomach as if there’s been an enchantment cast over it.
“Sarah.”
His head snaps up.
“Tommy and I talked about her a lot when I was pregnant. She was on my mind… being a part of Sarah’s life made me realize I wanted a family… even in this world where I had no right to do so.”
You keep playing with his hair. His eyes go glassy making you wonder what memory is playing behind his eyes. You stay like that until Joel is ready to talk. Eventually, he sits up, clearing his throat. His lips touch yours.
“What about Willa?”
You tilt your head to the side. You don’t really see how it’s any different than Willow, but you’re not going to bring that up. “I like it.”
“And Miles for a boy.” His smile returns. He doesn’t tell you that he’s positive you’re having a girl.
“Miles is an old man's name!”
“Good, then he’ll grow to be an old man.”
You take in a sharp breath. It’s just an offhand comment, but it carries so much weight. It’s a stark reminder of the heaviness of the world, and the twinge of guilt you feel bringing another child into it.
Joel takes your hand, kissing your palm. You see it in his eyes too. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’tve-”
“It’s okay.” Your fingers comb through his hair. He leans into your touch. His grays are more noticeable than they were a year ago, but the brown still outnumbers them.
“Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” he asks.
“I don’t know… I- I haven’t really let myself think about it until today.” It's true. The fact of the matter is you’re within a month of your due date. You and Joel are so close to welcoming this baby into the world and are wildly unprepared.
“We’re getting close… We need a crib.”
“The one I used for Carter is in the attic.”
“I can bring it down in the morning.”
“I need to get some baby clothes. I traded all of Carter’s.”
“Looks like we have a bunch of work to do, Mama,” Joel smiles, kissing your forehead. He still hasn't told you about the swaddles and onesies tucked in the back of his drawer, but it seems you’re finally ready for them.
You cock your head to the side, contemplating the nickname. There’s a mix of emotions with it. You’re already a mother. Joel is a father, but this is a life you’re bringing in together. It’s uncharted territory for both of you. Sarah’s mom was out the door before she was six months old. Neither of you have done this part with a partner before.
A sharp knock on the front door pulls your mind from its wandering. Joel’s brow furrows, rolling out of the bed. People don’t knock on your door often. They usually barrel right in, unless it’s bad. Your stomach drops.
Joel is out of the bedroom, shrugging on a shirt. Dina’s voice calls through your home. “Hello?” She sounds worried, desperate.
You swing your legs over the side of the bed. It takes more time to stand these days. If you try too quickly, your head rushes making you feel dizzy.
“Dina? What’s wrong?” Joel’s at the bottom of the stairs now, but his voice carries. You have to stop at the top of the stairs to catch your breath.
“Ellie is gone.”
You freeze, grabbing the railing for stability. “What?”
Joel turns around, worry etched in his face. “Where did she go?”
“I don’t know. She mentioned something about the Fireflies and a hospital, but she wouldn’t talk to me.” You make out the flicker of hurt in Dina’s face. Those two tell each other everything, or most things. You’re not sure Ellie has told her about her immunity. You all keep that one pretty close to your chests.
“Shit,” Joel mumbles. He glances between you at his back and the front door in front of him. You see the push and pull. He needs to go after her. He needs to be here for you.
His eyes settle on you. Your hand settles on top of your swollen belly. He’s looking for permission. You want to give it, but what if he’s needed here before he gets back.
“She’s been off lately. I don’t know why. She won’t talk to me.” Dina seems to sense the silent conversation going on. “I can go after her, but-“
“No, I need to go.” Joel swings back toward the teenager, both hands placed on his hips. You try to bite back the panic rising inside you. He’ll be fine. They’ll both be fine. “Do you know when she left?”
“Probably sometime before the sun came up. Shimmer isn’t in the stable.”
Joel lets out a ragged sigh, hands running over his face. You try to keep the tears away, your hormones making it difficult.
“Will you let Maria know I’m going after her? I need to pack.”
Dina nods, her eyes flickering up to you before she’s gone in a flash of dark curls. Joel turns around, hand resting on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. You swallow and walk back into the bedroom.
It’s silent at first, nothing but the sounds of draws opening and closing and the soft slaps of his leather saddle bags. You sit in silence at the edge of your bed, chewing on your lip as you watch him. Ellie needs him. It echoes on repeat in your brain.
“I can probably catch her. We’ll be back in two weeks if I don’t.”
You stare down at your ever growing belly. You could easily be pregnant when he returns, but what if you’re not? You’re fairly certain you’ll have this baby sooner rather than later, but Ellie needs him too.
“Why does she want to go back to Salt Lake?”
Joel freezes for a second, like he’s contemplating his answer. It sets an uneasy feeling in your bones. “I don’t know. Maybe she thinks some of the Fireflies are still there? That this whole cure business is still an option?”
You nod, thoughts drifting to her face when you looked at her blood a couple months ago. She looked desperate. You hadn’t seen her like that before. It was almost unnerving, like the need to be needed by humanity had returned tenfold. It made you wonder if you’d been there for her enough these past few months.
“I have to go after her.”
There’s a desperation you don’t quite recognize in Joel’s eyes, sending a thread of dread through your body. Is he leaving something out? Not telling you something? You nod, biting your lip. “I know.”
He lays his hand on your bump, fingers stretching out over it. “We’ve got time.”
You nod. “Hurry back, and be safe, okay?”
Joel kisses your forehead. “Always.”
He rides out thirty minutes later.
You try to stay busy while they’re gone, cleaning the clinic and the house thrice over as the nesting and anxiety sets in. You ask Tommy to get the crib out of the attic as you prep the corner of your bedroom for the baby, wiping it free from the dust and cobwebs.
Maria hosts a small get together for you pulling together some semblance of a baby shower, something you hadn’t had with Carter. It's nice, but you feel like they skirt around the questions nagging in their brains. Where did Ellie and Joel go? Will they be back in time? You don’t have answers. You have the same fucking question. Will they be back?
The braxton hicks kick up, so much so you think you’re in labor ten days after Joel rides out. The fear that courses through your body is so paralyzing that you just lay in bed. Your body tenses with the memory’s of Carter’s labor. It’s not the physical pain of it, but the emotional rollercoaster you went through, alone. You’re not supposed to do this alone this time.
Then, the contractions stop with no explanation and you fall into a restless sleep. You miss Joel, his warmth and comfort. His unspoken love that fills the room. You’re becoming more comfortable with the idea of it.
You miss Ellie too, worried about what she’s going through. Providing it’s still vacant, Salt Lake won’t hold any answer for her. What lengths will she go to? How many miles will she travel in search of answers you believe don’t exist? How will she handle reality?
You see the differences in Carter too. In his mind, Ellie and Joel have always been here. Two weeks without them feels like a lifetime to him, and to you.
On day twelve, your front door flies open as you come down the stairs. Ellie bursts through looking frantic and frazzled. Her short cropped hair sticks up in certain places. Dirt smudges her forehead. You’re too relieved to see her to worry about her appearance. If anything, it’s expected after two weeks of travel, but your relief is short lived.
“Did you know?” She yells. The door stays wide open behind her, rage flaming in her eyes.
“What?”
“Did you know?”
“Know what?” You step toward her, reaching out, but she backs away like a wild animal.
“He killed them! All of them!”
“Killed who? Ellie, take a deep breath.”
“Joel! He killed the fireflies! They had a cure!”
Your breath catches. It’s not that Joel has killed people. You know about the years he spent as a raider. You know the cost of surviving in this world, but this isn’t the story you have been told about Salt Lake. When you asked him why she would go back, he lied. He knew. Knew the story hadn’t lined up in Ellie’s mind.
“So he lied to you too!”
“Ellie!” Joel is stern as his frame fills your doorway.
She spins around, the week of silence she spent next to him on the road back, wrath bubbling over and focused on him. “Tell her! Tell her, Joel!” She steps toward him. “Tell her what you did!” She shoves against his shoulders.
“Ellie…” He repeats her name, softer this time.
“Don’t do that!” She turns back to you, tears streaming down her cheeks. “They were going to make a cure from me, and you stopped them! You slaughtered them!”
“They were going to kill you!”
Your eyes widen, and it makes sense. Why Joel hasn’t talked about it. Why he needed to go after her. Why Ellie feels so useless. She’d been promised the cure. He’d taken that from her with a facade of an excuse.
“You should have let them!” Ellie screams until she pushes past him, rushing out of your house.
Joel lets out a sigh, defeat evident across his features. You can’t even enjoy their homecoming, their safety, your head spinning too much.
Joel shuts the door behind him, stepping closer like he’s expecting an embrace, but you step back, a mother’s anger building in your bones. He looks surprised. “Sweetheart…”
“You lied to her.”
“I protected her.” Joel’s eyes narrow. He’s tired and irritable. Neither of you expected a fight to ensue the moment he got home. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“You’ve watched her struggle with this for years!”
“They were going to kill her!”
“Have you listened to anything she’s said?”
You almost don’t recognize the Joel in front of you. He looks like a shell of the assured, warm man you know. You wonder if this is the version of Joel Tommy used to speak of. The one Joel has told you about during those late night chats when you spilled the depths of yourselves to each other, or you thought you had. The one who floated through his days, barely living.
“I couldn’t lose her!”
“Except you did!”
Joel straightens, shoulders setting in denial. “She’s alive! That’s what matters.”
“You’re missing the point!”
“You’re saying I should have let them go ahead with it! Let them cut open her head for a cure you don’t believe is possible!”
Fire blazes in Joel's eyes. You see it. There’s no rationalizing with him about this. In his eyes, there were no choices to be made. He did the only thing. It doesn’t matter what else he has to sacrifice, she’s alive and that’s all that matters. “That’s not-”
He scoffs, cutting you off. You see the pain and hurt ripple through his body, causing him to step back from you. “Sure sounds like it.”
“Joel!”
“Don’t.” He yanks the front door open. “I can’t be here right now.”
He disappears across the threshold in the blink of an eye leaving you with a mountain to process and a growing tension across your stomach.
Joel knows he’s in the wrong. He knows he shouldn’t have lied to Ellie, held the truth from you. He’s a grown man, of course he knows what’s right and wrong, but that admittance doesn’t do anything to calm him. He needs to get out. Out of the house. Out of the walls into the open. It doesn’t matter that he just came from two weeks out there.
He sneaks over the wall with more ease than he should be able. Instantly, he feels the tightening in his chest begin to ease. He paces the outside of the wall like a caged animal, the series of events reeling through his mind. He doesn’t realize how much he’s been pushing it back since they left Salt Lake. Her words, her pleas, over and over. She’d given him every opportunity to tell her the truth and he kept the lie going.
There was no cure. The words he’d utter to her after they found that couple, one dead the other infected while out on patrol.
He’d almost told her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t risk it.
His pacing becomes more frantic as he remembers the fear he felt at the thought of losing Ellie, the fear that pushed him into wiping away every firefly that crossed his path. The same fear that put lies in his mouth before he had time to think, that kept him from telling her the truth. He knew this would happen one day, but hadn’t been enough. He’d kept it from everyone, including you.
Tell me, she had pleaded with him, begged him and he still felt the pull to replace his lie with another.
She’d had to poke and prod to get the words from his mouth. Had to threaten to leave before she got the truth. That hurt almost as much as the fallout. Everyone thought he was a better man than he actually was. Ellie, you, himself, but when it came down to it. He failed that test. Good men don’t make someone threaten to leave to get the truth.
I’ll go back, but we’re done.
Joel wears a path in the fresh grass beneath his feet, letting the spring chill take over when the sun sets, leaving him in darkness. Ellie had kept her word. He’d never heard her stay quiet for so long. The loss had begun to settle in with her riding next to him.
Joel’s muscles ache from two weeks out on the road. He misses you and Carter. He hasn’t even touched you yet. Will you let him?
Getting over the wall from the outside proves more difficult than it had the first time. Which is a good thing, but had Joel feeling every one of his 59 years. Embarrassment creeps over his cheeks with each step toward your home. The one he shares with you, but he feels like a guest as he climbs the steps. He doesn’t catch a glimpse of you or Carter or anyone else through the windows.
The house is silent when he enters, no signs of life except for the faint buzzing of light bulbs. His brow furrows. You wouldn’t have left the lights on if you weren’t home. Then a faint sound comes from upstairs, movement at the very least. He follows it, placing his hand on the closed bedroom door before cracking it open.
Soft groans come from behind the cracked bathroom door followed by a whispered curse. Maria's voice follows. Joel’s throat drops into his stomach. His boots echo off the wood floor as he crosses the room. “Sweetheart?” he calls, staying on his side of the door. “Is everything alright?”
“Joel? Get in here,” you groan out.
It sends some reassurance through him to hear you so clearly before he swings the door open. His eyes go wide at the sight of you in the tub, sweat staining your skin as Maria kneels next to you. “Shit, are you?”
“Make yourself useful and hold my hand.”
He nods, kneeling beside you. Maria stands, grabbing a few instruments from the bathroom sink, she gives Joel a look that lets him know you’re near the end of labor. Your baby will be here in minutes. It sends a rush through him. “I’m sorry, Darlin.”
You grab onto his hand tightly. It’s wet from the bathwater sloshing around you as you fight to get comfortable. It’s a useless pursuit, but it doesn’t keep you from trying. “Can we do the apologizing later? I’m kinda busy at the moment.”
“Yes,” Joel takes a deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears. He squares his shoulders next to you, giving an air of assurance you know he doesn’t have. “I’m here for whatever you need.”
“I think you missed most of it.”
“Not that you’ve had much to miss,” Maria says, stern. She pissed at him, which is more than fair given everything. You’d had some time to explain what happened. “We tried to find you. Her labor progressed pretty quick.”
“Speaking of which-” You let out a gasp, face twisting in pain. “I think the baby is crowning.”
“She must be in a hurry,” Joel says.
“She?”
“Just a hunch.” Joel smiles, kissing your head.
For the next few minutes, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Your fight never happened because there’s only one thing on your minds, bringing your baby into the world. The world goes silent again, but not in a bad way. A way that makes you feel at peace, Joel’s warm hand in yours. It doesn’t take long until she announces her arrival with a fiery scream once Maria pulls her out of the water.
You hold her close, tears of relief gathering in your eyes. Joel leans in, his forehead pressed to your temple, arms wrapping around you and your daughter as she pulls air into her lungs.
“You did great, Sweetheart.” He whispers into your hair as he kisses your cheek, cupping your daughter’s head. “She’s beautiful.”
Your eyes flicker between him and your newborn. It’s the moment you’ve been envisioning for months, the one you thought you’d get with Gabe when Carter was born. A little piece of you mends. Your child soothes against your skin.
After you’re both cleaned up, Joel helps you into bed, then settles beside you. She sleeps in your arms, tiny fist clenched around one of Joel’s fingers still curled up in your softest bath towel. You brush her cheek softly.
“I believe we decided on Willa Peace?”
“Did we?” You tilt your head to the side, a grin verging on your lips. “I thought we weren’t hippies.”
Joel shrugs, tracing your shoulders. “I had a lot of time to think about it the past couple of weeks.”
“Joel…”
Dirt still traces over his face. He hasn’t had time to clean off since he got back. You catch the faint smell of sweat on his clothes and skin. “I know.”
“I would have done the same thing to save her. You know what I think about cures.” You keep your gaze on your child. It only reminds you what you brought her into. “You lied to her over and over when she needed the truth.”
“I was trying to protect her.”
“I wish you would’ve told me.”
“I know.”
“This only works if we’re open with each other.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are.” You bite your lip. “I’m going to need some time with this one.”
Joel nods, arm wrapping around you. “I know.”
You lean into him, enjoying the quietness that surrounds the three of you.
“Willa Peace Miller,” You smile. “Has a nice ring to it.”
“Yeah.” Joel hums beside you. “Can’t believe she’s actually here.”
“And we’re both okay.”
He nods, and neither of you can tear your eyes away from the precious little being in your arms. You hang on every rise and fall of her chest, everything micro movements, the soft flutter of her eyes that never quite open. It all feels so fragile, so sacred.
You remember similar moments with Carter. When the grief and the world got too loud, you would lay on the floor or bed with him on your chest asleep. The weight of his small body was a tether that kept you from flying away.
Even in this moment, as your heart inexplicitly expands, you feel that thread of fear winding itself through your body. Another person to love and protect. Another person to keep from the jaws of the world. Another person you can’t bear to lose.
“You know,” you say, pulling Joel’s attention. “If you were ever gonna pull those baby clothes and blankets out of your drawer, now would be the time.”
His brow furrows and then eases with realization. “How long have you known they were there?”
You let out a soft chuckle. “I washed them the next time you went out on patrol. I wasn’t going to leave those filthy things in your drawer.”
“You were going through my things, I see.”
“Next time don’t try to hide something in your drawer from the person who washes your clothes.”
Joel laughs, easing out of the bed to fetch the items from the drawer. “Got it, I’ll be sneakier next time.”
“Can you get the onesie with the yellow flowers?” You bite back a smile. He doesn’t know how you often pulled the drawer open and just gazed upon the items. It helped you visualize it all even when the fear threatened to take over. Another child, and here she was. You’d been most drawn to the little yellow flowers.
Joel laughs, grabbing the onsie and the swaddle with little yellow flowers to match. You’re gentle with her as you work the small article of clothing over her tiny body. It’s a bit baggy, but you can’t complain. It just means she can wear it for longer. She sleeps through all the jostling as if she’s fully absorbed her middle name.
She’s settled back into your arms when a soft tap echoes on your door. “Mommy?” Carter’s voice comes through muffled.
“You can come in.”
The door flies open as your son bursts through the door, grin spread wide on his face. Ellie stands behind him, looking like the space might envelope her.
“Aunt Maria said I have a baby sister.”
“You want to meet her?” you ask.
Carter nods eagerly, dashing toward your bed. Joel catches him before he can jump onto the bed beside you and potentially on you.
“Daddy!” Carter’s eyes go wide. He hasn’t seen Joel in almost two weeks.
Joel laughs, arms tightening around the boy. “Hey, bud.”
Your eyes meet Ellie’s. Her eyes are red, bags deep underneath. You motion her next to you. She hesitates before sliding onto the bed beside you. She’s timid, keeping to the edge, eyes flicking over you and Willa.
“You can get closer.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I never got to hug you earlier.”
She looks down, eyes scanning over your comforter like she’s reliving her homecoming. Once she’s close enough, your arm slips around her shoulders, tugging her close. She nuzzles into your side like a child seeking comfort. “You’re alright?” she asks.
“Yeah… we both are.” You say, kissing the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“But I’m still sorry you’re going through this.”
Ellie seems to sink into your further, eyes pinned to Willa. She doesn’t answer you. She doesn’t look at Joel as he sinks next to you with Carter, but you feel her tense when he does.
“What’s her name?” Ellie asks.
“Willa,” you reply.
“Baby Willa.” Carter grins proudly.
And the five of you sit there together in silence. You try to push it out of your head that it’s the last time you all might be together for a while. Even now, you feel the underlying anger rolling through Ellie’s body. This is a wound that’s been festering. It’s going to take time to heal.
Eventually, Ellie slips from your side without a word to leave. She’s barely out the door when Joel goes after her.
“Ellie,” Joel says, catching her on the front porch.
Her head whips around, expression set in stone. “I’m here for them, not you.” She keeps her voice low to not be overheard by nosy neighbors. “They’re my family. Do you understand?”
Joel’s apology catches in his throat. He’s been apologizing the whole way back from Salt Lake. He knows there’s nothing he can say to rush this process. He made a decision, and these are his consequences. “Yeah… I got it.”
“Good.”
She doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else.
The bed is empty next to you, the sheets cool to the touch. Your eyes blink open. Cool moonlight shines through the window. You glance at the bathroom door. No light shines through the crease. Joel’s name is on your lips, interrupted by his voice.
“Do you like the butterflies?”
You turn to your side. Joel sits next to the crib, talking to Willa. She’s awake, moonlight reflecting off her big eyes. She’s content and still.
“Your big sister liked butterflies. When they come out in the summertime, I feel her around me.”
She stares at Joel, mesmerized by his voice. Your eyes float upward to the mobile Joel made. He hadn’t explained it to you, but you already knew. Sarah had pinned them all throughout their Austin home. You keep one stuck to the window above the kitchen sink. There’s one tucked in his nightstand drawer.
“I think she sent you to me.” He lets it sit there, contemplating the weight and depth of what he said. “I think she sent you to me, your momma, Ellie, I suppose she’s your big sister too, Carter. All of you.
“Her name was Sarah. She would have loved you.” He chuckles. “She used to ask me for a baby brother or sister. I didn’t know your momma yet… Well, I guess I did, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.”
You stifle a laugh unsuccessfully. Joel’s eyes lock on yours. He smiles, shooting you a wink. He looks younger under the moonlight, more at ease. The creases in his skin are less apparent.
“Your momma, she’s quite a bit younger than me.” The smile stays pinned to his face. “It’s not so creepy now- least that’s what she tells me- but it would’ve been then, and I was a decent fella back before the world went to shit. Besides, between you and me.” He leans closer to Willa’s ear, but his eyes are still on you. “Your momma had a pretty big crush on me back then.”
You groan, heat flushing your cheeks. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it is. You chuck his pillow at him. Joel catches it, laughing. It’s the kind that sits deep in one’s chest and bubbles up with the purest kind of joy. You can’t help but smile.
He slowly stands, grunting as he does. You hear the familiar pop of his joints. He leans into the crib. You notice Willa’s eyes have fallen shut. “I love you, my little wildflower.” He kisses her cheek before falling back into bed next to you.
His arm wraps around your waist. Pulling you close, he steals a kiss on your forehead. “I’m getting too old to sit on the floor like that.”
“You’re getting too old to have a newborn, yet here we are.” Your fingers run through his hair.
“Still can’t believe she’s here… you’re both healthy.”
“Neither can I.” You glance back at the crib. She’s just a few days old and already, you can’t imagine life without her.
Tears well at the corner of your eyes. Your heart has grown so much. You thought you couldn’t open it to more people, yet here you are. The you of 4 years ago would be too terrified of losing this life to give it a chance, the price of pain too high. Yet here you are, embracing it, taking that risk, because this is living, and the love and belonging far outweigh the potential for pain even as it grows with every passing day. You fell into the trap,and it’s a crowded one, but it’s a happy one.
Joel kisses your cheek. “You should get some sleep before she wakes up hungry.”
“Mmm,” you hum as his hands move soothingly over your back. “Someone not named Willa woke me up.”
Joel chuckles. “I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”
But even now you feel your eyelids getting heavier.
“Did you mean what you said?”
“About?”
You let your eyes fall shut as Joel massages out a knot in your back. You lean into it. “About Sarah sending us to you.”
“I did.” He kisses your forehead.
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Mat & the Aelfinn prophecies
Summary: One of Mat’s prophecies is very different from the others, in both form and execution. Maybe there’s a reason for that.
While this does have spoilers through A Memory of Light, my reasoning is based pretty much entirely on the solo Jordan books, so that’s why I’m posting it now, before I start my reread of The Gathering Storm.
however, spoilers through A Memory of Light are below.
One of things that I dislike about the Mat-Tuon relationship is that it feels like a narrative punishment for Mat (honestly, almost much everything in Ebou Dar and onward felt that way to me). But I’ve been thinking about that while I was reading CoT & KoD, and it made me wonder... what if it wasn’t the author who was punishing Mat here?
What if it was someone inside the narrative?
Mat saving Moiraine helps save the world, because she is able to help Egwene and Rand come to an agreement with each other. Mat living and dying also helps save the world by releasing him from the Horn and enabling someone else to use it (since he’s kinda busy and all). So, if two of Mat’s fates directly help save the world... what about the third fate?
Who does it aid that Mat marries Tuon? Does it aid Mat? Does it aid the Westlands at all? Why would marrying Tuon be part of his ‘fate’?
There not only does not appear to be a benefit to the Westlands & Rand, it actually seems to actively harm the Westlands -- Mat protects Tuon from being assassinated and considers ways to help the Seanchan Empire to survive past the shock of the sul’dam secret being revealed. Mat marrying Tuon also helps protect her/the Seanchan from Westlands retaliation for the invasion of their continent by putting the best general in history on the side of the slavers. Hundreds (potentially thousands) of people will end up staying enslaved as a result of the marriage, if Mat truly does mean to make certain to keep the Seanchan Empire alive in its current form.
It also doesn’t seem to aid Mat himself much -- he is trapped into a marriage where his wife’s way of ‘flirting’ is to constantly threaten to enslave or murder him, while he remains intensely attracted to many other women and obviously would not have chosen a monogamous relationship.
Mat does not end up being the key to the alliance between the Westlands and the Seanchan+ -- he’s much more important to Rand and Egwene reconciling (due to saving Moiraine) than he is to the Westlands and the Seanchan allying, because Rand is already pretty set on allying with the Seanchan at that point, no matter what the moral cost.
Ah, but Mat does... save Moiraine. From the ‘finn, the very people who gave him all his prophecies to begin with.
Mat is given three prophecies by the Aelfinn, in their last moments together in the doorway in Tear. Of those prophecies, two of them would happen no matter what as long as Mat stayed with Rand for as long as he did -- Moiraine made her choice to bodyslam Lanfear into the Eelfinn doorway based on what she saw in the silver rings, not based on what she heard in the Aelfinn doorway. And Mat would have gone to Caemlyn and gotten temporarily killed by Rahvin regardless of the Aelfinn prophecies as well (AMoL confirmed that this is the death that un-tied him from the Horn).
But their other prophecy -- that he would marry the Daughter of the Nine Moons -- is a prophecy that is only fulfilled based on Mat behaving according to how the Aelfinn have instructed him to act. Mat marries Tuon because they tell him to, no other reason. Before he finds out that she’s his prophesied wife, he was planning to leave her behind when he escaped; he was not attracted enough to Tuon as a person to consider bringing her with him on her own merits.
So this marriage seems entirely arranged by the Aelfinn and not by the Pattern*. Why would they do that?
Could it have been a punishment/price from the Aelfinn, who already know that Mat is destined to come back and steal Moiraine from them?
Tuon is perfectly calculated to be everything that Mat hates: capable of channeling, she’s a noble/royal, she abuses her power over other people and expects complete subservience from those around her, she threatens him constantly, she treats him as if he were her property, she would enslave his sister and other loved ones if she had the chance, and he doesn’t even want to be in a monogamous relationship to begin with.
In CoT & KoD, Mat talks himself into respecting and trusting her ‘because wife’ (which leads to her being able to undermine and betray him on multiple occasions such as attempting to leash the Aes Sedai in the circus or stealing his medallion) but even in their final scene in AMoL, he has to force a smile around her after she announces her pregnancy. This marriage is going to be a misery for Mat and yet there appears to be no in-text reason why it actually needed to happen. It happens because it happens because it happens.
We are warned that the Aelfinn and Eelfinn are tricky and that there is no way to beat them. It does feel much in the spirit of a fey sort of person if they gave Mat two types of prophecies: two true no matter what as long as he followed his thread of fate, and the third to exist as the price for learning the others.
And, side note and relevant to @markantonys: on rereading the text, the only ACTUAL prophecy that the Aelfinn specifically tell him will get him killed if he avoids it is that he needs to go to Rhuidean rather than going home to the Two Rivers (and it’s specifically because he will get MURDERED by people opposed to him fulfilling his fate if he doesn’t go there -- and this one is very believable! He gets the ancient memories and the medallion in Rhuidean and those are KEY to him being able to survive potentially deadly encounters with Shadowspawn & survive through dangerous battles).
He weedles the other three prophecies out of them at the end and there’s no direct implication that avoiding those three fates would lead to his death. I myself also thought that marrying Tuon was linked to him not getting killed but that implication is actually not in the text! And even if she is his ‘fated’ wife, it’s also clear in the text that he can avoid his fate, because this entire encounter is the Aelfinn warning him NOT to avoid going to Rhuidean because it would lead to him being vulnerable to being killed by his enemies. Mat decides that him ‘living and dying again’ (which he mistakenly thinks is about being hanged by the Eelfinn in Rhuidean, so there is also in-text evidence that Mat has misinterpreted at least one of his prophecies) is proof that it’s also impossible for him to escape the DotNM but there actually isn’t evidence in the text that this in the case. On the contrary, it seems like it IS possible for Mat to avoid this part of his fate and would, in fact, have been extremely easy for him to have avoided it (if he hadn’t known about the prophecy), since he would have just... left at the end of Winter’s Heart and never seen Tuon again, having absolutely no idea that she was ever meant to be his fated anything.
References from the text (The Shadow Rising):
“If you do not go to Rhuidean,” the woman on the right said. “You will die.”
...
Mat asks, “Why will I die if I do not go to Rhuidean?”
“You will have sidestepped the thread of fate, left your fate to drift on the winds of time, and you will be killed by those who do not want that fate fulfilled.”
...
He persists and asks, “What fate?”
“To marry the Daughter of the Nine Moons.” (which becomes possible as a result of going to the Eelfinn, which gives him his memory of Artur Hawkwing’s face, but also becomes possible because they just told him about it)
“To die and live again, and live once more as part of what was.” (this is locked into place just by staying by Rand’s side; which Mat would ‘sidestep’ by going home to the Two Rivers instead of staying with Rand)
“To give up half the light of the world to save the world.” (this is locked into place by Moiraine’s choices and by Mat going to Salidar by Rand’s command, as that’s what makes him meet Thom again)
Both of the second two prophecy fulfillments flow naturally from Mat’s character development and his nature; but marrying tDotNM remains a jarring departure from his previous characterization even when it happens.
+It’s possible that it was Jordan’s original INTENTION that any Seanchan alliance would hinge on Mat being married to Tuon (with him being a ‘binding cord’ like Aviendha was supposed to be between Rand & the Aiel due to their relationship, which Jordan also basically dropped as a concept) but that’s not how he ended up writing it, whether that was because he wanted to punt all moral issues to the outriggers or for other reasons, because in order to make Mat marrying Tuon key to getting Seanchan support for the Last Battle, there were two key mistakes Jordan made:
Jordan needed to not have Mat be the one making all the concessions in their ‘relationship’. Jordan just couldn’t bring himself to ever let Tuon be vulnerable, for whatever reason (maybe the same reason he glorified Cadsuane’s bullying). But, regardless of the reasons, making the Mat-Tuon relationship one where he never fights her on anything important means that it’s absolutely useless in political terms and doesn’t really count as a ‘marriage alliance’.
Jordan should not have ALREADY had Rand willing to make peace with the Seanchan no matter what the cost. Honestly, this one point is enough to render the Mat-Tuon marriage entirely pointless. Rand was already willing to bend on slavery and humble himself for Tuon, thus making it so that (once again, a familiar refrain with Tuon’s storyline) Rand must make all the important concessions while Tuon makes barely any at all and gets to keep on trucking along in her untouched slaver bubble where she never has to admit she’s anything less than perfect and The Only Real Person In The World. If it really did take Mat’s magic...skills in the bedroom... for Tuon to even be willing to listen to Rand, then the Westlands would have been much better off with her assassinated by Suroth anyway, because she’s already so far off the deep end that she’s unsalvageable.
*Note: I am not considering Tuon’s own prophecy in this analysis because she gets hers so late in the game -- she hears the prophecy from the damane literally the day before she lands in Ebou Dar and meets Mat for the first time, when all the rest of the pieces are already in place for the forced marriage -- Mat already heard his prophecy months ago, Mat already has the memories, Mat already is trapped in Ebou Dar and wants to get out. By the time Tuon gets her prophecy, Mat’s side of things has been set in stone, so the prophecy is a true prophecy for her, due to Mat’s actions, as guided by the Aelfinn.
#mat cauthon#seanchan warning#wheel of time#wot#my wot meta#wot meta#wot book spoilers#a memory of light#amol#wot amol spoilers#wot a memory of light spoilers#wot reread#one of the thoughts that came up as a result of my reread#anyway i haven't done my reread of the last three books#but i feel like this is canon-compliant as of the jordan books#intentional? lol probably not#i suspect jordan was just Real Bad at romance#but i don't think it actually contradicts anything in the text#at least as far as i can remember
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OK. . . seems i missed the whole 'chickens are controversial in splatoon' thing. . . why?
To put it short there's evidence both for and against them existing, and this is without me actually looking anything up so i might be missing something.
cases for chickens being extant: there's been chickens present in SOME form in several splatfests, they're not mammals so they're not NECESSARILY extinct, despite being domesticated animals and thus being unlikely to survive it doesn't mean it'd be IMPOSSIBLE because pigeons and other relatively human-dependent birds still survive in Splatoon, and of course there are many instances of Eggs being a staple in inkling culinary culture. egg is everywhere
cases for chickens being extinct: we only actually See chickens (or chicken, as in food) in splatfest art and splatfest dialogue which isn't (or at least definitely wasn't until Splatoon 3) canon-compliant at all. We havent actually seen chickens in-universe to my knowledge, nor had them mentioned outside splatfest. probably the biggest nail in the coffin is that there IS a chicken statue in Splatsville, and typically when there are big animal statues in the cities those are statues depicting extinct animals. this is something from an interview that touched on the crane and tortoise statues in Inkopolis Square; which also confirms that it wasn't JUST MAMMALS that suffered and went extinct, it was also other miscellaneous land animals and even random birds which I think me and initially a lot of other people thought were just. Fine and safe. But if a random bird like a crane can be extinct now then chickens are absolutely not safe just because they're not mammals. although eggs are in like every food it's not really been confirmed in any way that those are CHICKEN eggs (although that is the most likely), they could as well be farming domesticated pigeons or something
So really it's a big case of no real confirmation they DO exist, but also no real confirmation they DON'T exist, but also the only context we see them in-universe is in a context where every other animal depicted there IS extinct and it's like a lore thing. So the existence of eggs is a big hint TOWARDS them existing but could easily mean nothing whereas the other one is more in line with proving they do not exist. it is a very uncertain situation for the chicken
HOWEVER!!!!!! there is hope for the chicken. splatfests in Splatoon 3 have had more in-universe accurate themes and dialogue so far (meaning they dont randomly make up shit like "marina's landlord is a narwhal" and "inklings eat red meat" or whatever the fuck in that sea food vs mountain food one we didnt even have that one it was regional). SO THIS MEANS! in the next splatfest we Could get a somewhat stable answer to if chickens exist or not. of course the other 2 options are extinct animals whereas the chicken is 50/50. i'm HOPING the dialogue touches upon this fact and doesn't just talk about all of those like they just Exist. basically we are very close to some kind of progress on this issue that would be Somewhat credible because while splatfest dialogue has never been a credible source in the past, it has been WAY better in S3
TL;DR we just don't know. Chickens are a mystery
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PARACOSM OF THE GODS.
PAIRING: gojo satoru x f!reader, geto suguru x f!reader | 11.5k words
SUMMARY: ok here we go, canon au, angst, fluff, best friends being in love, stsg being whipped but unable to express it, reader is clueless as usual, timeskips, canon compliant deaths, bittersweet, longing, mutual pining, emotionally stunted teens, dad!gojo makes an appearance, hopefully that’s it i'm tired of typing
RHEYA'S NOTE: highkey lowkey stressed posting bc this has been sitting in my wips for 4 years now. i honestly didn't have to add much to it i basically just proofread. but yeah when you maladaptive daydream and create a plot where you're a character in jjk and you're also in love with gojo and geto this is what happens. a little sad to let this go but it's time !! plus i can add more parts later. but anyways pls lmk what you think, i'm super curious to know <33
i. the unknown
satoru's first impression of you is anything but kind.
his words come casually, free into the wind without care, and they aren't meant for you to hear. instead, they fall only to suguru's ears, evoking a deep chuckle and a slight shake of his head. his bangs swish a little with the movement, but satoru is too busy eyeing you over the frame of his shades to notice.
you're lucky to have not heard it, because the intent with which it was said would have probably made your brow tick with frustration. he says it without a thought, as if he hasn't the slightest bit of interest in you as hints of arrogance fill his tone.
"who's the rookie?"
satoru and suguru sit outside against the patio railings of the classroom they had chosen for the day. it overlooks the grounds of the school, where they have a clear view of who approaches the main entrance. suguru absentmindedly clicks his lighter—shoko had gone to get another pack of cigarettes.
it is from this higher point that they have a clear view of you. you're so obviously new to this, satoru thinks as he watches how you awkwardly stand in front of yaga sensei.
he already wants to label you as a side character. it's mean, he realizes—cruel even, but he can barely bring himself to care.
"yaga sensei mentioned that there'd be a new student joining us this week," suguru says, fingering the bangs hanging in front of his eyes. they roam over you with only slight interest before uttering your full name, just as his teacher had said it.
satoru repeats it with a hum. "not a big name or anything. a small-sized family of sorcerers i think." he shrugs carelessly. "but honestly i never really paid attention to all those stupid clan and jujutsu family lessons."
suguru only responds with a good-natured chuckle, tearing his eyes away from the scene to look at his friend. "no shit."
the two sit in quiet silence, watching yaga's lips move in structured, emotionless greetings as he shakes your hand. satoru is especially focused on the hunching of your shoulders and the way your eyes nervously dart around.
suguru is the first to interrupt the peace.
"maybe she's strong?"
"are you kidding?" satoru scoffs as he stands up straight, shoving his fists into his pockets. he turns his nose up slightly. "that's not the attitude of someone who's confident in their abilities."
ii. routine
"can i ask you guys a question?"
a cool breeze tickles your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake, and you suppress a shiver. the smell of the air tells you winter is fast approaching.
"you just did," satoru hums, his snowy hair splayed out against stems of green grass. suguru's chuckle reverberates deep in his chest, and you have to push back an exasperated smile.
"another one then," you press, leaning over satoru's face to force yourself into his view. his blue eyes pierce through yours over the dark-rimmed frames of his glasses, and even after seeing them so many times, they still feel as dominating as the first. he hums again, and you take that as your cue.
"what did you first think of me when we met all those months ago?"
satoru sits up quickly, and you can already feel your shoulders dropping when you catch a glimpse of the teasing smirk on his lips. he shifts so that he's directly facing you, leaning close so that the two of you are barely a palm's distance from one another.
"thought you were an annoying little rookie~" he sings and you immediately shove at his shoulder.
"'m not a rookie anymore," you huff, and satoru laughs joyously. suguru only grins, his eyes darting between the two of you happily. satoru moves himself into a proper sitting position, digging his long fingers into your bag of chips and popping one into his mouth. you swat at his hand, even though you don't mean it, because though you complain about gojo satoru all the time, you would give him the whole world if you could.
you and satoru take turns reaching into the bag. you wonder if the sound of crunching disturbs suguru. he's not asleep—he's just doing that thing where he keeps his eyes closed and escapes to his own land of tranquility. you'd like to give him as much peace as you can, so you stay quiet. satoru does too, but you think that's just because you aren't talking to him.
the quiet is nice when you're with them. sometimes silence makes you feel alone—paranoid. it feels like there is some impending doom hovering over your shoulder, and all you can do is wait for it to come. but with them it is different. you know that any danger in the quiet will be caught by the two of them. maybe that's why it's so easy to let your guard down around them. you trust that they won't let you die.
"i thought you were weak," satoru pipes up after a few minutes of silence. "you didn't seem like you were confident in your abilities, and that's a sign of weakness."
after spending so much time with satoru and suguru, the word weak has permeated almost every one of your conversations. later you learned how much more significant it was for them to label someone as strong. you chase after the word—crave it.
"and turns out that wasn't true." suguru adds with a smile, his head leaning back against the trunk of the tree. his eyes are still closed serenely and you wonder if he can feel the way you're gazing at him.
"yeah and now you act like some big hotshot," satoru grumbles, as though he doesn't want to admit to his old mistake, but you can hear his smile. it annoys you, the way his once degrading little nickname has now somewhat turned into a term of endearment. you would rather die than admit that you like hearing him say it.
"well, I'm glad that i was able to prove you both wrong."
the conversation ends there.
shoko returns a few minutes later, tossing you a can of soda and suguru a pack of cigarettes. as soon as she sits down in her spot under the tree you're forcing your head into her lap and kicking your feet onto satoru's legs. you ignore his complaints, because you know that in just a little bit he'll quiet down and his hand will rest over your ankle, fingers soft but firm. they'll occasionally drum some rhythmic tune, or draw nonsensical patterns against your skin.
shoko's fingers thread through your hair, just like they always do, and you know that in a few minutes you'll doze off in her lap, just like you always do. it's clockwork, this thing that you have with them. they make the days keep going—time doesn't stop for you.
a part of you wishes you could freeze time at that moment.
but you can't.
iii. halcyon
"hey suguru?"
"hm?"
"how come you always do your hair the same way?"
suguru glances up from his book. he's seated at your desk, and for a minute, the breeze pushes your curtains so that they block your view of him. satoru groans lightly from your left, turning on his side to snuggle deeper into your pillow, and slumber overtakes him once more. him and shoko remain quiet, faces free of worry as they dream in a land that is so unlike the real world you live in.
"what do you mean?" suguru asks in response to your question. he has an amused smile on his face as he places his book on your desk, though his thumb and pointer finger keep his page.
"well…" you suddenly feel stupid for asking, but he's looking at you so intently now. "you have such nice hair. you could style it in so many different ways."
"are you saying you don't like my hair the way it is?" he frowns.
"no no!" you scramble, shaking your head emphatically. quite the opposite actually you think he's so so attractive—how on earth did you screw this up so badly? "that's not it i just—"
he laughs, tilting his head fondly. "i'm just messing with you, hotshot."
you blanch, before crossing your arms with a huff. "asshole…"
he chuckles, before lifting a calloused hand up to finger the tie that holds his hair in a bun. he glances back at you, before a michevious smile settles on his face. he gives the tie one sharp tug, and the bun falls away. black hair drops, resting on his shoulders, and you stare at him—oddly parched. wind brushes through the open window, tickling your curtains, tickling his now open hair. you had seen his hair down before, of course. in the few seconds after a sparring session when the bun had gotten loose, or when too many strands escaped the tie and fell in front of his face (he always pushed them away with an agitated huff). but now he looks different—good, you realize. he looks good.
"how should i style it then, hotshot?"
his question shakes you out of your daze. you hum in contemplation. "i don't know."
he laughs quietly, as to not wake the other two. "didn't you just say there were so many ways to style it? enlighten me then," he teases, reaching over to grab a small scrap of paper from your desk. he slots it where his fingers are holding place, and then closes the book. he swivels in the chair to face you completely, rolling over so that he's right in front of you.
"well…" you start, biting your lip in thought. "a ponytail maybe?"
suguru bunches his hair into his fist, holding it up against his head. "and? how do i look?"
you grin, eyeing the new style with a stifled laugh. "fantastic."
he laughs again, louder this time, before dropping his hand.
"it looked good though!" you laugh and he rolls his eyes fondly.
"yeah yeah," he dismisses with a wave of his hand. he looks back at you, eyes tracing over your hair before he grins wide.
"i like yours."
you blink. "mine?"
"the way you did your hair today," he points to the half up-half down style you've thrown together. a dark blue ribbon holds the hair in place—satoru had said it matched nicely with your uniform. suguru's eyes gleam as he appraises it. "it's nice. it looks really pretty on you."
something in your chest feels like it fell off a cliff.
"oh—" you stumble, before smiling at him because that's all you can do when he makes you feel like this. "thanks suguru."
"do mine like that," he says quickly.
once again, you blink owlishly and all you can manage is a stupid "huh?"
"do my hair like that," he repeats, getting up from the chair to sit at your feet, back towards you. he crosses his legs and puts his hands in his lap, patiently waiting.
"you can't do it yourself?" you tease, scooting closer to the edge of the bed.
"i can," he replies and you can hear the easy smile in his voice. "but i want you to do it for me."
"okay then!" you laugh before gently parting sections of his hair out. and then you work in silence, putting more effort into his hair than you've ever done with your own.
iv. fragility
"lady riko does not have any relations. when she was young, her family was involved in an accident…since then, i've been her caretaker. so please let her at least spend time with her fr—"
"—so that makes you her family then."
suguru's words seem to stun kuroi, the weight of riko's situation finally making itself clear as her face crumbles.
"…yes."
you listen to the way her voice wobbles, and try to suppress the poisonous lump forming in your throat.
"then we do everything we can to make her happy," you say solemnly, leaving no room for argument. suguru seems to agree and says nothing—some deeper part of you feels something more than thankful towards him.
"you're awfully sensitive for a jujustu sorcerer, you know that?" satoru comments offhandedly. you turn to look at him, meeting his piercing gaze over dark rims.
"maybe," you concur. "is that considered weak?"
satoru seems to ponder his answer, before shrugging, a light smile on his face. "to some people, maybe."
you manage to smile back, and he takes in the expression with an odd look on his face. "say what you want, satoru. but you agree with me, don't you?"
he looks away, eyes gazing out to the distance where you know riko is currently in class with her friends, trying to live the life she wants, and something in them softens considerably.
"we'll do things the way she wants us to."
it's one sentence, said without a smile or laugh, but hearing it fall from satoru's lips makes you beam at him.
that's just your kindness, isn't it, satoru?
your heart leaps when you notice the tips of his ears tinge with rouge.
v. longing
riko's hand is warm against the coolness of your fingers. your body feels hyperaware of your surroundings, toes deep in hot sand and salty air sticking to your skin. for some odd reason, you can't seem to relax. unconsciously, you tighten your grip around the young girl's palm. she glances up at you, but when you look down at her, she's wearing the biggest smile you've ever seen.
satoru's presence makes itself known behind you—his shadow looms over yours in the sand. "it'll be fine," he says.
you can't see his face, nor can you see suguru who stands at his side, but your shoulders drop slightly, and you find yourself smiling back at riko.
"i'm getting in the water!" she squeals eagerly, before dragging a helpless kuroi with her. satoru laughs—a clear, pristine sound—and follows after her. you watch the three of them with a fond smile, something akin to content settling deep within you.
"and what are you planning on doing?" suguru asks. you turn to look at him, watching the way his heavy eyes stay focused on you.
"hmm," you quirk a brow mischievously. "build sandcastles with me?"
suguru blinks owlishly before he breaks out into a good-natured laugh.
"deal." he walks closer to the water's edge, where the sand is damper, and crouches down. he turns to look at you over his shoulder. "don't make me do all the work, hotshot."
you stand there, taking him in—really taking him in. he's just as clear as the sky behind him, and the sun shining on his face makes his smile glow. you want him to continue smiling at you like that well into the future. the waves crash onto the shore, as though the ocean is chasing his radiance, and an overwhelming feeling of unfiltered affection swells in your chest.
your feet carry you forward, and you think that they might always lead you back to him.
the sun rises as time passes, and occasionally you spare a glance at satoru and riko, who are screaming as they splash water at one another. and then you catch a glimpse of kuroi, who stands with her feet in the water, a soft smile on her face.
and in that moment, nothing can be ruined.
"what's wrong?" suguru's voice calls out, and you tear your gaze away from the others to look back at him. he stands behind you with two strawberry ice cream cones in his hands.
"nothing," you hum, a serene smile on your face. "everything's perfect."
his eyes trace your face, stopping to linger on your smile, and they soften. "it is, isn't it?"
he turns to the ocean, watching satoru and riko, and his eyes sparkle. "i hope it stays like this always."
"me too."
he bends down to take his place at your side before he hands you a cone. you take it from him. suguru's eyes drift away from you to look down at his castle.
"i think it looks great," he expresses, before taking a lick of his ice cream.
you roll your eyes with a huff. "yeah, because you made it look so nice. you're unnecessarily good at this, suguru."
he laughs, waving his hand dismissively. "no no, we did it together! and yours is nice too!"
"maybe," you grin, looking at his castle. "but yours is extra pretty."
he smiles back, before pointing at a small hole in his sand tower. "see this room? it's yours."
"mine?" you chuckle.
"yeah, all yours," he hums softly. "this is my castle and you get your own room."
"oh? and why's that?"
suguru's gaze lingers on you, and his dark eyes soften considerably. "because you'll always have a place in my home."
you stare at him, speechless—something hammers away at the inner crevices of your chest.
"and this one—" he points to another hole a few inches away from the first. "—is my room."
"well in that case, that room is mine too!" you declare.
"what?" he barks out a laugh. "how does that work?"
"well…" you grin at him, the sun burning into your cheeks. "because my home is wherever you are!"
suguru's cheeky smile fades and his eyes widen. he looks at you, mouth agape, and you're about to say something else before sticky coolness trickles down your wrist.
"ack!" you hurry to wipe away the strawberry ice cream dripping down your skin and you completely miss the red that creeps up his neck and seeps into his ears.
vi. ice bath
shoko's fingers are unbelievably soft. you're grateful that you were unconscious through most of her procedures on your battered body—you don't think you would've handled the pain too well. she's quiet as she works over the large wound that now covers almost half of your torso. the man with the scar on his lip had done quite the number on you, and you don't think you'll ever forget the searing ache of his blade slicing through your flesh. he had left you in a bloodied pile, isolated, and you hadn't seen what had happened to suguru after the man shot riko. you could only lay there, vision swimming as a bitter taste filled your mouth—a reminder of the life you failed to protect.
the pain had been the only thing you could focus on, until satoru was on his knees at your side and tightly gripping your shoulders. your hazy focus was drawn to his lips as he spewed curses and insults at you.
"why didn't you run away, you little shit," he had shouted, a feral look in his eyes. there was something different about him—a change in his very being that you could see even in the throes of death. "shoko's coming, do you hear me? for fuck's sake, keep your eyes open, hotshot!"
you swore you saw his eyes shine behind that look of uncontrolled anger. he had been talking a mile a minute and your focus had waned until you could only see his lips move, no sound reaching your ears.
you've never thought satoru looked more godly than he did at that moment.
suguru eventually found his way into your field of vision—knelt at satoru's side. his large hand had squeezed your limp fingers in a death grip. he was sweating, and his eyes were darting back and forth between your pale face and bloodied torso, something akin to guilt swimming in them. you wished that you had the strength in you to squeeze his hand in return. the last thing you remember seeing is his dark hair falling in front of his face as he turned to shout at whoever was approaching.
now you're awake. disoriented and bleary, but awake, and all you can look at is the way shoko's bangs fall over her furrowed brows. she's taken care of the bleeding, and now all that's left is a dull throbbing, reminding you of how close you had toed the line with death. you don't know this yet, but the scar will remain for the rest of your life, and that dull throbbing will be a permanent reminder of your narrow escape.
shoko hasn't said a word since she noticed your eyelids flutter open. you want to ask her so many things. important things that cannot wait:
where's satoru? how about suguru? i saw them both. satoru's alive, right? and suguru, too? the man—with the scar. where did he go? he said that satoru—riko….where is riko? and—and kuroi…i—i..couldn't save riko. when did you get here, shoko? and why am i the only one who's being taken care of by you?
you want to ask her. but she's making a very odd expression as her hands ghost over your body. you've never seen it before, this odd quirking of her lips. her teeth sink into the bottom one, and she chews and bites and nibbles like it's some kind of nervous tell.
"shoko?"
it's all you can manage to say—all you dare. your voice is dry, shaky, and sounds almost foreign to your ears. you're going to ask more, at least one of those thousand questions you had asked in your head earlier, but you don't get to because she speaks before you.
"shut up," she spits, and the wobble in her voice has you pinching your lips shut and feeling closer to death than you did before.
vii. acid rain
the sound of clapping is deafening. you don't think you've ever heard a sound so horrid in your life before, and you feel as though your ears are bleeding heavily. you can faintly make out the conversation between satoru and suguru, your ears struggling to pick out the tones of their voices.
"no…" you hear suguru say quietly. "it doesn't matter if I'm fine…"
you can feel satoru's eyes roam over your motionless body, watching the way you gaze out into the crowd impassively.
"let's get out of here, guys."
your feet carry you numbly, and you aren't aware of anything except the way riko's arm is swinging in front of you lifelessly. there are no mirrors around—no way of catching the track of tears cutting over your cheeks. the places where the salt touches burn like acid. you say nothing.
satoru's gaze feels intrusive. he doesn't need to ask you anything—he just knows. it's like your body is radiating the emotions tumbling around in your gut.
you're awfully sensitive for a jujutsu sorcerer, you know that?
"do you want to…kill them all?"
the question stuns you, and for the first time, you can shake yourself out of your daze to look at satoru directly. blood is smeared over the left side of his face, cerulean eyes dimmed, as though something had pulled the shine out of them. red seeps into the fine hairs of his restless eyebrows.
"right now, i probably wouldn't even feel anything," he continues, staring at you listlessly.
you think satoru might be feeling just as numb as you are. you don't know what happened to him yet. the last you had heard, gojo satoru had been killed by the man with the scar. he had boasted about it to you before he attempted to kill you too. but then satoru was at your side again, completely alive as he ran your battered body to shoko like a crazed man.
you'll find out later who the man with the scar on his lip was, and what kind of legacy he had left behind. but for right now, all you see is a teenager with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and you know your answer.
satoru could help the pain go away; he'd be able to make the clapping stop—maybe then your ears wouldn't bleed anymore. but you couldn't ask that of him.
"forget it. it's pointless," suguru mutters, and you're glad he's on the same page as you. not because any of these people deserve pity, but because satoru deserves a break—one less burden for him to carry.
you hear suguru say more, but you can't focus. you continue to listen to the sound of the clapping, and once again lose yourself as you stare at riko's bloodied fingertips.
"pointless, huh?" satoru mumbles in response to suguru's answer. "does there need to be a reason?"
"of course. it's important," suguru's voice doesn't carry the same pleasant tone it always does. instead, it sounds strained, and tired beyond belief. unsure. "especially as jujutsu sorcerers."
satoru doesn't respond, but you know that he's measuring the weight of his friend's words. that's how it was with the two of them. they both balance each other out—their moral compasses influenced by one another. but then you feel satoru look up from riko's body and turn to you. suguru follows suit, and before you can wonder why, it hits you: satoru had asked you both.
you suck a deep breath in, feeling unusually breathless. the flesh of your stomach tingles with a painful reminder of what might've been, and you make up your mind.
"killing them won't change anything," you say, breaking your silence. the tears on your cheeks have dried, but they leave a rigid trail in their wake—a trail that still stings. "let's just leave it at that."
viii. fever dreams
satoru lies next to you.
a few nights have passed since riko's death, and you've chosen to stay holed up in your room. you're not sure why—death has always played a big role in your life. you don't understand why it's different this time.
tonight is different as well. while you've maintained a distance from everyone since that day, save for classes and passing by people on school grounds, today you've decided to let someone in. satoru's the lucky one, mostly because he would've pestered you until you opened your door for him anyway.
it's strange though. he had knocked over and over, and when you finally opened up with a snappy jab at his annoying personality, he had brushed straight past you and laid across your bed. he hadn't said a word since then, and you've found yourself lying next to him in silence for quite a while.
his hand stretches out in the darkness and you can feel his fingertips brush over the skin of your arm. it's delicate, like he's testing his limits, but you understand. it's just to ground himself—to know that you're still here, with him. to be sure that you're still alive.
you think the scar that goes down your body bothers him a lot more than it bothers you.
"'m here," you mumble sleepily. your fingers reach up to bump against his knuckles, and you hear him inhale deeply. his voice is throaty when he replies.
"i know."
ix. doubt
satoru learns that you've never been kissed before and he teases you for it.
not in a mean way, but in a way that has your cheeks heating and your eyes avoiding his. suddenly it feels like the gap between ages 16 and 17 is huge. he's barely even a year older than you and you're in the same year, but it feels as though he knows so much more about the world than you do. you want to ask suguru if it's bad that you've never had a kiss, but you don't. suguru rarely talks these days. sometimes he'll have conversations with you but won't look in your eyes when he speaks.
"hey listen, hotshot. if you don't get a kiss by…" satoru hums, an eager smile on his face as he swings an arm around your shoulders and contemplates his words. "…let's say 27, then i'll give one to you!"
there's an odd note of glee in his voice.
"shut up, toru," you groan, heat flooding your cheeks. "quit joking around."
he laughs loudly, pulling your cheek teasingly. "aw, i'm just playing. it's not a bad thing i promise!"
your shoulders relax slightly as the snowy-haired sorcerer continues to speak.
"i just thought that you would've kissed someone by now," he shrugs. "wasn't there that one guy you went on a few dates with? the one you met when we went to yokohama?"
there's an almost sour expression on his face as he speaks, but you're too frustrated to care. "just because i went on a couple of dates with him doesn't mean i kissed him!"
a broad teasing smile appears on satoru's face. "is that so?"
"ugh, i'm only 16!" you hiss, shoving him away from you. "besides i'm saving it for someone special!"
"good," you hear suguru speak up, and you turn to look at him. his fingers are interlocked, elbows resting on his knees, and he's staring down at his hands like they hold the answers to some deep questions he has. "it is something irreplaceable after all."
x. shadow
satoru's grin is proud as he stands before the three of you, his loose shirt billowing in the summer breeze.
you stare at him, heart thumping as shoko lets out a confused gasp. "huh? what the hell was that?"
"did it automatically choose the target for your technique?" suguru asks.
"yep!" satoru stresses the word, spinning the pencil suguru had thrown as he explains. "though i am the target. i've pretty much automated what i used to have to do manually."
your head is spinning.
"now i can tell an object's danger levels based the strength of its cursed energy, its speed, mass, velocity, shape—whatever. i want to be able to discern poisons too but that's pretty hard right now." satoru's voice is even when he explains, though you can make out the hints of pride that permeate his tones. you think his voice has gotten a little deeper too. "basically this is gonna allow me to keep my limitless technique active all the time!"
"that's gonna fry your brain!" shoko interjects, shaking her hair out of her eyes.
"yeah but i can do it while i continuously generate energy on my own. that way my brain stays fresh."
you can't help but let out an amused scoff. "what brain?"
satoru chucks the eraser at you, and you laugh as it bounces off your shoulder harmlessly.
"i've been working on shortening my hand signals so i can activate red and blue simultaneously." he continues, lips twitching upward as he gives you an exaggerated glare. "after this the only things i need to work on are domain expansion and long-distance teleportation. which i should be able to do if we set up some training courses here at school."
you think if someone examined you closely, they would see the stars in your eyes when you look at satoru.
"shoko~" he calls out, grinning eagerly. "think you could get me some lab rats?"
shoko groans as satoru bounds over to pester her more emphatically. you watch him, thinking you've never seen a person quite so magnificent.
god personified into a 17-year-old body. and yet it is a body that stays so close to you—well within your reach. maybe there's nothing so godly about that at all.
"don't you get tired of getting stronger and stronger, jeez?" you complain, crossing your arms as you raise a brow at him. satoru wets his lips as he throws you a smug smile.
"don't worry hotshot, you'll catch up to me someday!" he gives you an exaggerated wink over the frames of his glasses, and you shake your head somewhat fondly.
"no way! i never want to be at your level," you huff. "i'm very comfortable living in your shadow, thank you very much!"
a strange look passes over his face, almost puzzled, but the dip in his brows melts away as he approaches you. "well—" he slings an arm over your shoulder. "if my shadow makes you happy then you're more than welcome to stay there."
you don't have time to reply. pale lashes flutter at you—a backdrop of cerulean. you think white and blue may be the prettiest combination of colors in the world.
"suguru?" satoru's voice is casual, yet the amusement has dropped from it. his arm is heavy around your shoulders. "have you lost weight? are you okay?"
you look up, seeing tired eyes behind dark stands of hair. suguru's cheekbones are prominent, and you have the sudden urge to reach out and trace your fingers over them.
his lips twitch upward weakly. "it's just the summer heat…"
his lavender eyes drift to your face as he says it, and he tilts his head as he scrutinizes your worried expression. "…i'll be fine."
xi. hellfire
you hear suguru before you see him.
his breaths come loud as he pushes the door to the morgue open, the metal clanging heavily. his eyes bore into your back, taking in your clenched fists and raised shoulders that seem to tremble.
you wonder who told suguru you'd be here. maybe nanami, who was here not long ago, and had sent you a text that merely said: the mission went badly.
or maybe it was satoru, who had been chatting with you near the entrance of campus when he saw the myriad of emotions pass over your face as you read the text. he had probably called suguru as soon as you left.
it doesn't matter—you can't bring yourself to care.
you can only think about the way haibara had smiled at you before he left that morning.
now that smile is covered by a dirty white sheet, and you can't tear your eyes away from it. the taste of blood and vomit is heavy on your tongue.
suguru says your name quietly. you can't even look at him—you're scared that you'll cry if you do.
you don't ever want to cry in front of him. or satoru—so weak in front of those who are so strong.
"he asked if i wanted to go with them and i said no because i was lazy," you hiss, teeth clenched as you spit out the words with venom. "if i had just stopped thinking about myself for a second—"
your fingers dig into the flesh of your palms—deep, deep, deeper.
you hear suguru click his tongue, and his hands wrap around yours. he yanks your fingers apart fiercely, thumbs smoothing over the bloodied indents you've made in your own skin. you tear your eyes away from the body to finally look at him.
"don't—" his breath catches as his thumbs still over your flesh, eyes going hard as he takes in the blood.
he blurs in and out of focus. his head whips up when he hears you sniffle, and his lips slant ruefully. "you—"
"i'm fine," you interrupt, blinking pointedly and taking a deep breath. "it's fine—i mean it's not fine—but i c—"
"stop." suguru grabs your shoulders, giving you an even stare. you don't know how you didn't notice it before, but he looks thinner, older. there are dark circles under his eyes—poison seeping into his skin. "you need to rest."
you stare back at him silently, but you don't feel like you agree. something about this is making you feel restless, like there is so much you need to make up for. his grip tightens, before he's wordlessly leading you to take a seat—he finds his place next to you.
"satoru took over the mission." he stares at the lifeless body on the table as he speaks. you lower your gaze.
"and nanami?" your throat feels like it's closing. suguru inhales deeply.
"he went back to the dorms."
"okay."
you try to figure out if there is any meaning in having this conversation. despite everything, weren't you expected to wake up tomorrow morning and head out on a mission once more? and when you return, you're sure that there'll be another faceless body taking haibara's place.
the cycle continues—clockwork. it scares you, just how replaceable you are.
haibara, nanami, you, another, nameless—interchangeable.
not like satoru. not like suguru. not like the strong.
you lean your head against suguru's shoulder, fingering the hem of your uniform skirt. the fabric is cool to the touch—it seems darker, heavier. heat radiates from the body next to you, and there's something about him that's making your stomach churn with nerves. "suguru?"
his voice sounds far away. "hm?"
"are you okay?"
he stiffens and you suddenly fear you've said too much—nosy, intruding, out of place. you stumble. "it's just, we haven't talked much lately."
"i'm fine," he answers, and you can hear a smile in his voice—whether it's real or fake you can't tell. "just a little tired."
you know there is truth to this. but it scares you, how this tiredness of his has lingered for months. you don't know how to tell him that.
"okay…" your voice is barely a whisper, heavy with unspoken words that you don't know how to formulate. somehow you find that silence has always been your only option.
but like usual, silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable.
haibara's smile burns behind your eyelids.
"it should be a relatively simple mission. if you're not doing anything today senpai, would you like to come with us?"
his voice tickles your ears.
"that's alright! i'll get going then! oh right, today's mission is a little farther than usual, so we'll probably be back late! what would you like me to bring back for you?"
hypoxia crushes your lungs, your blood burns. selfish selfish selfish. you've only ever cared about yourself.
suguru's arm curls around your shoulder before you even realize you're crying. his palm is warm as it smooths over your hair, and all you can worry about tainting him with your ridiculous tears.
you don't ever want to burden him—just want to quietly live in his shadow.
"i don't—" you internally cringe at the throaty rasp of your voice, swiping a hand at your nose. "i shouldn't be so sensitive about—"
"it's not your fault." he quietly hushes you, grip tightening imperceptibly. through your tears you can see him adam's apple bob, and for some reason that makes you feel worse. you're too scared to look at his expression, even though his voice is resolute. "none of this is our fault."
something has changed in the way he speaks now. something has settled, a confirmation of some idea that has been brewing for a long time now.
you don't say another word, but somehow he manages to sear himself into your very being. he's warm, and fuzzy, and he smells like sandalwood and incense.
you don't know how long suguru let's you pathetically sob into his shoulder.
but you think you're embarrassed that he has taken pity on a wounded animal's cries.
xii. split
he looks different, but also the same. you've seen him wear that sweater before. it's plain black, no patterns, and you know that there's a loose string on the inside of the left sleeve that he was always too lazy to cut. you've always liked that sweater—always liked the way he looked in it.
you liked it so much that you've even stolen it a few times yourself.
but now it looks different. older and dirtier—as though soiled by some unknown curse.
that's what everything came down to, right? curses.
suguru stands in front of you, almost no trace of emotion on his handsome face, and his expression makes you want to turn and run. you miss the calm serenity that normally graced his features, wishing that you had some kind of cursed technique that could turn back time. but you aren't blessed like that—you wonder what sin you might've committed in a past life that made you so unlucky in this one.
"you look confused," he comments. you reel at how casually he speaks to you, like it's just another afternoon sitting under that stupid tree. like he's leaning his head back against the trunk and watching you and satoru bicker with that fond look in his eye.
"suguru," you speak, an odd strain in your voice. you struggle to comprehend this odd turn of events. you've had time to understand that he's now a different person than the one you once knew. you know that he's responsible for killing 112 innocents, including his own parents. you know that he's now an enemy to jujutsu society and you know that you should kill him right at this moment.
but he looks so much like suguru, like your suguru, that you can only manage to stand there, frozen in place. his eyes drift over your body, taking in your pajamas, the bath towel in your hands, and the small drops that trickle from your hair, and you can see the familiarity settle in his expression.
"why are you here?" you choke out. you feel an overwhelming sense of danger in your gut, knowing that your family is just a few rooms over from where he stands now.
"at your family home, you mean?" he asks casually. a small, almost amused smirk appears on his face. "you said i was always welcome."
you did say that. sometime last year or the year before, when you had invited satoru, suguru, and shoko over to visit during one of your quick holidays. suguru had sat across from you at your dinner table. he complimented the food and your father smiled one of his rare smiles. you had chewed quietly to hide your grin.
you don't know what to say to him now.
"everything they said about you," you whisper, taking a step toward him. he remains rooted in place, but his eyes follow your movements. they shift when he catches your fingers gripping your towel tighter. "is it true?"
"do you think it is?" he asks, and you gulp. it feels like he's baiting you into some kind of trap.
"i don't want to believe that it is," you answer, voice shaking. "that you would ever do something so…"
the sentence hangs in the air, and he tilts his head imperceptibly. something in his eyes changes as he focuses on the drops falling over your shoulders.
"well i'm sorry to squash your hope," he raises his arms in a shrug. "but everything you heard is completely true."
your head aches, but you're not surprised by his confirmation. "why would you…?"
suguru hums, a dark look falling over his face. "do you remember the conversation we had after haibara's funeral? do you remember what i told you when he died?"
anger flares in your gut at the mention of haibara, and the bath towel crumples in your hold. "don't say his name," you hiss through gritted teeth. "don't act like he's the reason—just…don't bring him into this. please."
suguru licks his lips, eyes going soft before he tries again.
"everything used to make sense back then," he sighs. "back when the strong existed to protect the weak. but it's not true."
"suguru—"
"the reason why we suffer is because of them," he interjects evenly, though frustration is clearly evident in the curve of his brows and the volume of his voice. "we clean up their messes. they create problems and we die for it."
you're stunned into silence, at the way he's raising his voice at you, at the way he's speaking so firmly about this horrible topic, at everything. he seems to realize the effect of his speech, and he quells his anger to speak quieter. "that's why i'm doing this. i'm going to create a world without non-sorcerers, so that sorcerers like you and i can live peacefully."
a lump forms in your throat because god, he's right. he's so right. your life would be a thousand times better without curses. non-sorcerers were the reason curses existed. but the way he's going about this…
"suguru," your voice shakes, but you press on. "i get it. i really do—"
"i know you do," he interrupts. "you always have. even back then…"
he takes a step closer to you, reaching out to finger the towel in your hands. "but you don't agree with the way i'm doing it, right?"
you bite your lip, and he smiles at the sadness in your expression. "you're so easy to read, hotshot."
you ignore the way the nickname stings. "i just—how could you kill innocent people like that? your own parents, suguru."
he looks away from you, steely resolve in his eyes. "if i made exceptions for my parents, that would kinda make me a hypocrite, wouldn't it?"
you don't know what to say to that. he doesn't seem to have anything else to add either.
he looks around your old bedroom, eyes sparkling as they catch a picture of the four of you from your first year. satoru's arm is slung around shoko. the dark-haired female has her elbow resting on your shoulder, her tongue sticking out playfully. you're clinging to suguru's arm, and satoru's free hand is squishing your cheeks together. the four of you are laughing.
nobody has laughed in a while now.
you tear your gaze away from the picture frame to look at him. he's so unbelievably close, and he's gazing down at you with this foreign look in his eyes, the picture forgotten behind him.
he slips his fingers into your hair. his palm is large enough that it can brush the side of your face, and you wonder why your body doesn't flinch away from those bloodstained hands.
"it's okay," he mumbles, a faraway look in his eyes. they remain trained on your hair, but it feels like he's looking straight through you. like you're nothing more than a ghost he wants to erase. he's so close—you can count his dark lashes as they brush against his cheeks. "it's difficult. i don't expect you to understand."
his words incite a sudden flare of anger in your gut. it burns something fierce, and in that moment you hate him.
"no, i don't," you reply indignantly. he pauses, now really looking at you, and his brows quirk upward in what seems to be surprise, because—well, he's never seen you make such an expression at him before. "you never tried to help me understand. you just left."
a strained silence follows. his fingers twitch against your cheek.
"this doesn't concern you," he says finally. "i don't need you to understand my actions."
you recoil, as though he's physically hurt you, and your expression falls so hard that it almost makes him regret saying it. almost.
"if it doesn't concern me, then why are you here?" you ask again, and you see suguru's shoulders drop. "you know that i have orders to kill you. i might not be able to because you've always been stronger than me. but you know that i'll…"
go down fighting you, is what you want to say, but the words leave a nasty taste in your mouth. but suguru seems to know what you're implying because a wry smile appears on his lips. his fingers twirl a strand of your wet hair.
"i'm here to say goodbye," he says finally. another tense silence fills the space between you both, and suguru can see the way your fingers shake between the folds of your towel.
"you're a little bit late for that, aren't you?" you choke out, a strange tilt to your voice as you break eye contact with him. "you left school weeks ago, and you didn't say a word to me then."
"better late than never, right?"
the softness in his tone makes you turn to look at him again, and you desperately want to ingrain the features of his face into your head. the gentle slope of his eyes and sweetness of his smile. he almost looks like the suguru you once knew, and you suddenly have the urge to mourn his death.
his face becomes blurry, the edges becoming less pronounced, and you can see the way his expression falls.
"i didn't come all the way here to make you cry." his hand drops from your face and he takes a step back. your fingers hurry to wipe at your waterline, and you shake your head.
"'m not crying."
suguru smiles ruefully, and his eyes suddenly look devoid of life. he takes another step back—your heart plummets.
he says your name once, quietly, and it hangs in the air as you wait for him to say more.
he doesn't.
"you know that I'm not supposed to let you leave alive, right?" you mumble, fingers toying with the towel in your hand. "but i can't—i mean—"
"hm," he chuckles. "still as sensitive as ever, huh? s'okay…"
he moves toward you again and his hand gently cups the back of your neck. "i think it's your best quality. makes you better than most people in our world."
he presses his lips to your forehead tenderly, and you feel your eyes widen behind your tears.
you probably could've stopped him, because you're aware that he's now suddenly behind you, and that he's raising his hand. you can stop him, but a part of you thinks that if it's death at suguru's hands, maybe it's not such a bad way to go.
you accept your fate then and there.
you'll find out later that suguru never had the intention to kill you then. perhaps he was waiting for a more opportune time, waiting for there to be a meaning behind it. you're not sure. but when you wake up tucked in your bed cozily, you'll feel the remnants of him lingering around you.
he was warm, and fuzzy, and he smelled like sandalwood and incense.
xiii. sanctify
satoru's at your door again.
you've memorized his knock patterns. he always knocks three times, then leaves a pause, then twice more. for someone so erratic, he can be quite predictable.
"what's up, satoru?" you call out, not looking up from your busy hands. there are a couple of empty cardboard boxes open on your bed, and you've been placing things into them all morning. things that should've been put away a long time ago. you pause on one of your old test papers, and in suguru's dark, blocky handwriting you read:
YOU GOTTA STUDY MORE DUMBASS.
underneath it, satoru had scrawled:
hotshot failing class now huh? :P
and shoko had added:
both of you stfu you're failing too
you had drawn a heart next to her name.
"whatcha doin'?" a familiar voice chirps. "spring cleaning?"
satoru stands directly behind you, peering over your shoulder. you can practically feel his aura shift when he notices the items you're putting away.
"cleaning of some sort," you sigh, before turning to look over your shoulder. "i've been…putting it off."
he doesn't move—just continues to stare down at the paper in your hands. you think maybe you shouldn't have let him in. sometimes you forget that satoru might have his own sensitivities—you've always viewed him as the strongest.
a few strands of his hair tickle your cheek, and you scrunch your nose in response. he then turns to you, eyes blinding as he studies you over the frames of his shades.
"want help?"
"please." you don't intend to sound so needy, but the way you whisper the word has him immediately grabbing your wrist and sitting you down next to him on the bed.
"how are we sorting this stuff?" he asks, his voice oddly calm. he hasn't let go of your arm yet, and some quiet part of you is grateful.
"i was putting our old school stuff in that box. books, papers…" you answer softly, and satoru nods in understanding. "and in the other box…"
you inhale deeply through your nose. satoru waits, strangely patient. you're not sure if you're imagining it, but you think he squeezes your wrist.
"…are all of suguru's things."
there's a moment of silence—a quick mourning for what is no longer there.
"it's stupid stuff that he left behind, you know?" you chuckle, even though nothing is funny. "some old shirts from when you two would sleep over, his old textbooks, a few pictures from our holidays—shit like that."
satoru hums. he's not looking at you—instead he's staring at the box, a frown on his face.
"i guess he didn't really need those things for where he was going. or for wherever he is now," you mumble.
"guess not."
you're not sure what's going through his head. satoru's reaction to suguru leaving had been chaotic at best. it was so hard to tell how he felt about it. you knew he was angry, confused, betrayed. but he never showed things like that. you think it might have to do with being the strongest. you're not sure though—you never were strong like him.
you wish there was a way to tell him that he could share his feelings with you, but you can't think of a way that won't be awkward.
a ticklish sensation crawls up your wrist and you look down to watch satoru's first two fingers tap against the inside of your palm. his thumb brushes against yours as he lets out a heavy exhale.
"let's get started then, hotshot."
he looks down at you as he says the words, and you think you might cry. but you want to be strong, like him, so you offer him a smile. he gives you one in return. you realize there isn't that much warmth in it, not like it used to have—you're sure that yours isn't that warm either.
but it's enough for the two of you.
"you look tired, toru," you chuckle wryly, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair from his face. his eyes flutter at the touch, and you honestly think this might be the most vulnerable you've ever seen him.
"so do you."
"i am," you admit honestly.
"'s okay," he mumbles. his fingers tap against your palm once more. "'m here."
"i know," you answer. you always are.
nothing more is said as satoru stands up. he makes his way over to your desk and pulls one of suguru's old sweaters from your chair. you watch him fold it neatly, smoothing out the creases with care, before placing it into the box—you smile once more.
you think the scent of sandalwood tickles your nose, but it's gone in an instant.
both of you work in relative silence, sorting through the things in your room quickly. you're surprised at how bare it looks as you're nearing the end, as though there's nothing more to your life than old high school recollections.
you finish putting the last few polaroids into the box when satoru speaks up.
"hey."
you look up and find him staring at you, so you turn to face him completely, giving him your full attention.
"zenin toji—" the name sends a painful tingle up your body. "—left something behind."
you frown. "what are you talking about?"
"a kid. he's got a kid. and i was gonna go meet him today," satoru shrugs. you try to read his emotions, but as usual, he's giving you nothing. "the old man said something about the zenin clan buying up his kid before i killed him. i was gonna go see if there's something i could do about that."
you sigh before raising a brow, an amused lilt to your voice. "and why have you kept this a secret?"
satoru's trademark smirk appears, and he walks over to sling an arm around your shoulders. "who knows?" he quips nonchalantly. "guess i was waiting until we were bored. we need something to do now, don't we?"
you glance at the packed boxes on your bed, and then look around your empty room. everything is always changing, but satoru is constant.
"i guess so," you grin. his eyes shine, and for a second you see a familiar teenager at the beach, and then a familiar teenager under an old tree. you think you hear waves, and the crinkling of a bag of chips.
"good," he chirps, walking you to the door, the arm around your shoulder secure. "his name's megumi, and we're gonna make sure he gets strong."
xiv. idyll
it takes you a little over four months to get used to megumi's eyes. they aren't unsettling or invading, like a certain snowy haired sorcerer, but they do give you chills when you first notice them. chills and a fleeting feeling of metal slicing up and down through your flesh. you just have to steady your breathing and remind yourself that the son is not the father.
tsumiki is an angel. you didn't think that kids that age could be so emotionally competent, but she's a pleasant surprise. she had been awfully protective over megumi, fidgeting with a firm hand on his shoulder as you and satoru invaded their space and upturned their lives. even after they had settled into the humble apartment satoru had purchased, tsumiki was still so overly cautious. it was obvious she still didn't trust either of you, but you thought it was admirable of her, and you relay this thought to satoru one day.
"think they hate us?" he asks, squishing his cheeks between his lithe fingers as he eyes the different milk cartons over the rims of his glasses.
"i'm pretty sure they just don't trust us that much," you reply, placing a few packs of instant ramen into the cart. "can you blame them? we're just random strangers who came up and basically kidnapped them."
"i'd like to say adopted!" he points out with a grin, before he sighs. "but we've already proved we're just doing this to help them. but they still barely talk at all."
"they're just being careful. megumi's still a little young and he looks like he doesn't give a shit about most stuff anyway," you chuckle as you remember the expression on the first grader's face as he spoke to your cocky friend. "and tsumiki's being cautious for both of them."
"she doesn't need to be cautious of us!" satoru dramatically whines, pulling out a carton of whole milk and placing it into the cart. you shiver as the cold air hits your skin, eyeing the sorcerer with an exasperated smile. he shuts the door with a huff. "i've been such a good dad!"
you roll your eyes, shoving his arm as he starts pushing the cart down the aisle. "she definitely should be cautious of you, you creep."
satoru looks down over his shoulder, appalled, though his eyes sparkle with mirth. "and why do you say that?"
"have you seen yourself? crazy 19 year old man that kidnaps kids," you mutter somewhat sarcastically, falling into step with him like it's normal. satoru grins at that—amused.
"i think it's pretty cool of her to be that responsible though," you continue, voice going softer as you think about them, and satoru hums in what you think might be agreement. you suddenly grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks and he turns to look at you.
"you think we should get another carton of milk?" you question, tilting your head at him. "megumi's been drinking it every day after he comes back from school and tsumiki said she wanted to try making milkshakes."
satoru blinks at you, eyes widening before an amused chuckle escapes his lips. you're about to ask what is so funny but he gestures back down the aisle. "go get some."
he waits for you as you go grab another carton, leaning against the cart easily. when you make it back and place the extra milk in the cart, satoru slings an arm around your shoulders. you raise a brow, but he just continues to push the cart with his free hand and says nothing.
so you don't say anything either.
the two of you continue shopping, trying to remember the things you've noticed the kids enjoying because you know they'll be too uncomfortable to outrightly request them. for every sweet snack satoru puts into the cart, you add something that can pass as somewhat healthy, and he hides a teasing grin behind his fist each time.
when you're almost done, satoru motions to the shelves of snacks, raising a brow at you. "what do you need, hotshot?"
you look up from where you're analyzing the contents of the cart. "hm? oh i don't wanna buy anything for myself. i'm good with the stuff i have back at the dorm."
"great," he shrugs with a subtle shake of his head. "except you're not buying anything this time, i am. so pick something."
"what?" you frown, walking over to him. "we're supposed to split groceries for the kids."
"we can split next time." satoru rolls his eyes at you, as though annoyed by your insistence. "i just got paid yesterday and i wanna waste money. pick something."
you groan. "but there really isn't anything i want. if you're gonna pay yourself then let's just go. i think this is good enough."
satoru looks unamused, his eyes boring into yours—bright, dominating, mesmerizing. "oh really? nothing you want?"
you stare at him in confusion as he walks over to the frozen section and opens the door. after a few seconds of rummaging, he pulls out a box. "not even this?"
your shoulders drop. he's holding a tub of strawberry ice cream.
he casually places it into the cart, eyes trained on your expression as he bends down. "it's your favorite, isn't it?"
your voice comes out throaty, and you wet your lips nervously—his eyes follow the movement at lightning speed. "how'd you know?"
satoru scoffs out a haughty chuckle, reaching up to knock a knuckle at your forehead—it's cold. "i know everything about you, hotshot."
he moves to grip at the cart's handle, standing close enough that you can feel the energy radiating off of him. the side of his hand touches yours, still cold. "now we can go."
he sticks by your side, pushing the cart towards the counters as he casually looks around the store. you briefly realize that his shadow doesn't cover you when you're at his side like this. the thought both scares you and pleases you in a way you didn't think was possible.
"thanks toru," you mumble before you can stop yourself. his gives you a sidelong glance—assessing.
his lips twitch. "it's just ice cream."
"no, it's a lot more than that." you're not really sure why you say it so tragically, and satoru inhales sharply. you notice that his knuckles have turned white as he grips the cart's handles. once again, his eyes dart rapidly over your face—between your eyes and then further down.
then he lets out a hushed laugh, nudging your shoulder with his. "as long as you share with me, hotshot."
everything is always changing, but satoru is constant.
you can't help but smile. "always."
you two don't say much as you head to the counter, taking turns placing all the items on the belt. you quietly watch satoru dig into his wallet, feeling oddly content doing so. you think the stars in your eyes will never disappear.
the clerk eyes you both, and suppresses a fond grin. with your close proximity, shared cart, and satoru's easy going smile, you realize that she's probably misunderstanding, but you don't really know how to correct her. satoru says nothing—he just continues smiling, oddly pleased.
he smiles all the way to the car. you catch yourself doing the same in the rear view mirror.
xv. retribution
the first thing you notice when you kneel in front of suguru is that he's bleeding all over the place. you have the strongest urge to scramble and grip his fingers tightly, just as he had done for you so many years ago—but you don't dare. you're too scared that touching him will ruin you completely.
he says your name quietly, and yet it's the loudest thing in the universe to you—crashing over your ears until you've lost all sense of self.
and then he leans forward, his gaze heavy, and his hand comes up to tangle in your hair. his palm rests on the side of your face just like it did when he visited you at your family home. the last time you saw your geto suguru.
except this time he moves further—crosses a line. presses his lips to yours.
he tastes like blood. you don't pull away.
the feeling of his lips shocks you though, and you stay permanently frozen in place as you feel your eyes glaze over with something you can't put into words.
suguru kisses you slowly, deeply, like he's been waiting but wants to savor it. maybe you've been waiting too. you're not sure. you're so confused.
you don't even process the way his tongue slips past your lips, tasting almost eagerly like your mouth is some kind of conquest he's trying to claim.
it's intrusive, but not unwelcome. slow, but not gentle.
you whimper quietly, feeling acid sting down your cheek as he pulls away and his eyes flutter open. he takes in your expression, and a million emotions pass over his face.
a quiet chuckle. "that bad, huh?"
you shake yourself out of it and try to push away the flush creeping up your neck. "w-what?"
"you're crying," he announces, his furrowed eyebrows paired with a sweet smile that makes him look so unbelievably tragic. "the kiss was that bad?"
your face burns, and you raise a shaking hand up to your cheek—it's wet.
"it wasn't—i didn't—" you struggle. "i mean—"
he smiles ruefully. "i'm sorry. you were saving it for someone special, right?"
there's a charged silence that follows as you scour your brain for the conversation he's referencing. when you find it, your heart sinks.
"you've always been special to me, suguru." your voice comes out quiet, but he hears it all the same. his eyes widen fractionally and you can see a light pink dust his cheeks before he laughs. it's soft, hushed, and looks like it's painful, but he lets it run its course.
it reminds you of a laugh from so long ago, at a beach, with childish screams echoing against the sound of waves. you think you can feel strawberry ice cream dripping down your wrist.
his laughs die down and he's left smiling softly at you. his lavender eyes sparkle with mirth as he tilts his head. "i'm glad. that you were the one i gave a room to."
you can hear waves in your ears, crashing crashing drowning. sand is in your hands, in between your toes, in your eyes.
he coughs, and his palm shakes against your cheek. you wonder why he doesn't just let go already dammit suguru.
you inhale sharply, trying so hard to breathe because what is that stupid thing that's clogging your throat and preventing you from speaking? there's so much you have to say to him. so many questions. so many things left unsaid. your words are failing you.
but silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable, right?
you raise a shaky hand to press against his where it lays against your neck. "do you regret it?"
he licks his lips, smiling faintly, as though he's enjoying the new taste of you on them. "no."
"why not?" you whisper. your body unconsciously shuffles closer to him, chasing his warmth because gods is he warm. he's always been so warm, even now, in the throes of death.
"my feelings are still the same. i still hate the monkeys for everything they've done, all the crap they cause." he shuts his eyes, smiling that serene smile. you wish he was leaning against a tree trunk. "i still have no resentment to those at jujutsu tech. and you, i still…"
he doesn't continue. you don't think you want him to. there's a flush crawling up his neck, the faint pink a stark contrast to the red of blood. it makes you nauseous.
another deep inhale, and his thumb slides over your jawbone, before brushing under your bottom lip. he stares at the flesh heavily, letting his finger press into it. his tongue swipes over his own lips, eyes darkening further.
and then something shifts in his face, and he smiles mirthlessly. his hand drops from your face—broken contact.
he doesn't tear his gaze away from you, committing your face to memory. it's almost like he wants to say something, but decides against it at the last minute as he slumps further into the wall behind him and shuts his eyes.
when he speaks again, you know that it is all over.
"you're late, satoru."
#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo satoru x reader#geto suguru x reader#satosugu x reader#gojo x reader x geto#jujutsu kaisen angst#jjk x reader#jjk angst#gojo x reader#geto x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jjk fluff#satoru gojo x reader#geto suguru x you#stsg x reader#satosugu x you#gojo x you#geto x you#jujutsu kaisen fluff#gojou satoru x reader#getou suguru x reader#jjk#jjk x you#geto fluff#gojo fluff#geto angst#gojo angst#suguru x reader
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Hey ! Can I ask for the Diasomnia boys reacting to a male!Ignihyde!reader who join the gargoyle club (idk if it's name) ?
Like, the reader is really just interest in the gargoyles, and isn't scare of Malleus (or anyone, really. Man is too tired for being scare.)
Ignore it if you don't want to write it.
Have a good day/night ! And happy new year too.
characters: diasomnia boys x male ignihyde reader
tags: platonic, canon compliant, fluff, imagines + scenario format; mentions of malleus in literally everything, lilia being a dad
warnings: none
author's notes: reader is so idgaf energy i love it. also i just remembered the small font feature exists LMAO do tell me if it's too small, i'll change it back to the original size!! if not, i'll change my previous posts to the smaller font. also you have a good day/night too anon ! and happy new year :D
Malleus Draconia
Oh? You want to join the Gargoyle Studies Club? You’re being serious? Oh!
Words cannot describe how happy he is about a fellow gargoyle appreciator though his expression doesn’t really show that
And to think you see him as just another dude… such honor was bestowed upon him…!
He’ll excitedly bring you to every gargoyle he’s found on campus and infodump about them - and you’d write them down somewhere if you’re in the mood
Sometimes you’d find new gargoyles and bring him to them and you start to do likewise
Even outside of club activities you two geek out about gargoyles at times which has earned you two the title of nerds
“Have I told you about the time I’ve met talking gargoyles? I never thought I would see such a day…”
Gargoyles aside, he has times where he confides his personal daily life in you and in turn, he’ll ask you what’s it like being in Ignihyde, etc
After being around each other so much, it feels weird when you guys aren’t together - some people would ask where Malleus is whenever you’re on your own, and vice versa
People found it weird how close an Ignihyde student is to someone from a different dorm too and you’re not sure if you should be flattered or not
But in a sense, Malleus really is your other nerdy half.
Sebek Zigvolt
You?????? Join the club where Malleus is president and is the only member of?????????
“WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU’RE WORTHY OF JOINING SUCH A CLUB?”
Well, for one, the fact that you’re unfazed by his constant yelling and therefore probably too tired to be fazed by anything, consequently making you the perfect companion to Malleus because you wouldn’t react inappropriately to Malleus’ conduct
And that you actually are interested in gargoyles. That too. You tell all this to him
He clutches his head with one hand, debating your logic. You don’t know how and why but he accepts your argument
That doesn’t stop him from monitoring you two’s activities from afar but, again, you couldn’t care less. A sixteen year old’s fanatics is just part of the growing process
Outside of club activities, he interrogates you on what you’ve discussed with Malleus and you just tell him the truth: gargoyles
At some point, he gets so engrossed in your infodump about gargoyles his eyes shine with a new light
Of course, he mentions something about Malleus obviously liking something so interesting and befitting of his status - but he also thanks you for enlightening him on the topic and that he’ll go to you for more information if need be
You’ve converted him. You sometimes see him clutching a book about gargoyles around the school. It’s filled with notes sticking out of the pages. And a portion of that sometimes he’ll run to you to confirm about a fact or two
Maybe it’s safe to say you two are kind of friends now.
Silver
He doesn’t think too much of it other than being glad that Malleus finally has a fellow gargoyle fan he can geek out with
He’d see you and Malleus chatting it up around campus and he can’t stop the tender smile on his face from making an appearance
Sometimes he himself will try to strike up a conversation with you and gargoyle geek aside, he finds that you’re just a pleasant person to talk to and be around
He admits he’s not too close with any of the folks from Ignihyde aside for the Shroud brothers but you brush him off by saying that nobody is really
He also admires how you don’t really let anything get to you. Again, you shrug it off by half-joking that you’re too tired to be scared by anything at this point
He somewhat empathizes with you on that point, grieving over his narcoleptic tendencies with a heavy sigh
You try your best to cheer him up or if you have experience with such things, you give him advice on how to manage it
You then jest that he can tag along with you and Malleus’ club activities whenever he’s free if he wants. The more, the merrier, right?
He ponders it for a minute and nods. You didn’t think he’d actually accept the offer
“I don’t see a reason to refuse. Sebek and I have accompanied Malleus on his trips before. I’m sure this time around will be more fun with you here.”
And so you all do. You all have a royal time together - and the joy on Silver’s face is especially princely.
Lilia Vanrouge
He sheds (crocodile) tears at the thought of Malleus finally having an additional member in his one-man club more friends
Since you’re chill about it, he is too! As long as you get along with Malleus, everything will be fine and dandy
If anything, he’s a bit impressed by how it takes more than the average amount to gain a reaction out of you
…and a bit concerned. Are you sure you’re getting enough nutrients? His paternal instincts kick in when you tell him you’re too tired to have a reaction to anything
He knows that Ignihyde students are mostly shut-ins but he still advises you and makes sure you get a balanced diet
It’s like he’s adopted yet another son
“Oh, (Y/N), you really ought to take care of yourself more.”
You grow a bit annoyed at him sometimes but you know his intentions are good so you don’t protest
You do feel very loved though. You didn’t expect this much from just joining a club for a topic you’re genuinely interested in
But you have to admit it is kind of hard to come by people who aren’t intimidated by the Malleus Draconia, even if you don’t see it as anything special
What’s special, though, is the affection Lilia holds for you.
#writing#twst#twisted wonderland#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#platonic twst x reader#platonic twisted wonderland x reader#twst x m!reader#twisted wonderland x m!reader#twst x male reader#twisted wonderland x male reader#malleus draconia#malleus draconia x reader#malleus x reader#malleus draconia x male reader#sebek zigvolt#sebek zigvolt x reader#sebek zigvolt x male reader#sebek x reader#silver twst#twst silver#silver x reader#silver x male reader#lilia vanrouge#lilia vanrouge x reader#lilia x reader#diasomnia
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Every Now and Then - ch. one
[ I Dream of Something Wild ]
pairing : joel miller x f!reader, platonicsoulmate!tommy & f!reader
word count : 6.4k
summary : Joel Miller destroyed you. He loved you, then he left, leaving you in the New York City, QZ. But he's a good southern gentleman, so of course he didn't leave you without a reminder of the time you spent together. Four years later you're living in Jackson, in a lovely little ranch house. (With your reminder.) The last person you want to see is Joel Miller, unfortunately you've never been particularly lucky.
tags/warnings : 18+ mdni, angst, canon typical violence, injury, language, manipulation, joel takes advantage of readers situation, eventual smut, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader, she is picked up by joel at one point but i'm a firm believer that he's strong enough to lift any one who may find themselves in the pov of our reader, joel is possessive and controlling, dark!joel miller in a sense?? like he's not really dark now but he's going to be, multiple time lines, not canon compliant, mentions of prostitution, i sorta made up my own timeline, i probs missed tags sorry!!
a/n : i really need to fix my writing schedule so i'm hoping that having a new fic to put my energy into is going to help!! also sorry if this chapter doesn't have much going on i need to set up a lot of stuff but i promise more action in future chapters
ao3 .𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist .𖥔 ݁ ˖ main masterlist .𖥔 ݁ ˖ kofi
He crept up on you like the shadows as the sun sets in the west. An all encompassing darkness that blotted out the sun until all that was left was night. He sunk his claws into you so deep that your eyes adjusted to the dark, and you didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you shrunk away from the inevitable sunrise that made him cower away from the dawn as if he never really was big and scary.
And in the light of day you saw him for what he really was.
He was just a man, who was once a boy, who was scared of the dark.
So he made himself big, and terrifying, and he grew so accustomed to the thing he once feared that the very idea of anything else made him recoil.
You feel something akin to pity when you think of him now. That doesn’t mean you forgive him, but when you can stomach it you try to, for the sake of your peace. You’d probably be happier if you could just forgive him.
But you can’t.
So you don’t.
It’s hard when his own blood doesn’t think he’s a good man. Tommy was afraid of him. Terrified at the very thought of his big brother. You can recall several nights where you had woken up to him screaming in the sleeping bag beside you, absolutely petrified of a memory that had inevitably snuck in through the darkness. You never feared him quite like that, but seeing the effect he has on Tommy makes your stomach churn, a painful reminder of your own suffering.
Most of the time it’s easier to just not think of him at all, despite the reminders he’s branded into you forever. You ignore him when he tries to soak back into your very being, but at the end of the day he’s unavoidable. You see him in the dark brown eyes of others, hear him in Tommy’s southern drawl, taste him when you have the occasional sip of whiskey. He tries and tries relentlessly to worm his way back into you, but you never let him. You put up walls and you focus on other things, anything, that isn’t Joel Miller. And even though you can’t forget him entirely you manage to ignore the memory of the man you once loved for several years.
Until one day it’s impossible to keep the thought of him away.
Until he himself makes it impossible.
Then - NEW YORK CITY, QUARANTINE ZONE : 2019
“Stay off of it or you’re going to lose it.”
That’s what the QZ doctor had told you. A couple weeks of bed rest was the most he could offer when you came to him with your broken ankle.
A couple weeks without working is a death sentence.
If you don’t work you won’t be able to afford food. And you don’t have anybody to fall back on, no family, no friends, not even an acquaintance to borrow funds from.
Lose your leg or starve.
As appealing as it sounds, starvation isn’t an option, too painful.
So you have to work. The only issue with that is you’ve been blacklisted, the stupid doctor had you put on a no-shift list. You beg them to let you work, you’ll do anything, but they never budge.
You only have enough ration cards stocked up to make it to the end of the week so you have to consider your other options. You could sell yourself. It certainly isn’t uncommon and the money’s good but it’s too dangerous, especially if you can’t run on your leg. You’ve seen too many people get hurt in that profession to risk it. You don’t have a trade. You’re terrible at sewing, you can’t cook, there isn’t a need for much of anything else and you own nothing valuable.
So there’s only one other option for you.
You steal.
You dress inconspicuously, in your only pair of jeans and a plain shirt, both of which are getting rather tattered at this point but you have nothing else. With your jacket on you pull up your hood and you do the exact thing you aren’t supposed to do, and you walk.
The conditions in the QZ are poor enough that your limp doesn’t stand out. You walk up and down the streets all day, slow and steady, with your head down and you don’t take risks. You don’t take anything big or obvious, just little things. A single ration card peeking out of a pocket, a pocket knife off a vendor's table, stale bread, set away from the good stuff where no one is looking. And you return home each night with your pockets full and your leg aching.
By the end of your second week you’re still barely scraping by but you’re managing. What little ration cards you manage to snatch you use to buy food, but it’s still nothing compared to what you’re used to making. Your ankle feels worse by the day.
You need more.
You need to find a source of income that will let you rest or you’re going to lose your leg, which will leave you in an even worse position. It isn’t until you hear your neighbor slam his door that you come up with an idea.
Your neighbor probably has more cards than he knows what to do with, and he’s always coming and going so he probably wouldn’t even notice if you skimmed a little off the top. Nothing substantial, just enough to keep you going and give your leg time to heal.
The only problem is your neighbors reputation.
You doubt you’d have much of a chance of surviving him if you got caught. Joel Miller was a bit of an urban legend around the QZ. Of course you only knew him as your stoic neighbor, just a guy who didn’t make a lot of noise and came home at strange hours, and sometimes disappeared for days at a time.
But everyone else acted as if he was some kind of Boogey Man. You didn’t see him much in the streets but when you did children ran and people whispered, and while you had no knowledge of how he earned that reputation you knew it probably wasn’t pretty.
So you’d have to be careful.
He’s gone now, you’d heard him stopping down the hall so you decide it couldn’t hurt to take a peek, just scout out the area.
You climb out onto the fire escape, your leg aching as you do, and you use the dull little knife you’d stolen a few days ago to shimmy open his window lock. It slides open pretty easily, he’s probably rather confident that nobody would ever mess with him so he doesn’t seem to have the usual precautions taken to protect his belongings.
Lucky you.
Stepping into the room you wince as you land on your bad leg, stumbling onto the floor, knocking a board loose in the process.
“Shit.” You groan, sitting up quickly, trying to put everything back in its proper place when you catch a glimmer of something under the floor.
A revolver.
You shouldn’t be here. Joel Miller is a dangerous man, you knew that but you did this anyway, you can’t help but feel incredibly stupid as you stare at the weapon. You feel so stupid that you don’t even hear the click of a lock. You don’t even bother with the ration cards you can see peeking out from under the gun, you just want to leave and forget that you ever thought this was a good idea. It’s a struggle, getting back to your feet, your leg is throbbing, begging for a rest you can’t afford to take right now. With a groan you push the window open, eager for this silly idea to be over you try to figure out the best way to go about this. You’re starting to lose feeling in your leg, should you go bad leg first or try to balance on it while shimmying the rest of your body out the window?
You never get to decide what the best course of action is because your head is slammed against the wall, your knees crumple underneath you as you hit the floor, the room spinning as your leg bends at an angle that makes you shriek. You slap your hand over your mouth but it’s far too late for that. He’s been here the whole time. It’s dark but you can still make out the foreboding shape of his figure. The broad shouldered beast that’s glaring down at you, his boot nudging your chin roughly as you bite back a shriek of fear.
“I could report you to FEDRA for this.” The gruff voice whispers into the darkness.
You’re desperate to avoid lockup, you know you’ll die in there, or worse. Although you’re not entirely sure what’s going to happen to you either way.
“I- I’ll tell them about your contraband.” You point frantically at the loose floor board. “They’ll lock you up too.” His glare is unwavering as he stares down at you. You’re a little worried that he might just kill you himself, there would be no consequences, no one would be looking for you.
No one would look for you.
The thought makes you shudder and even though you try to stop yourself you feel your eyes beginning to water. You hear footsteps, watching his outline move across the room before you’re shrinking away from the light of a dim lamp in the corner.
“You gotta be real dumb to find yourself in this situation.” He mutters, turning back around to stare at you. His gaze makes you want to cover yourself up, it’s like he can see every single part of you within that icy glare. You’ve never taken the time to really, truly look at him before but you do now, after all this might be your last chance to look at anything at all.
He isn’t a terrible last sight.
Sure, he’s ominous enough to make you want to try and run despite the ache in your calf right now, but that doesn’t make him any less handsome. In a rugged, weathered sort of way. He’s older than you thought, gray sprinkled throughout the mess of curls framing his face. What a nice face it is. Soft where it needs to be soft, sharp where it needs to be sharp. He marches back over to you, easily taking the pocket knife from your hand and crouching down in front of you.
“Give me one good reason not to finish you off right now.” He points the blade in the direction of your leg. “Seems like it’d be a mercy at this point.”
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe it would be a mercy to just let him put you out of your misery. Why have you been fighting so hard? You can’t seem to recall a reason other than the fact that that’s what you’re supposed to do. Your mind tells you that you’re supposed to keep fighting but you can’t think of a single driving force. You’re in pain, constantly, you live in a world that wants you dead, and you have no one relying on you.
You don’t have a good reason, other than the fact that surviving is all you know how to do. So you look up at him and you nod. Taking in the sight of the pretty, frightening man one last time before closing your eyes.
It feels good. You feel good, for the first time in a long time, knowing that you won’t hurt anymore. You won’t have to be afraid of someone kicking your door in, you won’t have to worry about where your next meal is going to come from, and you won’t have to worry about turning into a monster. It’s a mercy.
So you close your eyes.
Suddenly grateful for the killer before you, your guardian angel, here to deliver you the peace you didn’t know you needed.
You wait patiently for the sting of a blade or the embrace of his hands around your throat but all you're met with is a sigh. When you finally find the courage to open your eyes he’s sitting on the edge of the bed across from you, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Just go.” He grumbles, muttering a few other words you don’t catch.
You’re almost disappointed, having accepted this was the end, and now you’re being shoved back into the cold and unforgiving world. You start to get to your feet but your knees buckle under you. You try again, willing your leg to just work but much to your dismay you can’t even straighten out your leg anymore. When you try to move it all you find yourself only able to bend your knee a few inches.
Shit.
You think of the fall you took on the way in and wonder if you finally pushed yourself to the limit. If you go back to the doctor will he remove the entire thing? Maybe you should just ask Joel to finish the job before it comes to that. It would be a kindness, between a quick death here or a slow death starving in your apartment you’ll take the quick way every time. Before you even have a chance to ask he’s on his feet. Maybe his patience has run out and you won’t have to ask at all.
“Let me.” His voice rattles around in your head, so low and commanding that you put up no resistance as he lifts you up under your arms and sets you down on the edge of the bed where he just was. He flips the knife out, going to cut your jeans off of you but you stop him.
“Wait!” He freezes in place, giving you an impatient look. “These are my only jeans, just- just pull them down.” Before you can realize how embarrassing it might be to show your neighbor your faded pink panties, you're already unbuttoning your pants, lifting your hips up so he can pull them down your legs with a roll of his eyes. It’s painful, the feeling of the denim running against your skin but it’s better than not having any pants at all.
Fuck.
It’s been a while since you’ve actually looked at your leg. You’re surprised he was able to get your jeans off with how swollen it is, the flesh bulging around your ankle and now up your calf. The skin is shiny and blotchy with shades of purple and red. The sight of it makes you want to hurl but you manage to swallow the urge, looking away as he pokes at the tender flesh.
“Christ girl, what the hell did you do?” When he grabs your ankle to lift your leg you yelp in pain, making him set your leg back down instinctively.
“I just- it’s just a broken ankle.” You mumble as he gives you an incredulous look.
“Like hell it is.” Something about the sternness of his voice demands your obedience as you nod. “Wanna tell me what really happened?”
“Well I- I fell and-” You struggle to find an excuse to justify how bad you let this get but you come up empty. So you tell the truth. “I fell off a ladder while painting over graffiti during my shift and broke my ankle. The doctor told me to stay off of it and- well, I couldn’t afford not to work so I just… didn’t” You rush through your words, staring anywhere else but into his demanding gaze as you explain yourself.
“So you turned to stealin’.” He says it like the fact it is and you can only bring yourself to nod. “You need antibiotics.” He says just as matter of factly. “You know how much that sort of thing costs?”
A lot.
More than you’d have even if you were working overtime.
He clears his throat and you finally meet his eyes.
His eyes were so dark that day they threatened to swallow you whole. Were they always that dark? Or was it just that day, the first day, when he realized that he had you.
“Look, I don’t do this kinda thing for just anybody. But I can help you.” He had sounded so kind, his hint of a smile had seemed so promising.
“I can’t afford it-”
“You can use alternative methods to pay me back.”
You told him you’d think about it.
And he hadn’t pushed you, he had simply helped you back into your jeans and carried you back to your apartment. He told you he’d check on you tomorrow and see if you had an answer for him.
So when the next day came and you had a fever and your leg was throbbing, demanding your attention you’d been all too eager to accept his help.
And just like that, it was your idea.
It wasn’t his, he was blameless, you asked him to help you. And it didn’t matter who had suggested it first, it mattered who brought it up after.
You had been certain that when he had told you you’d be using alternative methods to pay him back that his intentions were unsavory. And at that point you didn’t really care, you’d made your peace with that. The medicine you needed wasn’t cheap and you could find worse looking men who didn’t take care of themselves the way Joel did.
But he wanted nothing of the sort.
Southern Manners.
All he wanted was for you to take care of his apartment when he was out with his business partner, a woman who didn’t seem to dislike you but certainly didn’t care for you. He told you to take a week to just rest, take the medicine he brought you, eat the food that he fed you, and be good. So you did as he asked. And after a week you could move a bit more, you started spending your days at Joel’s tidying up and organizing while he was gone, it was much easier to stay off your leg for most of the day and he always made sure there was food and books for you while he was gone. And when he returned he would help you hobble back to your place and help you into bed without complaint and with a promise that he’d be back in the morning.
But you still don’t relax around him.
It doesn’t make sense. Even someone who wasn’t known for their cruelty wouldn’t just take a stranger in. You’d like to believe that there’s good in people but you know better than to have that kind of faith. There isn’t enough left of the world to share the remains. Yet Joel does. He doesn’t ask to know you better and he certainly doesn’t tell you about himself yet he shows you more kindness than anyone else in your life has before.
He must like having someone to take care of.
That’s how you explain it to yourself.
You watch him with Tess and it’s clear who’s in charge there, she barely even lets him stitch her up when she returns to the apartment. Joel gets frustrated every time, huffing and pacing around the room before finding some way to tend to you in her place. Icing your leg, or bringing you a new book to read, or feeding you.
It took a few months for your leg to heal, it had been in such bad shape a part of you worried that it might never be the same as it once was.
After the first month of your arrangement Joel told you his knees hurt and he wouldn’t be able to carry you home, you offered to just walk yourself over, your leg didn’t hurt that bad anymore and you were more than capable of walking short distances. But he insisted you stay, told you you could sleep in the bed and he’d take the couch.
But his knees hurt, you couldn’t let him do that.
And you told him you’d take the couch and he told you he wouldn’t feel right making you sleep on the couch with your leg the way it was.
So you told him you’d both just sleep in the bed. It wasn’t a big deal. You trusted him, of course you did, he had an opportunity to exploit you and he didn’t, if he was going to hurt you he would have done it already.
He had acted unsure.
You know now that it was acting.
So you had insisted. You told him it was okay, you told him you felt safe with him.
It was your idea.
Even though it hadn’t been your idea to stay that night.
You had insisted he get in the bed with you.
A fact that he would bring up often in the months to come.
He would still help you to your apartment some nights, but just as often he’d complain about his knees and you’d stay. You got used to his warmth, you got used to waking up in his arms and not talking about it in the morning.
So it made sense when he told you that you should keep your pajamas at his apartment.
It made sense when he got a toothbrush for you to keep in his bathroom cabinet.
It made sense when he told you that he couldn’t find new clothes in your size and you could just wear his.
It made sense when he told you that he and Tess had never been a thing, so you had no reason to feel weird about sleeping in his bed.
And it made sense when he told you that he’d hold onto the keys to your apartment, afterall you wouldn’t want to lose them.
Joel Miller was a glue trap. And you had waded across his sticky surface without a care in the world, never realizing that it was getting harder and harder to move until you were standing still. Until the only way you were going to escape was by biting off your own leg.
You don’t remember when you stopped returning to your own apartment completely, but you know that it happened early on, before you’d even started chewing.
Now - JACKSON, WYOMING : 2023
“Ruth?” You’re gonna be late if you don’t find her soon. The turntable in the corner of the kitchen plays a 3 Doors Down song as you lift the table cloth, searching for the little girl. “We don’t have time to play, we need to get you to school.” You groan, turning to face the boy currently sitting in a highchair he’s just about grown out of. “Do you know where she is?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glaring at him as he shrugs.
Of course he isn’t going to tell. They look out for each other before anyone else, a fact that normally fills you with joy but not when they’re ganging up against you. Thankfully you catch his eye as he shoots a glance at the pantry. Pulling the door open you’re quickly met with the sight of Ruth, giggling on the floor. You pick her up, putting her in her own highchair before setting a plate of fruits down in front of her.
“Eat. We don’t have time to play this morning, young lady.” You poke your fork in her direction as you sit down across from them.
“Eat.” She repeats in a mocking tone, her brother erupting into a fit of giggles at the impression as you sigh. They need to be at the community center in half an hour. You make the job schedules on Friday and you need as much time as possible if you want to finish them in one day. You’re having a hard time focusing on the mess your son is making as he smashes each blueberry down onto the table before popping them into his mouth as you try to schedule your own weekend.
You need to finish all of your work today while the kids are gone so you don’t have to juggle watching them and working later, it shouldn’t be too much of an issue, scheduling should only take a few hours if you really zero in on it. You have dinner with Tommy and Maria tomorrow and you promised to bring dessert so you’ll have to take the kids to the market tonight, which also means you’re going to have to find supplies to barter with before you go.
You have nothing planned on Sunday.
You’ll have to change that.
You hate having nothing to do.
You’re snapped out of your thoughts as a blueberry hits you in the forehead. Both twins laugh now as you frown at them.
“Behave or I’ll tell your aunt that you’ve been bad.” Both children look at each other nervously before returning to their breakfast. You were never stern enough with them. You loved them too much, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to yell at them, and it wasn’t like they were troublemakers by any means, they were just kids with a lot of energy in the mornings. And when they did misbehave a small threat of telling Maria was enough to make them stop whatever it was they were doing.
You finish up your own plate and start getting ready to leave as the kids start giggling again to themselves. When their plates are empty you use a wet washcloth to clean their hands and faces before lifting each of them out of their respective seats, letting them run off a bit more energy before you head out. You set all three bags down in front of the door. Yours being the beige over the shoulder bag accompanied by two little backpacks. Ruth’s green canvas bag is covered in mud and other remnants of the yard that she’s brought in with her but Arthur’s purple backpack is kept neat and tidy. You slip into your coat before turning just in time to watch your son dive into the couch, quickly followed by his sister.
“Come on little ducks. Time for school.” You take their jackets off the hook, holding them out to them as they rush over to you, tugging their own coats on before grabbing their bags, once you pull the door open they both rush out into the cool autumn morning, talking to each other in hushed tones. Always secrets with those two. It would probably make you a little worried if these were normal circumstances, the way they don’t let anyone in except each other, with you being the only exception. But the world is a terrifying place, it brings you peace to know that they have each other.
A part of you is certain you wouldn’t have been able to handle just one.
One little person relying on you, all while you’re doing your best to hold it all together? It sounds like a nightmare. It’s better that they have each other. Once you’re standing outside the community center, busy with parents dropping off their children, you kneel down.
“Be good, if you behave today you can go to the market tonight.” The promise of the market has both of them grinning, showing off the teeth they’ve both recently had grow in. “I love you, I’ll see you in a bit.” You hold open your arms, each of them taking their respective sides as they wrap themselves around you. You take your daughter's face in your hands before pressing a kiss to her forehead, repeating the motion with your son. After a few “love you mama’s” they both run into the building, once you’re sure they’re safe inside you head off in the direction of town hall.
You have what you would call the best job in town, despite the fact that no one else seems to want to do it.
Maria understood when you arrived that you needed something that let you work from home if needed, you needed something that kept your mind busy but also gave you time with the kids. So you took care of the parts of Jackson most didn’t think about.
You document all of the citizens, you make the shift schedules, and you make sure everyone has the necessities. You take care of housing, when big hauls from scavenging come in you divide them up among the people who need them. You make the meal schedules for the dining hall, and you make the crop schedules.
You keep Jackson moving.
When you arrived all of this was Maria’s job along with her other duties, when you told her you wanted something engaging and demanding she was more than willing to pass off those duties to you. So now you’ve got to make the schedule. Town hall is nothing more than a house with several desks for people doing work similar to yours but thankfully you’ve been lucky enough to reserve your own office in one of the bedrooms.
Most Friday's Maria visits you for lunch but you know she’s on patrol currently, another perk of this job is knowing where everyone is, all the time.
No surprises.
You hate surprises. (With a few exceptions.)
One of the exceptions is waiting for you in your office, Tommy sits with his legs up on your desk, reading over this past week's schedule.
“You put me on crop harvest way more than anyone else.” He grumbles, tossing your notebook down.
“It’s the end of the season, everyones on crop harvest.” You lean down, kissing his cheek before taking your place across from him, immediately getting to work as he groans.
“Maria gets to go on patrol.”
“Council gets first dibs on patrols during harvest season.” The tip of your favorite pen is dry so you quickly bring it to your mouth, wetting it with your tongue before you start writing out jobs for this upcoming week. The second he sees how many farming related jobs you’re listing he leans back in his chair, groaning and running his fingers through his dark curls.
Today’s his day off. You always gave anyone doing more manual labor three days off instead of two.
“I can get you on one patrol shift but they’re going to need your help with the corn.” You write his name in with the Monday and Tuesday patrol squad, filling in the rest of his week with harvest as he grins.
“Thank you, darlin’.” He drawls. You hate that nickname, you hate that he isn’t the first to give it to you but you never complain, you’d let Tommy get away with murder at this point. It’s the least you can do considering everything he’s given you.
“Yeah yeah, whatever. You’re only getting a two-day weekend next week.” You mumble, searching through the list of citizens, trying to pick out the people you know won’t mind the hard work.
“Fine by me.” You have a complicated relationship with that smile of his. You can love it all you want but that doesn’t change the fact that it makes you uneasy, it doesn’t help that you’re starting to see that same smile in your son.
“I was thinking about berry cobbler for tomorrow night.” Molly twisted her ankle last week, make sure she isn’t standing. You put her down for shucking corn, she can sit in the dining hall and work.
“We have a bunch of extra sweet potatoes if you want to make sweet potato pie.” He takes your crop ledger, flipping through it, clearly not reading a thing.
“Ruth hates sweet potatoes.” Marcus insists he’s capable of doing manual labor, his pride won’t let him act his age. You put him down for pushing the wheelbarrows, he won’t have to bend down to pick anything up but hopefully he’ll still feel like he’s doing enough. You’ve told him countless times that at his age he shouldn’t be working so hard but he always insists.
“Shit, forgot about that. Maria might have some apples.”
“I’ll stop by tonight before I take the kids to the market.”
You’re thankful for Tommy.
He keeps your mind busy with conversation while you work, and he’s one of the only people you actually trust. By the time you’re almost done you know you need to go get the kids, with a conflicted glance at the clock you start to gather your things but Tommy beats you to it.
“I’ll go get them, Maria should be home from patrol soon, she’ll want to see them.” He’s already putting his coat on so you stay seated.
“Are you sure?” You already know there’s no reason to argue, he’s stubborn, just like his brother.
“It’s the least I can do to make up for bothering you all day.” He steps around the desk to give you a peck on the cheek before going to leave. “Just come by the house when you’re done, no rush.” And just like that he’s gone.
You make quick work of your remaining duties. Finishing everything within a half an hour before heading out in the direction of the Miller’s farm house on the edge of town. It’s only a few houses away from your ranch house, a fact that you couldn’t be more grateful for, if it weren’t for Tommy and Maria you aren’t sure you’d have been able to handle those first few months of parenthood. Most people in town assumed Tommy must be the father purely based on how much effort he put into taking care of not only them, but you as well. As you make your way up their porch steps and into the living room you’re also reminded of the similarities. You can’t blame people for making assumptions, even Maria thought he was the father. The twins have his eyes, (which by association means that they also have his eyes, but you try not to dwell on that.) Ruth has your nose but Arthur has that Miller curve already starting to show on his little nose. Both little ones are sitting in the big recliner with their uncle as he tries to get them to settle down while he reads to them but the second they see you, both are scrambling out of the chair to hug your legs.
And everything goes exactly how it’s supposed to.
(Of course it does, you plan every day down to the minute.)
You give Tommy the list of things you need along with a few things he can trade them for and he takes the kids down the street to the market as you sit at the kitchen counter, talking to Maria about her patrol. You had all planned to go to the market together but she’d insisted she was tired and you didn’t want her to be here alone so you stayed, helping her cook dinner. And you talked about all the things you knew you would, something cute the kids did, how her patrol went, what things you could put on the dining hall menu in the coming weeks.
It’s all exactly how it should be.
Until she frowns.
“Are you busy Sunday?” You had sensed something was wrong with her but you assumed maybe she was just a little rattled coming off of a three day patrol.
“No, did you need something?” You continue to chop up the sweet potatoes she now planned to use tonight instead of tomorrow.
“We found a couple of strays, I thought maybe we could get them settled in.”
Odd.
Normally finding survivors would be the first thing she mentioned after returning, even stranger is the fact that she’d often waste no time getting them supplies and a home to make their own. But you're not one to question Maria’s judgment.
“Sure, we can do that Sunday morning.” You want to ask questions about it but she’s already changed the subject to doing a clothing drive at the community center so you don’t press. Despite the way the look on her face is bothering you.
It wasn’t fear, or discomfort, or something you could explain away with the excuse of the strays being off putting or violent.
It’s a look of pity.
As if she feels bad for even asking.
It unsettles you enough to leave it be. Making idle chit chat with her until Tommy returns with the twins and you take them home. It unsettles you as you make your own dinner, as you give the twins a bath, and as you help them into their pajamas and read them a story. It never leaves your mind.
“Goodnight Ruthie.” You lean down to kiss her forehead, watching her eyes flutter shut as she continues to fight sleep. Always the stubborn one.
“Night Mama.” You take the stuffed bear from the foot of her bed, tucking it in beside her before quietly standing, walking across the room to your son's bed.
“Goodnight Arthur.” You lean down, kissing both of his rosy cheeks, he doesn’t fight sleep the way his sister does. So similar but so different.
“Goodnight Mama.” His little voice has the same southern drawl you know he’s been picking up from Tommy.
“I love you, little ducks.” You smile at him, turning to see that Ruth is already asleep, you tuck in the blankets around Arthur before leaving, keeping the door cracked open a bit so the light from the kitchen can act as a night light.
God, you're tired.
You’re quick to shower and slip into your own pajamas, crawling into bed with a yawn. You take the book from your nightstand, flipping through until you find where you left off yesterday.
You never really know what’s going on in the books you read, they serve a singular purpose and it isn’t entertainment.
You read until you fall asleep, they’re just a distraction to keep your mind busy with thoughts so he can’t sneak in right before you fall asleep and embed himself in your dreams.
It works.
Your dreams never feature him.
They aren’t good dreams by any means, they’re wild. Often of your journey to Jackson, the fear you felt then. But you’ll take that over Joel any day. Tonight isn’t any different, your sleep is restless as you fight the memories of fighting for survival in those woods, but instead of your usual nightmares of infected hunting you through the trees you’re faced with a sight that somehow makes you even more uneasy than the living dead.
The look on Maria’s face when she told you about the two strays.
support me on kofi!!
a/n : this fic has been bouncing around in my brain for months now and it feels so fucking good to finally start it omfg. sorry if this felt a little slow, i really needed to set a tone and a base for the story, sorry!!
#lincolndjarin#fic : every now and then#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#tlou joel#joel tlou#joel the last of us#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#tlou fic#joel x reader#the last of us fic#tlou fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction
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Outpace the dawn
Gif by @silverformymonsters
Summary: BG3 Spawn ending Fix It fic! Because I refuse to let him deal with the sunlight alone.
Pairing: Astarion x Reader
Warnings/tags: SPOILERS obvsly, angst/comfort, non canon compliant.
Words count: 936 words.
A/N: It should be Gender Neutral, but if I fcked up since I tend to write from my pov, you can tell me and I'll correct it.
Yes the title is from that Hozier song. It got me thinking how Astarion would need to outpace the dawn from now on.
Astarion’s voice cut through the silence that followed your last battle, as your little group was gathering on a pontoon.
“So, what’s next for us?”
You had been thinking about what was to come for a while, actually. Probably longer than any of your companions have. Some might argue that it wasn’t the time for that, that you should have been completely focused on defeating the Netherbrain. But you couldn’t help it; it was a matter of life and death - Astarion’s life and death. Or rather, undeath and death. Since you’ve known that the brain was within reach, it had become an omnipresent apprehension in your mind.
The slaughter of the brain sounded the death knell of the tadpoles, and their disappearance inevitably meant that Astarion’s resistance to the sun would vanish like it never existed. Like nature rightfully reasserting itself by getting rid of this aberration that had been a vampire walking in the sun in the first place.
This knowledge has been haunting you for days and nights now. It was your first thought when you woke up and your last when you fell asleep. A knot of dread had settled inside your stomach, making it hard to fall asleep and to interact normally with the source of your worries. And right now, following Astarion’s question, the knot in your guts got even tighter, even more painful.
At any moment, any second from now on, your vampire lover would catch fire as surely as straw in the summer.
It was fine. You planned. You prepared for this. You procured a large, thick, hooded coat that was guaranteed to block the sunrays. It was even imbued with magic that made it impossible to tear, pierce, or rip in any way. It hadn’t been easy to acquire, but Astarion didn’t need to know that.
You were on the lookout for any sign of burning, wound as tightly as a spring while still trying to appear normal to the others.
“The world is our oyster, and she has many pearls we can choose from.” claimed Astarion, blissfully unaware of his fate.
He illustrated his remarks by spreading his arms far apart with vigor. The genuine excitement, the happiness in his voice almost made you sick to your stomach. Astarion’s displays of authentic joy were few and far in between, and this one would end as soon as it started. As fast as a vampire spawn left in the sun, as a pile of ashes on the ground.
You could barely bear to look at him. You didn’t have the heart to remind him of his imminent doom. He obviously had forgotten about it for the time being, and while the cruel reality was taking up almost all the space in your brain, like blaring alarms, you’d be damned if you took away from him his last, his only instants of light and warmth, of complete freedom, by reminding him. No Cazador, no tadpole, no mind control, no deadly sunlight, no slave and no master. Just an immense ocean of liberty, intoxicating, vertiginous.
“I honestly don’t mind what we do, once we get to- Ow!”
You instantly straightened up at the sound, like a wild animal who picked up the sound of an upcoming danger. For a terrible second, there was a twisted part of you who felt relieved. Finally, your gnawing, agonizing wait was coming to an end. Then, swiftly, the relief disappeared, flooded with your concern for Astarion.
“What the- Oh no. Oh Gods.”
Already his hands were fuming, his beautiful pale face sprinkled with silververy cracks like delicate porcelain. He had always looked more like a piece of art than a living being after all. The frantic panic in his voice was like a punch to the chest. In all your battles and struggles together, you had never seen him so horrified. Even against Cazador. Even a True Vampire had to yield to the Sun.
He threw you a harrowing look, like he was bidding you goodbye before bolting. As if you were going to leave him to deal with this alone. Already you were rushing towards him, the life-saving coat in hands. You wrapped it around him as fast as your hands would allow, put the hood on, and gently grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him so his covered back would take the blunt of the light.
“There we go, you explained softly. This will block the sun.”
“You’ve got this, and I’ve got you.” you added, mirroring his own words.
You were smiling sadly, trying to be supportive, to not add to his burden. The look in his eyes was hard to describe, an intense blend of heartbreak, vulnerability, and gratefulness.
“Well… It was… it was nice while it lasted.” he managed to articulate, his voice breaking like he was about to cry.
You could feel your heart break in response like an echo.
The magic sunproof coat was in no way a solution. Barely a bandage on a sinking ship. You had to get out of the sun, quickly.
“Come on, love. Let’s get you some shadow, uh?”
Your encouraging smile was as fragile as a spiderweb. You could feel it teetering on the edge of an abyss.
Astarion simply nodded, like he didn’t trust his voice anymore. It was fine. He was already expressing so much through his gaze.
You put your hand on the small of his back, barely applying any pressure, threw a telling look over your shoulder at your other companions, and you both started your search for protective darkness between the walls of Baldur’s Gate.
#bg3#baldur's gate 3#bg3 spoilers#astarion#bg3 astarion#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#astarion x you#astarion fanfic#fanfic#fic#bg3 fanfiction#yes i know i said i was doing rolan - lol - but i already written half of this one so i might as well finish it right?
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|| welcome fellow Ghoul fuckers ily
|| notes: sequel to [this], got nothin' to really say beyond reader and Cooper make the most fucked up implied pseudo parents for Lucy lmao, Canon somewhat compliant, post s1, gonna have to wait for the prequel meeting dic to know why reader knows Coop's whole name
|| warnings: weapons supplier!reader, Canon typical gore/violence, something something save a horse ride a cowboy, NSFW ㅡ fingering, edging (i had to take a lap around my house), irradiated cream pie, unprotected sex (supposedly those swimmers are FRIED but I can dream),
The low croak of a crow echoes over the barren stretch of sunbaked, irradiated earth ㅡ and the creature itself lands on the bent, rusted post of a long gone sign. Tilts its head this way and that, blinks liquid black eyes ㅡ three of them. Then squawks indignantly when a bullet narrowly misses it, jet black wings flaring as it takes to the sky to complain in that low, creaking voice.
"Get lost," you tell the bird, glancing at the way Dogmeat tracks the creature. Then she whines, licks at her muzzle like she wants to go catch and eat the damn thing.
"Don't even think about it, pup." You inform her, soothing the disappointment with rough scratches to her head that have her nudging for more before you walk away, sharp whistle summoning her to your side. You don't know why, but she's taken a shine to you over your companions, and you're not about to push her away.
The set up for tonight isn't far off, but it's the skitter of some other creature off in the distance paired with the ominous rumble from above that gets your attention ㅡ and you click your tongue at the foreboding, electric green that rolls in the clouds, cracking with lightning. It isn't nightfall yet, but it's growing closer with that mess on the horizon.
There's a pitiful attempt at a fire being made by Lucy when you return, and she offers a smile that you echo briefly before moving to Cooper's side, nudging him with your boot. "Storm's rollin' in."
He grunts, tugs his hat from where he'd been shading his face ㅡ pretending to sleep to ignore Lucy's still-attempting-to-be-friendly rambles, you suppose. "How far out?"
You shrug, slinging your pack back onto your shoulders. "About an hour, give or take."
Lucy flicks a confused look to both of you as Cooper gets to his feet as well, and her head tilts. "Why're we moving?"
You raise an eyebrow. "You want radiation sickness, vaultie?" It's worth it for the way she bristles, and you snicker. "Come on. There's something of a building not far from here."
You're kind enough to wait for her unlike Cooper, who heads off with Dogmeat while you trail with Lucy.
The building was probably an apartment complex at one point for the squared off, honeycomb like interior, the sections that remain halfway decent.
The presence of scattered, long empty supply packaging ranging from stimpacks to tins of cram says that you aren't the first to be here though, and you split off with Cooper to scout out the place, leaving Lucy with Dogmeat.
You're just as quick with tongue and trigger as Cooper ㅡ Lucy has learned that the hard way over the last week or so. But there's still a softness to you that Lucy likes, gravitates towards ㅡ and figure that Cooper likes it too, for the way she spots him watching you sometimes, pretends not to notice when he looks up and glares at her.
"Clear," you report, pulling her from her thoughts as you toss her a bedroll and a spare blanket. Where you got them, she doesn't know. And the dark stains of what absolutely is most likely blood tells her she doesn't want to know.
What she does know is that she's allowed what constitutes as a room to herself ㅡ three walls and a roof that won't cave in are enough for her to take it without complaint. Dogmeat goes with her, and when she looks up, she knows why with the unspoken way you and Cooper split off for the same little room a couple broken spaces down from hers.
"Get some rest, Lucy," you tell her, offer a small smile that makes her beam as she settles down for the night, deciding that she is far, far better off not thinking about just how close you and Cooper actually are.
"Cute kid," you remark as you finally trail into the room after Cooper, earning an amused scoff.
"Fuckin' annoying is what she is," he grouses, and it's your turn to laugh as you shrug off your pack and kneel, digging for your own bedroll.
"Considering that's what you called me when we first metㅡ"
"No, I called you an annoying bitch."
"Potayto, potahto." You tug the bedroll free and roll it out, blinking as Cooper settles himself over it with a groan and then a sigh. "Excuse me."
He peers up at you. "What now?"
"This is my bed." You snip, jerking a thumb over your shoulder. "Up, Cooper."
"Nah." He folds his arms behind his head. "You like the vaultie so much, go cuddle up with her."
You stare. "Cooper Howard," you say, "if I didn't know better, I'd think you were jealous of the kid." He's silent, and you raise an eyebrow. "Are you?"
"No." The words is sharp, and he lifts his head to eye you. "Don't need to be jealous when I know what's mine," he rasps, "now quit bitchin' and c'mere."
You don't know what it says that you do so without fuss, settling yourself to straddle his hips as he sits up, draping your arms over his shoulders.
"There," you snip, adjusting to flick at the rim of his hat. "Better?"
He watches you with eyes as dark as an oil spill, and you don't miss the flick to your mouth and back up. "Gettin' there."
You snort. "You know," you murmur, tone dropping lower, "if you wanted to kiss me, all you gotta do is ask."
He smirks, the flash of his teeth. "Where's the fun in that, sugar? I like the chase. Besides," he lowers his tone, leans in further, "you're the one bitchin' when we can share this sad excuse for a bed. And the way I see it, you're gettin' the better deal anyways."
You roll your eyes, act like you're annoyed ㅡ but the way you don't tell him to shove it or get off of him speaks volumes enough.
Poetically, it starts raining just as you kiss him. The fingertip drum of it on the roof, sour-sweet smell of it that still reaches you because this isn't a real bedroom, just some shitty excuse for it. Doesn't matter, because this is far better than the kisses you've stolen over the last few days when you're absolutely certain Lucy isn't watching either of you.
Cooper seems to think so too for the way he deepens the kiss, cups your face as he nips at your lower lip and licks into your mouth when they part.
He squeezes at your hips, snakes his fingers back under your shirt, pinches and tugs and maps until you're squirming in his lap as he shoves your shirt off completely. He pulls, coaxes you into an arch that lets him mouth at your ribs, nip and sow sparks of pleasure in your veins as he leaves little patches of bruised pink skin in his wake.
He likes marking you, he realizes, the subtle claim without him having to say it. Mine.
He welcomes the grind of your hips against his, your body soft in all the ways that his isn't, filling in the cracks and rounding out all his sharp edges until he can't think of anything but getting his hands on you properly.
The pop of the button on your jeans is easy, the slip of his hand deliberate ㅡ you're louder this time, covered by the storm above as you whine and moan and buck into his hand and the sinful, clever work of his fingers.
And then just as you're about to crest that wave of pleasure, he stops. Smirks at the way you glare, taps your nose with his other hand. "You know you don't get nothin' for free around here, sugar."
He's teasing though, pushes you back to work his belt open, pants down ㅡ then dragging you back over him. Groans, tips his head back at the teasing glide of you before he's adjusting to line himself up and guiding you down.
The gasp he gets is music to his ears, nearly lost to the gutteral, hissed noise he makes himself at the tight, warm squeeze of you around his length. His eyes roll, and he bucks his hips up.
"C'mon sweet thing," he rasps, "don't make me do all the work. Ride for me."
The rhythm is stilted for the way he grips your hips anyways, reluctant to let you pull off of him too much ㅡ but it still feels good. Your breath matches the staccato movement, hands splayed on his chest for balance and head thrown back, looking for all the world like some sort of dedication to a long gone diety that he'd gladly worship to the end.
And he does still, reverence to the way he touches, kisses, bites ㅡ throbbing vitality in your veins calling to him, sweet siren song wrapped in those plush lips of yours. Soft skin squeezed under his fingers, forgiving for all the ways he can't be gentle, desperate as he is.
It's the throttled clamp of your warmth that says you're coming undone, gooey and wet and warm in all the right ways that has him clutching at you, cursing as his hips jerk and he fills you, mouthing at your pulse point as he does.
Heavy breathing sets the undertone of the roll of thunder outside crumbling walls, rapid beat of two hearts, and there's something dangerously soft, romantic in the way he lets you melt into him.
You drape over him, whisper soft kisses to his cheek, his jaw, his mouth until he kisses you back, slowly, selfishly, dangerously sweet.
"You," he tells you, "are absolutely no good for me." He slings an arm over your waist, softens the bite until it's nonexistent.
After all, what's one more vice?
ㅡ
In the morning, the four of you leave ㅡ there's a lot of ground to cover, after all. Lucy walks beside you, Dogmeat and Cooper just a few feet ahead.
"So," she begins conversationally, "what're those marks on your neck from?"
To your credit, you neither flinch nor blush, busy yourself with fussing with something at your hip. "Mosquitos."
Lucy hums. "That's funny, didn't realize mosquitos got so big. Best be careful then, huh?"
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Flowers in the winter
Summary: 6 months of the year I am technically married to Satoru Gojo; and the other 6 months, well... I still am married to him.
Word count: 2.6k
CWs: Teen!Gojo, he's a warning in itself..., Timid!reader, Reader!POV Canon compliant till I say so, rom-com, slow-burn, how slow? maybe like 3 chapters slow, fluff, angst, eventual smut, no beta, mildly edited
This is part 2 (you can find part one here > part 1 )
“I’m sorry” I sniffled as I heard nothing but laughter for mistaking the other person at the end of the line for someone other than himself. But who could blame me!
“How can you, married for two years by the way, not even recognize the sound of my voice anymore? Was 2 years not enough for you?” his laughter finally dying down, and all I could do was to swallow how much this man was just enjoying my perfectly understandable reaction.
“But for us it barely was two years huh” he says sighing, finally able to breathe after laughing. I pinch my arm a little. I mean after all he was right, it was barely 2 years, hell it was probably only just 6 months of us together.
“Heh, why are you quiet? Cat got your tongue?” but it's moments like these that I wish it was less than 6 months.
“Sorry sorry, I’ll stop teasing” he chuckles as if reading my mind. I pout as I bring my knees closer to my chest. Since he called me he should be able to tell me where to go right? Maybe even pick me up at the train station… I could hear a hearty sigh on the other line. “ so, you're coming tomorrow?” He's going to at least give me an address as to where jujutsu high is right?
“Yes” I said, twirling my hair between my index and thumb. ‘Please tell me where to go-’
“Great! I’ll see you then-” “WAIT!”
There was a pause of silence between us. Me letting my nerves get the best of me, and unintentionally cutting him off mid sentence. Embarrassment creeps into my cheeks as I try to bury myself with a fistful of my hair, bringing it to the front of my face. I should’ve just asked through text or something.
‘Ahhhh I want to diee’
Gojo clears his throat, breaking the silence. “What’s wrong?” he says in a completely oblivious tone, which only made me more nervous on what to say.
I try to collect myself breathing slowly so that I can get my words across,
“Um, Gojo, so about Jujutsu tech…” I start but my mouth just shuts on its own,
“Gojo Satoru is not a kind man”
My mothers warning rings in my head, and my palms start getting sweaty by the second. ‘I should be more polite’ I thought, still trying to find the words to say but before I could add more he gives me a big ‘Ah!’ making me jump a little from the sudden noise.
“Yea! The admission wasn't that bad, though you know that the elders were being such a big pain about it.” he gave a loud sigh to exaggerate how much he hated it, which made me smile, this man does not like being bossed around.
“Yknow what's crazy tho?” his voice suddenly hushed as if trying to not let anybody hear “there's only 3 students in my class” which gains a small gasp from me “i-including you?” I whisper back. In the same hush tone that he was using, “Including me!” he responds back, I can't even begin to imagine a class of 10 people, how much more just 3? With yourself included? And the worst of it is that you’re classmates with Gojo….
‘I feel bad for them…’ A whole year with him… I can't even begin to imagine how that would be, without missing a beat Gojo fills my silence with little stories of his time at jujutsu high.
“The campus is HUGE! It's very traditional in terms of architecture but I think you already know that.” He continues to ramble, Gojo can really carry the conversation with just himself, and honestly it's comforting to know that he won't get mad if I stay quiet. However…
“Um, sorry Gojo but to be honest,” Gojo turns quiet in the other line, I swallow what timidness I had to get my words across, feeling that the man on the other side is also going to listen to me. “I’ve never been to jujutsu high, o-or know where it is” I finally put out. Gojo still stays silent in the other line which makes me hope he didn't take offense. “...you’ve never been there?” he says softly which makes me embarrassed
‘Was I supposed to know?’ I bite my lip
“M-my mom doesn't really tell me about jujutsu society…” with every word that escapes, the quieter it becomes. Growing up I’ve been told that women have no place in jujutsu society. And my mom reaffirms this belief by raising me as a normal girl as much as possible. Since a woman’s role is to be a wife to her husband, I was kept in the dark about anything that revolves around jujutsu.
‘I only know some things because it involves Gojo…’ but now I’m starting to think I should know a little bit more, just to keep up with his life… He is at the center of it after all…
“Is that so?” his voice rings clear, in a span of a few months, Gojo’s voice changed. I wonder what he looks like now? This is no longer the Gojo Satoru that I knew a year ago. Will he be disappointed that I, his wife, didn't change at all? Will I be tossed aside, the older we get?
“I can pick you up, which station are you going to?” I shook my head trying to rid of my thoughts that was occupying my head
“M-my ticket is for Asakusa station, but I can catch a train to whichever is more convenient for you-” he giggles at the other end, confusing me as I don't really know what he found funny “no that’s fine I'll pick you up there.” His voice is so gentle, it almost made my heart leap out of my chest. I can't let myself misunderstand, Gojo didn't mean anything about it.
“Thank you” I say, barely a whisper, twiddling my toes trying to warm them up “No worries.” he hummed in response. My shoulders relaxed, as I let go of the breath that I didn't know I was holding. Gojo, despite his obvious status, was very different from the other male authorities that I have the displeasure of knowing in Jujutsu society. He wasn't someone to hold his authority above you unless provoked. Even though we aren't the typical couple, where mutual feelings isn't the thing keeping us together, but societal pressure. I'm happy that we are different from a typical jujutsu marriage. It’s comfortable,
“Gojo Satoru is not a kind man”
But I'm okay that it's him that I have to be with.
“Goodnight (y/n), I’ll see you soon” he says one last time before hanging up.
I heave a heavy sigh, dropping my phone to the side, My other hand playing with my hair. I really ended up having a casual conversation with Gojo… ‘Gojo is so easy to talk to… I mustn't be swayed’ I thought. The more comfortable I am, the more I am able to make mistakes. I don't think he’ll be pleasant when that day arrives. I imagine a cross Gojo, but it seems like it's hard to picture what that looks like. I twiddle my toes more just trying to think. Instead, a picture of an more diabolical Gojo came to mind, ‘No, I think he will just endlessly tease me if I do… ahhhhh’ now scratching my scalp, hating the second option even more, I look back towards the picture frame that I previously dropped.
I don’t want the marriage of a jujutsu sorcerer. Constant avoidance, infested with malice, a bitter marriage that would’ve been better off separated. ‘I don't want that’ But if that was the fate that I was preordained to have…
I pulled the picture off the frame and folded it into my wallet. Giggling as I see his little pout still peaking through.
‘I mustn’t feel anything for Satoru Gojo’
I placed my wallet into my bag, I'm now fully packed, ready for my journey… my 6 month long journey, easing my heart in what lies ahead.
-
“We have arrived to, Asakusa station”
I inhale a lungful of air, waiting for the doors to open. As I'm immediately greeted to the warmth and bustling crowds of Tokyo.
I hold nothing but just one luggage in my hand, and a small backpack for more personal items to be easily accessed.
This is the station where I'm supposed to meet Gojo. If he were a normal man, I wouldn't exactly be as worried as I am right now, it's not exactly hard to spot a 6 foot something with unbashful white hair and a pair of intimidating stark black glasses but with the lack thereof and with his track record of tardiness to multiple events. It doesn't take rocket science to deduce that I may be waiting here for a bit.
I heave a heavy sigh, one that often is released during an intense exam season. Feeling an intense load of anxiety suddenly turning at the pit of my stomach.
‘I wanna go homee’ I sob inwardly walking around the area that's within reasonable reach from the waiting deck, so that I can be easily spotted just in case the unreliable clan leader decides to swing by and save me from the predicament that he himself caused.
I find an empty bench to occupy as I wait for the time being. I tug my sleeves a little as I start to feel a chill, what a perfect welcome to the winter season.
Ping!
I felt my phone vibrate as I open my phone I saw that I've received a message.
My eyes widen, it was a message from Gojo.
Gojo 10:15am
Sorry, the mission took surprisingly long, I'm 10 minutes away from the station did you just arrive?
I look at the message for a little bit, feeling relieved and a bit embarrassed that I assumed that he was just being leisure With his time when in fact, Gojo was a man who's always short on time with how busy he was.
But regardless he still found the time to help me when I'm in need.
You 10:16am
It’s okay, I've just arrived anyway. Take your time.
Was that too casual? Despite being similar in age I have a hard time talking to Gojo since I was taught to respond formally, but since Gojo hates tradition I was told by him explicitly to ‘ease up’
Ping!
I looked at the notification, it was a reply from Gojo
Gojo 10:17am
10 seconds
“Eh?” I accidentally said out loud, but before I could ask what he meant he sent another message
Gojo 10:17am
5 seconds
By now I think I was sweating bullets, what do these mean? And why are they so ominous?
I felt a single tap on my shoulder making me to jump in surprise, I turned around and was immediately greeted to a wide grin.
“ It's been a while ” he's still as big as ever, I scramble to my feet feeling my soul leave my body just to race back inside to regain control. Gojo, despite saying he’ll arrived in 10 minutes arrived in less than a minute, and yet not a single hair was out of place or a single sweat roll down his face. Effortlessly he looked pristine and perfect. While a single tap made me look like a rag doll ready to be washed.
“Did I scare you?” he chuckles as I feel my face with my hand to realize not only am I sweaty, my cheeks were also hot from the shock.
“I- I” stammering finding no words to say as my head was a jumbled mess. Standing in front of me was no Gojo I met from when I was 15
This was a different one, a leaner, taller and older Gojo, if his looks didn't kill me before It will kill me now.
“Wow! You haven't grown an inch!” he says while taking my luggage off my hand. While his eyes continue to inspect me. We stand with a fair distance away from each other but his domineering figure if it were to topple over would bury me whole “You look like you still sleep with a nightlight”
“I-I do not” I defend myself from the embarrassing accusation.
But I still do, every night.
‘ahh this man is too much’ I bring up my hands to fan my warm face, I can tolerate Gojos teasing but I get easily embarrassed and it shows on my face which I believe he has much delight in seeing by getting a rise out of me. I prepare myself for a wheeze or a chuckle from him, a sadistic reaction at least to come out but instead I felt a gentle cool touch my cheek. It was a hand, his hand.
“Gojo?” I was shocked at the sensation that the name just rolled out of my tongue.
I looked up to him and saw that he was staring down at me still wearing a smile. But it was different, my breath hitches on my throat. His glasses were still blocking his eyes, but compared to before, his smile was gentler, and his face had completely softened.
He continues to move his hand to cup my cheek, making me squeeze my eyes shut from the sheer cool of his palm. His cool hand was a stark contrast to my warm skin. Which contributed to the growing embarrassment rising with every touch.
“But you’ve changed…” he said, tracing my lashes with his thumb as I kept my eye shut. “Your eyelashes got longer…” his hand, never leaving my face caresses my cheek, leaving specks of cool on my skin everywhere he touches. He moves my head gently as if trying to observe every nook and cranny, Not really missing a single area, feeling like he wouldn't be satisfied till he saw everything. He slid his thumb down my nose bridge, outlining it. “Your nose is still the same” he gives a little giggle before sliding it down lower, his thumb now ghosting my lips, I puff a breath on it from the cool that it radiates but it doesn't move. Only keeping a distance, never truly touching me.
“You look good” he says softly, he moves his hand away to push some hair away from my face, and tucking it gently behind my ear before giving my earlobe a little pinch that made me flinch.
The reaction only making him giggle as he gives my nose a little poke with his finger before shifting the front of his body away from me, while I was left with the sight of his broad back. “let's hurry before we miss our train” he moves with long strides.
I stand there completely frozen, my brain not really understanding what just happened until it starts crashing down to me like a tidal wave. I covered my mouth before a scream exploded out of my body.
‘What was that? What was that?’ my brain was in a jumbled mess that my knees gave out and I'm left crouching on the ground.
My heart was doing somersaults with the way it's beating. Being awestruck by how much he changed was one thing, but being caressed was a whole different story!
“Pardon me~” I felt a strong arm slither around my waist. In an instant, my entire body was hoisted off the ground with much ease. Gojo stands there carrying me like a duffle bag. He looks down at my pitiful state but not really minding it.
“As much as I want to enjoy your reactions, we have 3 more trains and a bus to catch” the silver head beams a wide smile while announcing this, my eyes furrowed in confusion.
‘Why do we need to ride 3 more trains?’ He gives me a toothy grin as if reading my mind.
“How else are we going to reach Jujutsu high! It's all the way on the other side of Tokyo from Asakusa station.” His legs start moving as he carries me in the same awkward position.
“EXCUSE ME?!” Gojo only laughed in response.
#jjk#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#jjk fandom#jjk x reader#satoru gojo x reader#haneblurbs
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＃FNAF MOVIE !! ♡ — IT'LL BE ALRIGHT (MIKE SCHMIDT X READER).
#. synopsis! — mike is used to walking on eggshells, just waiting for another tragedy, and you really don’t want to be just another person who's let him down.
#. characters! — mike schmidt .
#. warnings! — vague references to past traumatic events (canon compliant) , references to a verbal argument .
#. word count! — 1.8k .
#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .
#. others! — navigation & masterlist .
Mike is used to people leaving. They come and they go like stray cats who've found someone better to nab food off of, —leaving him with more ghosts in his life than he'd care to admit. At least these ones are metaphorical and melodramatic, though. His saving grace has been the fact that he chooses wisely who to introduce Abby to, just in case. She's been through enough, and she's so young that the absence of anyone would be duly noted. Not that it isn't when it comes to himself, it's just. . . He's learned how to live with loss. Maybe not effectively, but he does it, and for right now, that's probably as good as it's getting.
He's got more pressing matters to attend to. He always does. That's what he argued about with you, —what he fought tooth and nail to defend, even when you backed off. At the end of it, he knew he'd gone too far for no real reason. He wasn't arguing with you at that point, he was arguing with all the people that have left him starved for their affections and their care. The words he said to you were so far beyond your scope that it was almost pathetic to think about all the bullshit he unloaded on you like it was somehow your job to fix it, even when he knew it wasn't. So really, it's no wonder he's adding you to that list of people who've walked away.
For once, he truly deserved it.
And now he's got to explain this to Abby. Because she likes you almost as much as he does, —almost being the operative word there. Mike sucks at a lot of things, and showing you he cares tends to be one of them, but he loves in his own ways. . . And now, he fears he'll have to do it from afar.
He sort of wishes Abby was the kind of kid he could bribe with ice cream for breakfast to break bad news to. It'd be easier to scoop her some off-brand Neopolitan and tell her she'd never see you again if that would help soften the blow. But it won't, and he knows that. He knows her too well to even try.
Still, he finds himself putting chocolate chips in her pancakes that morning in spite of himself.
When he places the plate in front of her, she narrows her eyes, as if to ask him what he's done so wrong. . . Asking what he's offering silent apologies for in the form of sweet pockets stolen away inside her favorite breakfast food. He opens the fridge in search of orange juice just to avoid her gaze.
Before she can even take a bite, he opens his mouth.
"Listen, Abby—"
She looks up at him with those big, doe eyes, and he probably would have cut himself off anyway if not for the knock on the front door. Mike mumbles for her to hold that thought, then goes to check who's outside.
And there you stand a little awkwardly on his doorstep, a brand new bottle of orange juice in your hand. Once again, it's like you've read his mind, and he's as sick of it as he is thankful for it, especially right now. Still, he can't turn you away.
"Morning," you say, almost hesitantly. "I brought juice. . ."
He tries to think of something to say, but hears the quick pitter-patter of Abby's feet fastly approaching. She calls your name so happily, and you smile at her.
"Good morning to you too," you laugh, returning the hug she gives you with no hesitation.
Mike just stares, as if he can't believe you're even here right now. If you're just here to grab the items of yours strewn about his house, he feels like the least you could have done was wait until Abby was asleep or something.
"Can I have some?" Abby asks, pointing to the orange juice in your hand.
"Yeah, that's what it's for," you smile, handing the bottle to her.
She scurries off to the kitchen to pour herself a glass.
"Mike," you say softly now that she's out of earshot, "can we—"
"I'll get your stuff together," he cuts you off.
Your jaw slacks.
"What?" Is the only thing you can manage to muster up in response.
"You could've done this at a different time," he snaps, trying to keep quiet so Abby doesn't hear. "It's gonna be ten times harder on her now for me to explain why you're not coming back."
You stare at him, trying not to cry. Out of all the things you expected to happen this morning, such a drastic change of heart on his part wasn't one of them.
"You. . . You're breaking up with me?" You question.
He pauses, a lot of the frustration dissipating from his features, replaced by genuine confusion.
"Didn't you already break up with me?" He asks.
Your brows knit together quizzically.
"No? What are you even talking about, I never said I wanted to break up with you," you point out.
Sure, you didn’t say it. But most of the others had never said it either. It was like flipping a lightswitch. One minute they were there, and the next they weren’t. That's why he'd gotten so good at keeping his relationships at a distance, and he'd taken the biggest leap of faith in introducing you to his sister.
"Yesterday evening?" He says, but it sounds more like a question.
"We had an argument," you acknowledge. "It was stupid, and you hurt my feelings. I'm sure I hurt yours too. That doesn't mean I want us to be over."
Mike stares at you like he's not sure what to say, because he isn't. He's not used to someone caring enough to fight for him, and for what festers between himself and someone else. He's learned to let go before the thread pulls too tight, —before it wraps around his throat and slices through every defense he's built up for the sake of protecting himself, his heart, and the little girl that depends on him.
"Mike," you say softly, almost cautiously. "I care about you. One bad night doesn't change that. . . Not for me."
God, it was stupid. It was so stupid. You weren't even mad at him specifically, and you're fairly certain he wasn't really angry with you in particular either. Long days on both your parts collided like a warm front to a cold one, and the things both of you said in the wake of it were uttered through venom and gritted teeth. Sweeping generalizations, a lot of rolling eyes, some tears that were more about frustration than they were anything else. . . But you still loved him at the end of it, even as you found yourself walking home alone.
In fact, that walk was particularly sobering. The crisp chill of the autumn evening was enough to convince you that you'd rather be back at his place where he keeps an extra toothbrush for you in the bathroom and emptied out a drawer just so you could have a place to store some clothes. The sleep you got in the night that followed was shallow at best, restless enough to leave faint bags beneath your eyes by morning, and you were determined to make up any excuse in the book just to swing by.
So you went out and got some orange juice, knowing there wasn't any left in the fridge, and you stood outside his door for a while, working yourself up just to knock. You thought about all the things you'd need to apologize for, and you were ready to push aside your ego if it meant Mike could understand just how much you care, even when you're upset.
He swallows, just to give himself something to do while he prolongs his own response, because he's just not sure what to say. Somehow, a part of him is whispering that this would be easier if you just didn't give a fuck. . . If last evening was the end, and he could go back to finding comfort in silence again.
That's how it's always been. Someone leaves, and he copes, and then he files them away with the rest. But here you are, and Mike knows he can't bring himself to put you in with the others.
"Mike, I'm—"
"No, I am," he breathes, reaching forward to pull you into his arms. "I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings, and I'm sorry that I suck at being a boyfriend, but I don't know what I'm doing and all I can tell you is that I'm trying."
He feels the tension meld away from you, and it's then, before you even open your mouth to reply, that he starts to think everything is how it should be.
"You don't suck at it," you answer lightly. "I know you're trying, and that's genuinely all I could ask for, and I'm sorry about yesterday evening. I was in a bad mood, and I took it out on you, and that wasn't right."
"We both took shit out on each other," he corrects, ready and willing to share the blame.
"True enough," you acknowledge with a weary smile, finally pulling away from his embrace.
"I'm sorry," he says again. "When things go wrong, I. . . I've just learned how to slam on the breaks. If I stop things before they feel like they'll suffocate me, I can avoid them. But I love you, and I know I don't want to avoid that."
"This isn't a one way street," you remind him. "Relationships are hard, and sometimes things happen in a way that they shouldn't, but I'm here for you, and I want to be here for you. . . It's not contractual. One bad night doesn't take away all the times you've made me feel like the happiest person on the face of the planet, Mike."
He sniffles a little, then lets out a relieved sigh.
"Are you hungry?" He asks. "I can make you some pancakes. Chocolate chip."
You raise an eyebrow.
"Chocolate chip? Are you apologizing to Abby for something?"
God, a part of him hates that he's so obvious, but another part loves that you know him so well. It makes him feel even stupider for just assuming that you'd be willing to throw in the towel after one rough night.
"No, not really," he shakes his head. (Not anymore, at least.)
Mike glances toward the kitchen, just to make sure Abby's still preoccupied with her breakfast, then steals a quick kiss from your lips.
"I'm sorry," he says again.
You smile.
"Me too."
"And I love you," he adds.
Your smile widens.
"I love you too. Promise."
With that, he pulls you to the kitchen, and you sit down beside Abby at the table. She tells you that when breakfast is done with, she'd like to show you some new drawings she's done, and you nod, telling her you're excited to see them. And you are.
Mike stands at the stovetop, his back to the both of you, not bothering to bite back his grin.
He feels his foot ease off the break.
#fnaf movie#fnaf#fnaf movie mike#mike schmidt#mike schmidt x reader#mike schmidt x you#mike schmidt fnaf#mike schmidt imagine#michael schmidt#micheal schmidt#abby schmidt#abby fnaf#fnaf x reader#fnaf movie x reader#five nights at freddys#reverse comfort#mike schimdt x reader#mike schmidt reverse comfort
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Shameless | c.s
san solo, choi san
Genre: canon compliant, smut
Words: 1.8k
Summary: A month of sexual frustration and a pair of sweatpants can really bring out the animal in someone. In this case, that someone is San.
Warnings: Smut, masturbation, pillow humping, implied sexual tension, implied mxm pining, inappropriate use of a plushie, plushophilia, poor mokoko..., san masturbates basically
A/N: This is a request done for my beloved @kitten4sannie, ily bestie. It is also HEAVILY inspired by my beloved @parmesannie's fic on ao3 called Bring Me To Ruin. I say heavily, it's mostly the plushie part but we ball. I hope you enjoy! Cross posted to ao3! Will probably have a second part from Wooyoung's POV and end up becoming a woosan fic, we shall see...
The sound of shoes squeaking, music blaring, and people panting fills the practice room late at night..
San and Wooyoung had decided to do a last minute, late night practice session before their first comeback show for promotions. The choreo isn’t difficult by any means, but they felt like they had to show off more this comeback, hence why they are sweating their asses off at nearly eleven at night. The sound of their title track plays in the background as they move around fluidly, sweat dripping off their bodies and onto their shirts as they work hard to perfect every single move.
They finish up the chorus and Wooyoung moves to the computer to pause the music, “Wanna go again or take a small break, you look frustrated.” He says to San, jutting out his hip and putting all his weight onto that side, taking a swig from his water bottle as if he’s trying to seduce someone. San had been furrowing his eyebrows so hard Wooyoung thought they would fall off, or fly away.
“Yeah a break is fine, sorry.” San mutters and plops over to where his bag is, taking out his water and gulping it down furiously. San wipes the beads of water that dribble down his chin and Wooyoung’s eyes linger a bit too long until he snaps back into reality.
“What’s got your panties in a twist? Is it your part during the bridge? I think you look fine.” Wooyoung says trying to comfort his best friend even though he isn’t sure what’s bugging him. San lets out a huff and wriggles his hips a bit, probably just trying to adjust or get comfortable, Wooyoung assumes.
He takes another chug of his water before answering, “Nothing, I just think I’m tired all of a sudden and it’s getting to me, we can go another round.” Wooyoung quirks an eyebrow suspiciously but just mutters an ‘alright’ before restarting the part they had been working on. Both of them go and stand back in front of the wall mirror and wait for the counts to come so they can get their respective moves down.
San had only been slightly lying to Wooyoung about why he felt so frustrated. Yes, he is tired. They have been practicing non stop for this comeback and this final session is doing him in a bit, but it’s not the main reason.
The main reason is that San is wearing sweatpants.
Soft, comfortable, loose gray sweatpants.
‘What’s so frustrating about sweatpants?’ You may be wondering. Well it’s not just the sweatpants, he isn’t wearing any underwear either, which means he can feel the delicate and soft material rub against his soft cock, slightly springing it to life with each tight pull of his pants when he moves his legs. San hates underwear, they are uncomfortable and restricting, but he also loves sweatpants, so comfortable and freeing.
And sometimes, when he combines wearing sweatpants, with no underwear, he forgets just how pleasurable it makes him feel. This feeling, plus having not been able to jerk off in so long is really getting to him, clearly. They have been so preoccupied with promotions for this comeback that he hasn’t been able to properly touch himself in about a month, which is keeping him incredibly horny and frustrated. Sure he could have had time to rub one out if he hadn’t told Wooyoung he would practice with him, but he couldn’t say no to Wooyoung. Maybe this was a bad idea.
With each move he can feel the material move and strain against his now semi hard cock, when he was sitting on the floor earlier he tried to get a bit of relief by wriggling around a bit, but it just made his situation worse, and also made Wooyoung shoot him a weird look. He just needs to get off so bad, he needs it and it’s now clouding his brain. Clouding his brain so much that Wooyoung has to restart their part over, and over, and over.
“Alright maybe we should head to bed, you clearly aren’t focusing very well and you need sleep.” Wooyoung saunters back over to the computer once again to stop the music and San takes a second to catch his breath before responding.
“I’m sorry Youngie, I’m sure we’ll do great tomorrow anyway.” Wooyoung agrees and pats his back, shooting him a million dollar smile that shows he cares for the other man and his health more than some silly practice session. San sends back a more pained smile, but a smile nonetheless, and they head back to the new dorms.
***
San swears he’s never felt more relieved at having his own room before. As soon as they entered the apartment building San stormed off to his room, a disgruntled Jongho murmuring to Wooyoung, “What’s his deal?” And the other man shrugs in return.
The moment San is in his room he locks the door and looks into his full length mirror. His cock is very visibly hard against his sweats and there’s even a small stain of precum where his tip pushes against the soft material. “Fuck…” He whispers and hopes Wooyoung hadn’t noticed such an embarrassing thing. San immediately gets to work, rubbing his cock through his pants, the delicate material rubbing along the head of his dick making his belly swell with arousal. He sits on the ground and fucks up into his palm, trying to gain as much friction against the material as he can but it’s no longer enough, he wants, no, he needs more.
Hastily he clambers onto his bed and rids himself of his shirt, shoes and socks, his torso still sweaty from his practice session and his chest gleaming, nipples hardened. San takes a pillow from the head of his bed and places it underneath him. He finds an angle that works and lines himself onto it, shallowly thrusting onto the pillow to feel more friction. The front of his sweats are practically soaked, precum leaking all over them. He moans and grunts as he chases the feeling, the material of his sweats pulling forward along his cock with every grind onto the pillow, and the pillow adding a needed to pressure onto his longing cock.
It’s still not enough to get him anywhere, all it does is fill his belly with a small fire, but it doesn’t blaze to anything else. He needs more, he’s so desperate, he needs anything. Through his haze he looks around his bed to see if anything else will satisfy his needs until his eyes land on it, and he immediately has second thoughts.
His sweet, innocent mokoko plushie is right in his line of vision. It’s right there, beckoning him to use it. The small opening between where it’s holding a heart and it’s chest is perfect, a perfect spot to fuck into. Wait. No. He can’t fuck his plushies. He couldn’t dare soil his precious, special edition mokoko plushie….Could he?
He could.
In record time he finally peels off his sweatpants, his angry, throbbing cock springing out and hitting his stomach with a small slap sound. He discards the pillow underneath him onto the floor, it needs to be washed anyway, and with one last regretful look he turns back to his mokoko plushie and grabs it. “I’m so sorry Mokoko, I’ll make it up to you later.” He whispers and switches positions. He flips onto his side and props himself up onto his remaining pillows with his arm, and lines the plushies opening with his leaking cock. He says one final prayer before sliding his cock into the opening and he lets out the most groundbreaking moan he's ever moaned. It feels perfect. Nothing has felt so good before. Well, that’s debatable, but at this moment, after not having jerked off in nearly a month, the feeling could only compare to heaven itself.
He nearly comes right then and there, but he takes a second to compose himself. The soft, velvety material of the plushie brushes along the shaft of his cock so well, and while humble, he knows he’s well endowed and is reminded when the tip of his cock pushes into where mokoko’s mouth is. It’s kind of fucked up, but that’s just how the cards fall he guesses.
After gathering his bearings, he slowly starts to fuck into the plush, his lips falling into an ‘O’ shape at the feeling. He cants his hips up, making sure to appreciate every single detail of the way his cock feels fucking into the tight space, moans slipping from his mouth everytime the head of his cock pushes into the plush. San’s cock twitches with pleasure as he picks up his pace and while closer than ever it’s still not enough. The material is great but now it’s starting to rub. He needs lube.
Briefly, he gets up to reach into his nightstand for his lube and generously squirts some into his hand, warming it up and slicking up his cock soon after. He feels so bad, he’s about to ruin one of his favorite plushies, but his horniness is overtaking his sense of logic. He can just wash it after…right?
Removing the thoughts from his head, he switches positions, now laying the plushie underneath his hips so he can fuck into the plushie from the top. He aligns his cock once again, and slides into the opening once more. He nearly moans unbelievably loud but stops himself when he hears someone walk past his room. Once he thinks they’ve left he continues, fucking into the plushie again and, fuck, does it feel better than ever. He lets out small grunts and groans as he fucks into the opening harshly, feeling his orgasm finally building, and boy is it building fast. San has been practically edging himself this entire time, so it’s no surprise that once he finally figured out what he needed, he comes quickly. Three more thrust and he bites down on his lip to suppress his moans as he cums all over the plush, disgustingly coating its face and god there’s so much cum. It’s literally seeping into the material once he’s finished, and the ropes went so far some even landed on his sheets above where the plushie was, he guesses he really, really needed this.
After coming down from his high, he quickly realizes what he had just done. He ruined his favorite, one of a kind plushie. Jesus what has he done, how will he clean it, can he clean it? Should he throw it away? As he’s trying to come up with a solution to save his poor, poor mokoko he hears a knock at the door.
“Hey Sannie, can I come in?”
Fuck, It’s Wooyoung.
© Choism 2023. do not repost or translate.
#choi san smut#san smut#k labels#choi san x reader#san x reader#ateez smut#ateez x reader#woosan smut#wooyoung x san#san x wooyoung
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Weekly Recap | December 25th-31st 2023
Happy New Year everyone! May 2024 be better than 2023, and may season 7 be good to us!!!
Complete
Battle Born by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (NHL AU, Established Buddie | 11K | Teen): Buck comes down with appendicitis during the playoffs. He decides to play through it.
🔥 through tooth and claw (to where you are) by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (Post-S6, Hurt Buck, Getting Together | 18K | Teen): With a reverent hush, Christopher said, “Whoa, it’s so close.” And it was almost as though Buck needed to have that obvious fact pointed out to him before the vague dread of animal instinct that had been pooling in his stomach could solidify into a real, actionable fear. It’s so close. Something’s wrong. AKA: The Rabid Coyote fic
we’ve got something permanent (i mean in the way we care) by callmenewbie/ @callmenewbie (PWP, Breeding Kink | 7K | Explicit): Buck has baby fever and it’s Eddie’s job to give him what he wants. Kind of.
Here Where We Should Be (Kiss Me, It’s Christmas) by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (Christmas, Getting Together | 5K | General): It’s Christmas and Eddie decides he can’t possibly wait any longer to start kissing Buck.
well, I hate to be a bother, but it's you and there's no other by allisonRW96 / @homerforsure (Getting Together | 3K | Mature): Eddie starts dating again and learns a few things about himself. The most surprising one? He's actually ready this time. Now he just needs to get Buck on board.
in a little while (you will find some relief then) by allisonRW96 / @homerforsure (Hurt Buck | 10K | Teen): Buck gets a severe case of poison oak. He handles it about as well as you'd expect.
🔥 The Nearness of You by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (Work Trip | 17K | Teen): Eddie reassured himself that he could do this. Other teams coming in were probably going to be staying at the same hotel in the same double rooms and it was very possible that none of them were going to be having sex. Or even lying awake at night thinking about it.
We Can't Succeed but We Love Trying by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (PWP, Breeding Kink | 15K | Explicit): In which Eddie has the thought that if Buck's gonna "donate" his sperm anywhere, it should be with, well. Eddie.
all it took was a backwards baseball cap by honestlydarkprincess/ @honestlydarkprincess (PWP, Getting Together | 5K | Explicit) : Or, the one in which Eddie loses his shit at Buck wearing a backwards baseball cap. Seriously, can this man get more attractive? Is he trying to kill Eddie?
drawstrings by browney3dgirl6/ @hoodie-buck (PWP, Getting Together | 3K | Mature): Eddie helps Buck fix his drawstrings. How was he supposed to know it’d lead to him sitting in Bucks lap?
🔥 come with me, together, we can take the long way home (series) by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (Canon compliant | 105K | T to M):
Get me through the night; Make me feel alright (Post-S3 Finale | 11K | Mature): After an emotionally-gutting reunion with Abby, Buck turns to old coping mechanisms. Eddie helps him find a better way.
In Uncertain Times, The Uncertain Rules Apply (Pre-S4 | 22K | Teen): Covid comes to LA. Eddie copes. Or doesn't.
Holding out for Something More (Stuck in Reverse) (Post S4E3/Lone Star Crossover | 26K | Teen): LA is coming out of lockdown and the world is returning to some sense of normalcy. But going back to the way things were hurts more than Buck expected. While his therapist challenges him to confront what he really wants, the team takes a trip to Austin... and El Paso.
so far from being free (S4E4: 9-1-1 What's Your Grievance?, S4E5: Buck Begins | 46K | Teen): That’s Daniel. He was our brother. Buck doesn’t know what to do with the past tense. He never had a brother. He’s always had a brother. He gained one and lost one in the same breath and it feels impossible.
carry my heart home to you by allisonRW96/ @homerforsure (Getting Together | 4K | Teen): After his parents join him for a therapy session, Buck starts to learn that some people are never going to be able to give you what you need. And some people are.
if you say it with your hands by hammersmiths/ @henswilsons (S2 | 10K | Teen): Buck thinks it must be a habit he still hasn’t dropped from his days in the army, or maybe it comes with the territory of being a dad – but Eddie can nap pretty much anywhere. or, Eddie starts casually falling asleep against Buck, and Buck is very normal about it.
🔥 into thirty separate parts by hammersmiths/ @henswilsons (S6 | 12K | Teen): “Theoretically,” says Buck, as soon as Eddie picks up the phone, “your ex writes a book about you.” There is a pregnant pause. “…Right,” Eddie decides on, finally. or, Taylor’s book comes out.
close friends (that you lowkey want to fuck, but in a totally platonic way) by rowan_wood/ @transboybuckley (Getting Together | 2K | Teen): Instagram rolls out a new feature, and Buck doesn't totally understand how it works.
I'm still standing in the same place where you left me standing by trysetmeonfire/ @try-set-me-on-fire (POV Bobby, Hurt Eddie, Getting Together | 8K | Teen) Bobby deals with the ramifications of a misplaced confession
Keep My Heart Warm In Yours by callmenewbie/ @callmenewbie (Christmas, Post-S6, Getting Together | 18K | Mature): Christopher decides that he wants to go skiing, Buck makes it happen and the cabin at the foot of the mountains turns out to be quite the romantic backdrop for their little getaway.
Hiding the Christmas Present (of You and Me) by Princessfbi/ @princessfbi (Christmas | 7K | General): Buck thought he was going to spend Christmas alone. His family decides to correct that assumption.
If I Fall, Can You Pull Me Up? by Princessfbi/ @princessfbi (Hurt Buck, Established Buddie | 7K | General): Eddie could pick Buck from a million miles away. Buck’s entire being was like one bright light in an otherwise cloudy sky. So, he was really interested to know why some stranger was wearing his boyfriend’s turnout coat and pretending to be him.
Used to Think That Lovin' Meant a Painful Chase by Princessfbi/ @princessfbi (Getting Together | 4K | Teen): It’d been fine when Buck had Eddie’s dick in his mouth. It wasn’t often that Buck got to see Eddie come undone but he’d been treated to a private showing and the pride he had being the one to take Eddie there was indescribable. But then things got… weird. Or maybe, it was Buck that got weird? He still wasn’t really sure where it started, to be honest.
for all the words unspoken by Maira/ @carrierofthepaperclips (Work Trip, Getting Together | 5K | Teen): "Buck." Eddie had already dropped his bag and was standing next to the bed, hands on his hips. "We've slept in the same bed before. I'm pretty sure we'll manage to do the same in this one, it's humorously large. Don't!" He held up a hand as Buck opened his mouth. His lips twitched, though, so Buck took it as a win. ... or, the one with only one bed.
underneath the tree by devirnis/ @devirnis (PWP, BDSM | 2K | Explicit): Frowning to himself in concentration, Eddie carefully folds the wrapping paper around the corner of the box. He has no idea how his mother makes this look so easy, even after she walked him through it earlier on FaceTime. Under the tree, Eddie’s present whines plaintively.
WIP
🔥 Precious & Fragile Things by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Small Miracles AU, Angel Buck | 20K | 8/? | Teen): Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped.
🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon, S1 through S6 | 102/? | 276K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.
Love Ends. by rowan_wood (Exes to Lovers | 4/17 | 5K | Explicit): But what if it doesn't?
in my head by yourcatfishfriend/ @your-catfish-friend (Friends With Benefits | 8/9 | 30K | Explicit): Buck is confidently bisexual. Eddie isn't sure. Buck helps him figure it out.
Re-Read
🔥 Always, All Ways by ashavahishta/ @ashavahishta (A/B/O AU | 85K | Explicit): Buck’s the only omega in the 118. He’s got secrets, and walls a mile high. Eddie’s the alpha determined to knock them down.
#buddie#buddie fic#buddie fanfiction#buddie fic rec#buddie fanfic#epic buddie fic rec#911 fanfiction#911 fic#911 fanfic
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open up your heart (stay soft)
pairing: astarion/tav
wordcount: 3,626
content warnings: an extremely complicated look at astarion & a dark urge!tav. there are dom/sub undertones, s&m undertones, astarion doesn't want to be touched but he doesn't mind touching, and probably undernegotiated kink. this is self-indulgent in all honestly, i'm so sorry. originally intended to be part of basorexia.
other tags: canon compliant, porn without plot, pwp, established relationship, dom/sub undertones, light masochism, frottage, blood drinking, codependency, gender neutral tav
inspired by: this post.
archiveofourown: here.
tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia, @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness
be added to the taglist here
summary: ‘Astarion. Do you want a drink?’ / ‘More than anything,’ he whispers.
‘Please…’
Astarion is on his hands and knees, cerise gaze wild, one hand clutching his chest as though he’s afraid his heart will escape through his ribs. His other hand is reaching for you. It makes you wonder about the power he has given to you to hold over him. You’re afraid to ask what it means. If you’re his favorite, or if you are close and near and he is desperate.
The anguish Astarion wears on his face is mesmerizing. You reach out your hand and cradle his tense face in your palm, smoothing your thumb over the sharp curve of his cheekbone. Astarion leans his face into your touch. He scents the curve of your wrist and bites back a sharp moan. His pink tongue darts out between his teeth.
It’s easy to pretend not to understand what type of situation you’ve gotten yourself into. It’s a moment of shared vulnerability between the two of you. A play in two parts: Act I follows a concerned vampire as he worries endlessly about corrupting a pure soul, and Act II follows the mad descent he leads the soul on until the very depths of the hells are explored. Act III is when the depravity is embraced. Astarion likes to pretend otherwise, but he adores worrying over you. It’s a habit that he can’t shake now that he’s picked it up. He watches you and holds his breath, lips parted.
You see: It’s a game. A very careful, very orchestrated game.
Part of this is very healing for Astarion. In the same way it gives you power, it also gives him power — Cazador would have never given him the blood that he so desperately craves, but you will. You hold your hand out and Astarion places his chin into your palm, eyes fluttering shut at the tender touch. Your heart threatens to break.
What a beautiful man he is now on his hands and knees for you, and unlike those who came before you, you have no desire to hurt him. No, you think. You join him in the dirt on your knees and brush your fingers beneath his chin akin to how one would pet a cat. Astarion purrs and offers you his pout in exchange for a kiss.
Instead of indulging him, you take the hand he once offered you and place his fingers against your pulse as it jumps beneath your skin. Astarion’s pupils tighten. His mouth presses into a firm line. It might be your imagination, but his skin pinkens prettily for you.
‘Do you want a drink?’ you ask softly.
‘Please,’ he whimpers. ‘Just a taste. Only a drop.’
‘Only a little?’ you hum.
It’s the hour of the wolf and Astarion’s favorite time to prowl. You can pretend to be in control as much as you like, but you know the truth. All it would take is one mistake, and Astarion could easily devour you and drain you dry without another thought. He’s dangerous despite how you hate to admit it.
But that’s where the other’s usually forget. All your warnings, all your revelations, and the other members of your party see you as naught but who you claim to be. They are willfully ignorant of your dark nature. Astarion compliments it.
In some macabre way, tonight is a test. Will you kill Astarion, or will he kill you? If you were prone to betting, you would say that you would win. Your skill as the Blood of Baldur’s Gate is not to be taken lightly, but a vampire spawn who is hungry could easily overtake you.
If you wanted him to.
You swallow very carefully. You do want him to. It’s no romanticized obsession, but a simple longing that won’t go away no matter how hard you try. You think about it absentmindedly sometimes when you’ve done nothing but walk for miles upon miles.
Would your eyes turn red? Would the color be drained from your skin as your ichor was stolen? Would you look pretty as a vampire, carefully playing the part of a damsel at night? It would be a good disguise…but you don’t want it to be a disguise. You want it to be a reality, and that terrifies you.
You want Astarion. You need Astarion like air, like water. He’s the only thing keeping you grounded in this mess. He’s witty, cruel, rude — but you find that it helps you focus more than anyone else’s steadfast desire to be cured. Like Astarion, you don’t want to be cured. The tadpole is the one thing holding that murderous urge at bay even as unsuccessful as it seems.
You watch Astarion’s mouth. You study the way his lips tremble, how the muscle beneath his bottom lip tenses as he struggles to contain himself. Still, he does his best to make sure his expressions don’t betray his intentions. He doesn’t want you to know that he’s wondering the same thing. He eyes your throat hungrily. His nails drag across your pulse like a threat. He shakes.
Astarion won’t hurt you. You’re almost certain of it. Even as the nail of his thumb digs into your pulse, you know that he is pretending to struggle for your sake. His perceived lack of control excites you.
It entices you. His bravado is exhilarating. You like that he is playing it up for your sake. It reminds you of the night he first bit you and every night after that, but this is a ceremony unprecedented by the nights before. With the slightest pressure, Astarion tilts your chin back and watches.
You repeat yourself. ‘Astarion. Do you want a drink?’
‘More than anything,’ he whispers.
Astarion caters towards a façade he knows you enjoy. He’s petulant, pouty, and his eyebrows are drawn so tightly together that he reminds you of a stray beast. You look at his mouth again. He’s unable to hide the way his mouth waters. He moves his tongue behind his teeth almost as if they pain him, as if his teeth themselves are swollen. Drool catches on his plump lip.
‘Astarion — ’
‘Please,’ he says, voice low. He caves to your whims. ‘Like before, a taste, a sip, a drink. I’ve been good, I promise.’ He licks his lip. ‘I’m always good, now.’
‘You have,’ you say. ‘You’ve been very good.’
‘So I should get to drink,’ Astarion suggests.
You close your eyes and pretend to consider it. The thought of Cazador denying Astarion anything sickens you, and you try your best not to grind your teeth. This is a show, you have to remind yourself. A play. This is not about you, but about Astarion. You’ll acquiesce but you would be lying if you said you weren’t interested in seeing how far Astarion would allow you to push him.
‘I don’t believe you,’ you laugh. He squeezes your neck involuntarily.
‘I’m on my best behavior,’ Astarion insists. ‘I’ll show you, in exchange for a taste.’
‘A small taste,’ you allow. ‘A drop.’
Without thinking, Astarion pets your neck. He uses both hands to trace elegant lines along your throat. He scratches his nails across the line of your jaw without drawing blood. You want to kiss him, or to bite him, or to seek pleasure but now is not the time. Astarion is letting you in. He’s allowing you ever so politely to heal him.
If you call it healing, Astarion will bare his fangs and dismiss you. He wants to call it exploration. He finds your weaknesses, and you destroy his. It’s a good enough deal in your eyes. You kiss, you laugh, you dance together, and in the dark beneath a full moon, you search for answers.
You pull Astarion to you, your fingers fisted into the curls of his hair. You lead his mouth to the pulse in your neck and squeeze your thighs together, trying to ignore how unsteady you feel. Even though it’s pretend, Astarion’s weakness makes you warm at the core.
‘Thank you,’ Astarion whispers. He swallows hard.
He kisses your pulse wetly. He sinks his teeth into your neck with ease, and you play up the way you twist and shiver, groaning softly as if the sting of his fangs isn’t a familiar, welcome pain. He drinks a single drop as promised and leans back.
There is a thinness to the control Astarion shows you. He doesn’t have the confidence to pull too far away from you, and his eyes don’t leave the puncture wounds at your jaw. He wraps an arm around your waist and swallows sharply, turning his cheek the other way as if ashamed of how debauched you make him.
‘Good,’ you whisper. ‘You really are being good.’
‘So I can have more?’ Astarion asks.
‘What do you say when you want something?’
‘Please,’ Astarion says hoarsely.
Very carefully, you guide Astarion’s mouth back to the puncture wounds. This is something entirely new for him. A control that is both welcome and curious. He laps at your neck carefully, huffing out little noises against your skin as he collects droplets of your blood on the tip of his tongue. He takes his time in tasting you, in becoming mesmerized by the taste your life’s blood has to offer. Now Astarion knows that when he asks for something, you have very little ability to tell him no.
Not when he’s like this. Not when he’s being good.
Astarion being “good” almost sounds like a conundrum. Earlier today he was advocating for avoiding duties that could be seen as kindness. Now, you’re almost certain you could ask him for his help in anything and he would oblige. Not only has he found the freedom to feed whenever, he’s found the freedom in asking you. He had hesitated before, choosing to feast upon bad men. But even the good deserve their sins.
Not that it genuinely takes much to get you to agree to anything Astarion asks. As much sway as you hold over him, he holds over you. That’s why when he overstays and takes more blood than you wanted to let him, you say nothing.
You close your eyes. You shouldn’t, but something about Astarion’s bite always causes your mind to fog up until you can’t think of anything else. There’s no more draw to do something unseemly to one of your other companions. You don’t think you smell blood on your hands. You’re allowed to exist outside that ravenous bloodlust.
‘Enough,’ you tell Astarion.
He whines against your neck.
You can already imagine the excuses. I’m sorry, I lost focus, I was so thirsty, you really do have to forgive me, and if it were any other day, you’d swallow up his apologies as though they were lyrics to a song. You have to remind yourself: Today is not about you. Astarion asked you for this. You hum disappointedly and Astarion slinks away from your neck guiltily.
Except he doesn’t feel that guilty about it. His eyes are twinkling like they haven’t in hours. The more Astarion feeds on your blood, the more color that pools into his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. There is drool and blood mixed on his chin, and he doesn’t wipe it off. He offers you his chin and you take it, and carefully, you clean his face for him and wipe it on your camp clothes. The mess is a problem for another day. Astarion shamelessly stares at your neck instead of your eyes.
As if he’s practiced being pathetic for you, Astarion whines. He leans forward without permission and tries to sip at your neck again, but you catch him just in time. The refusal causes him to fuss and toss around on the dirt, crawling to you because he can’t help himself. He catches your fingers and pulls the mess you couldn’t clean to his lips, lapping at the spaces between your fingers for another taste of you.
‘If you want something,’ you say breathlessly, ‘how do we ask for it?’
‘I want your blood,’ Astarion says bluntly, eyes burning in the moonlight. ‘Please — Please let me have it. I could drink yours for hours.’
Gods be good. You steel yourself against his pretty words and shake your head. If you were to speak, your voice would betray how disgustingly turned on you are. Astarion knows it too. He always does. Behind the desire for your blood in his eyes is his desire to take you in fully. Your whims interest him because he’s never experienced them. Once, he said most fled once the fangs were in, but you kept coming back for more.
Your interests. His interests. Tonight is not an exchange of blood for sex or sex for blood. Astarion takes charge of his destiny, and you follow in his footsteps. Tonight is an exchange for power and safety. Only when he’s ready will you acknowledge your own hunger.
And thank the gods he does not make you wait for long. Astarion slips a hand between your thighs and presses his palm against where you’re the most tense with such confidence and precision your positions are almost flipped. Astarion has heard you beg many times. It’s almost his favorite pastime beyond hunting. You won’t do it tonight.
‘Drink,’ you command him.
His pout vanishes immediately. There is no careful, organized action behind how he pounces on you this time. He knocks you into the grass and bites you on the opposite side of where he bit you before as if to prove a point. His arms snake around you, one hand cradling your head to keep it from thrashing against the ground, and the other around your waist so you’re forced to arch your back for him.
Astarion drinks as though he’s never tasted blood before. It’s not the first time you’ve thought about it. Every time he presses his mouth to your skin, it’s like a sinner turning to prayer. You are not a saint nor an idol of perfect disposition. You are what the gods fear most. Yet when Astarion feeds from you so voraciously but holds you so tenderly, you feel like a delicate treasure.
He eats you. Mind, body, soul. He takes away your bad blood and casts it out like a venom. You shiver despite your best attempts to maintain a rigid figure. Astarion moans against your neck. When you least expect it, he presses a thigh between your legs and grunts encouragingly. He won’t use his words. Not when there’s drink to be wasted. With the last of your conscious thoughts, you push your fingers through his curls.
Astarion tempers your masochistic streak by being the one person in the world who can truly sate it. A vampire’s bite is never comfortable, and the chill of his body is never enough to dull the pain. Sometimes you’re able to sleep through it, when he’s being as gentle, as careful as he can.
He is rough with you this evening because it’s what you need. You choke out a weak cry as you begin rutting against his leg, and although your cheeks burn with shame, it’s the best thing you’ve done all week besides sleep in a real bed. Astarion feeds from you and you grind against him, drunk on the balance of interests.
This is what you were missing in Baldur’s Gate.
Astarion is free to ask for the things he wants without fear of penalty.
You can chase punishment.
Astarion rolls his hips against yours to help distract you from the power of his bite. It’s hard to focus when you can feel his tongue lapping at your pulse and your core feels so tight and hot that you can barely think beyond how much you want him. You try to look for the stars to ground yourself, but the only stars you can see are the stars dancing in your vision.
‘Astarion,’ you whisper.
He growls in response. The sound is begrudging. He wants to do good and pull away, to show you that he knows how to be good, but it’s another one of his tests. The first night, you almost succumbed to him because you were too distracted by blood loss to be of any use. Astarion wants you to know your limits as well. You gasp and turn your cheek. It’s so hard to focus…
‘Astarion,’ you hear yourself say, ‘that’s enough. You’ve had your fill.’
Finally, he pulls away from your neck. He’s ravishing. Astarion carries a pride to himself, an assurance, that you might not have seen from him if you weren’t so intent on helping him stand up on his own two feet. He licks your blood from his lips and slowly cleans the mess left on lips and cheeks, funneling what’s left into his mouth so that he can taste you for the rest of the evening. Your eyes flutter shut at the sight and that’s when you lose focus.
Astarion’s thigh is soft between your legs. You shamelessly grind against him. You feel weak, and you know you’re pallid and sweaty and boneless, and Astarion only makes it worse. Once he’s finished licking clean his fingers, he grabs you by the hips and helps you ride out your intent on his thigh. He leans over you.
‘Watch,’ you whisper.
‘Is that a command?’
‘Yes.’
Astarion smiles wickedly. ‘And what am I watching, my darling?’
‘I want you to watch as I cum,’ you say unashamedly.
You notice it again. How your words affect him. Astarion’s pupils tighten a bit more and he truly devotes his attention to you, watching as you writhe your hips against his leg, back arched off the dirt and sticks and rock. You must be an absolute sight to behold as you bleed and chase your pleasure, but all you can think about is his face right now as he watches like you told him to.
You cry wordlessly and try not to twist away out of habit.
It’s so hard to focus, to breathe. You feel like you’re running out of time with how dizzy you’re becoming, and Astarion helps you through it so that you can fuck yourself until you find relief. You can feel a knot forming in your lower back, Your thighs and calves are burning, and your throat is so hot and warm you can’t stop from moaning.
When you do find it, that senseless pleasure so deep in your core, you’re almost certain you pass out for a few minutes. You cut off the sound of your own orgasm by clenching your teeth together and stiffening, but Astarion is there to murmur encouraging things as you navigate whatever is left of your consciousness. It’s so hard to think, to be, to exist. But it’s worth it when you open your eyes and you’re met with the softest look Astarion has ever given you.
‘You did amazing,’ you say breathlessly.
Astarion laughs, not meanly or cruelly, but a sound full of reverence. ‘I did amazing?’ he asks. ‘Look at you, my love.’
Whatever it was that Astarion wanted to work through, he seems to have managed it. He rubs your sides soothingly as you try to cool down and warm up at the same time. Your hair is beginning to curl against your skin from how much you’ve sweated and how much blood you’ve lost. Even though it’s not as much as you would in battle, you still can’t help but curl up on your side and press a hand against your forehead, desperate for some clarity.
‘There you are, my precious little love,’ Astarion soothes sweetly. He kisses your temple.
‘Did I help you?’ you ask sleepily.
He doesn’t respond at first, and you don’t have the strength to look over your shoulder to try and see what he’s thinking about. He rubs a circle into your lower back. Your stomach begins to feel a little funny, like it’s filled to the brim with butterflies.
You welcome the silence. You doze off for a few minutes, comforted by the weight of his hand against your back. Your mind has never felt so empty before. There’s always a dull roar, and now… You press your fingers to your lips to hide your smile.
‘Once again,’ Astarion begins delicately, ‘I feel like you’ve given me something I can never fully thank you for. I am not so afraid now as I was before. That’s because of you.’
‘And because of yourself,’ you mumble. ‘You ought to give yourself credit. This was but a small test, and you passed.’
Astarion’s mouth pops open like he’s contemplating arguing, but he decides against it. You feel him lie down next to you, his chest to your back, his hips to your hips, his knees against your knees. Normally, you hold him like this — It’s a comfortable way to sleep, and you like being able to smell his skin.
‘How do you feel?’ Astarion asks you quietly.
Now it’s your turn to contemplate the severity of things. You don’t know how to address it, not when he’s sucked your brains through your skin and helped you fuck the rest of them out of your system. You rub an eye tiredly.
‘My mind is empty,’ you admit, ‘for the first time since I woke up aboard the ship.’Astarion hums like he’s conquered the world and peppers the nape of your neck in a thousand little kisses. You help him, he helps you. It isn’t a perfect system, but it’s your system. I love you dances on the tip of your tongue, and you’re almost to a dream when you hear Astarion say it back.
#astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion bg3#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#astarion x you#astarion x oc#astarion smut#bg3 smut#from ，carcosa .#my fic#I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY ABOUT THE DYNAMICS HERE?#dare i say: this is extremely aerea/astarion coded#but it's not just for them if that makes sense like
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vampire
"oh what a mesmerizing, paralyzing, fucked up little thrill"
warnings: smut (as always), vampire!ellie and related content (blood, biting, death), references to canon compliant major character death, depictions of grief including weight loss and depression, Jackson!au, no use of y/n, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), strap-on usage (r!receiving), strap is referred to as Ellie's cock, period sex, pet names (good girl, baby, etc.), continued consent :)
Ellie Williams had been acting different lately.
You had expected it, really, since the unexpected death of her on-again-off-again father figure, Joel. In fact, most of her behavior was along the lines of what you expected from somebody grieving. Talking to people less, weight loss, odd waking hours...but something about it was different.
This was what you were considering when you looked out your window to see Ellie pacing down the street, a nightly tradition she'd picked up in the weeks since Joel's funeral. You felt comfortable staring more than usual, knowing you weren't visible inside the dark of your living room. Only the candle flickering in your window gave any indication that you were awake, and she didn't seem particularly focused on your window out of all the others on the street.
There was a time she would have been, though. Just a few weeks ago, Ellie's presence on your street would have been shortly followed by heavy breathing, sweat, and moans in your bed. Obviously, you'd been giving her space, but...it seems everyone else had, too. You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen Ellie have a conversation with somebody.
Something between genuine concern and a selfish need to be the one to check on her boiled in your gut. Maybe this is why you opened the door and called out, or maybe it was something in your bones saying tonight would be important. Either way, you found yourself repeating her name on your doorstep, watching as she turned her head.
"Come inside Ellie, it's freezing out here! Just for a little bit?" you asked, almost pleading. You should've grabbed a blanket or something--snow was collecting in your hair and eyebrows as Ellie moved eerily slowly towards your house. What if it wasn't Ellie? What if it was.... You shook of the thought. Of course it was Ellie.
After entirely too long, she stood on your steps and allowed herself to be ushered in through your door. The uncanniness had worn off as she stepped into your house, smiling reservedly and thanking you as you made her a cup of hot chocolate.
"You're not even wearing a coat, Ellie. You've gotta take care of yourself," you scolded gently, wrapping her in a blanket. Your fingertips brushed her neck, and the skin was ice cold.
"I've been freezing no matter what I do lately. No use," she explained.
"Are you still on leave from chores? I haven't seen you around lately."
"Yeah, they said I can come back whenever but I've been sleeping through the days still. I wish I could just snap out of it."
As she spoke, you examined her face. New lines had formed as the skin had sunken in, veins visible around her eyes. There was almost no color in the tips of her fingers, and despite the snow refusing to melt from her hair and lashes, she wasn't shivering. Odd.
You moved a little closer to her on the couch, kicking up your feet to get comfortable. "Well, I'm not going to give you the I'm-here-for-you spiel that I'm sure you're sick of getting. I know we weren't like...every day friends either. But I'm an insomniac, too. So if you need to be out and about at night, feel free to come here."
She met your eyes. "I probably shouldn't do that."
"Why not?" you asked, leaning forward to hear her voice better. It was like something shifted in her with this movement, like you had broken an invisible barrier. Ellie leaned forward so your noses were barely touching, and she breathed in slowly.
"I've just been feeling...off lately. I can't explain why. But when I think about you, or anyone really, I just want to...bite them."
You leaned back and giggled. "Glad to see you're feeling well enough to fuck with me, I guess. But really, the offer stands."
This didn't seem to land, though. Ellie leaned over, putting one hand on either side of your body, and smiled. Your eyes drifted to her lips, looking quickly away when you convinced yourself her teeth looked longer than normal.
"I'm not fucking with you. Test me, though. See how long I can go without sinking my teeth into you."
And who were you to deny Ellie Williams? She was as hot as ever, and maybe someone warm to lay with was exactly what she needed. So you leaned forward and captured her lips in a messy kiss, which she quickly took over. The clashing of tongues and lips was interrupted occasionally by the scrape of teeth, something unusual for her usually soft mouth.
Ellie shifted so her whole weight was on top of you, one leg next to your waist and one between your thighs. She pushed forward slightly, causing you to moan into her mouth. She took the opportunity to capture your bottom lip and
"Fuck!"
You pulled away, wiping your lip and looking down to see bright red blood. You expected the nervousness in Ellie to pop up, quickly apologizing, but when you met her eyes she only looked more hungry.
"I told you," she said, reaching out a thumb to wipe the last bit of blood from your mouth. She popped it into her mouth, her tongue peeking out as she licked it clean. "Whatever happens tonight might be irreversible for you. It's up to you, baby."
Whatever fear should have arisen at her words went straight to your pussy. Maybe something had broken in you, but the sight of her licking your blood of her finger was suddenly the hottest thing you've ever experienced. So you nodded hastily and shoved your mouth against hers.
Ellie's hands started to roam, groping your tits and pulling them out of the spaghetti strap you were. She kissed her way down your neck, popping a pebbled nipple into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it. You moaned at the sensation, pressing the ache between your legs harder into her thigh and arching your back into the wetness of her mouth. Ellie scraped her teeth over the nipple, pulling gently before letting go and leaving hickeys towards the other side. Giving it the same treatment, she began to snake her hand down your stomach and hips. As curious fingers reached the hem of your sweatpants, you tugged her hair to pull her away from your chest.
"I'm on my period, if you mind. I totally understand if you do, but..." you began explaining, trailing off as the hungry look in her eyes returned.
Before she could confirm or deny her continued interest, Ellie was pulling your bottom half free of the pajamas and panties you had been wearing. Pushing them aside, she spread your legs and dove into your pussy.
Ellie ate you out ferociously, tongue in so many places you could barely keep up. Your mind went blank as she overwhelmed your senses, hands tangling in her hair. One hand reached towards your still exposed tit, grabbing like a lifeline, while one moved down towards your hole. She pulled back as she inserted two fingers at once, watching as you threw your head back with a scream.
"That's it, good girl. Taking me so well. You taste incredible like this."
Dried blood smeared from the side of her mouth, but she returned to suck your clit before you could point it out. The stretch of your cunt being worked up combined with the pressure on your clit quickly cannonballed into one of the strongest orgasms you had ever had, ending only after Ellie pulled away and removed her fingers.
She reached her clean hand up to you and pulled you off the couch on to shaky legs. "If you're going to get my cock, I want you to take it in your bed. Got it?" she asked, leading you down the hallway to your room. Already fucked out, you could only nod and mumble a barely coherent "mm-hm".
Within falling distance, Ellie pushed you on to your bed and crawled between your legs, grinding the bulge beneath her pants into you. Already sensitive, your legs began to close and shake around her. As your arched backed and your moans stuttered, she pulled away before you could cum again.
"Not so fast, baby," she whispered, tucking a strand of her behind your ear in an oddly gentle gesture. You leaned your face towards it, vaguely registering that her hand was just as cold as before. Before you had time to contemplate, however, your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of silicone rubbing between your lips. Pressing in slowly, little by little, Ellie leaned over and began panting in your ear.
Leaving kisses with each thrust, she nipped and licked from your ear down your jaw to the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Fucking you hard, you asked her to repeat herself when her strained voice asked "can I bite you?"
Why would she asked that? Hadn't she done it before, didn't she know? Your stomach twisted--excitement, nervousness, confusion. What was different this time.
"Why wouldn't you be able to?"
"You can't go back," she explained, more and more desperate as her thrusts became sloppier and sloppier. You knew she was getting close, and the pressure against your already sensitive clit was getting to you. "You can't go...fuck, baby. Please. Please."
"Yes, fuck, yes. Bite me, Ellie. Bite me please." You begged, both of your moans reaching a louder volume than before.
You felt her teeth, sharper than usual, against your skin. Her tongue darting out to lick the salty sweat. A pressure, a release, an orgasm as your skin broke.
You and Ellie screamed in unison, dual orgasms wracking your bodies as she clung to your neck.
And then, you felt nothing.
Nothing but cold and thirst.
#Ellie williams#Ellie x reader#Ellie williams x reader#Ellie smut#Ellie williams smut#vampire smut#vampire x reader#vampire!ellie#wlw vampire
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you know you never stood a chance - chapter six
you know you never stood a chance series
six: hold me like a grudge
series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter
qz!Joel Miller x f!reader
Words: 2.6k
Summary: After a tense situation, you reunite with Ellie and Joel.
Warnings: dub-con due to power imbalance, free use, sex as payment, vaginal sex, cum eating, Joel is mean/bad with feelings, this is not canon compliant, no use of y/n, degradation, canon-typical violence and danger, description of injury, spanking, pussy spanking, rough oral (m receiving)
also on ao3
dividers by @saradika-graphics
When the grass outside rustles underfoot, you flinch. You’ve been there for a while, long enough that the adrenaline started to seep out and leave you shaking in its wake.
The only reason you don’t shoot when you see a shadow is that Ellie takes the risk of speaking first.
“Hey, is that you?”
It’s so quiet, so careful. A sick part of you wants to stay silent, to hope they leave. But you’re forced to reckon with Joel’s evaluation of you: you’d never survive out here on your own. Probably wouldn’t even make it back to Boston, and then what? Get shot by FEDRA trying to get back in?
“Ellie?” you whisper back.
“Hey, Joel!” Ellie starts to yell, stopping when you shush her loudly from the garage.
You move, stepping closer to the frame where you can see her before moving into the light. She throws her arms around you, and you freeze, holding the gun pointed to the grass, too afraid to move.
“I know he’s an asshole, but don’t do that again,” she scolds, brow furrowed.
You’re thrown off guard but feel a rush of affection for the girl. “Sorry,” you say.
Joel comes out of the house from the back door and glowers at the two of you. “Inside,” he barks.
You follow behind Ellie as she rolls her eyes and prattles on about a large stick and what he should do with it.
He shuts the door behind you, clearly having scoped out the whole house before Ellie found you. He turns to her. “Upstairs.”
“What?”
“Upstairs, now,” he snarls.
She goes to protest but catches your eye.
“Please,” you say. You don’t want her to witness whatever he’s about to say to you.
When she’s gone, he rounds on you. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
You stare at the floor, lips twisted as you fight the urge to lash out.
He lifts your chin with his hand. “Huh? You listening to me?” He huffs out a laugh. “Clearly not, or we wouldn’t be here right now. We got one fuckin’ rule, do you remember?”
When you still don’t answer, he shakes your chin a little, jostling your jaw and drawing your glare to him.
“Well?” he says.
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Do as I’m fuckin’ told,” you mimic his drawl, poorly.
This wasn’t your first time out. After that night, when he fought with Tess, he dragged you with them on a supply run. It was fairly standard shit. Before you left the QZ, he had armed you—for appearances only, he reiterated, don’t touch those unless you’re gonna be ready to use them—and then told you the rule.
And you listened. Same shit, different place. He said drop, you’d drop. He said run, you’d run. Mostly, you just kept a nice resting bitch face in place so their contacts wouldn’t know you were an easy target.
“What am I gonna do with you, huh?” he says, still holding your face in place. He tugs the revolver from your other hand, not that you resist, and shoves it in his waistband.
“Just leave me here.”
“Shut up.”
“You asked me a question.”
“Yeah, and I expected a real answer, not a stupid one.”
You move to kneel, but he grabs you.
“Not a bad idea, sweetheart, but you gotta watch that ankle.”
The thought gives him pause, and you watch apprehensively as he considers things.
“We’re staying here today. You’re gonna rest that fuckin’ ankle, and we’ll get back on the road in the morning.”
Ellie is thrilled to discover you’ll be taking the day off in a place with real beds. She finds some old sudoku books and pencils and hangs out in “her” room.
True to his word, Joel makes you stay in bed all day. Your foot is propped up on a stack of pillows. You sulk, but he brings you a couple of books to choose from, a bottle of water, and some cold soup, just like getting sick back in the old days.
Actually, it’s a little too much like the old days. It makes you want to run. Instead, you let the historical nonfiction novels lull you in and out of a hazy sleep.
He comes to get you after nightfall. Ellie’s sound asleep, and he brings you into the room he had staked claim to.
“You ready to say sorry?”
“I’m sorry, Joel,” you mumble.
“What were you thinking?” He asks again. He’s softened since this morning, to your great relief.
“I’m tired of being your burden.”
“Is this ‘cause I don’t get to fuck you?”
“No. I mean, sort of. It’s bad enough that I can’t pay you out here. But then to be a risk, to create more trouble than just being a mouth to feed…”
He’s quiet for a minute. “Lay down on your back. Head over here,” he gestures to the end of the mattress.
The abrupt change is exhausting, but you do as you’re told. Once you’re lying there, head draped off the edge of the bed, he reaches down and takes his cock out. He has to bend his knees a little, being just tall enough over average to not quite fit together, but he slides into your mouth.
It’s so easy this way for him to press right into your throat.
You try to pour out your excess emotions, the residual fear, the relief, everything by finding purpose through his dick, but he pulls out when you try to get a hold of him.
“Not this time, sweetheart. You want me to take what ya owe me? Fine. I’m gonna use your throat as a fuckin cocksleeve.”
The words shouldn’t please you, but they do. The catharsis of the relief, the elation at being useful, and his touch all send you trembling.
“You better not cum,” he warns. “Not until I’m fillin’ ya up.”
You want to argue that he’s already filling you up, but a) he’s absolutely not in the mood, and b) well, he’s filling you up, so you can’t really speak.
Instead, you do the only thing you really can do. You lay there and take it. He lets you curl your hands around his thighs, holding on so you don’t go scooting up the mattress during the more aggressive thrusts. It lets you stabilize your head and tilt to an angle that grants just a little more air.
It’s rough in a way he hasn’t been before, which is saying something, but it’s also transcendental. Maybe you’re being dramatic, but you’re in the fucking clouds. You’ve never felt so light, so peaceful.
He pulls out abruptly, fingers squeezing the base of his cock as he pants. It’s still so close to you, so you use his legs to push upward and try to get it back in your mouth.
He swats at your cunt. “Quit it.”
You moan, the pain turning quickly into a tingle that spreads across your lips and clit. It worked, though, and you back off, now dangling half off the bed, only supported by your palms against the thick trunks of his thighs.
He scoops you up, an arm under each of yours, and pushes you back up on the mattress. “Hands ‘n knees,” he says.
You’re still feeling a little weird, so when you’ve gotten into position, you drag a pillow over and nuzzle your face down into it, arms threaded under it to hold it against you.
“You’re all cockdumb now, huh?” His hand traces over your lower back. You moan, a quiet, rumbly thing, and press back toward him.
He smacks your ass. “Hold still, pretty girl. Let me open you up.”
You don’t do more than drool and moan as he works his fingers into you, stretching you to ease his passage. His other hand stays on your lower back like a brand, an anchor. When he pulls his fingers out, he licks them clean before guiding his cock to where you’re dripping and aching for him.
He pushes in slowly, and you arch your back under his broad palm. He pushes you back down against the bed, hand settling between your shoulder blades and another wrapped in your hair.
“Stupid girl,” he grumbles. “Foolish little brat.”
Tears well up. It’s so much. Everywhere he touches you is past ignition, already licked clean by his flame, ash smoldering in the wake.
“Quiet,” he hisses, and you realize the soft little sounds permeating your dream were your moans and gasps. You bite your lip hard, face screwing up at the pain, but it works.
He doesn’t like that, though. He lets go of your hair and sighs, pulling out just to roll you onto your back before plunging back in and picking up the pace to take you apart. He pushes his thumb into your mouth, groaning as your teeth sink into the dry and calloused flesh, tethering you to the earth.
The sound of his hips slapping against you should be a bigger concern, but that would mean stopping or slowing down, and he doesn’t see that as an option. Instead, he watches as your blank eyes blink up at him, wet and wide, and your lips wrapped around his thumb.
“Christ. You really just need your holes filled, and suddenly, ya know how to be good. Fuckin’ slut.”
“Your fault,” you choke out, the words slammed out of you by his aggressive pounding. “Wasn’t—b-before.”
You wish you hadn’t said anything when he laughs again, dark and pleased with himself.
“Yeah, you’re right. Only a fuckin’ whore for me now, huh?”
Finally, finally, he touches you when he’s getting close, tugging the thumb from your mouth to rub the wet pad of it against your clit.
“You ready, sweetheart? Gonna cum on my cock, make me feel good?”
You whimper, nodding. “Yes, Joel, please.”
He works you to it until you break down, clenching around him so tight. He has to make himself pull out, his sex-addled brain screaming for him to bury himself deep in you. Instead, he covers your stomach.
You’re shaking through the aftershocks of your orgasm, and he rubs at your clit until you give him another one. It’s easy, you fall right apart, and then you’re practically limp, breasts heaving with the effort to breathe steadily.
He swipes a finger through his mess and brings it up to your mouth. You suck it clean, and he does it again until he’s fed you most of it. You take it each time, sucking and licking his finger, and watching him with wide eyes.
“You’re so fuckin’ sweet like this. Why can’t you just listen this good all the time?” It’s said softly, fondly, but it cuts you deep. He stands up, stretches, and leaves the room without another word.
You start to cry, burying your face in the pillow and holding your breath so he doesn’t hear. You’ve gotten good at this, over the decades, of choking down your weakness and swallowing it whole, letting it rip you up inside rather than out, so by the time he’s come back in the room, you’ve quieted.
You rub away any lingering tears with sleepy fists and a yawn.
“You think you can sleep with your ankle propped up?” he says when he crosses the room.
You nod, one fist still over your left eye, which won’t stop stinging, and sling your legs over the side of the bed, sitting up.
He catches your shoulder. “You’re stayin’ right here. Lay down, and I’ll set it up.”
Slowly, you settle back onto the bed. He must really not want you to walk on it if he’s going to trade rooms. Maybe the injury was worse than you thought.
The rest of his cum has dried, leaving a tacky residue on your stomach. He doesn’t wipe it clean, though; he never does anymore. Not worth wasting the water over, you think.
That’s what he tells himself, too.
The gentle hands you remember from so long ago have returned, delicately arranging pillows under your leg. You twist your top half to thank him, only to find him pulling back the blanket to slide into bed beside you.
It’s fully dark, now, when he presses a kiss into your hair and settles on his back beside you. Even through both of your shirts, you can feel the warmth of him where your back presses to him. He doesn’t hold you, but the closeness is enough to let you drift off to sleep.
The sun breaks through the bedroom windows before the birdsong wakes you. Joel is already awake when you roll over. This time, he does sneak his arm beneath you, pulling you to his chest.
You can’t breathe, too afraid the movement will fully wake him up. He’s never, not once, given you this much of him. You idly wish he hadn’t, because how were you supposed to live without it now?
“This is a nice quilt,” he says, shattering the silence before you work yourself into a panic. “Shame we gotta leave it here.”
“You get the stuff, and I’ll make you one when we get back.” Your voice is muffled in his shirt, too tense to pull away and properly look at him.
“Didn’t know you could sew.”
“I’m a woman of many talents, Miller. Sucking cock, basic sewing, annoying the hell outta you…” Aw, fuck. End of list. Oh well.
He chuckles, and you hate the way you can never tell if he’s laughing at your joke or laughing at you.
You fall back into quiet again, and when you think he might have dozed back off, you relax a little, letting your head find a home in the hollow where his arm meets his chest. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to his t-shirt.
“I know, sweetheart. Look, when we get home, if you want to leave, I won’t stop ya. But not out here. Not like this.”
“M’not leaving. I got a quilt to make, remember?”
He leans down and kisses the top of your head, resting that way for a moment with you drawn close.
Of course, the peace doesn’t last. Ellie bursts through the door, boundless energy as always, sending your already-racing heart into overdrive.
“—room is empty; what did you say to her? Couldn’t you just have been nice?”
Joel waits, staring at her blankly. You, however, have buried your face in his side. You’re both fully dressed, and there’s no evidence of anything, but you know she’s not stupid.
“Oh, ew, god, come on! What the fuck is wrong with you?” She’s backing out, pulling the door behind her, but her disgust carries down the hall.
Joel tilts your chin up with a curled finger. “At least we know she didn’t hear any of the other times I fucked ya.”
Your cheeks are on fire, and you can’t look him in the eye.
“It’s not like she walked in on us,” he teases.
“She’s never going to talk to us again,” you groan.
“She’ll get over it. If not, you can give her the talk.”
“Oh no. No, you can handle that.”
“Let’s let the Fireflies handle that,” he decides, scrubbing at his beard with one hand. He gets up, groaning. “Should make it to Bill’s today, even if we go slow.”
“Joel—”
“I know you’re not about to argue with me, right?”
Your mouth twists into a scowl, but you soften when you look up at him. The sun through the window is bathing him in yellow, and his brown eyes trip up your heart like they always do.
“No,” you say with a sigh. “I’ll follow you.”
He stops you before you leave the room, two fingers under your chin. “When we get to Bill’s, I’ll help you add another thing to that skillset of yours.”
“What?”
He hands you back the revolver you had stolen from the garage skeleton. “I’ll teach ya how to shoot.”
next chapter
*title from "Hold Me Like a Grudge" by Fall Out Boy
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x oc#joel miller x female oc#joel miller x f!reader#the last of us fic#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#you know you never stood a chance series
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Okay so not an ask more of a Headcanon based on observation and the character he is based on, but I see Honest Fellow as someone who would both idolize/emulate and resent the rich. By his design his clothes, while they pay homage to Honest John with the patchwork pantleg and the misding pinky tip on his one glove seem very well-kempt, on top of that his hat and cane are practically emaculate that cane alone couldn't have been cheap though I wouldn't put it passed the sly fox man to have either swindled someone out of it or stole it from them outright. Point is I'm getting wants to be a rich man but hates the rich people vibes.
All of that is set-up for my headcanon that if he ever had a S/O you can bet he would get them jewelry and expensive clothes. Basically just adorn them in finery he had acquired through whatever means (cough, likely stolen or purchased with dirty money, cough) and proudly have them stand by his side. The thought to use them as a pretty little lure to catch even bigger fish might cross his mind, but I doubt he'd ever use them like that. Personally, I feel like he'd be to possessive to do that even if his darling wanted to help like that, after all what if he let's them go off alone and someone tries to take advantage of his poor darling? He doesn't think they're weak or foolish per say but who could protect them better than him? I think he'd have a difficult time even leaving them alone with Gidelle (only 90 percent sure I got that right), of course he trusts Gidelle, well as much as he can truly trust anyone anyway, but he's the brains of the outfit and unless he's personally by his darlings side he won't ever be truly assured something won't go wrong.
Let's say that darling isn't quite so understanding or compliant, his possessive side would certainly get worse. He can't leave them alone for one second qhat if they try and sneak off. Perhaps to save his pride he'd be a bit delusional, they're just a sweet little naive skittish thing that doesn't know any better, possibly they've never known a love as deep and unshakable as his, it's only natural there would be a learning curve for them and who better than he to teach them? I highly doubt he'd ever use physical punishments on his darling, probably doesnt like punishing them as he thinks they are just still learning, but that doesn't mean he won't find other ways to punish them if necessary. I do think if they actively tried to run he wouldn't waste a minute getting something along the lines of a necklace with a chain, something fashionable but functional as a reminder while they're learning, if that reminder isn't enough though he might go for a bejeweled pet collar and leash. If all else fails isolation in a secure location with him as their only source of human, or well beastman, contact would certainly allow them to see how much they needed each other. Whatever he has to do to make them understand it'll all be worth it later once they're settled and he can spoil them like they deserve.
TLDR: Honest Fellow would love to lavish his S/O in (possibly ill-gotten) finery and would actively and proudly show them off on his arm. Everyone can look and admire, but only he is allowed to touch.
This has got to be the most effort anyone has ever put into something they sent in my ask box!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!
Okay so right off the bat let me say that YES!! This is canon I don't care what anyone says.
I can see him as "wanting what they have" but "not wanting to be them". Essentially he wants the ability to give his darling the best of everything. Yet still ultimately preserving his own "personality". Like you said Fellow hates the rich. They're insufferable, self-absorbed and loathsome, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't crave the glitz and glammer.
Now I can kinda see Fellow only really interacting with his darling at first to use her as bait. Winning her over with expensive gifts and pretty cloths (all from dirty money ofc) and sure darling does start to fall for his tricks. But here's the thing, the moment his darling begins to show the tinest interest in him Fellow FALLS HARDER!! All of a sudden he doesn't want ANYONE near his darling! Just him only him. Sooner or later his darling will start to feel suffocated, she'll be desperate to get away from him. Forsaking the pretty presents and charming "boyfriend" for just a moment of freedom. But Fellow's a sly fox, always one step ahead. He knows how to ensnare his darling before she's even run away.
Overall Fellow will lavish you, treat you like a queen, getting you anything you desire (through underhanded means) but you'll never be allowed to leave him. Forever trapped by his side on the island of pleasure…
Quick question is Fellow meant to be the same age as the third years or is he older??
#fellow honest#fellow honest twisted wonderland#fellow honest x reader#fellow honest x you#yandere fellow honest#twisted wonderland#twst#twst halloween#yandere x reader#yancore#yandere x you#yandere aesthetic#yandere twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland headcanons#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland x you#yandere twst#twst x reader#twst fellow honest
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