#It's to protect himself from the pain of being abandoned by someone again but it ultimately deprives him of meaningful emotional connection

[tinylantern]

Admittedly, I do get lowkey annoyed when people exclusively refer to Arthur's problems as "mommy issues" and it's difficult to explain why without writing a mile long post

[daydreamerdrew]

Iron Man (1968) #59

[juicegremlin]

Literally sobbing my eyes out because Jean wanted Neil to stay at The Nest so. Bad. Someone barrels into his life—the "what could have been" of Jean Moreau if his mother had saved him instead of sold him—and tells Jean that he doesn't deserve to be treated this way. Jean-Yves "Starving Dog" Moreau doesn't deserve to starve, doesn't deserve to spend his whole life chasing safety and approval. For the first time in a long time, Jean has someone to protect and be protected by—a partner who won't throw him under the bus the first chance he gets. Someone to hold his fucking hand.

And then Neil leaves. Neil leaves, and Jean shatters into even more pieces than before. His partner—the one and only bright spot in Evermore's relentless sea of bad—has gone back to the Foxes, a group of people that would never treat someone the way Jean has been treated. Jean has been abandoned, yet again, by the only person capable of being there for him. Kevin got out. Neil got out. They find homes and lives and families while Jean is forced to stay and let Riko beat him into the ground, day after day after day. What makes Jean so different? So unworthy? Why can't fate hand him the same cards?

He watches Neil flourish from behind black walls, watches Kevin grow and heal and thinks why not me? And he's glad they are safe, but Jean can't help it—he wants them back. Wants someone to bear witness to his pain, even if it means putting them in danger. And is that so awful to crave? A partner in punishment? Someone to promise him hope when all he can see is black?

Kengo dies, and what little bit of hope Jean had allowed himself to cling to dies with him.

I am going to die here, Jean realizes, bleeding out onto the dormitory floor. I am finally going to die here.

When he spots Renee, he thinks he has died. Who else would come for him but an angel without wings?

But no, this is real. Jean is alive, and this is real—after years of battering, it is finally his turn to be saved, and it's all because of the Neil Josten. Jean may have been left, but he was not abandoned. He was in the back of Neil's mind the entire time. Jean watches from behind the Foxes' safety net as Neil takes Riko's resolve and dismantles it with unforgiving hands, as Neil helps return Kevin to his former glory. Watches as Neil drags Riko's life to a screeching halt. Neil cuts a deal for Jean with the Moriyamas—gives him a place outside of Evermore for the first time since Marseille—and Jean can barely breathe under the weight of himself. It's real, but it doesn't feel like it.

And then Kevin—that beautiful, unattainable piece of bitch—sends Jean to the Trojans, repayment for helping Kevin escape all those months ago. Neil takes care of the last piece of Jean's painful past, repayment for Jean's life-saving support at Evermore. And perhaps there is no real way to settle the score between the three of them, but they're free. They're safe. They're alive, and they never could have done it without each other. Maybe that's enough for now.

[sillydestiny]

**Headcanon: Dokja Being Jealous**

- Dokja is typically a composed and rational individual, but when it comes to matters of the heart, especially concerning his significant other (reader), he can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy from time to time.

-One of Dokja's main triggers for jealousy is when he notices his significant other spending too much time with someone else, especially if that person happens to be charismatic or charming. While he trusts his partner, he can't help but feel a pang of insecurity, fearing that he might not be enough for them

-He tries to suppress it initially, not wanting to appear insecure or possessive, but as his feelings grow deeper, he finds it increasingly difficult to ignore.

- He's not possessive in an unhealthy way, but he values his relationship with the reader deeply.

- Dokja's jealousy often manifests subtly at first. He might become more attentive or protective of the reader when they're around other people, especially if he perceives them as a potential threat.

-Dokja's jealousy often starts as a small knot in his stomach, but it gradually intensifies as his imagination runs wild with worst-case scenarios. He may become more distant or withdrawn, retreating into his thoughts as he tries to rationalize his feelings.

-Despite his internal turmoil, Dokja rarely confronts his significant other about his jealousy. He prefers to keep his emotions bottled up, fearing that expressing them openly might push his partner away. Instead, he tries to cope with his feelings on his own, burying himself in work or distraction.

-Despite his efforts to conceal it, his closest companions, like Yoo Joonghyuk or Han Sooyoung, can often sense his

-However, there are moments when Dokja's jealousy becomes too overwhelming to ignore. In these instances, he may subtly test his partner's loyalty, perhaps by asking leading questions or observing their behavior more closely than usual. While he hates himself for it, he can't help but seek reassurance that he's still valued and loved.

-Ultimately, Dokja's jealousy stems from his deep-seated fear of abandonment and rejection. He's been hurt in the past, and he's terrified of experiencing that pain again. Despite his rational mind telling him otherwise, his heart can't help but cling tightly to the person who has come to mean everything to him.

-Over time, with patience and understanding from his significant other, Dokja learns to trust more fully and express his emotions more openly

[starlightwritcr]

I can fix him, literally. (Android au!Sukuna)

(@poe-daydreams this is for you <3)

warning/s: Minors DNI, Smut, exhibitionism but not really? idk how to describe it, light degradation, use of "whore", Sukuna's two dicks

Imagine android!Sukuna used to be a popular fighter in an underground fighting ring. Key word: used to be. He went up against Jujutsu Technology's newest Gojo model, S4T0RU (or Satoru, as most fans call him), but suffered a humiliating defeat at his hands. This caused heavy damages on Sukuna which led to his owner throwing him out to the trash. After all, why keep the old model around when the latest model was far superior?

But you didn't believe in such. You were surprised to find a Sukuna model in the trash at the back of a dingy building. Who in their right mind would throw away a million dollar android in this economy?! You took the android in, seeing as how the previous clearly didn't want him.

It was a challenge to repair the Sukuna model but as someone who used to work for Jujutsu Technology, you were able to do it. His mind chip seemed to be working fine. It was just the external parts that suffered heavy damage, which should be easy enough to replace. All it took was ordering spare parts online and giving it a new coat of paint to match his original model's tattoos to make him look good as new!

When android!Sukuna's systems started operating again, he woke up from sleep mode and saw you. You explained that you fixed him up after finding him in the trash. There were still some tests to run, just to see if there would be any possible bug fixes needed.

In true Sukuna fashion, he wasn't very cooperative at first. This wasn't your first rodeo though and managed to convince him to do it so that it could be over with. It didn't come as a surprise to you that a fighter android would be aggressive. Plus, the Sukuna line was designed with that personality to elicit reactions from audiences when he trash talked his opponents. It was pretty much just how he was designed.

While running the tests on Sukuna, you decided to check his memory file to see what happened before he was thrown out. You saw how badly he got beaten by the S4T0RU model.

Perhaps it was a strange thing to do, but you empathised with the android. Getting abandoned and replaced would be painful for any regular human after all. Even if Sukuna was an android, it wasn't uncommon for androids to develop a capacity for human emotions. This tended to be the case for fast-learning androids.

So, you kept him around. Sukuna wasn't too pleased about it but it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go. He was rough and brash at first, blowing a hole into your finances with how much fuel he needed to consume. He calls you soft for treating him like he's human.

But despite the difficulties, despite the insults, you couldn't bring yourself to abandon him. You'd be no better than the person that replaced him so easily. You taught him how to navigate human life, dealing with human emotions, all the essentials needed. Soon enough, you noticed a change in his behaviors. Sukuna hovered around you, never leaving your side. It was almost like he was attached to your hip.

In a way, Sukuna did what he was created to do. He became a bodyguard of sorts, protecting you from creepy dudes whenever you went out. His trash talking feature especially came in handy during gossip sessions where you just had to vent about a rude coworker.

android!Sukuna found a new purpose in you. It was odd going from being a fighter android basking in cheers from the audience to being a companion android protecting his owner like a guard dog. But perhaps this life was more meaningful than his previous one. He'll never admit that though. It's only through his actions that you understand how he felt.

Feeling your touch on his synthetic skin felt even more exhilarating than all the cheers from the audience he's received in his fighting career. Sukuna cursed at himself, realising that he's become whipped for you. He was lucky that it was you, the person who's never abandoned him.

Sometimes android!Sukuna can be pretty possessive. You worked with repairing other androids so deep down, there was a fear that you'd find another android you liked more and replaced him with it. Even if he knew you wouldn't, there was a lingering fear that was deeply rooted ever since he was abandoned.

The height of Sukuna's possessiveness came to its peak when you brought home a sex android from the S4T0RU line. Its previous owners had a really good time with it and accidentally damaged it. You were baffled by this, seeing as how Jujutsu Technology usually equipped its Gojo models with tough materials. They must've went really wild with it.

While repairing it, Sukuna pulled you close. He glared at the S4T0RU model that was in sleep mode. You gasped as his fingers slipped into your clothes, going up your thighs.

Your cries of pleasure echoed against the walls as Sukuna fucked you in front of the android. His hands held you tightly, keeping you in place while he drove his synthetic cocks into you.

"When did you get two dicks?!" "Shut up and take them, whore."

You felt your brain turning to mush while he rearranged your insides with his thick cocks. Sukuna smirked in satisfaction when he knew your attention was completely on him and not that android on your work desk.

[undiscovered-horizon]

Hi, I read a few of your posts and I really liked your writing. May I ask a hcs/drabble/one shot of ONE PIECE with Shanks (and Mihawk if it’s possible) who are in a relationship with a woman who have her own crew and the woman flee away in their sleep, leaving them behind, with her crew after years of relationship? A bit angsty 🙊 and they never found her again, seeing her in newspapers or rumors only.

Thank you if you made it and sorry if It doesn’t suit your blog! Have a nice day <3

At first, he though he read the title wrong. But no matter how many times his eyes glided across the black ink, the newspaper headline said the exact same thing: BLACK TOOTH GRINS: A NEW SCOURGE?

There was a picture attached underneath the title. Part of him thought that maybe the familiarity in the woman’s face was just his longing; a product of a mind too lovesick to hold on to sanity. Alas, this time, too, his senses were not deceiving him.

It is your face. You're alive and well as it seems. Looking exactly the same as the day you had left.

The heartache comes back to him tenfold. Not it has ever left but the pain and anger are now suffocating. So many months have passed when he hasn't heard from you as though you've suddenly ceased to exist. No one has heard about you, no one has seen. How can a whole person just vanish? At some point, he told himself that maybe you've met your end. It was entirely possible.

But nothing has prepared him for this. To realize that he was abandoned by the one he loved.

The anguish slowly fades into numbness like a radio falls silent after piercing ears with static. Everything stands still as he recalls the day some part of him had died:

"Greatest swordsman in the world" is a quite hefty title to carry. It is also quite a hefty title to be overshadowed by. Wherever the two of you showed up, you'd always be perceived as a decoration to Mihawk rather than his partner. Like a pearly white Maltese carried by rich ladies in their purses. Having voiced your concerns, Mihawk knew that you feel in some way inferior to him. He just never thought it was that severe.

He was woken up that night, actually. The sky was still black and starry, morning long hours away. You were getting out of bed and your stirring woke him up. But he quickly went back to sleep when you whispered that you were just going to the bathroom. By all means, it was just another night. Like countless others you've spent together. Nothing unusual.

In the morning, everything was gone. All of your belongings had disappeared as though you had never been on his ship in the first place. Like a ghost he's grown to love had simply become bored of haunting him.

Only one thing, however, suggested that you were not a figment of imagination: a laconic note that vaguely explained the situation. In a few words, you told him that you're tired of being seen as an accessory to someone, a pair of gloves that will be out of season when snow thaws. Knowing that you're more than the Maltese in a purse, you ventured into the wide world to become an infamous name of your own.

Throughout many years, every day has he thought of that night and the morning that followed. What if he hadn't fallen asleep? Was he too calloused to notice how much you've been suffering? Was there something he could have done but decided not to for some reason?

The longer he thought about it, the more he came to the same, heart-wrenching conclusion - he was just abandoned in the middle of the night. Whether it was his hurt pride or respect towards your wishes, he's never gone on an escapade to find you.

As years went by and he hadn't heard from you or about you, Mihawk simply assumed that you'd died. It seemed the most probable. Part of him wanted to take the blame: if he had noticed your pain earlier, had he taken your worries seriously, you wouldn't have left and you wouldn't have died. It was his responsibility to protect you, to ensure that his beloved is safe and sound. Alas, he had failed. Quite utterly at that.

He grew bitter and vicious. What good is his swordsmanship if it failed that one time it could have mattered? What good is he if he was too blind and oblivious to ease your burden?

But all of those painful thoughts disappeared today.

Mihawk tears the newspaper and throws it away. He's grown almost used to the weight of bereavement on his shoulders but now he's absolved of it. One shouldn't grieve someone who is still alive. But contrary to his expectations, he doesn't feel better because of that. In fact, he feels a lot worse. Even if your death had been brought by your own choices, it is not your fault. Your death, however, hasn't occurred as of yet, so the time you've spent building infamy was just time you chose to leave him broken and aching.

He mourned you! Turned his grief and misery into a fury that burned entire towns. He became a shadow of the person he used to be. And for what? To learn that he was disposable to you? That his love for you was less important than your pride and ambitions?

Now that you've made it on the front page with an equally hefty title "A New Scourge", perhaps you're a danger big enough to be hunted down by none other but one of the Warlords. Was it not what you wanted? To be truly someone among pirates?

Oh, he will find you. Even if you told him not to look for you. Mihawk will find you and make you take responsibility for the damage you've done - for the man you've irreversibly changed for the worse; the heart you've forced to turn into stone.

Is it revenge or is it justice? No matter. It is right.

If the butterfly effect is true, Shanks, or rather his tendencies, would be the said butterfly that causes a tornado down the line. He's been known as a man with no commitment and certainly not a devout monogamist. It didn't matter that for a few years he's been exactly that - happily wrapped around the finger of one woman. Most of his men "respectfully" disregarded the relationship status as something temporary.

"Shanks thinks he's in love. Like a thousand times before her."

Which was probably why you've gone years being called a variation of "Shanks's girl". Whether they meant it or not, people around you made sure that you know you're disposable. A fling.

But you never were. Gods above! You never were.

Shanks thought it was quite obvious that he didn't consider you a fling. All the jokes and jabs at his previous love life were just that - meaningless jokes among friends. Even when you explicitly told him that they start to make you uncomfortable and that you want to be taken seriously, the pirate captain never quite took you as seriously as he probably should have. "They're just joking".

The jokes stopped one day and, seemingly, so did Shanks's humour altogether. All of your belongings were gone. You were gone. Nowhere to be found, disappeared like fog on a spring morning. The only thing he had from you was a note, hastily scribbled in the corner of a map lying on his desk as though you were too rushed to take your time to write a proper letter.

He's read that note every day for years. Naively hoping that one day he'll somehow be enlightened as to where you've gone. Maybe one of the letters is strangely pointing towards an island? Or maybe the fact that you've written your message in the North-East of the map was a sign? No matter how many asinine guesses he's made, all of them were wrong. You just... disappeared.

Despite asking him not to look for you, Shanks couldn't help himself. Each village he has visited, he would ask about you. Has anyone seen you? Or heard about you? A few times he thought he had seen you in the crowd, only for the woman to turn out to be a stranger vaguely fitting your description. But this investigation, too, proved to be in vain. For better or worse, it seemed as though you had never existed in the first place.

To put things simply, Shanks had given up. If no one across the seas had seen you or heard about you, it seemed the most probable that you'd met your end. Somewhere far away, among unfamiliar waters and surrounded by strangers. Were you in pain? Were you afraid? Did you wish he could have been there? Or maybe you thought-

No. He shouldn't be thinking like that.

Shanks is locked in his cabin. If his crewmates believed he had an alcohol problem after you disappeared, their captain's state right now would be "alcohol catastrophe". He hasn't been sober since he saw the newspaper.

At first, he was excited, yes! You were alive and well! But then the realization set in: you've left in the middle of the night, asked him not to look for you and never once reached out to him. Telling him that you don't love him anymore would have hurt incomparably less.

He's sitting on the floor. His clothes reek but he doesn't care about that. A shaking hand has trouble lifting another bottle of strong alcohol. The front page of the newspaper with your face on it is lying in front of him. He's just blankly staring at it, letting tears fall down his cheeks.

Among the darkness of the room, there's just him, the bottle and the dull, unbearable ache in his chest.

Shanks wishes to find you. To ask what in the Hell you were thinking. Then ask what he can do to have you back with him. But beware, as whatever you demand he will do. Even if it costs him his other hand.

That is, if his liver won't kill him first.

[sundrop-writes]

Missing You

Gar Logan x Fem!Reader x Jason Todd

Summary:

Gar misses his two best friends. When he calls the two of you, he certainly doesn’t expect to find you in such a… compromising situation.

Gar Logan x Fem!Reader x Jason Todd. Accidental Voyeurism. Smut. Canon Divergent AU of Season 2.

Word Count: 2,800

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: there is a lot of Gar/Jason (emotionally and sexually), dubious consent - Gar listens to the reader and Jason having sex without their consent (but they don’t mind when they do find out), invasion of privacy (but again, they don’t mind it), would this be considered eavesdropping?, accidental voyeurism (and then on purpose voyeurism), Gar masturbates while listening to Jason and the reader have sex over a FaceTime call but Jason and the reader don’t know Gar is listening, Gar feels slightly guilty about being horny in this situation, lots of dirty talk, Jason is more dominant, reader is definitely submissive, Gar is (slightly?) submissive (though he is not ‘involved’ for most of the sex act), the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (though she is not really the ‘center’ of this fic), Jason has a filthy mouth, p in v sex (between Jason and reader) - actually protected sex this time (which is a surprise for my fics) (it’s my headcanon that Jason is a big proponent for condoms/safe sex), degradation kink (towards the reader), terms used to describe the reader: slutty/slut, cocksleeve, hole, fucktoy/toy, cumdump, good girl; slightly possessive Jason (but it’s clear that he doesn’t mind sharing with Gar), spanking (very light, no severe pain kink) - mention of clit spanking, mention of orgasm restriction, mentions of sexting/sending nudes. I believe that’s everything.

A/N: This is a repost. Again, to complete my Titans Masterlist on this blog. I did some tweaking to it, but it is still mostly the same. So if you have read it before, I hope you enjoy it. And if it’s your first time reading it, I hope you like it again.

...

The concept of butt-dailing was something that still mystified Gar. 

He understood why it was a thing in the 2000s, sure. A time when people’s phones still had tactile buttons on them, when you could sit on your phone in your back pocket and start pressing things by accident. But these days? Why was the term even still used? 

How can you call someone by accident? How can you have an entire phone conversation with someone by mistake? 

On that day, it hadn’t been Jason that called him - no, Gar was the one calling Jason. 

Gar hated to admit it, but he was fucking lonely. He had a soft heart and if he went too long without talking to his friends, without hearing their laughter, then he wilted like an unwatered plant. It wasn’t something that he ever said aloud, but it was something that was very easy to tell for the people who were closest to him. 

So Jason had taken to calling him on a regular basis. And ironically, because of it, the two had actually grown a lot closer in the Robin’s absence. 

Their friendship bloomed because of the long, late-night phone calls where Jason’s tired voice mumbled things to Gar as he fell asleep, admitting things about his past and the pain he sometimes felt that he never would have told anyone else. And they often spent hours on Discord calls as they kicked ass together playing COD or some other stupid game like Mount Your Friends. Even though on that day the Tower was practically empty, Gar found himself missing Jason the most. 

Ever since you had gone to Gotham to visit Jason, Gar’s other closest friend abandoning him, Gar had practically gone mad with loneliness. Rachel was off on a ‘girls trip’ with Donna, Dawn, and Kory, and Dick was attending some kind of ‘League’ business. Hank was leading a ‘be a better you’ sobriety seminar in another city, and Gar still found himself feeling like an outsider when hanging out with Rose and Jericho. 

So where did that leave him? 

Alone in his room, sprawled out on his bed. 

He had thumbed over Jason’s contact in his phone several times before he actually decided to put in his earbuds and give the guy a call. Surely his best friend wouldn’t consider him needy after the three hour long timestamps on their other calls. If Jason was busy, Gar could simply find something else to entertain himself. He could probably best his Resident Evil speedruns. Again. 

But selfishly, he was hoping Jason would pick up and talk to him for a while. Maybe you would be lounging around with Jason and he would get to talk to the both of you. That would be really nice. 

When the FaceTime call was answered on the other end, the screen was dark. Gar thought for a moment that Jason was just busy - that he was pressing his phone to his chest until he could get into another room to take the call. But for a few moments, all he heard was deep breathing, some grunting. The sound of Jason training? 

He was definitely inside Jason’s pocket. 

See, Jason hadn’t even noticed the incoming call. He had his phone on silent, and he had answered it completely by mistake. Turns out, the rapid, rhythmic thrusting of his hips had somehow successfully pressed the ‘answer’ button, even with the phone shoved deep in his back pocket. 

And Jason wasn’t really in a position to have a friendly, ‘let’s chat about COD’ video chat with his best friend. 

He was balls-deep inside of you. With his thick, hard cock out through the zipper of his pants with his phone still inside of his back pocket. He was thrusting into you where you were face down on his bed, on your knees exactly how he wanted you. 

It was a huge part of the reason you had come to visit him. The two of you had been fooling around for as long as you had known each other, and you couldn’t seem to go for very long without fucking the other person. It brought you both relief from your stressful vigilante lifestyle, and it was the best sex either of you ever had. Not that any of your friends knew that you had a ‘thing’ going on, of course. 

Gar was about to hang up the call, believing that he had caught Jason at a bad time and realizing that the guy didn’t even know his phone was on. But he froze completely still when he heard it. 

“Fuck, babe, take my cock.” Jason groaned, his voice absolutely thick with sex. “Fucking take it.” 

It was something that instantly made Gar tremble, made blood rush to his cock as he heard his friend’s voice in a way that he never had before. The sound was rough in his headphones, distant and not nearly as pure as it would have been in person. But it made Gar’s blood run hot in seconds, made him so turned on so quickly that he became dizzy. 

Gar’s hand itched to reach down and grip his cock through his pants, but he knew that he shouldn’t. He knew it was wrong. He should just hang up the call and hope that Jason never saw it in his call history. The longer he stayed there and listened, the more suspicious the timestamp would look in the call history if Jason ever saw it. 

But Gar was frozen in his tracks when he heard something that absolutely made his head spin. 

“Yes!” It was your voice. “Fuck, I fucking love your cock. I’m just a slutty little cocksleeve for you, Jay!” 

High pitched and needy, moaning out - it was you. You, screaming those entirely pornographic words, followed by a deep grunt from Jason. 

Gar let out a sharp breath. It hadn’t occurred to him who Jason might be fucking. Or that he was fucking someone at all, and that he wasn’t just alone, fucking his own hand. 

Gar almost couldn’t believe that this was happening. The two people that he had been attracted to for so long now, playing out an epic sex fantasy for his own ears. He knew that it was so horribly wrong, but he probably wouldn’t have hung up the call if someone had pointed a gun to his head. 

“Yeah, you are.” Jason replied, his voice slightly obscured from the phone being in his pocket. “You’re my perfect slut. Such a good fucktoy, aren’t you, Y/N?” 

Jason saying your name with such a deep, possessive need, paired with the way he spoke so confidentially - it forced Gar to imagine how long the two of you had been in a relationship like this. How long the two of you had been playing around behind everyone’s backs to know each other’s kinks so well without crossing any boundaries. Even with his brain so lust-clouded, his thoughts flashed through all of the times you and Jason had snuck off together, or made lame excuses to go to bed early when Jason had still been living at the Tower. 

Gar was upset that he hadn’t found out about this sooner. His brain conjured up a fantasy of him sneaking into Jason’s room late at night, and seeing you on your knees for his best friend. He easily imagined Jason inviting him to stay, telling Gar what a slut you were, how much you would love to have two guys at once. Him and Jason passing you around, your wetness making both of their cocks shine. If you were the ‘fucktoy’ that he claimed you to be, it probably wouldn’t be that far from reality. 

There was a wet, slapping sound - Jason fucking into you harder as you moaned and struggled for breath. 

Gar’s cock pulsed with need. 

Something in the back of his brain screamed that it was wrong and that he needed to hang up, but his cock screamed louder. So he untied the string of his pants with haste and racked them down over his aching balls. Just to be safe, he muted his end of the call so that Jason wouldn’t hear any noises he made. 

(If he had been thinking a bit clearer, he would have realized that any noise he made, especially echoing into Jason’s back pocket, would have simply gotten lost in the haze of sweat and sex that the two of you were making in Jason’s bedroom. But - better safe than sorry, right?) 

In his mind, muting the call seemed even more reasonable when he let out a deep moan the second he took his hard dick into his hand. More beautiful sounds from you and Jason came in through his headphones as he began to jerk himself off. 

“Fucking love how you take my cock, fucking love how this slutty pussy gets so wet for me.”

Jason’s dirty mouth continued as Gar’s hand started a steady rhythm. Gar was already leaking precum that easily slicked him up - he was absolutely dizzy at the sound of Jason’s sex-graveled voice. 

“Just a fucking hole for me to cum in.” Jason growled. “You love it, don’t you? You love being my fucking toy. My fucking cumdump.” 

The pure filth coming out of Jason’s mouth surprised Gar, just as much as his own reaction did. The way his dick jumped in his hand and his lungs released a moan, his tip leaking even more precum at the words. He had no fucking idea that you and Jason were so dirty, that you liked being… degraded so much. Because clearly you loved it, with the wailing moan that you echoed back in response. 

“I love it!” You told Jason, your tone desperate and breathy, worn with sex. “I love being your cumdump. I’m just a hole for you to use!” 

Gar tried to imagine what the two of you might look like in that moment. Were you on your back, your legs spread wide for Jason? Were you completely naked with your tits swaying with his every thrust? Were you on your hands and knees, ass out like a bitch in heat for Jason? 

Gar pumped his cock faster at the thought, his precum making it sound absolutely slick, unrestrained grunts coming from his parted lips as he continued to listen you and Jason fuck. He would feel guilty for this later, but right now, he was absolutely dizzy with lust and needed to hear more. 

“You gonna cum on my cock, slut?” Jason’s voice was sharp, demanding. 

It sounded like Jason was holding back the urge to cum himself and he needed you to get there first. There was a sharp sound - skin hitting skin, higher in pitch and less muffled than the constant pounding of Jason into your cunt. Jason had spanked you. Gar’s orgasm swelled in his belly as he imagined Jason’s hand coming down against your skin, making the fat of your ass bounce or - fuck, Jason’s hand blooming against your wet clit. (Gar hated that he would never know which it actually was.) 

“Be a good girl. Cum for me.” Jason demanded, throat strangling his voice as he drowned in his own arousal. 

And just like that, you dissolved into a fury of sounds. Gar caught you chanting ‘I’m a hole! I’m a hole! I’m a hole!’ as though it was the only thing on your mind, increasing in volume as your orgasm overtook you, but it was muffled after a moment and Gar heard Jason grunt the words ‘shut up’ in the most sharp, dangerous voice he had ever heard from his best friend. 

Gar’s mind was immediately struck with the picture of Jason’s hand on the back of your head, shoving you into the bed to quiet your whorish moaning, and this was what sent him over the edge. His stomach curled so hard that it practically made him nauseous, his body drawing up off the bed as he pumped his cock hard and fast. He pumped himself dry as cum splashed up over his (thankfully) naked stomach and dirtied him in hot, white waves. 

Gar’s body was still trembling when he heard Jason rattle out a shuddering moan, a sure sign that he was cumming too. 

Gar should have rushed to end the call. 

But it seemed impossible to move at this point - his bones were practically made out of jelly from the intensity of his orgasm. The hand holding the phone had dropped it against his chest, the sound still coming in clear from his earbuds. He was desperate to catch his breath, and his cum still warm against his stomach when he heard it. 

There was a shifting, a rustling sound - fuck, Jason was taking his phone out of his pocket. 

Gar panicked. 

But his orgasm had been so spectacular that it had knocked all the sense out of him, including his usually good reflexes, so he was slow to pick his phone back up. When he did, his heart jumped in his chest when he found Jason staring at him, wearing a wide smirk. 

In the time it had taken Gar to recover, Jason had taken his phone out - with the original purpose to check the time. Alfred always had a very specific time for dinner, and always became cranky if anyone was late. Jason certainly didn’t need anyone to come looking for you and him, seeing the compromising position that you found yourselves in. 

Jason was surprised when he found the call with Gar going. And once he had checked the timestamp on the still ongoing call, he immediately knew what had happened. 

“Did you enjoy the show?” Jason said, his voice slightly rough from the sex, but entirely confident, unshaken. 

“Uh - I - I -” Gar stuttered. 

When Jason saw his lips moving and didn’t hear any sound, he quickly spoke up. 

“Unmute the call, dickhead.” Jason told him, giving a small chuckle with the offensive, affectionate nickname. 

Right. Gar had muted it to participate in his perverted voyeurism. 

As Gar reached up to find the button, he realized his hand was still covered in cum. 

Jason licked his lips as he saw substance smeared all over Gar’s palm and saw his friend reaching for tissues off to the side. As Gar raced to clean off his hand, you appeared behind Jason’s shoulder in the frame of the call. You were wearing a bra, your skin slightly slicked with sweat and tear tracks coming off the side of your eyes - clearly from pleasure and not from pain. 

“You had Gar on a FaceTime call?” Your tone was a breathy giggle, clearly not at all upset at the idea that your friend had been listening in on you being fucked and called degrading names. “Kinky. Did you call him while you were putting the condom on?” 

Gar unmuted the call with his now clean(er) hand, but waited in silence for you and Jason to finish your conversation. He was surprised that you didn’t seem to care; that you seemed to think it was some kind of pre-planned kink that Jason had executed. Gar’s stomach twisted at the thought of it, that you and Jason had discussed inviting another person into your sex life and you were more than okay with it being Gar. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Jason told you. “Go get cleaned up for dinner.” 

You simply nodded, and leaned in to give Jason a kiss - a soft, gentle sight that was entirely arousing in contrast to the rough, filthy sex that Gar knew the two of you just had. It was even more arousing when you walked out of frame and Gar heard another spank to your bare skin (clearly you weren’t wearing bottoms) - and heard you let out a delighted squeak in response. 

“Look, I can explain-” Gar began his groveling, but Jason quickly cut him off. 

“Quiet.” Jason said, his tone taking on a kind of authority that made Gar’s stomach jump. “Next time this happens, we get to watch you cum, or you don’t get to cum at all. Got it?” 

Gar’s cock was quickly filling with blood again at Jason speaking to him this way, so boldly, making sexual demands over his body. His mouth was dry and lost for words so he simply nodded in response. He opened his mouth to attempt to speak - to apologize, to ask for clarity, to ask Jason when ‘the next time’ would be. 

But now that Jason had Gar’s simple affirmation, he hung up the call. 

Gar - unable to help himself - stretched an arm out and took a picture of his half hard cock and his shirtless body, still covered in his cum. He hesitated to send it, though. After a long mental debate in the shower, it came back to his phone sitting on his nightstand, and sent it to Jason with a caption that read ‘I really did enjoy the show’. 

It pinged Jason’s phone when he was sitting at the dinner table with you and Bruce. And as he looked at it under the table, he choked on his peas.

[tightjeansjavi]

The Menu | Part 5

“my body is a cage”

A/N: I wrote this in a matter of hours yesterday..and also decided to say fuck the canon timeline so <3

~word count: 4.6k~

Pairing | dark!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel promises that he can make your pain go away. He’s a man that never goes back on his word.

Warnings: trauma responses from SA (not by Joel) mildly descriptive flashback to SA, degrading language, hurt, comfort, dark!joel, protective!joel, he’s kinda shit at communicating, but he’s trying his best for you, softish!joel, talk of the past, angst, sprinkle of fluff, intense emotional feelings, you and Joel let your guard down around one another, age gap, (Joel is in his 40’s and reader is in her late 20’s. I played around with the canon timeline a bit) reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

A languid roll of condensation drips down the base of Joel’s glass that has long since been abandoned the second you fell to your knees in an unceremonious fashion between his parted thighs.

Acceptance already began to make its home again in your heart when you watched Joel slowly shake his head. It hurt, like all rejections do, but it stung a little deeper than you were willing to admit.

Joel Miller didn’t want you anymore. He’d forget about you when the dust would inevitably settle. He’d find someone else to bury his troubles into. It wouldn’t be you, and maybe that was for the better. Maybe the presence of Joel in your life was not a good thing.

It still hurts. No amount of whiskey-melded poker face could mask that.

The weight of his actions seemed to strike their mark along him as well. Another drop of moisture slid down the glass, pooling along the worn down coffee table. He blinked once, twice, swallowing the prominent lump growing in his throat. His pupils had blown wide like two shiny 8-balls. Fuck.

The blooming awkwardness reared its ugly head when a silent tear traveled down your cheekbone. Once the first one escaped, the flood gates opened.

His gut twisted and churned painfully like a stranded ship being tousled by an onslaught of unforgiving swells. He couldn’t tear his sights from your doe-eyed teary gaze. His own tears threatened to spill when you flinched from his right hand moving upwards towards your face.

His fingers quivered when they finally settled against your clammy skin. Joel Miller would never believe himself to be a gentle-touched man. Maybe a long time ago when the sun warmed his skin, and joyous laughter echoed in both ears, and his eyes were bright and full of life, but now? His kindness was reserved, locked away, buried six feet under the cold clutches of earth. The key was thrown away, forgotten and rusted away along with what remained of his tattered and bruised heart.

Here in his hold, your skin warm, soft beneath the rough calluses of his palm, he felt. He felt not just anger, but guilt, sadness, a newfound ache that was tangled up in that stupid four letter word that he would be damned to ever utter its existence again.

“Hey, it’s okay, Angel. It’s okay. You’re safe.” He reassured you, big brown eyes never leaving yours.

You had never heard this brutish man speak to you in such a sincerely soft way. There wasn’t an ilk of pity or condescendence in his tone. Nothing but concern, fear, a desperate need to ascend comfort in his words.

He was so..confusing.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, choking back a sob that died in your throat. “You—you should go, Joel.” You went to brush away his hand to crawl as far away from him as physically possible, but he wasn’t budging. He’d never leave.

“Hey, look at me.” He commanded softly. His other hand found purchase around the left side of your face. His movements were gentle and slow. He wanted to ground you, to keep your soul from being plucked up like a marionette. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You pushed and pulled against him, grinding your teeth together when he still sat unmoving. It was as if you were the unsuspecting bird, and he was the wet cement that would soon harden and fossilize around your body.

“Why?” You questioned. Your sadness had ebbed away and was quickly replaced with simmering frustration. “You don’t want me anymore, Joel. There’s nothing left for you here, so just—fuckin’ leave.” You snapped.

“Angel, I never said I didn’t want you anymore. Please stop fightin’ me. Please.” He pleaded, the rough pads of his thumbs swiped under your eyes, collecting the tears that pooled there while they awaited their time to fall.

“You didn’t need to say it, Joel. I could fuckin’ feel it.” You sniffled, falling back on your haunches in defeat.

“No, sweet girl. You’re mistaken. I swear. I’m shit at this. This whole..communicating thing has never been my forte. I’m sorry. I’m so—sorry. But somethin’ about this ain’t feel right. I—I don’t want to assume, but somethin’ happened to you. I know you don’t want to tell me, but maybe—”

“But maybe what, Joel? Why do you even care? Why all of a sudden—when you said yourself that I’m nothin’ but your whore on stilts. A tight hole to fuck whenever you please. What, did you have a sudden change of heart? Gonna manipulate me into believing that you actually care about me? Fuck you—”

“I swear on my daughters fuckin’ grave that I care about you. I am not manipulating you into believing anythin’ that is leaving my mouth, Angel. I am tellin’ you the truth. You mean somethin’ to me. Puttin’ it into words ain’t easy for a man like me, but you’re hurtin.’ You’re in pain, and I swear to god if some sick fuck put their hands on you, I’ll make sure they never see the light of day again.” He confessed fiercely.

He might as well get down on one knee and sign his life off to you in red ink. To ensure his promise to keep you safe and protected like he was some knight in shining armor.

Benji yanked you up by the scruff of your neck like you were some stray cat, or a tattered ragdoll. You felt like a bug at his mercy, awaiting a painful death of being squashed beneath a leather boot, split into a million pieces. You could hear his friends snickering in the back while they were still fisting their cocks like the disgusting hounds that they were. “Jus’ remember your place in this world, Angel. No matter what anyone tells you, you will be nothin’ but a come-stained, filthy whore. And when you return to him, like I know you will, he’ll toss you away like yesterday's trash. All men are the same, sweetheart. They don’t like it when another dog has been in their bitch.” He spat cruelly, a glob of saliva landing along your cheek.

“No, Joel. I’m nothin’ but a come-stained whore, and you’ll toss me away like yesterday’s trash.” You whispered solemnly, chin tilting downwards in disgust with what was instilled in you to be your true identity. Crestfallen tears were wept. Tears that trailed down your cheeks and rolled down the expanse of his bare wrists and forearms. Each teardrop that landed upon his skin sent his anger flaring upwards the way that smoke rises from a blazing fire.

“Who did this to you, Angel? Tell me his name, and I swear to you that I will make this all go away. Tell me the name of the man who laid his fuckin’ hands on you. Tell me, please. Please, Angel. I want to help you.” He was on the cusp of begging, hating the fear that began to douse the flames. The fear that maybe it was too late, and the damage was done already.

Your eyes slowly meet his, rimmed in red, skin puffy and dry. From just the look alone that you gave him, he knew who had done this to you. He knew the second your lips parted, and uttered the name that sent the beast inside of him awakening once more.

“Benji.”

The dam broke the moment his name left your lips; you crumbled. An echo of gut wrenching, broken sobs tumbled out of you as Joel scrambled to keep you together. He was on the floor with you now, cradling you in his arms while struggling to gather up the broken pieces figuratively scattered around him. It was as if you were loose grains of sand, and no matter how many times he scooped you up into his gentle palms, you kept slipping through the cracks.

You found yourself crawling into his lap, straddling his hips with your arms latched around his neck. You anchored yourself around him while his shirt soaked up your heavy flowing tears like a sponge. His arms were around you like a cage, comforting you the only way he knew how; through touch. One large hand came to cradle the back of your head, while the other rested along the curve of your spine, drawing soothing circles against your skin with the rough pads of his fingertips.

It’s okay, Angel. I have you. You’re safe. I promise.

and through your tears, and your aching, you wanted to believe him. But believing and trusting someone never came easy. Especially in this world. To throw all your eggs into one basket would be considered foolish. Since the night of the outbreak you had convinced yourself that you needed no one. Not a shoulder to cry on, or a friend to confide in. You hadn’t sought for human connection till you crossed paths with Joel Miller. And now you felt guilty for webbing him into your life. For making this mountain of a man feel.

Was it intentional? No. But sometimes we lose all sense of control and ultimately find ourselves giving into that thing that we fear the most. In all retrospect, you had tried to push Joel away from you, but he was a stubborn man. The most stubborn person you had ever met. A whole lotta bark and bite. Fearless until he gave into feeling. Unmoving until he began to feel for you. The girl that was just looking for a vice to fill a void, and instead found a man that would quite literally kill for you. He’d lasso the fucking moon and bring it down to you if you asked. He’d be your friend, your shoulder to cry on, your comfort in the odd hours of the night when the nightmares would creep in.

He’d be your laughter, your anger, your sadness. He’d be whatever the fuck you wanted him to be. That was the thing about men like Joel Miller, they were fiercely loyal to the ones they loved to the point where maybe he was the foolish one. Maybe he had bitten off more than he could chew. And if that were the case, he’d lick his wounds, convince himself that he was okay, and move on until his body would ultimately give way to the grief he carried day in, and day out.

“Will you let me take care of you, Angel?” He asked suddenly, so softly you could barely hear him through the thick of your messy tears.

“If you wish it.” You sniffled, cheek pressed firmly against the damp fabric of his shirt where your tears had soaked through.

He rumbled a sigh, nostrils flaring while he tilted his chin down to take a peek at your current state. He’d never seen you look so tiny, frail, curling into yourself like a mouse shriveling from a house cat on the prowl. His latent caretaker instincts were kicking into full drive after the dust had been blown off of them and wafted through the stagnant air.

“C’mon, sweet girl.” He urged in a gentle tone, strong arms tightening their hold around you while his hands gently hoisted you up by your thighs. His knees creaked and groaned from carrying the weight of himself and you to a standing position. You clung to him still in a koala like fashion.

“Where are you taking me?” You asked unsurely.

“Takin’ you to the bathroom so we can wash the pain away.” He replied quietly.

His footsteps are soft, yet calculated while his hands stay secured around your thighs. He uses his shoulder to push open your flimsy bathroom door. You find yourself sitting along the toliet seat, back resting against the wall with your hands in your lap. You begin to pick at the skin around your nails absentmindedly. You flinch slightly when the sharp edge of your nail tears through dry cuticle skin surrounding your thumb. The sting feels nice, calming in a sense.

Your eyes stay focused on the wall even when the shadow of his silhouette looms over you, and his warm palm suddenly engulfs your own.

“Don’t do that.” He whispers, brows furrowed when he notices the bead of blood on the side of your thumb. “You have beautiful hands, Angel. Don’t go’n ruin ‘em.” He means every word.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you can really say.

He slips his fingers through your own and you can feel every ridge and rough callus through his skin. His thumb strokes the outside of your hand in a tender sweep.

You want to cry, but you don’t. Instead you lean your head back against the wall and close your eyes while the sounds of the water sloshing into the tub drowns out your thoughts.

With his freehand he constantly checks the temperature of the water to make sure it’s not too hot, and not too cold. The last thing he wants to do is shock your system. He glances up at your face for a moment before he focuses on his blurry reflection in the rippling water.

How can I make her pain go away?

It's not something that will ever go away. It becomes bearable, but with time. All you can do is be there for her the best way that you can. He reminds himself.

“Angel.”

Your eyes snap open at the sound of his voice ringing in your ears.

So it wasn’t all a dream.

“Uh..the water should be good now. Do you want some privacy? I don’t—need to be in here with you..I understand if you—” he’s stumbling over his words more than he intended to, but this is uncharted territory for him, and he’s unsure.

“No.” You finally speak, “I want you to stay.”

He breathes; relieved for a moment. “Okay, I’ll stay. Do you..want some help?” He’s referring to your clothes and if you require assistance in undressing.

“Please.”

He nods reassuringly before standing up to his full height from where he was kneeling alongside the tub. “Arms up.” He softly requests while he reaches for the hem of your shirt.

Your body works strictly on autopilot, boneless as you lift your arms above your head so it’s easier for him to pull your shirt up.

His wounded knuckles brush gently against your sides when he begins to lift the fabric from your body slowly. Gooseflesh begins to rise when you're exposed to the room temperature air. Your hands instinctively move to cover your modesty and he pretends to not notice the way you immediately fold in on yourself.

It hurts him to see you in such a state as this, but his feelings do not matter, he reminds himself. Yours are far more important than his own.

He waits for your consent to pop the button of your jeans followed by the zipper. His eyes stay locked on your own when he begins to ease the worn denim down your thighs. There’s two gaping holes in the fabric around your knees that weren’t there before. He begins to feel the bile rise before he forces it back down.

You're trembling by the time he reaches for the elastic waistband of your tattered panties and he finds himself freezing in place when your hands snatch his wrists frantically.

“I won’t take them off, okay?” He reassures you. “I promise.”he adds for good measure.

You trust him, and that scares you, but it’s enough for you to release his wrists from your death grip.

“Turn around, please.” You croak out, still struggling to find your voice.

He doesn’t protest, or say mean things, or make you feel ten times smaller than you already felt. He obliges your request silently.

You wait until his back is facing you before you pull your panties down over your thighs. You catch a glimpse of a maroon saturated stain that will be forever tattooed in the flimsy fabric. You want to sob, but instead you drop the material to your ankles and discard them with the rest of your tattered clothing.

He doesn’t turn around to look at you until you give him permission. By that point you were already carefully lowering yourself into the tub. He finds you with your knees protectively tucked up to your chest, folded in on yourself. A dull, sullen look glossed over in your once vibrant irises. Your eyes cast down to your reflection before staring off into nothingness once more.

“Can..I get you anything? Are you hungry? I can whip you up some soup or somethin?’” He asks while lowering himself to sit alongside the tub. He doesn’t care that his lower back pinches a bit, or his knees creak, he just wants to be there for you in any way that he can.

“Just a cigarette would be nice.” You mumble out a reply. Your eyes meet his softened gaze for a moment with your chin resting along the dip of your knee. “He took the ones that you rolled me, along with the pills, and the pistol you lent me. I’m sorry, Joel. I—I’ll pay you back.”

“Hey, you don’t have to pay me back for any of that, okay? I don’t give a fuck about the pills, and I lent you the gun and cigarettes, Angel. Don’t worry about that, okay?” He reached into his back pocket, pulling out his own stash and a lighter. He leaned forward, placing the cigarette between your lips before he ignited the unlit end with the lighter.

You took a long drag, letting the smoke attack your lungs, and the nicotine ease your brain into relaxation, and calm your rising anxiety.

“Okay.” You finally speak, willing yourself to scoot closer towards the edge of the tub to ash the cigarette over the side.

“Tell me something that..makes you happy.” He catches you off guard while you take another long drag. You blow the smoke off to the side, creating a hazy cloud that soon dissipates.

“Something..that makes me happy?” You question apprehensively.

“Yes. Jus’ anythin’ that you can think of that makes you happy, Angel.” He rasps softly as he awaits your response.

“The rain. But specifically when it’s storming. I love that earthy smell after a storm. When everything smells fresh, clean, alive. I like the dreary days too. Where it rains from morning through the night. I like the sound it makes when raindrops land on the pavement, or roofs. I know it might sound silly, but when I was a kid I used to sit out on the driveway with some neighborhood friends and watch the storms roll in. Always found myself getting excited when the clouds grew darker and the wind picked up..that first flash of lighting, and rumbling thunder?” You trailed off, unsure if you said too much, or too little for his liking.

“Oh, yeah, I have to agree. Who doesn’t love a good heavy storm? Perfect sleepin’ weather too. Back in Texas we’d get some pretty wild storms out there. Flash floods and all that jazz. Didn’t matter to me cus’ I’d always sleep with the window open. My younger brother, Tommy, was afraid of thunderstorms, up until the point of me tellin’ him that we were always safe inside. Think he got over the fear by the time he was ten.” Joel found himself reminiscing on his childhood, and a simpler time that felt like a ghost to him now.

“I didn’t know you had a brother.” You ashed the cigarette over the side of the tub once more before offering it to him. He declined with a slight shake of his head. You need it more than I do.

“Yeah, he’s..well, I don’t know where he’s at. Left with the fireflies a few years back. Thought he could be a hero and save the world. I send him radio messages every now and then jus’ to check up on him.” He sighed softly. His arm came to rest along the side of the tub, palm resting upwards in case you needed to, or wanted to hold his hand.

“Do you miss him?” You asked, shifting closer to him.

You could visibly see him tense from your question. Tommy was a sore spot for him, a festering wound at times. He felt resentful after everything he had done for his younger brother. The sacrifices he made to keep both of them safe from harm. But deep down he knew he couldn’t stay mad at his kin forever, but he wasn’t ready to let that resentment go just yet. He still needed to heal.

“I miss him more than I’m willin’ to admit, Angel. Not sure if he really misses me all that much.” He shrugged indignantly. “What about you, do..you have any siblings?”

He realized then that he didn’t know much about you at all. He knew your name, and your body, but he wanted to know more about what you were like before the world went to shit.

“Nope. Only child. Mom and Dad tried for another, but some things just aren’t meant to be.” It was your turn to shrug now. He caught you eyeing his outstretched palm resting along the chipped porcelain. If he had the ability to read minds, he certainly was reading yours now.

“And..your parents?” He asked, assuming the inevitable answer.

“Both dead. Car crash a couple years before outbreak. I was too young to comprehend any of it. Grandparents took me in luckily. We pretty much lived in desolation out in the middle of nowhere after that. Not much civilization out in the sticks.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” His tone is soft, baritone deep and soothing. And truth be told, you’re still confused. You can’t help it especially when you know this is the same man that just hours ago was trying to bust down your door.

Joel Miller made your head spin.

“It’s alright, Joel. No need for you to be sorry. Life sucks sometimes. It’s just something I’ve come to accept.”

He nods affirmatively. Life does suck sometimes, ain’t that the truth.

“So, where exactly are you from then? South? Midwest? West?” He couldn’t help his curiosity to know more. He didn’t expect you to be an open book by any means, but he’d take anything you’d give him.

“Montana. Grandparents owned a horse ranch out there. Real peaceful, open country, fresh air.”

“Ah, so a real country girl then? Well, guess you and I are closer than we originally thought, huh? How’d you end up all the way in Boston?” He stretched his arm out slightly when it had grown stiff from the position it had been in.

“If you consider Texas and Montana to be close, then sure, cowboy.” There was a glimmer of sass in your tone. Just enough to cause his ears to perk up. “Honestly, after the outbreak, things just turned into one big blur for me. It’s like I had to grow up overnight. Grandpa taught me how to use a shotgun, killed my first infected shortly after that. Grandma was the first to fall, and Grandpa followed a year later. I stayed in the ranch for as long as I could, fendin’ for myself. Was only a matter of time before raiders became a problem, and I packed a bag, took a horse, and headed east.”

Joel was having a hard time comprehending just how young you truly were when the world as you knew it turned to shit. You were just a kid, a little girl fending for yourself. When he realized you were just about Sarah’s age, he didn’t know how to process that newfound information either.

“You were..just a kid when this all happened.” He nearly whispered in disbelief at the thought of a younger version of yourself, strapped with her grandpa's shotgun, and nothing but open country to trek through.

“I was.” You confirmed. “I’m sure this is just my brain blocking all the bad shit out, but I don’t remember much of what happened after I left the ranch. I guess it’s a miracle that I managed to survive this long. Guess my luck hasn’t run out entirely, huh?”

“No, it certainly hasn’t, Angel. You’ve managed to defy practically all the odds that were placed against you.”

You fall silent again, casting another look down at your reflection while the cigarette perched between middle and forefinger dies out. “What’s your favorite color, Joel?”

“Oh, so now we’re goin’ elementary?” He teases lightly in hopes to brighten your spirits just a tad. He’d kill a thousand men just to see you smile again. “I think I have to go with a shade of blue.” He decides.

“Ha. Ha. You’re hilarious, cowboy. You’re the one who started with the personal questions. I think knowing your favorite color is definitely considered a personal question.” You feel your lips twitch, almost as if they are trying to curve up into a smile, but it doesn’t quite happen. “And blue..like the sky?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head, “blue like the ocean. But y’know..like all the shades. What about you, Angel? What’s your favorite color?”

“Purple.” “But not just any shade of purple. The kind that you can see in sunsets. It’s almost got like a pinkish hue to it? Or the purple in lavender fields. We had loads of it growing at the ranch.”

“Mm.” He hums thoughtfully, “Sunsets sure are pretty.” He’s far more relaxed now with his legs outstretched in front of him, and his chin resting along his bare bicep as he looks at you.

He asks you more questions, finding out that your favorite movies were arguably LOTR (unfortunately the third, and highly anticipated film never made it to the theaters; damn you cordyceps) and The Last Unicorn. He learned that your favorite drink of choice, before the outbreak, was either a virgin pina colada (because it tasted like the beach) or the classic kiddy cocktail; a childhood delicacy.

You learned that he and his younger brother Tommy, worked as contractors in Austin Texas, and that Joel used to be married..and he had a single daughter that he raised practically on his own. Her name was Sarah, and she died the night of the outbreak; Joel’s birthday. You also now know that his favorite movie was Curtis and Viper 2.

And through the midst of your back and forth domestic conversing, you find yourselves holding hands again. You’re not sure if he initiated it, or vice versa, but neither of you let go.

There was an unasked question that circled heavy in the air, like two vultures waiting to dive in for the kill. He could sense just as much as you could. Addressing the elephant in the room was not going to be easy, but you were beginning to realize that Joel wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, you were shocked to find that he hadn’t climbed into that damn tub with you.

“Joel?” You ask suddenly, skin beginning to prune from being in the water for too long.

“Yes, Angel?” He’s hopeful, but realistic given the circumstances.

“Did you..mean what you said earlier? About..making this all go away?”

“Yes.” He didn’t even hesitate to answer. He was not the kind of man to go back on his word. “I will make sure that he pays for what he did to you, Angel. He’ll suffer, and I’ll make him wish he was never born.” Oh, he’d make him pay alright.

“Good. I want you to kill him, Joel. And I want to be there to see you do it. I want to be right there when he takes his last pathetic breath—” you don’t even realize how hard you're squeezing his hand in your grasp that his knuckles are beginning to turn white from the pressure.

“Of course I’ll kill him for you, Angel.” That wasn't even a request in his mind. Benji would die at the hands of Joel, and you would get to watch.

and then..you told him everything.

banners made by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

I no longer have a taglist so please follow @tightjeansjaviupdates for fic updates and notifications!

[bloodplague]

Ticci-Toby in relationships

Simply how I headcanon Toby in romantic and sexual relationships. ^^

Toby is… a walking red flag: Paranoid, m-rderer, possessive, obsessive, clingy, ADHD, bipolar, selfharm, antisocial aka sociopathy, obnoxious, manipulative af, sassy, touchy, incompetent, abandonment issues, uncontrollable due to his bipolar disorder, emotion bursts, mental break downs, schizophrenia, depressed, eating disorder, no social life, no remorse and only rarely empathy, full of himself, selfish, forceful, bloodthirsty, shy in an insane way and way more.

After analyzing Toby for years, gathering canon facts, sheets and tracking down all possible information, I created a whole damn discord server just to write down all the things I analyzed & everything about him in general. So, I can say that this is pretty accurate:

I'll begin with possessive. Toby is incredibly possessive and jealous, trying to be around them as MUCH as possible. He won't give them space nor respect boundaries if it comes to that, completely claiming his partner as his. He might even stalk his partner when he can't be around them or if they need space, fully focusing on them like an insane love-sick raccoon. Toby constantly has his hands on his partner, gives them hickeys or hugs/cuddles them in a possessive way. When it comes to kissing, his cheek won't really bother…. hopefully.

With possessiveness, the paranoia comes as well. He'd immediately think his partner is about to leave him if they either dry text or are really dry with him in general, thinking he's doing something wrong. This will cause him to feel insecure as well as irritated (since he's temperamental). Abandonment is one of his biggest fears anyway, which is why this man needs a LOT of reassurance in a relationship.

The next 2 things are his unhealthy obsession with his partner & his pure clingy-ness. As soon as he begins to love someone, he'll grow so obsessed with them, being all touchy (which is another canon trait) and needy as he constantly craves their attention, to the point where he's being obnoxious.

Even if he's emotional very detached, making fun of his tourettes is a big trigger for him. He simply gets uncomfortable and irritated since literally everyone except a few people make fun of him or comment his tourettes, sometimes even disgusted by the noises his neck or arm makes when he twitches. His irritation will definitely be there and can even cause a rage burst, as his partner is one of the few people he trusts. Even if his humor is dark, he has his limits as well.

In arguments he can quickly become frustrated and blame the other person, thinking he did nothing wrong, unless he's going through an depressive episode. Then he tends to blame himself, terrified he's going to fuck up the relationship.

Due to his C.I.P.A, he can't feel pain, nor can he tell what might hurt and what won't. So, he might accidentally hurt his partner at times by holding their arm or hand too tightly, not aware that he's causing pain. Because of that, Toby is always trying to be as gentle as possible.

Tobias has always been the weird one, always left out and never really recieving love from anyone other than his mother and sister. He's not used to affection, so he'll definitely be very affectionate yet somehow confused as soon as he realises his partner actually accepts him.

Toby used to take the beating his father gave him and his sister in a protective way, which means he has the instinct to protect loved ones. Alone that shows, that he'd be very protective in a relationship, if not even caring… in his own way.

Yes, Toby has many disorders and a tragic past, but people tend to forget that it's canon that Toby forgot his past and doesn't question it. To him, it never happened, and he only gets flashbacks or remembers things when he sees or smells familiar things that remind him again. He might have flashbacks, but they will end and he'll forget about the again.

His ADHD causes a lot of hyperactivity, his bipolar disorder gives him split personalities and constantly makes him go through mania or depression- and his eating disorder causes him to starve himself at times. Alone that is way too much to handle for most people, which is why Toby is convinced he's unlovable and doesn't deserve love.

Suffering under ASPD (Antisocial Personality Disorder) caused sociopathy: little remorse, lack of empathy, committing serious crimes, impulsive behavior, controlling, defensive, possessive, narcissistic behavior at times, not afraid to use people, a good lair, very manipulative, doing a lot to archive what he wants to archive… etc. It's a serious disorder and handling someone who suffers under this disorder can be exhausting at times, just like arguing with them. Yes, sociopaths are capable of loving and bounding, but it's not easy for them and often ends unhealthy, sadly. Even if Toby is a sociopath, he would definitely not be physically abusive. He might manipulate his partner for either his own pleasure or other reasons, but he's not some monster. Toby stated in one of his voice claims: "What kind of man beats women and children? No man!".

Since Toby doesn't really care about other's feelings (as long as he's not fond of them), he will be pretty sassy. Same with his partner. Of course he will be a little more careful and is really fond of them, but he might say sassy things that can quickly cross the line, even if he doesn't realize it.

At times, he might have heavy mental break downs or lets his rage get the best of him, just throwing his hatchets around and yelling, breaking stuff or even hurting himself. Usually it's just the hand-biting, but he can also find other ways to do self-harm. Those random burst of emotions don't happen a lot, but they are very intensive if they actually happen. That's when he needs his partner the most, even if he will be cold and distant, pushing them away until he feels calmer again. Once he's just more relaxed again, he needs a lot of comfort and feels rather depressed, clinging onto his partner once again.

A big red-flag can be his amnesia. He might forget important things, dates or specific moments that had happened, which can be very irritating to most people. The lack of social interactions also do him no good…

More of the rather toxic personality traits are his selfishness, his "forceful" behavior and the fact that he's full of himself. For example: If he's going through a mania episode, he might tend to be hypersexal. Once he's lustful, he "needs what he craves". Even if his partner might say no, he will just keep begging and asking over and over again until he either finally gets what he wants- or fails. Another method would be manipulation, but if that fails too, he'll just be irritated since (as said) he's full of himself and selfish. He would NOT actually force his partner into intimacy tho, since that is a kind of abuse as well, but he will guilt-trip them.

In general, he can be very clingy, is super possessive and will have an unhealthy obsession with his partner- but at the same time, he's a walking red-flag. He just never learned how to love without hurting people…

[the0maski]

Fear headcanon’s I have, but can’t explain, about the Link’s and some endings of their adventures.

Sky: has a massive fear that people are just using him. I think I picked it up from some dialogue in the game, where Zelda apologized for using him??? It’s been ages since I played SS, so my mind could have had made this one up, but something like that stuck to me. His "laziness" is just his way of protecting himself. If someone asked him for something, and will just send him and come with him, he is getting suspicious of that person. Even if it was to go get some books for class.

Time: He was lying about regretting being forgotten as a hero. He was extremely happy being back in time and having an actual chance of changing things. He never overcame his abandonment issues and the need to be enough, that’s why he helped Twilight. Also I have a strong feeling that his spirit never moved on, because he never felt he belonged anywhere. Where does a rejected soul go?

Wind: Massive fear of people drowning and people getting kidnapped. The crew has to stop him from jumping into the water to save someone, or kill someone. (He killed Ganondorf, he will do it again) He is acting on instinct on those moments, so as much as Tetra likes him as her right hand man, she can’t take him everywhere.

Legend: What I thought was that Koholint Island, wasn’t completely a dream. The island actually existed somewhere else. Dreams are made from things we see in real life sometimes, so the Wind Fish had passed that island at some point. But by falling asleep she doomed the acutely island to falls asleep with her. Legend was sent to wake up the Wind Fish, because there was a Koholint Island somewhere, where people are about to die because they can wake up. Legend never found that out…and has a hard time seeing himself as a hero for along while. What hero has blood on his hand?

Warriors: Scared of woman. And man. And probably everything that can betray him. He doesn’t get help unfortunately, since his paranoia had helped them extremely at war and some battle plans. He is one of the Links I see that will also never have a happy ending…

Wild: Extremely clingy, his issues are just as skyrocketing like Time’s, but the difference is Wild is extroverted. People notice that something is going on, but since Wild is a stranger to most at the beginning of his adventure, no one knows how to help. After Zelda comes back, she immediately notices that Wild needs help, and those a lot of research to help him. Wild gets better with time, yet he still clings to some people a lot.

I don’t have one for Hyrule sorry, boy has already everything, distrust, low self esteem and so on, from what I see in the fandom. Once I get to play his game or watch a play through I will understand him better.

Same goes for Four, all I could say, that he is probably afraid of getting falsely accused. (Red in the Manga). Splitting into four isn’t painful for him, if he does it for drama.

Twilight is a good boy, with a loving family and village that acutely cares about him, so all he has was a very strong broken heart. This man falls in love and HE FALLS IN LOVE! So leave him alone, he has done nothing wrong in his entire life. Yes he is afraid of rejection but he gets support. I love him to much to hurt him.

[icycoldninja]

Could you please make some headcanons about Vergil like; what he likes to hide from everybody? What his secret things that nobody knows and will never know.

Yes, angst time! Enjoy.

Vergil angst headcannons

-Vergil still remembers the day Eva died, in perfect detail, like it just happened five minutes ago. That's why V was able to remember it, it's been burned into Vergil's mind.

-His body constantly hurts all over because of all the injuries he's sustained over the years, especially those at Mundus' hands. His bones ache, his joints hurt--everything hurts, even his mind, and no amount of painkillers will stop it from hurting.

-His abdomen is where the pain is concentrated most of all, since he's been stabbed and jabbed there so many times.

-Has deep scars right over where his heart should be; every time he looks at it, he's filled with shame and anger. This is what he gets for being so weak.

-The only reason he wanted power in the first place was so he'd never have to suffer, so the people he cared about never had to die again; so he could protect them.

-Gets violent night terrors nearly every time he tries to sleep, and for that reason, he stopped sleeping altogether. His is a miserable existence, in which there is next to no comfort.

-During nights like these, Vergil would trade anything, even all his power, for someone to give him a warm hug, a few soft kisses, and reassurance that he'll never have to be alone again.

-The real reason he doesn't get along with Dante is because he's jealous of him. Dante, despite all his imperfections and debt, managed to find great friends, opened up a business, and found his nephew who is really more like his son. Meanwhile, what did Vergil get? Years of hell, being brutally tortured, and when he got out, no one was waiting for him. Dante would have been well received if he escaped from hell, but Vergil had no one. He was forgotten; abandoned.

-Vergil hates being alone. He's no extrovert, but he'd like at least one companion, someone who understands him. Someone who'd never lie to him, someone who would never betray him, someone who would love him forever.

-There are days when Vergil has no motivation. They're rare, but they do happen, and when they do, Vergil locks himself in his room and cries into a pillow for hours on end, venting out all the sadness.

[zer0pm]

Imagine Luis using a jacket to protect you both from the rain.

“I’m back! Did you miss me?”

Your head snaps up at the sound of his voice and you rush over to his approaching form with haste. Luis spreads his arms wide, ready to accept your warm embrace with sincere enthusiasm. What he got knocked the air out of him. Literally- his breath escapes him as your fist connects with his gut.

“Mierda… that’s a good one…” he groans, hunching over in pain.

“You asshole!” you scold him, ignoring his snark. “I thought you were dead! I saw Mendez dragging you away!”

“C’mon, my friend. Have a little faith,” Luis huffs, his signature grin returning to his face once he recovered to a standing position. “So long as they know I’m the one who hid The Amber, I’m untouchable.”

You had an unamused expression on your face, reaching up to poke at the evident bruise swelling on his forehead. The man winces under your touch but does not move away, a slightly guilty smile on his lips.

He shrugs, “Yes, well- uh, mostly untouchable.”

Although you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the Spaniard’s breathtaking talent for witty remarks in dangerous situations, you were mostly relieved that he was okay. The feeling of water droplets pouring on your head brings you back to awareness of where you both were standing. Lowering your hand from Luis’ head, you latch onto his wrist.

“We should get out of the rain. Hide it out somewhere safe until we figure out our next move.”

Luis nods in agreement, “An excellent idea. Oh, un momento-”. Taking advantage of your grip, he effortlessly pulls you closer to his side. The weather was damp and the air was chilly, but Luis’ breath upon your cheek warms you.

The sudden closeness throws you off guard and you were about to question his actions until a distinctive shadow looms over you both, blocking out the downpour. You glance up to see Luis’ hands holding some sort thick faux fur lined with leather over your heads.

“Stay close,” he advises, each word fanning down the skin of your neck and cheek. “I don’t plan on separating from you again.”

Against the chilly wind and rain, your temperature grew hot, both from the dark-haired man’s close proximity to you as well as his words that made you shudder with heat. He thought you were shivering and inched himself closer against your side. You had no choice then but to wrap your arms around him to stay under the protection of the-

Huh?

Now that you were looking at it, Luis was using a jacket. A jacket that was most definitely not his. The fine brown leather and fur lining was a tell that it most likely did not belong to any of the locals either. The style was too modern. So where did this come from?

“Luis,” you began to ask, “what is- whose jacket is this?”

You hear him chuckle under his breath, the sound coming off like he was revisiting a funny memory. When you glance at his from your peripheral vision, you spot a glint of intrigue in his reminiscent eyes, matching the lopsided smirk characteristic to his sly demeanor.

For a good minute, he doesn’t answer you. When he finally does, there was no mistaking the amusement laced in his voice. “My new friend. Sancho Panza.”

That’s all he said. Of course, you follow-up with more questions, but Luis was a master at evading inquiries with vague responses. The only information you were able to gather was that this new friend came to the village looking for someone but your companion purposefully leaves out the details of how they met as well as how they separated. Eventually, you two come across an abandoned house and that was when you dropped the subject for time being.

Once inside, you moved to detach yourself from Luis, but he stops you. Maneuvering his arms in an almost elegantly dramatic fashion, he drapes the jacket over your shoulders. At his insistence, he helps you slip your arms through the sleeves. Thanks to your shared body heat, the inside was pleasantly warm, a welcome relief against the drafty chill in the air. The dark-haired man then tugs at the fur collar, securing the jacket on your frame, pulling you closer in the process.

At the sight of the blooming blush on your cheeks, the suave man winks at you before stepping away wordlessly. You had to stop yourself from leaning in after him, but your slight tilt did not go unnoticed. His smirk widens.

After the two of you secured the area, you settled down in the first floor and indulged in the brief respite. Luis’ capture threw a wrench in your shared plan to escape, but Luis, ever the optimist, assured you that you were still on course. As you hashed over the details on how to recover The Amber and meet up with Luis’ informant for safe passage, gunshots and screams were heard from the distance.

You rise up from your seat in alarm and look out the window to see two blonds, a man and a woman heading your way, both ardently being chased by a mob of infected villagers. “Luis, look! Survivors. We have to help them.”

Your companion leans his head over your shoulder to follow your line of sight. Against your ear, you hear him curse softly in his native tongue.

“You were bound for an introduction, I suppose.” he scoffs. You didn’t get a chance to ask him what he meant as he left your side to rush over to the door. He pries the wood open and waves at the running pair to come inside. Not long after they were ushered in the house and you and Luis barricaded the door, the blond man takes note of your companion’s presence.

“You,” the man glares, disdain dripping in his firm tone. He stomps towards Luis, the latter backing up with each approaching step.

“Hey,” Luis greets nervously, playing up his sly charm you oft see him use to get himself out of trouble that he’s landed himself in. “Listen, about earlier-”

The angry blond pins the Spaniard against the far wall with a strong fist, “Yeah, about that.”

Curiosity got the better of you, “Luis, who is this?”

Your voice rips the blond man’s attention away from Luis, redirecting it now towards you. His cold eyes scan over your face with analytical wariness until they relented to something akin to genuine surprise upon noticing the article of clothing on your person. His expression filled in the details that Luis purposefully omitted behind the story of the jacket. The gears in your head clicked into place. It was your turn to throw an accusatory glare at the Spaniard.

“Did you-” you started before sighing, pinching the bridge of your nose. You approached the two men, an apology on the tip of your tongue as you shifted to remove the jacket and give it back to the stranger as a show of good will, but Luis’ voice stops you in motion.

“No hagas eso. Keep it on, it looks good on you.” The Spaniard interjects, grinning playfully at you. His grey eyes then glance back at the blond expectantly who still had his uncertain gaze on you. “Our new friend thinks so too. Eh, Sancho?”

[yanderes-galore]

A romantic concept of Miguel O'Hara if you can please????

I can try... I'm kinda worried I won't write him how he's meant to be- But we'll see! Sorry if this sounds similar to other fics, I've read some to get motivation but I also did my own research so similarities are unintentional if not a reference. Enjoy :D I hope I got things right.

Yandere! Miguel O'Hara Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Violence, Paranoia, Overprotective behavior, Trauma, Fear of abandonment/loss, Isolation, Kidnapping, Dubious relationship, Possessive behavior, Biting/Marking, Drugging (venom).

I understand that some people see Miguel as a sadistic yandere.

However, I have to disagree.

I will admit Miguel can have some intimidating moments, yandere or not.

Yet you've got to remember his origins.

Miguel is a broken man who puts up walls to prevent more hurt.

He mad the Spider Society to protect and defend the Multiverse.

He doesn't always like what he has to do but he does it as he feels someone has to.

He's a perfectionist, obsessing over every little detail to make sure he protects others.

He has trauma and may try not to get attached to others to prevent hurt.

Again, however, I will admit Miguel has devious moments.

He replaced a version of himself just to be happy.

That's desperation, that's a disturbing thought process to go through.

Miguel is a broken man...and it shows in many ways it seems.

Based on my research, I think this is my take on Miguel.

In terms of how he meets you, there's many possibilities.

That's the great thing about the Multiverse.

You could be part of the Spider Society, you could be someone he's with in another universe, and that's just the most popular ones I've seen.

They feel like the most plausible ones too.

To keep this a general overview I won't go into much detail about your origins.

Miguel, when he first meets you, most likely does not want to get attached.

If you look at his backstory it's clear why he'd be like this.

He fears losing anyone he's close with and is incredibly stressed about the whole anomaly situation.

He feels he's no longer deserving of having romantic connections, he should dedicate himself to being a defender.

Yet when it comes to his darling I imagine with time you'd crack his protective walls.

Just know, as soon as Miguel warms up to you, you're in too deep.

Due to all of his emotional trauma, Miguel finds himself clinging to your presence.

Regardless on if you accept or not he feels you're his only other chance to feel loved.

As a result... he makes a promise that he's never losing you.

No matter what it takes.

Miguel isn't a yandere who would want to hurt you.

Any "hurt" he gives you is usually emotional and "for your own good".

He'd never intentionally hurt you physically.

He has outbursts at times and is frustrated when he feels you're threatened, but he calms himself so he doesn't hurt you.

He views kidnapping/isolation as a necessary evil to keep you safe.

Most likely keeps you somewhere out of the way in HQ if something like that happens.

Last thing he needs is questions from the other Spiders.

He always tells you he doesn't like isolating you, that he just wants you safe, yet sometimes you wonder if he does like you alone.

Miguel is shown to be more "beast/spider-like" than more Spiders.

In this case, along with the fear of losing you, Miguel probably displays possessive behavior.

He likes feeling you in his grasp as reassurance you're still with him.

He may also like to leave marks on you due to this, but soothes your pain immediately after.

When Miguel feels he has to isolate you he doesn't expect you to follow willingly.

Which is why he plans on using venom to make you compliant.

His venom is said to paralyze victims for a short time according to his wiki.

If you fight him on protecting you he'll make it clear that he's doing anything and everything to protect you.

Miguel is certainly a yandere who thinks what he's doing is right for you.

He's not delusional, he knows what he's doing isn't necessarily "right".

Yet the fear of losing you is strong in him.

Locking you away with just him is the best way to go in his eyes.

Miguel is an extremely stressed man, he's normally cold and stoic due to the walls he puts up.

But he can prove to be a mess of paranoid emotions once he's attached.

If you express anger at his actions, he understands.

He most likely won't change but acknowledges you're right.

When you're sad about his actions instead, hd has a similar reaction.

Except this time he makes an effort to comfort you.

Miguel isn't cold.

He still loves you and just decides to prioritize your safety due to his trauma and obsession.

He makes an effort to show you he loves you.

In anyway he can he tries to make you look past the fact he most likely kidnapped you.

This is how he cares.

Why don't you understand? He's tired of worrying.

Keeping you at HQ for his eyes only puts him at ease.

Leaving Miguel isn't easy, either.

Escape attempts always end in failure.

First of all, leaving HQ alone is a struggle.

With the amount of Spiders in HQ? Yeah... good luck.

Even if you manage to steal a watch, Miguel is still going to track you.

He's skilled at investigating.

Sooner or later he'll find you, track you, and hunt you down.

Miguel's physical capabilities are the best of the best, too.

He's faster, stronger, and skilled in dimensional travel.

There's strength in numbers and he has the Spider Society.

Miguel isn't afraid to drag you back kicking and screaming.

He's incredibly irritated that you won't see his way on things.

What's so hard to understand?

Are you even aware of the dangers in other dimensions? THIS is what he's PROTECTING you from!

I have a feeling no one can talk Miguel out of what he's doing.

Be it when he's first showing signs of possession/paranoia or sometime after he's given in... he doesn't listen to others.

Not Peter B. Parker, not Jessica, no one.

In his eyes it should be his decision to care for you.

Even if there's hardships and disagreements, he'll try and find the warmth he felt near the start of his life through you.

He drowns himself in every kiss, he feels euphoric with every touch.

Miguel didn't want you to be close with him for this reason.

He didn't want pain for both you and him.

Yet now you've broken down his restraint... you've made your home in his mind and heart...

So he's no longer holding back anymore, you're going to be his and he'll have his happy ending.

[guapoduoshipper]

Me dejó.

After the initial excitement I got from the scene in which q!Roier talked about q!Cellbit to Pepito where he told him that he is also his father and that, despite the circumstances, he has faith that he is still alive, I noticed something (and I saw that other people also noticed): he never mentioned that he had hopes that q!Cellbit will return to the island.

At first I thought it was just that maybe it was implicit in the fact that he had faith that he was well and that he would see him again, but my illusions fell apart after he told Pepito that he "loved" q!Cellbit, conjugating in the past tense. Then it fell like a bucket of cold water, he didn't say it that way because he doesn't feel that love anymore (q!Roier loves q!Cellbit with all his heart) but because he doesn't want that by accepting that he still loves him, that love will become a force against q!Cellbit's decision.

I remembered then that it is not the first time q!Roier does something similar: keeping his feelings to himself to respect q!Cellbit's decision, when he saw him agreeing to marry q!Quackity during Festa Junina's fake weddings, he had already made it clear: I care for your happiness.

q!Roier has listened over and over again to "Que lloro" by Sin Bandera where one of the verses says: "Ya lo entendí, no eres para mí" (I got it, you're not for me).

The negotiation phase of q!Roier's mourning did not focus on holding on to the hope that they will meet again. For q!Roier, it is enough that q!Cellbit is alive.

Because that's all he can do with the limited, almost zero, information he has. It's the only thing he can negotiate: On a hellish island, thousands of miles away from him, without the slightest intention of returning, but alive.

Yes, he had promised to go after him if someone took him away against his will again, but what should or could he do if the one who chose to leave was q!Cellbit himself?, would he still want his husband to find him?

Didn't q!Cellbit himself say "together until the end" before they were thrown into purgatory? Roier ran to the ship with that in mind, credulously thinking that they would meet there after the earthquake and face whatever was next together.

After searching for him inside the ship he realized that q!Cellbit was not there, he began to ask for him more than once. He received no answer. q!Cellbit did not want him to go looking for him. We know it was to protect him. We know it, but q!Roier does not.

Then anger arises, a feeling proper to mourning, the "he left me, he abandoned me". It is not an anger born of hatred. It is an anger born of genuine pain from a wounded love. It IS NOT AND NEVER WILL BE intended to make q!Cellbit a villain in his argument or to invalidate the many, many reasons he may have had for deciding to stay on an island a million times worse than Quesadilla because they are all weighty, they are all justified but, why should q!Roier have to assimilate them just like that without being able to get angry even for a moment? He only knows that he was thrown back into loneliness, thrown by the one who swore to him in his wedding vows that he would never live anything like that again. And even if it was with every intention of saving his life that can't help that it hurts. It can't help but make him feel left out.

It is a natural response that he HAS A RIGHT to as he sees the love of his life left behind, with a high probability of dying, while he is left with no choice but to pick up the pieces that are left of him while everyone, and even his own husband, hopes that one way or another he will manage to move on.

He has the right to because q!Roier, above all else, is only a human, a human who has suffered, who has been betrayed, humiliated and stripped again and again of the people he loves. Seeing how when he seems to finally have happiness in his hands, it slips through his fingers like water. Boiling water that leaves his skin scalded.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

I Don't Remember

Hi, it's been 3 years since I've posted lol.

Warnings: head injury, dying mention, loss of consciousness, abandoned, drugged, feeding tube, hospital setting, memory issues

~~

Sometimes, the villain wondered if he was really the villain of this story. Or was that a made-up concept to protect the real villains.

How could he be the villain when he were the victim?

Villain gasped as he lay across the bench in the park, fingers grabbing onto nothing. His head throbbed, and his vision went in and out of focus as he watched the stars in the sky.

Why did it have to be so beautiful? For such an ugly world, why did it have to be so beautiful?

Tears streamed down Villain's face. Why did he have to be so alone and so cold? Why couldn't he have someone to go to?

Blood trickled down Villain's face, from the gash in his forehead and from his broken nose. He struggled to breathe. Every breath made him dizzy.

He hurt so much, but he couldn't tell if it was from his body or his heart.

He knew that Hero had someone to go to after he beat Villain into a senseless pulp about thirty minutes ago. He knew that he would've been caressed and taken care of.

More tears trickled down Villain's face, but he wasn't as aware of them. He was slowly losing consciousness as the world swirled and numbed around him. Maybe it was from blood loss, maybe from a concussion, or maybe just pure exhaustion.

Prior to being beaten up, Villain hadn't slept for about 24 hours trying to escape Hero's pursuit. He ran, desperately trying to evade capture. Maybe capture would've been better than this. Maybe in capture, he would've been warm...

Villain felt himself being pulled under. Maybe he would die. Maybe he would never wake up again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Villain struggled to open his eyes.

Bright lights blinded him.

He felt no other sensation.

Blackness took over again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"... restrain him."

"We need law enforcement to do that."

"We can justifiably sedate him, right?"

Villain was hardly aware of what was going on, but he was moving. Moving. Villain struggled to grasp the concept. What was going on? Where was he?

He couldn't move and everything hurt. Bad.

Villain let out a small sob and the voices stopped.

"He's awake."

"We are 4 minutes away from the hospital, and he's extremely out of it. Let's just wait until then and let law enforcement deal with it."

Law enforcement? Like heros? Villain thrashed and started to panic.

"Don't!" He screamed. Hands grabbed his.

"Shh, shh. Don't hurt yourself."

Villain stopped, immediately exhausted. He opened his eyes and made out an unrecognizable face.

"Do you know where you are, Villain?" The person asked. Male. Big. Strong.

"No," Villain responded.

"You are in an ambulance. You're getting help."

"Okay," Villain whispered and fell limply against the surface he was on. He was confused but accepted it.

About 30 seconds later, he was out again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next time Villain woke, he knew instantly that something was wrong but he couldn't fathom it.

He felt suspended in the air. His arms were restrained above his head, and his ankles were tied to the sides of a bed. He felt no pain.

He glanced around, recognizing a hospital. His eyes drifted to his body. His ribs were wrapped in bandages, and his lower leg had a cast on it.

Broken?

Villain didn't know. He didn't remember what happened or how he got there.

His eyes flicked to his suspended arms. An IV stuck in his right elbow.

"Drugs?" Villain whispered, his tongue thick and barely movable.

"Hey."

Villain jumped and glanced to his other side. A nurse stood there, shaking.

Villain didn't reply.

"I have some food."

Villain glanced down at the plate she was holding. Mashed potatoes and a green substance.

"I'm going to feed you."

"Oh," Villain murmured.

"Then I'm going to give you your next dose."

"Of?" Villain weakly asked.

"I-I have been ordered to keep you moderately sedated and on pain killers," the nurse replied and spooned Villain a bite. Villain took it, but he felt too weak and woozy to swallow.

"You need to swallow."

Villain tried, but couldn't and started to cough. The nurse hesitantly rubbed Villain's throat and he eventually swallowed.

"I'll be back," she said and ran out of the room.

Villain was exhausted, barely awake at this point. The room morphed and spun. After what seemed like ages, the nurse came back with a man.

"He can't swallow?" The man asked.

"He's very, very weak and probably too drugged up to swallow," the nurse replied

"We can insert a feeding tube, but I don't want him awake for that. He hasn't eaten in two days. He needs nutrients. Or we can give him liquid nutrients. I'm going to consult my colleagues."

"Okay, what should I do now?" The nurse asked.

"Give him his painkillers and sedatives. He's too awake right now if we aren't going to feed him."

The nurse nodded and started to prep the sedative. Villain didn't feel awake. He was barely keeping his eyes open.

What even happened?

Before he knew it, Villain's thoughts left his head, and unconscious took hold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"... still unconscious..."

"He's waking..."

"...be out of it... back later."

Voices filtered through Villain's extremely drugged mind. He slowly peeled his eyes open and immediately felt like him was falling...

He jerked.

He was entrapped. He felt his ankles tied aggressively to the bed, and his arms were suspended in the air. He looked across his body. His ribs were bandaged and his leg was in a cast.

"Hey."

Villain's eyes felt thick as they shifted to his side. It was a girl, a nurse.

"Are you with me?" She asked.

Villain just stared at her, trying to absorbed her features.

"You've been asleep for a while. How do you feel?"

Villain couldn't bring himself to reply. He didn't even know what he would've said.

"Good or bad?" The nurse pressed.

"Bad," Villain forced himself to rasp. He felt his eyes drooping again. Soon, he'd pass out again, and he knew it.

"How many days has he been like this?" Another spoke spoke, oddly recognizable, but Villain felt as if he was imagining that detail. He was really high on drugs anyways.

"About five," the nurse replied as Villain drifted into unconsciousness once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next time Villain was awake, he felt more with it, but he didn't remember what he was comparing it to.

"Oh my gosh Villain!"

Villain looked at the man running into the room.

Hero.

"Oh my. Who did this Villain?"

Villain stared at him for a while before saying,

"I don't remember."

[meraxesmoon]

How do you think Sons of Ragnar treat babygirl?

They all love her, but the dynamics are very different!

Bjorn is unfamiliar with her. Like I mentioned, he and Lagertha left Kattegatt after Ragnar and Lagertha separated. She was just a baby, so her mother and brother couldn't bring her with them. She's left in the care of her father and stepmother. Bjorn eventually returns to Kattegatt, and that's where he meets his younger sister once again, along with his brothers. He absolutely adores his little sister, and he thinks she's absolutely precious.

He wants to protect her, and he makes sure to spend lots of time with her before going on raids with their father. After Ragnar passes, Bjorn takes it upon himself to be her main protector. Like, she is not getting married unless Bjorn approves of the person she chooses. He understands that she's grown, but she'll never be a woman to him. She's just his baby sister.

I imagine Ubbe and babygirl are very similar in age. She's only a bit older, but Ubbe took a very protective role once they grew into adults. He loves her dearly, as she is of his own blood, but also because she's just so sweet. Despite not sharing a mother, Ubbe and babygirl share quite a bit in common and spend the most time together. Once he's married and has his children, she's the only one he truly trusts with his babies.

Hvitserk isn't openly affectionate with his sister, but I feel like he admires her a lot. I imagine she's a healer, so she took care of the injuries he had when he was a child and continued to do so as he became an adult. Hvitserk relies heavily on his older sister, and especially once he starts falling apart. She never abandons any of her brothers and believes that he needs her the most at times. He's emotionally vulnerable, and she feels the need to take care of him.

Sigurd is a pain in the ass. He's the middle child, so it makes sense, but that doesn't make him any less annoying. He relies on his sister for emotional support because he doesn't feel loved by anyone else. If Sigurd feels she's doting too much on someone else, he becomes extremely aggressive and annoying, poking at her until she snaps at him. Any attention is good attention. Sigurd craves the love and affection that he gets from her and hates when it isn't directed at him. He's definitely the most toxic out of the brothers, but he's relatively harmless. His relationship with her may seem odd to others, but it's completely platonic. He just wants to be loved by her.

Ivar is babied by her, and therefore, he loves her more than anyone in the family. He's different from the other boys and children. He requires special care, and Aslaug only entrusted him to babygirl when she couldn't look after him. She's almost like a caregiver in Ivar's early childhood, and he's used to her being by his side as he grows. There comes a time when Ivar doesn't need to be babied, and instead, he relies on his sister for advice. She becomes like a second-in-command for him. Ivar dedicated his heart and soul to protecting his older sister after the death of his father and mother and is paranoid about her safety.

He can't stand the thought of losing any more members of his family.

I think I may be the only person who disliked Bjorn later on in the series. The thing with Siggy pissed me off so bad