#BLUE LOCK ERA IS SO BACK | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

curseluvr · 9 days ago

Text

ONE LAST TIME (AGAIN)

You broke up, but they’re not done with you yet. When you sleep with your ex, they bring love, lust, and delusion to the table.

ft. satoru, suguru, kento, toji, sukuna, choso

wc: 3.8k

content: fem!reader, p in v sex, unprotected intercourse, fingering, oral (f receiving), face sitting (suguru), riding (toji), crying, degradation, possessiveness, spitting, pet names, break up/make up sex, exes-to-lovers(?), lowkey emotional manipulation, toxic dynamics, creampie, light choking/breathplay, overstim, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, foot on head (sukuna lol), heian era sukuna smoking (toji), dubiously romantic, “what are we?” girl idk

SATORU

Satoru laughs, but the sound is void of humor. He fucks you deeper, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you nice and open for him.

“Hope your next boyfriend can rearrange your guts like I do,” he pants. “Actually, no I don’t. I hope he cries after. I hope his dick’s pathetic.”

“Shut up,” you gasp, trying to hold onto whatever pride you have left.

He smirks, blue eyes flashing like a dare. “Make me.”

You try—God, you try—but your body is betraying you, shivering under every thrust, slick soaking down your thighs as he ruins you all over again.

“You said we’re over,” he growls in your ear, “but your pussy’s saying otherwise. And honestly? I’m inclined to believe her.”

His hand snakes between your bodies, fingers rubbing your clit in tight, mean circles. The kind that sends your legs trembling, your mouth falling open.

“Gonna cum already?” he teases, voice infuriatingly sweet. “That’s so cute. Did you miss me that much?”

You scratch at his back, biting your lip to keep from screaming. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Uh-huh,” he hums, kissing your cheek. “And you’re still letting me fuck you raw. So what does that say about you, princess?”

It says you’re still his, no matter what you tell yourself. You hate how good it feels, and you hate that he knows it as well as you do. Satoru leans back just enough to spit in your mouth, unprompted and messy, eyes locking with yours as he does it.

“Swallow. ‘Atta girl.”

You do. Of course you do. And when your orgasm hits, Satoru leans back down and kisses you breathless, swallowing your moans. You can feel Satoru smile as your body jerks beneath him.

It’s all teeth and tongue and hunger, like he needs to mark you from the inside out. A mix of your saliva surrounds both of your mouths.

“Tell me no one else gets to have you like this,” he whispers against your lips. “Tell me this is mine.”

You hesitate.

He fucks you harder, lips brushing your ear as he speaks again—lower, darker.

“Say it.”

“…It’s yours,” you admit, barely able to breathe it.

“There we go,” he grins. “So fucking pretty when you admit you’re mine.”

You fall apart again seconds later, cumming hard around him, clenching and gasping as your body gives out. And he keeps going. You push at his hips, weak and shaking, a pathetic attempt to give your body a break.

“You know the safeword,” Satoru gives you time to speak up, but you don’t. “I’m gonna make you cum ‘til you forget why you left.”

“Ngh! Please, Toru—fuck,” you babble, completely fucked out, body going limp as he uses you.

Satoru coos at the pitiful sight beneath him. His heart swells with pride, possession, and something dangerously close to devotion. Your fragile state, entrusted to him, even after everything. He wants to give you the whole world, but for now, he’ll start with his cum.

“Gonna give you every drop,” he groans, holding you still as he pushes himself in as deeply as possible.

When he finally cums, it’s with a long, guttural moan—hips twitching, his hand gripping your jaw to make you look him in the eyes as he fills you up.

He stays there for a moment, forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, your chest still heaving beneath him.

Without a single ounce of shame, Satoru rolls off the bed and grabs the hoodie you’d come to return. He slips it back over his head, looks at you, ruined and blinking on the mattress, and smirks.

SUGURU

He'd left you a voicemail:

“Left your necklace. Might drop it off. Might keep it. Might wear it while jerking off to the sound of your voice.”

The second you walk into his place, Suguru raises an eyebrow, leaning back on the couch with the kind of smirk that makes you want to slap him (or ride him, but you wouldn’t admit that).

“What happened, baby?” he says smoothly. “Get tired of pretending you can stay away?”

You glare. “Do you have amnesia? You literally called me.”

“Mm. I might recall that.” He pats his lap. “Now come sit on my face and lie to me again.”

That was all it took for you to find yourself on top of your ex-boyfriend.

“Still tight,” Suguru murmurs against your inner thigh, stopping right in front of your pussy.

He inhales deeply. “Still smell so sweet. ”

“Fuckin’ do something,” you demand, pushing your hips towards his face.

His teeth graze your clit before he dives in.

You arch, panting. “Suguru—”

He doesn’t stop. He speeds up, and your words melt into moans.

Then he pulls his mouth away and spits on your clit, rubbing it in with his thumb as you squirm.

“I should block you just to humble you,” he says casually over the wet sounds. “But then who’d fuck you like this? Your poor pussy would be miserable without me.”

You slap his shoulder. He laughs, genuinely delighted.

“You want someone boring?” he goads, flipping you under him. “Someone soft? Respectful?”

He drags the head of his cock through your slick folds, taking delight in how soaked you are for him. He leans down until your noses almost touch, voice dipping into a whisper:

“Or do you want me—the one who knows how to split you open and make you thank me for it?”

Your hips try to move, but he holds them down.

“Beg for it.”

“Fuck you,” you spit out, looking him dead in the eye.

Suguru grins wickedly. “Fine.”

And he pushes in with one long, slow thrust, groaning in your ear as your walls clench around him. You gasp, nails digging into his back.

“Fuck—Suguru!”

“Yeah, I know, baby.” He kisses you hard, deep, possessive. “You missed me.”

He fucks you with a calm, brutal rhythm. There’s no rush, no hesitation. Just deep, hard, confident strokes that make you feel like you’re unraveling inch by inch.

“Still pretending this means nothing?” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face.

You nod weakly.

He laughs again, low and mean this time. “That’s okay. I’ll fuck the truth out of you.”

You try to keep quiet, but the pleasure is blinding. He grabs your throat, gently tilting your chin up so your eyes stay locked with his.

“Are you ready to come back yet?” he asks, breath hot against your lips. “Or should I just keep making you cum instead?”

You whimper. He grins.

“I’ll take that as keep going.”

He fucks you harder, mouth latched to your throat, praising you through every twitch and cry and broken moan.

“Such a good girl for me,” he pants. “Still mine. Still fucking mine.”

You cum around him a second time, legs shaking, vision white.

He follows shortly, groaning your name like a brand, gripping your hips as he fills you like a promise he has no intention of breaking.

Afterward, he doesn’t even pull out. He stays right there—cock twitching inside you, knuckles stroking your cheek like you’re already home.

“You can stay the night,” he says lightly, kissing your collarbone. “Or move your stuff back in. Your call.”

You roll your eyes.

Suguru’s smirk deepens. “Just trying to be a good ex-boyfriend.”

KENTO

“Tell me to stop,” Kento growls, breath ragged against your neck. “Say it, and I'll stop right now.”

You don’t say it. You pull him closer, digging your nails into his shoulder like you’ll die if he lets go.

He groans, carrying you effortlessly to the bedroom. His tie comes off with a violent tug, the silk slipping to the floor. The dress shirt stays on, because he knows what it does to you. His slacks are half-undone when he bends you over the bed and pushes two fingers into your dripping core.

His movements are deliberate and unforgiving, like he wants you to feel every twitch of his fingers. You gasp, hips jerking as he curls them inside you.

“Already soaking,” he mutters, breath hot against your spine. “You walked in here knowing exactly what you wanted, didn’t you?”

You try to deny it, try to bite your lip and hold your ground, but the sound that escapes you betrays everything.

He adds a third finger, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Say it,” he demands, voice low and rough. “Say it so I don’t have to pretend this isn’t exactly where you want to be.”

You cry out his name, and Kento thinks it’s enough. That’s all it takes for him to pull his fingers out and replace them with the thick, aching length of his cock.

He pushes in from behind—no teasing, no mercy, just a stretch so deep it knocks the wind out of you.

“Fuck,” he pants, gripping your hips. “Feels like you were made for me, angel.”

You cry out, white-knuckled on the sheets, body already shaking as he rocks into you with ruthless precision. He leans over you, body draped along yours, one hand sliding up your chest to wrap around your throat. It’s not choking, but just enough to make your heart stutter as he makes eye contact with you.

“I haven’t touched anyone else,” he growls, voice hoarse. “No one else could get close. Couldn’t even kiss someone else without wanting to tear my skin off.”

You whimper, shoving your hips back against him in desperation. “Me neither,” you whisper. “Couldn’t. Didn’t want to.”

He curses under his breath like that admission breaks him. His hand moves to your jaw, turning your face toward him, and he kisses you from the side—messy, wet, frantic—like he needs to taste you to breathe.

Then he flips you over and pins you flat to the bed, gaze burning. He hesitates just long enough to look at you, really look, and remember everything.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he mutters, before he fucks you like he wants to erase the space that ever existed between you.

It’s rough, obsessive, borderline feral with how deep he hits. Kento’s hands won’t stop moving—stroking, gripping, holding you open like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. But never careless. Kento’s not clumsy in his desperation. He’s calculated. Precise. Like a man who’s gone mad with longing and still knows exactly how to break you down.

“You were always mine,” he snarls, thrusts growing sharper. “Even when you hated me. You belonged to me the second I laid eyes on you.”

Tears slip from your eyes, but not from pain. From the unbearable way he’s holding your hand, fingers interlaced, anchoring you while he fucks you senseless. From the way he kisses your temple like it’s a fucking farewell.

“Never hated you,” you gasp. “Love you too much.”

“I love you,” he breathes against your skin, “even if I can’t have you.”

His confession does it for you. You fall apart on him, crying out his name as your orgasm tears through you. Kento fucks you through it, never slowing, until his own release breaks out of him with a low, guttural moan. Cum spills deep inside you as he buries his face in your neck.

You're both trembling when it's over—sweaty, breathless, quiet. Then he lets out a long exhale and mutters against your skin, “Well. That was deeply irresponsible.”

TOJI

You came to get your stuff, all the pieces of yourself still lingered in the mess of his apartment after the breakup. But the second Toji opened the door, low sweatpants slung on those hips and half-lidded eyes raking over you like meat, you knew you’d lost the fight. Again.

You don’t remember how you got to the bed. Just the way he grabbed your throat and kissed you like he was pissed you ever left. Like he wanted to punish you for walking away.

Now you’re on top of him, straddling his hips, riding him with shaky thighs while his hands rest behind his head like this is routine. Like he’s letting you get it out of your system. His cock’s buried so deep inside of you that it aches.

“We’re still done,” you spit through gritted teeth, taking him deeper with each bounce.

Toji laughs, low and dark, before delivering a loud smack to your ass.

“Then why are you dripping all over me? Try again, mamas.”

You glare, but your hands press to his chest for leverage as your pace quickens. His cock drags perfectly against your walls, hitting that spot that makes your breath stutter, your resolve crack.

“Keep running your mouth,” you pant. “See where it gets you.”

“Gets me here, doesn’t it?” Toji mutters, gripping your hips now. “Every fucking time.”

He plants his feet flat on the bed and starts thrusting up into you, taking control even while you’re on top. The rhythm turns punishing, filling the room with vulgar noises of skin on skin and wet squelches. Toji fucks you real loud and nasty, the mattress shaking under you both. You collapse forward with a moan, forearms braced on his chest, head bowed as your body clenches around him.

“You break up with me every week,” he pants against your jaw. “Still come back to this dick like it’s rehab.”

Your lips part in a moan—half denial, half surrender—as his cock drives into you like he’s trying to reach your fucking soul. You try not to say his name.

“You like this?” he taunts. “This is all you needed, huh? Some sense fucked back into you?”

You tighten around him on instinct, and he grins—that filthy, cocky grin that used to piss you off so much you’d ride him just to shut him up.

His hand wraps lightly around your throat, thumb brushing your pulse. The pressure makes your head swim.

“I should’ve never let you leave,” he growls. “You’re mine.”

“Toji—fuck—”

“C’mon, mamas. Say it.”

You shatter on him, orgasm ripping through your core as you ride it out helplessly, body convulsing in his grip. He fucks you through it, filthy and relentless, until his thrusts turn erratic and his hips are twitching against yours.

“Tell me where you want it.”

“Inside,” you tell him shamelessly.

For once, Toji listens to you. He bites your shoulder as he lets go, breathlessly moaning into your skin. He stays like that for a second—still buried in you, breathing hard against your shoulder—before he pulls out with a slow drag and a satisfied groan.

Then he leans over, grabs the half-crushed cigarette off the nightstand, and lights it like nothing happened. Toji takes a drag, smirks at your limp body on the sheets, and exhales smoke from the corner of his mouth.

“Should I move back in now?”

You glare at him, chest still heaving, legs sticky and spread.

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure it doesn’t,” he mutters, straddling you. Your eyes drop to his cock—he’s already hard.

He shrugs, smiling with the cigarette in his mouth. “Still have a lot to say. Thought I’d let my dick finish the conversation.”

SUKUNA

Walking back into the throne room destroys the last of your dignity.

“Came crawling back again, eh?” Sukuna gloats, red eyes filled with amusement. “I’d say it’s cute, but it’s really just pathetic.”

Your chin tilts up, masking shame with bite. “Not as pathetic as how easy you’ll give it to me.”

That earns a laugh, and the sound is cold. Cruel. Excited.

“Stupid girl,” he growls, already in front of you, gripping your hair and yanking you to your knees. “You belong to me. There is no leaving.”

His fingers press into your throat before he forces your mouth open and shoves his fingers in, eyes locked on yours.

He drags you to the floor like prey, strips you with no gentleness, and folds your body beneath him into a mean arch, like you were made to break. He doesn’t warm you up—doesn’t need to. You’re soaked already, shamefully so.

“Fucking knew you’d come back. You need me, don’t you?” he taunts, grinding into you, teasing the tip against your folds before slamming in hard enough to knock the air out of you.

Your gasp is lost beneath a strangled moan. He fills you like he owns every inch, as if he’s branding you from the inside.

“You always say you’re done,” he chuckles, voice thick with venom and heat, “then come crawling back with your needy little cunt dripping for me.”

You claw at the floor, unable to answer as he fucks you deep, merciless. Every stroke is brutal and precise. But that’s not enough for him.

With a sneer, he plants one foot on the back of your head, pressing your cheek to the floor as your cries shake the walls. “That’s it. Cry for me. Let them all hear who you belong to.”

Tears smear down your face, not from pain, but from the overwhelming fullness, the humiliation, the filthy goodness of it all.

“S-Sukuna—”

“Shut up,” he growls, slapping your ass so hard it stings. “Just take it.”

He doesn’t let up—not until your thighs are shaking and you’re begging for mercy he’ll never give. Not until your body gives out and he holds your hips up anyway, forcing you to take everything he gives, even when you’re sobbing into the floor.

“You’ll never leave,” he pants against your neck, fucking you through your second orgasm. “Because no one else can fuck the brat out of you like your king can.”

You lose track of time, barely awake after your fifth orgasm. When he cums inside you, it’s with a growl and a bite to your shoulder—marking you as his.

You don’t move even after he’s done. You just lie there, used and full, heart thudding with something that feels too much like belonging.

He strokes your hair mockingly, almost like you’re a pet.

“Sweet little thing,” Sukuna hums. “You can crawl back to your chambers. I’ll see you next time you feel like lying to yourself.”

CHOSO

You show up at his door, arms crossed, trying to act like this isn’t what it looks like.

“You gonna let me in, or just keep staring at me like a sad puppy?”

Choso blinks once. Twice. Then he grins.

“Oh, you wanna fuck.”

You feign offense. “I—”

“Don’t worry, baby. I do too,” he hums, tugging you inside and kicking the door shut with one smooth move.

“You broke up with me,” he says, mock hurt. “You don’t get to be mean and horny.”

“Oh, I can be both,” you challenge, and he groans into your neck like he’s obsessed.

Choso can’t even wait to get to bed. He turns you around and pushes you against the door, already dropping his sweats. The second he thrusts two fingers into you, the teasing stops—just for a moment. Because fuck, you’re so tight. And warm. Choso moans, deep and breathy, burying his face in your neck.

“God, I missed this. Missed you.”

You claw against the door, breath stuttering. “Don’t get sappy on me now.”

“I’m gonna make you cry in five minutes,” he growls. “And then I’ll get sappy.”

He replaces his fingers with his cock and starts slowly. It’s sweet, almost romantic. But that doesn’t last.

Choso’s cocky, but he’s also needy. He starts grinding into you deeper, faster, desperate to feel you fall apart, hear you whimper his name in that way that always made him lose it.

“You still take me so good,” he pants. “You didn’t let anyone else fuck you, did you?”

You roll your eyes, even if he can’t see it. “What if I did?”

He slams into you, cock twitching.

“You didn’t.”

“…I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” he grunts into your ear. “Didn’t think so. You’re still mine.”

Choso drags you to the bedroom in a blink of an eye, throwing you onto the bed and entering you once more. You arch under him with a moan, and his mouth is on yours, kissing you hard, licking into your mouth like he’s trying to mark his territory.

“You’re gonna cum for me,” he mutters, reaching down to pinch your clit. “Gonna soak me like you always do. Be good and let me make you feel perfect again.”

And you do. There are stars behind your eyes as your back arches off the bed, and Choso doesn’t stop once. Your legs are still trembling from the first round, chest heaving as you lie flat on your back. Choso hasn’t moved far—just leaned over, brushing kisses down your collarbone, hands trailing gently over your skin like he’s trying to memorize it all over again.

You groan. “You’re staring.”

“You’re pretty,” he says simply, nuzzling your jaw. “I haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

You try to snort. “Naked?”

He laughs into your neck. “No. Relaxed.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile’s tugging at your lips anyway. You gasp softly when Choso licks at one of your nipples, pinching and tugging at the other one.

This time when he pushes in, it’s not a rough snap of hips—it’s slow. Deliberate. Deep enough that you both sigh at the same time. You blink up at him, and he looks so soft in the moonlight. Heavy-lidded, sweat-slick, eyes locked on yours like he wants to watch every second.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this,” he murmurs, rolling his hips into you with an almost lazy rhythm. “Of you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, body already pulsing with heat again. “You gonna get sappy on me now?”

He smirks. “Only a little.”

He keeps it slow, letting you feel every inch of him. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, but he’s gentle about it this time—more coaxing than claiming.

“Missed how you sound when it’s like this,” he says, voice low.

You grin, tipping your hips up to meet his thrusts, breath hitching when he brushes deep inside you.

“Choso…”

He cups your face, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “There it is.”

It’s easy to fall into this rhythm with Choso. Bodies rocking together in sync, breath ragged and warm. You cling to him when your high crests, face buried in his neck. You cum slower this time, legs wrapped around him, hips rolling with his like you’re moving in sync. You cling to him tighter when you cum, burying your face in his neck, and he groans right in your ear like he can feel how much you still want him.

When he cums, his voice cracks, but it’s quiet—intimate. Just a broken moan as he presses his forehead to yours and lets it all go. He stays inside you this time, body slumped over yours, his arms wrapped around your waist like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

“So,” he says, breathing hard. “Still broken up?”

You stretch under him, muscles sore but satisfied. “You gonna let me go this time?”

Choso pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. “You gonna ask me to?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t leave either. And then he collapses next to you with a smug little grin.

1K notes · View notes

brokenbarnes · 4 months ago

Text

Haunted Eyes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Based on the Episode "The Power Broker" from the Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Zemo is offering the Winter Soldier to Selby for payment, but the reader plays his handler. Hurt/comfort type shyt

Warnings: canon level violence, slight panic attack, mentions of ptsd

A/N: Holy shit guys I haven't written (and posted it) in over four years. I hope you enjoy it, hopefully my writing as improved since high school!

You were unhappy with the idea from the start.

Your best friend, closest confidant, one you’ve watched grow into a new version of himself; forced to play the part of the man he used to be. Could you even consider the Asset a part of Bucky? Would it be rude not to? There’s been many long conversations about who he is now, how he defines himself in this modern era.

Zemo’s plan was awful enough that it could just work. Bucky back under the invisible muzzle of his former self, playing a part to appease a buyer who just couldn’t resist.

If that wasn’t awful enough, Zemo had a role for you as well. His field Handler, his orderly, his master. Someone he would obey every and any command from.

The thought of it made you sick. Your stomach rolled as you zipped up your disguise, provided by Zemo conveniently on the flight to Madripoor. A tactical Kevlar jacket, form fitting dark slacks and heavy combat boots.

Looking in the mirror, you fixed your posture to reflect one with authority. Shoulders back, chin lifted, hands on your hips. You could possibly make this work, if you could see it through.

Bucky didn’t say a word to you at the club. Neon lights, hazy blue smoke, the odor of too many bodies rubbing close together. The Asset is not supposed to speak unless spoken to, therefore his coldness shouldn’t have been a surprise to you.

“Ready to comply, Soldat?” Zemo smirked at him in Russian as Bucky followed you and Sam through the crowd.

You didn’t flinch, but you felt you heart tear in two at the empty look in his eye. How did it come back so easily? The Bucky you woke up to everyday had a warm look in his deep blue eyes, crows feet crinkling when he smiled at you. This was not your Bucky.

As a shady looking man placed his hand on Zemo’s shoulder, you ordered Bucky to attack. He did so without a question, reminding you of the fraction of the man you saw on the DC bridge almost a decade ago. He put men down without blinking, clearing the room as people gasped.

Selby’s lounge was tinted with green neon and a faint smell of cigarette smoke. Your stomach turned at the atmosphere. Zemo lounged in a modern looking chair, Bucky positioned himself between the two, Sam opposite. You stood near Bucky, posture stiff, arms behind your back, face rigid as steel. Bucky was the same.

Selby reminded you of a snake, draped over her disgusting couch, wrapped in expensive materials and reeking of designer alcohol. She eyed your soldier with a hungry gaze, a different emotion burned in your chest.

She greeted Zemo not as a welcomed friend, but as an adversary she couldn’t wait to see what the next move was. You read her well enough to know she was skeptical of Zemo, the rumors of him locked away were supposed to be true. So how was he in Madripoor?

One look at Sam’s face showed you he did not trust Zemo, not one bit. Apparently Bucky did somewhat, or didn’t care about trusting him, just using him to get to the next step. Bucky’s past wasn’t based on trust, it was based on obedience.

And fear.

Zemo remained relaxed in his chair, glancing over at Bucky who stood so stiffly in the corner. His eyes were emotionless, muscles slack. You knew if you placed a muzzle over his mouth, it would be like nothing had changed at all since he came into your life. All the progress he was working towards with you and Dr. Raynor would be gone just like that.

“In exchange for information of the serum, I offer you the Winter Soldier,” he smiled in his sinister way. “Along with the code words to control him of course.”

Selby sat up straighter on her snake skin couch, like a cobra raising it’s head before it attacks. She was interested.

“He will do anything you want,” Zemo mused.

You met Sam’s eye across the room, worried, curious, concerned. Bucky slipped back into the role of someone he never wanted to be ever again. Maybe just a little bit too easily.

“Anything?” She leaned forward, puffing her chest out slightly, eyes locked on Bucky. Not his eyes, anywhere but his eyes in fact. His chest, his shoulders, new and improved arm, thighs, his feet. But she did not look in his eyes.

“Handler?” Zemo’s cold, calculating eyes turned to you. “Care to demonstrate?”

The words were bitter on your tongue, but Zemo’s warning replayed through your head. You cannot break character if you want to live, you have to sell it.

“Ready to comply, Soldat?” You tried to not stumble over the Russian, the language you learned so many years ago. The language that haunted his nightmares, waking up mumbling in a Slavic tongue engrained in his consciousness. Speaking the language for the both of you meant something had gone terribly wrong.

The awful blank stare in eyes remained, but his jaw clenched as he nodded. “Yes, Handler.”

“Kneel, Asset,” you hated the tone of your voice. One you hadn’t used in a long time, one that was never meant for Bucky.

He dropped to his knees at your feet, eyes still staring straight ahead. You tried not to wince as his knees slammed into the hardwood floor without even a moment of hesitation from him.

From the sheath on your thigh, you lifted a knife to his neck. He didn’t blink as the blade pressed into his skin.

“The Asset is completely compliant to your every need,” your voice was brittle, like glass. It appeared strong but one push was all it would take to bring it all down. “He will fight, kill, destroy anyone you ask him to.”

Selby’s hungry eyes asked for more.

“The asset does not think for itself,” you continued. “Anything you ask it to do will happen automatically. Completely submissive for its handler.”

You swallowed hard, turning your attention down to the man at your feet. “Asset, lean forward.”

You watched as Bucky leaned forward, digging the blade into the soft skin of his throat. You fought to keep your expression neutral as a tiny bead of blood trickled over his Adams apple.

“He will do anything without regards for himself.”

Selby smiled, clearly thrilled with her new deal, turned to Zemo and gave up the name of the doctor working on the serum.

“Stand, Asset,” you said, just loud enough to be heard by the one who mattered most.

Bucky returned to his standing position, posture military perfect, eyes staring straight head. A small stream of blood drying over the stubbly skin of his throat.

You were grateful for the tactical jacket when the shooting started. Selby’s lifeless body stared up at you like a snake skin, a hole blown through her sternum.

Although the cover was blown, Selby dead from a mysterious assassin and a whole nightclub full of dangerous people below; you were grateful you were no longer Bucky’s handler. The mask he had donned was gone, the awful, haunted look in his eyes had vanished but left a trace.

Later...

Finding Sharon Carter in Madripoor was not on your bingo card for this mission, but you were grateful for the temporary shelter of her apartment. Bucky lost his Asset attire, Sam no longer looked like a pimp, you were able to borrow some of Sharon’s sensible shoes.

Your adrenaline crashed at Sharon’s apartment, after running for your life from Selby’s night club and a bounty placed on your heads. All of the energy you felt when playing the Handler drained out of you, it was all you had to try and listen to Sharon discuss her situation.

You pulled your feet beneath you on her fancy leather couch, resting your head in your palm against the arm rest. Your mind replaying the image of Bucky leaning into the knife in your hand.

Bucky sat on the other end of the couch, avoiding your eye contact, hands laced together in his lap.

You wished he would catch your eye, lift the corner of his mouth in a subtle smile, reach over and nudge your foot with his. But when he thought nobody was watching, his head hung low, staring down into his lap, bouncing his knee in the way you know meant anxiety was making his skin crawl.

Sharon was hosting a party in the gallery below her luxury apartment, full of questionably authentic art pieces and shady customers.

Although the customers were having fun, the four of you observed, on edge. Despite the open bar, nobody from your party was drinking, silently observing the life Sharon had built for herself.

Bucky noticed as you slipped away, seemingly uncomfortable in your own skin. He silently followed you from a distance, watching you take the elevator up to Sharon’s apartment. He waited and took the next car up.

By the time you reached Sharon’s apartment, your chest was tight and it felt like you were breathing through a straw. No matter how deep of a breath you tried to take, it was never enough air.

You stumbled your way into her bathroom, turning on the sink and watching cold water flow over your wrists. Bracing your forearms against the porcelain, you dropped your head, pressing your eyes into the damp skin.

Tears burned in your eyes, squeezing your eyelids together you tried to contain the guilt building inside.

The scary thing about Bucky was that he could sneak up on you like nobodies business, avoiding squeaky floor boards and balancing his weight just perfectly. He was still like a ghost in many ways, as much as he tried to erase it.

So when he knocked gently on the bathroom door, it startled you, moving you to quickly wipe your eyes.

“Y/N?” His voice was gentle as he called through the door.

You froze, trying to steady your breathing although you knew his super soldier hearing picked up on it through the door.

“Y/N, Honey, let me in,” he murmured, leaning his temple against the door, hand on the doorknob.

“I’m okay,” but your voice was shaking.

“Y/N.”

You sighed, wiping your eyes once last time before opening the door. Your super soldier was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his black long-sleeve shirt. Usually you’d admire how the material stretched across his broad chest, but your eyes were flooded with tears.

You let him in without another word, he shut the door behind him. Sitting down on the lip of the modern-looking tub, you ran your hands through your hair, trying to calm down.

He didn’t speak, his favorite tactic, which drove you crazy. Forcing you to fill the silence like an interrogation technique.

“Bucky, I…” you swallowed hard, guilt stirring in your gut as you looked at him. You blinked quickly before trying again. “Bucky, I don’t ever want to do that again.”

“Do what, Doll?”

“Be your handler,” you spoke the world like it was a slur, a bad taste in your mouth. “Make you… Make you…”

He tilted his head at you, observant eyes watching your every move.

“Honey, you didn’t make me do anything.”

You stood up, standing in front of him as he leaned against the sink.

He had wiped the blood away and the serum had healed the thin skin over his throat, you swore you could still see where your knife had nicked him. You reached out and gently touched the spot under his chin where you had pressed the unyielding steel.

“I hurt you,” you shook your head, chin quivering.

“I’m okay,” he shook his head. Your touch was warm against his skin, he reminds himself that he enjoys this feeling.

“I don’t want to be another person in your life that’s hurt you,” tears spilled over your cheeks now, dripping under the neckline of your borrowed shirt.

He closed his flesh hand around yours, the one that was still tracing the healed line on his skin. His clear eyes met yours, blurry with tears and guilt.

“You are not my handler,” he spoke quietly, but firmly. “I know the difference. You were playing the part, not that it ended up mattering anyway. You didn’t hurt me, Y/N.”

You looked down at your shoes and tried to focus on your breathing. Why was he being so nice to you? You became another figure of those that had hurt him, had turned him into a shell of a human.

“C’mere,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against him. You let your head fall against his shoulder, listening to the metal hum under your ear, a sound that has always brought you comfort.

“There is never a good time to be playing the Winter Soldier,” he spoke softly, just for your ears only. “But if I had to choose anyone to be my handler, I’d choose you any day.”

“Don’t,” you wiped your eyes on the soft cotton of his shirt.

“Nah, I’m serious,” he took a deep breath, which reminded you to copy him. Something you do all the time for him. “You’re the one that’s pulling me out of all this. You know all the dark secrets of my mind.”

“Dark secrets?” You wrinkled your nose, feeling your muscles relax a touch.

“Mhm,” his warm hand felt good on your skin, brushing the tender skin of the underside of your arm. “I trust you.”

Trust was a hard thing for Bucky, you could count on one metal hand the amount of people he trusts. But if Bucky could still trust you after playing the antagonist of his nightmares…

And you knew what those nightmares were like for him, leaving him shaking, sweating, reeling for a grasp on reality. Out of all the handlers he had in his lifetime, you hoped you were the one that showed him the most kindness.

“I don’t want you feeling all mixed up now,” he squeezed you quickly before letting go. “There’s only room for one crazy person in this relationship.”

You wiped your eyes, sneaking a glance in the mirror over his shoulder. He blocked your reflection with his strong back, leaning in to kiss you.

You’re forgiven, he told you, pressing his body into yours.

And that’s all you needed.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #captain america #captain america brave new world

823 notes · View notes

mostlysignssomeportents · 6 months ago

Text

Kickstarting a new Martin Hench novel about the dawn of enshittification

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/07/weird-pcs/#a-mormon-bishop-an-orthodox-rabbi-and-a-catholic-priest-walk-into-a-personal-computing-revolution

Picks and Shovels is a new, standalone technothriller starring Marty Hench, my two-fisted, hard-fighting, tech-scam-busting forensic accountant. You can pre-order it on my latest Kickstarter, which features a brilliant audiobook read by @wilwheaton:

http://martinhench.com

This is the third Hench novel, following on from the nationally bestselling The Bezzle (2024) and Red Team Blues (2023). I wrote Red Team Blues with a funny conceit: what if I wrote the final volume of a beloved, long-running series, without writing the rest of the series? Turns out, the answer is: "Your editor will buy a whole bunch more books in the series!"

My solution to this happy conundrum? Write the Hench books out of chronological order. After all, Marty Hench is a financial hacker who's been in Silicon Valley since the days of the first PCs, so he's been there for all the weird scams tech bros have dreamed up since Jobs and Woz were laboring in their garage over the Apple I. He's the Zelig of high-tech fraud! Look hard at any computing-related scandal and you'll find Marty Hench in the picture, quietly and competently unraveling the scheme, dodging lawsuits and bullets with equal aplomb.

Which brings me to Picks and Shovels. In this volume, we travel back to Marty's first job, in the 1980s – the weird and heroic era of the PC. Marty ended up in the Bay Area after he flunked out of an MIT computer science degree (he was too busy programming computers to do his classwork), and earning his CPA at a community college.

Silicon Valley in the early eighties was wild: Reaganomics stalked the land, the AIDS crisis was in full swing, the Dead Kennedys played every weekend, and man were the PCs ever weird. This was before the industry crystalized into Mac vs PC, back when no one knew what they were supposed to look like, who was supposed to use them, and what they were for.

Marty's first job is working for one of the weirder companies: Fidelity Computing. They sound like a joke: a computer company run by a Mormon bishop, a Catholic priest and an orthodox rabbi. But the joke's on their customers, because Fidelity Computing is a scam: a pyramid sales cult that exploits religious affinities to sell junk PCs that are designed to lock customers in and squeeze them for every dime. A Fidelity printer only works with Fidelity printer paper (they've gimmicked the sprockets on the tractor-feed). A Fidelity floppy drive only accepts Fidelity floppies (every disk is sold with a single, scratched-out sector and the drives check for an error on that sector every time they run).

Marty figures out he's working for the bad guys when they ask him to destroy Computing Freedom, a scrappy rival startup founded by three women who've escaped from Fidelity Computing's cult: a queer orthodox woman who's been kicked out of her family; a radical nun who's thrown in with the Liberation Theology movement in opposing America's Dirty Wars; and a Mormon woman who's quit the church in disgust at its opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment. The women of Computing Freedom have a (ahem) holy mission: to free every Fidelity customer from the prison they were lured into.

Marty may be young and inexperienced, but he can spot a rebel alliance from a light year away and he knows what side he wants to be on. He joins the women in their mission, and we're deep into a computing war that quickly turns into a shooting war. Turns out the Reverend Sirs of Fidelity Computer aren't just scammers – they're mobbed up, and willing to turn to lethal violence to defend their racket.

This is a rollicking crime thriller, a science fiction novel about the dawn of the computing revolution. It's an archaeological expedition to uncover the fossil record of the first emergence of enshittification, a phenomenon that was born with the PC and its evil twin, the Reagan Revolution.

The book comes out on Feb 15 in hardcover and ebook from Macmillan (US/Canada) and Bloomsbury (UK), but neither publisher is doing the audiobook. That's my department.

Why? Well, I love audiobooks, and I especially love the audiobooks for this series, because they're read by the incredible Wil Wheaton, hands down my favorite audiobook narrator. But that's not why I retain my audiobook rights and produce my own audiobooks. I do that because Amazon's Audible service refuses to carry any of my audiobooks.

Here's how that works: Audible is a division of Amazon, and they've illegally obtained a monopoly over the audiobook market, controlling more than 90% of audiobook sales in many genres. That means that if your book isn't for sale on Audible, it might as well not exist.

But Amazon won't let you sell your books on Audible unless you let them wrap those books in "digital rights management," a kind of encryption that locks them to Audible's authorized players. Under Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, it's a felony punishable with a 5-year sentence and a $500k fine to supply you with a tool to remove an audiobook from Audible and play it on a rival app. That applies even if the person who gives you the tool is the creator of the book!

You read that right: if I make an audiobook and then give you the tools to move it out of Amazon's walled garden, I could go to prison for five years! That's a stiffer sentence than you'd face if you were to just pirate the audiobook. It's a harsher penalty than you'd get for shoplifting the book on CD from a truck-stop. It's more draconian than the penalty for hijacking the truck that delivers the CDs!

Amazon knows that every time you buy an audiobook from Audible, you increase the cost you'll have to pay if you switch to a competitor. They use that fact to give readers a worse deal (last year they tried out ads in audiobooks!). But the people who really suffer under this arrangement are the writers, whom Amazon abuses with abandon, knowing they can't afford to leave the service because their readers are locked into it. That's why Amazon felt they could get away with stealing $100 million from indie audiobook creators (and yup, they got away with it):

https://www.audiblegate.com/about

Which is why none of my books can be sold with DRM. And that means that Audible won't carry any of them.

For more than a decade, I've been making my own audiobooks, in partnership with the wonderful studio Skyboat Media and their brilliant director, Gabrielle de Cuir:

https://skyboatmedia.com/

I pay fantastic narrators a fair wage for their work, then I pay John Taylor Williams, the engineer who masters my podcasts, to edit the books and compose bed music for the intro and outro. Then I sell the books at every store in the world – except Audible and Apple, who both have mandatory DRM. Because fuck DRM.

Paying everyone a fair wage is expensive. It's worth it: the books are great. But even though my books are sold at many stores online, being frozen out of Audible means that the sales barely register.

That's why I do these Kickstarter campaigns, to pre-sell thousands of audiobooks in advance of the release. I've done six of these now, and each one was a huge success, inspiring others to strike out on their own, sometimes with spectacular results:

https://www.usatoday.com/story/entertainment/books/2022/04/01/brandon-sanderson-kickstarter-41-million-new-books/7243531001/

Today, I've launched the Kickstarter for Picks and Shovels. I'm selling the audiobook and ebook in DRM-form, without any "terms of service" or "license agreement." That means they're just like a print book: you buy them, you own them. You can read them on any equipment you choose to. You can sell them, give them away, or lend them to friends. Rather than making you submit to 20,000 words of insulting legalese, all I ask of you is that you don't violate copyright law. I trust you!

Speaking of print books: I'm also pre-selling the hardcover of Picks and Shovels and the paperbacks of The Bezzle and Red Team Blues, the other two Marty Hench books. I'll even sign and personalize them for you!

http://martinhench.com

I'm also offering five chances to commission your own Marty Hench story – pick your favorite high-tech finance scam from the past 40 years of tech history, and I'll have Marty bust it in a custom short story. Once the story is published, I'll make sure you get credit. Check out these two cool Little Brother stories my previous Kickstarter backers commissioned:

Spill

https://reactormag.com/spill-cory-doctorow/

Vigilant

https://reactormag.com/vigilant-cory-doctorow/

I'm heading out on tour this winter and spring with the book. I'll be in LA, San Francisco, San Diego, Burbank, Bloomington, Chicago, Richmond VA, Toronto, NYC, Boston, Austin, DC, Baltimore, Seattle, and other dates still added. I've got an incredible roster of conversation partners lined up, too: John Hodgman, Charlie Jane Anders, Dan Savage, Ken Liu, Peter Sagal, Wil Wheaton, and others.

I hope you'll check out this book, and come out to see me on tour and say hi. Before I go, I want to leave you with some words of advance praise for Picks and Shovels:

I hugely enjoyed Picks and Shovels. Cory Doctorow’s reconstruction of the age is note perfect: the detail, the atmosphere, ethos, flavour and smell of the age is perfectly conveyed. I love Marty and Art and all the main characters. The hope and the thrill that marks the opening section. The superb way he tells the story of the rise of Silicon Valley (to use the lazy metonym), inserting the stories of Shockley, IBM vs US Government, the rise of MS – all without turning journalistic or preachy.

The seeds of enshittification are all there… even in the sunlight of that time the shadows are lengthening. AIDS of course, and the coming scum tide of VCs. In Orwellian terms, the pigs are already rising up on two feet and starting to wear trousers. All that hope, all those ideals…

I love too the thesis that San Francisco always has failed and always will fail her suitors.

Despite cultural entropy, enshittification, corruption, greed and all the betrayals there’s a core of hope and honour in the story too.

-Stephen Fry

Cory Doctorow writes as few authors do, with tech world savvy and real world moral clarity. A true storyteller for our times.

-John Scalzi

A crackling, page-turning tumble into an unexpected underworld of queer coders, Mission burritos, and hacker nuns. You will fall in love with the righteous underdogs of Computing Freedom—and feel right at home in the holy place Doctorow has built for them far from Silicon Valley’s grabby, greedy hands."

-Claire Evans, editor of Motherboard Future, author of Broad Band: The Untold Story of the Women Who Made the Internet.

"Wonderful…evokes the hacker spirit of the early personal computer era—and shows how the battle for software freedom is eternal."

-Steven Levy, author of Hackers: Heroes of the Computer Revolution and Facebook: The Inside Story.

What could be better than a Martin Hench thriller set in 1980s San Francisco that mixes punk rock romance with Lotus spreadsheets, dot matrix printers and religious orders? You'll eat this up – I sure did.

-Tim Wu, Special Assistant to the President for Technology and Competition Policy, author of The Master Switch: The Rise and Fall of Information Empires

Captures the look and feel of the PC era. Cory Doctorow draws a portrait of a Silicon Valley and San Francisco before the tech bros showed up — a startup world driven as much by open source ideals as venture capital gold.

-John Markoff, Pulitzer-winning tech columnist for the New York Times and author of What the Doormouse Said: How the Sixties Counterculture Shaped the Personal Computer Industry

You won't put this book down – it's too much fun. I was there when it all began. Doctorow's characters and their story are real.

-Dan'l Lewin, CEO and President of the Computer History Museum

678 notes · View notes

inseobts · 3 months ago

Note

hellow^^ can u please write where female reader is jealous with Robin after she teleported next to Law on that one episode in wano? thank you!! :>

Shambles of the Heart

law × reader

a/n: this was fun to write ngl

words count: 5.1k

tags: jealousy, fluffy, soft law, wano arc

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The dimly lit passageway beneath Wano feels both ancient and mysterious. You trail behind Robin, Law, and Sukiyaki, your footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. The air is thick with history, each corner revealing remnants of a bygone era.

As you descend deeper, the path opens up to a vast underground cavern, revealing the submerged ruins of an ancient civilization. Robin’s eyes light up with scholarly excitement, immediately approaching the window at the end of the narrow corridor to look at the submerged city.

You can’t help but smile, watching her so absorbed. You’ve always admired Robin’s passion for uncovering history’s secrets. But then, a feeling begins to gnaw at you. You glance over at Law, who is walking beside you, hands stuffed into his pockets as usual, his expression unreadable.

Without a word, Law suddenly vanishes from your side, reappearing instantly beside Robin with a soft pop, courtesy of his Shambles ability.

Your brow furrows.

You feel your stomach twist uncomfortably, but you try to brush it off. It’s nothing, you tell yourself. They’re just really curious about ancient things. No big deal.

But then, as you look at them, you see how close they are in that narrow corridor, how their faces are so close, and the blue light of the sea filtering through the window. Their eyes are locked on the submerged city, their curiosity shared in that quiet, intimate way that makes something uncomfortable stir inside you.

Yup, this is making you incredibly jealous.

Couldn’t he wait and go there after her? The thought keeps repeating itself in your mind.

You feel a familiar heat creep up your neck. The jealousy isn’t rational, you know that. It’s just a small moment. But the way they stand there, side by side, engrossed in the same discovery, makes your chest tighten. You wish you were the one standing next to him. You wish he had walked over there with you first.

You bite your lip and try to keep your emotions in check. You turn your head, staring at the ancient walls, anything to avoid looking at the two of them.

After a long, painful moment, Robin turns back to the group. “This city is beautiful,” she says with wonder, taking one last look before stepping away from the window.

You exhale, the tension easing slightly, but you remain silent. You don’t look at Law.

Sukiyaki continues his explanation, his voice drifting in the background as you remain lost in your thoughts. You hear Law’s voice faintly asking something to Robin, but you don’t pay attention. You’re too busy trying to ignore the hollow feeling in your chest.

After a few minutes, Law glances over at you. He notices the distance between you and the rest of the group “You cold?” he asks, his tone soft, but there’s a hint of concern.

You don’t respond right away, not trusting yourself to speak. Instead, you take a step away from him and pull your coat tighter around your shoulders “No, I’m fine” you mutter, trying to keep your voice steady.

He watches you for a moment, clearly sensing something is off, but doesn’t press. Instead, he turns back to the group. The rest of the walk feels awkward, and you can’t shake the feeling of being left out. Robin and Law fall into a quiet conversation, their voices too soft for you to hear. You trail behind, keeping your distance.

When you finally emerge from the underground ruins and return to the festivities above, the warmth of the Flower Capital feels suffocating after the cold, stone silence of the caverns. The vibrant energy of the crowd greets you, but you’re not in the mood to join in. You push through the throngs of people, not stopping to talk to anyone.

You spot Zoro leaning against a nearby wall, a sake bottle in hand, clearly in the middle of trying to relax after the earlier chaos. You make your way over to him, your steps quick and deliberate.

He looks at you as you approach, one eyebrow raised “What’s up?” he asks, his voice gruff but casual.

“Can I join you for a drink?” you ask, trying to sound calm, though your heart is still tight with frustration.

Zoro takes a long swig from the bottle before tossing it to you “Sure, but I’m not a bartender.”

You catch it and open the cap, feeling the familiar warmth of the alcohol. You take a deep drink, the taste sharp and bitter, but it helps clear your mind, even if just a little.

Zoro glances at you again, sizing you up “What’s bugging you?”

You shake your head, not meeting his gaze “Nothing.”

He’s not convinced, of course “You’re clearly pissed off. Who pissed you off?”

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you take another drink. The liquid burns its way down your throat. Finally, you speak “It’s nothing, really” you mutter, “Just… tired, you know?”

Zoro shrugs “Whatever. You’re the one with the problem. But you’re not fooling anyone.”

You roll your eyes “I’m fine, Zoro. Just… give me a little space, okay?”

He doesn’t argue, instead turning back to look at the ongoing festival. You focus on your drink, taking another sip as your mind drifts. Law’s face flashes in your mind, his voice asking if you were cold, but you quickly push the thought away. You don’t need him right now. You just need to get through the night.

Later, you feel the vibrations of footsteps approaching, the soft sound of boots against the wooden floor. You turn slightly to see Law walking through the crowd, his eyes scanning for you.

You lower your gaze, pretending not to notice. You can feel his presence, even from a distance. He stops a few feet away, hesitating.

“Hey,” he calls softly, his voice cutting through the noise of the crowd “Are you… okay?”

You don’t look up at him, just nodding slightly “I’m fine.”

He steps closer, but you take a small step back, avoiding him “You’ve been distant,” he murmurs, his voice carrying a hint of confusion and concern “What’s wrong?”

“I said I’m fine” you repeat, a little more sharply this time, hoping it will make him stop asking.

For a moment, there’s silence. Law doesn’t say anything more. He doesn’t push you.

Finally, he sighs softly, his shoulders slumping just a bit “Alright… if you need me, I’ll be around.”

You don’t answer. You just take another drink, eyes trained on the distant lights of the festival.

The night stretches on, and you can feel the festival around you, but it feels distant. The laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses, they all blur into a background hum. You take another drink from the sake bottle, feeling the warm liquid settle in your stomach, but it doesn’t settle the discomfort inside you.

You can’t shake the image of Law and Robin standing together by that window, the way he teleported next to her so easily, so naturally. That small, casual moment gnaws at you, and the jealousy that stirred deep inside you now feels like a weight in your chest.

It’s not just that they were so close, but that they seemed so in sync in their shared interest. Robin, always the scholar, and Law, always serious about uncovering secrets of the world, their faces lighting up at the same things, discussing the ruins like they were the only two people who could understand the weight of history. You admire both of their passions for history, but right now, it makes you feel small. In that narrow corridor, they were a pair of like-minded souls, and you felt like an outsider.

And it hurts. You’re with Law. He’s yours. But seeing how deeply they connect over this shared interest stirs something in you that you don’t want to acknowledge. You can’t help it... it makes you feel inferior, insecure. It’s like you’re not enough for him when it comes to the things that matter most to him.

You take another drink, trying to drown the thoughts. But it’s no use. The image of Robin and Law, engrossed in conversation, their faces so close, keeps replaying in your mind. You were standing there, watching them as they practically shared the same breath, and it hurt.

Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe you’re being unreasonable. But you can’t deny the sting of seeing them so close, the way they were so absorbed in each other’s thoughts, their passion for the past so easy to share. Couldn’t he have waited for you? Couldn’t he have walked the few steps to the window like you did?

Zoro doesn’t say much after that, keeping to himself, but every now and then, he gives you a sideways glance, probably sensing you’re not fine. He knows better than to press, though. It’s one of the reasons you like drinking with him. No judgment. Just quiet company.

But then, just as you’re about to take another sip of your drink, you hear it – the familiar sound of boots against the ground. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat.

Law is standing there again, just a few steps away. You don’t turn to look at him, though you feel his presence as if it’s pressing against you. He’s silent for a long moment, his eyes lingering on you, and then he speaks in a voice softer than you’ve heard in a while.

“Can we talk?”

You don’t respond immediately. Your fingers grip the bottle tighter, your knuckles whitening as you fight the urge to snap at him. You don’t want to talk. Not yet. Not when your emotions are still raw and tangled up in confusion.

Finally, you take a deep breath and mutter without looking up, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Law’s voice remains steady, though you can hear the faintest crack of frustration beneath the surface “There is. You’re avoiding me.”

You feel a sharp pang of guilt, but you push it aside “I’m not avoiding you” you say, but even to your own ears, the words sound hollow.

“You are.” He steps a little closer, but this time, you don’t move away. Maybe you’re too tired to put up the wall again “You’ve barely said a word since we left the ruins.”

You don’t know how to explain it. How could you put into words what’s been eating at you all night? That nagging jealousy, that sinking feeling you couldn’t quite shake. You look at him, finally meeting his gaze, but even that feels like a betrayal. You look away almost immediately.

“I just need some space” you mutter, voice low.

Law stands still for a moment, his gaze unwavering. You can feel him searching your face, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly, he responds “Is it because of earlier?” His words cut through the air, simple and direct.

You stiffen at the question, the knot in your stomach tightening. Your lips press into a thin line as you look up at him again “You teleported next to Robin. You didn’t even wait a second. I don’t know, maybe I just—”

Your voice falters, and you stop yourself before you can say too much. You don’t want to sound foolish, even though that’s exactly how you feel. Your heart races, but you swallow hard, pushing through the discomfort “It’s nothing.”

Law’s brows furrow, his expression softening “It’s not nothing.” He steps closer, his voice lower now “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just… wanted to see what Robin was looking at. I didn’t think it’d bother you.”

You feel a strange mix of relief and frustration. Relief because he didn’t mean anything by it, but frustration because your feelings are still messy “It’s not about that. It’s just…” You let out a sigh, feeling stupid for not being able to explain what you feel “I don’t like seeing you so close to her. You two always talk about these things I don’t understand, like it’s something only you two can appreciate.”

His expression softens at your words, but it still doesn’t quite reach your heart “I didn’t think it would upset you, but you’re right. Robin and I… we share an interest in ancient history. But that doesn’t mean I don’t value you.”

Your heart flutters a little, but you’re still caught in the cloud of doubt “It feels like you’re always in your own world when you’re with her, and I’m just left out. You two get each other, and sometimes, I feel like I don’t.”

The words spill out faster than you can stop them. You can see the confusion flicker across his face, but it’s soon replaced by concern.

“I care about you,” he says softly, his tone earnest “You’re not left out. You never are.”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips “Then why didn’t you walk over to the window with me, huh? Why did you have to teleport next to Robin like it was nothing? Why do you both always talk about things I don’t know anything about?”

Law’s eyes widen at the accusation, and you instantly regret it, but the words hang in the air like smoke.

“You think I don’t care about you?” he says quietly, taking another step closer “That’s not it. Robin and I… we share an interest. But I’m not with Robin. I’m with you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and the guilt begins to weigh heavier than the jealousy. You look away, unable to meet his eyes “I know. But it doesn’t stop how I feel.”

Law takes a deep breath, stepping closer still until there’s no more distance between you two “Listen to me,” he says, voice low and firm “I’m not going anywhere. And I want to share everything with you. Not Robin. You.”

You swallow hard, and there’s a long, charged silence between you two. Finally, you look up at him, your heart heavy with a mixture of insecurity and hope.

“I just need some time to get over it,” you say softly, the words coming easier now “I don’t want to feel like this, but I do. And I don’t want to mess things up with you.”

He nods slowly, his gaze steady “Take all the time you need. But I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

You nod, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. It’s not resolved, not yet. But for the first time in what feels like hours, you don’t feel quite so alone in the feeling.

The cool night air stings against your skin as you step out of the tavern, the laughter from the festivities echoing distantly. The weight of your conversation with Law still lingers, but it��s less suffocating now, more manageable. You’re still uncertain about a lot of things, but there’s a quiet sense of reassurance that wasn’t there before.

Zoro is leaning against the side of the building, the ever-present bottle of sake in his hand. He gives you a lazy glance when you exit, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Everything good?” he asks, his tone casual, though there’s a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

You nod, though you’re not sure if everything is truly good. It feels like you’re still in the middle of something, but at least you’re not hiding from it anymore.

“Yeah,” you say, taking a deep breath “Just…needed to talk things out.”

Zoro doesn’t press. Instead, he takes a swig from his bottle and hands it to you without a word. You accept it and drink, the sharpness of the alcohol grounding you.

As the silence stretches on, your mind drifts back to Law. You can still feel the weight of his words, and the way he said he was there for you. He meant it. You know that much. But there’s still that lingering uncertainty in your chest, the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’re not enough for him when it comes to these things he shares with Robin.

But you’re trying. You’re really trying to let it go.

“So,” Zoro says, breaking the silence again, his eyes flicking toward the crowd, “what’s your plan?”

“Plan?” you repeat, furrowing your brow.

“Yeah. I’m assuming you’re not gonna stay sulking for too long.”

You let out a soft laugh “I’m not sulking.”

“Sure you’re not,” Zoro says with a grin, clearly not buying it “So, what are you gonna do? You going to talk to Law, or…?”

You take another sip from the bottle, staring off into the night. The conversation with Law had helped, but you still felt a bit too raw to face him again right now. You wanted to clear the air, but your emotions were still a tangled mess, and you weren’t sure how to approach him.

“I don’t know yet,” you say after a moment “I want to… but it’s hard. I don’t want to make him feel like he’s walking on eggshells, but I also don’t want to ignore how I’m feeling.”

Zoro chuckles, a little too knowingly “You should probably stop thinking so much. Just talk to him. You two have been together long enough, yeah? He’s not gonna bite your head off.”

You let out a soft sigh, running a hand through your hair “I know. I just… I’m afraid it’ll happen again, you know? That feeling of being left out. Like I’m not enough when it comes to the things that matter to him.”

Zoro watches you for a moment, his gaze thoughtful “You’re being an idiot.”

You blink at him, surprised by the bluntness “Excuse me?”

“Look,” he says, straightening up and taking another swig from his bottle “you’re enough. Law’s not some guy who’s gonna run off because someone else shares a hobby with him. You should know that by now.”

You open your mouth to respond but stop yourself, realizing he’s right. He’s right, and you do know that. You just didn’t want to feel like a second choice, like you were in the background while Law and Robin got lost in their shared history obsession.

Zoro shrugs “If you want to fix it, stop thinking about what Robin and Law have and focus on what you have with Law. He’s your partner. Don’t forget that.”

You nod, the weight of his words settling in. It makes sense. It’s not about what Law shares with Robin; it’s about what you share with him. And maybe you’re being a little too quick to let jealousy cloud your judgment.

“Thanks, Zoro” you murmur, feeling lighter than before. Maybe it’s time to stop avoiding the problem and face it head-on.

Zoro doesn’t respond, but he gives you a small, approving nod as you walk away. You’re not entirely sure what comes next, but you’re determined to make it right.

Back at the inn, you find Law sitting at one of the tables, a glass of sake in hand. His usual calm demeanor is there, but there’s a subtle tension in his posture, like he’s waiting for you to approach him. You take a deep breath and walk over, stopping a few steps away from him.

“Hey” you say quietly, trying to keep the nervousness from your voice.

Law looks up, his gaze softening when he sees you “Hey,” he replies, voice calm but with a hint of concern “You okay?”

You hesitate for a moment, but then, with a small sigh, you sit across from him “I’ve been thinking about things. About earlier.”

Law places his glass down, his full attention on you now “You wanna talk?”

You nod “Yeah. I think I owe you that much.”

For a few moments, you don’t say anything, just gathering your thoughts. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s full of unspoken emotions, things that both of you are still trying to process.

“I was jealous,” you admit, looking down at your hands “I don’t know why, but I felt… left out. Like I wasn’t enough when it comes to things you and Robin share. You two talk about ancient history, and it’s like you’re speaking a different language. I just feel… like I’m not part of that.”

Law is quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. You look up at him, unsure if you’ve said the right thing.

“You don’t have to be part of everything I share with Robin” he says gently, his voice low and steady “It’s not about you not being enough. It’s just that we have a shared interest in ancient history. But that doesn’t change anything between us.”

You feel a tightness in your chest loosen as he speaks, his words reassuring you “I know. I’ve been thinking about that, and I understand it now. It’s just… hard sometimes, seeing you two get so lost in something you both care about. I feel like I don’t belong in those moments.”

Law reaches across the table, placing his hand over yours “You belong with me, always. I never want you to feel left out. I’m with you.”

You feel your heart beat a little faster as you look at him, his gaze sincere and unwavering “I’m sorry for being so insecure about it. I don’t want to shut you out.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he says softly, squeezing your hand “You’re with me, and that’s all that matters. No one else matters in the way you do.”

You smile, feeling the last of the tension fade “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

He smiles back, the weight of the conversation lifting “Anytime.”

For a moment, everything feels right again. The world outside fades into the background as you and Law sit together, knowing that things may not be perfect, but you’re in this together. And that’s enough.

The night is still young, and though the festival has quieted down, there’s a lightness in the air, a sort of magic lingering after your conversation with Law. You’re both standing in the inn’s courtyard, still feeling the warmth from your words, and it seems as if the night has opened up with endless possibilities.

Law glances at you, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes “Want to go somewhere? Somewhere quiet?”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued “Quiet? What do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, with a slight smirk, he steps closer to you, and before you can react, he taps his fingers against your wrist. You feel that familiar pull of his Shambles ability, and in an instant, you’re no longer standing in the courtyard but somewhere completely different.

You blink, your heart skipping a beat as you take in the breathtaking view before you.

You’re standing atop a cliff, overlooking a serene valley, the sea stretching out beneath a starry sky. The wind brushes gently against your skin, carrying the scent of salt and earth. Far off in the distance, you hear the faint sounds of fireworks echoing through the air. But more than that, you can see them, the bright bursts of color lighting up the dark sky in a dazzling display.

You turn to Law, surprised “Where are we?”

His smile softens as he watches the fireworks light up the night sky “Just somewhere I thought we could be alone, away from all the noise. I thought it’d be nice to enjoy this… just the two of us.”

Your heart swells at his words, and for a moment, the world feels still, like time has slowed just for the two of you. The sounds of the fireworks fade into the background as you focus on him. The way his eyes glisten with the soft glow of the explosions above, the faint curve of his lips as he looks at you.

“It’s beautiful” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but his gaze shifts to you, catching your eyes. For a moment, neither of you says anything, words feel unnecessary here, with the connection between you stronger than anything you could say. The sounds of the fireworks continue to boom in the distance, but it feels like you’re in your own world, a quiet, perfect bubble where nothing can touch you.

You step closer to him, your heart beating a little faster now, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling around you. You glance up at him, finding him already watching you, a look in his eyes that makes you feel seen in the most comforting way possible. You can see the care in his gaze, the understanding, and beneath that, something more, a warmth, a tenderness that makes your chest tighten with emotion.

Without thinking, you take a small step forward and rest your hand on his chest, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his coat. His hand instinctively moves to your waist, pulling you just a little closer, the space between you vanishing in a single, quiet moment.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely audible, but the gratitude in it is clear “For bringing me here. For… understanding.”

Law’s expression softens, his thumb lightly brushing the small of your back “I’ll always understand you. No matter what.”

You feel your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. This moment, with him, feels like everything you’ve ever wanted and more. It’s quiet, simple, and filled with meaning. You could stay here forever, just standing with him beneath the stars, watching the fireworks paint the sky.

“You’re not just saying that, are you?” you ask, teasing him lightly, trying to ease the fluttering in your chest.

He smirks, a playful glint returning to his eyes “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

You smile, relieved “Good.”

And just like that, the playful tension between you shifts into something deeper, something far more intimate. You lift your eyes to the fireworks again, but your attention keeps drifting back to Law. You’ve shared so much already, but it feels like this moment, right here, right now, holds something more.

Without another word, Law leans down, his lips meeting yours in a slow, tender kiss. It’s soft at first, just the gentle brush of his lips against yours, as if he’s savoring the closeness, the intimacy. You melt into him, your hands moving up to cup his face, feeling the roughness of his skin, the warmth of his breath against yours.

The fireworks burst above you, their bright colors flickering in the night sky, but all you can focus on is him, the way his hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you even closer, the way his kiss deepens as if to convey everything he’s feeling, everything you’ve just shared.

For a few moments, there’s nothing but him, nothing but the warmth between you two. The world outside disappears, and all that matters is the closeness, the feeling of being completely wrapped up in each other.

When you pull away, both of you are breathless, your hearts pounding in unison. Law looks down at you, his thumb brushing across your cheek in the gentlest of motions.

“You make it hard to think straight” he murmurs, his voice husky, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You smile back, your own heart still racing “Maybe that’s the point.”

You lean in to kiss him again, but the fireworks are still going, the sky lighting up around you, their bursts of color reflecting in his eyes. This moment feels like it could last forever. The world seems so far away, as if nothing could ever shake the peace you’ve found together.

And in the quiet after the kiss, with the fireworks still painting the sky, you realize something that you hadn’t quite understood until now, no matter the insecurities, no matter the doubts, there’s no one else you’d rather be with than him. You and Law, standing beneath the stars, are more than enough.

The fireworks continue to explode above you, casting colorful hues across the night sky, but it’s the quiet moments between you and Law that stand out the most. His touch lingers on your skin, his presence next to you like an anchor in a world that can often feel chaotic. The lingering warmth of his kiss, the softness in his eyes... it all feels like it’s just the two of you, with nothing else in the world mattering.

You pull away slightly, taking a breath, and then look up at him, your gaze steady and certain.

“You know, I never realized how much I needed this” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper “The peace. With you.”

Law’s eyes soften, a small but sincere smile curving at the corners of his lips. He leans in, brushing his forehead against yours “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve always needed you. You and me, together. Nothing else.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. There’s no need to. Everything you both wanted to say has already been shared, in the looks, in the touch, in the simple act of being close. It’s all been said, and in this quiet, peaceful moment, you realize that all the doubts and insecurities you once felt don’t matter anymore. You’ve worked through them together.

The fireworks eventually start to fade, their last bursts leaving trails of light in the sky before dying out. But the two of you remain, standing side by side, your hands still entwined, the quiet comfort of the moment settling over you like a warm blanket.

As the sky darkens even more, you find yourself leaning against him, the soft sound of his breathing calming your racing heart. You feel safe here, in his arms, with nothing but the sounds of the night and the remnants of the fireworks in the distance.

“I think I’ve had enough fireworks for tonight” you say softly, your fingers tracing small patterns on his coat.

He chuckles, a low, rich sound that makes your heart flutter “I think I’ve had enough fireworks for a lifetime. As long as you’re here.”

You look up at him, meeting his eyes, your heart full of love “I’m not going anywhere, Law.”

And in that moment, under the stars, with the last traces of the fireworks fading away, you realize that this is what you’d always wanted. No more insecurity. No more fear. Just the two of you, together, facing whatever comes next. Because together, you can handle anything.

“I love you” you say, the words feeling more real than ever before.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin gently, before he lowers his head to press a soft kiss to your forehead “I love you too.”

And as the two of you stand there, alone in the night, you know that this is only the beginning of the journey ahead. No matter what comes, you’ll face it together, just like you always should have.

860 notes · View notes

dixonsdarkelf · 5 months ago

Text

Not An Invitation: Daryl Dixon & Fem!Reader

Full title: This is not an invitation (fuck you mean you need it?)

Summary: Shane never knew when he wasn't welcome in someone's space, and he was often invading yours. After one time too many, a certain archer comes to your defense. Inspired by the song 'Invitation' by Ashnikko.

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist AO3 link

Era: Season 2, Greene Farm

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: No use of y/n, swearing, Shane being a major-league creep

“I told you to leave me alone,” you protested. The anger you’d been able to keep at bay thus far threatened to bubble over, simmering just below boiling point under the surface. You were usually the more relaxed one in the group—calm, level-headed, and rational. You hated confrontation and aimed to avoid it at all costs. But you’d had enough.

Shane took a liking to you from the moment you arrived at the farm. He’d often find ways to get close to you, even if what he was supposed to be doing was nowhere near where you were. You’d told him to scram on more than one occasion, usually under the guise of needing to scamper off to do your chores.

One thing about Shane, however, was that he didn’t know how to take no for an answer.

“All I said was you’re lookin’ good today,” he repeated. With an eye roll heavy enough to nearly roll your head back with it, you rose from your spot on the porch and started walking away, knowing the asshole deputy was close behind.

“That isn’t all you said, and you know that,” you snapped, not so much as turning your head back to look at him as you kept walking. He’d said far more than just that, as he often did. His other commentary made your stomach churn, and it was enough for you to not ever think of repeating it.

“C’mon, it’s just a little harmless fun,” he sighed, picking up his pace to catch up to you. You swallowed hard and kept your eyes on the field in front of you. The only one having fun in this situation was him.

“Hardly call it harmless,” you scoffed. You heard him catch up to you, but before he could get close enough to reach for your arm, he was, as he would have put it, “rudely interrupted.”

Your saving grace approached from your peripheral, slipping past you without a word to confront the man on your heels. He stood between you, not quite completely shielding you from Shane’s prying eyes, but close. You couldn’t see, but you pictured his beautiful, piercing baby blues searing through Shane. It brought a hint of a smile to your face to know that, of all people who could’ve come to your defense, the handsome archer was the one.

Daryl Dixon was the quietest one of the group, often keeping to himself in his tent on the outskirts of your makeshift campsite. You’d heard him equated to a feral dog, minus the possible rabies. He was more than just a little rough around the edges, but you saw right through it. You knew there was more to the man behind the crossbow.

Shane had taken a liking to you, but you had taken a liking to Daryl.

“Think she said to back off,” Daryl cut in. You looked up at him. eyes traveling from his chestnut locks to his broad shoulders and up to the beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck. Some would say it was from the heat. Others might say it was from anger.

“Don’t think I was talkin’ to you, Dixon.” Having been a cop in the old world, Shane was used to bossing people around without any back talk. His voice was rigid, sharp enough to slice through anyone who got in his way. Except for Daryl.

“Dun’ think she was wantin’ to talk to ya,” he repeated, more stern this time. He held his crossbow firmly in his hands,

You’d never seen him use it on anyone in the group

When Daryl didn’t so much as flinch, Shane took one last look at you before walking off, his tail between his legs. You hadn’t realized that every muscle in your body tensed up, but the moment Shane was out of sight, you relaxed, quickly steadying yourself. Once you did, you went to turn to Daryl, but during your moment of unsteadiness, he’d pondered off. You would just have to thank him later.

Later that afternoon, after all your work had been completed, you wandered over to Daryl’s tent, half-expecting him to not be there. Yet there he was, carving a stick into a bolt for the thousandth time. You ran a hand through your hair to brush it out of your eyes before gathering the courage to get close enough to talk to him. Once you were only a few feet away, he looked up at you, those gorgeous pools of blue making your heart stop.

This was the closest in proximity you two had ever been while alone.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you,” you said, your voice timid in comparison to your usual confidence. You had no evidence that you’d spooked him, but you were nervous, and not knowing what else to say to start the conversation, that’s what came out.

“Dun’ get spooked,” he replied, focusing his attention back on the stick in his hands. The movements of his knife were fluid, easy, like he’d done it so many times, he could do it in his sleep. It was simultaneously attractive and terrifying.

“I, umm…” your voice trailed off, the whole monologue you’d prepared in your head being dwindled down to two simple words as your nerves took over, “thanks, Daryl.”

He looked back up at you again. “For what?”

“For earlier,” you explained, “for what happened with Shane.” You lowered yourself slowly, hesitantly, as if you were still deciding whether or not to sit down despite doing so. You made sure to keep your distance as to respect his personal space.

“Wasn’t nothin’,” he assured, pausing his handiwork, “asshole’s bein’ a creep. Someone had to put ‘em in his place.”

A small smile graced your lips. “Well, if meant a lot to me.” He simply nodded and continued what he was doing, but you weren’t finished. “He said a lot worse, y’know? You just weren’t around for that.”

Daryl’s gaze scanned over you, like he was trying to read between the empty spaces of your words, eager for more details but not pressing. He’d known Shane for far longer than you had, and he was well-aware of the kind of shit he’d said to women in the past. The thought of him saying such vile things to you made him sick, but he kept his expression stoic, same as always.

You echoed your earlier words, your voice thick with emotion. “So…thank you.”

“Dun’ mention it,” he reassured. For a brief moment, you thought you’d caught a glimpse, a tiny hint, of a smile from the archer. However, it was so quick, almost like a glitch, and you couldn’t be sure.

“Do you mind if I stay here for a while? I don’t exactly feel like going back to the others yet,” you confessed.

“Long as ya promise to be quiet,” he teased, “had enough yappin’ from Sheriff Shithead already.”

You chuckled softly and dropped your gaze for a moment before meeting his again. For a brief moment, his heart stopped, taking in the stunning sight and sound in front of him. Your laugh was like music to his ears. “I can do that.”

The silence between you was soft, comfortable, the only sounds around you being the birds in the trees and his knife scraping across yet another stick. And you sat just like that for hours, not bothered that barely a word was exchanged.

General taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley @negansbestie @holdmytesseract @dixons-sunshine

GIF, 'continue reading' divider and © message below were created by me. Three-heart divider was created by @/enchanthings.

474 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 9 months ago

Text

triassic love song — gojo satoru.

“They were together until the very end.” you said softly, your voice carried by the gentle wind. “I hope they’re still together, wherever they are.” The tall man took a deep breath, turning his head to look at you. For a moment, his blue gaze seemed distant, as though he were seeing something—or someone—far beyond the present. But then his lips curled into a small, sad smile. “They will be, you know?” he replied quietly, his voice deep and filled with a quiet conviction. “Some loves are strong enough to last forever. They…they transcend, even time.”

GENRE: alternate universe - reincarnation au!;

WARNING/S: edo japan era, nsfw, angst, fluff, romance, hurt/comfort, engagement, hurt, physical touch, implied character death(s), natural disaster(s), mourning, pain, grief, happy ending, depiction of natural disaster(s), depiction of suffering, depiction of character death(s), depiction of violent destruction, depiction of grief, depiction of suffering, mention of implied character death(s), mention of death(s), mention of suffering, mention of destruction, mention of earthquake-related destruction, fiance! gojo, fiance! reader, reincarnated! gojo, reincarnated! reader;

WORD COUNT: 8.6k words

NOTE: this song has ruined me beyond understanding. paris paloma, your album was just insane like im sorry. the fact that she wrote a song about the triassic cuddle inspired me to write something similar and i just??? i can't help myself. ive been so crazy about this song that i just decided, you know what. this is great. this is just something i would in fact like to bawl my eyes out writing. and i did. i did that. and i hope you cry with me and enjoy it. anyway, i love you all so much <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

IT WAS ENJOYABLE TO BE TOGETHER. IIt was forbidden to be together at this time, with the curfew in place, but you couldn’t help yourself. Not when it came to him. The world outside was still, bound by rules meant to keep order, but within the quiet sanctuary of your family estate, the constraints of the outside world seemed distant and unimportant. Inside, warmth and anticipation filled the air, thick as the lingering scent of incense that wafted through the halls. The soft glow of lanterns bathed the room in a warm light, casting shadows across the delicate shoji screens, and reflecting off the polished wooden beams and traditional tatami mats beneath you.

Gojo Satoru sat beside you, his presence magnetic as always, but tonight, something was different. His signature smirk still played at the corners of his lips, and his bright, sparkling eyes glimmered with mischief. But beneath that playfulness was an undeniable depth, a new layer of emotion that wasn’t there before—an unspoken excitement, a shared understanding that you were no longer just childhood friends.

You were now betrothed.

Bound by the ties of engagement that your noble families had arranged, it felt as though a long-awaited dream had finally come true. And though you had known each other all your lives, this new bond between you carried a weight of its own, something that made your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected. The happiness you felt was undeniable, shared in the way Satoru’s hand occasionally brushed against yours, in the subtle glances that said everything words couldn’t.

“You’re quieter than usual, don't you think?" Satoru remarked with a teasing lilt, his voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of something more serious. He leaned in slightly, his gaze locking onto yours, as if daring you to speak first.

You smiled, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks under his intense scrutiny. “I could say the same about you, hm?” you replied, trying to match his teasing tone, though your voice betrayed the flurry of emotions swirling within you.

Satoru chuckled softly, leaning back on his hands, eyes never leaving yours. “Well, it’s not every day you get engaged to your best friend!” he said, his tone light, but his expression softened as his usual bravado gave way to sincerity.

That sincerity took your breath away, and for a moment, the reality of the moment hit you fully. You weren’t just sneaking out to spend time with him as you had countless times before. This was different. This was a promise, one sealed by the love you’d always shared but never fully acknowledged until now.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know?” you admitted quietly, your eyes meeting his. “For us to be more than just... childhood friends.”

Satoru’s playful demeanor softened even more, a rare seriousness taking over his expression as he reached out to take your hand in his. His fingers were warm, and the simple gesture sent a shiver down your spine.

“Me too.” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “For a long time.”

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. The world outside was still and silent, but inside this room, the air seemed alive with the energy between you. The gravity of the situation settled in—this wasn’t just a fleeting moment. It was the beginning of something much bigger, something that both excited and terrified you.

“You always did like breaking the rules.” you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension, though your heart pounded in your chest. “Staying out past curfew, sneaking into my room like this...”

Satoru grinned, his usual confidence returning. “I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t, right?” he quipped, though the softness in his gaze lingered. “Besides, how could I stay away from you tonight? Our first night as an engaged couple... I had to be here.”

You laughed, but it was a soft, breathless sound, the kind that came when words failed to fully capture the emotions coursing through you. “I’m glad you’re here, Satoru.” you whispered.

He smiled, that warm, heart-melting smile that was reserved just for you, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered. Not the rules, not the expectations placed on you by your families, not even the looming responsibilities of your engagement. It was just you and him, sharing a quiet, intimate moment that you knew you would cherish forever.

“I brought something for you.” Satoru said after a brief pause, reaching into his sleeve and pulling out a small bundle of paper. “I wrote these for you.”

You blinked in surprise, watching as he carefully unfolded the papers. “Poems?”

He nodded, the tiniest hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks, something you rarely saw from him. “Yeah, don’t laugh!” he added quickly, though the look in his eyes told you he trusted you completely. “I’ve been working on them for a while...”

You took the papers from him, your fingers brushing his as you did. The sheets were neatly folded, each one carefully written in his distinct handwriting. It touched you deeply to know that he had taken the time to craft these for you, that he had poured his heart into something so personal. Something for you, with all his love.

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I could never laugh, my dearest.” you said softly, your voice sincere. “Thank you, Satoru.”

"I made these for you, my beloved." he whispered, pulling out one of the carefully folded parchment from your grasp and unfolded it. "Listen to me, alright?"

His slender fingers traced the delicate paper before he began to read softly, his voice like a gentle breeze:

"Beneath the cherry bloom, I wait

for you, a light that never fades.

In silence, your name takes root in my soul—

a promise written long before time."

His tender words wove into your heart, each syllable filled with the love he had always held for you, now finally given shape. You leaned against him, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours, comforted by the sound of his heartbeat that matched your own excitement. The future felt certain, and the night was perfect. You kept listening to his voice, letting it guide you into the tender slumber of the night.

Satoru leaned closer to you, watching your expression, his bright blue eyes filled with a mix of anticipation and affection. Your orbs gazed at the tender strokes of his writing.

His calligraphy had always been so beautiful, but to form such words in order to capture not just the feelings he had for you, it was even more beautiful. And to have him read it with such affection, such love — for you and only you…..what could be more beautiful? What could be more perfect, more delightful?

But then, the ground beneath you shifted, a low rumble reverberating through the tatami mats. At first, it was subtle, almost imperceptible, but within seconds, the shaking intensified. It was subtle at first, a low rumble that made the lanterns flicker.

Satoru paused, his brow furrowing. Before you could ask, the ground shook violently, and the delicate house groaned under the pressure. Screams erupted from other rooms, echoing through the halls as the tremor grew stronger.

"Satoru?" you whispered, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest, not from love, but from fear.

He was already moving, his hand gripping yours tightly. “Stay with me, my beloved.” he commanded, his voice steady, though his eyes flashed with a seriousness you had never seen before. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The room shuddered violently as the earthquake hit full force, and you could hear the distant crashing of objects falling in other parts of the house. Screams erupted outside even louder—voices of your family, the servants, all caught in the chaos of the sudden disaster. And then all the sudden, it was eerily quiet. And that made your heart drop to your stomach

For a moment, you thought that it would finally be over. But then, the earth beneath you trembled once more. You squealed as Satoru let his body encompass your own with the enveloping of his whole body on yours as the world crashed against you both. The walls were swaying left and right, the roof tiles were shattering one after another. It was chaos.

"Hold on to me. Don’t lift your eyes." he said, his voice calm but firm, even as the world quaked around you. “I’ll protect you.”

You clung to him, your heart pounding in fear as the floor shifted beneath your feet. His grip was unyielding, pulling you closer until there was no space between your bodies, shielding you from falling debris as the shaking intensified.

“I’ve got you, my beloved.” he murmured into your hair, his voice steady despite the chaos around you. “D–don’t worry.”

You feared when he stuttered, that he had gotten hurt. But he did not falter. His fingers gently stroked your back, trying to calm your trembling as the earthquake raged on. You could hear the distant crashing of porcelain and wood, your ears ringing from the harsh sounds of the destruction. But in his arms, you felt an odd sense of safety amidst the destruction. Because it was your Satoru holding you, protecting you. Because you’re together.

As the tremors finally subsided, Satoru’s grip on you loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go. His breath was shaky, and when you looked up at him, you saw a rare flicker of fear in his usually carefree eyes. He swallowed hard before giving you a small, reassuring smile. You were still stunned, your head shaking as you tried to make sense of the world.

"Seems like the earth itself wanted to remind us of its power." he joked softly, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. He was just as afraid, perhaps even pained by some injury he would never show you. “We’re….we’re alright, my beloved. Don’t worry.”

You let out a breathless laugh, still clutching his robes as you pressed your forehead against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The night was no longer perfect, but in that moment, with Satoru holding you close, it felt like nothing could tear the two of you apart—not even the earth itself.

The earth, which had momentarily stilled, seemed to shift again beneath you, this time more violently.More catastrophic, more angry and volatile. You screamed as you held tightly to him, his body wrapping itself against you once more. The walls of your room groaned, beams creaking as the tremors returned with a vengeance, fiercer than before. The floor shook so hard you could barely keep your balance, even in Satoru's arms.

He pulled you even tighter against him, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “Stay with me. Don’t let go.”

You could feel his muscles tensing beneath his robes, his usually easy going demeanor replaced by something more protective, almost desperate as his entire body forced itself to become a shield against anything against you. What remained standing of your ancestral home rattled more easily around you, dust falling from the ceiling in thick clouds. Outside, the screams grew louder, more frantic as the destruction worsened. Perhaps, it wasn’t even your family any longer. Perhaps it was the town, perhaps it was a neighboring village. You do not know anymore. And that’s what frightened you even more.

You could hear the unmistakable crash of something heavy—perhaps a roof beam—collapsing nearby. Suddenly, a deafening crack split the air. The wide, elaborate shoji doors rattled on their frames before they were blown open by the force of the quake. Your own room felt like it was being torn apart piece by piece. One of the wooden beams above groaned under the strain and, without warning, splintered and fell, hurtling toward the two of you.

Your beloved Gojo Satoru reacted in an instant, pushing you down and covering you with his body just as the beam crashed into the floor where you’d been trying to stand. The air was thick with dust, and the scent of earth and shattered wood filled your lungs, choking you. You shook as your eyes slowly opened to see your fiance pinning you down with his body shielding you.

“Satoru!” you gasped, your hands gripping the front of his robe, desperate to make sure he was unharmed.

“I’m fine, my beloved.” he muttered, though you could hear the strain in his voice. His arm was still braced above you, shielding you from any further debris. His other hand cupped the back of your head, pressing you into the crook of his neck. “We need to move. The house isn’t going to hold.”

You nodded against him, heart pounding in terror. Everything felt surreal, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from. The childhood home that had always felt so safe, so untouchable, was crumbling around you, and the only solid thing left was Satoru. He was all you had, you think. Everything…Everything was gone. Your body was shaking.

He pulled you to your feet, guiding you toward the door, but just as you reached it, another powerful tremor sent the ground pitching beneath you. You fell forward, and Satoru caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close as the floor buckled and cracked beneath your feet. You could feel the splintering wood beneath your sandals, the whole structure of the house breaking apart beneath the relentless force of the earthquake.

“Satoru, we need to get out—” you started, but your voice was drowned out by the sound of another beam collapsing behind you, followed by a sickening crash from outside the room.

“I know, I know.” he said, his voice tight with focus as he scanned the surroundings. "We’ll find a way out. I promise."

He led you toward the door again, but just as you stepped forward, the entire room seemed to tilt. The floor caved in with a horrific crack, and suddenly, you were falling. Satoru’s grip tightened as you both plummeted into darkness, the floorboards and debris collapsing into the space below.

“Are you hurt?” Satoru’s voice cut through the chaos, his hand cupping your face gently as he pulled you close, checking for injuries in the dim light. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the fear he usually kept hidden so well.

“I’m okay,” you gasped, though your body felt battered and sore.

He exhaled in relief, his forehead pressing against yours for a moment, his breath shaky. “We need to get out of here. Stay close to me.”

Even now, with the world collapsing around you, his determination didn’t waver. He pulled you to your feet once more, and together, you began to make your way through the rubble. The house was a maze of fallen beams, shattered walls, and debris, the once-beautiful estate reduced to ruins in a matter of minutes.

The aftershocks still rumbled beneath your feet, making every step treacherous, but Satoru kept you steady, his arm around your waist, guiding you through the wreckage. The air was thick with dust, and the distant screams of those outside continued, filling you with dread for what might await you once you escaped.

As you neared what used to be the outer courtyard, the quake hit again, this time more violent than any before. The very ground seemed to split open beneath you, and with a loud, earth-shattering roar, the outer wall of the estate gave way. You barely had time to scream before the floor cracked beneath your feet, and you fell into darkness once more.

This time, Satoru’s grip on you tightened, and you felt his body pull you against him, sheltering you as the ground gave way entirely. You hit the ground hard, the pain radiating through your body, but before you could react, you felt the warmth of Satoru’s arms around you, shielding you from the worst of it.

“Don’t leave me.” he whispered, his voice trembling as he held you tighter than ever. “I won’t let anything take you from me—not this, not anything.”

In that moment, as the world continued to crumble around you, his words were the only thing that kept you grounded. No matter what happened next, as long as you were with him, there was still hope. You clung to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his robes, as the tremors finally began to subside, leaving the two of you alone in the wreckage, but together.

You landed hard, the wind knocked out of you as your back hit the ground. The tatami beneath you was torn, and debris scattered everywhere, yet Satoru still held onto you, his arms wrapped tightly around your body, as though his grip alone could shield you from the crumbling world. The force of his embrace had absorbed much of the fall, but the impact still left you breathless. For a moment, everything was a blur—dust and darkness clouded your vision, and the deafening roar of collapsing beams filled the air.

Your body throbbed with pain, and panic surged in your chest, but even through the chaos, the warmth of Satoru’s body against yours anchored you. His presence, solid and unyielding, kept you grounded in the midst of the chaos.

"Satoru..." you gasped, your voice barely audible, but he heard you.

“I’m here,” he whispered fiercely, his voice steady despite the tremors still shaking the earth beneath you. His breath was ragged, but his grip on you didn’t falter. His white hair, now disheveled and covered in dust, clung to his forehead, but his eyes—those impossibly blue eyes—remained focused on you. “Are you hurt?”

You tried to shake your head, but your mind was still reeling, struggling to catch up with what had just happened. The earthquake raged on, though the initial violence of it had passed. The ground trembled beneath you like a sleeping beast disturbed from its rest.

Satoru shifted, pulling you up as carefully as he could. The house around you was nearly unrecognizable—wooden beams had collapsed, shoji screens were shredded, and parts of the roof had caved in. The once peaceful and warm room where you had shared your engagement was now in ruins, littered with broken objects and torn memories.

The sound of screams echoed from outside, faint but piercing. Servants. Family. It was hard to tell who, but the urgency in their voices cut through the haze of shock that clouded your mind. Your breath caught in your throat, panic gripping you once more.

“My family... my parents.” you muttered, scrambling to get up, but Satoru stopped you, his hand on your shoulder, firm yet gentle. “Satoru—”

"Wait," he said softly, though his voice carried the weight of authority. "We need to get out of here first. It’s not safe."

He tried to keep you calm, his steady hands guiding you through the debris, but you could see the tension in his posture. He was on high alert, his senses sharp as he glanced at every unstable beam, every shifting pile of rubble. He was scanning for danger, but more than that, he was trying to protect you from seeing the worst of it—the destruction, the death.

But as you stumbled through the wreckage of what had once been your home, you couldn’t avoid the horrors that surrounded you. Bodies. Littered through the halls, some crushed beneath fallen beams, others lying still in the open. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the world spun around you.

"Satoru..." you whispered, your voice trembling as you pulled away from his protective hold. "Where are they? My parents... my siblings?"

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes darting around, trying to keep you moving forward, away from the bodies, away from the worst of it. But you knew. The silence was louder than any scream. You could feel tears fall from your face and that broke his heart to see.

"Satoru!" you cried, your voice breaking as your legs buckled beneath you. "Where are they?"

He knelt beside you, his hands cupping your face as he gently forced you to look at him. His bright blue eyes were filled with an overwhelming sadness, but he tried to hide it, to be strong for you. He had to be strong. He had to. He can’t be weak, not right now.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But we have to go. We need to find shelter. I’ll take you to my family home. They’ll know what to do.”

You nodded, though the words didn’t fully sink in. Your body was moving on autopilot now, your mind numb to the world as Satoru pulled you back to your feet. With every step, the destruction around you became more apparent, more real. The walls were crumbling, the air thick with dust and smoke, and the scent of burning wood filled your nostrils.

Together, you navigated the ruins of your estate, stepping over debris and through the remains of lives that had been lost in the quake. GojoSatoru kept a firm grip on your hand, leading you with a determination that seemed almost impossible given the circumstances.

But even he couldn’t hide the way his shoulders tensed, the way his jaw clenched when another body appeared in your path, forcing him to shield you from the sight.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

IT WAS A CHALLENGE, TO GO AND LEAVE THE DESTRUCTION BEHIND. The sky deepened into a somber shade of dusk as you and Satoru finally reached the estate’s edge. The once proud gates, symbols of security and honor, now stood twisted and mangled, crumpled by the sheer force of nature’s wrath.

Beyond the gates, the town stretched out in a nightmare of ruin—buildings reduced to heaps of rubble, streets fractured and littered with debris, and the air thick with the lingering scent of smoke and dust. The cries of the wounded and the wails of those searching for lost loved ones echoed through the broken streets, a chorus of despair that filled the silence left in the wake of destruction.

“Keep your head high,” Satoru urged, his voice low but firm as he tightened his grip on your hand. “Don’t look. Just… don’t.”

But it was impossible not to look. How could you not see the devastation, shared by all? Every corner of the town had been touched by this catastrophe, and every person who remained alive carried the weight of loss. It was a destruction understood by all, but none more deeply than you at that moment.

The memory of your home—once filled with laughter, warmth, and the presence of family—now lay in ruins. Your parents, your siblings… their fates were unknown, swallowed by the chaos. You hadn’t seen them, and the hope of finding them alive was growing fainter with every passing moment. Satoru’s words rang hollow in your ears, even as you clung to his hand for strength.

He guided you through the crumbling streets with a fierce determination, always positioning himself between you and the worst of the wreckage. The buildings, once grand and vibrant, had become tombs of stone and wood, each step revealing more of the town’s shattered soul. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, some half-buried in rubble, others left untouched by the debris but claimed by the quake nonetheless. It was too much, too overwhelming.

Every time you stumbled, your legs trembling with fatigue and grief, Satoru was there, catching you before you could fall. His presence was like an anchor, keeping you steady amid the storm of devastation that swirled around you. His hand never left yours, his touch a silent promise that you weren’t alone in this. You didn’t have to face it all by yourself.

The survivors—those who had managed to escape the collapse of buildings or who had emerged from the wreckage—followed behind you, a somber procession of hollow eyes and ashen faces. Their steps were slow, heavy with the weight of shock. No words passed between them, no cries for help—only silence and the occasional sob as they moved like ghosts through the streets, trying to find some semblance of safety, of life, in this broken world.

Your heart ached for them, for their pain, but your own grief consumed you. The memory of your family’s voices, the warmth of your home, felt so distant now, like a dream you had just woken from. And yet, with each step you took beside Satoru, you realized that this nightmare was real, and there was no waking from it.

The earth beneath your feet still trembled occasionally, aftershocks reminding you that the worst might not yet be over. Each tremor sent a fresh wave of fear through your body, your grip tightening around Satoru’s hand. He responded in kind, his hand strong and reassuring, though you could sense the turmoil roiling beneath his calm exterior. His family, too, was somewhere in this mess. Their fate hung in the balance just as much as yours.

As you made your way through the gates, leaving behind the wreckage of your estate, you couldn’t help but glance back one final time. The place where you had grown up, where you had shared laughter, joy, and the news of your engagement just hours ago, was now unrecognizable. In the span of mere moments, everything you had known had been reduced to rubble, leaving behind only echoes of the life you had once cherished.

“Satoru…” your voice cracked as you spoke his name, the words barely audible over the distant cries. He stopped, turning to look at you, his eyes softening with concern.

“I know,” he whispered, his hand brushing against your cheek, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall unnoticed. “I know it’s hard. But we’ll make it through this. We have to.”

His resolve was unshakable, but you could see the grief hidden behind his determination. He was trying to be strong, not just for himself, but for you. His family’s estate lay ahead, yet you both feared what you would find when you arrived.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the land in shadow, you continued onward, the fire of Satoru’s presence the only thing keeping you from sinking into despair. The path was treacherous, littered with fallen beams and shattered stone, but Satoru led the way with careful, deliberate steps. He kept you close, his arm around your waist now, guiding you over the broken streets as you navigated what felt like the remains of the world.

Every glance revealed more heartache—broken homes, toppled lanterns, and the pale, lifeless faces of those who hadn’t made it. But Satoru never let you linger, gently urging you forward each time your gaze began to drift toward the horror around you.

Finally, you reached his family’s estate. Or what remained of it. The grand structure that had once stood proud and formidable was now a heap of collapsed roofs and shattered walls. The once beautiful garden, where you had shared many moments of happiness, was now a twisted, chaotic mess of uprooted trees and scorched earth.

Satoru stood still for a moment, his eyes scanning the destruction with a silent, composed fury. The pain was etched into his expression, though he quickly masked it as he turned to you, his voice low but firm.

"We’ll make it through tonight," he said. "We have to survive, no matter what."

In that moment, even as the world crumbled around you, there was no fear in his eyes—only determination. For now, all you could do was follow him. Follow him through the darkness, trusting that somewhere, beyond the destruction, hope still lingered.

As you finally reached the outskirts of the Gojo estate, the enormity of the destruction hit you again. The town below had not been spared either. Smoke rose in the distance, and the ground was littered with rubble, buildings half-collapsed, and people wandering aimlessly, searching for loved ones.

Satoru didn’t hesitate. He pulled you forward, his grip never loosening as he led you through the streets toward his family’s home. But when you arrived, the sight that greeted you was even more devastating.

His family estate, much like your own, had been reduced to little more than a broken shell. The grand gates had collapsed, and the once beautiful gardens were torn apart, now little more than mounds of earth and stone. The house itself had fared no better, with parts of the roof caved in and walls shattered.

Satoru’s face paled as he took it all in, his hand tightening around yours in a desperate attempt to remain calm. But you could see it in his eyes—the grief, the disbelief. This was his home. His family. And now, it is gone.

For a long moment, he stood still, his gaze fixed on the destruction before him. His breathing was shallow, his grip on your hand tightening almost painfully. But then, with a sharp breath, he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

As you both began your journey toward the Gojo family estate, the weight of the day settled heavily on your shoulders. But Satoru’s hand never let go of yours, a silent promise that even in the face of unimaginable loss, you would survive this—together.

When you and Satoru finally reached the outskirts of his family estate, the sinking feeling in your chest returned with full force. What should have been a place of refuge, a sanctuary from the horrors you had just fled, was nothing but devastation. The Gojo estate, once majestic and proud, had fallen to the same fate as your home.

The gates were twisted and mangled, barely hanging from their hinges, and the walls that had once stood tall now lay in heaps of rubble. Smoke rose from what remained of the manor, a bitter scent of burning wood and stone hanging in the air. The destruction was so complete, so absolute, that it felt like the very earth had swallowed everything whole. The silence was deafening.

Gojo Satoru froze at the sight, his grip on your hand tightening until it almost hurt. You looked up at him, but his expression was unreadable, his usual brightness dulled to a vacant stare. His family, his home....everything he had known, everything he had grown up with. All was gone. Nothing was left but the earth where it all once stood.

You tried to say something, to offer words of comfort, but the lump in your throat made it impossible to speak. More tears could only pour out of your eyes from then on. All you could do was squeeze his hand, hoping he would feel your silent support. He didn't need to hear your words right now; he just needed to know you were there.

For a moment, he stood motionless, his blue eyes scanning the destruction as if trying to comprehend it, trying to find any sign of life among the wreckage. But there was nothing. Just like at your estate, the earthquake had consumed everything.

Finally, Satoru exhaled a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. But even in his grief, he didn’t break. He couldn’t—not with you depending on him. He glanced down at you, his eyes softening with a kind of sadness you had never seen in him before.

Satoru stopped for a moment, turning to you with a look of determination in his eyes. “We’ll make it through this,” he promised, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed the fear he was trying so hard to hide. “We’ll get some place safe here, and I’ll make sure nothing ever hurts you again. You hear me?”

You nodded, though the world felt unsteady beneath you. The future that once seemed so bright, the engagement that had filled your heart with hope, now felt overshadowed by the tragedy that had befallen your lives. Still, with Satoru’s hand wrapped securely around yours, you knew one thing for certain—no matter what came next, you wouldn’t face it alone.

“We need to stay warm tonight.” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not safe to wander around in the dark. We’ll make a fire here, and then tomorrow, we’ll figure out what to do.”

He led you to a relatively clear patch of ground, away from the worst of the rubble. The sky was darkening, and the air had grown cold, a biting wind cutting through your torn clothes. Satoru quickly set to work, gathering what dry wood he could find, his movements steady and focused despite the grief that must have been tearing him apart inside.

You watched him in silence, too exhausted to help, too numb from everything that had happened. When the fire finally sparked to life, its warmth was a welcome reprieve from the cold that had settled deep into your bones. You sat beside him, huddled close to the flickering flames, the only source of light in the endless night.

Your Satoru didn’t speak for a long time. He simply stared into the fire, his expression distant, lost in thoughts you couldn’t fathom. His hands, usually so relaxed and playful, were tense, gripping his knees as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.

But then he turned to you, his gaze softening when he saw the exhaustion written on your face. Without a word, he pulled his outer robe from his shoulders and wrapped it around you, tucking it gently against your chin. He tried to do it, smiling like nothing happened. As though to comfort you even in all this suffering. And yet, you could see it all in his eyes. He was exhausted, he was in pain. And he didn’t know what to do.

“Sleep, my beloved.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’ll keep watch.”

You wanted to protest, to tell him that he needed rest just as much as you did, but your body betrayed you. The exhaustion, the grief, the sheer weight of everything you had been through—it was too much. You nodded weakly, laying your head against his shoulder as you curled into the warmth of the robe.

Satoru shifted slightly, easing you into a more comfortable position so you could lie down near the fire. His hand rested on your arm, a protective gesture that reminded you of his earlier promise. Even as the world fell apart around you, Satoru Gojo was still there, watching over you.

As you drifted off to sleep, lulled by the crackling of the fire and the steady rise and fall of his breathing, Satoru leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. His lips lingered there for a moment, as if he were afraid to pull away, afraid that something might take you from him if he let go.

“I’ll keep you safe, my beloved.” he whispered against your hair, his voice trembling with the weight of his vow. “No matter what happens. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

The fire flickered, casting shadows across his face, but his resolve was unshakable. He couldn’t save everything—his home, his family—but he would save you. That much, he was certain of.

As you slept, Gojo Satoru remained awake, his eyes scanning the horizon, alert for any sign of danger. The devastation around him was complete, but his focus never wavered from you. You were his world now, the one thing he had left in the midst of the ruin.

The night stretched on, cold and unforgiving, but Satoru didn’t move from his spot by your side. Even as the grief gnawed at him, even as the weight of everything he had lost threatened to crush him, he stayed strong. For you. Because no matter what came next, no matter how uncertain the future had become, Gojo Satoru had made a promise—and he would keep it.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

THE YEAR 2018 WAS AN INTERESTING YEAR FOR DISCOVERIES. You remember reading about it in the newspaper on your way to university—the discovery of two lovers found in an eternal embrace, huddled together in a shoreline cave, their bodies preserved for three hundred years by the elements that had claimed their lives.

The volcanic eruption, the earthquake, and the tsunami that had ravaged Japan centuries ago were some of the worst disasters the country had ever known, obliterating entire villages and swallowing countless lives in an instant. And yet, even in the face of such unimaginable destruction, these two had remained together, their bond undisturbed by the passage of time.

Standing quietly in front of the memorial, you felt the weight of their story settle around you. The air was still and somber, carrying with it the distant hum of waves crashing along the shore. The stone monument before you was simple yet profound—a silent marker of the love these two souls had shared, a love that had endured in the most unimaginable of circumstances. Their bodies had been found in the ruins of a household long buried by the mud and debris, a household much like the ones surrounding this coastline, now reduced to scattered memories.

You had followed the story from the beginning—the day the archaeologists uncovered them from the earth, the painstaking care they took in revealing the remains. The headlines had drawn attention, not because of the tragedy alone, but because of the story those two bodies told.

There were no names. No clues as to who they had been, what their lives had looked like before the disaster struck, or even how they had ended up in each other’s arms when the end came. But it didn’t matter. Their identities weren’t needed to understand the significance of what had been found. What mattered was that they had faced their final moments without fear. They had faced the end together, with love.

It was that thought—the resilience of love in the face of overwhelming disaster—that had touched you most deeply. In a world where so much is fragile and fleeting, the strength of their connection had remained, even after centuries had passed. It was as if their love had transcended the destruction, as if they had chosen to defy the disaster by holding on to one another in their last breath.

You stepped forward, placing your hands together in silent prayer. You wished them peace, a kind of peace that transcended the tragedy of their death, that honored the love they had shared.

You prayed that their spirits had found rest, and that wherever they were now, they were still together, watching over the place where they had once stood. The offering you placed at the memorial was simple, a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, symbolizing purity and remembrance.

"I pray that you'll always be together, the two of you." you murmured, your voice soft, barely louder than the breeze that rustled through the trees around the monument. "Wherever you are, I hope you’ve found peace, and that your love is still as strong as it was in those last moments."

You stayed there for a while, the silence of the memorial surrounding you, offering its quiet comfort. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the scene, a contrast to the deep sense of loss the place carried. But you didn’t feel sadness. Instead, there was something almost beautiful about it—knowing that even in the face of disaster, these two had been together, and their love had transcended time. As you prepared to leave, footsteps approached from behind. You turned slightly, curious to see who else had come to visit this quiet, forgotten place.

A man with striking white hair and bright blue eyes under the rim of his glasses stood at the edge of the memorial, his head bowed in silent prayer. He was tall, his presence commanding even though he moved with a quiet grace. His features were sharp, but softened by a kind of deep, unspoken sorrow. He knelt down beside the monument, laying a single white flower on the stone, his fingers brushing the surface with reverence.

You watched him for a moment, feeling an inexplicable sense of familiarity, though you couldn’t quite place it. The way he stood there—tall and composed, with an air of quiet reverence that just seemed to draw you in.

There was something almost ethereal about him, as if he was intrinsically linked to the story of the lovers you had come to honor. The connection felt deeper than mere coincidence, as though his presence was a significant part of the narrative that had touched you so profoundly.

His white hair glowed softly in the fading light, and his posture was relaxed yet dignified, embodying a calmness that contrasted sharply with the turmoil you had felt as you reflected on the lovers’ fate.

His eyes were closed in prayer, his face serene, as if he was offering a deeply personal tribute to the souls who had been found together in their final moments. The sense of connection was so strong that you could almost feel it emanating from him, a silent bridge spanning the centuries between his presence and the lovers' tragic end.

You hesitated, not wanting to intrude on his moment of solitude. Yet, there was something compelling about the situation—an unspoken invitation to acknowledge the shared significance of this place and the story that bound them all together. Your curiosity and empathy drove you to speak, despite the quietude that hung between you.

“Excuse me.” you began softly, breaking the stillness of the memorial. Your voice was gentle, barely a whisper against the backdrop of the crashing waves. “I couldn’t help but notice… There's something about you that feels so familiar, so connected to this place. I… I’ve been deeply moved by the story of the lovers found here, and I can’t shake the feeling that you share a connection with them.”

The man turned toward you, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of surprise and understanding. He seemed to consider your words for a moment, his expression thoughtful and measured. There was a softness in his gaze, as if he had been waiting for this moment, this conversation, even if he didn’t quite know why.

“Oh.” Gojo Satoru whispered back, his cheeks tinged with a flush of surprise, as if your words had caught him off guard. He seemed momentarily at a loss, his usual confidence replaced with a bashful vulnerability. “Yeah, I… I saw the news, and I thought, I just had to come. It felt… it just felt right, you know? To come here and see them off, to wish them well.”

There was a sincerity in his voice, a raw honesty that struck a chord. You could see that this wasn’t just a casual visit for him; it was something deeply personal, a moment of reflection and respect that went beyond mere curiosity.

“I see…” you mumbled, your gaze softening as you looked at him. A smile slowly spread across your face, touched by his heartfelt gesture. “That’s kind of you to do.”

Gojo Satoru shook his head slightly, a rueful smile on his lips. “Ah, not… not really,” he said with a sigh, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. “If anything, I think you were more kind. You brought them white chrysanthemums and everything. You probably had more of a proper prayer for them than I did.”

You waved off his comment with a small laugh, the sound light and airy in the quiet of the memorial. “Oh, not at all. I think… I think your intention was purer than mine. You came here just on a feeling, an instinct that something was right about being here. I was… I was interested historically before I was here emotionally, you know?”

His eyes met yours, a flicker of understanding passing between you. “I guess we both had our reasons,” he said softly. “But in the end, it’s the connection that matters. Whether we came here out of personal feelings or historical interest, it’s our respect and acknowledgement that count.”

You nodded, feeling a shared sense of purpose in your conversation. There was something profoundly meaningful about how your paths had crossed at this place, driven by a mutual respect for the story of the lovers and a desire to honor their memory. The distinction between your reasons for being here seemed to dissolve in the face of a greater truth—that both of you were here because of a deep-seated respect and a wish to pay tribute to the enduring power of love.

“So……” Gojo continued, a slight smile returning to his lips, “I’m glad we met here. It feels like the right place for this kind of encounter, don’t you think?”

You agreed, feeling a warmth in his words. “Yes, it does. It’s like the universe brought us together in this moment to remind us of something important.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, something like that. It’s nice to know that even after so much time, and despite all the changes and challenges we face, there are still moments that can bring people together in such a profound way.”

You stood together in silence for a moment, the weight of your shared understanding settling around you. The memorial continued to stand as homage to the lovers’ eternal bond, and in that quiet, sacred space, you felt a connection that transcended all the limits given by the bountiful universe.

“They were together until the very end.” you said softly, your voice carried by the gentle wind. “I hope they’re still together, wherever they are.”

The tall man took a deep breath, turning his head to look at you. For a moment, his blue gaze seemed distant, as though he were seeing something—or someone—far beyond the present. But then his lips curled into a small, sad smile.

“They will be, you know?” he replied quietly, his voice deep and filled with a quiet conviction. “Some loves are strong enough to last forever. They…they transcend, even time.”

There was something in his tone, a weight to his words, that made you wonder if he was speaking from experience. You gave him a respectful nod, choosing not to pry into the emotions that seemed to flicker beneath his calm exterior.

The two of you stood there in silence for a while longer, both paying your respects to the nameless lovers who had defied death with their love. The sun continued to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the memorial. Finally, the man rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes before turning to you.

“Take care, stranger.” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that contrasted with the sorrow that had lingered moments before. Then, with one last look at the monument, he began to walk away, his white hair catching the fading light like a beacon.

As you watched him go, something tugged at your heart. You didn’t know who he was, but in that moment, you felt as though you had shared something important with him—an unspoken understanding of love and loss, of holding on to someone even when the world falls apart around you.

Somehow, there was something stirring within you—a feeling that you couldn’t let him just walk away, not without knowing more. There was something about him, an invisible thread connecting you, as if fate had brought you both to this quiet place for a reason.

"Wait! Hey, mister!" you called out softly, taking a few steps toward him. The man paused, turning back to face you, his expression curious but calm.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. But then, with a gentle smile, you extended your hand. "I didn’t get the chance to introduce myself. My name is……"

He looked at you for a moment, as if weighing whether to reciprocate. Then, with a small, almost teasing smile, he took your hand in his. His grip was warm, steady, and comforting in a way that felt strangely familiar.

"I'm Gojo Satoru." he said, his voice smooth, yet laced with something deeper, as if his name carried a history he didn’t fully reveal.

The name hung in the air between you, and for a brief moment, you felt a flicker of recognition. But it was fleeting, gone as quickly as it had come. You smiled politely, though something about the way he said it, the way his gaze softened as he looked at you, made you feel like there was more to his introduction than simple formality.

"It's nice to meet you, Satoru." you replied, feeling a strange sense of ease as you spoke his name. There was something about the way it rolled off your tongue, as if you'd said it a thousand times before.

He tilted his head slightly, his sharp, crystal-blue eyes studying you with an intensity that was both disarming and oddly reassuring. It was as if he could see beneath the surface, understanding more than what was immediately apparent. Yet, instead of feeling exposed, you felt a sense of comfort, a silent acknowledgment that he grasped the depths of your emotions and thoughts.

With a gentle, almost shy smile, Gojo Satoru reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, extending it toward you. “Put your number in,” he said, his voice tender and inviting. “I think… I think you know more about this story than I do. I’d like to know more, if you’re willing to share.”

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the request, but the sincerity in his voice and the warmth of his smile compelled you to act. With a nod, you took his phone from him and began to enter your contact information, a small flutter of excitement rising in your chest. There was something intriguing about the prospect of continuing this conversation, of sharing more about the story that had brought you both here.

When you handed his phone back to him, a playful grin appeared on your face. “It’s your turn,” you said, taking out your own phone and extending it toward him.

Gojo Satoru chuckled softly, his eyes lighting up with amusement as he looked at your phone. “Well, alright.” he said, taking it with a mock sigh of resignation. “If you insist.”

As he entered his number into your phone, the atmosphere between you shifted from one of solemn reflection to one of friendly connection. The small act of exchanging numbers felt like a bridge, linking your shared experience at the memorial with the potential for future conversations and deeper understanding. Maybe, just maybe — you’ll understand life the way these two in front of you did. Just maybe.

When he handed your phone back to you, he looked at you with a genuine smile. “Thanks for sharing this moment with me. It’s been… meaningful. I’m glad we crossed paths today.”

You smiled back, feeling a warmth in your chest that came from more than just the shared experience. “I’m glad too. It’s not every day you meet someone who understands the significance of something like this so deeply.”

Finally, Satoru spoke again, his tone lightening slightly. "Well, I should be going. The train is leaving soon. But... It was nice meeting you." He paused, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "Maybe we’ll see each other again."

You smiled, feeling the same unspoken connection. "I’d like that."

With one last look at the memorial, Satoru turned and began to walk away, his white hair catching the fading light of the day. You watched him go, a strange sense of calm settling over you.

As you stood there, the weight of the lovers' story still fresh in your heart, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last time you would see Gojo Satoru. Something told you that your paths would cross again, in ways you couldn’t yet predict.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the memorial, you whispered one final prayer—not just for the nameless lovers, but for yourself, and perhaps for Satoru too.

"May we all find each other, in every lifetime."

697 notes · View notes

junkpuppet225 · 1 month ago

Text

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

summary: Daryl makes you cry and instantly regrets it. Early Alexandria Era. Reader lost her entire family when the world went to hell and the thought of opening herself up to that kind of love again terrifies her.

warnings: I think I just managed one curse word in this one. No smut. Drop of angst, dash of fluff. Enjoy!

a/n: This is another short blurb from the mind of @dixondisease! Thanks for the inspo! I hope you love it! Quickly written and barely proof read. Enjoy! 💋

- - - - - -

“You don’t want this heart. It’s already broke.”

Daryl chews at his bottom lip as your quiet words pierce his soul - blue eyes cast down at rough hands hanging between his knees. You sit beside him on the front porch of your borrowed home in Alexandria staring out into the vacant streets like they hold the answers to all of life’s questions. Like why someone as strong as Daryl just poured his heart out to you? You’re all on borrowed time in this dying world and putting a label on whatever this is seems pointless. One of you will be dead sooner rather than later.

You want to protect his heart from what splintered yours into a million pieces.

“Daryl it’s just not worth—-.”

There’s so many things he wants to say - to make you realize he doesn’t have the communication skills needed to have these types of conversations - he doesn’t know the right words to explain how much you mean to him. He wants to assure you he can mend your broken heart. That what he feels for you is worth the risk of dying if he only gets to be yours for a day but instead he says something he’ll regret for the rest of his life.

“You’re right…, ain’t worth it.”

You ain’t worth it.

Four grumbled words seal his fate and taste bitter on his tongue. You’re worth it. You’re worth everything but he’ll be damned if he’s going to sit here and let you rip his heart from his chest. You above anyone should know life’s to short for what ifs.

The way you flinch as he shoots to his feet stops him from storming off - forcing his eyes to lock with yours as you lift your sorrowful gaze - fresh tears filling their depths. When the first tear betrays you he feels his own heart crack in his chest bringing him down to your side again. His anger dissolves into pure panic as his hands sink into your hair. There’s no denying the love you have for him - it’s pouring out of your watery gaze with the tears cascading down your cheeks. He should know better than anyone how hard it is to give your heart to someone when you feel like you’re not worthy of their love.

Desperate words flood brain - short sentences he doesn’t know how to verbalize without them coming out wrong. Words that get caught in the back of his throat and choke him.

I’m sorry. I love you. You’re worth it. You’re worthy of my love - you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to give it to.

Instead he just whispers please don’t cry as his rough thumbs brush the tears away from your beautiful face. You let your eyes fall - soft sobs bubbling up from your chest as you try to pull away. He’s right. You’re not worth it. All the trauma you’ve faced…, it isn’t worth fighting for. You aren’t worth fighting for.

Daryl deserves so much better - someone who isn’t so utterly broken on the inside. Someone who hasn’t lost everyone she’s ever loved to this new world.

He whispers your name softly begging you to take a breath and stop crying because of him but it’s no use. Looking into his ocean eyes only reminds you that loving him puts him at a risk you can’t begin to comprehend. Losing him would crush you. The thought of him putting your safety before his…, the thought of him getting killed because of you brings a loud sob to your lips.

“…no no no no… don’t cry. Please don’t cry. M’s-sorry.” It’s took him months to get up the courage to tell you how he feels about you and unsurprisingly he’s managed to screw it up. He just wanted… more with you now that there’s walls and stability but you’re not ready - he sees that now and he’ll wait for you because you’re worth waiting for. “Yer worth it. Yer so fuckin’ worth it y/n. I love you. I didn’t mean—-.”

You shake your head, heart twisting in your chest at his desperate words. “…love makes you weak Daryl…” You whisper as he tightens his fingers in your hair, closing his eyes as your broken words sear the knife deeper into his heart. He’s presses his forehead against yours pulling needed air into his lungs. “…then let me be weak for once Y/N.”

His soft words only make you cry harder as you jerk your face from his grasp and push to your feet quickly. “Weak means dead in this world! You can’t ask me to let you die.” You sob flying down the steps and into the street to get away from him. Why couldn’t he just leave things how they were? Stolen kisses during supply runs. Two lonely people searching for solace in the darkness. Physical you were good at - this emotional shit ruined everything.

You will your legs to move - to run right through these suffocating gates and back into the wilderness. Out there things are simple - survive. Inside Alexandria there’s hope and promise and the gut retching realization that you want what Daryl wants. You want all of him and everything he has to offer. The thought slows your attempt to leave then Daryl’s at your back wrapping strong arms around your middle as he buries his face in the bend of your shoulder.

“Please stop cryin’. I didn’t mean to make ya cry. It’s rippin’ me up inside.” He whispers against your neck placing soft kisses along the tender spot just below your ear. “Please….”

You try to take in a deep breath but it’s no use, his warm lips against your skin rack your body with sobs. “M’sorry…, yer everything to me. We can take things slow…, ain’t gotta rush into nothin’ I jus’… jus’ wanna be with ya anyway I can.” Daryl pleads pressing his head against the back of yours as his own heartache nearly cripples him. “Please…”

“D-Daryl… I w-want…”

He grips your waist as he turns you to face him keeping his eyes cast down while his forehead meets yours again.

“I’ll do whatever ya want… whatever ya need…” He whispers as his hands find your hair again sinking his fingers in deep - idly pulling you closer to him. The heat from his body helps calm you - the slow rise and fall of his chest against yours soothing your own heartache away. “I w-want you Daryl. I want… everything with you I just… just d-don’t want to lose you too. My heart can’t take losing you too.” His thumbs return to your cheeks brushing away more tears as you step into his warmth - your lips nearly touching as he takes in a quick breath, eyes closing tightly. “Ya won’t lose me. I’ll claw my way outta hell to find ya.” The slight smile that spreads across your face brings on his as you lean into his kiss, sliding your hands up his chest to grasp either side of his neck.

“Jus’ give this a chance and I promise I’ll never make ya cry again.” Daryl whispers against your lips as you nod deepening the kiss quickly as he pulls you closer letting his hands fall down to your hips to grasp them roughly. If it’s the last thing he ever does he’ll prove that you’re worth it.

#fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #twd daryl #the walking dead #daryl x y/n #daryl x female reader

242 notes · View notes

limerlove · 8 months ago

Text

NSFW EIGHTEEN+

all i seem to think about lately is religious!abby who grew up in a church all her life, always been told she needs to be with a man, marry one, build a life with one — owen in particular is who she’s been told to have. the arranged marriage she was basically grown into.

in her early twenties, yet has she had the opportunity to be with another. a promise to her father, with the cross-necklace laying on her chest, she’s dedicated to being celibate until marriage. a pact practically bound by the blood of virgin mary, she believes in the sacred bond she has through faith with her god and savior, jesus christ. funnily enough, it’s the words she utters as you corner her in the bathroom. well…not so much as cornered, not with those curious blue eyes begging for something, anything to unburden her from the life abby feels trapped in. even if she knows it goes against everything she’s been taught, she doesn’t stop you from snaking your hand up her sunshine sunday dress, bright blue as it bring out her eyes, never leaving your actions. at first, your fingers only running along her folds, teasing the era until she’s dripping for you. there isn’t a doubt in your mind she’s never felt anything like this.

the gold cross pendant a pawn in her mouth as if the only purpose it’s ever served is to be a prop until the cadence revealed itself. the truth of religion can be found on the tips of your fingers, the delicate touches on abby’s clit. abby lets her mind wander into the altar, the communion she takes, you’ll be the sin she begs for forgiveness next. seeping into her body like the blood pumping through her veins, the lone reason for her existence was for you. no god could compare to this, the trembling of her thighs, the moans she whispered in hopes not even her savior from above could hear her.

is god really the way, the truth, and the light if she sees heaven through your eyes?

“this is what you wanted isn’t it? someone to save you from the chains you call religion? let me set you free.” without a second more wasted, your tongue laps at her pussy, enjoying the way she can barely hold herself up. letting you claim something now has had the privilege of venturing. she would be shunned, ostracized from society if anyone knew the truth.

truthfully, it’s an easy task. the angelic blonde so deprived of another’s touch she slithers in the hands of a snake, tasting the forbidden fruit for the first time. it’s quick, overwhelming when she comes undone, spilling her sweet nectar into your lips, hips moving uncontrollably as she fucks your face. knuckles bearing the color of winter snow, clutching onto her dress that rests at her toned abdomen as you swallow every last drop.

stepping away from her, you grab a washcloth, running it under warm water, abby unable to move. impending doom washes over her guilty, and now sinful, heart. this never should have happened, the voice in her head repeats, the path of self righteousness was supposed to be hers but now she finds herself acquainted with the sinner and the snake, straying from the life of a discipline and discipleship.

“hold your pretty dress for me. can’t get it wet, can we?” abby lifts her dress, clutching it as the warm wash rag gently cleans her, she feels your fingers dip inside her slightly, thorough as you clean up her cum.

“i should get back out there.” abby shyly whispers. “my dad will be looking for me…and owen.”

“right.” you toss the used rag on the countertop, “just one more thing.”

with a passion laced in your tongue, you steal her breath away, lips locking either her pinky, pouting ones. abby can only assume the salty but even sweeter taste is her. whimpering as you squeeze her small tits through the pale blue dress, abby can’t help but grind against your legs between her legs, aching for something more. this time, you deny her of what she so desperately needs.

“come and find me when you’re ready for a real fuck, princess.”

#(ᝰ.ᐟ) tlou works.#tw religious themes #uh dont ask me what this is #i'm just a lesbian with alot of religious trauma and i'm depressed!#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x masc reader #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x gn!reader #abby anderson x gender neutral reader #abby anderson smut #religious!abby #abby x you #abby x y/n #abby x reader #abby smut #abby x fem!reader

717 notes · View notes

mari-positas · 1 year ago

Text

captive

Raider! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You find yourself missing your captor while he’s out on an early morning hunt with the rest of the group.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. RAIDER ERA. DARK!JOEL. DUBCON. IMPLIED PREVIOUS NONCON. UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 50). READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION. mentions of Joel’s group murdering reader’s group, it’s implied her family members were also killed, Joel pretty much kidnaps reader and keeps her as his own, stockholm syndrome, reader deals with a lot of very distressing and conflicting feelings, Joel isn’t too creepy or extremely dark, but he is still not a good person, mentions of Tommy. VERY BRIEF SMUT in the form of cockwarming, daddy kink but i didn’t go overboard this time, pet names (honey, baby, babygirl, sweetheart) if i missed anything, you can POLITELY let me know because if i missed anything, it was purely accidental. minimal editing.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.

if this isn’t your thing, that’s fine, just scroll on by.

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i might actually throw up idk. i’ve had this itch to try dark joel and seeing as i have major writer’s block with all my other wips i decided to just scratch the itch. this is a little out of my comfort zone but i actually ended up feeling pleased with what i wrote. this is my personal take on dark/raider joel, i’m sure it is very out of character but it’s fanfiction so…yeah. here it is.

It’s the rain that rouses you from your sleep.

It beats down heavily on the remote cabin’s tin roof.

Loud. Much too loud.

You roll over, settling yourself on your side.

The mattress is old, worn, rotting beneath the sheets.

You can’t complain, though. At least you have a bed.

Everybody else is forced to sleep on the hard floor.

He always gets the room with the bed.

As his special girl, that means you always get the room with the bed too.

It’s not quite as flattering as one would believe.

He only ever wants the bedroom for one reason—to keep you behind a locked door so you can’t run.

You sigh softly and stare out the window. He’d secured that too, made certain that it couldn’t be opened from the inside.

Closing your eyes, you try and go back to sleep.

Sleep doesn’t come.

His absence is starting to bother you.

You’ve been with him for an entire season now.

You’re getting used to him.

The sound of his voice.

The warmth of his body.

The taste of his lips.

You can’t even sleep without him next to you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, clutching the stale sheets, balling them in your fists out of frustration.

How was it possible? How could you be missing him?

He had taken everything from you.

Your family.

Your home.

Your innocence.

He was holding you captive. He was a monster.

But a monster doesn’t keep you safe.

Doesn’t clothe you.

Doesn’t feed you.

Doesn’t protect you.

He did all of those things and more.

Is that why you feel so empty without him beside you?

Is that why you’re no longer so certain you would run if you were given the chance to escape him?

You fucking hated him for what he’d done.

Yet here you are, aching for him to come back to you.

It’s another hour before you hear the lock clicking.

Joel pushes through the door, quietly closing it behind him.

“Y’awake?” he asks, slipping his pack off his shoulders.

“Mhm,” you answer with your back to him. “I am.”

You hear the sound of his pack hitting the floor.

His worn leather boots being kicked off.

His rifle being set down, propped against the wall.

“How was the hunt?”

You can feel him freeze as he’s taking off his jacket.

Getting you to willingly speak to him had always been a lot like pulling teeth. Difficult, almost impossible.

When he doesn’t respond, you roll over to face him.

There’s a swoop in your tummy.

Joel is drenched from head to toe. His blue denim shirt clings to his broad frame and his dark, graying curls are slicked back away from his face.

He’s got such a handsome face.

Monsters aren’t supposed to have handsome faces.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re really askin’ me how the hunt went?” Suspicion laces his tone. “Why? Y’worried you won’t eat tonight?”

Of course you weren’t.

Joel Miller doesn’t let you go hungry.

When food is scarce, he makes sure you eat first. If he notices you rubbing your tummy because your portion wasn’t enough, he’ll give you his own portion.

He takes care of you.

“No.” You pause and sit up. The sheets you two share fall away from your body, leaving your soft, supple breasts on full display for him. “Just wanted to know how your morning went. That’s all.”

It’s not your tits that make his cock twitch against the zipper of his jeans—it’s the sincerity that flashes across your features, the sound of it in the tone of your voice.

You’re being sweet to him.

He clears his throat lightly.

“Went real good. Brought down a deer. Female, ‘bout a hundred pounds or so. Enough to keep all of us well fed for the next couple of weeks,” he says with a nod. “Was pissin’ rain the entire time but it was worth it. Tommy’s in the shed out back right now dressin’ it so we can get a stew started.” He pauses. “You’re gonna get a proper meal tonight, babygirl. Belly’s gonna be nice and full.”

He’s not just talking about food and you know it.

You make an effort to meet his gaze, but you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to do it, not when you remembered how he’d taken you away from your family—how he had carried you over his shoulder, kicking and screaming as his people raided your camp and slaughtered every last member of your group because that’s what Joel Miller had ordered them to do.

Looking him in the eye might be the one thing you will never, ever be able to do.

“It’s cold,” you murmur after a minute. “You should get out of those wet clothes before you get sick.”

With a subtle nod, Joel turns around and starts peeling off his clothes until he’s completely naked. He uses an old rag to dry himself off as best as he can, although it doesn’t do much for him.

You can’t help yourself and stare—your gaze drags over the strong muscles of his back and shoulders, how they flex and ripple beneath his skin with every single one of his movements. Arousal pools between your thighs and all you can do is fucking hate yourself for wanting it, for wanting him.

“S’pretty early still,” he states, his back still to you as he runs the rag through his hair. “Y’should try to get some more sleep.”

The confession tumbles out of your mouth before you can even think about stopping it.

“I couldn’t sleep while you were gone.”

Surprised, he turns around.

Almost immediately, your eyes fall to his cock.

Even when he isn’t fully hard, he’s still so fucking big.

“Is that so?” Joel asks, sounding rather pleased.

“Yes,” you say, softly. “I—I missed you.”

His lips turn upwards into a subtle, faint grin.

“Yeah?” he coos. “My sweet little girl missed me while I was gone? Hm?” Slowly, he approaches the bed. It dips slightly and the frame creaks as he plants a knee on the mattress and leans over towards you. Gently, Joel takes your chin between his index finger and thumb. “Y’need Daddy by your side so you can sleep, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you whisper, warm tears glazing over your eyes.

It’s bad enough your body welcomed him so easily.

Now your heart was starting to do the same.

And then there was your mind.

What if that stopped fighting him too?

Part of you is afraid it already has.

Joel climbs into bed, joining you under the sheets.

“M’here, my pretty girl. C’mere, honey.” He coaxes you to lay on your side and pulls you back against his chest. His skin is still damp, frigid from having been out in the elements, but somehow he’s still warm. “That better?”

“Need you closer,” you mumble, wiggling against him.

Joel groans, his thick cock hard and throbbing against the small of your back. He nips at your bare shoulder as his hand drags down the length of your body and slips between your thighs. “Christ, babygirl. Pussy’s soakin’ wet for me. Looks like she missed me while I was gone too, didn’t she, sweetheart?”

He runs his finger along your slick, silky folds.

“Daddy,” you whimper, bucking into his hand.

“Don’t worry, honey. Daddy knows what you need.”

Joel pulls his hand from between your legs.

You almost cry—you’re so fucking desperate for him.

And you shouldn’t be.

He reaches in between your bodies, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock. Without warning, he slips it into your tight, aching cunt, sheathing himself in your warm, wet heat in one smooth stroke.

You choke out a sob.

It’s always overwhelming, that initial stretch.

That fullness, the feeling of him being in your belly.

“S’alright, sweetheart. S’alright. I know you can take it,” he soothes you. “You’re such a good girl for me. Always take my cock so fuckin’ well. So good for me, baby. You feel better now that Daddy’s cock is buried inside your pretty little pussy?”

He drapes an arm around you, pulling your back flush against his chest.

“Yes,” you breathe, placing your hand on top of his.

Joel feathers a kiss onto your neck.

“Go to sleep, babygirl. M’here. Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he promises you.

That shouldn’t be a comfort to you. But it is.

You close your eyes, your fingers subconsciously lacing together with his as you start to drift.

Cunt full of his cock, you fall asleep in your captor’s arms.

divider credit to @saradika🤍

#tw dubcon #tw dubious consent #tw noncon #raider joel #raider! joel #dark!fic #dark! joel miller #dark joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #tw daddy kink #dark!joel x reader #fic: captive

3K notes · View notes

rickydoodahgrimez · 4 months ago

Note

Can i request a jealous!rick grimes x reader, potentially alexandria era where spencer or someone takes an interest in the reader and rick gets jealous. You can chise the rest i just think that rick would definitely be quite overprotective and jealous at times. 🤍

𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨 || rick grimes x gn!reader

You leaned against the railing of the porch, a soft laugh escaping your lips as Spencer Monroe flashed you a grin.

The sun was setting below the walls of Alexandria, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink, but you were too distracted to appreciate it.

Spencer had been lingering around you a lot lately—offering to help you with runs, bringing you extra rations, and now, inviting you to dinner at his house.

“You should come by,” Spencer said, shifting closer. “It’s not gourmet or anything, but I think you’d enjoy it. And the company, of course.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before a single word could leave your lips, a firm hand settled on the small of your back.

“Think she’s busy.” came Rick’s low voice.

You barely had time to register his presence before he was stepping between you and Spencer, effectively cutting off whatever reply you had planned.

Spencer, to his credit, didn’t back down right away. He crossed his arms, glancing between the two of you. “Didn’t realize you had a schedule set for her, Rick.”

Rick’s fingers twitched where they rested against your lower back. His voice was calm—too calm. “She don’t need one.” His blue eyes locked onto Spencer’s, a silent challenge burning behind them. “She’s got everything she needs.”

Your breath hitched. The tension between the two men was palpable, thick enough to suffocate you. You could almost hear the unspoken words behind Rick’s statement: She’s mine. Fuck off.

Spencer exhaled sharply through his nose, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

Rick’s jaw ticked, his fingers pressing ever so slightly against you as if to remind himself you were still there. “Yeah,” He said, voice gruff. “You did.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment before scoffing under his breath and walking off, muttering something about territorial behavior.

You turned to Rick, arching a brow. “That was unnecessary.”

Rick huffed a humorless laugh, finally turning his gaze to you. “Was it?” His hand slid from your back, but before you could step away, he caught your wrist, pulling you closer.

His voice dropped, the rough edge sending a shiver down your spine. “You think I’m gonna stand there and watch some guy try to take what’s mine?”

Your breath hitched. “Yours?”

His eyes darkened, scanning your face as if daring you to argue. “You know you are.”

Your pulse thrummed in your ears, the heat between you rising faster than you were prepared for.

You could push him away, tease him about overreacting—but the way he was looking at you, like he was one wrong move away from showing Spencer exactly who you belonged to, had your knees feeling weak.

So instead, you smirked. “Guess you’ll just have to remind me, then.”

“Oh, I will.”

Rick’s lips parted slightly before he let out a low chuckle, his grip tightening just enough to make you shiver.

And with that, he pulled you inside, making sure that you would never have to be reminded again.

thank you so much for 100 followers my loves <333 and to the person that requested this i'm sorry it took so long for me to upload i was soo busy and i didnt see it until yesterday evening 😭, and there's a similar one shot on my account called ‘damned’

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x fem!reader #rick grimes x gn! reader #the walking dead #twd #rick grimes fluff #alexandria era #rick grimes blurb #blurb #rickydoodahgrimez

244 notes · View notes

clarkeybabey · 3 months ago

Text

❝ no seriously get your hands off my man ❞

summary; you don't like the way she acts around him playlist; miss possessive - tate mcrae word count; 1.2k note; this is for @raekensluver as she is in her miniminter era rn, no one else asked for this so its very much self-indulgent, back to our regular scheduled program after this one.

You and Simon enjoyed many parties in your time, much more when you were younger but, if you hadn't shown up for the charity match after-party he would've been given quite a bit of shit as he took charge of setting up almost everything. He's not stopped beaming since he woke you up yesterday with a coffee in hand for you, ensuring you knew it was nearly time to get going so everyone would be checked into the hotel before training.

Danny makes his way over, Ten's arm hooked with his, a blonde girl whose face is vaguely familiar in tow, "Simon!" Danny dabs him up pulling him in to aggressively clap him on the back, Your husband stumbles slightly before straightening up. They go into a loud conversation about the match attempting to speak over the bass-boosted music.

Tennessee and the nameless girl ogling at Simon sidestep around the two men over to you, "Ten, darling, you are glowing," you pause to kiss her cheek before continuing, "And admirable, can't believe you're out. I'd rather be under several duvets and I'm not pregnant." She smiles, shaking her head, "Glowing, no, oily, absolutely. Wouldn't miss it, Danny's floored." The girl behind her clears her throat, reminding you both of her looming presence.

"This is Emma Moran, she was on locked in with us," and that's when it hit you. The insufferable woman from Locked In who couldn't seem to keep her hands to herself when it came to the guys on there with even the slightest bit of clout or interest in anyone but her. She wanted attention, negative or positive, in her eyes any of it would do.

You nod along as she fangirls over your husband and his friends, he had fans so this was nothing new but she seemed to discuss solely followers and how she had been trying to get in on a Sidemen shoot or their podcast since the end of the show but never had success. "Maybe you could put in a word," she smiles too big for it to be real, you find yourself unable to control the way your face twists.

Her blue eyes flit from you to him a few times before settling on his face, "Uh, I can't really do much, I mean, I can mention you?" The words come off your tongue sounding unintentionally bitter, "They honestly do their own thing guest wise, I'm just his wife."

"That'd be nice, thank you," you smile, albeit tight-lipped, the next thing she says catches you completely off guard and based on how her brows knit together, Tennessee was thrown off just as much as you: "He is very nice to look at isn't he?" You narrow your eyes in her direction, doing your best to let the comment roll right off your back, he gets that from hundreds of thousands of girls daily. "Yeah, he is. One of the reasons I married him."

Silence quickly falls among you, and Simon, being only an arm's length away, picks up immediately on your now stiffened form and the abrupt ending of the conversation. Emma senses the awkward tension within the circle "Think I'm gonna go get a drink." Her grin resembles the Cheshire cat as she saunters off to the drink table, and poor Arthur Hill gets roped into a conversation with her.

The hazel-eyed girl watches her slip through the crowd of people and once she deems her out of earshot she's quick to let apologies flow, "I'm so sorry about her, she's so odd." You shake your head, giving her shoulder a squeeze, "Her actions are not your responsibility, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"No really, I knew I shouldn't have introduced her," she fidgets with her fingers quickly becoming anxious, "Ten, it's not your fault. I'm fine, I promise." Fine, yes, shocked at her audacity, absofuckinglutely.

Warmth creeps up your neck and soon your whole face feels hot, but you continue the lighthearted conversation with your friend, trying your best to relay how fine you thought you were. You're partial to crashing out in the middle of a party celebrating your best friends but if you could see her undressing Simon with her eyes at that moment, that feeling might just change.

Your ears perk as Danny excuses himself, wanting to mingle with some others Tennessee mutters more apologies as she follows behind her fiancee. "What was that about?" He quickly asks after they've stepped away. Rolling your eyes at the thought of what she said, your hand finds the back of his neck, ushering him down to your height.

"You see that girl over there?" He hums leaning into your touch, "She's your biggest fan, you know that?" another grunt of acknowledgment rumbles against your back, "Said you're nice to look at."

His bottom lip juts out and his brows shoot up, "Oh, really?" You tell him about how she was eyefucking him while you spoke with Tennessee and while you do so Simon's lips meet the exposed skin of your shoulder, his fingers graze over where his mouth just was, sliding the sequined strap of your little black dress down but not completely off.

Public displays of affection like this were few and far between, not due to a lack of admiration but because you loved so deeply it felt too nice to let the negativity of the outside world taint it. Even in the early years of your relationship back in school, you saved it for when it was just you two, now you keep it for when you know there are no cameras to be shoved in your face to capture such intimate moments. At this very second, something within you was staking its claim over him so everyone was aware he was not up for grabs.

"She's definitely watching," his warm breath fans over the place where your neck meets your shoulder, goosebumps rising in the wake of his words. You meet her baby-blue eyes from across the room, watching as her tongue darts out to wet her lips. He speaks up again, rubbing down your sides, to your hips getting dangerously close to the hem of your dress, "Why don't we get out of here?"

You sigh leaning back into him, "Yes please." He laces your fingers together, his thumb fiddling with your wedding ring, keeping you close as he makes his way through the sea of people.

You stop in your tracks unknowingly close to the refreshment table where she was last seen, "Shouldn't we say goodbye before," you cut yourself off at the sight of Emma's manicured hand on his bicep, "Simon, right?" she plays into faux oblivion, "I never got to introduce myself," before she can continue, he removes her hand from his arm stepping back from her.

He doesn't bother exchanging pleasantries, "I'd love to stay and chat, but we've really got to go." Her mouth hangs open before she can rack her brain for some form of rebuttal he's turned, tightening his grip on your hand. You can't help but turn giving her the same sickeningly sweet smile she shared with you earlier, following it up with a wave as you round the door and are out of sight.

#Simon minter #miniminter #miniminter x reader #miniminter x you #Simon minter x reader #Simon minter x you #sidemen #sidemen x reader #sidemen x you #uk youtubers

204 notes · View notes

honeydippedfiction · 2 months ago

Note

Joe x Angel Angst Prompt #42 “You Promised” with #14 “Don’t you dare walk away from me” with fluff prompt #35 “ I just want to be there for you.”

Whew this one is a lot… prepare your heartstrings (also takes place when they’re still engaged so pre-Zariyah era)

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

#42 “You Promised”, #14 “Don’t you dare walk away from me” & #35 “ I just want to be there for you.”

Joe Burrow x Angel

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

Angel adjusted the gold necklace resting just above the neckline of her sleek black dress—the same one Joe had picked out for her birthday last year during a surprise trip to New Orleans. She could still remember the way he’d stood behind her in the boutique mirror, arms wrapped around her waist, whispering that she looked like everything the world didn’t deserve.

Now, in the quiet of her hotel suite’s bathroom, she stared at her reflection. Flawless makeup. Confident eyes. The ESPN badge clipped to her waist was a reminder that she’d earned this. After years grinding on the sidelines, chasing quotes in freezing locker rooms, she wasn’t just reporting on college football anymore.

Tonight, she was hosting—live, in front of the country—at the College Football Awards.

It was everything she had worked toward.

The moment she’d dreamt about when she was pulling double shifts during grad school, when she was the only Black woman on set, when she was told to smile more and talk less. All of it led here.

And Joe had promised he’d be there. Not just as her fiancé, but as her partner. As her biggest supporter.

She could still hear his voice from the week before, warm and certain: “Babe, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You’ve supported me through everything—now it’s my turn.”

But he had missed it.

Three hours after the stage lights dimmed, after the cameras stopped rolling and the congratulatory hugs faded into the background, Angel stood alone in the driveway of their Cincinnati home. Her heels dangled from two tired fingers, her arches aching, but that pain was nothing compared to the tight, bruised feeling in her chest.

The sky was a soft charcoal above her, clouds hanging low, the kind of Midwest night where the air tasted like rain even if it never came.

She took a breath, lingering at the driver’s side of her car, part of her still hoping—still foolishly clinging to the idea—that maybe something had gone wrong. Maybe he had made it home early and was waiting upstairs, half-asleep in his clothes, her segment paused on the TV. Maybe there was a good reason.

She unlocked the front door quietly, slipping inside. The familiar scent of pinewood and lavender greeted her. The living room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of the lamp beside the couch.

And there he was.

Joe was curled up on the sofa, hoodie loose around his frame, legs stretched out, his face bathed in the cold blue glow of his iPad. One headphone dangled from his neck. His eyes were narrowed in concentration, locked onto film breakdown, fingers tapping occasionally to rewind or freeze a frame.

He didn’t look up until the door clicked shut.

“Hey,” he said casually, glancing at her like she’d just come back from the grocery store. “How’d it go?”

Angel didn’t speak right away. She just stared at him. Her hand tightened around her keys.

“You weren’t there,” she said quietly.

Joe’s smile faltered. The guilt on his face wasn’t sudden—it had been there, simmering just beneath the surface. He sat up a little straighter, clearing his throat.

“Angel… I know. I—Coach called a team meeting last minute. There was new breakdown footage from practice, and he needed us to—”

“No.” Her voice sliced through the space between them, sharp and clean. “Don’t start with that.”

Joe’s brow furrowed. “I’m not making excuses. I just—”

“You promised, Joe.”

He sighed and set the iPad on the coffee table. “I swear, I wanted to be there. I was watching the time the whole meeting. But it ran long, and by the time I thought about leaving, it was—”

“Wanted to be?” she repeated, her laugh sharp and bitter. “That’s supposed to be enough now? Wanting?”

Joe stood, rubbing his hands down his thighs like he could scrub the guilt off. “Angel, come on. You know what my schedule’s like. It’s not like I was sitting here playing Xbox. This is my job. You knew this is what life with me was going to be.”

“Exactly,” she snapped, stepping closer. “It’s always your job. Always football. Always something more important than me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No?” Her arms crossed over her chest, shoulders drawn tight. “What’s not fair is standing on a national stage, my first time ever doing live television, with my heart in my throat, looking for your face in the crowd and praying you'd walk through the doors. Thinking maybe you got caught in traffic, maybe you were running late, maybe—maybe—you gave enough of a damn to show up. But you didn’t. Just like last time. Just like every time.”

Joe’s jaw clenched. “You knew what this life was when you signed up for it.”

Angel blinked. Slowly.

Her voice dropped an octave, calm now. Dangerous. “I didn’t sign up to be a footnote in your life, Joe. I signed up for you. I thought we were building something together. But I’m starting to feel like I’m doing the building and you’re just passing through.”

The silence that followed was immediate and suffocating.

Angel turned sharply, walking down the hallway without another word. The sound of her suitcase rolling open and the zip of fabric felt louder than any argument.

Joe followed, pausing in the doorway of their bedroom, watching as she began throwing clothes into a duffel bag with a methodical, practiced rhythm.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice tight.

“To Monica’s.”

“You’re seriously leaving over this?”

Angel paused at the dresser, her hand hovering over the engagement ring that had once symbolized the future they were building together. She looked at it for a long moment—her finger, the precious metal, the diamond that had been a promise, now feeling heavier than ever.

Then, without a word, she took the ring off and set it gently on the counter. The sound of the band meeting the stone felt louder than it should have in the silence of the room.

She looked at him. Her eyes were tired now—not angry. Just disappointed.

“I need space, Joe.”

Joe took a step forward. “Don’t you dare walk away from me.”

That stopped her cold.

Angel slowly turned, her face unreadable. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

“Angel—”

“No,” she said, yanking her arm back when he reached for it. Her voice cracked, but her stance held. “Until you can respect me—until you can treat this relationship like it matters—consider our engagement over.”

It hit him like a blindside sack. His lips parted, but no words came.

She slung the duffel over her shoulder, grabbed her keys off the dresser, and walked out. No tears. No dramatic pause. Just the sound of the front door clicking shut, quiet and final, as if the house itself exhaled in her absence.

Joe remained where he was, still trying to make sense of what just happened. His legs felt like lead, his hands trembling, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop her. Not now.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the house, like the softest slap of finality. No tears. No dramatic pause. Just the quiet, irreversible exit.

And then, she was gone.

Joe stood there in the silence, his heart pounding, his mind racing with all the things he should’ve said, should’ve done. The house around him felt colder somehow. The weight of Angel’s absence pressed in on him, suffocating the air. And there, in the center of their once-shared home, was the ring. The promise that had slipped through his fingers.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

The night air hit Angel like a slap the moment she stepped outside. Cold. Final. The door shut behind her with a dull click, but inside her chest, it sounded more like a door slamming shut on something sacred.

She didn’t even remember getting into her car. Her hands moved on autopilot—key in the ignition, seatbelt pulled, drive. The streets blurred as she drove through Cincinnati’s quiet neighborhoods, the city lights casting shadows across her dashboard.

And still, no tears.

Not at first.

It wasn’t until she pulled up to Monica’s apartment complex—a beige three-story building tucked behind a row of oak trees—that the adrenaline wore off. That’s when her breath caught in her throat. That’s when the first sob ripped out of her like it had been waiting all night.

By the time she reached Monica’s door, she was trembling. Her fist knocked harder than she intended, but her control had slipped. All of it had slipped.

The door opened within seconds. Monica appeared in plaid pajama pants, a bonnet secured over her tight curls, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in one hand and a face mask half-applied. Her eyes widened immediately.

“Angel?” Her voice sharpened. “Girl, what the hell—what happened?”

Angel tried to answer. Tried to say I’m okay, or It’s nothing, or Can I crash here for the night? But the only thing that came out was a choked sob.

And then she broke.

Monica didn’t hesitate. She stepped aside, looping an arm around her best friend’s shoulders and ushering her inside like she was guiding someone out of a burning building.

“Okay. Sit down. I got you.”

Angel dropped her bag by the door and collapsed onto Monica’s couch, tears streaming freely now, her body shaking. Monica knelt in front of her, one hand holding Angel’s and the other reaching for a blanket from the armrest.

“Breathe. Just breathe, okay?”

Angel nodded, but her breath came in gasps.

Monica waited, rubbing her thumb over Angel’s knuckles until her breathing finally slowed. When Angel was able to wipe her face and speak, the first words came in a hoarse whisper.

“He didn’t show.”

Monica blinked. “What?”

“For the awards,” Angel said. “He promised me, Monica. He swore he’d be there.”

Monica sat back, her expression darkening. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Angel shook her head. “I kept looking at the crowd, thinking maybe he’d walk in late, maybe he’d surprise me. But he didn’t come. I got home, and he was just there. On the couch. Watching film.”

“You’re kidding me,” Monica said flatly. “Watching game film?”

Angel nodded, another tear slipping down her cheek. “Like it was just another Tuesday. No apology, no flowers, no effort.” Her voice broke. “And I—I just snapped.”

“Damn right you did.” Monica stood up, pacing now. “After everything you’ve done for that man? After all the times you’ve canceled things for him, traveled with him, bent over backward to support his ass—and he can’t show up for the biggest night of your career?”

Angel looked down at her lap. “I told him I needed space. That I was coming here.”

“You did the right thing,” Monica said without hesitation. “He needed to hear it. He needed to see that you won’t sit around waiting for him to finally remember you’re not just the woman in his house—you’re the woman who’s next to him, or supposed to be.”

Angel winced. “I told him to consider the engagement over.”

Monica stopped in her tracks. “Good.”

Angel looked up. “Mon—”

“I’m serious,” she said, her voice low but fierce. “If he can’t treat you with the respect you’ve earned, then he doesn’t get to wear that ring like it’s a badge of honor. You’ve always been more than someone’s fiancée. You’re Angel Carter. You don’t need a man who only shows up when it’s convenient.”

Angel wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, her voice small. “I still love him.”

Monica’s expression softened, and she returned to the couch, taking Angel’s hand again. “I know. And maybe he loves you, too. But loving someone means more than saying it. It means showing up. Not just when it’s easy. Especially when it’s not.”

Angel nodded slowly, her tears finally slowing, her body exhausted.

“Get some sleep,” Monica murmured. “I’ll make waffles in the morning. You’re not going anywhere until you’ve had carbs and clarity.”

Angel managed a soft, tired smile through the ache in her chest. “I love you.”

“Love you too, babe,” Monica said. “And just so you know, if I do see Joe in the street tomorrow, I’m fighting him. That’s not a threat—it’s a premonition.”

That pulled a short laugh from Angel, a watery one, but real. It wasn’t healing yet. But it was the first breath after drowning.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

The first night at Monica’s, Angel barely slept.

She spent most of it curled on the couch under the weight of a fleece blanket and her own thoughts, staring at the ceiling fan slowly spinning above her. Her phone buzzed twice—both messages from Joe.

She didn’t read them.

She couldn’t.

The next morning, she awoke to the smell of cinnamon and the distant hiss of Monica’s waffle maker. She shuffled into the kitchen, hair tied up, hoodie draped over her petite frame. Monica handed her a plate and a side-eye full of sisterly concern.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Angel said preemptively.

“Didn’t ask,” Monica replied, pouring syrup like it was holy oil. “But I’ll listen when you’re ready.”

Angel spent most of that day in sweats, watching reruns of A Different World and only half-listening. Her mind drifted back to that moment in their hallway—Joe reaching for her like he could fix everything with a hand on her arm. The way his face had changed when she told him to consider the engagement over.

She hadn’t said it to be cruel.

She had said it because it hurt too much to pretend anymore.

By Thursday, her emotions had shifted. The anger wasn’t gone, but now it was folded beneath layers of sorrow and confusion. Every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped. What if he was saying the right thing now? What if he wasn’t saying anything?

She didn’t check. Not yet.

Friday came with silence. Monica went to the studio for a podcast taping and left Angel with the apartment to herself. Alone, Angel found herself scrolling through old photos—tailgates at LSU, their first NFL Draft night, the weekend in Miami when Joe told her, “I don’t know what the future looks like, but I know you’re in it.”

She had believed him.

By Saturday, the air was heavier. Something about weekends had always made Angel feel closer to him. Their lazy mornings. Coffee in mismatched mugs. Her feet on his lap while they watched film or movies. The ritual of love, in quiet moments.

But tonight was different.

They had planned dinner at Joe’s parents’ house weeks ago. Robin was making her infamous shrimp étouffée. It was supposed to be the kind of warm, casual night they both loved—family, wine, a break from the chaos.

Angel stayed on the couch, her phone on silent beside her, as Monica made sangria in the kitchen. She couldn’t face Robin. Couldn’t put on a brave face and pretend that everything wasn't unraveling.

Across town, the Burrow house was quieter than usual.

Dinner was ready. The table was set for six, though only five were seated.

Robin stirred her wine and looked at the empty chair beside Joe.

“Where’s Angel?” she asked casually, not yet suspicious, just curious.

Joe didn’t meet her eyes. He poked at his rice and shrugged. “She couldn’t make it.”

Robin blinked, surprised. “That’s not like her. She’s never missed a family dinner.”

“I know.”

Silence settled over the table, but Robin didn’t let it rest.

“She okay?”

Joe swallowed hard. “We, uh… we had a fight.”

Robin set down her wine. “What kind of fight?”

Joe shook his head, still not looking up. “It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.”

“She just… needed space.”

Robin let the words hang there for a beat. Then, without a word, she reached for her phone, walked out of the dining room, and stepped onto the back porch.

She didn’t need to ask for Angel’s number. She had it saved.

It rang twice.

“Robin?” Angel’s voice came on the other end, hesitant.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Robin said gently, but there was a steel edge beneath the warmth. “I missed you tonight.”

Angel’s breath caught. “I’m sorry. I… I couldn’t come.”

Robin’s voice softened. “You don’t have to apologize to me, honey. But I would like to know what happened.”

There was a long pause. Angel considered dodging, softening the truth. But she was tired of pretending.

“He promised he’d be at the College Football Awards,” she said quietly. “He didn’t show. I came home to find him watching film like it was just another Tuesday night. And I broke.”

Robin exhaled sharply. “He didn’t show up for you?”

“No. And not just that night. It’s been building for a while. I feel like I’m standing alone in this relationship, and when I told him that, he got defensive. I told him I needed space… that I was leaving.”

Robin’s voice went cold. “And he let you?”

Angel didn’t respond. She didn’t have to.

There was a beat of heavy silence.

“Well,” Robin said finally, her voice rising just slightly, “you may not be my daughter by blood, but I love you like one. And I’m not going to sit back and watch my son sabotage the only good thing that’s ever happened to him.”

Angel closed her eyes. Her heart ached from the kindness, from the clarity of being seen.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Robin didn’t respond right away. But when she did, her voice was low, firm, and meant for one person only.

“I did not raise him to be this man. And if he doesn’t wake up soon and check into reality, he’s going to lose the only woman who’s stood by him through everything. And believe me, Angel—he knows it.”

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

Robin stepped back into the house, the sliding door gliding shut behind her with a soft click. But the shift in her presence was anything but soft. The warmth in her smile was gone, replaced by a cool determination that made everyone at the dinner table sit up a little straighter.

Joe looked up instinctively. The second he saw her face, he knew.

He’d never been afraid of his mother. Not as a boy, not as a man. But right now, seated at the table like nothing was burning around him, he felt something close.

Robin crossed her arms and stared at him.

“Get in the kitchen,” she said.

A few glances darted across the table. Everyone else fell silent as Joe pushed his chair back with a scrape and followed his mother into the kitchen. He didn’t need a map to know where this was headed—he could feel the storm coming before she even opened her mouth.

Joe blinked. “What?”

“I said get up. Now.”

The scrape of his chair against the hardwood was the only sound as he followed her. Once they were out of earshot of the others—just past the pantry, near the fridge—Robin turned on him.

“I just got off the phone with Angel.”

Joe’s heart sank, but he kept his jaw tight. “I figured.”

Robin’s voice was low, sharp as a blade. “You figured? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he muttered, but it sounded weak, even to him.

Robin leaned forward, her eyes fierce. “Don’t you dare minimize this. You broke a promise to her. Not just any promise—a big one. Her night, Joe. After all the times she’s been there for you. After all the ways she’s had your back, stayed quiet, made space for your career, smiled for cameras when she wanted to cry. And you couldn’t show up for her once? She didn’t come tonight because she couldn’t bring herself to sit across from you and pretend like you didn’t break her heart.”

Joe’s stomach sank.

He opened his mouth, but Robin wasn’t done.

She raised a hand, and he immediately fell silent.

“No. You don’t get to talk yet. You get to listen.”

“Do you understand how lucky you are that that girl even looked at you twice, let alone stayed with you through everything? Through the chaos, the injuries, the relocations, the media—she’s been there. Constant. Loyal. Proud of you. Loving you out loud, in front of the world. I’m not saying this as her friend. I’m saying this as your mother. You want to be a franchise quarterback? A leader? A grown man who earns respect? Then you better start with the woman who’s been holding you down since LSU.”

Joe’s chest rose and fell, slow and tight. He’d felt guilt before—but this? This was something deeper. A sinking realization that he hadn’t just made a mistake—he had wounded something sacred.

“And you couldn’t be bothered to show up for her,” Robin said. “Her night. A night she earned, worked for, dreamed of. You left her alone in that room, looking for your face and realizing you weren’t coming.”

Joe’s shoulders tensed. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there—”

“Wanting isn’t doing,” she snapped. “She didn’t need you to want to show up. She needed you to be there. In the seat you said you’d sit in. Supporting her like she’s supported you through injuries, media storms, trades, and a schedule that devours every minute of your life.”

“Mom, I—”

“No.” Her voice dropped, quiet and lethal. “Joseph Lee Burrow.”

Joe froze.

That was it.

The full government name. Robin hadn’t said it since he was sixteen and wrecked her Camry backing out of the driveway too fast. Back then, he’d known it meant he’d crossed a line.

Now, hearing it again, as a grown man, the shame hit him in the chest like a linebacker.

“You didn’t just miss a dinner,” Robin continued, voice trembling now—not from anger, but from disbelief. “You missed her. And then, when she called you on it, you let her walk out that door instead of fighting for her. You let her pack a bag and leave. She told me she called off the engagement. Do you even get what that means?”

Joe’s throat was dry. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” she snapped. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be sitting at this table acting like you’re just giving her space. You’d be on your feet, in your car, at her door, doing whatever it takes to win her back.”

He looked down at the tile floor, hands braced on the edge of the counter. The image of Angel walking out—her bag over her shoulder, her eyes full of fire and heartbreak—played in his head like punishment.

“I didn’t raise a man who hides behind excuses or expects the people who love him to always be the ones bending. I raised a man who knows how to apologize. A man who knows when he’s wrong and makes it right.”

Joe’s throat tightened. “I know I messed up.”

“Messed up doesn’t even cover it, Joseph,” she said, using his full name now. “She left your house. She’s staying at Monica’s. And she told me to my face that she called off the engagement.”

He flinched.

Robin took a breath, softer this time. But no less serious.

“She loves you. But love isn’t a one-way commitment. And you are this close—this close—to losing the best thing that’s ever happened to you because you’re too buried in game tape to notice the person in front of you is drowning.”

Joe leaned against the counter, hand to his face. “I know,” he whispered. “God, I know.”

Robin stared at him for another moment, and then walked closer, her tone dropping to something gentler.

“I adore that woman,” she said. “She’s strong, she’s brilliant, she’s loyal. She chose you—not the NFL, not the spotlight. You. And you’ve got one chance, maybe two, to make this right before she walks away and never looks back.”

Joe nodded slowly, the weight of his mother’s words settling into his bones.

“Figure it out,” Robin said, pointing a finger at him like it was gospel. “Because if you don’t, she’s not going to be the one who regrets it. You will.”

Robin took one last look at him and let out a breath like she’d just set something heavy down.

“I raised you better than this. So act like it.”

With that, she turned and walked back toward the dining room, calm as ever—leaving Joe alone in the kitchen, heart pounding, shame burning like fire in his chest.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

Four days.

That’s how long it had been since Angel left.

Each one stretched endlessly, heavy and hollow, the kind of days that don’t tick forward—they drag. The kind of days that make a man sit in silence and realize just how loud a quiet house can be.

Joe didn’t go back to the facility. Not after the fight. Not after the dinner at his parents’ place where his mother, with every ounce of love and fire she had, peeled back the armor he’d been hiding behind and forced him to look at himself. Really look.

He told Coach he needed a few days. Told the team he had something personal to handle. That was true, at least in part.

But what he really needed was her.

And she wasn’t answering.

Not the simple Hey. Not the full paragraph that started with I’m sorry and ended with I don’t expect a response, but I hope you know I love you. Not even the one that just said: I miss you.

Joe had always known Angel was special. Since the beginning. Since LSU. But these four days stripped away every distraction, every assumed “tomorrow,” every excuse.

He wasn’t losing some girl he casually dated. He was losing the woman who had rooted for him when he was a backup quarterback, who had defended him when no one thought he had an NFL arm, who had stood in the shadows of stadium lights so he could shine—without once dimming her own brilliance. The woman who made him, him.

And he had let her down. In front of the world. In front of herself.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭.·:¨༺༻¨:·.⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔭

That fourth night, just after 9 p.m., Joe stood outside Monica’s condo building, hands shoved deep into the pocket of his hoodie. The spring air wrapped around him with a quiet chill—the kind that seeps past cotton, settling in your chest, reminding you that time keeps moving whether you’re ready or not.

He shifted his weight on the concrete stoop. His breath fogged faintly in the porch light as he looked up at the door. From the outside, everything looked normal. Cozy, even. But inside those walls was the woman he’d spent the last four days aching for—and she hadn’t given him a single word.

He deserved it. That silence. And still, it hollowed him out more than any hit he’d taken on the field.

Joe exhaled once, a breath that rattled in his chest, and knocked.

The door creaked open a crack.

Monica appeared, bonnet wrapped tight, arms crossed, eyes sharp as nails beneath arched brows. Her sweatshirt read Don’t Try Me, and she wore it like a mantra.

She didn’t blink. “If you’re here to start drama,” she said flatly, “turn around now.”

Joe didn’t flinch. He nodded once. “I’m not,” he said, quiet and low. “I just… I need to talk to her.”

A long pause stretched between them. The kind of silence that measures character.

Monica narrowed her eyes, then sighed. She didn’t soften, but she stepped back just enough to let him pass.

“She’s in the back,” she said, tone clipped and cautious. “And if she tells me she wants you gone, I will personally help her pack your ego into a suitcase.”

Joe managed a small, broken smile. “Fair enough,” he murmured. “I understand.”

The condo was warm—light jazz playing low from a Bluetooth speaker somewhere in the living room, candles flickering from a side table. It smelled faintly of eucalyptus, cocoa butter, and the vanilla lotion Angel always wore at night. The familiarity of it almost made him dizzy. He didn’t deserve the comfort—but he took it in anyway, like a man gasping for air at the surface.

He moved down the hallway slowly, like each step mattered.

Because it did.

Every one of them was an apology. A plea.

He reached the end of the hallway just as she stepped out.

Angel stood barefoot in Monica’s oversized T-shirt, joggers hanging low on her hips, her curls pulled back into a loose pineapple bun. There were faint smudges beneath her eyes, the kind that didn’t come from makeup—but from not sleeping. From carrying too much.

She looked exhausted. And somehow, impossibly, still stunning.

Joe’s heart twisted hard in his chest. She was right there—so close—but he could feel the distance between them like an entire ocean.

He cleared his throat, voice low.

“I messed up,” he said.

Angel didn’t move. She didn’t roll her eyes. Didn’t cross the room. But she didn’t walk away either.

That was something.

“I told myself I could balance it all,” Joe said, eyes searching hers. “That football and us could live in two separate lanes. But that’s not how love works. You’re not something I fit into the margins of my schedule, Angel. You’re the center. You’re home. And I haven’t been treating you like that.”

Still nothing. But her arms fell from their crossed stance. Her fingers laced together in front of her like she was holding herself still.

Joe stepped closer, slow and careful.

“I keep saying I love you,” he said. “But love isn’t missing your biggest night because I was too wrapped up in game film. Love is being there. It’s showing up. And I didn’t. I didn’t show up for you—and that’s the part I can’t stop thinking about.”

Finally, Angel’s voice cut through the quiet—soft, steady, and sharp.

“Do you know how hard I’ve worked to be taken seriously in this field?”

The words were simple. But they carried years inside them. Years of being questioned. Overlooked. Undermined.

“I do,” Joe said, voice hoarse.

Angel’s jaw tightened. “No. You think you do. But you don’t. I’ve stood on the sidelines in the snow, gotten talked over in press conferences, been told to smile more and speak less. I’ve had people call me lucky for being on air—as if I didn’t earn every second with sweat and receipts. That night… it wasn’t just about the award, Joe. It was about being seen. And I needed you there. Not as my boyfriend. Not as the NFL quarterback. As my person. The one who claps loudest, even when no one else is watching.”

Joe closed his eyes briefly, the weight of her words sinking into his bones.

“You’re right,” he said. “I failed you. I see that now.”

Angel looked down, blinking fast. Her arms hung loose at her sides now, like even holding them up took too much effort. When she spoke again, her voice trembled—not with anger, but with fatigue.

“You let me stand alone in a room full of people who didn’t expect me to be there in the first place. And you were supposed to be the one face I could find. The one person I never had to doubt.”

“I know,” Joe said, taking a tentative step forward. “I can’t fix the moment. But I can do better. From this moment on.”

He looked at her, bare and open, no defenses left.

“I just want to be there for you. Every time. No more excuses. No more ‘next time.’ You deserve more than promises. You deserve action.”

The silence between them stretched long—thick with history and hurt. And love.

Angel’s gaze lifted. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the kind you don’t cry because they carry too much. She looked at him for a long beat, like she was deciding whether to believe again. Whether to let him back into the soft, vulnerable places.

Then, quietly, she said:

“I don’t need perfect.”

She took a step forward.

“I just need present.”

Joe nodded, voice caught in his throat. “I can be that,” he whispered. “From now on… I will be.”

No dramatic music played. No world paused. It was just her—moving closer. Slowly. Until she was in his arms again, wrapping herself around him like she belonged there.

And she did.

Angel pressed her cheek into his chest and let out a breath that seemed to collapse four days of holding everything in.

Joe buried his face in her curls and held her like she was gravity itself.

No, it wasn’t forgiveness—not fully. And it wasn’t forgetting.

But it was hope.

It was us.

It was the start of something new, built from the rubble of everything they’d nearly lost.

In the hallway of a quiet apartment, beneath the hum of candles and the weight of a love still learning how to grow, Joe and Angel didn’t fix everything.

But they chose each other.

And sometimes, that’s enough to begin again.

Joe didn’t move right away. He just held her, arms wrapped tight like he needed the physical confirmation that she was real, that she was here, that she hadn’t slipped through his fingers completely.

After a long moment, she pulled back slightly—just enough to look up at him.

Her eyes were still glassy, lashes clumped from tears that hadn’t fallen. But her shoulders weren’t so tense now. The storm in her chest was settling.

Joe reached into the front pocket of his hoodie and slowly pulled something out—small, delicate, shining faintly under the hallway light.

The engagement ring.

He hadn’t let it out of his sight since the night she left. It had slept on his nightstand, sat on his kitchen counter while he ate cereal he couldn’t taste, pressed against the palm of his hand when he paced the house in the middle of the night.

“Can I…?” he asked, his voice quieter than it had been all night.

Angel looked down at the ring, then back up at him. Her lips parted slightly, her breath catching.

She didn’t answer with words.

She held out her left hand.

Joe took it gently, like he was handling something sacred, and slid the ring back onto her finger—slow, deliberate, like a promise being made for the second time.

It glinted under the warm overhead light. And this time, it meant something more.

Not just love—but earned love.

He looked back up at her, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“So,” he said. “Do I get a kiss, or...?”

Angel lifted one brow, her mouth twitching into the smallest smirk. Her voice was soft, but teasing.

“Don’t push your luck, Burrow.”

Joe huffed a laugh, the first real one in days, as she shook her head—but didn’t pull her hand away.

He didn’t lean in. He didn’t need to. That one look, that one line—it was hers. It had always been hers. And he’d take it gladly.

In that quiet hallway, no kiss was exchanged.

But the ring was back where it belonged. Her hand was still in his. And his heart—finally—was back in the right place.

They had a long way to go. But they’d go together.

And that made all the difference.

168 notes · View notes